I have three freinds in prison here in Belize at the moment. In the word’s imagination, prison is a place with beds, showers and food. You may imagine it to be clean. You may imagine that blankets and possibly pillows are provided. You may imagine that there are toilets.

I spent 7 hours in a Belize cell after the April GSU raid on my property, and I can assure that your imaginings are far from the truth.

There are no beds. I slept on a concrete floor. There are no showers (Hattieville is an exception). Food consists of two sandwiches per day – two dry slices of bread and one thin slice of rancid cheese per sandwich. There are no toilets – a plastic milk carton cut in half is used instead. There are no blankets, no pillows, no cooling fans. Nothing is ever cleaned. Clothes are not issued. Drinking water is from the tap, and the water processing facilities in Belize are non-existent. Cells are crowded to the point that not everyone can lie down to sleep at the same time. The stench is indescribable. People die in these cells at an alarming rate – from being beaten to death by fellow inmates, to death from starvation and disease.

These are the conditions under which my freinds are being held. They are being held on trumped up charges only because they are my friends.
You may be tired of me asking you this, but please email
info@tourism.gov.bz </div>

e

james.scott @ radisson.com </div>

demand the release of my freinds.

What are the charges? The four legally licensed firearms on my property were not kept in the correct rooms of my property. Under the draconian laws of Belize, any law can be stretched to nab anyone for anything. This is not a joke or an exageration. Three of the guns were identical, single shot shotguns. Only the serial numbers can distinguish them. The wrong serial numbers were in the wrong rooms.

Why do I have guns? If you have read the two Anthony Rhaburn transcripts and the post “The Letter” you might see that even a rational pacifist might keep guns. I may be paranoid, that’s not for me to judge, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not after me.

Something I did learn in jail:

When I was processed into the jail, my belt, among other items was taken. I had not realized before how difficult it is to keep your pants up without a belt. I noticed many fellow inmates walking around with one hand holding up their pants, and the other doing whatever hands normally do. A fellow cellmate, who had been in prison 27 vezes, took out an old plastic shopping bag from his pocket, rolled it into a thin, short rope-like thing, looped it through two of my belt loops, cinched it and tied it. Voila – my left hand was freed and my pants stayed up. Even in jail there is much one can learn.

P.S. There have been some comments pointing to my mispellings,bad grammar, etc. as being an indicator of my unhinged state. Eu quero 67. I left in a hurry and do not have my glasses (When I am near my property I am unable to enter the front buildings of my property, which is where my own room is.). I have no spell checker on this tiny device which is not a computer. I am on the run and sleep less than three hours per night. Eu não tenho dinheiro e, alguns dias, no food. I would beg that my detractors cut me a tiny bit of slack.

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Três dos meus amigos ainda estão sendo mantidos na prisão por acusações forjadas. Eles são:

Eddie Ancona

Cassiano Chavarria

William Mulligan

Eles foram acusados ​​e foram presos por causa de três armas de fogo legalmente licenciadas foram encontrados nos quartos incorretas na minha propriedade (esticando a lei ao extremo). Peço-lhe por favor enviar e-mail para o seguinte e exigir a sua libertação: