Enhance the Paranoia

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In a beautiful, beautiful red and white

While most Americans were at home cheering on the heavily promoted fight of the century between boxers Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier, Bob Williamson was focused on something else entirely.

That's because at around 11 p.m.

on March 8th, 1971, The 20-year-old activist was breaking into the offices of the FBI in Media, Pennsylvania.

Bob quietly shimmied through a partially opened side door.

Then he carefully slid two large suitcases through the opening too.

Once he was inside, he looked around the room.

His heart pounded in his ears as he imagined an FBI agent seated at one of the desks waiting to arrest him.

But the only other people he saw were his three accomplices who had gone in ahead of him.

They had been planning their heist for months.

Now, they spread out to all six rooms in the office and began to grab as many documents as possible.

Hopefully, some of those papers would help them expose the FBI's underhanded tactics, tactics the agency was using to intimidate anti-war protesters and anyone who spoke out against the government.

Bob clicked on his flashlight and used a screwdriver to pry open a locked drawer, while the others kept stuffing the suitcases.

Once Bob emptied the drawer, he crawled up to a window and carefully peeked out.

There was a security guard at the courthouse across the street, but he wasn't looking.

Bob breathed a sigh of relief and gave a thumbs up to the other burglars.

It was time to get the hell out of there.

Before leaving, Bob stopped at a big teletype machine that the FBI used to send confidential messages and cut the cord.

Just then, he spotted a photo of J.

Edgar Hoover, the head of the FBI, on a shelf.

Bob pocketed the photo as a memento of his achievement.

He rushed to catch up with the others who were already squeezing back through the narrow side doorway.

As they waited downstairs for the getaway drivers, Bob's hands were shaking so bad that the suitcase he was carrying rattled against his legs.

Part one of their mission was complete.

Now came the most critical step: finding out if they had enough proof to bring down the FBI.

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From Balin Studios and Wondery, I'm Luke Lamana, and this is Redacted Declassified Mysteries, where each week we shine a light on the shadowy corners of espionage, covert operations, and misinformation to reveal the dark secrets our governments try to hide.

This week's episode is called, Enhance the Paranoia.

For much of its history, the FBI operated with very little oversight of its activities.

During the nearly 50 years that J.

Edgar Hoover ran the agency with an iron fist, No one dared to question their methods, even as FBI agents went to extreme lengths to suppress political dissent in the name of national security.

That all changed on March 8th, 1971, when a group of eight ordinary citizens robbed an FBI office in hopes of exposing some of the agency's most disturbing secrets.

This daring act was fueled by the growing opposition to the Vietnam War, especially among disillusioned young people.

Their nationwide protests were making the news every day.

More demonstrations on college campuses and in cities from Los Angeles to Washington.

Draft card burnings became common and the chant of, hell no, we won't go was the theme of the protest generation.

The FBI tried to stifle their voices and the documents those burglars uncovered that day in 1971 revealed that the FBI was willing to entrap its political opponents through any means necessary.

necessary.

This included sending threatening messages, planting evidence, and even framing people for crimes they didn't commit.

Each burglar that broke into the office that day took on an enormous level of personal risk in the pursuit of a nearly impossible task.

Did they really think their sacrifice would be enough to topple the FBI, the world's most powerful law enforcement agency?

Incredibly, the answer is yes.

On a chilly evening in late December 1970, 20-year-old Keith Forsyth walked through a quiet neighborhood outside of Philadelphia until he arrived at an imposing three-story Victorian-style house.

Keith knocked, and a moment later, A well-dressed young woman with flowing dark hair and a welcoming smile opened up.

Behind her was a man with clean-cut blonde hair who was dressed in a button-down shirt and khakis.

Keith knew he was different from 29-year-old Bonnie Raines and her husband, John, who was 37.

The couple owned this beautiful house in the suburbs and had a picture-perfect family, while Keith lived in a commune and drove a cab part-time to make ends meet.

He had long hair and dressed in loose-fitting jeans and tie-dye shirts.

But Keith reminded himself they all had the same goal, to expose the FBI.

Specifically, to break into an FBI office and steal important documents that Keith, Bonnie, and John thought American citizens had the right to know about.

Keith felt himself light up with nervous energy at the thought of their mission.

Bonnie ushered Keith inside and offered him a beer.

He accepted and made his way into the spacious living room.

As he took a seat on the couch, the Rains' three young children came tumbling into the room.

While Keith played with the kids, more people arrived.

Keith called out a greeting to Bob Williamson, a 20-year-old fellow college dropout that he knew from anti-war protests.

Keith felt a sense of kinship with Bob.

With his messy hair and thrift store clothing, they could have been brothers, and they immediately started chatting.

Next, a man in his 40s came up to say hello.

Bill Davidon was a physics professor at nearby Haverford College.

Like their host, John, he didn't fit the image of a young anti-war activist.

But Keith knew that the professor was one of the most outspoken critics of the Vietnam War and one of the most effective leaders of the entire movement.

Keith thought back to when Professor Davidon first approached him about pulling off the FBI robbery.

It seemed completely impossible.

How could a group of ordinary people fight the most powerful counterintelligence organization in the country?

But Keith trusted the professor, who always backed up his words with action.

Bill had traveled to Vietnam to see the war firsthand and had given refuge to American men who were at risk of arrest for refusing to fight.

And Keith, well, he knew that he possessed a crucial skill, lockpicking.

He'd taken a correspondence course just to learn how to open locked doors in order to break into draft offices.

Once everyone had arrived, Keith followed them all upstairs to the attic.

He took his seat next to Professor Davidon, and John Raines shut the door.

The professor explained that many of his comrades in the anti-war movement had become worried they were being spied on by the FBI.

Because of this fear, he felt that protesters were losing sight of the bigger picture.

Many activists had become more preoccupied with their safety at anti-war rallies, worried that undercover FBI agents were just waiting to arrest them.

Or worse, they feared their fellow activists could be FBI informants.

Professor Davidon thought that if they could prove that the FBI was, in fact, spying on and intimidating activists, it could go a long way in swaying public opinion against the war.

The professor's tone became deadly serious as he outlined the dangers of the operation.

In order for the plan to work, no one could speak about this to anyone outside of the group before or after the robbery.

Davidon turned to each person seated around the table and asked if they would take a vow of secrecy.

Keith lifted his fist in agreement.

One by one, everyone else in the attic did the same.

Reassured, Davidon explained that he had already chosen a location to carry out the burglary, a small FBI office in the nearby town of Media, Pennsylvania.

Now, they just needed to decide on a date.

Someone suggested the night of the Muhammad Ali Joe Frazier heavyweight boxing match.

It was scheduled for March 8th, 1971, about three months away, and it was expected to be one of the most watched events in the history of television.

Others pointed out that most police officers and FBI agents would be watching or listening to the fight too, making it the perfect distraction.

Professor Davidon agreed.

An electrifying energy filled the room as the group brainstormed names for themselves.

It needed to be something that sounded official, but also reflected why they were doing this.

When politicians and journalists referred to them, it should feel like the group was an organized and powerful force.

After going around for a few minutes, they settled on the Citizens Commission to investigate the FBI.

Keith was filled with pride and excitement.

Looking around the table, he felt like these people were both organized and passionate.

They might be lucky enough to pull this off.

And if they succeeded, he was sure that it would be one of the most significant acts of protest in the history of the entire war.

In late February 1971, Bonnie Raines walked up to the doors of the FBI's office in Media, Pennsylvania.

She could feel her heart pounding as she turned the knob and entered the hallway.

The group had been monitoring the office for weeks, but they needed to learn more specific details about the inside of the building.

Was there an alarm system?

Were the cabinets inside the office locked?

The group had decided that Bonnie should be the one to get some answers.

With her bright smile and innocent disposition, she was the least likely to to draw attention, especially since she was about to interact with actual FBI agents.

Bonnie had called the office a few days ago and said she was a student at nearby Swarthmore College.

She'd been doing research for a class about the FBI's hiring practices and was hoping to interview an agent.

The representative on the phone invited her to stop by the office.

Bonnie adjusted the wool cap that covered her hair.

Normally, she wore two long pigtails that trailed down to her waist, but the group had decided she needed a disguise.

So, along with the cap, she wore a large overcoat and reading glasses.

She very much looked the part of a nerdy college student.

As Bonnie took the stairs up to the second floor of the building, she reminded herself that she was an instrumental part of the operation.

It seemed to her that everyone else had a job to do except her.

Bonnie had started to think she was just there to serve spaghetti dinners to everyone before their meetings.

When the group decided she should be the one to scope out the FBI office, she jumped at the opportunity.

As Bonnie rounded the corner and knocked on the office door, she felt her stomach flutter with excitement.

This was her chance to make a meaningful contribution to the anti-war effort.

One of the agents greeted Bonnie and showed her into the waiting room.

Bonnie apologized for arriving 15 minutes early.

She explained that the bus had come ahead of schedule.

The truth was, Bonnie had purposely done this so that she could have more time to study the office.

But the agent didn't suspect a thing.

Bonnie took a seat and asked if she could look over a job application while she waited.

She said it was important to her research.

She watched closely as the agent retrieved one from a cabinet.

She noticed the cabinet was unlocked.

That was a good sign.

Fifteen minutes later, Bonnie followed another agent into the adjoining room for their interview.

Bonnie straightened out her overcoat as she sat down and pulled out a notepad.

She started by making small talk with the agent.

Then Bonnie asked him about his role at the FBI and his typical schedule.

The agent stressed that most office employees only worked from 9 to 5.

Bonnie wrote this information down, but her eyes strained against the prescription lenses.

She wasn't used to wearing glasses, and it made taking notes difficult.

She hoped he didn't notice.

Then Bonnie wondered whether she was taking up too much of the agent's time.

Was he getting suspicious?

She pushed her fears away and asked him more questions.

After 45 minutes, Bonnie thanked the agent and made her way out of the interview room.

She scanned the hallway and tried to look confused in case anyone was watching.

She had noticed there was another room and wanted to see what was inside.

Trying to look as innocent as possible, she breezed by the exit and headed through an open door into the room.

She paused to look around.

She saw that a large cabinet partially blocked the other door into the room, a door that led out of the FBI offices into the hallway.

Bonnie made a mental note that the group would not be able to enter through this side door and would have to break in through the main entrance she had entered that afternoon.

As Bonnie glanced around the space, an agent walked by.

He did a double take take when he noticed Bonnie.

Thinking fast, Bonnie explained she was looking for an exit.

Could the agent point her in the right direction?

The agent smiled and walked her back to the waiting room.

As she rushed down the stairs and out onto the street, Bonnie felt herself relax for the first time that day.

She glanced down at her notepad to review her scribbles.

She had good news to report.

There was no alarm system, and many of the cabinets seemed easy to access.

Then, a terrifying thought crossed her mind.

Despite her disguise, the FBI had seen her face.

What if they suspected her in the wake of the robbery?

Bonnie pushed the thought aside.

She'd come this far.

She couldn't stop now.

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How hard is it to kill a planet?

Maybe all it takes is a little drilling, some mining, and a whole lot of carbon pumped into the atmosphere.

When you see what's left, it starts to look like a crime scene.

Are we really safe?

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And crimes like that, they don't just happen.

We call things accidents.

There is no accident.

This was 100%

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They're the result of choices by people.

Ruthless oil tycoons, corrupt politicians, even organized crime.

These are the stories we need to be telling about our changing planet.

Stories of scams, murders, and cover-ups that are about us and the things we're doing to either protect the Earth or destroy it.

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When March 8th arrived a few weeks later, it was a little little past 8 p.m.

when Keith Forsyth parked his car in an alleyway near the FBI office and quietly got out.

His stomach was a mess of knots.

Keith knew that if he couldn't pick the lock on the front door, the rest of the plan was shot.

But he told himself he could get it done.

Keith glanced around the empty street as he made his way to the front of the building.

The coast was clear.

This first entrance was always unlocked.

Keith let himself inside and crept up the stairs to the second floor where the FBI was located.

He came to a stop before the door to the office.

Panic flooded his body as he realized a second lock had been installed.

It must have happened sometime after Bonnie had visited the office.

This lock was way more complicated than the one Bonnie had described.

In fact, it was more complicated than anything Keith had ever picked before.

His mind raced.

The others were waiting for him at a nearby motel.

The plan was for Keith to pick the lock, meet up with them, and then they would head back to pull off the robbery.

Now, Keith wasn't sure what to do.

Not only could they not get in, but the additional security made him think the FBI had somehow found out about their plan.

They had to regroup before it was too late.

Keith retraced his steps back out to the street and hustled to a nearby payphone to call the others.

He gave them the bad news and raced over to the motel to come up with Plan B.

Keith couldn't hide the disappointment on his face as Professor Davidon announced they might have to call off the robbery entirely.

Keith looked around the room.

Someone had to have an idea.

Then, Bonnie suggested they try the second door she'd noticed, the one that was blocked by a large heavy cabinet.

Keith thought it over.

As long as they could push the cabinet to the side enough to slip through, it should work.

Everyone agreed, even if it ended up being a complete failure, they had to try.

Armed with their new plan, Keith returned to the media office around 10.40 p.m.

This time, he was wearing a baggy overcoat to hide the crowbar he'd brought with him.

His failed attempt earlier was a blessing in disguise, because even though the fight had been scheduled for 8 p.m., it had been delayed for hours.

As a result, Keith was right on time for the noisiest part of the event, the start of the fight, and he could hear it echoing from nearby apartments.

Keith turned his attention to getting inside.

Bonnie had carefully explained how to find the second door, and Keith replayed her directions in his mind.

He walked to the other side of the hallway and located the door Bonnie had described.

Keith pried pried the deadbolt open with his crowbar, then admired his handiwork.

Now he had to find a way to push the door open without knocking the cabinet over on the other side.

He gave the door a big shove, but it wouldn't budge.

Keith tried using his crowbar again, but it just wasn't strong enough.

He thought a longer prying bar would work better, but he couldn't exactly run to a hardware store right now.

So he raced out to the car and grabbed one of those long, straight metal bars that was used with a tire jack.

Keith, who stood over six feet tall, sprawled out onto the hallway floor.

Using his leg muscles, he pushed and pulled the bar, applying pressure that slowly pushed the inside cabinet forward and allowed the door to open inch by inch.

But this movement also caused the wooden door to start cracking.

His heart raced as he worked.

The fluorescent lights in the hallway were blinding.

Finally, he was able to work his way in and move the cabinet away from the door.

This created just enough space for Bob and the other burglars to get in.

Keith wiped the sweat from his brow and then rushed back outside, found his car, and drove back to the motel to inform the rest of the group.

It was go time.

A few minutes later, Bob and the inside crew made their way through the front door of the FBI building.

He usually resorted to some funny remark when he was feeling nervous, but tonight he couldn't utter a word.

He and the others silently climbed the stairwell, then squeezed through the hallway office door, carrying two bulky suitcases.

Once inside, they split up to search the rooms.

Some cabinets and drawers were locked, so they used screwdrivers to pry them open.

Bob used a taped-over flashlight to provide minimal light, being careful not to let the beam show from the windows.

He occasionally checked the street outside to make sure no police were around.

Working mainly in the dark, they took every piece of paper they could find, except for some blank personnel forms.

It was time to get out, but they couldn't just leave.

The group had decided it was best not to have cars parked nearby drawing attention, so they needed to call the getaway drivers who were back at the motel.

One of the team members picked up a phone from a desk and dialed the number.

When Keith heard the shrill ring, he picked up the receiver.

All he heard was a cryptic, okay.

Then the line went dead.

That was the signal Keith had been waiting for.

He glanced over at the other getaway driver, and they both sprang into action, hurrying to their cars.

They drove towards the FBI office, ready to execute the next phase of the plan.

A few minutes later, Keith breathed a sigh of relief as he watched his friends emerge from the FBI building.

Their overstuffed suitcases bounced side to side as they ran towards Keith's car and the other getaway vehicle.

He waited anxiously as they loaded the suitcases into the trunk of the cars.

Now that they were out in the open, he couldn't help but feel nervous.

Keith surveyed the deserted neighborhood.

There was a courthouse across the street that always had a guard posted.

That's when he nearly let out a gasp.

The guard was looking right at them as they loaded up the vehicles.

Keith turned to see how the rest of the group was progressing with the baggage.

He silently willed them to move more quickly.

As soon as the group finished packing up the car, Keith drove off, heading to their safe house out in the country.

On the way, he told everyone that a guard had seen them.

The only thing they could do now was hope that he wouldn't report them.

As an extra precaution, the group transferred to two different getaway cars.

About an hour later, they arrived at the Fellowship Farm, a small Quaker conference center outside of Philadelphia that the professor had chosen as their meeting place after the break-in.

When Bob Williamson stepped out of the vehicle, his body still hummed with adrenaline.

After the near miss with the guard, he was worried someone else may have spotted them or even followed them here.

But as Bob surveyed the area, everything was still and he felt his shoulder muscles relax.

He watched his seven accomplices climb out of the cars and suspected they felt a lot like him.

They were cautiously hopeful, but knew the most important part was about to begin.

Finding out if they actually got anything good from the FBI office.

Bob followed Keith and the others into the building and settled around a conference table.

There was a sense of accomplishment in the air.

They'd done it.

Bob let out a cheer, and the rest of the group joined in.

They'd brought food and drinks to celebrate and refuel for the night ahead.

Bob took a long swig of beer and listened closely as Professor Davidon organized the group into pairs.

He decided they needed at least two people to comb through each document and categorize them.

Bob grabbed a stack of documents and huddled at one corner of the table with his partner.

As Bob read through the files, his eyes glazed over.

They were mostly about mundane office business or just plain funny.

One file stated that overweight agents would have to do weekly weigh-ins, while another contained information on how agents should celebrate J.

Edgar Hoover's birthday.

Bob couldn't decipher some of the others.

One mentioned an operation called CoIntel Pro.

Bob had no idea what that meant.

He started to worry, what if they'd done all of this for nothing?

Finally, after about an hour of reading through paperwork on Office Protocol, Bob heard someone shout.

They had found something and began to read one of the memos aloud.

The memo was dated a few months earlier and addressed to agents who were investigating activists.

The document told agents to conduct more interviews with protesters and dissidents so they were highly aware of the law enforcement presence.

The memo said their goal was to enhance the paranoia and get the point across that there is an FBI agent behind every mailbox.

Bob looked at the rest of the group.

They were all as shocked as he was.

Bob grabbed the document.

He had to see for himself.

After reading it over several times, there was no doubt.

It seemed like FBI agents weren't there to investigate crimes.

They were there to intimidate activists who hadn't even broken the law.

He was buzzing with excitement.

There were still thousands of other documents to look through.

This was just the tip of the iceberg.

Bob was certain there would be a lot more damning evidence to uncover.

And once they had all the proof they needed, he was equally sure they'd be able to show the rest of the country just how crooked the FBI really was.

About two weeks later, on March 23rd, 1971, journalist Betty Metzger walked into the mailroom of the Washington Post's office in D.C.

She'd been a reporter with the Post for about a year now.

Before that, she worked in Philadelphia covering anti-Vietnam protests, among other topics.

At 29, she was unlike most of her coworkers, who were older men who'd been in the game for decades.

Metzger knew they underestimated her, which is why she was so eager to prove them wrong.

Metzger opened up her mailbox.

As she rifled through various letters, one large envelope stood out to her.

The return address was Liberty Publications, Media, Pennsylvania.

She'd never heard of them, but she did know the name Media.

Something had happened there recently that had been in the news.

She just couldn't remember what.

Medzger set the large stack of letters down and placed the manila envelope in front of her.

She had a long to-do list this morning, but couldn't stop herself from tearing it open.

Inside was a cover letter, along with 14 documents.

The letter had stated it was from the Citizens Commission to Investigate the FBI.

It went on to explain that the commission had sent these documents to Medzger and others who had shown concern and courage about the issues documented in the enclosed materials.

Medzger furrowed her brow.

She wasn't sure what that meant.

but this seemed intriguing.

As she began reading through the documents, she only became more confused and then concerned.

The first document was about instructing FBI agents to enhance the paranoia among activist groups.

Metzger thought how odd it was for this to be a stated goal.

Just a few weeks ago, the Assistant Attorney General had testified to Congress that government intelligence agencies were not trying to intimidate protesters.

This document was a complete and utter reversal of that.

Metzger eagerly read on.

Other documents revealed that FBI head J.

Edgar Hoover himself had ordered agents to closely monitor black students and black student organizations.

Hoover's memos described these groups as potentially violent and urged his agents to secretly investigate them.

Another file showed that the FBI had a network of informants throughout U.S.

universities.

These informants looked like ordinary switchboard operators, letter carriers, and even some college administrators, but they reported information about students and professors to the FBI.

Another document said that every black student at Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania, regardless of their political affiliation, was under surveillance.

Metzger was stunned.

This was a bombshell of a story if she'd ever seen one.

But before she could do anything, she knew she had to confirm the legitimacy of the documents.

She went over to her editor's desk to tell him what she had just read.

While Medzger spoke to her editor, another reporter overheard the conversation and joined in.

He told Medzger that word around Washington was that two government officials had received similar documents about the FBI.

He said that Hoover's office had already called the post to urge them not to publish the reports.

This confirmed Betty's suspicions.

The documents were authentic, and the FBI didn't want the public to know what they contained.

That was all the ammunition Metzger needed to start writing.

She grabbed some coffee and got to work.

By 6 p.m.

that day, she was done with her first story.

She was brimming with excitement as she went over to her editor's office.

She placed the story on his desk, but her editor didn't glance at it.

Instead, he looked up at Metzger with hesitation in his eyes.

He explained that it might not be published.

The Attorney General had called the newsroom several times that day.

Somehow, he knew Metzger had received the documents, and he did not want them published.

The AG was adamant that the documents could put the lives of federal agents at risk and jeopardize the security of the entire United States.

Medzger tried to tamp down her anger.

She understood the documents were embarrassing for the FBI, but nothing she read indicated that releasing their contents was a national security risk.

The only issue she could see was that the Citizens Commission to Investigate the FBI had stolen the documents.

That could complicate things.

Even so, she said the information was simply too important to keep secret.

Medzger tried to argue with her editor, but she knew the final decision wasn't up to her.

It was up to the Post's team of lawyers.

As Medzger made her way out of the newsroom, she hoped her bosses bosses would make the right choice.

By 10 p.m.

that night, the Post made a decision.

Metzger's article was quickly sent out by the paper's wire service so that it would appear in newspapers around the country.

Metzger was thrilled her editors had decided to publish the story after all.

She was even happier the next morning.

On March 24th, 1971, the story was on the front page of the Post.

It was titled, Stolen Documents Describe FBI Surveillance Activities.

By the end of the day, the article accomplished the burglar's goal.

People wanted to learn more about the FBI's undercover activities.

Over the next few months, Medzger and other reporters published additional stories about the FBI's alarming investigation tactics, and Medzger continued to receive even more packages filled with stolen documents.

One of them mentioned a mysterious FBI program called CoIntel Pro.

She had no clue what that meant, but made a mental note to look into it.

Months later, on August 22nd, 1971, the FBI's assistant director, William Sullivan, sat at his desk at FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C.

Although it was around 2.30 in the morning, Sullivan was wide awake.

As Hoover's second-in-command, Sullivan was ordered to suppress an anti-war protest at a a draft office in Camden, New Jersey.

He had more than 80 agents waiting at a nearby funeral home until it was time to swoop in and arrest the activists who the FBI believed were planning to break in and destroy documents.

Sullivan knew the protesters wanted to prevent young men from being drafted to fight in the war.

If he had anything to do with it, they wouldn't succeed.

But there was an even more important reason the FBI was staking out the location.

Sullivan was certain that some of the burglars who broke into the FBI office in Media, Pennsylvania, would be in Camden, too.

The FBI suspected that the young woman who had come into the office for an interview just before the break-in was actually one of the burglars.

He was angry that no one had bothered to get her name.

But the FBI had close to 200 agents searching for her and her accomplices.

Sullivan was desperate to crack the case, in part because it was just plain embarrassing.

Some protesters had even come up with a mocking theme song that referred to the Media Pennsylvania break-in.

The FBI had come to believe that the mastermind behind the FBI burglary was a man named John Grady.

Grady was a sociologist from New York and was heavily involved in the anti-war movement.

They also believed Grady was in charge of the Camden, New Jersey protest, too.

If Sullivan could capture him, they'd finally be able to take down the whole group of crooks and stop any more secret files from becoming public.

It couldn't come soon enough.

Sullivan and FBI head, J.

Edgar Hoover, watched article after article pour out about the documents.

Most of the American public was enraged by the news, and members of Congress had even called for a congressional investigation into the FBI.

Sullivan was still confident he and Hoover could stall that investigation, but only if they found the robbers.

He was delighted when he got word that the FBI had received a tip about the Camden raid.

Apparently, the protesters asked a local contractor to help plan and execute their break-in.

The contractor immediately informed the FBI, who then encouraged him to help the activists and report back what he learned.

After several months of monitoring the preparations for the raid, Sullivan and the FBI were ready to pounce.

In the early morning hours of the raid, when Sullivan was in his office, he had a direct line to the agent in charge of the bust.

When he got word the protesters had broken in, Sullivan instructed the agent to hold off on storming inside.

He wanted to make sure the protesters were caught in the act.

Arresting them for entering a federal building was a minor offense, but destroying official documents was a federal crime.

About two hours later, at 4.30 a.m., the agent confirmed that the protesters had been inside the draft office the entire time.

This would have given them plenty of opportunity to destroy files.

Perfect, thought Sullivan, and he gave the agent the go-ahead.

Just six minutes later, Sullivan got word that 20 people had been detained, including his primary target, John Grady.

Sullivan leaned back in his chair and smiled.

Now, the Media Pennsylvania robbers were his.

On Sunday, May 20th, 1973, two years after the FBI raid, Bob Williamson filed into a Camden, New Jersey courthouse.

Bob had been one of the people arrested in the protest at the New Jersey draft office, along with fellow burglar Keith Forsyth.

Now, the two men were about to hear the jury's verdict on whether they had conspired to remove and destroy files of the draft board, which was a felony.

As Bob took a seat, he reflected on the last two years.

Thankfully, the FBI had never been able to prove that he and Keith were involved in the burglary of the FBI office in Media, Pennsylvania, but that didn't stop them from suspecting it.

Bob knew they had gotten lucky.

The FBI mistakenly thought John Grady was the ringleader in Pennsylvania, but he had nothing to do with it.

So when the FBI pressed Grady to reveal his accomplices in the crime, he couldn't do it because he wasn't there.

Still, even without any new information about the Media Pennsylvania break-in, the protesters were in serious trouble, potentially facing many years in prison for the New Jersey break-in.

The Camden protesters could have avoided a trial altogether if they accepted the prosecutor's offer to plead guilty to minor offenses and admit they broke in.

But the whole reason they had infiltrated the draft office was to make a powerful statement.

All of the defendants felt that accepting a plea deal would weaken the anti-war movement as a whole.

So, Bob and the other protesters took their case to trial and used it as a public forum to attack the FBI.

They showed that the FBI had aided the New Jersey break-in by supplying the contractor who helped the protesters.

That meant the FBI actually wanted the break-in to take place so that they could arrest the protesters.

Without the FBI's help, the draft office raid likely never could have happened.

Boston University professor Howard Zinn, one of the country's best-known progressives, had testified on the protesters' behalf as an expert on civil disobedience.

In his testimony, Zinn said that some of the stolen media documents proved the FBI uses unconstitutional tactics to thwart protests.

The trial had lasted for three months.

After waiting all this time, Bob would finally find out the jury's verdict and whether he would spend the next 50 years of his life in prison.

As the judge entered the courtroom, Bob looked around.

In spite of his fear, his heart swelled.

200 people had come to support him and everyone else who was on trial.

As Bob stood shoulder to shoulder with his co-defendants, he held his head up.

Even if they lost the case, he knew they had truly made an impact.

He was ready to hear the jury's decision.

Bob held his breath as the foreman read the first verdict.

He thought he had heard the foreman say, not guilty.

He turned to Keith, who stood next to him, and saw the look of shock on his face.

He had heard correctly.

Then the judge asked for the next verdict.

Again, the foreman said, not guilty.

He repeated, not guilty, two more times before the judge stopped him and asked if any of the other verdicts differed.

The foreman responded, no.

Bob felt his knees buckle and the air leave his lungs.

They were free, all of them.

The jury had heard their reasoning and agreed.

They thought the war was unjust.

and so was the FBI.

Bob felt more hopeful than he'd been in a very long time.

Just then, he heard the courtroom audience begin to sing.

Many were in tears, so it took a moment for Bob to realize that they were singing Amazing Grace.

As Bob put his arms around Keith and his co-defendants, he saw the chief prosecutor walk towards them.

He shook each defendant's hand, then embraced them.

The prosecutor looked at Bob and told him, It ended the way it should have ended.

After the Camden trial, Bob, Keith, and the other media burglars went their separate ways.

They knew they could never speak again.

Bob and Keith had been suspects in the robbery, but no one was ever caught.

The citizens' commission to investigate the FBI was a bigger success than they ever could have imagined.

About a year after the robbery in 1972, NBC reporter Carl Stern was studying the stolen FBI files.

He zeroed in on the FBI program called CoIntel Pro.

Stern was determined to figure out what it meant, but the FBI refused to tell him.

So he and NBC successfully sued to obtain government documents about the program, and it was more shocking than Stern could have predicted.

The FBI wasn't just targeting activist groups, they were also trying to undermine prominent leaders of the civil rights movement.

One of their main targets was Reverend Martin Luther King Jr.

Stern learned the FBI had spied on and harassed King.

They mailed him letters urging him to commit suicide.

They sent King's wife a recording of what the FBI alleged was him having sex with other women and offered to share it with journalists, too.

After Stern published his findings, the public was outraged.

It seemed to them that the FBI was above the law and that the Bureau could do whatever they wanted and keep it a secret in the name of national security.

In January 1975, the Senate created a committee headed by Senator Frank Church to look into abuses by the FBI and other intelligence agencies.

The church committee eventually provided 96 legislative and regulatory recommendations that would keep the FBI in check in the future.

But the identity of the burglars who started it all remained a secret until 2014, when journalist Betty Medzger published her book, The Burglary, The Discovery of J.

Edgar Hoover's Secret FBI.

The burglars had kept their code of silence for more than 40 years.

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From Balin Studios and Wondery, this is Redacted Declassified Mysteries, hosted by me, Luke Lamana.

A quick note about our stories.

We do a lot of research, but some details and scenes are dramatized.

We used many sources for our show, but we especially recommend The Burglary, The Discovery of J.

Edgar Hoover's Secret FBI by Betty Medzger, the second season of the podcast Snafu, called Medberg and the Documentary 1971.

This episode was written by Natalie Protsovsky, sound design by Andrei Plus.

Our producers are Christopher B.

Dunn and John Reed.

Our associate producers and researchers are Sarah Vitak, Taja Peliconda, and Ruffa Faria.

Fact-checking by Sheila Patterson.

For Balin Studios, our head of production is Zach Levitt.

Script editing by Scott Allen.

Our coordinating producer is Samantha Collins.

Production support by Avery Siegel.

Produced by me, Luke Lamana.

Executive producers are Mr.

Balin and Nick Witters.

For Wondery, our head of sound is Marcelino Villipando.

Senior producers are Laura Donna Palavota, Dave Schilling, and Rachel Engelman.

Senior managing producer is Nick Ryan.

Managing producer is Olivia Fonte.

Our executive producers are Aaron O'Flaherty and Marshall Louie.

For Wondery.