From the March 2009 Idaho Observer:

"Order of Death" cameraman earns death threats, prison sentence for Bohemian Grove camera caper

Chris Jones, code named "Kyle," managed to get employed inside Bohemian Grove in 2004 and, in 2005, captured some extremely revealing images of what goes on at the exclusive annual, mid-July gathering of the world’s super elite all-male "Bohemian Club." Kyle was able to physically confirm that the elite of the elite attend the camp in Monte Rio, CA, where they engage in occultic rituals worshipping an owl named Molec. Among the many "luminaries" Kyle saw at the grove in 2005 were New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson, Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas and Walter Cronkite. Every Republican president since 1923 and many Democrats have been members of the Bohemian club as are captains of industry, artists and entertainers. The 2,700-acre "campsite" has numerous sleeping quarters where up to 2,900 attendees are assigned to "camp" groups intended to facilitate the cementing of strategic relationships and discussions to advance political and commercial schemes. The Bohemian Club formed in 1872 and has been meeting at the Grove every summer since 1899.

Hello. I am the guy who obtained the video footage inside Bohemian Grove as featured in Alex Jones’ documentary, Order of Death. Now I am "behind the razorwire" and this is my story.

The Set Up

While driving home from work in the early morning hours of January 12, 2006, I was stopped, allegedly for no taillights and then arrested on a felony warrant. This was the first time I’d been arrested in my life. The following day I was taken before a judge and arraigned. Bail was set at $100,000. Being unable to post it, I was held in the maximum security section of Orange County’s main jail.

While there, I was called for meds. This struck me as odd, since I don’t take medications (not even aspirin). I was told it was for my "pain" and sternly instructed to "take it." Little did I realize how much pain I was soon to be in, but I refused and walked back to my cell.

Later while showering, I noticed all the others leave the area. This concerned me, so I cut it short and began to towel off. Then the cell door enclosing the area began to automatically shut. Not wanting to be trapped inside, I grabbed my clothes and slipped through the narrowing doorway.

Shortly thereafter I was called out of my cell to the dayroom. As I entered, I was struck over my head and knocked out cold. My head was then repeatedly stomped on. I awoke in the hospital ankle-cuffed to the bed, staples in my scalp and a foul-mouthed deputy watching TV by my side.

Apparently I’m lucky to have survived. Ted Gunderson, former Special-Agent-in-Charge of the FBI, Los Angeles, was looking into my case and later shared his concerns that he believed they intended to fracture my skull or hemorrhage my brain. As fate would have it, or perhaps the Grove’s sense of humor, the date was Friday the 13th.

A few days later, bond was posted and I was released. I subsequently received two death-threats; the first from a blocked phone number and the second from a number displayed as 987-654-3210. The latter stated that I was going to prison and then I would die. Thereafter, I went into hiding as I awaited trial.

On the Friday before Labor Day I showed up for my court appearance. The Deputy District Attorney (DDA) delayed into the early afternoon, and then requested an increase in bail. The judge consented and raised it another $100,000. I was held but, by the grace of God, bond was posted within a few hours. Gunderson opined that they intentionally delayed the hearing until Friday afternoon, when the banks were closing for the three-day weekend, so they could throw me back in jail. He doubts I would have lived through the holiday.

The railroad

The trial commenced on February 26, 2008, before Judge David A. Thompson in the Superior Courthouse in Santa Ana, California. Just prior to jury selection, the DDA made an offer: All charges reduced to misdemeanors and one year in the county jail. I told him to go pound sand. I went to trial confident that I had the goods to prove I was being framed.

My confidence was immediately shaken when the judge and the DDA dismissed everyone in the jury pool who expressed skepticism or who had an education. The trial was the epitome of a "kangaroo court" about which we’ve all heard and the judge steered the jury to its verdict.

I had taken a polygraph test and passed with less than 10,000 chance of being deceptive, but I knew that wouldn’t be admitted into the record. What I did not expect, however, was the forbidding of all exonerating evidence and testimony.

Three witnesses were coerced to testify against me because their brother faced felony charges as well; they cooperated so he wouldn’t be prosecuted. This vital intel was kept from the jury. Furthermore, the judge attended AA meetings with two of the witnesses’ grandfather—a conflict of interest that was also withheld.

Gunderson had documented proof of falsified police reports, altered witness testimony and perjury by three detectives at the preliminary hearing. Judge Thompson ruled that wasn’t the former Head of the FBI’s field of expertise, and none of his findings could be disclosed to the jury.

Gunderson was permitted to testify as to the abusive nature of the interrogation techniques utilized to extract the desired responses from the three witnesses, but neither the interrogation tapes nor the falsified police reports were admitted into evidence. As for his testimony, the jury didn’t resonate with his conspiratorial perspective on events ranging from Kennedy’s assassination to the World Trade Center bombing, about which the DDA grilled him in order to portray him as a nut.

In the middle of the trial, the judge remanded me into custody without reason. For the remaining eight days of my trial I was prohibited from showering, shaving, combing my hair or wearing clean clothes. I had to take the witness stand tired, ungroomed, wearing a wrinkled suit that deputies had stepped on, open collared since I was no longer permitted a tie and with a deputy seated right behind me. The judge’s presumption of my "guilt" was not lost on the jury.


I received three years, but the judge added a violent enhancement which means I have to serve 85 percent of the sentence instead of 50 percent with good behavior. This, in spite of the fact there was no weapon, no force, no threat, nobody hurt, nobody in fear, and nobody touched!

The appeal

My attorney immediately filed a Notice of Appeal and a Motion for Bond Pending Appeal. Judge Thompson denied the motion, citing my having worked in the San Francisco area (Bohemian Grove) in the summer of 2005 as making me a flight risk.

As far as pursuing the appeal, the court initially recorded that I was "pro per" (representing myself) even though such was contradictory to the notice sent by my attorney. They then used this excuse to not forward certain documents to my attorney.

By the time we discovered the "error," the appeal was within a few weeks of being dismissed. After correcting the "error," the court mysteriously "lost" its record of the appeal, even though we were in possession of a stamped and dated receipt thereof. The superior court then violated two deadlines designated by the appellate court by again not forwarding requested documents to my attorney. These documents include the accusatory pleading, minutes, written jury instructions, notes received from the jury and verdict forms.

It seems one reason the superior court delayed is that several verdict forms are missing. This equates to an automatic mistrial. This was brought to Judge Thompson’s attention at sentencing, but he disregarded it.

All their games succeeded in delaying the submission of my opening brief for six months. The state is now using the delays as precedent for its own extensions. Even if my appeal is eventually granted, they will have made sure I served most of my time.

My appealable issues include: Insufficient evidence (literally none), failure to include lesser charges, failure to give accomplice instructions, new accusations at trial (no discovery), incorrect jury instructions and missing verdict forms.

Doing the time

I’ve been behind the razorwire for a year now as my appeal worms its way through the process. The first three months I spent at Orange county’s Theo Lacy Facility. Unquestionably, Orange county employs the most vile and sadistic tormenters as a unified group that I have ever encountered. Punches, kicks, bruises, blood, and broken bones are status quo. Overseas military personnel are not the only captors capable of torturing prisoners.

Upon being taken into state custody, I went to the Reception Center in Wasco. There I was confined in a small cage for an average of 23 1/2 hours per day. That 30 minutes out included showers, meals, yard and dayroom. In September, 2006, we only received one hour of yard for the entire month. I regularly correspond with Officer Jack McLamb, founder of Police and Military Against the New World Order and relayed this fact to him. Unbeknownst to me, he wrote to the warden addressing the violation of our constitutional rights. I was called into the office by a lieutenant who burst into a tirade of profanity, called me a troublemaker and threatened to throw me into "the hole" if I was adamant about wanting to exercise my constitutional rights.

At reception, prisoners are only allowed to possess books, paper, envelopes, and a four-inch pencil. No TV, no radio, no pens, no eraser, no playing cards, no dice, no board games. Furthermore, inmates are not allowed phone privileges. According to the Wasco Center website, it is only a 60 to 90 day holding facility, yet inmates are routinely held much longer. I was there for six months.

Forcing people to exist under such circumstances, whether they are guilty of a real crime or not is, in my opinion, tantamount to mental and psychological torture. Normal individuals don’t easily adapt to such captivity and lack of stimuli. I was in rough shape, both physically and emotionally, when I emerged from Wasco.

I was sent to this hell-hole known as Avenal State Prison (ASP). Guys who have been around say this is the worst place they’ve ever been and all want to transfer out. I inquired with my current counselor as to her opinion of ASP and she had to agree.

Over-crowding is a huge problem. I reside in an open dorm area that’s currently housing 200 inmates. The gym has been emptied of equipment and is crammed with bunks triple high. The hot water capacity is inadequate for the current population and inmates routinely take cold showers.

Supposedly this used to be a women’s prison, but due to the cases of ovarian cancer that manifested, the women were relocated and the men were brought in; as if men not having ovaries means the toxins here are harmless.

ASP is adjacent to a Prison Industries Association ranch. The air in the prison yard reeks and we’ve been informed that merely breathing the air could result in diseases. The prison provides surgical masks and recommends that we wear them anytime we are outside.

Valley Fever plagues the inmate population here and in surrounding prisons. It’s described as a fungus or spore that resides in the soil and is inhaled through dust. Peak season is summer when the winds stir up the 100 plus degree ground. It’s a life-long condition, yet incredibly they won’t even re-sod the yard area where the grass is completely dead.

Though newspaper articles report that arsenic levels in the water at ASP exceed state and federal limits, nothing is being done. Furthermore, the chlorine in the water is so excessive that you can actually smell it and no doubt there is fluoride as well. Most prisoners’ skin is dry and cracked. The staff has been told not to drink the water. The only sweetener we’re allowed to mask its horrid taste is cancer-causing Aspartame.

Medical care is criminally negligent. Ailments usually go away before inmates are ever seen by a doctor. Others discharge after years of submitting Healthcare Request Forms without ever receiving a successful treatment. I’ve personally submitted more that a dozen requests for scoliosis back-pain and told to take of Ibuprofen for the pain and advised to "stretch more." Those with more serious problems are in much worse condition than I.

Dental services are limited to silver/mercury fillings and extractions. You can’t even pay for an upgrade to a non-toxic composite as they claim it would be preferential treatment based on one’s ability to pay. As is typical with socialist programs, equality is achieved through reducing everybody to the lowest common denominator.

Although there are prisons closer to Orange County where my family lives, someone saw fit to punish me here. I am four hours from family and friends, making visitation a hardship. Additionally, the chapel here, which I intended to make my refuge, is closed indefinitely due to a stabbing last September.

As I write this, we’re on the eleventh day of a lock-down due to racial tensions between the whites and Hispanics. We have to sit on our bunks all day with the exception of meals and using the restroom. There’s no dayroom, no yard, no TV, no commissary, no packages, no visits and no telephone usage—not even to my attorney who was expecting my call last week.

Even when not in lockdown, ASP prisoners are not allowed electrical items—no TVs, fans, electric shavers, reading lights and no rechargeable batteries. We are not allowed hobbies or crafts as that program has been suspended.

Rehabilitation is a misnomer and boredom is my biggest enemy. Due to Judge Thompson deeming me "violent," it’s unlikely I’ll ever get a pay number (job) or be able to attend vocational classes.

On the positive side, at least we’re not beaten daily and the Correctional Officers as a whole aren’t the sickos they are in OC. Nevertheless, many are egotistical, and one thinks he’s "Superman." I recently survived an encounter with Superman wherein he threatened to hit me with pepper spray, shove his nightstick up my butt with an explanation of how he can get away with anything. He ended the encounter by stating he was going to create an incident that causes me to get another "strike," referring to California’s three strikes law. I don’t know if he plans to plant a weapon in my locker or falsely accuse me of assaulting him, but I am reporting this to you, now, because reporting it to prison authorities under such obviously one-sided conditions is likely worse than pointless. If something does transpire between myself and Superman, hopefully this brief explanation will serve as proof that it was premeditated by [Note: The IO staff chose to withhold "Superman’s" real name for this article to help protect Jones. We do, however, have Superman’s real name here on a hand-written letter dated March 9, 2009 (postmarked March 10, 2009 with "AVENAL STATE PRISON" stamped in red on the front of the envelope)].

I’ve been blessed with the best bunkie a guy could ask for. "A" has shown me the ropes and has played a huge role in helping me to adjust. We’ve discussed Bohemian Grove, September 11th, and the return of Christ. I can attest that "A" is truly one of us. Then there’s my best bud who was recently released. He made prison time as easy as it’s going to get. Best wishes to you, my friend.

That’s my current predicament, and the status of this degenerate country from my perspective. I enjoy getting mail, so feel free to write. Forever your brother –

Chris Jones

#G17784 320-9L

P O Box 9

Avenal, CA 93204