Please take a few moments to read some words from a hero. Walter is one of many true heroes, and we need so many more like him. He sacrificed his life for his beliefs--not because he was raised from birth and conditioned to do so; not because he was sent by his employer; simply because it was the right thing to do. He gave up everything. It's even more touching when you understand what he came from.
If you can find any room in your hearts for Walter, especially through this holiday season. He will be alone in prison. You can find information on how to contact him or donate to his account (which allows him to purchase fresh fruit & veggies for his vegan diet as well as grooming necessities, paper, etc.) at http://www.supportwalter.org/
We have another hero, Steve, who is quite depressed in prison and would love to hear from people. He also needs donations to his prison account. Learn more about Steve HERE.
I'm reposting Walter's latest essays in full, with his permission. The original contact is from Walter's support site.
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X To Whom it may Concern X
I was raised in a household of drug and alcohol abuse. My biological father, Mark Zuehlke, was a Vietnam vet that came back from the war and got heavy into cocaine, amphetamines and outlaw biker gangs. My mother Minerva Marie Montanzo Domench was raised in Ford Apache, Bronx and born in Puerto Rico. Their marriage produced three children, me being the youngest. My biological parents divorced when I was 12 months old. Some years later, Mark was sent to federal prison for his involvement in one of the largest cocaine/meth busts in Iowa history. I met him for the first time with I was a young man. I travelled to Yankton, South Dakota to the federal prison and visited Mark there. It is my opinion to this day that he was a deadbeat dad, a liar and a scumbag.
My two full blooded brothers, Guthrie and Trapper, were raised by our biological father and I was raised by our biological mother. It has always been unclear to me why they split us up this way, as it was arranged by my parents out of court. In any event, my mother remarried the man who became my adopted father. James Bond married my mother in 1984 at which time he adopted me and my last name was legally changed to Bond. I was in diapers when they began dating and he has been the only father I've ever known.
He, unlike Mark, was a good man. But he was a good man with a bad problem. My father (James Bond) was terribly addicted to alcohol. My parents soon divorced when I was ten years old and my mother and I moved to Denver, Colorado to be near her family. By the ripe old age of 12, I was smoking weed with my mother and doing drugs with my "friends". Although I have my G.E.D. (which I received the last time I was in prison), I never made it past the 8th grade. Going to class was far less interesting than getting wasted. I met other kids like me. Friends with broken homes and druggie parents. Biker kids. Punk rock kids. Nerds, geeks and the throwaways.
It was the late 80's and bands like Agnostic Front and Sick of it All were carving out a new style of music called "Crossover". It was a combo of punk and metal. I fell in love! The aggression and angst were all accompanied with a message. A message I could relate to.
Then I heard straight-edge music and I was hooked (on the music, and drugs). Here was music that was even tighter, the hooks were more rhythmic and it professed ethics I just knew deep down were right. Bands such as Gorilla Biscuits, Youth of Today and Uniform Choice not only changed my life, they saved my life. By the age of 18, my mom had remarried. While I had an affinity for straight-edge and the drug-free lifestyle, I refused to go to school or do much of anything - besides play drums for my band "Defiance of Authority" and play hacky sack with my friends. My mother's answer to my behavior was to move away to the Pacific Northwest with husband number 3. At that time, we lived in the mountains of Woodland Park, Colorado. I came home from spending the night at a friend's house to find nothing but furniture marks on the floor. I did not see my mother again for 7 years.
At 18 years old without an education or job, I went back to Iowa to stay with my father. In Iowa I learned to work and work hard. Not only because my father does not tolerate laziness but also because socially, in Iowa, if you are not a hard worker than you are looked down upon. To excel at your work in the Midwest is part of the fabric of your everyday life.
By this time it was well into the 90's and two polar extremes were very apparent in my life. On one hand the straight-edge scene was huge. A new sound had hit and hit hard. Bands like Earth Crisis, Strife, and Snapcase were leading the way and it was an amazing time to wear an 'X' on your hand. Back then, straight-edge was more than just a "personal choice". It was seriously attempting to stand against drug culture. On the other hand, I had recently met and started getting to know my brother, Trapper. He was hooked on meth. I had never had a brother before and I loved him with all my heart. I loved him blindly. He would steal from me and I would ignore it. He would lie straight into my face and I would excuse it. My brother was always a master and genius at sensing a person's emotional vulnerability and using it to his maximum advantage. Along with Trapper, nearly everyone I had known from Elementary School was either hooked on meth, dealing it, or both. I was fed up. At this point in my life I had been through so much because of other people's (and my own) drug use that I took drastic measures and attacked the source of all this insanity. The dealers themselves. As most know, I attacked with fire the biggest meth dealer in my town.
The four years I spent in prison was without any support from the straight-edge scene or anyone else. For purposes on self-preservation, most people that truly did know me distanced themselves, as expected, not wanting to become a target of persecution as well. I worked in the prison laundry room for $1.10 a day. That was the extent of my funds. I was also vegan at that time and had been for year before my arrest. Luckily the prison system was just beginning to offer a vegan diet albeit reluctantly. I got X's and V's tattooed on my hands while incarcerated to pledge myself to the drug free lifestyle forever. As a prisoner, they can take everything from you except what's in your heart and your tattoos.
When I got out of prison I found that the 90's were over. The edge kids from the 90's that I knew had given it up. Everybody was 'really concerned' about me and 'just about to write a letter'. Suffice it to say, I was pissed off. I distanced myself from the people and the music. For years I was bitter. To me, straight-edge was very personal, life-changing and serious. Fighting against drug dealers had landed me in prison with a permanent felony record, not to mention more than one fist fight.
As the years went by, veganism and animal liberation became the focus of my life. I tried reconnecting with the younger generation of straight-edge and teach them the importance of veganism and standing up against drug culture. But with most, apathy is king. Apparently, the bulk of the straight-edge scene is about collecting records and keeping it to yourself. That and politics, politics, politics. Instead of the primary focus being on animal liberation or drug-free living, it seems that half of straight-edge is about being a Christian, Right-wing American Patriot that resemble a bunch of clean-cut cops with tattoos. Bullying people at hardcore shows and staying dedicated to the "boys only" mentality. While the other half are wanna-be Beatnik, Bohemian anarchists that go ten steps out of their way to be offended about everything, but won't do anything except philosophize and try to squeeze the words "patriarchal" and "heteronormative" into as many conversations as possible.
I would prefer to not be so divisive as to demand that everyone adhere to my checklist of political views and believe me, I have them. But idealism and reality are not always going to meet. For instance, I have already met people in county jail whose company I enjoy. People that make me laugh. People with dynamic personalities. I am not going to deny their camaraderie just because we differ. Just like how most vegans or straight-edge people are not going to disown their parents for drinking milk or smoking cigarettes.
Presently, I am facing the trials of my life, quite literally. This time I am happy to say that many people from around the world write me often, which brings more joy to my heart than I can express. It's awesome to know that I am not alone. But once again, I feel nothing but scrutiny and unresponsiveness from the straight-edge community. However, this time I am not in the mood. I will live my life drug-free for the rest of my life and will not 'break edge' as they say. But I am through with "the scene" because it has become a fashion show and politically pretentious joke. My people, my family, my sphere of concern outside of our Mother Earth and her Animal Nations is primarily for those that are moved by animal liberation and biocentrism. I have sacrificed my freedom every bit as much for the straight-edge as I have for animal rights. Outside of the best band on the planet (Earth Crisis) making a video about me (which isn't a community supporting me, but the vanguards of it) I have received nothing but bullshit from straight-edge people, then and now.
I regret fighting so hard for a group of posers and pretentious gossip hounds, my trust isn't free anymore. I will always have respect for those within straight-edge that use it as a foundation for militant and positive change. The rest of you mean nothing to me.
P.S. My father has been a recovering alcoholic and sober for a decade now and my mom lives in the Alaskan wilderness and is as feral and free as she ever was.
I Am the ALF “Lone Wolf”
by Walter Bond
December 5, 2010
On April 30, 2010 at 3:30 am I burned the Sheepskin Factory in Denver, Colorado to the ground. I did so strictly following Animal Liberation Front (ALF) guidelines to harm no life while at the same time maximizing damage to a business of animal exploitation. I used the nickname “Lone Wolf” in my communications to the media, even though I knew that using such a moniker made my actions easier for the authorities to link together. I did it for a specific reason that I will get to a little later in this article, but for now, let me back up and explain how and why I came to join the Animal Liberation Front.
My start in animal rights began about 14 years ago. I would order pamphlets about vivisection, veganism, factory farms, and other forms of animal abuse and put them on windshields in parking lots and on community bulletin boards. I was very zealous in wanting to educate people. Having worked building slaughterhouses, I was certain that if everyone knew what I knew they would all become vegan. After about a year of such flyering, I ended up having my activism interrupted with a prison sentence for arson (that crime was not animal rights-related, but also harmed no living being). During the 4 years of my incarceration, I studied animal rights, biocentrism, philosophy, world history, evolution, religion, mythology, law, social justice movements, politics, sociology; anything I could get my hands on that was non-fiction. Some people go to Penn State, I got my education at the State Pen.
In any event, upon my release from prison and completion of parole, I moved back to Denver, Colorado, the city where I had spent my teenage years. I had a couple of close friends still kicking around the north suburbs, and also had an aunt and some cousins there. By this time, it was 2003. I had by now surmised that it wasn't a lack of education that allowed cruelty to animals to continue, because animal rights activists had uncovered and publicized so much video evidence of profound evil in vivisection labs, slaughterhouses, and entertainment over the last three decades that the gore would gag a maggot. Nor was it a problem of disseminating this information; with the meteoric rise of the internet, anyone who wanted to know what happened to their “meal” could find out at the push of a button and click of the mouse.
I had talked with enough people by this point to see that deep down inside not everyone is a caring vegan. Lots of people don't care at all for animals, they just have cat and dog fetishes, or they care right up to the point where you ask them to stop eating the dead carcasses of murdered animals. I found many people far more outraged at the fact that I was bringing the issues up than at the issues themselves. Apparently, if you support death and slavery three times a day, that's not a problem, but if I point that fact out, then I'm the asshole. I decided to turn my attention to the animals themselves.
Much of that period of time I cannot detail, since saving animals from death and torture is considered terrorism by the United States government. But I will say this: when you take the risk to save an animal from a horrible death and look into their eyes and see the gratitude and love, it changes you. On that day you become a better person and you once again know right from wrong with child-like simplicity.
Eventually being a social person, I began mingling with the local vegan community. I was invited to a local meet-up, where I immediately felt out of place. The local Denver vegan community had about as much diversity in it as a Ku Klux Klan rally. I had been working part-time with an abolition animal rights organization whose main focus were the promotion of veganism and speaking out for farm animals , especially so-called “free range” and “cage free”. As the night wore on,many of the trust fund-afarian and hypocrites started to let their high and mighty opinions fly, due to the ridiculous amounts of beer that they were ingesting. What ensued next was akin to some creepy form of speed-dating where everyone went around in a circle and very briefly introduced themselves, named their occupation, and told what they did for animals. Never before or since have I witnessed such intellectual egoism.
When it was my turn, I mentioned my stand against “free range”; I was met instantly with eye rolls and rationalizations about it being “a step in the right direction” and “Rome wasn't built in a day”, even “I'm vegan but I am so glad that meat-eaters now have a humane and cruelty-free alternative”! My response was “I can't believe I am listening to a group of vegans promoting animal use”! After this, a huge argument ensued and I left that meet-up determined to expose “free range” and once again educate everyone I could. Only this time with more zeal and vigor than ever.
I began flyering all over Denver about “free range”; thousands of windshields all throughout downtown. I would flyer until my thumb and fingers were blistered from lifting windshield wipers. I tabled at events and talked with hundreds of people. I went to punk and hardcore concerts and tried to recruit the youth. I began laying the groundwork for a group I called V.F.L. (Vegan For Life); in short, I did everything in my power to motivate and promote animal liberation, even at work. By this time I was a bulk foods manager for a local health food store. I got “VEGAN” tattooed across my throat and talked with any customer that would approach me about it, which was a lot of people in and of itself.
For a while, I had a blog where I wrote articles and sought to revive and revise the vegan hardline philosophy. However, the more I did, the more my frustration grew. People that I talked to at tabling events would listen to all I had to say about dairy cows being raped for their milk, their calves being turned into veal, then the cows themselves being turned into burgers and leather. People would stare back at me blankly and respond “Man, I couldn't give up cheese, dude. Cheese is so good…” I would go back to areas I had flyered only to find half the flyers on the ground.
All the punk rock kids thought it was okay to eat meat as long as it was out of a dumpster, and the hardcore and straightedge kids were more into practicing dance moves and playing video games than putting their back into their beliefs. I became burnt out.
The few friends I had liked to talk about how righteous we were for being vegan and how wrong the rest of the world was, blah, blah, blah. I got burnt out on everything, I became as annoyed with pretentious vegans as I was with anyone else. For a few months, all I did was work and not do much of anything else. I was depressed because I felt marginalized and ineffective; I began daydreaming at work about what I would do if I had no fear, nothing to lose. I would be a member of that clandestine underground, I would be an Animal Liberation Front operative. The more I thought about it, the happier I became. Then one day while stalking the potato chip isle at work, it hit me: there's no time like the present. I quit my job and left my normal life in isle seven of a health food store.
The first thing I knew was that I would work alone. I had known and been around many different local activists and there was not one of them I would have considered up to the challenge. The next thing I knew was that I wanted to go big. With the current government crackdown on any kind of effective animal rights campaign, I might as well go for it. If they're gonna try to catch me and call me a terrorist for breaking a McDonald's window, I might as well think much bigger.
I picked the Sheepskin Factory in Denver for two reasons. Primarily because they make a lot of money selling pelts and fur, animals suffer and die so that people can have a fuzzy steering wheel on soft cushion on a motorcycle seat. In my opinion, they are no better than the Nazis that made hobbycraft items out of Jews. Secondly, the place just looked flammable. I will never divulge how I did it because its not important; where there's a will, there's a way.
After it was all said and done, I felt great! I had destroyed an animal exploitation facility and I had cost the animal industry half a million dollars. I used the name “ALF Lone Wolf” in the media to convey to my ALF brothers and sisters worldwide (whoever they are) the power of acting alone. I wanted anyone that cares to know that one person can accomplish a lot. Unfortunately, I was apprehended because of an informant; my deepest regret is that I confided in this one person. But still the principle stands; all I was tricked into doing was telling on myself and my entire 3-month campaign cost me 150 bucks, and cost animal abusers three-quarters of a million dollars.
On February 11, 2011 I will be sentenced. Whatever sentence is imposed will only be a third of my tribulations; I still have to face charges in Utah. The US Attorneys want people to think That the Animal Liberation Front, and me in particular, are terrorists. I am not a terrorist, and the ALF is not a terrorist organization; actually, its not even an organization. The ALF is any vegan or vegetarian that harms no life and decides by illegal means to liberate animals and/or cause economic damage to those that profit from animal use and abuse. Since our inception in 1976, no animal or human has been harmed; quite the opposite. Thousands of lives have been saved and thousands of animal abusers have been stopped. A terrorist is a person or group that targets and kills innocent beings to create panic and control by fear.
On April 30 th , 3:30 in the morning, my life changed. I got sick of seeing industries of death continue unchallenged and I decided to do something drastic about it. I am proud that I had the courage to act on behalf of those that cannot defend themselves. I can look deep into my heart know that I did not fail them and I did all that I could; and believe me, when you live in a cage that's all you wish for someone to do. Animal liberation, whatever it may take!
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Write Bond letters of prisoner support at:
Walter Bond # P01051760
PO Box 16700
Golden, CO 80402-6700
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