Life cycles:

First: To all those scumbags who ever shit on my throughout my lifetime – go fuck yourself you lying trash!

This is not an autobiography so much as it is a general description of my current lifespan. As I grow to an age where forgetfulness is likely arriving in the coming years, and dreams past and present slowly vanish, I will describe the life and times of me, Antony R Foote.

            As a matter of fact, I am writing completely from memory and although those close to me may have different recollections, I don’t care and will remain true to my memory and my vocation as an investigative journalist.

            This section of Crucifixion by Conspiracy begins where the former parts end – release and rebuild of what’s left of my life post imprisonment. You do hear stories of the direction peoples lives take after prison, their trials and tribulations, prejudice in work, housing, financing etc. Even the attitudes of those around you call into question everything you do, why you do it and what you are thinking. Well, all those things are apt!

            Remember this, I am coming from a position of being accused of sex offences by teens, women and boys – I was innocent of these lies – Through police lies I was forced into a false confession – Read it again… FALSE CONFESSION!!!  

REMEMBER THAT - I WILL NOT BE JUSTIFYING OR REPEATING IT!

There’s no question, everything about sex allegations is highly suspect and probably nothing but a litany of lies. Here’s your basic facts which are unarguable! 95% off sex allegations never see court – of that 5% which do, only a few percent ever see conviction – this is not because they “got away with” anything – it’s because they were lies to begin with. If you don’t understand that unassailable truth – fuck off. This book is not for you.

Antony Foote

Innocent but convicted on false confession…

Chapter 1

The Build Up to Release

            I am assuming you have read the preceding parts to this saga. If not, you may already be lost in the story. Simply, 3 years in the dirty lead up to police trouble and the scumbags at the bottom of it within my social circle as well as their actions and motives, the first 24 hours sucked into the propellers of a shockingly biased police investigation and corrupt interrogation process the fucked up court system which relies on that corrupt NZ police system to execute convictions, frequently wrongful, often based on forced or manipulated statements and fake confessions and then into the mind fucking machine of imprisonment in backwards New Zealand where people are routinely destroyed by over punishment to the point they no longer care. No, I am not some spare the rod zealot but I have been the victim of toxically bent and hideously deformed practise described as “Justice”. That view has not and will not cloud my judgement. I describe nothing but what I see, hear and feel and as an investigative journalist and the owner and editor in chief of a newspaper, repeat everything.

            During my imprisonment – (I did not hate it) which was only two years and 10 months, unbothered and doing fuck all but doing art, writing books and inside encrypted reports on what went on) painting the buildings (I mentioned their rough condition during a work parade and was seconded to start and operate a work gang to fix the dump up), which I did quite happily almost all the lag. Satisfying! The place looked great after the boys and I finished and I kept maintaining it all the time I was there. When something was scratched, other inmates came to me and reported it – I fixed it! Respect!

            The rest of the time was spent watching tv, doing art, fixing inmates clothes for visits, helping with inmates education – I ran very well attended creative writing, operational maths and art classes in afternoon rest periods when the education contract ran out for the prison. The boys loved all the classes.

            Surprisingly, even though the prison staff suspected I was a journalist – and I was asked this directly by the unit manager, and denied it to save my ass from problems, I was placed in the administration unit within head office in the main prison offices to do some painting and decorating work in the main offices which were unattended. Hilarious. A journalist in there? Yikes! 😆 It was pointed out to me by a member of my team, who shoved my prison file under my nose with words to the effect of “NOT TO HAVE ACCESS TO MEDIA” written in marker pen on the cover. Interesting reading. I still wonder who my allies were at that level. However, this did not stop inside allegations making the news regarding a simulated bare assed rape involving two teenage boys on a picnic table in Tirohanga Paeroa unit, witnessed and attended by prison officers and duly reported to the media in glorious detail – Man, that caused a massive scandal and the prison service came straight to me!

            I had a couple of parole hearings. Those pompous fuckwits did not impress me. I was innocent and I vocalised it – Loudly! Obviously I never got, not wanted parole on corrupt terms so I just laughed and left each time. The boys were not impressed if the saw me going up to the board and asked if I could either wait, or just say nothing so they wouldn’t get a rarked up board deciding their fate! Those boards are unbending and those on them are brainless plebs! They all think the New Zealand justice system is honest and honourable – actually, it is. That’s right, it is – right up to the point of following all procedures and policies to the letter, unable or unwilling to step outside the lines. It’s for this reason so many people in New Zealand attack the justice system. It’s unbending and stupid. This year, as a journalist I covered a story reporting nine hundred collapsed convictions on appeal in New Zealand in only ten years – and that’s only the people who could afford the fight – the point? Parole boards follow the same rules and enact them and in doing so doom men to unjustified continued imprisonment. As a journalist sentenced to prison in New Zealand I had a crystal clear view of it all.

            Apart from the picnic table incident it was a quiet time. I did haircuts in the recreation room while the boys watched tv or played pool while waiting for their clothes to dry in the laundry next door. Every now and again the unit manager thought it was too quiet and brought in several trouble makers to stir it all up. That just pissed everyone off but did noting else. Apparently it was causing issues across the prison at higher levels as all other units had issues but ours and people were trying to get transferred there. However, this could not happen again as it had already been tried but because there were several sex offenders in our unit, the new guys tried to drive them out with attacks and violence and replace them with gang members and young scumbags. To restore calm, the unit manager went to the sex offenders and asked them if the trouble makers could stay or if they should be booted out on their asses! The troublemakers were voted out despite their promises to behave and their protestations and were sent back to their violent, life threatening wings. Dumb fuckers. Clearly they didn’t learn anything. The sex offenders were ex cops, teachers, council leaders – people with power – Surprise!

            At 12 months out from statutory release at two thirds of sentence I was called to the office and told I was eligible for home leaves. Release would be twelve months away. Obviously, I applied for home leave immediately, and got it. I was told by sources in the prison I was wanted out of the system as soon as possible as the leaking news reports were of serious concern and I was still suspected. This was a few months before the “Picnic Table Incident” and about the time I was attacked by a maori prisoner whilst seconded to the painting unit at Addington Prison. The asshole decided I would be bashed to get rid of me so his scummy criminal violent mates could take over the painting gang. As usual, these garbage wait until you are alone then attack from behind – which he did. I was found by a prison officer and taken to the office where I was asked who did it and then an attempt was made by that prison manager right at that time to convince me to stay as the work levels and quality were excellent. I declined. I also pointed out the trash who attacked me. He obviously never learned not to attack a journalist – we report everything! To you Matthews I say FUCK YOU DIRTY COWARD!

            My first home leave came after this. I had a broken tooth from the attack by that scummy maori so I used this time to have it pulled. It was surreal for the first time. I had never been kept locked up as I was a worker and wandered about freely inside and outside the prison, but still on prison grounds. It was quite good actually. The prison staff knew I’d never try running off. I was a total trusty. One day I was lost from the check board. No one knew where I was. I was known to never miss a feed so one of the prison staff who knew me said to just wait till lunchtime – he’ll show up. I did. This was relayed to me later.

It seemed weird getting in my parents car, in the back seat with my dog Pooh, who was now two years older and not well. He did not recognise me, or perhaps didn’t want to. That was the moment I realised everything had changed in my life. I felt deeply out of place. As we drove along the streets going home, it felt like everyone was looking at me – watching me – staring accusingly but of course that is wrong. How could they know me – they couldn’t.

            The leave was three days. It was timed so I could go to my own dentist and have the incredibly painful tooth removed. Because my case was so publically manipulated by police I knew the dentist would have to know I had been in prison.  He did. Didn’t seem to care though. Because I had been snatched by cops so suddenly I had left bills behind – one of them was the bill for dental work from this dentist. He would not help unless the bill was paid. Fortunately, one of my family paid on the spot so the tooth was extracted. It would have been done in prison but the rigmarole was far to much for me to handle and I would be exposed to violence again – in prison, scumbags will get to you wherever you are, sometimes with the help of guards! It was only a couple of weeks to my home leave so I waited.

            Not much beyond that dental visit was achieved during the home leave. I received visitors. I wish I hadn’t. They freaked me out and I felt invaded. I just wanted to sleep in the sun and recover. Every little bang or noise upset me and made me aggressive. It was terrible. Poor mum and dad didn’t understand. I just wanted to go back home to the prison after the second day. Fucking nuts eh! I couldn’t drive (not allowed to under prison rules), didn’t drink or do drugs and never have and there was nothing out here for me – a completely new perspective. It was just the same coming out into the population as it was entering prison for the first time. It’s easy to see how badly affected some could be by this enforced trauma.