In June of 2013, six months after this massive fraud was sprung on the American public, I had occasion to spend a couple of days in Newtown, Connecticut on a truth mission. Already aware of the controversy, I did not appear on the scene as an officious and snooping investigative reporter or anything more than a naive and interested tourist who just happened to be passing through. I just wanted to talk to shopkeepers and townspeople on the street. It was the strangest reception of its kind I can ever remember.

In Oklahoma City in ’95, people were eager to tell me what they knew to be suspicious before and after the explosions. In ’96 in Montana, I gained many illuminating interviews with people incriminating not the Freeman but the blatant crimes of the FBI; and beyond a reasonable doubt, it was these that were sworn to “protect and serve” that had murdered Randy Weaver ‘s wife and son at Ruby Ridge, Idaho in 1992.

Yet here in Newtown, the school zone was roped off all the way down to the bottom of the hill at the famous firehouse. The firehouse was empty on both days, with nobody there to greet me or discuss anything. On the street, the residents were friendly enough but seemed to know no more than what they had heard and seen on the TV news. Shopkeepers were friendly, too, until I broached the stigma of the town’s lingering notoriety, and suddenly their attitudes changed to “I don’t want to talk about that.”  I still do not know what method was used to intimidate these masses into silence, but it was not normal behavior. What follows here helps us understand.