Stay Signed In
Do you want to access your site more quickly on this computer? Check this box, and your username and password will be remembered for two weeks. Click logout to turn this off.
Stay Safe
Do not check this box if you are using a public computer. You don't want anyone seeing your personal info or messing with your site.
"God is subtle but He is not malicious." Albert Einstein
Pat Robertson blamed the 9/11 terror attacks on...
Robertson still thinks God removed His protection from the nation, thus allowing our enemies to give us what we deserve.
What's more, to hear Robertson tell it, one of the abominations prompting God to hide his face from America is this country's self-indulgence, pursuit of financial gain and focus on wealth.
What, pray tell, does the Good Lord make of Pat Robertson's gold-mining venture in Liberia with Charles Taylor, international pariah and one of the most ruthless, greedy and terror-producing heads of state in all of sub-Saharan Africa?
What? He didn't know?
Well it probably slipped Robertson's mind, busy as he is in getting people to send in those checks, money orders and love offerings to support his cause. How the reverend found time to hook up with Taylor, I'll never know.
But in May 1999, Robertson, through Freedom Gold Limited, an offshore company registered in the Cayman Islands but based at CBN headquarters in Virginia Beach, signed an agreement with Taylor and key cabinet members allowing the for-profit Freedom Gold to explore and receive mining rights in southeastern Liberia, where gold is believed to be in the ground.
It's a great deal for Liberia, which is now an economic basket case thanks to the long civil war and Taylor's corruption. It's also good for Freedom Gold, which was formed by Robertson in 1998. Liberia -- and for all practical purposes we're talking Taylor -- gains 10 percent ownership of Freedom Gold.
As The Post's Douglas Farah reported in January, huge amounts of the country's funds have been siphoned off by a small group of Taylor's associates and relatives. Taylor "has his hand in everything and gets a cut of everything," a businessman told The Post. Other Liberians, probably Taylor's gang, are entitled to buy at least 15 percent of Freedom Gold's shares after the exploration period.
In a phone interview on Wednesday, Joe Mathews, Freedom Gold's vice president for finance and administration ("actually I'm acting as managing director," he confided), said the company is currently in the exploration stage but "there is little activity at the moment because it's monsoon season."
He said gold has been found, but whether it is a viable venture has not been determined. Mathews confirmed reports that Freedom Gold is committed to spend $15 million during the exploration phase, but he said it has yet to spend anything close to that amount. The deal with Liberia gives Freedom Gold exploration rights for five years, and an additional "20 years to mine it," Mathews said. Liberia is currently collecting exploration and rental fees from Freedom Gold; the government also will pocket royalties and rental fees once production gets underway.
Yesterday Fisher also faxed a letter stating that the company has shown it is "a responsible corporate citizen." He cited company-built wells and pumps for safe drinking water, a free medical clinic that serves 1,000 patients a month from surrounding villages and the construction of roads and bridges to reach the area. "Freedom Gold has done more for the people in this region in the last two years than any other company over the last thirty years," he said, adding that the company intends to contribute even more.
Taylor needs the cash. His country is in ruins, though he and Madam Jewel Howard Taylor live well, thanks to sales of Liberia's precious resources and concession fees from foreign investors such as Freedom Gold.
Monrovia, the country's capital, is the pits: sporadic running water and electricity, hungry and malnourished children. And the countryside, where illiteracy is up to 70 percent and fighting still rages, is worse off.
The United Nations finally got its back up. Fed up with Taylor's complicity in helping rebels in neighboring Sierra Leone market diamonds to finance terror against their government, the U.N. Security Council slapped sanctions on Liberia: no international sale of diamonds; an embargo on foreign travel by senior Taylor officials. The United States has imposed economic sanctions, too.
And why not?
The U.S.-educated but Libya- trained Taylor is a menace to all that's decent. Ironically, it was Christmas Eve 1989 -- (get that Mr. Robertson) -- when warlord Taylor and his band of rebels launched their bloody invasion of Liberia. They took on a despot in then-president and former sergeant Samuel Doe. But Taylor's crowd turned out to be no better. Twelve years later, with tens of thousands of Liberians slain, hundreds of thousands displaced throughout West Africa, a generation of young Liberian boys ruined by their conversion to child soldiers, women raped and mutilated, his country is in absolute ruins and is ostracized by the world community -- except for hustlers, mercenaries and the preacher/entrepreneur from Virginia Beach. Taylor presides over a near corpse.
Finding himself in the tightest of spots, Taylor the Intimidator weighed in this week on America's side in the fight against terrorism. But his real hope lies with deep-pocketed foreigners and their unquenchable thirst for a buck.
What a marriage. Can't you see it now? Robertson, fresh from his latest condemnation of sin, prediction of world collapse and visions of Liberian gold, sports his best "aw, shucks" smile, throws his arm around a grateful President Taylor -- who ought to be standing before a war crimes tribunal -- and coos: "C'mon, Charlie, what's a little human rights between friends?
Charles Taylor's Genocide Project
Disclaimer: The manager of this site (wisteriadrapedwishingwells.piczo.com) does not endorse the belief that Charles Taylor has been clearly linked to Al Queda or the attacks of 9.11. No man should be falsely accused, not even the likes of Charles Taylor. This video has been included simply to expose the activities of Charles Taylor in Liberia and to expose what the televangelist Pat Robertson has been/is supporting by being in business with this man in the blood diamond/gold trade.
Who is Pat Robertson?
Pat has said that (if he's hearing God right) in the second half of 2007 terrible attacks will be waged upon the USA resulting in the loss of millions of American lives. The only enemy of false prophets is time. Let us see whether Pat has 'heard God right' this time?
I am sure that there is a commandment in the bible that goes something like "Thou shall not kill." Perhaps Pat has never read that part?
Some things to ponder:
In April 2001 Robertson supported China's brutal policy of forced abortion and said that the Communist country was "doing what they have to do" in keeping population numbers down. It is not Christian to advocate even voluntary abortion on the part of the mother, never mind such a tyrannical model of forced abortion as part of a wider eugenics agenda.
He advocated the assassination of Venezuelan populist president Hugo Chavez. In doing so Robertson is nailing his colors to the wall as a firm minion of the New World Order. Chavez has rallied against the Globalists at every turn, including his recent spat with Vincente Fox and his rejection of the FTAA.
"Robertson lives on the top of a Virginia mountain, in a huge mansion with a private airstrip. He owns the Ice Capades, a small hotel, diamond mines (in Zaire), a vitamin company (Kalo Vita) involved in a multi-level marketing scheme along the lines of Amway, and until recently, International Family Entertainment, parent company of the Family Channel (see below) -- all estimated to be worth between $150-200 million. How does a televangelist, who is supposedly involved in non-profit work, manage to create such a fortune for himself? One thing is known for sure, Robertson's numerous private business interests have at times pushed their expenses onto the tax-exempt, religious interests of CBN. For example, Robertson was caught using CBN money and equipment to aid his diamond mining operation -- a double good deal for Pat, seeing as he employed people in Zaire for ridiculously low wages, and managed to use CBN's infrastructure to cut costs even more. In looking at Robertson's businesses, one is struck by the constant use of non-profit, donor money to fund his schemes. (For documentation of this and more, see Rob Boston's book entitled The Most Dangerous Man in America?: Pat Robertson and the Rise of the Christian Coalition.)"
The late J. Peter Grace, head of the North American division of the secretive Catholic Order, the Knights of Malta, was the early mentor of evangelist Pat Robertson. Robertson was sent down to Brazil by the elite to get some seasoning and later was trained for his "role" as a TV evangelist at an Illuminati-sponsored church in New York City.
"The Lord has just blessed him. . . . It doesn't make any difference what he does, good or bad. God picks him up because he's a man of prayer and God's blessing him." Pat Robertson about George Bush.
J. Peter Grace
...and where does George Bush come from?
Educated at Yale University, the grandson of Prescott Bush, the son of George Bush Snr, George W Bush was initiated a 'Knight of Eulogia', in his senior year at Yale (1968). His father and his grandfather before him were both initiated 'Knights of Eulogia'.
What is a Knight of Eulogia?
Eulogia is a fictiional goddess of eloquence. When an initiate is accepted into a secret order called 'Skull and Bones' they are dubbed by a sword holding priest, of sorts, much the same way as Kings would have dubbed Knights, thus giving them their title. George Bush was dubbed 'George W Knight of Eulogia'. Although referred to as 'Poppy' his proper name, within the society, is 'Magog'.
What is 'Skull and Bones'?
The Order of Skull and Bones, once known as The Brotherhood of Death,is a secret society based at Yale University, in New Haven, Connecticut, and is one of the oldest student secret societies in the United States. Skull and Bones has maintained its selective membership and Masonic-inspired rituals since its founding in 1832. The society's alumni organization, which owns its properties and oversees undergraduate activity, is the Russell Trust Association, named after one of Bones' founding members.
Why was George W Bush called 'Magog'?
Magog is the name given to the incoming Bonesman who has the most sexual experience. In 1968, that was George W Bush.
So what is the connection between George W Bush and Pat Robertson?
Robertson's father, A. Willis Robertson, (wealthy illuminist insider) succeeded his fellow Virginian, Carter Glass, in the United States Senate in 1946. Glass had chaired the House Banking and Currency Committee, and Robertson's father went on to chair its counterpart in the Senate, where he had the hearty support of the banking community. To quote Pat Robertson, "As I write this I am looking at a lovely sterling SILVER tray given him by the American Bankers Association at their annual meeting in San Francisco, October 25, 1966. My father was also a colleague in the Senate of Prescott Bush, the father of George Bush." (Robertson, The New World Order, p.126)
...which means...what?
Absalom Robertson
Simply it means that the Robertson family has ties to the Bush family that go back many years. No one knows for sure whether Pat Robertson was ever a Skull and Bones initiate, or whether in fact, like George W Bush now, is a Patriarch of Skull and Bones.
My point is that all the above information calls into question the integrity of the original statement that Pat Robertson made regarding George W Bush...remember...
Skull & Bones (1968)
Pat Robertson in regard to George W Bush...
"The Lord has just blessed him. . . . It doesn't make any difference what he does, good or bad. God picks him up because he's a man of prayer and God's blessing him."
How does all the above call into question the integrity of Pat Robertson's statement?
Pat Robertson's family has strong ties to the Bush family, thus his statement may come from a very biased position.
Secondly, how can someone, in this instance, Bush, be called anything remotely resembling a 'man of prayer' when he is still an active Patriarch of a clearly satanic, in origins, secret illuminati sect, namely, Skull and Bones?
Answer to question...
The inference that Pat Robertson makes in the original statement is that George W Bush is a 'praying man' who prays to the God of the Heavens.
My challenge to you is this: to which god is he actually praying? And taking into consideration the things that you have just read, one may well be wise to ask the question, 'to which god is Pat Robertson praying?' Clearly Pat requires some direction in regards to what attributes in a human being are more becoming of the likeness/attributes of God. Clearly, a man who is named 'Magog Knight of Eulogia', who participates in Paganistic Rituals of sacrifice, and another with a penchant for hacking off the limbs of individuals and entertaining out and out genocide are, to my mind, in the least, slightly missing the mark.
Pat Robertson giving the Masonic Sign of Fellow Craft, or the Devil's Claw in a pic for the cover of Time Magazine.
Why have you even brought any of this up?
Pat Robertson holds himself up as a public example of a God fearing, Jesus believing, soul saving man of God. The words from his mouth and the example of his life must be weighed and tested for truth, seeing as how millions of people are allowing themselves and their Christian walk to be led by Pat Robertson. Pat Robertson calls bad, good. Pat Robertson calls men of evil pratices 'praying men'. Pat Robertson claims to live to a standard that is in keeping with biblical expectations.
Followers of Pat Robertson give him millions of dollars of their hard earned money every year, sometimes to the detriment of their own family.
Pat Robertson does not represent the truth of God above and I believe it needs to be exposed. I do NOT believe that Pat Robertson is representative of the living God. I believe he is a fraud and a man who follows corrupt practices more becoming of a man of the world who is in pursuit of money, power and adulation. What you have read here hardly scratches the surface of what Pat Robertson is about, but it is my hope that you will be inspired to search further, in an effort to discover the truth. Do not just accept what I, or anyone else has to say. Go out there and look for the truth yourself.
When Pat met Charles
The road to Monrovia started in 1997, when Rupert Murdoch, shopping for an outlet for his children's programming, bought Robertson's publicly traded cable operation, IFE, for $1.9 billion in cash. Most of the money went to public shareholders and to John Malone, an early investor in IFE through his Liberty Media. Robertson took home over $400 million. Of that, the preacher received $19 million, Regent $148 million, CBN $136 million, and the Robertson Charitable Remainder Trust--a trust that pays out to CBN in 2010, or at the death of either Robertson or his wife, Dede, whichever comes later--$109 million. CBN and Regent, both nonprofits, quickly put the money to use. The trust's windfall, though, was going to be Robertson's big chance to endow his creations. And two friends came to him with grand plans: The head of Robertson's law school saw riches in a rundown refinery in California (we'll get to that story later). John Gimenez, the pastor of nearby Rock Church, saw riches in a rundown country: Liberia.
In 1997 the West African nation had just emerged from a bloody seven-year civil war that left an estimated 150,000 people dead and 1.9 million without homes or living as refugees in neighboring countries. Its new President, Charles Taylor, a leader of one of the factions, found himself running a country with $2.1 billion in debt and an 85% unemployment rate. Despite Liberia's rich natural resources like iron ore, timber, diamonds, and gold, and its historical ties to America--the country was founded by freed slaves from the U.S. in the mid-1800s--Taylor found it hard to lure Western companies to his land. The problem? For one, Taylor. Like his fellow warlords, Taylor had fought the civil war with a large number of child soldiers; once President, he used his security force to carry out torture, looting, extortion, and "extrajudicial killings," according to the State Department. After Taylor was accused of aiding the brutal Revolutionary United Front rebels in Sierra Leone by helping to smuggle between $25 million and $125 million of diamonds out each year, both the U.S. and the U.N. slapped sanctions on Liberia.
But Gimenez saw hope in the country. Through a missionary from his church, he came to believe that Liberia, which is about 40% Christian, was getting a bad rap. When some Liberian politicians came to him to find revenue sources for their country, Gimenez knew just where to turn for help. "In something like this, Pat has a real heart to help people," says Gimenez. "[The media] criticize Pat because he's a minister and he's a businessman. But that's what they needed there."
Yet in Liberia there already were Westerners trying to make a buck. For one of them, Robertson's entry proved disastrous.
Since 1978, Ken Ross Jr., a former state legislator in California, had been trying his hand at mining. He'd come to the country at the request of an acquaintance named William Burke, a former campaign worker for California Governor Jerry Brown and the husband of a U.S. Congresswoman. Burke had started a mining company in Liberia in the mid-1970s, but by 1978 he had run out of funds. A wide-eyed entrepreneur, Ross bought a controlling stake in the company that year. In his khaki pants and polo shirts, Ross soon started digging through Burke's concession, looking for his big payoff. He started mining one area, but kept his eye on another part of the concession, located in the remote southeast of Liberia. Ross knew the region, called Bukon Jedeh, was promising: For decades locals had eked out livings sluicing for gold there. But would it support a gold mine? To find out, he provided funds in 1988 for a Ghana-born employee named Isaac Boadi to earn his Ph.D. in geology in the U.S. and, as part of his dissertation, to study the region.
Three years later, what Boadi found were the kind of anomalies in the land that get gold hunters lacing up their boots. He analyzed the various geographies of Bukon Jedeh and found gold just about everywhere possible: in dried-up river streams, alluvial flats, and bedrock. And instead of the usual four parts per billion of gold found in most rock, Boadi found in some places a high of eight parts per million. "I have explored for gold in various places in Africa," says Boadi, now an independent exploration geologist and consultant based in Kumasi, Ghana, "and Bukon Jedeh is [still] one of the most interesting and one of the most prospective places I would look for gold." Ross built an airstrip and started to get the necessary infrastructure to the site. That all came to an abrupt halt in 1990 when civil war broke out.
Though unable to work the site for eight years, Ross stayed in the country. When peace--or peace of a sort--came to Liberia, he turned his attention back to Bukon Jedeh and began trolling for investors. It was at that time that Ross' son, Ken Ross III, says that his dad was approached by Taylor, who asked that he talk to Pat Robertson. Taylor had received a call saying Robertson was looking to put some money into the country. (Ross Jr., who's being treated for stage-four colon cancer in California, couldn't be interviewed.) In late November 1998 it looked as if the two might be able to get together--Ross to mine his land and Robertson to make some cash by investing in it. The preacher sent Ross a ticket and invited him to Virginia for a discussion.
There, far from the burned-out houses and moist air of Liberia, Ross laid out a plan. In a conference room in CBN's studio headquarters, he presented details of Bukon Jedeh, explaining the geology, engineering studies, cash flow, and what he saw as a potential $1 billion cash payout. As Ross talked, a coterie of Robertson advisors--two Liberian politicians, a Liberian-born attorney named Gerald Padmore, and the dean of the Regent law school, J. Nelson Happy--listened intently. The younger Ross says that his dad offered to cut Robertson in for half of the concession as long as Robertson ponied up the $12.5 million necessary to buy out Ross' current partners. Robertson promised he'd get back to Ross in a few days. The next morning, after a night at the Founders Inn, Ross flew back to Liberia expecting to finally get his gold mine running. He never heard from Robertson again.
Padmore, Robertson's attorney in the deal and the managing attorney at Cox Padmore Skolnik & Shakarchy in Denver, remembers the meeting differently. He says Ross suggested that Liberia declare his company in default, cancel his rights to the land, and issue the license to a new company owned jointly by Robertson and Ross. Padmore says that when his group met to talk about Ross' offer, they rejected it almost immediately: "We did not want to be involved in anything that could be seen as defrauding prior investors." (Ross III says that his dad was not offering to bankrupt the company but warning that the government might do so because it was desperate for tax revenues.)
In any event, Ross found his concession revoked the next month. In December 1998 a company called Freedom Gold was created in the Cayman Islands. Its sole owner: the Pat Robertson Charitable Remainder Trust.
By May 1999, Padmore and Freedom Gold's head, a former engineer named Joe Mathews, were sitting down with Charles Taylor in the executive mansion in Monrovia. In Taylor's temporary office, a room covered with heavy curtains concealing bare concrete walls, the three worked out mining agreements. While there was back and forth over wording and tax issues, there was one agreement that Freedom Gold couldn't get out of. Like any other mining operation in Liberia, Freedom Gold would be required to give the government the right to exercise--at no cost--options worth 10% of the company. Robertson's and Taylor's fortunes would now be linked.
To some, it might seem strange that Robertson, a God-fearing man, would do business with Taylor, a man feared as a god in his country. Not to Robertson. "Firestone Tire does business over there, Coca-Cola does business over there," he says. "Nobody criticizes that. It's just because I'm me." Besides, he says, Taylor is misunderstood by the world. "This man Taylor is not the monster everybody makes him out to be. Like most African countries, they don't have the same ethics we might have in this country, but at least they're trying to do something. There is no controversy at all. After this Liberia for Jesus," he says--referring to the three-day prayer-and-fast service in February--"I don't think any right-thinking person can make such claims."
Charles Taylor wasn't the only one to receive options in Freedom Gold. In November 1999, Robertson granted options for about 0.5% of the venture to William Burke, the original owner of the Bukon Jedeh concession, who by then had given up mining and moved on to various civic activities--helping oversee the Los Angeles Olympics, building the L.A. Marathon into a major race, and chairing the state organization in charge of regulating air quality over the L.A. region. Burke says he received the options--worth between $100,001 and $1 million, according to his latest filing with the California Fair Political Practices Commission--as a gift for helping to mollify Ross' original investors.
With the investors against him, his dad in the hospital, and the government no longer on his side, Ken Ross III tried his luck in the Liberian courts. He argued that although his father's 20-year concession for the region had expired, a force majeure clause in the contract enabled him to hold on to it until 2005--making up for the seven years lost during the civil war. In the fall of 1999, the court agreed with Ross. But before he could break out the shovels, the chief justice of Liberia's highest court a week later overturned the decision.The problem: The case was filed in the wrong court and filed too late. "They didn't address the merits of the case at all," says Ross from his home in Grand Rapids.
This wasn't exactly William Rehnquist chewing over issues with his peers. The State Department notes in its most recent human rights report on Liberia that while the constitution delineates three branches, they all serve at Taylor's disposal. "The bicameral legislature exercises little independence from the executive branch," the State Department notes, and "the judiciary is subject to political influence, economic pressure, and corruption." Freedom Gold attorney Padmore says that whatever happened with the case, it was between Ross and the Liberian government: "There was absolutely no involvement by us in this. Zip, zero, none," he says.
As a last-ditch attempt to get the land back, Ross III asked for one final meeting with Robertson's group. In August 2000 Ross sat down with Padmore, Happy, and Freedom Gold head Mathews at the United Red Carpet Club in Washington's Dulles Airport. Ross came with a deal and some news. He'd found a new investor: family friend Rich DeVos, the billionaire co-founder of Amway. Now he wanted to either be given the 28-square-mile piece of land that geologist Boadi had studied back in the late '80s or be paid $5 million to go away. The group rejected both offers, though Ross says Happy did offer to pray for his father. "First you want to screw him, then you want to pray for him?" Ross thought. "What's wrong with this picture?" He walked out of the meeting, cut all contact with Freedom Gold, and started pursuing a new gold mine in Liberia under the name AmLib United Minerals.
Freedom Gold, though, doesn't think Ross is finished trying to wrest away the land. "The best thing that can happen to the Rosses is if we decide to hightail it out of there with all the negative publicity," says Mathews. "Then they just walk in with all of our results and whatever we've done at this point. We're not going to do that. We've taken our hits already."
But in late 2000, just as Robertson seemed finally ready to start mining in Liberia, the other part of his immortality strategy--a much, much larger investment in the U.S.--appeared be imploding.
Take I-5 south out of Los Angeles, and at the edge of Orange County you'll hit the small town of Santa Fe Springs. It's a residential community now, but in the '20s it was home to one of the world's largest oil fields. With oil came a boom; then the industry moved on. Yet the remains of those days can still be seen. Indeed, walk three blocks past Lakeland Elementary School, just down from the South Fulton Village senior citizens' center, and there, near a trailer-home park, sits the old Powerine oil refinery, its rusting towers jutting into the air. Its owner: the Pat Robertson Charitable Remainder Trust.
In 1998, just before Robertson met with Gimenez to talk about investing in Liberia, Regent law school dean Happy approached his boss with the idea of buying Powerine. The plant had been shuttered in the mid-1990s, but Happy--a former corporate lawyer with experience in the oil industry--convinced Robertson that for a $20 million initial investment, he could restart the plant, run it right, and pump out profits of $70 million to $100 million a year. The resale value alone, Happy figured, could be worth close to $1 billion. That August, Robertson took out his checkbook, buying Powerine, a plant once owned by Rothschild Oil, and renamed it Cenco Refining, short for Creative Energy Co.
Happy, shuttling between California and Virginia Beach, had worked out the economics. But what he didn't count on was the community response. The old Powerine refinery was despised in Santa Fe Springs. While residents weren't thrilled about the eyesore of the rusting facility, they preferred it to what they used to deal with: irritated eyes, breathing issues, and strange oil patches that at times coated their cars. When Powerine was running, it earned the distinction of having the worst air-quality record and highest number of public complaints of all refineries in the Los Angeles area.
So residents were surprised when they discovered that Robertson had received clearance to open the plant without going through the public process of obtaining hard-to-get air-quality permits. The California government arm that regulated the region--the South Coast Air Quality Management District--declared that Powerine's old permits were still valid, despite the refinery's having been out of operation for years. The chairman of that board: the very same William Burke, who by 1999 found himself with an unexercised stake in Freedom Gold. A conflict of interest? Not at all, says Burke, who insists his hands were tied in regard to the plant. "When Pat Robertson acquired Cenco Refinery, he had a letter from the district long before I was ever there, which assured the new owner that all the permits would be reissued," he says. "He and I have never spoken directly about any Cenco issue. He always dealt through lawyers." Plus, Burke insists, he's since donated his Freedom Gold options to a charity associated with his L.A. Marathon.
Within months of Cenco's creation, a California environmental group called Communities for a Better Environment started calling town hall meetings in the working-class neighborhood and prepared for a fight. In May 2000, CBE sued Cenco, alleging violations of the Clean Air Act and the California equivalent. That same month, the California Division of Labor sued Cenco for its failure to pay severance to Powerine's old employees. Those weren't Cenco's only judicial problems: The state also sued for hazardous-waste violations, the city of Santa Fe Springs for other hazardous-waste violations, and the Environmental Protection Agency for air concerns. Soon even Robertson's lawyers were joining the act, alleging that Robertson had stopped paying their bills. (Cenco says it plans to countersue one law firm and settle with the other.)
By last year it was clear that even with the air permits, Happy's investment was draining CBN's endowment, not enriching it. According to a declaration of Cenco's controller taken for the CBE case, Cenco's overhead operating costs by last fall were about $325,000 a month. Throw in the 8% interest it was paying on loans, and the carrying costs soared to $485,000 a month. Robertson had had enough. By November, Happy--the former dean and Robertson confidant--was gone. Robertson replaced him with investment head Morse. "Things would have gone differently," say Morse, "had Pat had the right guy running it. Period."
Cut through all the legal wrangling, and an in-teresting fact emerges: So far Robertson's investments in God's earth have been disasters.
Freedom Gold has yet to produce a penny of revenue, despite having possibly burned through more than $8 million. While the company's initial results confirmed what geologist Boadi knew all along--that there was gold in the land--Mathews isn't sure how to mine it in an economical way, or even if it's possible. The initial crew of more than 150 spent the first few months setting up a camp and digging ten-foot-deep holes in a 3.5-square-mile block of the 560-square-mile claim. Then they washed samples by hand--a method that allowed much of the gold to slip away and thwarted any attempt to make an estimate of the total gold in the land. Now Mathews is trying to bring in drills from the U.S. to Monrovia, then from there to Bukon Jedeh. As with most things in Liberia, the logistics are nightmarish. So until they arrive, he's trying other methods to get to the gold: letting workers with short picks corkscrew their way into the earth and even selling rice to locals in exchange for information about where they've found gold.
"Right now the directive to me is to keep costs to a minimum," says Mathews, who hopes to get a mining operation started by mid-2004. William Burke, however, continues to hold out hope: "I'm the guy who discovered this stuff. I know it's there," he says. "I went out there and worked seven years of my life, so I know it's there."
In even worse shape is the dream of the $100-million-a-year refinery. After spending close to $80 million trying to get Cenco up and running, Robertson appears to be giving up. "I'm telling you," he says, "it's California, it's environmental, it is just a nightmare." Morse's new plan is to parcel off the land into "what I hope is the finest industrial park in all of Santa Fe Springs." So far, though, Morse has been able to sell only 22 acres, for $10 million.
All told, the Robertson Charitable Remainder Trust has burned through an estimated $78 million of its $109 million starting funds--a loss of 72% of the capital, with no return. The big bets, so far, have been big failures. Still, Robertson isn't writing off Liberia yet.
But what if eventually he does, leaving CBN with donations and little more to rely on once Robertson dies? Schultze, the televangelism expert, theorizes that Regent would probably be able to stand alone. Its endowment stands at $300 million, thanks to its share of the IFE payoff. He's less sanguine about the hopes for CBN, the TV network that started it all and still carries Robertson's words on a daily basis.
Robertson knows the score. In the 1995 epilogue to his autobiography, Shout It From the Housetops!, he wrote that the loss of funds during his presidential bid made him realize that "my retirement some day in the future could have a similar impact on the ministry I loved." The IFE trust, he wrote, was a way to "undergird CBN's future finances." Now, with that trust drastically reduced, he insists that CBN's strong management team should be able to carry on just fine on its own.
"My son Gordon has taken over more and more of the on-air role, as well the Internet operation and the overseas operation, and he has got a real heart for it," says Robertson, sitting in a stately wing-backed chair in his office. The room, with its dark wood paneling and collection of memorabilia from Robertson's decades in politics, looks as if it were designed to one day be a museum piece. "I think if I were to pass off the scene in a few years, I think that we've got enough strength in various positions that that wouldn't be any problem." Besides, it's not too late to keep investing. "I'm by nature an entrepreneur, unfortunately," he laughs. "I like to start businesses and start things."
In mid-April, Morse, a former real estate developer, revealed that CBN had the perfect new idea: convert part of the land Robertson's empire sits on into a center similar to the Stanford Research Park in California. "The long-term annuity for CBN will be real estate residuals," he says. "It hasn't been announced yet, but when I see it, I drool. There's some good stuff there."
