If Your Time Was Running Out And You Knew It, What Would You Do To Save The Lives Of The People You Love the Most? Would You Waste Time With Lies? Or Would You Risk It All To Tell The Truth?
I don’t talk about the last night I was raped – in detail often – I’ve told a collection of people what happened so that if anything worse happens, they know what to do so that at the VERY least, my family will hopefully be safe.
But here’s the thing: I’m living like a fucking secret agent. I have all these secrets, and only certain people have all the pieces, but everyone else has parts of the pieces. I’m the one with the whole puzzle shoved in my head, but because I can’t trust anyone from my past, I can’t sit down to have a conversation to figure out which pieces I’m missing regarding what happened.
When you’re in that life, you don’t talk about it, and so looking back at your memories is the only way to dissect what happened, but you can’t write anything down because what if someone finds it? You can’t tell anyone because what if you put someone in danger?
I tried to tell a cop that something VERY strange was happening, a man I trusted and worked with, and the next day he had a heart attack. I don’t believe it for a variety of reasons, but mainly because the timing is just fucking off.
Now, until a judge, a lawyer, and an army of cops come out to the press and say “Yup, Devon J Hall was right,” no one is going to believe me, and if I try to talk to the cops again then I’m a rat..so once I finished “I’m Still Talking,” I started looking at the life lessons I’d written down and the skills work that I’d compiled that helped me get to this place where “I” decided, that it was time, to tell the truth, and that was when it hit me.
I can’t tell the truth without sounding completely fucking paranoid.
These things really happened to me. Grown-ass men broke into my bedroom, brought an army of boys, and some very famous rapists that if you hit google you’d remember in less than 1 second, and you’d look at this blog and say “nah..no way she was one, because why didn’t the justice system make sure her voice counted?”
In Canada, The Justice System Only Listens To The Victims and Survivors Who Are Appealing. Who Appear as Worthy of Receiving Justice. Actually, that’s a total bullshit lie. The truth is that any justice system in any country, town, province, or state, will ONLY go to court if the victim is credible. The problem is that because of the holes in my memory I’m not very credible.
Announcing that I used to have ties to the Hells Angels is probably not helping the politicians and the cops who think I’m nuts, but what the fuck else am I supposed to do?
I would love nothing more than to go to court and point out the goofs who raped me, but if I do that, the men who were boys when THEY got raped by the exact same men, will say I’m a rat.
Do you know what it means to get called a rat in a town like Surrey BC?
It means the same thing it does in Compton, Detroit, and Washington. If you’re labelled a rat, it means your life is on the line and it doesn’t fucking matter if it’s true or not, because no one gives a fuck if it’s true, all they care about is the fact that you might put their lives at risk so they put your life at risk instead. A preemptive strike, if you will.
And it’s not because they want to protect our rapists, it’s because they’re absolutely terrified. Almost all the boys (and yeah they are absolutely still children, not gangsters,) who were there the night I was raped, were boys when it started. Almost all of them, but not all.
There were absolutely those who wanted to make sure that what was happening to me, was retaliation for a variety of shit that I had absolutely nothing to do with.
One of the men who raped me said “Jamie Bacon says hello,” as he was raping me. Which I laughed at then and I still laugh at now, because neither Jamie Bacon nor I have ever met each other. Ever, except 1 time.
In North Delta when I was about 15. (Sorry not sorry Jamie, I have to, and you’re in prison so you can’t kill me for saying this.) I’m fairly certain that the only time I ever met Jamie Bacon, was the night I was raped in my North Delta bedroom, he would have been about the same age, maybe younger or older give or take a year or two.
That was the only time we met. More than twenty years later, I’m getting raped again, and his name – long after he’s been in prison – is mentioned specifically so I wouldn’t forget that what happened to me was just a warning shot.
This is gang life. That’s how these men see the way they treat women. You lie, you get hit. You look at another guy who then gets punched out and loses a bunch of teeth and has his jaw broken in a variety of places.
When you’re asked if the guy that got punched knows who did it, the answer BETTER is, “I took care of it.” Which is to say you sit there watching this innocent man in pain, and you pretend you don’t know who or why because you know damned well that if you don’t, it’ll be much worse for both of you the next time.
What Happens if You Start A Brand because You Get Arrested By A White Racist Cop, and You’re Tired of the Shit?
Then the gangsters show up and start changing shit around your house. They steal you cutely, move your furniture, touch you when you’re sleeping, and when you finally call the cops they ignore you. If you don’t believe me, ask the RCMP how many complaints I’ve made over the last year. It should be at least two. In the last 30 years, I’ve made over 15 complaints about rape and torture, between the Surrey Women’s Center, and the RCMP.
None of the adult men who raped us is in jail.
I’m harping on this because at the end of the fucking day, women like me are never going to be safe if we have to go to gangsters to protect us.
More and more I wish women would come forward with stories of life in Surrey British Columbia, but the problem is this:
- Gangsters (ha ha ha) get women and girls pregnant, to keep them under control
- Cops beat and abuse their wives and get away with it
- Cops abuse and beat sex workers and get away with it
- Politicians either don’t know how bad it is or don’t want to talk about it
- Celebrities do nothing but talk about how great it is to live in British Columbia, only seeing half the story
It’s fucking tiresome, and since I’m the only one talking about the truth of what it’s like to grow up knowing that Larry Amero really did the best he could to keep you safe, there are a lot of people who will jump in line to talk about what a lunatic he was, and how he raped a bunch of people. Even though I’ve said repeatedly it was NEVER Larry Amero, it was ALWAYS Erron Wayne Giles, and if you know either of them, you know they look TERRIFYINGLY similar, even back then, but they are not the same person.
No one cares.
Larry Amero was Hells Angels connected – he wasn’t a patched member – I know this for a fact because I know dozens of full patched members and have since I was a child.
If you live anywhere in the world as dense as Canada, you know a Hells Angel, and you know that when they make you a promise they don’t often break it. Larry wasn’t a Hells Angel, but there were a lot of years when he was alive, that I was safe. I didn’t get raped, I got sexually assaulted by guys who didn’t know how to take no for an answer, but I didn’t get raped.
As SOON as the news went out that he had died, I got gang raped again. And the worst part was that I never even got to say thank you or goodbye, to a man the world really thought was the biggest douchbag in the province. A guy the world thought was so fucking evil he’d rape a bunch of children for any reason.
He didn’t do that to me, and a few years later his son predictably also got shot with Jarrod Bacon, years after Jonathon Bacon was murdered – a boy I only ever saw 1 time at a school in North Delta when he was coming to visit his then-girlfriend at lunchtime.
I was told specifically at that age – about 14 or so that I was not “allowed” to meet Jonathan Bacon because he was allegedly heavily involved with drugs, and as a new kid, I couldn’t be trusted to keep the secrets of the city.
Almost immediately after returning to school, I was shoved into the principal’s office, and it was demanded of me that I tell the principal “Teddy,” – I can’t remember the bitches’ last name and I don’t care – where Jonathan Bacon was getting his drugs from.
I literally didn’t even know the fucking guy. I’d seen his beautiful face from about sixty feet away, and the next time I saw him was on the news, he’d been murdered.
I learned later that the Amero family and the Bacon family were friends when I saw the attack on Jerrod and Larry Amero and I always thought “fuck that’s weird he doesn’t look like the Larry I know,” ah shit, he had a son.
His son is dead.
This gang shit is killing young men, and when y’all see that on the news you think to yourself, “the streets just got a little safer.” The problem is that the ones that are being shot AT are the ones that were keeping us girls safe.
And their lives don’t matter to you, because to YOU their gangsters, but to the US they are the protectors we need so that we don’t get raped by people pretending to be associated with the Hells Angels.
Now, that’s a lot. And it’s making some of you question my desire to end gang culture, it’s probably making some of you think that I’m giving the Hells Angels a pass – I’m not. They do a lot of stupid shit. They sell drugs, they hurt people for money and for pleasure, for revenge and for a variety of reasons.
Not everyone who wears a Hells Angels patch takes the Bishop Oath seriously.
When the Hells Angels started out they were soldiers – for our governments around the world. They are legitimate veterans some of them, and THOSE are the ones that I grew up with. THOSE are the ones that I love, some of whom I can’t name because if I do, their lives will be in danger…like Chad Wilson.
In earlier pages of this blog and on video, I said Chad Wilson raped me. If you google his name, it’ll take seconds to find thousands of pages on the Full Patch Hells Angels member, Chad Wilson. He had a wife and children. I didn’t know that.
I also didn’t know that the reason that I thought Chad Wilson raped me was because the man who actually raped me, was deliberately called Chad Wilson by another man standing at the door – I’d been screaming for Chad for hours – for the real Chad Wilson.
When they brought a man in saying he was Chad, I was so excited and doped up from the drugs they gave me, that I thought it was true. It was only later that I learned that the real Chad Wilson was in the USA at the time I was being raped because he’d just been in a gun fight with the Mongols.
You can prove this because the date that I was raped coincides with when Chad Wilson was supposed to be on his way home to take over the house that would eventually become Hardside.
Hardside was a lifelong dream of Colby Palson, he planned to have the Hells Angels build it by the USA / Canada border, and it would be used to funnel children from America to Canada, using the protection of the Hells Angels as cover.
I know this because I lived this shit, and I remember EVERY FUCKING TING THAT EVER HAPPENED, OR WAS EVER SAID. You wanna keep testing me? Keep coming into my house. Keep whispering about how much The Bishop family says hello.
I’ve met PLENTY of Bishops and they don’t know you for shit, but I do, and all I have to do is drop a name. STAY THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE.
Now. Does anyone want to ask the question “why didn’t she say something?” When I die? Or do you just want to point to this website, and the catalogue of six years worth of mental health journaling, to prove that I HAVE been saying something, but the right people DELIBERATELY chose not to listen.
I’m done. I am not playing. My life, the lives of my Ohana, and the lives of children who have NOTHING to do with what happened to the original members of the ORIGINAL Wolf Pack are in danger while the Vancouver Sun, Global and CTV News, and the rest of the organizations that are supposed to support victims in this fucking stupid ass country, are in danger.
We’re in danger because the gangsters that are dying, the ones doing the shootings, are kids. The cycle of what happened to us is repeating, and it’s not going to stop until someone MAKES it stop. And eventually, adults are going to get tired of being told their children are being raped at night, while everyone just hands us pills and promises that our “thoughts” are the fucking problem.
Our THOUGHTS are not the problem.
The problem with folks suffering from mental health issues is that when we tell OUR truth, no one hears us, because it’s too fucking uncomfortable.
Well too bad. I’m what I am and that’s all that I can be.
Sending all my love,
Devon J Hall