Somehow, inexplicably and against the odds and expert forecasts, rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.
What began as an artistic expression of my inner frustrations and pain has over the past seven years evolved and developed into something far greater and wider reaching than I could have ever anticipated.
My internal fury at the status quo could not be contained and after the blogs, websites and pseudonyms I decided to walk out into the open.
I can recall with great clarity the first live broadcast I set up on YouTube. It was 2018 and I was actually quite pleased to have drawn and retained 27 live viewers for several hours. Many of them are still with me to this day and have become trusted friends.
It certainly took me out of my comfort zone and forced me into situations that I otherwise would not have bothered to engage in. Besides, what difference could I make anyway? I’m no one and nothing but a broken down and purposeless Afghanistan era veteran like so many others deployed to forward operating base living room couch.
To my sincere surprise, a small portion of our nation held that pitiful and wasted effort of military service in high regard. Unlike the virtue signaling hordes that stand on the flag for social media clout when convenient, these folks genuinely cared. They cared the same way that I used to as a young boy on the streets of Pictou, Nova Scotia watching the fading and aging veterans of days gone by. I would feel a powerful sense of pride but most importantly, extremely thankful that these men existed. I knew then as a young boy at eight or nine years old that I lived in a place where if bad people would come for us, we were a people that would supply rough and robust men to stand guard at night so kids like me could be safe.
They would read out the names of their friends that were sacrificed just as I would be made to endure in the decades to come. It wasn’t until many, many years later that I would truly understand the depths of that experience and why they felt compelled to do it.
People were counting on them.
It is a gesture of true love to put yourself in harms way for others with no promise of reward or even survival. Only that purest, distilled and refined love can push a man to the precipice of life threatening danger and beyond. Some things are worth risking it all for. The alternative is too unbearable.
The life and call of a professional warrior has always fascinated me. The moment I was introduced to a neighbor boys set of toy army men I was obsessed. I had my own career and my own much smaller and less impressive war stories — but there are other forms of fighting and other forms of harm to be combatted beyond the sword.
The lies of the tongue and heart are now and have always been the most devastating weapon man has ever employed. It is the exclusive domain of the malevolent manipulators, the liars, the thieves, the scam artists. The political class.
Amidst the shouting, the laughing, the beers and leaning on each other for mutual mental support in an increasingly difficult world I had found myself as a rally point for others that were internalizing the same kind of painful soul twisting suffering as I. When the political class's newest show pony Omar Khadr came to town to advance the Marxist agenda another 10 yards down the field just ten minutes from my home I found myself in a new combat arena that I wasn’t previously aware had existed.
These freaks would dare celebrate and support Omar Khadr while simultaneously ignoring what was the developing mass suicide crisis of our veterans, stripping of our support systems and complete erosion of our national identity.
I discovered in circles here and there online among my fledgling online following that some had a hopeful fantasy that I would attend and try to do something about it.
This is not something that I do or have done. I’m a soldier, not a politician or public speaker. I’m not a protestor or activist, I’m not educated. I’m a barely functional out of service state goon and father of three. I had to look in the mirror and remember my earlier self and how many of our people view veterans in this country.
If not now, when? If not you, who?
At no point then or since have I ever believed I am anything that people need or that I’m even remotely capable of helping anyone. But I do know that sometimes, often times, people just need someone, anyone, to try. To prove there are still some that remain that will not go quietly. It can inspire hopeful resistance and god willing — others that may feel compelled to join in.
People really wanted someone, anyone, to try. Just something. Anything. I was one of those people as well but with one small difference. There’s a small medal rack sitting above my heart that provides me the distinction of being a man that will stand when called and walk towards the battle.
I don’t often succeed and I fail far more than I will ever fully admit — but after everything I’ve been through I know for certain that I am definitely a man that is crazy enough to give it a shot.
Just try your best is something I had always heard growing up. As simple and cliche as it sounds, there is a profound wisdom and peace in this statement.
It’s all any of us can do. Our fates are not decided and not entirely within our control. What is within our control is if we answer when called. If we try or we don’t. If you try you might fail. It may even be quite likely.
What’s statistically certain is that if you remain fixed in place, afraid to embrace challenge and fear, reduced to the state of being that is this same child on the street watching other stronger men march on in your place — your chances of success are zero and your fate is entirely in the hands of others.
If the fear of attempting something because of potential negative outcomes is the barrier between trying and not trying then well, I have great news for you.
I didn’t receive a trust fund, a famous last name or any connections that enabled me. I have lived in fear. I have been made to back down and made to feel small. I have felt powerless, pathetic and disgrace. I’ve been a depressed, unmotivated, out of shape, overweight, substance abusing mess. I would curse my rotten luck and would blame the world as many often do.
I couldn’t seem to care enough about myself to be bothered but seeing how upset, fearful and frustrated so many of our people are out there, something inside my soul changed.
I am ten minutes away from this Khadr celebration event.
I could go.
I can go.
I suggested that perhaps I would indeed attend after all. Though my online community was delighted, it was still an intimidating and uncomfortable prospect to go into this alone with an unpopular opinion. I would then be threatened by Antifa with a physical attack should I dare show my face.
I will go.
I wasn’t engaged with respectful dialogue sensitive to my background and life experience. I wasn’t accepted as a Canadian that earned a right to speak. I was attacked immediately and threatened that would later extend to my friends and even my family. These are not the actions of righteous people.
This is the enemy.
Deep inside your own soul and character, the everyday eternal struggle of do or do not. Create excuses or power through. Suffer and endure the pain with no promise of relief or tap out and get on the truck.
This is fighting. This, I know how to do.
Pushing forward that day with disregard for my own safety and reputation did not come without a price tag but it is one I would happily pay again and again. It changed my life forever and I have no regrets. As a result of this path I have chosen I have made more real human connections and lived more full and rich experiences than I care to summarize.
Fear is the barrier that stops you from becoming something more than you are.
If I am able to step over that threshold and into the dark of the unknown — anyone can.
It has been an absolute barn burner of a rollercoaster ride these past years. I’ve been slandered and attacked more than any private citizen in national history. I’ve been defamed, constantly harassed, threatened and unfairly prosecuted by the police and judiciary, jailed unreasonably, tortured and survived an attempt on my life in the Saskatoon Correctional Center. I was compelled to testify in front of the entire country from inside a jail cell. I’ve forged a new brotherhood in a new battle with some of the best and most courageous guys and girls I could hope to know. I was placed on a collision course with Morgan whom has done so much for me it deserves its own submission. They banded together in my absence and raised the resources to get me free. We defeated every last fraudulent criminal charge against us leaving the state with absolutely nothing to show for their efforts beyond Rachel Gilmore’s mental illness.
It could have been better, it could have been slicker. Mistakes were made, sure, but I think we’ve done a pretty decent job for an island of misfit toys with zero expectations.
The job isn’t done, the war isn’t over.
Facing down the imminent passage of Soviet Union inspired speech laws that would arouse Joseph Stalin I have but a few months left before I face lifetime imprisonment for wrong think.
“We are surrounded!”
”Good — now the enemy can’t get away!”
Pack it in and hide? Nah. Might as well double down and make a mess.
I lost a close friend almost two years ago already. I miss him as dearly as everyone that knew him. We spent a lot of time in the Army together. I remember one day asking his opinion about volunteering myself for a special forces selection camp while driving around Oromocto, New Brunswick on a coffee run. I wanted to try but didn’t have the courage and couldn’t find that extra gear of audaciousness to attempt something that I considered far above me and outside my reach. He smiled, took a sip of his coffee and turned to face me as we were pulling out of the drive through.
“Go big or go home.”
Despite all of the setbacks, difficulties, pain and bullshit it has been the greatest privilege, honor and blessing of my life to ride and share this wave with all of you.
Never tell a Canadian man that he can’t do something. Payback’s a bitch.
Tyson my brother, this is for you and all the rest of the guys that believed in me and picked me up off the floor all of those days I couldn’t get up on my own.
Pro Patria
We took the scenic route to say the least, overbudget and behind schedule but it’s time to slam this meat on the table! To our enemies; your palpable, hysterical fear betrays how little power you really have.
To everyone that has supported and stood with me through all of it, we couldn’t have come this far without you. Nobody get’s on the truck.
I’ll see you on the beach!
- JM
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See you on the beach.
Your place in our history is already secure. The impact you’ve made on the lives of others is known to many, including me. You are the spark of hope that may ignite the blaze to come. The piece inside all of us who rise and fall that refuses to die and causes us to tell ourselves “just one more”.
Thank you brother.