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Andrew
Hampton MICKEL
Andrew "Andy"
Mickel (born
March 13, 1979) is a former resident of Springfield, Ohio. He
graduated from Springfield's North High School in 1998 and went
on to serve three years with the U.S. Army's 101st Airborne
Division before attending Evergreen State College.
On November
19, 2002, at 1:27 am, Mickel shot and killed Officer David
Mobilio of the Red Bluff Police Department.
Officer
Mobilio was married with Linda Mobilio and had one son, Luke.
Officer Mobilio was regularly assigned to the D.A.R.E. program
and was working for a sick officer the night he was killed.
Mobilio was shot twice in the back, and once in the head at
"very close range". A handmade "Don't Tread on Us" flag was left
beside Mobilio's body.
There were no
witnesses to the killing, and the crime would have gone unsolved
had there not been Internet postings about the crime six days
later. The postings read, "Hello Everyone, my name's Andy. I
killed a Police Officer in Red Bluff, California in a motion to
bring attention to, and halt, the police-state tactics that have
come to be used throughout our country. Now I'm coming forward,
to explain that this killing was also an action against
corporate irresponsibility." It was signed "Andy McCrae", an
alias of Mickel's.
Mickel said
that "prior to my actions in Red Bluff, I formed a corporation
under the name 'Proud and Insolent Youth Incorporated', so that
I could use the destructive immunity of corporations and turn it
on something that actually should be destroyed."
The name is
taken from the novel Peter Pan written by Scottish author
J. M. Barrie. Mickel wrote, "Just before their final duel and
Capt. Hook's demise, Hook said to Peter, 'Proud and insolent
youth, prepare to meet thy doom.'
Mickel
insisted on representing himself during his trial. His parents
have been quoted as referring to their son as Theodore
Kaczynski, aka, the Unabomber. They say that their son, like
Kaczynski, is wrong but mentally ill and should be treated as
such.
In April 2005, Mickel was convicted of one count
of first-degree murder. He was subsequently sentenced to death,
and is being held on Death Row at San Quentin State Prison while
awating his automatic appeal to the California Supreme Court.
In September 2009, The California Supreme Court,
declaring that "In California, a criminal defendant has no right
to represent himself or herself on appeal," appointed attorney
Lawrence A. Gibbs to represent Mickel for his automatic appeal. In
November 2010, Gibbs received an extension to file the appeal
brief by January 14, 2011.
Wikipedia.org
Murder, Incorporated?
The Targets Were Capitalism, and
Officer Mobilio. The Accused Is Dead Serious About His Quirky
Defense
By William Booth - The
Washington Post
April 4, 2005
The coming revolution against the United States government was
announced on the Internet via a manifesto by a self-described "proud
and insolent youth," a college sophomore who sought to be our
leader. This was to be the spark:
At 1:27 a.m. on Nov. 19, 2002, Officer David Mobilio of
the Red Bluff Police Department was working the graveyard shift
when he pulled his cruiser into a gas station in his quiet little
farm town. As he stood beside the car, the 31-year-old husband and
father of a toddler was shot three times, twice in the back and
once in the head, at very close range.
Beside Mobilio's dead body, someone left a
handmade flag with a picture of a snake's head and the words "Don't
Tread on Us."
A well-chosen spot for an ambush. That is what investigators
later concluded, especially when they learned the suspected
assailant had Army Ranger training. A lonely crossroads. Poorly
lit. No station attendant on duty. No witnesses. It was a killing
that might have never been solved.
That is, until a confession appeared on the Internet. Six
days after the shooting, a manifesto appeared on more than a dozen
Web sites operated by the left-leaning Independent Media Center.
It began: "Hello Everyone, my name's Andy. I killed a Police
Officer in Red Bluff, California in a motion to bring attention to,
and halt, the police-state tactics that have come to be used
throughout our country. Now I'm coming forward, to explain that
this killing was also an action against corporate irresponsibility."
The tract -- which managed to mingle an almost chirpy tone
with leftist cant -- was signed by "Andrew McCrae," later found to
be an alias for Andrew Mickel, a student at a liberal arts college
who before enrolling had served three years stateside with the U.S.
Army's 101st Airborne Division.
Mickel explained that "prior to my action in Red Bluff, I
formed a corporation under the name 'Proud and Insolent Youth
Incorporated,' so that I could use the destructive immunity of
corporations and turn it on something that actually should be
destroyed." The name is a reference to the novel "Peter Pan." "Just
before their final duel and Capt. Hook's demise, Hook said to
Peter, 'Proud and Insolent Youth, prepare to meet thy doom,' "
Mickel wrote.
"Now, Peter Pan hates pirates, and I hate pirates, and
corporations are nothing but a bunch of pirates," he wrote. "It's
time to send them to a watery grave, and rip them completely out
of our lives."
Mickel wrote that he was incorporating to shield himself
from prosecution. He urged everyone to join his board of directors.
His stock would be free. He called for insurrection. A national
strike. Mass resistance. "But don't do anything you're
uncomfortable with," Mickel added, "and don't pressure anyone else
into anything they're uncomfortable with."
If this was a prank, it would be inane. But there was
Mobilio, who would be hailed at his memorial service as a "fallen
hero," lying in a puddle of blood.
The capital murder trial against Mickel began 10 days ago in
Colusa, a county seat an hour's drive south of the killing. The
trial was moved here because of publicity in Red Bluff.
Mickel, who just turned 26, sits at the defense table
dressed in jeans and open-collared shirt, with a neat pile of
manila folders and a composition book stacked in front of him. He
looks like an attentive student ready for class.
He is tall, lean and jailhouse pale, and with his jutting
chin and beaked nose, he looks avian, like a heron or crane, all
angles and limbs. His eyes are not a madman's eyes, but they look
dilated, nothing but pupils, and when he turns to face you, he
stares. In the antebellum courthouse, surrounded by sheriff's
deputies, the stare is merely awkward. Imagine, though, those
black eyes at night, with him holding a gun.
If convicted, Mickel faces a possible death sentence. He has
waived his right to counsel, insisting that he represent himself
in court.
The bizarre case raises all kinds of questions about the
mysterious motivations of Andrew Mickel -- is he just some self-obsessed
middle-class brat, or is he the most cold-blooded kind of domestic
terrorist? Or maybe both?
Not to mince words: Is Mickel crazy? That's what his
friends think. His parents contend he is mentally ill. And if he
is unbalanced, they argue, their son should not be allowed to
serve as his own attorney, which is only going to lead, they fear,
to a speedy guilty verdict and a sentence of death, which is what
the prosecution is after.
Mickel's parents think their son is like
Theodore Kaczynski, the Unabomber. Guilty, but sick.
Then there's the other disturbing possibility: What if, as
Andrew Mickel maintains, he is sane, is exercising his free will,
is fighting for a cause he believes in, until the bitter end? Like
another infamous defendant, Timothy McVeigh. Only in Mickel's
case, it is a jihad from the far left.
'Gone
Kaczynski'
If you are a nice, normal,
decent mom and dad, and your son claims he assassinated a police
officer in a revolt against multinational corporations -- what do
you do?
Desperate, the Mickels sought help and advice from one of
the few people who share their experience: the Unabomber's brother,
who like the Mickels, turned in his family member to the
authorities.
As Karen and Stan Mickel, churchgoing college professors,
saw it, their son had somehow "gone Kaczynski."
"I just see these remarkable, these eerie, similarities
between the two cases," says David Kaczynski, the brother of Ted
the Unabomber, who is serving four life terms in a maximum-security
federal prison after pleading guilty to mail bombings -- fueled by
his hatred of technology and psychiatry -- that killed three
people and maimed two. (Ted Kaczynski agreed to a plea bargain to
save himself from a possible death sentence after he fought to
represent himself and deny his lawyers the opportunity to present
evidence that he was a paranoid schizophrenic. David Kaczynski is
now an anti-death penalty advocate.)
Mickel's manifesto shares with the Unabomber's a persecuted,
elaborate grandiosity, as well as heroic rhetoric ("if this be
treason, make the most of it") and a call to revolution ("Teenagers!
Smash it while your youth still helps you to see it!").
And like Kaczynski, who got the New York Times and The
Washington Post to print his manifesto, Mickel used the media: in
his case, cyberspace.
"It's almost crazy," David Kaczynski says. "That this is
justice and that you have here a mentally ill defendant who
refuses to let the most pertinent information be presented."
And crazy is what this case is about, at least to the
defendant's distraught parents.
But seen another way, as the prosecutors do, Mickel -- with
his stubborn stoicism, his cold calculation, his military
training, his anti-government diatribes -- seems a cousin to
McVeigh. Mickel sees himself as the vanguard of revolution.
McVeigh thought the same thing. It is as if Mickel, in his
thinking, had gone so far to the fringe left that he started to
look a lot like the fringe right.
In his opening statement to the jury, the Associated Press
reported that Mickel said, "I want to tell you that I did ambush
and kill David Mobilio." The police officer's widow was weeping in
the courtroom. Mickel did not express remorse. He has pled not
guilty.
Instead, according to the
Associated Press, Mickel held up a ball that was black on one side,
white on the other and told jurors they were getting only one side
of the story. He promised to provide his side during the trial.
Mickel is scheduled to begin his defense on Tuesday. "I'm going to
have to tell you that stuff later," he told the jury. "I don't
have a sound-bite defense."
A Torrent on the Web
In the days after his
manifesto showed up online, the Independent Media Center sites
where it appeared were alive with messages debating the act.
A writer in Seattle urged "solidarity with cop killers" and
celebrated that "another one bites the dust." A poster in
Washington, D.C., suggested that Mickel, with his military service,
might be a government "agent provocateur" engaged in "a
disinformation ploy" to discredit the aims of the left. Somebody
in Oregon wrote, "I'm not worried about the dead cop -- [expletive]
him." Instead, the message continued, "I'm worried about playing
into their hands. Shooting that cop will be remembered as the
first major step in publicly criminalizing anti-corporate activism."
Other voices emerged. "So now he's some kind of martyr? He's
a cold-blooded murdering coward," wrote one from Seattle. Someone
else worried that the independent media sites, which are open
forums and generally take a left-leaning stand against the Iraq
war, the Bush administration and excesses of global corporate
capitalism, was serving as a kind of "incubator . . . a magnet for
deranged losers."
The angry rhetoric -- the applause for cop-killing -- harks
back to the days when anti-government militias and McVeigh arose
from the far-right fringe. Some of Mickel's friends suspect he
entered an echo chamber of anti-government talk and that it served
as an outlet for some kind of violent urge growing inside him.
In cases of sensational crimes, friends and families of
killers try to understand what happened by mining the past for
telling signs. "I don't want to pretend to understand how anyone
would do something like this," says Griffin House, a lifelong
friend of Mickel and now a musician who lives in Nashville. "It's
just scary to think how far he went over the edge, how deep he got
into it."
But, House says, "I guess I'm talking to you
because here is someone I knew as a kid and I don't want this
vicious picture painted of him."
Mickel grew up in Springfield, Ohio, the middle of three
sons raised by Karen and Stan (she teaches math; he teaches
Chinese). By all accounts, loved and indulged. Not a loner, not a
joiner, either.
A strong, lanky kid, Mickel never got into
fights. No dope. No beer. He dated girls, but no one recalls a
major romance. Andy Mickel was in Drama Club; he acted in school
plays, performing the role of Tiresias, the blind seer, in "Oedipus
Rex." Intelligent, he was bored in high school. It annoyed him, he
didn't like sitting in class all day. He made crummy grades.
"I don't know if anybody has bragged to you about him,"
House says, "but Andy was one of the funniest, brightest people
you'd ever meet in your life."
Ben Poston, a friend who continues to correspond with Mickel
in jail, recalls that the two formed a kind of Dead Poets Society
while they were in high school; they called themselves the "Stowaway
Journeymen," and Mickel's secret name was "Flying Courage." The
two would go to a park and read aloud Robert Frost and Walt
Whitman, and Mickel would read his own poetry.
"He was an inspiration for me in high school," says Poston,
who is now a reporter at an Ohio newspaper.
While Mickel's friends went to college, Poston says he
believes Mickel went into the Army to challenge himself, mentally
and physically. "Just another way that Andy thought out of the
box," says House.
When Mickel finished his three years of service at Fort
Campbell in Kentucky, rising to the rank of specialist, he came
home and dumped his fatigues and gear on a porch and told his
buddies they could have whatever they wanted. He got in his maroon
Mustang and headed west. He was moving on.
To Evergreen State College, a liberal bastion in Olympia,
Wash., where students do not get letter grades and are free to
pursue independent study. In his freshman year, he took a class
called "Barking at the Moon" with professor Sara Rideout
Huntington, where they studied the use of metaphor and read a
Cormac McCarthy novel, watched Susan Sontag films and delved into
the meaning of kitsch. Afterward, Mickel spent a year on "an
individual contract," as Evergreen State calls it, working on his
writing under the guidance of Huntington.
At first, Huntington recalls, his work was filled with
abstractions, musings about God and free will and society. Then he
started writing stories of "adventures," riding on freight trains
or breaking into abandoned houses.
Mickel studied anarchist texts and was interested in social
justice issues, but Huntington says a lot of the students do that.
In that way, he fit right in at Evergreen State.
"I just didn't see this coming," Huntington says. "I wish I
can say he was insane, maybe that would explain this, but he
didn't seem to be. He was hardworking, polite, conscientious,
respectful. Obviously, someone who does this is out of their mind.
But I didn't see it."
Mickel went to the West Bank and Colombia with human rights
groups. He became interested in the Palestinian cause and the U.S.
role in Latin America. He joined rallies against the World Trade
Organization and the International Monetary Fund.
His close friends knew that Mickel suffered from depression,
underwent counseling and took antidepressants.
His parents have been wary of talking with the press because
their son is refusing to speak with them, and they are afraid of
alienating him further at a time when he might need them most.
With both Stan and Karen Mickel on the telephone, Karen read a
statement: "We are in anguish that this tragedy occurred. Andy
suffered from and was treated for depression during his childhood
and through his teenage years. But we never imagined he would turn
to violence. There were no signs of it happening."
His parents believe that their son's depression must have
taken a turn for the worse -- into paranoia or delusion or
schizophrenia.
Poston says in his letters with Mickel, his friend spoke of
his depression as sometimes "debilitating" and confessed that he
struggled to stay focused, to get up in the morning.
A family friend, Mary Patton, says, "I think he is a very
sick young man and we as a nation are still failing our people
with mental illness."
But when pressed, Patton admits she doesn't
really have any evidence to support her diagnosis, except, of
course, the fact that Mickel shot a cop, bragged about it and is
now holding up a black-and-white ball in a courtroom in
California.
Live Free or Die
Several days after the slaying of Mobilio,
Mickel flew from Washington state to New Hampshire and checked
into a Holiday Inn in Concord, across the street from the
statehouse.
The Mickels spoke by telephone with their son
the day before his arrest. During their conversation, according to
others who have knowledge of the phone call, Andy Mickel confessed
to the killing. His parents turned him in.
"You know, in many criminal cases, people won't step up and
say what they know, and this is their son," says Springfield
Police Chief Steve Moody, who was the first investigator to
interview the Mickels. "Even though he did this horrific act, even
though they love their son. They did the right thing."
In one of his online postings before he was arrested, Mickel
says he chose New Hampshire because its state constitution
contains a passage offering what he interpreted as the right of
citizens to revolt: "Whenever the ends of government are perverted
and public liberty manifestly endangered and all other means of
redress are ineffectual, the people may and of right ought to
reform the old or establish a new government."
Mickel was arrested the next day at the Holiday Inn. For
hours he was surrounded by a SWAT team, which tried to coax him
out. Finally, they agreed to Mickel's request to allow him to
speak with a local reporter, Sarah Vos of the Concord Monitor, who
was handed a telephone in the hotel lobby and told by agents just
to listen. Vos told reporters at the scene that Mickel said, "I
killed a cop in Red Bluff, California, in an effort to protest
police brutality" and asked her to read his declaration of
independence posting. And then he came out with his hands up.
At his New Hampshire arraignment, Mickel appeared shirtless,
wrapped in a blanket, with a bandage around his head. Police told
reporters he had declared himself a political prisoner.
His parents hired an attorney, Mark Sisti, to defend him and
Sisti quickly sought to challenge Mickel's competency. Sisti got a
mental health expert to examine Mickel and his writings. That
report was sealed by the court, Sisti says. His client fought him
all the way.
"Significant psychiatric disorders were identified," is all
Sisti will say of the sealed report. The lawyer says the judge in
New Hampshire ruled that the court did not need to hear evidence
on Mickel's mental competency because it was an extradition
hearing. As Sisti sought to file an appeal with the New Hampshire
Supreme Court, Mickel was shipped out to California, and the
matter of competency was dropped.
A Prisoner's Story
From jail, Mickel has corresponded with friends. In one
letter, he insisted that he was fighting for everyone's rights and
warned his friend not to judge him. Mostly, though, his letters
are chatty.
But Mickel sent his friend Poston a copy of a story he had
written, titled "The Just Barely Short of Holy Bible (The Story of
Uz) by Andy Mickel." The text is a jumble. Biblical. Hectoring.
Violent.
Over the 20 pages, the "Author" puts the "Character" through
anguish and torment -- attacked by monster birds "with their giant
razor beaks," the protagonist covered in boils and blood, "castrated
and paraded before lovely women."
At one point, the Character says, "I have been sent by
ANDREW, Author of the Story. Thus saith He -- Let My People Go!"
Then the Author Andrew becomes God.
Later, the text breaks into large print, capital letters: "JEHOVAH!!!
YOU IDIOTIC WHORE!!! YOU MAGGOT!!! YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND THIS, DOWN
HERE!!! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING, YOU TYRANT!!! YOU DON'T
LOVE ME!!! YOU DON'T LOVE ME!!!!! BUT I DON'T CARE, BECAUSE I HATE
YOU!!!!!"
Toward the end, the Character is hanged on his "new age"
crucifix. "That's how the story ends -- Character went to Hell,"
Mickel wrote.
But there is a coda, where the Character enters a kind of
Heaven "without boredom, without depression." On the last page of
his story, Mickel scrawled a crude, sad-eyed cartoon face with a
screaming, open mouth, and in the back of the figure's throat,
Mickel inked, "I'm finished with exams."
'Something Important'
A week before the start of his
trial, Mickel agrees to speak with a Washington Post reporter at
the Colusa County jail. He is brought into the visiting room,
wearing an orange striped shirt, orange drawstring pants and
slippers. In the beginning, he looks nervous and shy. He carries a
manila folder and a pen and pad.
Through bulletproof glass, speaking over an
intercom, Mickel produces diplomas from his time in the Army and
holds them up to the smeary window. Basic training. His Ranger
School course. Airborne jump school. His honorary discharge. He
looks his visitor in the eye, but is evasive in his answers.
How did he like the Army?
"Good and bad," Mickel says without any real
emotion. "I enjoyed it. Lots of good people. But pretty regimented."
He shrugs. Like, whatever.
How did he pick the assumed name McCrae? (One of his friends
back in Ohio guessed that it was a reference to "Digger McCrae," a
comic book super-thief.) "Where did you get that?" he asks and
shakes his head. Now he looks perturbed. No, Mickel says, he chose
the name from the character Augustus McCrae, the ex-Texas Ranger
in the Larry McMurtry novel "Lonesome Dove."
Why is he representing himself? "From the beginning," he
says, "I knew that's the way it had to be." Why? "I do think I'm
doing something important." He looks like he has a secret he is
just dying to tell. But he won't.
One of his friends says Mickel told him he was amassing a
document -- hundreds of pages long -- that will explain all.
Mickel has referred to this still-unreleased manifesto as "the
Whopper."
Mickel won't divulge the Whopper's contents. He won't answer
questions about his case's similarity to McVeigh or Kaczynski. It
all starts to feel like a tease. That there is no further
explanation. That his Internet postings are about it.
Mickel interrupts and asks his visitor's angle on the case.
"All my friends think I'm insane and they don't understand,"
Mickel says. Then he watches the reporter jot that down and says,
"Don't write that part down."
The insane part or the friends part? he is asked. Mickel
warns the reporter that he is not some "lone wolf" or "some crazy
Ted Kaczynski."
Then what is he? Mickel is asked. What's your defense? "I'm
not going into that," he says. "It'll all be out there in court."
He admits that he suffers from depression, but is dealing
with it. Is he taking medication? He's not going to get into that.
"I've learned a lot about myself while in jail," he says. "Not to
sound cheesy, but it's been a growing experience for me."
Later in the 30-minute interview, Mickel tries to explain
his cause. "Everyone thinks I did this to get media attention and
to read about myself in the newspaper," he says. That is "absurd,"
he says. "I do think I'm doing something important and that people
understand what this is about. I want the media to cover this for
that purpose. Not for me."
What does he think of the coverage so far? "I don't think
they like me," Mickel says. And in this moment, he seems like a
big, dumb, very dangerous kid.
So why wasn't another psychiatric evaluation performed?
Because no one asked. That is the way the judicial system works.
Mickel had pushed his parents away. They have not hired another
lawyer.
In California, Mickel's request to represent himself was
granted by a judge in Tehama County, who could have independently
ordered a mental exam but did not.
A Question of Competency
The district attorney prosecuting the case, Gregg Cohen,
declined to be interviewed for this article, but in the hallway of
the courthouse in Colusa, he said there had not been any
competency hearing for Mickel "because that was dealt with in New
Hampshire."
In pretrial proceedings, Colusa County Superior Court Judge
S. William Abel did not raise the issue of competency, nor has
Mickel, nor has the attorney James Reichle, who was appointed to
serve as Mickel's "advisory counsel."
Reichle says Mickel meets all the legal requirements of
mental competency: He is aware of his surroundings, the charges
and the possible penalty, and engaged in his own defense. "And the
law is that if you are competent enough to waive the right to an
attorney, then you are competent enough to represent yourself,"
Reichle says. "A normal person could ask how could anyone sane do
this, but that is not a legal issue."
As for Mickel's depression, Reichle says: "Everybody in
America is on Prozac."
Reichle, a former prosecutor, now semi-retired, takes a
libertarian stance on the case -- Mickel remains adamant that his
history of depression should remain out of bounds, Reichle says,
and he believes the defendant should have that right.
"He is sensitive about it because he wants to make a
statement and he doesn't want the jury to see him as some crazy
wacko," Reichle says.
Of course, his parents are going to say he's crazy,
Reichle says. But Mickel "is extremely bright," his advisory
counsel observes. "He just thinks differently from you and me."