Thread: Minutemen continue watch at the border

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Minutemen continue watch at the border
Despite protests, group works to draw attention to security

JON GAMBRELL
THE BELLINGHAM HERALD

What began as a month-long watch of the U.S.-Canadian border has become a monthly routine for Whatcom County's branch of the Minuteman Civil Defense Corps.

Facing protests, a legislative rebuke by the Bellingham City Council and allegations of racism when it first appeared in October, the group continues to watch the county's northern border.

They are an unusual band of brothers, most of them military veterans entering what should be their golden years. However, all of them express concern over the security of the nation's borders.

Tom Williams, a Deming resident who is the chapter leader of the Washington Minuteman Detachment, describes the movement and the U.S. Border Patrol as a similar "warrior subculture."

"The agents love us," Williams says. If you listen to the radio traffic, he says, Border Patrol agents call the Minuteman volunteers "the good guys," "Mike Mikes," or "the friendlies."

To prepare for their two-day muster this weekend, the Minuteman volunteers gather at Camp Standing Bear, which doubles as organizer Claude LeBas' front yard on Valley View Road. American, Canadian and state of Washington flags flap in the wind over the camp's operation center - a camper outfitted with a laptop computer, telephone, fax machine, radio equipment and sought-after coffee machine on a cold morning.

A volunteer taps out a list for the Border Patrol of the day's volunteers, description of their cars and whether or not they are licensed to carry concealed pistols. Vigilante, Williams' shorthaired dachshund, scurries between the legs of the eight people gathered inside the camper.

"We need to get Larry out on the road and we need to get those radios going in here," says Williams, who volunteers refer to as "Skip" or "Skipper."

With Minuteman volunteers so close to the border, their cellular phones often roam to Canadian towers, giving them weaker signals and making it difficult to call U.S. authorities when they spot suspicious activity. Now, armed with ham radios and antennas made out of soldered copper piping, they hope to get better reception.

One new volunteer, Don Jones of Everett, gives Williams his call sign - K07I. It's an acronym, he explains: "Kill Off Seven Iraqis."

Jones and volunteer Brion Spore follow Williams into a metal-sided barn. Each breath is a visible cloud of white. A poster of the Clampetts from the TV sitcom "The Beverly Hillbillies" adorns a plywood wall. Most of the TV family sports double-barrel shotguns. The poster's caption reads "Homeland Security."

The three men gather around a propane heater. Williams hands out red folders with the Minuteman's rules, each containing a copy of the U.S. Constitution. Williams goes through a list of concerns - more dealing with how to handle protesters than how to spot illegal immigrants.

"We're just like Mahatma Gandhi, except we eat," Williams tells the two volunteers. "Some landowners think it's great, some don't. The fact is, we're polite and nice. Don't engage in any arguments."

Williams also warns against "ninja turtles," also known as Rambos - the Dirty Harrys of the Minutemen who go out to start a fight. The goal is simply to call the Border Patrol, he reminds. The two volunteers, both veterans of the U.S. Navy, nod.

By the end of the talk, a Canadian TV crew stops in. Soon, Williams and Spore give standup interviews to the crew outside of the operations trailer. Williams' girlfriend, Kathie Baker, smokes nearby.

"You've got to watch for the ones who aren't getting watched," she says. "I feel bad for those in foreign countries. They are all human beings. It's a shame things had to be this way."

While some volunteers begin working on improving the Minuteman radio equipment, others spread out to spots along the border. One of them is volunteer Larry Pullar, who sits in his PT Cruiser just outside of Blaine, at the end of Harvey Road.

Beyond two red diamond signs and a thin metal fence is Canada. Just before that is Pullar, a 65-year-old retiree.

Though he says the Border Patrol has sensors all around, Pullar looks toward the disturbed brush around the fencing. There are trails there.

"It's just time for someone to stand up and watch the border," he says when asked why he's there.

He adds one caveat before getting back in his car: "We're just grandparents out here with cell phones."

Defending America against stoner kids on snowmobiles, all so that their organization can't be called racists.

That's a joke.