AG Bonta, come to Albany. I know it’s a holiday weekend, but if you come soon, they’ll still be here. There’s a gang of haters working overtime in Albany—just an hour southwest of the Capitol—and they’re working overtime on me.
If you come today, maybe my sleep won’t be broken tomorrow morning by men talking on radio about how they’re “getting [me] out of here,” men with out-of-state accents telling their compadres that they’ve put solvents into my low-pressure lines or into the French drain system I installed to stop the ex-military now two-time dad on the other side from dumping his sewer water onto my property as he complains that because I have not abandoned my home and my rights, he has not been paid. Maybe I’ll be able to listen to music or watch TV without the track of verbal abuse from voices synthesized and real, maybe I’ll be able to keep circuit breakers enabled when I’m here alone, and maybe I won’t hear them talking next door about what’s on my screen and how I’ve changed phones since finding one of their vehicles listed in my CarPlay app. Maybe I won’t hear them talking about it on the other side of the property line when I sit down in front of my laptop to boot the phone and set it up. Perhaps there will be no cursing from neighboring backyards when I leave the water shutoff in an unexpected position. Maybe I won’t hear them talking about “keeping [me] off the internet,” about how I look in bed, and about how much longer it will be before I run out of money. Maybe the large RV with antennas scraping against the electric lines will leave and RF-producing Teslas will no longer park bounding my property lines on both sides of the block. Maybe the convoys of contractor trucks roaring by and the count of times someone yells “Get out!” at my door will subside. Maybe I won’t hear the scraping of the manhole or utility cover being lifted as they use public utilities to pump water backward into my low-pressure lines. And maybe I won’t have to hear them talking about how I “killed two girls,” as they demand me to “get the fuck out” or haze me from their Ring cameras, walking by with Christian talk radio blaring, or using their surveillance gear and their IoT. I might even be able to put solar panels on my roof without knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that those panels will be leveraged in this living-off-the-land attack that one of them once crowed was “property war.”
Maybe, if you come for them now, you can take down a ring that includes at least some Albany police, block coordinators, and city officials. Maybe if you arrest these crooks—men who take the assets of women for their own—they won’t be able to coordinate with block watch groups and investors in other states the way they did in Seattle after an out-of-state developer from Idaho told my landlords there were ways to “get [me] out” of my legal rental there. Maybe they won’t feel as free to openly stalk women across state lines, out of their rights, their assets, and their very lives. Maybe they’ll be more reluctant to use Proposition 13, abortion, or marital status as excuses to castigate and batter women out of their homes as they run radio frequency over fragile knob-and-tube electric services and over the long runs of pipe carrying flammable gases and water into the house.
Maybe, if you come soon, you’ll be able to prosecute these criminals for sabotaging houses in a manner likely to kill the people inside them. Maybe then, at least in California, women will look a bit less like a victim class. And just maybe, if you come get these predatory scum, if you arrest and prosecute them now, maybe losers like these will think twice before they build their businesses on the backs of women.
