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RUBY RIDGE: Randy Weaver today

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It still makes me sick. I notice they trapped Randy in the same way they snagged Ernst Zündel in Tennessee, by claiming he missed a court date that he never knew about. FBI shooter Lon Horiuchi got a special award for shooting Vicki in the head. The list of decent people murdered by our government is long and continuing.

FBI is not the patriot's friend.  They are in league with the ADL and have been for a long time.  Just look what they did to entrap and destroy Edgar Steele.  Note how they're loaded with Democrat leaning liberals, especially what's revealed in the Peter Strojk/Lisa Page anti-Trump thing, the Jim Comey obfuscation/disingenuous behavior re Killary Clinton. The CIA is a close associate in nefarious behavior to patriotic Americans.  Ask yourselves why Barack Obama was not vetted enough by either  the FBI or CIA to avoid becoming our POTUS?  Why did we have a homosexual in power as our POTUS cohabiting with a transvestite?  Why is he still out there stirring things up?  God (if He's there, observing, and is omniscient) help us!


RUBY RIDGE: Randy Weaver today

Sun | Nation & World

* Some consider the enigmatic Ruby Ridge survivalist a hero; others, a fading figure in a waning movement.


EFFERSON, Iowa - The small town where Randy Weaver now lives is as wide and open as Ruby Ridge was steep and hidden. The Union Pacific whistles past the cornfields hourly.

It's not unusual to find Weaver in Iowa because he was born and raised here, the son of a grain salesman. People forget that part.

What they remember is the 1992 standoff with federal agents that left Weaver's wife and 14-year-old son dead on an Idaho mountainside in the debacle that came to be known as Ruby Ridge.

What they remember is the survivalist who wanted to separate from a race-mixing nation and its oppressive government.

Now, Weaver mows his neat little lawn here on Wilson Avenue. A Cadillac sits in his driveway. But to say that Weaver has come down off the mountain would be only half right.

At 53, he still isn't ready to forgive. Not after the Justice Department settled a lawsuit brought by his family for $3.1 million. And not after a wayward soldier named Timothy McVeigh killed 168 Americans to avenge what happened at Ruby Ridge and Waco, the other disastrous federal siege.

McVeigh will be executed May 16 for his role in the Oklahoma City bombing. But Weaver says the real enemy will remain at large. The real enemy will continue to violate the Constitution and "eavesdrop on your house from a mile away with that super ear thing."

Organizations that observe racist and paramilitary groups dismiss Weaver as a fading figure in a waning movement. "In the scheme of things, he's milquetoasty," said Joe Roy, director of the Southern Poverty Law Center's Intelligence Project.

Yet Weaver continues to rise like a martyr above the wreckage. In his case, the black helicopters really did come. A robot with a gun in its claw really did move across his porch.

It's hard to say who Weaver is now. The industry of rage and resentment makes certain demands upon him. He's a folk hero of ultra-right-wing groups. Asked about McVeigh's impending execution, he says, "There should be a bunch of federal agents lying right beside him on the gurney."

Although he lost his own wife and child, Weaver identifies with McVeigh more easily than with the victims of the Oklahoma City bombing.

"He was a soldier's soldier," Weaver says. "He just switched sides. Tim McVeigh was trying to make a point. He was what you call pro bono. He was going to be judge, jury and executioner. No different from the federal government. One has a badge and one don't."

Other times, Weaver isn't so gung-ho. What if McVeigh had come to him with his plans for Oklahoma City?

"I would have told him to forget it."


"Meet Randy Weaver," the blinking sign announces outside the fairgrounds in Lincoln, Neb. Inside, tables are laid with rifles and scopes and munitions. Weaver is standing at a table piled with $20 copies of his 1998 book, "The Federal Siege at Ruby Ridge."

No one here at this recent gun show really needs the book to tell what happened. In 1989, while living in Idaho, Weaver was caught selling two shotguns he had sawed off shorter than the legal limit to an informant working for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. The ATF tried to enlist Weaver as an informant, promising to drop the gun charges, but he refused and was indicted by a grand jury.

When Weaver failed to appear in court - he'd been given the wrong date - an arrest warrant was issued.

Seventeen months later, camouflaged federal agents were crawling around Weaver's 20 acres when they were detected by the family dog.

Agents shot the dog and began a gun battle with Weaver's son, Sam, 14, and a family friend, both armed. Sam was killed. So was U.S. Marshal William Degan. The siege began.

Weaver holed up in the cabin with his wife and three daughters. The day after Sam was killed, Vicki Weaver was holding her 10-month-old daughter when an FBI sniper shot her in the head.

Weaver surrendered after 11 days. He was charged with murder in the marshal's death, but an Idaho jury acquitted him. He spent 16 months in jail for the original gun offense.


And here he is at a gun show, unable to own a firearm legally because of his conviction. He stands at a table with only his story.

The procession is steady. "My condolences," says one man, extending his hand. "I appreciate all your character. It must be a bitch."

Weaver signs the book and takes the $20. "I appreciate that."

They approach like mourners coming to pay their respects. He relaxes them, sometimes with humor, sometimes with anger. Some of them vent. Some want to know about missing shell casings at Ruby Ridge after the siege. One man is curious about "that shotgun robot sent in by the Freddies."

"They want to talk to me a little more than I want to talk to them," Weaver says. "They've become so upset with the government that it's hard to trust anybody. They're not bad people. They are just mad."

Weaver wears motorcycle boots and keeps his wallet leashed to his blue jeans by a silver chain, Harley-style. His silver hair is cut close on the sides and long in the back.

A broad-shouldered man in a John Deere jacket and an NRA cap extends his hand. "Fritz Oltjenbruns," he says. "I was just telling my son this morning how the ATF snookered you down by an eighth-of-an-inch on that shotgun."

Weaver rocks back on his heels. "I ain't ashamed of it. I'll cut it right down to the stock, whatever."

The farmer folds his arms. "It's a darned shame what you went through with your wife," he says. "It's hard to believe the government went that corrupt that fast."

Weaver signs a book and pockets the twenty. "Keep your powder dry, buddy."