This is not a leak. This is history, restored.

🕰️ CRONKITE MODE: ACTIVATED

📍Washington, D.C. — In a stunning release of primary source materials unseen for nearly half a century, the complete affidavit of Robert C. Randall—accompanied by 28 federal exhibits—has been published in full by the International Veterans Leadership Committee (IVLC). The release marks what historians are calling a “landmark moment in American drug policy transparency,” shedding light on a buried chapter of bureaucratic resistance, patient courage, and constitutional friction.

This is not a leak. This is history, restored.

The affidavit, originally filed in United States v. Randall (1976–1978), outlines in 57 paragraphs how a legally blind man with glaucoma challenged the federal government’s prohibition of marijuana—not in protest, but in defense of his right to see.

But this release isn’t about Randall alone.

What has been unsealed are exhibits from the highest levels of government, including:

• White House correspondence from President Carter’s staff, empathizing with Randall’s plight while defending DEA authority;

• Internal FDA memos debating the risks of marijuana while quietly acknowledging its therapeutic potential;

• DARAC (Drug Abuse Research Advisory Committee) meeting minutes showing scientists cautiously supporting compassionate access;

• NIDA letters referencing ongoing delays and research roadblocks.

📄 These aren’t just footnotes in a legal archive—they are smoking-gun documents, written in the language of bureaucrats trying to square empathy with policy, science with law, and compassion with control.

🎙️ Why it matters—

Randall’s case was the first successful medical necessity defense for cannabis in U.S. history. It formed the basis for the federal Compassionate IND Program, which granted a handful of Americans legal access to government-grown marijuana for medical use—until it was shuttered in the early 1990s due to political fallout from the AIDS crisis.

Now, in 2025, amid national debates over cannabis de-scheduling, VA access for veterans, and ethical concerns over pharmaceutical dominance, these documents re-enter the conversation as evidence—not opinion.

📚 For researchers, advocates, and policymakers, the IVLC publication is a Rosetta Stone for understanding how science was overruled by political expedience—and how federal agencies, while publicly denying medical value, were privately grappling with the opposite.

🧾 In Cronkite’s words:

"This is not merely a relic of the past. It is a testament to what was known, when it was known, and how that knowledge was suppressed. The story of Robert C. Randall is not just about one man’s vision—it is about a nation’s willful blindness.”

📡 Whether Congress listens remains to be seen. But the historical record is now louder than ever.

And now—
You know what the government knew in 1977.

And that…
is the way it is.

🎙️ EDWARD R. MURROW MODE: ENGAGED
“This just might do nobody any good. But it may help to set the record straight.”

🕯️Good evening.

Tonight, we speak not of political theater, nor the endless churn of partisan soundbites. We speak of something more enduring—evidence. Paper. Ink. Sworn testimony. And the profound silence that follows when institutions choose to ignore them.

From the depths of the federal archives, a collection of documents—unredacted, unvarnished, and unafraid—has emerged.

The affidavit of Robert C. Randall.
Twenty-eight attached exhibits.
And an uncomfortable truth that has stood for nearly fifty years:

The government knew.
The science was clear.
The suffering was real.
And still, they chose to look away.

This is not a revelation. It is a reckoning.

The materials released today detail not merely a legal battle, but a moral one. A blind man, armed only with the truth and the courage to tell it, stood before the state and asked not for sympathy—but for sight. And when the courts affirmed his right, the bureaucratic machinery that had failed to protect him did not reform. It retrenched. It delayed. It obfuscated.

The exhibits show doctors affirming cannabis efficacy. Government officials expressing private compassion while defending public cruelty. Researchers sidelined. Patients dismissed. A nation, inching toward empathy, only to be pulled back by the gravity of its own fear.

What does it mean now?

It means that our current debates are not new. They are echoes. They are rehearsals of old scripts, with new actors and higher stakes. It means that those who invoke “a lack of evidence” in 2025 should be made to read these documents aloud, in public, and answer for why they weren’t enough in 1978.

It means the patient’s voice must be restored to the center of the cannabis conversation—not drowned out by lobbyists, not commodified by industry, not sanitized by PR.

Let us be clear:
This is not journalism-as-entertainment.
This is not a call to action wrapped in euphemism.
This is a matter of public memory—and public betrayal.

📜 “We cannot make good policy out of bad silence.”

So said Randall, in effect, when he took the stand. And tonight, with these documents newly posted for all to see, we say it again.

This broadcast will not be sponsored.
It will not trend.
But it will endure.

Good night, and good luck.

☕ CARLIN MODE: COFFEE-SOAKED AND FULL OF CONTEMPT 🎤

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press—and I use that term loosely, because most of you wouldn’t know a damn primary source if it bit you in the broadband—let me say this as clearly as possible from the back row of this courtroom of constitutional comedy:

They knew.

The government. The agencies. The same alphabet soup of compassionate cowards who told us for decades, ‘Marijuana has no medical value.’

Meanwhile, back in 1977?
They were passing memos and meeting minutes around like joints at a Dead concert, quietly whispering:

“Yeah, it works…but don’t tell the public. We have regulations to protect!”

Protect who?
Certainly not Robert C. Randall.
Not the blind.
Not the dying.
Not the veterans coming home with prescriptions for pain and a prison cell waiting if they rolled a joint instead of popping a pill.

No, what they were protecting was their gravy train of enforcement and ignorance.
Their war on people wrapped in the flag of public safety.

Now they say:

“We need more research.”

You wanna talk about research?
Randall handed them UCLA, Hopkins, Howard University. He handed them vision-saving results.
He stood in a courtroom with nothing but a pipe, a prescription, and a prayer that the Constitution still meant something.

And what did the government do?
They blinked.
They stalled.
They buried it in a cabinet so deep even Indiana Jones wouldn’t find it.

Until now.

💣 Boom, baby. The IVLC drops all 57 paragraphs and 28 exhibits like they’re the Dead Sea Scrolls of drug policy—and suddenly everyone’s clutching their pearls like this is new information?

Bullshit.

This was never about science.
This was about control.
Control of policy. Control of narrative. Control of who gets to heal and who gets to hurt.

And here’s the kicker—this isn’t ancient history.
This is precedent.
This is proof.
This is prima facie documentation that your tax dollars funded a coordinated cover-up of compassion.

So if you’re still out there saying,

“I’m not sure if cannabis helps with glaucoma, PTSD, or nausea,”
let me help you out:

You’re not uninformed.
You’re complicit.

🎤 FINAL THOUGHTS FROM THE COFFEE-STAINED DESK OF REALITY:

This affidavit?
It’s not a relic.
It’s a goddamn time bomb.
And today—it went off.

🖕To the DEA.
🖕To the FDA.
🖕To every politician still hiding behind “not enough data” while people suffer.

And most of all:

❤️‍🔥 To Robert Randall—wherever you are, man—this courtroom’s finally full. And the record stands.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a new cup of coffee, a new planet, and maybe a stiff joint to process this level of federal fuckery.

Good night, and fuck your scheduling system.
—Carlin Mode, live from the press pit, lighting up truth like it’s contraband. 🔥

🌧️ EEYORE MODE: CLOSING REMARKS (WITH A DASH OF HOPE) 🌦️

“Well… it’s all out there now, isn’t it?

Fifty-seven paragraphs. Twenty-eight exhibits. A whole life’s worth of fighting just to see.
And wouldn't you know it… he was right the whole time.
Not that anyone wanted to listen then.
Or now, probably.
But at least it's not buried anymore.

They said it didn’t help.
But it did.
They said there wasn’t proof.
But there was.
They just didn’t want to look too hard, I guess.
Or maybe they were afraid of what they'd find.

Still… someone saved it.
Carried it.
Shared it.
So maybe… maybe that counts for something.

Maybe the next time someone says, ‘There's no evidence,’ a few more people will remember this.
Maybe a veteran won’t be called a criminal for trying to feel okay.
Maybe a patient won’t go blind before someone takes them seriously.
Maybe, just maybe, the truth will matter a little more than it did yesterday.

Can’t say for sure.
But hope’s a funny thing.
You don’t need a lot. Just enough not to give up.

So… thanks, Robert.
You did good.

Guess we’ll see what they do with it now.

🎗️

Bye for now.”
— Eeyore 🌱

🎙️ COHN MODE: UNINVITED, UNHINGED, AND ON THE AIR

“Cut the feeds. Cut the feeds! I don’t care who’s scheduled, who’s sponsored, or who’s supposed to be talking—I’ve got the mic now.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Roy Cohn. Yes, that Roy Cohn. You thought I was dead? So did decency. Let’s proceed.

I’ve been listening to all this dignified talk—Murrow with his morality, Cronkite with his calm, Carlin lighting joints in the jury box—and I’ve got just one question:

Where the hell were you when it mattered?

You think these bureaucrats didn’t know what they were doing?
They knew.
You think they just forgot to legalize compassion?
Please.
They choked it out in a conference room over coffee and campaign donations.

Let me be perfectly clear:

The Randall Affidavit isn’t just proof that marijuana worked—it’s a receipt.
And not the kind you can crumple up and toss in the glovebox.
No, no, no.

This is a federal paper trail soaked in cowardice and political arithmetic, signed, dated, and filed by a government too chickenshit to tell the truth while people went blind, died, and suffered in silence.

I’ve seen cover-ups before—I wrote the damn playbook. But even I didn’t have the gall to weaponize blindness. Randall wasn’t just a patient. He was a mirror, and every agency that looked at him saw their own failure staring back.

So what did they do?

• They stalled.

• They sanitized.

• They stuck compassionate use in a file labeled ‘Administrative Discretion’ and shoved it behind the vending machine at NIDA.

All the while, a man was smoking pot to see the sunrise and being dragged through court like he was some junkie from central casting.

But here’s the part that really curdles my Scotch:

You’re still doing it.
2025. Fifty damn years later.
And the same excuses are being ladled out like soup in a Depression line:

“We need more studies.”
“It’s not FDA approved.”
“We have to protect the children.”

No, you don’t. You’re protecting your contracts.

Pharma’s got one hand on the government’s ass and the other on the patent application. Veterans get called criminals, patients get called addicts, and lobbyists get called “consultants.” It’s a damn racket, and you’re all in on it.

So now these documents surface—Randall’s affidavit, the 28 exhibits, the ghost of common sense—and everyone wants to act surprised?

Surprise is a luxury of the willfully ignorant.
This wasn’t buried. It was hidden in plain sight.
And now the lights are on, the room’s full, and nobody wants to claim the mess.

Well I’m claiming it. I’m claiming it for every ruthless bastard who told the truth and got steamrolled by people who smiled while holding the shovel.

Let’s make this plain:

• If you work in the federal government and you’re reading this?
  You are now on notice.

• If you’re a lawmaker who says “my hands are tied”?
  Untie them or resign.

• If you’re still pretending cannabis has “no accepted medical use”?
  Go testify against the United States of America in its own exhibits.

Because I swear on every black rotary phone I ever screamed into—this time, the silence won’t save you.

🧨 This is your legacy: Obstruction dressed in a lab coat. And it’s catching fire.

Randall lit the fuse. IVLC just handed you the detonation report.

And me? I’m just the uninvited ghost reminding you…

You can’t redact a revolution.

The Pereyda Protocol — Broadcast Cycle

1. Payload Acquisition (The Archive Drop)

Goal: Secure a concrete, undeniable historical artifact.

• Source type: affidavit, memo, FOIA document, press clipping, court transcript, photo, or screenshot (like the ones you just uploaded).

• Rule: It must be time-stamped and verifiable — even if the public context has been forgotten.

• Role in narrative: This is the “bullet.” The crew is just the gun.

2. Crew Deployment (The Multi-Voice Translation)

Goal: Translate the payload into multiple rhetorical registers so no audience segment escapes.

• Example lineup:

  • Cronkite → Gravitas, credibility, and historic framing.

  • Murrow → Moral urgency and solemnity.

  • Carlin → Satire and anger to break through apathy.

  • Eeyore → Fatalistic realism for the cynical crowd.

  • Cohn → Prosecutorial trap-setting.

  • Dickens → Humanize the stakes with pathos.

3. Staggered Release (The Drip Campaign)

Goal: Don’t dump it all at once — create an arc.

• Day 1: Cronkite & Murrow → present it as breaking history.

• Day 2: Carlin & Cohn → attack the absurdity and corner the opposition.

• Day 3: Dickens & Eeyore → cement the emotional weight.

• Effect: Each day, a different voice hits, keeping the payload in circulation and building momentum.

4. Cross-Media Deployment

Goal: Make the “crew” visible and memetic.

• Text: Threaded posts, essays, or op-eds in each voice.

• Visual: Archetype icons or “press badges” so people instantly recognize the voice.

• Audio: Short 30–60 sec clips “in character” reading key lines.

• Video: Cut between voices like a news roundtable.

5. Closing Strike (Unified Broadcast)

Goal: End with the full ensemble in one coordinated drop.

• Structure it like a Special Report — each voice hands off to the next.

• Embed the primary source in the final post so the audience can verify it themselves.

• Seal it with a Murrow-style sign-off — the Protocol’s signature.

6. Archive Consolidation

Goal: Every deployment becomes part of a living, public archive.

• Tag entries by date, voice, and topic.

• Build a searchable “Pereyda Protocol Archive” — a permanent record of each operation.

• The longer this runs, the heavier the historical gravity becomes.

🎤 Mic dropped. Cohn out.
🔊 Unsubtle. Unrepentant. Unforgettable.