Friday, September 24, 2010

STOLEN BADGE - CLIFFORD CARTER - REWARD

 
Where is Cliff Carter's badge? Dawn McSweeney stole it from 4995 Prince of Wales, NDG, Montreal on October 7, 1996. Whatever she did with it, it has to be somewhere.
 
Cliff wore that Deputy Sheriff's badge with pride. It is more precious to me than gold.
 
If Dawn McSweeney thinks that I will ever give up looking for it, she is sorely mistaken. Whatever she did with it, it is somewhere - and I will pay a handsome reward for its return.
 
I will pay an even bigger reward to see Dawn McSweeney in prison.
 
Can you help ?  I'll make it worth your while.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

CAN YOU SHAME A SNAKE - OR A POLITICIAN ?

 
FACEBOOK
DAAN - DOMESTIC ABUSE AWARENESS NETWORK
September 18, 2010
 
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000343040806
Phyllis Carter Domestic Abuse Awareness NetworkCANADA IS PARADISE FOR CRIMINALS. I am a 74 year old Canadian journalist, crime victim and cancer patient. I was attacked and robbed in my home in Montreal. I managed to call 911 The police I called to rescue me - helped the thief instead. Since then, the Montreal Police have refused again and again to take any action against the thief, Dawn McSweeney, and her self-proclaimed, "partners in crime." All the details of these crimes are reported on my blogs: PHYLLIS CARTER'S JOURNAL at http://phylliscartersjournal.blogspost.com/ and http://dawnmcsweeney.blogspot.com/. I do not want money. I will not accept any compensation. I want justice.
Yesterday, I  reported this case to someone in Australia. The details of this case and the truth about Montreal, Quebec and Canada's Injustice System - are being talked about by people all over the world now - and I will keep reporting these facts until justice is done. 
 
NO PEACE WITHOUT JUSTICE  - Luke 18
 

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

I HAVE BEEN A COWARD

 
FACEBOOK
I HAVE BEEN A COWARD
September 8, 2010
 
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000343040806
 
Phyllis Carter > Global National, CTV and CBC News :

News reports that women protesters at the G-20 demonstrations in Toronto were threatened with rape by Toronto Police. The first time the "partners in crime" had me picked up by the Montreal Police for protesting the robbery by Dawn McSweeney, the police officer who arrived on the scene in a fury threatened me with a full body search. I will post the whole story at PHYLLIS CARTER'S JOURNAL - http://phylliscartersjournal.blogspot.com/ in the next few days. The piece is titled - I HAVE BEEN A COWARD - and it was published originally in my news letter, VICTIMS' VOICES, and distributed to members of government and the media. After all these years and after all that Dawn McSweeney and her partners in crime have done to me and to my family, the Montreal Police still refuse to take any action against them.
 
 
Victims' Voices
 
An independent, non-profit newsletter
dedicated to victims' rights
Copyright: Phyllis Carter, Montreal, Quebec, Canada,
Founded September 15, 2000
 
Montreal, Quebec, May, 2001
 
I HAVE BEEN A COWARD
 
I started publishing Victims' Voices in September, 2000, after trying everything I could think of to get the MUC Police to take action and recover my belongings stolen in 1996. Through Victims' Voices, I am publicizing my story and my observations about other injustices - particularly those that affect people in the Montreal area - as well as the stories other people tell me. My purpose is to focus attention on injustices in our so-called Justice System. Stop telling victims to forgive and forget ! We deserve justice. So I encourage silent victims to speak up.
 
But I have been afraid to tell one aspect of my own story. I have kept quiet about the events of May 23, 1998 when an MUC Police officer with some personal problems of his own took action to intimidate me, to humiliate me and to destroy my credibility. I have been afraid to publicize this part of my story because I was afraid that people would believe exactly what that policeman hoped people would believe. I have kept this part of my story quiet - except for my repeated appeals to the Police Ethics Commissioner. But Me.Denis Racicot and his lawyer, Me. Paul Monty refused to act. I suddenly realized that my silence is exactly what these officers of the law have wanted all along. So here is the truth for all  the world to see:
 
A Montreal Police Officer sent me to hospital
for "thirty-days' mental evaluation".
 
This is what happened: On May 23, 1998, I was walking in the vicinity of  the teenage thief's house. My purpose for being there was to draw attention to the robbery. After appealing for help to the police and many other authorities for two years, I felt I had run out of options. When every reasonable effort had failed,
 
I decided that PEACEFUL PROTEST was all I had left
 
It was late afternoon. I was walking along the street by the curb across from the thief's house. I was not on private property. I was not impeding anyone's movements. I was not blocking traffic. I did not approach any vehicle, dwelling or person. I was not making any sound. I was not threatening anyone in any way. I wore posters saying why I was there. I walked slowly along the street, praying silently for protection and for justice. I prayed that someone in authority or perhaps the media would hear about me and would care enough to help my case. I carried a wooden cross - because it was my Christianity that had made me an easy target for my niece. The thief, Dawn McSweeney knew that my mother felt terrible about my conversion and she used that to turn my mother against me and set me up for the robbery.
 
As I walked along the curb, an MUC police car came up from my right, did a 180 degree turn and screeched to a halt immediately in front of me. I stood absolutely still, facing the officer as he jumped out of his car. Red-faced, he demanded "What's going on here!"
 
I explained. The officer ordered me to leave the area immediately. I laid down my cross carefully on the lawn beside me to avert any concern on the part of the nervous policeman.
 
I WOULD NOT OBEY
 
I told the officer that I would not leave because "I believe we have a right to peaceful protest in this country." I said that, if he believed I was doing something illegal, I was ready to submit to arrest and an opportunity to have my case heard in court.
 
He just glared at me. He was so edgy. He paced back and forth in front of me making offensive, aggressive comments each time he passed close to me. "You're no goddamn Christian! I'm a Christian! You're no goddamn Christian!"
 
I offered to remove my placards to assure him that I had nothing hidden. He burst out, "No! No! You wear them! You wear them!" (Yes, he did repeat himself that way.)
Then he said that, where I was going, I would be subjected to a thorough search. His tone conveyed a frightening image. He meant it to do just that. My heart started pounding, but I wouldn't let him see my fear. I took a deep breath and prayed.
 
A second police car arrived with two young officers. One of them was in the process of putting on rubber gloves as he approached. I was surprised! I'm a widow in my 60's, not a thug. I said, "Don't worry. I'm a Jew and a Christian." I spoke spontaneously to reassure the young officer that I was not aggressive. I had no way of foreseeing how my benign statement would be misinterpreted.
 
The first officer suddenly exploded ! "My brother died of AIDS!" he raged. "Now I'm going to take care of you ! I'm not going to arrest you ! I'm going to send you to the hospital for thirty-days' mental evaluation !"
 
I did nothing to oppose him. In fact I apologized to him quietly. I felt sorry that he had lost his brother. I had not intended to infer anything about people suffering from AIDS. I had only intended to assure the young officer that he had no reason to fear me.
 
All this did nothing to calm the angry policeman. His manner, from the moment he arrived on the scene, was like that of a raging bull desperate to break out of his stall.
 
A man and woman passing by stopped their bikes and also tried to calm him and reason with him, but he raged on. Through all of this unique experience in my life, I conducted myself with gentleness and dignity. Under fire, I hung on tight to God, and hope.
 
The angry policeman called for an ambulance - an ambulance that might have been needed to carry a sick person to hospital. When it arrived, I asked the officer if I might move my car off the street to the home of a friend who lived close by. If I was to be hospitalized for thirty days, my car would surely be towed away.
 
"You're not going to move your car!" he snarled. "I'm going to have it towed to the pound and it's going to cost you sixteen dollars a day!" I didn't say a word. I submitted.
 
I stepped up into the ambulance and I was taken to the Royal Victoria Hospital, miles away from Pierrefonds where I had been picketing the home of the thief. It was a long drive.
 
By the time I was seen, it was about midnight. Since my car was many miles away, I had no way to get home. I appeased the very strange doctor who wanted me to stay the night. I said I wouldn't mind spending the night in the waiting room. He said, "Do you see this? I am wearing a white coat. That means I am a doctor. You are a patient, so you have to wear this little blue gown." I was definitely not going to argue with him.
 
Good friends came in the middle of the night to get my keys and my car registration so they could rescue my car. But I stayed until morning so as to avoid complications.
 
In the morning, another psychiatrist noticed me in passing. He stopped what he was doing and looked at me. "What are you doing here?" he asked. I wondered if he was someone I knew. As it turned out, he was just expressing surprise to see me there. He saw at a glance that I didn't belong there. I told him what had happened and he sent me home.
 
I reported all this to the Police Ethics Commissioner, Maitre Denis Racicot, but he has refused to act on any part of my case. I advised him that the officer who was so enraged at me has the potential to do serious harm to anyone who might be less docile, but the Commissioner has closed the file, and his ears - and his eyes.
 
Through all of this, since the robbery of October 7, 1996, all my requests for police reports have been ignored.
 
PERSPECTIVE
 
There is another aspect to this story that is quite an eye-opener. I had attended a seminar in a Chinese church in downtown Montreal, earlier in the day that I was arrested: That is the correct term, because I was stopped by the police - from doing something that I believe is a human right. The keynote speaker was a Chinese missionary. During her presentation she reported that, in China, people are no longer sent to mental institutions for being dissidents. Ironically, in Montreal, Quebec, Canada, that very same day in 1998, a woman was sent to a mental hospital for committing a peaceful protest.
 
In order to intimidate, discredit and silence me, in the year 2007, shortly after my mother's death, Dawn McSweeney's partners in crime obtained a court order declaring that I was insane and dangerous and, once again, Montreal Police arrested me, taking me this time to the Jewish General Hospital for a thirty-day mental evaluation.
 
After a day, due to overcrowding in the JGH emergency department, I was transferred to the Royal Victoria Hospital, where doctors hearing my story were incredulous. They couldn't believe this could happen, as they told a reporter from The Suburban weekly Montreal newspaper. I was released unconditionally after a total of three days.
 
The Suburban reported the story in two parts in September, 2007 under the headlines THE PHYLLIS CARTER DETENTION and CONDEMNED IN FOUR MINUTES ( in absentia.)
 
See all the details of these human rights violations in Montreal, Quebec, Canada at http://dawnmcsweeney.blogspot.com.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

MY DEMANDS - THE PRICE OF PEACE

 
HERE ARE MY DEMANDS:
 
Every item that Dawn McSweeney and her "partners in crime" stole from me must be returned to me without further delay.
 
My father's will must be re-instated and all the property and money taken by Kenneth Gregoire Prud'homme and the "partners in crime" - through the fraudulent will they made in my mother's name when she was 92 years old - must be returned to my father's chosen heirs - his children and grandchildren - as named specifically in his own will.
 
I want Dawn McSweeney tried in criminal court without further delay.
 
THERE WILL BE NO PEACE FOR ANYONE UNTIL THERE IS JUSTICE.
 
Phyllis Carter

Friday, September 3, 2010

THE RAPE OF A JEWISH FAMILY

 
I hesitated to use the word "rape", but it is the most accurate word I could think of to describe how Dawn McSweeney and her self-proclaimed "partners in crime" stripped my entire family bare of everything we possessed, all my life's most precious belongings, the children's and grandchildren's designated inheritance  - and even of each other.
 
It wasn't accomplished in one fell swoop. My then teenage niece, Dawn McSweeney, worked her schemes on my aged mother over a period of time.
 
Dawn hated me from the time she was a child because I questioned her behaviour back then - her vulgarity toward her parents, her violence, her arrogance. The first time I was exposed to it was after my darling husband died in 1992. It was then that I started spending nights at my sister Debbie's house. I was grieving for my husband and alone and Debbie and her husband Ed did not sleep at night. So we spent the nights talking. And Dawn, a young girl at the time, and her baby sister - whom I shall not name, did not sleep either.
 
So it was then that I was witness to Dawn's behaviour, and it was then that I protested, and it was then that Debbie and Ed told me to mind my own business. and it was then that Dawn first let it be known how much she hated me.
 
I had almost nothing to do with Dawn for years. I might have seen her in passing. In the summer of 1996, Dawn demonstrated her hatred for me again when friends who had helped me when I first fell ill in 1993 came to the house for a short visit.
 
It was that summer when my mother's attitude toward me became strange. She would sit in her big armchair glaring at me, not saying anything, but glaring at me. I didn't know why, but it hurt. I could not have foreseen that this was a harbinger of a nightmare that would befall our family in a few short months.
 
I was aware that summer, that Dawn McSweeney was stirring up some kind of trouble. Since my friends stopped by that summer, there was reason to believe Dawn was up to something. But what? I had no idea. But it was then that Dawn told my mother, in my presence that my friends who professed to love me, really hated me.
 
Dawn had invited the two teenagers outside - ostensibly for teen talk - while the adults sat in the living room chatting. When the family left, Dawn told my mother that the kids couldn't stand me. In fact, she said, they "despised" me. They only pretended to love me, "for fun".
 
Incidentally, we are still friends all these years later. The son, Robbie just got married in August, 2010.
 
It was after that visit that my mother's attitude toward me changed. My mother had pleaded me to "come home" two years earlier when she learned I was sick. After Dawn's intervention that summer, it was made clear that I was no longer wanted.
 
At the beginning of October, 1996, when Dawn and Alex suddenly moved in and took over, I felt the sky falling down on me.
 
I don't think Dawn could have foreseen how her plan to rob me and displace me would evolve into the full-scale destruction of the entire family. She set out to force me out of my parents' home and assume my position in the family. I was very close to my father all my life. The first born.
 
Based on her history, I had no doubt that Dawn coveted and that she would pilfer and I begged my mother to keep her out of my rooms.. But my mother turned on me saying, "Dawn doesn't need your jewellery. She has her own jewellery. She has better jewellery than you."
 
On October 5, 1996, I did a new, detailed  inventory of all my belongings, anticipating that Dawn would steal. What I could not have foreseen in any rational expectation was that a Montreal Police officer would turn over all my life's belongings to her. She could not have foreseen that either. What a coup !
 
Christ was the key Dawn McSweeney used to open the door to 4995 Prince of Wales and make herself at home. Knowing how hurt my mother was by my decision to be baptized, Dawn used my mother's fear to ingratiate herself and make herself and her boyfriend, Alex Lavergne, the heroes coming to my mother's rescue from the enemy within the house - the betrayer of the faith and the family.
 
What I did not know at the time and did not find out until about four years later was that money had been stolen from my mother sometime before Dawn and Alex actually moved in at the beginning of October. Dawn and Debbie always had complete access in the house. No one else ever did, not since we were teenagers.
 
I had access around the house while I lived there from early in 1994 until I was attacked on October 7, 1996.  But my mother had a locked closet. I never gave much thought to what might be there. Perhaps precious old family photographs, memorabilia, now that I think about it.
 
Our family home was full of memories for me. I had lived there from the time I was to turn sixteen until I my first marriage. My mother never threw anything out, so many of our childhood things were still about. My sleigh still hung in the garage and there were photographs of the family from the time I was about three years old on the living room wall. I confess that one evening, I was overcome by nostalgia and I peeked into one of the bureau drawers in my bedroom. It was full of precious old 45 rpm records. I didn't touch  them. I closed the drawer and I vowed I would never snoop again.
 
For the two years I lived with my parents, I didn't go anywhere. I was sick, under treatment for cancer. I never went out of the house except to church - and to the hospital - My father did the shopping. I didn't even know the price of a loaf of bread at the time. I was so out of touch. I didn't have any money and I didn't spend any money. My only income was my welfare check. I offered my father money to help defray the cost of my food, but he twice refused me saying that it would confuse his income taxes. I felt he was just being the loving father I had always known.
 
So I was shocked and deeply hurt when my father suddenly told me one day that it was time for me to leave. This was after my friends from Ontario had visited in the summer of 1996.
 
I started looking for a place of my own,. I would go out almost every day and look at apartments, but being ill and having so little money, I could not find a place where I could tolerate the dirt and the smell. If I had stolen money, I could have found a reasonable apartment.
 
I was targeted for a crime I did not even know had happened. Was I ever out of the loop ! I didn't have a clue about what was going on except I knew in my bones that Dawn was out to do me harm.
 
Why would my mother think I was the one who had robbed her?  She had always professed and demonstrated her love for me. She wrote me love notes, bought me gifts. There could only be one reason.  In the years after the robbery, the pieces started falling into place. My mother was persuaded that I was the one who took her money.
 
How could I have defended myself when I didn't know that money had been stolen or even that there was money hidden in the house ? The subject was never mentioned to me until the moment my mother attacked me on October 7, 1996. And when that happened, I was in a state of total shock. Shaking and breathless shock. I didn't realize what my mother was yelling about. I thought she had lost her mind. And the police whisked me away before I could recover my equilibrium.
 
Perhaps that was what had prompted the comments months earlier when my mother had mentioned in the course of some ordinary conversation that, if I ever won the lottery, I would give all the money to my church.
 
In retrospect, I can see where she thought I would have spent her stolen money. I can't imagine anyone giving stolen money to a church. But my mother saw evil in me and in the church. And she feared it.
 
When I was attacked, I managed to call 911. The police I called to save me - helped the thief instead. The officer "helped" me out into the street - physically - and warned me in front of my assailant that I must never return to the house for any reason.
 
I appealed to the police again and again to go to the house and see that all my belongings were there, clearly marked with my name and inventory numbers. There was as detailed  inventory, insurance papers, appraisals, photographs, receipts.
 
But the police told me that my mother promised everything would be returned to me if I would just be patient. And Debbie told me that she would return all my things, but if I tried to get them any other way, I would be guilty of killing my parents.
 
In March, 1997, Dawn McSweeney returned everything she didn't want. She kept all the personal treasures of my life. Everything I had worked for all my life, everything my darling husband left me, every gift I had received, even my most sentimental things - my wedding portrait, my husband's trademark grey fedora, his rings, his badge.
 
It was then, in March, 1997, that the Montreal Police told me they would open a file. There was then what appeared to be a serious investigation and I felt that, at last, I would get back my precious belongings. But after taking away a box and a suitcase that Dawn had returned - empty - except for all the empty little velvet and cardboard  jewellery boxes - the detectives told me there were "no fingerprints". They did not say that there were smeared prints, unrecognizable prints. They stressed that there were "no fingerprints". Impossible  - since Dawn and Debbie and the friends who picked up the boxes and cases and I had all handled them. "Case closed."
 
As a result of the failure of the Montreal Police to launch a serious investigation from day one, in 2005, the "partners in crime" made a will in the name of my 92 year old mother who had been handicapped mentally and physically for decades. When she died in 2007, everything my father had laboured for all his life went to Debbie McSweeney, Dawn McSweeney, and a stranger named Kenneth Gregoire Prud'homme.
 
Debbie and Dawn and their partners had kept my mother in total isolation from everyone in the family for almost a decade. But the Montreal Police refused to investigate. When my mother died, the thieves completed the job, The partners in crime stripped the entire family bare.
 
My father had denied himself everything. He didn't buy new clothes. I'm sure he wore the same shoes for decades. He didn't go to the movies since I was a child. He didn't go to restaurants. He didn't gamble or drink. He didn't even smoke cigarettes anymore. My parents didn't go on vacation since the 1950's. Whatever my father earned he saved. And he maintained the family home And Dawn McSweeney and her partners in crime stole all of it.
 
And still the Montreal Police refuse to take any action against these criminals.
 
Because of my mother's fear and despair over my Christianity, the fruits of the lives of a dysfunctional but loving Jewish family were wiped out by the machinations of a malicious teenager - aided and abetted by the Montreal Police, and supported by the negligence and irresponsibility - and corruption? of members of the Montreal, Quebec and Canadian governments, who choose to look the other way. These crimes are not in anyone's jurisdiction and no one is responsible and no one has done anything wrong. 
 
Like the Nazis, Dawn and her partners in crime stole the life's treasures of the whole family and tore us apart. The robbery shattered our family. I am the only one willing to speak out openly about what took place. My brother Stephen and my sister Sheila - who were among all the children and grandchildren removed as my father's chosen heirs - have no stomach for this battle for justice. I am not even supposed to mention their names. They are angry with me for speaking about these crimes publicly, even though they have lost their inheritances and their children's inheritances to these thieves.
 
I stand alone. A Jewish-Christian determined to do what is right.
 
Justice, only justice shalt thou pursue - Deuteronomy 16:20
Expose the deeds of Darkness - Ephesians 5:11
No peace without justice - Luke 18: 1-8
 
All the details at DAWN MCSWEENEY - http://dawnmcsweeney.blogspot.com
See  HOW TO RAISE A CRIMIMNAL - THE TRAGEDY OF DAWN MCSWEENEY
 
To : bishops.office@montreal.anglican.ca, rabbi@templemontreal.ca, editor@montreal.anglican.ca and to the Montreal Police at  commentaires@spcum.qc.ca, and at commentaires@spvm.qc.ca,  and to sandra@familiesagainstcrime.org, crimesurvivors@gmail.com, Anne-Marie.Laurin@cdpdj.qc.ca, pm@pm.gc.ca, nicholson.r@parl.gc.ca, toews.v@parl.gc.ca, ministre@justice.gouv.qc.ca, JenniM1@parl.gc.ca, Ignatieff.M@parl.gc.ca, LaytoJ@parl.gc.ca, Cotler.I@parl.gc.ca, wwacity@hotmail.com, mcqueenp@videotron.ca, jbagnall@thegazette.canwest.com, haubin@thegazette.canwest.com, psamuel@globaltv.com, tvanderheyden@ctv.ca, rdagenais@globaltv.com, barry.wilson@ctv.ca, tips@global16X9.com, AIH@cbc.ca, homerun@cbc.ca, thecurrent@cbc.ca, w5@ctv.ca, am@ctv.ca, editor@ndgfreepress.com, editor@thesuburban.com, editor@theseniortimes.com, tommy.schnurmacher@cjad.com

Thursday, September 2, 2010

EVIDENCE THAT DEMANDS A VERDICT

 
Among the precious things that Dawn McSweeney stole from me on October 7, 1996 - my wedding portrait, all my best jewellery, my darling husband's rings, his trade-mark grey fedora, and his badge - there was a box of my best books - beautiful, mint condition illuminated books, and Christian books, including Josh McDowell's Evidence That Demands a Verdict.
 
If Dawn had read that book, she might have repented, saved her own soul, saved our parents heart-wrenching grief - and she would have returned everything she stole. I guess Dawn never has read the book, because she has not yet confessed her crimes to the police or returned our belongings. Not yet.