The following is the transcript of the from Shawn Witzemann remarks at Reclaim Restore County by County Event :
Ladies and Gentlemen, the odds are against us.
This isn’t your typical run of the mill political battle.
What we are confronted with, is the very end of our Republic.
This isn’t hyperbole.
What we face….is the death of America.
I was told that people need to hear my story, but that’s a task, easier said than done.
There isn’t a single American that can be summed up only by what is known to the public, and I am no exception.
I have plenty of skeletons in my closet, and there’s certainly not enough time right now to drag all of those bones into the light of day.
I’m sure that many of you would recoil in horror at the plethora of mistakes I’ve made in my 39 years on this planet.
With the little time I do have, I’ll endeavor to do be as truthful as I can.
I was born and raised in Farmington, New Mexico.
Although I would be moved elsewhere from time to time, as my father followed work, this town represents the very roots of my being.
In fact, I now live only a couple of blocks away from the house where I learned to ride a bicycle; a short walk from the home where my father decided to embrace his own destiny, and become an entrepreneur.
Of all the lessons I learned from my father, the principles of hard work, independence, and loyalty are those that will never be forgotten.
I watched as he spent endless hours, applying his college degrees in economics and business administration to painstakingly doing his book work by hand. Returning phone calls until late at night; after I had already been instructed to go to bed. Up at the crack of dawn to earn a living for his wife and children.
My mother is an artist. It was she who taught me the beauty of the written word….the emotion in the stroke of a paintbrush….the pain in a phrase from a long forgotten blues song…the power of love.
It’s a shame that I was unable to hearken to the lessons my parents had taught me when I was young, but I was never destined to learn things the easy way. My years are a testament to this fact.
Much of my own being has been shaped by hard experience. Molded by my failures.
I submit to you that America is much the same.
This experiment hasn’t always been successful.
Much like this country we love, I was rebellious and petulant. I had all the answers, but I was unable to apply them to reach my own success.
I hated authority. I despised the hypocrisy of the church I attended. My distaste for societal norms was evidenced by my inability to stay out of trouble.
I was blue haired and belligerent. Proud in my own ignorance.
In my late teenage years, and into early adulthood, I struggled to find a path that wasn’t leading me to incarceration.
I scoffed at the thought of imprisonment; too young and stupid to know what it meant.
I played guitar at house parties and studied philosophy and political science.
I drank, and smoked, and huffed from the drip tanks behind San Juan College.
I was trying my best to be dead by the age of 27.
I was in a state of extended adolescence, but my childhood came to an abrupt end when at the age of 22, I was given the news that I would be a father.
The moon of my life came to me scared.
She was afraid that she would be alone in raising the child she had become pregnant with.
I assured her she was not. I told her I would take care of them. I told her I was ready to be a man.
I was a liar.
Through endless carousing and a complete lack of respect for the life I had created, I strayed from the path I was meant to walk.
My ignorance landed me in a bar fight, while already on probation.
My son was little more than one month old, and I was sitting in the San Juan County Detention Center…..looking at spending the next 5 years in prison.
People always make jokes about finding Jesus in prison, but the truth is…..he often finds you.
I spent my time thinking about what I stood to lose. I read the Proverbs of Solomon and pondered my mistakes; terrified that I would miss out on being a father to my son.
I went before Judge Carla Vescovi-Dial to hear her judgement.
She wasn’t my biggest fan.
“Mr. Witzemann”, she said, “You come before me, having been given probation for aggravated assault on a police officer, and now it is my understanding that you were involved in a bar fight?”
“There’s really nothing to say here,” she said coldly, “I am sentencing you to serve the remainder of your time in prison”.
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks as I was escorted from the video court room and back to the bench where countless others waited to have their fates decided.
I began crying.
The guy sitting next to me asked what had happened. He asked what was wrong.
I said “I guess God still has something to teach me”.
I had failed my moon. I had failed my son.
I hung my head and continued to weep.
Inexplicably……I was called back into the video courtroom.
The judge spoke……
“Mr. Witzemann,” she said, “ I don’t know why… but I’ve decided to release you today. If I ever see you again, I will BURY you under this jail.”
Just a few hours later, I was released.
I was greeted in the parking lot by my moon;
My son Isaiah was safe in his car seat.
I swore I would never leave him again.
I tell this story as an example of the power of hopelessness.
America stands on the precipice.
Our country is held captive by the consequence of our mistakes as a people.
Pointing the finger will not spare us from judgement.
We must take personal responsibility for the situation we are in.
On January 6th, I witnessed as hundreds of thousands of Americans went to the Capitol to protest the stolen election.
I saw years of disillusionment and steady gaslighting come to a head that day, as protestors move up the stairs on the west side of the inauguration stage.
I inhaled the tear gas as it was shot into the crowd.
I watched as a man was pushed to his death right in front of me.
I saw the fear in the eyes of Capitol Police.
I begged them not to start shooting lead into the crowd.
I told them that if they did, we would all die.
I watched as they stood down.
I watched as protesters poured into the Capitol.
I watched as Capitol Police ushered people through the building, asking them to stay within the ropes, like some sort of weird, guided tour from hell.
I was just down the hall from the Speakers Chambers when I heard the gunshot that killed Ashli Babbit.
I was there in the statuary, when when police instructed everyone to return to the rotunda.
For a minute it seemed like there would be a peaceful sit-in. I’m a child of hippies.
Forgive my ignorance.
My most hopeful of wishes would soon turn to dust.
I was convinced I was going to die when police moved in and began pushing everyone toward the east doorway; I was caught between two masses of people.
I had nowhere to escape.
I couldn’t breathe.
We were being crushed.
I watched as a woman passed out right in front of me. I struggled to keep her from being trampled.
I pushed my left arm out against the police, and screamed at those around me to “MAKE SOME ROOM!” as she lay lifeless on the glass floor; inches away from the boots that would kill her, without intervention.
I thanked God when police finally grabbed her and dragged her limp body behind the line.
I thanked the police emphatically.
Most of them weren’t enjoying this any more than I was. They couldn’t breathe either.
Somewhere along the way, it became very obvious to me what was going on.
I looked up at the eye of the rotunda, and marveled.
It was beautiful.
This was the end.
I was bearing witness to the very death of our Republic.
Suddenly…..the pressure relented, and I was able to breathe again.
By some miracle, I was able to leave that building on my own two feet.
I surveyed Capitol Hill and decided I had seen enough.
As I walked west on Pennsylvania Avenue, someone was playing Johnny Cash.
“When the Man comes Around”
I returned to my hotel room where I made an appearance on “The Situation Room” with Rocci Stucci.
When the time came to broadcast my own show, the tears were impossible to hold back.
Once again in my life, I wept openly.
I was in a state of mourning.
The next day, I rented a car, and with the help of multiple friends, I made my way back to New Mexico as quickly as I could; driven by one purpose: to see my children again.
The following week, the FBI came knocking at my door.
I agreed to meet with them, to discuss what I had seen.
I had nothing to hide. Journalism is a public business.
Later that month, I watched as Biden was installed.
I watched as the events of January 6th were turned into a caricature of the truth.
Over the next several weeks, I watched as hundreds were rounded up and charged with crimes they did not commit.
I watched as the lie unfolded.
On April 1st of this year (a fitting date for this old fool), I too was charged with crimes I did not commit.
I was contacted by the FBI and instructed to turn myself in.
I was taken to the Cibola County Detention Center in Grants, NM, where I once again found myself wondering if I would ever see my children again.
I reflected on the decisions that led me to that point. I pondered the lessons being given to me by God.
I was released to pretrial services the following day, and I continue to be thankful for my current disposition.
But in the midst of this wrongful prosecution, as I face the potential of 3 years in federal prison, a path has been laid out before me.
Silence is not an option.
No threat of imprisonment can dissuade me from this purpose.
We were endowed by our Creator, with certain unalienable rights; long before the founders decided to put pen to paper.
Right now….as I speak….
US veterans who committed no acts of violence on January 6th are being held in solitary confinement for daring to peacefully petition their government for a redress of grievances.
As I speak…
we are watching as a a lab created virus with a survival rate of over 99% is being used to destroy all personal liberty, in the name of a false sense of security.
As I speak…
We are watching as countless friends and family are being systematically murdered by this so-called vaccine; the true bio weapon.
As I speak…
This country, and everything good it could have been, is being destroyed at the behest of a globalist agenda that would seek to exterminate all human life on this planet.
As I speak….
Patriotism is being criminalized.
These realities are an affront to American values and cannot be allowed to continue unabated.
The Great Reset is upon us, and it’s time to wake up.
“Building Back Better” is a one-way ticket to hell.
The Republic has fallen and the future of our children hangs in the balance.
I implore you to recognize the hopelessness of our situation.
Regardless of cost, we must push back at those powers that would deprive us of our God given liberties.
Regardless of cost, we must raise our voices in defiance of tyrannical law.
Regardless of cost, we must now come together and fight for our freedom.
We’ve already been divided. The fall has already occurred.
Only together, and in obedience to God, can we pick up the pieces, and stand once again.
Here is a link to my give send go. GiveSendGo – Witzemann Family Fund: The #1 Free Christian Fundraising Site.
Here is a link to our nightly broadcast on Facebook – The American Council for Truth in Journalism
Here is a link to my sometimes satirical and sometimes real Facebook page – Farmington Tribune
Here is a link to the Facebook page of the biweekly, NM focused podcast I do.
– New Mexico Rising