The inherent flaw of any presidential campaign lies in its conception of the prerequisites of human liberation. Invariably, these campaigns attempt to build from the top, to furnish an image, however crude, of the apex of human achievement. The elected president shall manifest this virtuous ideal, one to which the lowly remainder of humanity will humbly seek to adhere. The powerless peasants and commoners are to bask in the leader’s moral radiance and hope, through osmosis, to someday evolve . . . although, in every democratic society with which I am conversant, this day of graduation is perpetually postponed. We cannot trust “the people” with such immense responsibilities, we are told—and so we tell ourselves, overlooking the grotesque servility of our own relationship to our government. Such submission ironically facilitates a self-fulfilling prophecy whereby demagogues command the attention of the masses, manipulate them, exploit them, and drive them to disastrous ends. Until the people learn to trust themselves with knowledge, until they learn to arm themselves, until they agree to build an autarky of their own design—in short, until they learn to overcome the suicidal philosophy of their masters—they will continue to allow the tyrants to displace them.
Regrettably, this elitist strain of psychopathy pervades even those who purport to combat it. I have recently encountered a pitiable example in Suzie Dawson, a mendacious storyteller masquerading as a journalist, and a bully who has spent the last several years of her unhappy existence attempting to create a hierarchal system of political activism. One would think that the paradoxical nature of such a structure—a pecking order for those who are working to dismantle the concept of a pecking order—would have discouraged her from the onset, but just as the pharaohs could not foresee their own destruction, Dawson is ignorant of the instability of her own pyramid. She has developed an elaborate, arbitrary echelon for all who identify as activists, a rigid ranking at the top of which she has, quite predictably, placed herself. The inflamed jealousy with which she protects her castle in the sand is eclipsed only by her astonishing blindness to how foolish it is—but before we venture any further in a psychological portrait of this unfortunate creature, perhaps the reader, who likely does not know who she is, would appreciate a formal introduction.
Suzie Dawson is a former YouTube commentator (a washed-up never-was, to borrow my preferred description of Alyssa Milano) who specialized in commentary on the work of Julian Assange and Edward Snowden. A native of New Zealand, she has lived in Moscow for some time now, hiding in plain sight from “western intelligence agents” who, she alleges, attempted to assassinate her—multiple times— by running her car off the road. Why these “western intelligence agents” selected such an impractical method of murder for a visibly unhealthy, over-the-hill bourgeois is beyond my ability to imagine, and even further beyond her ability to explain, never mind her ability to prove. For that matter, she cannot explain why the nefarious “western intelligence agents” despised her so passionately in the first place, save for her public defense of Assange and Snowden and, previously, her involvement in the Occupy Movement. In any event, she has been loafing around in Russia for a goodly while yet, beseeching the public to pay her bills while she petitions the government for asylum.
As a person of moderate intelligence, I reject Dawson’s allegations as a malicious fantasy, one that she devised with the narcissistic intent of awarding herself unwarranted countercultural relevance. She has bound these allegations to her journalistic credibility, as well, habitually describing herself as an “at-risk journalist” with the obvious intention of attracting people to her titillating tale. I am always suspicious of writers and speakers who introduce themselves as victims first and foremost; they remind me of Dave Pelzer, who fabricated sordid details of his supposedly abusive upbringing before The New York Times exposed him in 2002. More recently, they remind me of Pete Buttigieg, who grossly exaggerated the extent of his “military service” in order to appeal to the war hawks in the Democratic Party. When the risk of sympathetic exploitation is high, and the potential for self-aggrandizement even more so, we must meet these people with suspicion, at the very least.
Dawson has repeatedly emphasized her victimhood in order to present herself as an authority on a number of subjects. Referring to herself, she writes: “Those who are experienced targets—or have worked on the inside of the military industrial complex—recognize the patterns as those of established targeting doctrine” [sic]. Without questioning her puzzling definition of “experienced targets”, might we acknowledge that there is no correlation between victimhood and expertise? If an intruder breaks into my home tonight and steals my wallet at gunpoint, then I become a victim of robbery, but I do not, through this experience, acquire knowledge of the sociology of robbery, the statistics of robbery, the psychological profile of robbers, etc. Indeed, it would be very strange for me to pretend that I had, to present myself as an expert in this field, and to attempt to profit by my victimhood—even if that victimhood were verifiable. After all, there is no substitute for competence.
Suzie Dawson admits to Christy Dopf that she doesn’t know anything about me or my work, yet that didn’t stop her from writing a biography of me and posting it on her website.
Even more bizarre would be my attempt to denigrate other people who were commenting on the same issue, especially if we were attempting to solve the same problems. Yet, Dawson has exhibited an inflexible bellicosity and belligerence, provoking journalistic warfare with many other writers, in particular those who have demonstrated far greater intellect and ability than she. The most obvious example is Whitney Webb, an investigative journalist whose work stands in the sharpest contrast to Dawson’s: where Webb produces articles that are vivid, informative, and carefully researched, Dawson filmed dull, forgettable videos that are meaningless if one does not constantly remember her baseless proclamations of victimhood. Wisely recognizing that she cannot afford to challenge established writers anymore—her slight star has faded rapidly within the last year—Dawson has decided to dust off her laptop and pen a slanderous piece in contempt of yours truly. Her followers have responded by sending me death threats, attempting to dox me, and encouraging me to commit suicide. Dawson has condemned none of this, as it is her futile hope that I succumb to the feeble public pressure and abandon my work as a writer.
The article, which I will not dignify by linking herein, depicts me in several different roles, some of them incompatible. Dawson has joined the ranks of Action 4 Assange in accusing me of being an FBI informant, an aspiring international terrorist, and a misogynistic cyberstalker—although, in the last instance, she appears to misunderstand the legal definition of cyberstalking. More to the point, though, she does not actually believe any of this, any more than she sincerely thinks that the New Zealand government orchestrated a failed attempt on her life. She is feigning belief in these ideas in a desperate, cynical effort to promote herself and her brand, both of which I have ridiculed over and over again.
No serious activist is interested in the tedious details of my squabbles with Action 4 Assange, but in the interest of clarity, I will guide you through the muck of adolescent bickering. I was never an official member of A4A, but I did make a number of appearances on their YouTube show, and I was generous enough to allow them to premiere the video, now notorious, in which I asked Bernie Sanders if he supports Julian Assange. Without my support, A4A would be even smaller and even more obscure than it is today. None of its members acknowledge this, of course, but then again, children are known to disrespect their father. To be fair, though, Andrew Zigmund did tell me how “honored” he was to have me on the show, and Taylor Hudak was nearly tearful when she thanked me for stopping by. Something tells me they will delete this video, and all of the videos in which I appeared, after I publish this article, but I have already downloaded it for future reference.
In the months that followed, Hudak accepted a number of minor media appearances to discuss the work I had been doing, asking the Democratic Party presidential debates to declare their stance on the prosecution of Assange. At first, I didn’t mind that she was doing this, believing it would give me more publicity, but after a time, I suspected that she was exploiting my work to give herself a name in the independent media. Zigmund shared my concerns when I described them to him during a meeting in Washington, D.C., although he inexplicably perpetuated the problem by giving Hudak the credit for questioning the candidates during an appearance on Redacted Tonight. When I voiced my disappointment in him, he accused me of working as an “infiltrator” for the FBI with the goal of dismantling the group.
Andrew Zigmund calls me an idiot moments before he misspells his own name.
During this time, I had commenced a romantic relationship with Christy Dopf, who was easily the most knowledgeable and compassionate member of A4A. She, too, had expressed frustrations with her cohosts, but we still decided to attend the group’s protests during the first week of Assange’s extradition hearing. We worked in D.C. while Hudak went to London, where she incited the ire of the entire organization by producing content for her own personal channel. This neither concerned nor interested me, as I was still officially unaffiliated with A4A, but a member of the group named Kimber Maddox telephoned Suzie Dawson, who describes Hudak as her “protégé”, to complain of Hudak’s transgressions. At one point, I attempted support the group by explaining to Dawson how Hudak had taken advantage of me and my work, as well, but Dawson was unhelpful, and I ended my conversation with her at once.
When we returned to our respective homes, Zigmund attempted, against the wishes of the majority of the group, to welcome Hudak back into the fold. Recognizing that he faced opposition, he took an opportunity to turn the group against me by claiming, falsely, that I had advocated for political violence during a conversation in D.C. At that moment, I realized that there was no practical hope for such an innately dysfunctional organization, so I decided to leave. Of course, the members of A4A interpreted this as proof of my purpose as an “infiltrator”, and when Dopf, seeing the madness in its embarrassing detail, decided to leave with me, Zigmund inexplicably blamed her for inviting me into the group: “Got under your skirt and blew us up.”
Andrew Zigmund claims he never slut-shamed Christy Dopf. Maybe this will help to refresh his memory.
As evidence of my bloodlust, Zigmund referenced a conversation we had in which we questioned the efficacy and ethics of political violence. I voiced support for the Black Panthers and their calls to arm the citizenry, but I also explained that unprovoked violence invariably fails to accomplish its intended ends because one cannot anticipate those ends. Zigmund, who was heavily under the influence of marijuana, became paranoid and feared that the FBI was listening in to our dialogue. He was doubly frightened because, in that same discussion, he had said he hoped someone would assassinate Vanessa Baraitser, the ruthless judge assigned to Assange’s extradition hearing, but he would not be willing to pull the trigger himself. In Dawson’s article, he alleges that the real issue is that activists must never be permitted to discuss violence, even as an abstract concept, which is absurd: does one condone slavery by discussing the life of Solomon Northup?
Seven weeks later, Dopf and I produced a video in which she described her unfortunate experiences with Zigmund and A4A, concluding with a call for activists, journalists, and commentators to put aside their egos and their narcissistic tendencies in favor of uniting behind Assange, whose plight places every one of us at risk. Unfortunately, many of her former colleagues severed ties with her, even while expressing sympathy in private, because they believed it was necessary to conceal the truth about A4A’s internal dysfunction in pursuit of “the greater good”. A number of anonymous accounts accused me of working for “intelligence agencies”, but otherwise, my public reputation appeared to be unaffected, and Dopf and I continued to produce content under the banner of The Overwritten Report.
On June 2nd, several officers with the local police department, and one FBI agent, knocked on my door. According to this agent, someone had contacted the FBI to warn them that I was planning to commit a massacre at a Black Lives Matter protest scheduled in Manchester, New Hampshire later that day. They asked me a series of very strange questions, including one inquiry about whether I was “interested in becoming a martyr, like Jesus”, but they did not detain me or arrest me, nor did they seem to be especially concerned about my collection of firearms. They even told me that, as a citizen of New Hampshire, I had the right to bring a gun to the rally, if I so desired, and they left within the hour. If anything perturbed me, it was the FBI’s prior knowledge of the types of guns I owned, even though my background checks were processed by the State Police.
Suzie Dawson, who has never presented any evidence that “western intelligence agencies” have attempted to assassinate her, tells Christy Dopf that she does not believe the FBI questioned me.
To this day, I believe that a member of A4A contacted the FBI in an attempt to harass me after he, or she, watched one of the many videos in which I display my guns. Whoever called the FBI clearly did not have a functional understanding of the 2nd Amendment, and the complaint was so frivolous that I am honestly astonished that it was even pursued. It did, however, inspire a few people to turn away from me on the grounds that I shouldn’t have spoken to the FBI without a lawyer present—and in her essay, Dawson makes this specific argument, shortly before contradicting herself with the false claim that the visit pertained to my conversations with the Democratic Party’s presidential candidates:
“Dack’s claim to fame is having asked questions of candidates about Julian Assange at public campaign events in 2019. It defies logic that any FBI interest in him would be centered around something as banal as that, rather than his close involvement with (and aspirations to become a co-host of) A4A.”
Without commenting on the baffling suggestion that I wanted to become a cohost of A4A, isn’t it interesting that my interactions with presidential candidates were too “banal” to be of significance, yet Dawson’s commentary on Assange and Snowden was enough to necessitate an assassination attempt? Her compulsive need to establish strata whereby Assange’s supporters earn relative merit is not only grotesquely self-aggrandizing, but plainly incompatible with Assange’s work. Indeed, her decision to dedicate herself to this boorish pigeonholing illustrates her shocking ignorance of the moral principles underlying the movement to free Assange, which is supposed to be about the democratization of information, and to which smug pretension is patently anathema. In her vapid pride and grubby exploitation, she has nothing in common with Assange, but everything in kind with the corporate media she routinely derides.
Now, if Dawson does want to compare the work that she and I have done for Assange, then I am more than willing to have that conversation, though it will be sadly one-sided, as she could never even hope to grasp the basics of quantitative reasoning. Broadly, there are two categories of media content: original and derivative. To use the simplest example, Wikileaks produces original content, revealing information that has not existed in any other source. Everyone who subsequently covers that story and writes commentary on it is creating derivative content. In questioning the Democrats vis-à-vis Assange, I was producing original content. Meanwhile, Dawson, in reading monotonous summaries of documents already released, was producing derivative content. The same applies for Hudak: she was producing meaningless derivative content about the original content I produced.
Dawson attempts to compensate for her embarrassing lack of perceptive intelligence by fabricating sensationalist stories about an assassination attempt, and Hudak, following her master’s example, has sought to conceal her own vacuous forgettability by presenting herself as a victim. In her case, one which is much less striking, she has accused me of creating a fake Twitter account to send her unsettling images of clowns and clocks. As is obvious to anyone who knows anything about me, I have nothing to do with that account, nor do I know who made it. My own guess is that Hudak and Dawson created it themselves in order to drum up public sympathy for themselves and to depict themselves, not for the first time, as victims. Indeed, shortly after Dawson published the article in which she accused me of running the clown-and-clock account, Hudak claimed on Twitter that she was being harassed by the London Metropolitan Police. It wasn’t until her own followers ridiculed her that she finally deleted the tweet.
One of Suzie Dawson’s supporters attempts to dox me, only to publish the address of a random, unknown person. I have censored the street addresses to protect the innocent.
Then again, isn’t Twitter, that immaculate weapon of public humiliation, described by one of my past therapists as the modern-day equivalent of throwing rotten vegetables at the hunchback in the stocks, the only reason we are here? Shortly before Dawson accused me of running the clock-and-clown account (an account which I’m still unable to find), she accused someone of creating a fake LinkedIn account to impersonate Hudak. There is no evidence that the account was intended to impersonate Hudak, who is probably not the only person in the midwestern United States with her name, and I mocked both of them for their unbecoming attempt to draw attention to themselves. I suspect that my public sullying of them, and my subsequent celebration of Dawson’s rather puerile response, solidified their intention to write a ridiculous, tedious, and illiterate article attacking me. And illiterate it is: if Dawson is writing phrases like “physically removing my voice”, then she is obviously in need of a little lesson with Strunk and White.
One of Taylor Hudak’s supporters encourages me to commit suicide after she falsely accuses me of cyberstalking.
Lest we expend many days examining the article’s inanities in full, we will content ourselves with a final slander. At some point in the piece, Hudak accuses me of flirting with her, which is a lie. It is not a misunderstanding or a misinterpretation, but a lie. She knows as well as I did that I never flirted with her, which is why she failed to present a single message or text proving that I did. She did present messages, but they contained nothing flirtatious, nothing sexualized, nothing inappropriate, nothing that could even be conceived in this sense. She is pointing at the color blue and telling you it’s green. She made this allegation, not to damage my public reputation, but in a feeble effort to endanger my relationship with Christy Dopf by suggesting that I was trying to cheat on her. Oh, if only Hudak had taken the time to review her own direct messages: if she had, then she would have realized that Christy Dopf and I didn’t begin dating until several months after the supposedly scandalous texts.
You will notice that Dopf isn’t mentioned anywhere in Dawson’s turgid tome. Her name appears once, in a crude flowchart towards the end of the essay, but without any discernible connection to the remainder of the piece. The omission is deliberate, because Dopf is capable of discrediting all of the allegations that have been made, and any allegations that may be made in the future. She is dangerous to Dawson because she has preserved their conversations over the years, many of which prove that she was consciously lying in most of her essay, and many of which would be useful to anyone attempting a comprehensive analysis of her cult. Hence the need for Dawson and A4A to minimize her and, eventually, discredit her: if she speaks out, with the much-pursued expertise of the “established target”, then Dawson’s house of cards will collapse.
Dawson routinely reminds her readers of her self-proclaimed importance, significance, and clout in the realm of underground activism, as if to warn them that, should they criticize her, then they will be ostracized from “the movement”, whatever that movement may be. We should thank her for the privilege of distancing us from the people who are gullible enough to believe her laughable stories and slavish enough to submit to her unlettered assessment. Indeed, the only reason I wrote this response to her is because it is my responsibility to her many other victims: I want them to see that you have little to fear from Dawson, that she is rapidly approaching the end of whatever fictitious career she believes she has built, and that we will continue to do our work long after she returns to New Zealand in disgrace—but, fortunately, not in danger.
Dopf and I have spoken several times about this silly situation, and we expect Dawson to write an article about her soon enough. When that happens, she will find that she has contradicted herself, and the textual evidence will be overwhelming. However, we cannot stop her from publishing even more slander because she is capable of nothing else. Why else would she accuse me of working for the FBI to dismantle A4A with the eventual goal of discrediting her? If my experiences with A4A have taught me anything, it is that the ability to see through the propaganda system of the military-industrial complex does not make one a decent or even thoughtful person. Taylor Hudak is the Laura Poitras of the underground media, and Suzie Dawson is the J.T. Leroy. Do yourself a favor and ignore their self-promotion.