“For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory;” (2 Corinthians 4:17).

I was arrested on June 15, 2019 at the “Drag Queen Story Hour” at the South Hill public library in Spokane, WA. Snipers were positioned on the roof of our library, pointed at a group of Christians and conservatives gathered outside the library.

Using our tax dollars, the Drag Queens were targeting children, dressed as loud, forlorn whores in exaggerated, clownish makeup and gaudy outfits. The head “Drag Queen” was an overweight, butch-looking woman, who identifies as a man who does drag. Are you confused yet? On her Facebook profile, she spewed the “F” word and far worse, featuring herself in photos dressed in gory, Satanic outfits of horned gods enshrined in the blood of dead babies.

Her sidekick, “Katie Rockswell”, wore a blue Cookie Monster outfit with two sewn-on google-eyes covering his breasts (an obvious invitation for children to leer). On his Facebook page, he had what appeared to be NAMBLA symbols: swirly-shaped triangles and popsicles for children, symbols that the FBI has identified as known pedophilia signs.

Drag is a visual assault on the minds of children, a gateway to pedophilia, as children are conditioned and groomed into believing that what they’re seeing is not only normal, but fun and desirable.

During the “drag queen” reading time, stories were read to children about “gay” marriage, gender fluidity, and families with two moms or dads. The Drag Queens closed with a faux striptease for the children.

The public library board later informed us that they had not even done background checks on the readers, even as numerous drag queen story readers were being exposed as convicted sex-offenders nationwide, such as had occurred in Houston, Texas just months before this event.


I showed up two hours early, not knowing what would transpire. Ten days before, we had planned a “sit-in” protest. But the library soon announced that it would not be letting people into the reading room, unless they were accompanied by children. Not wanting to subject our children to evil, we soon realized that the “sit-in” would not succeed. So I abandoned the “sit-in”, cried out to God in my distress, and asked Him what He wanted me to do.

“Just show up.”

And I did, with no plans to protest, disrupt, or do anything that would be perceived as unlawful. I would just let God lead. “Just show up.” But one thing I knew: it was my mission to enter the library, and at least minister to the children, preach the Gospel personally if given the opportunity to the parents, and simply tell the little children as they went in to the house of horrors, that Jesus loves them.



When I got there, police had barricaded the entrance and were only letting people into the library who agreed with LGBTQ ideology.

“In my day,” I told the officer who had obstructed my way into the library, “If a grown man dressed up as a woman and read any kind of story to children, let alone stories about perversion, the police would arrest him, not me!”

“It’s not that day, sir,” the officer responded. “It’s not that day …”

Other officers accosted me. “Move to the other side of the street with the protestors!” Now, there were about six of them blockading my way, and a half dozen more were huddled in a corner talking. According to our local paper, more than 40 local officers were present. I didn’t even learn until later, that there were SWAT SNIPERS positioned in our direction.

The police would ask everyone who showed up, “Are you FOR or AGAINST?”

If you were for, you would be let in. If you were against, you were herded into a “free speech zone” under so-called “Time, Place, Manner” restrictions. (I don’t recall reading that in the U.S. Constitution, do you?)

Meanwhile, LGBT supporters had set up camp on the front lawn of the library with booths and tents, handing out sodomite propaganda and colorful LGBT paraphernalia to kids.

“I’d like to enter my public library,” I asserted and stood my ground.

“You can’t do that, sir. Protestors have to move across the street to the ‘protest zone’.”

“I’m not a protestor. I’d simply like to enter my public library.”

I was not about to move to the other side of the street to scream at counter-protestors screaming back at me in a fruitless exercise.

Seeing a crowd gathered (even if police), I started to preach: “THE USA that I grew up in … if a grown man dressed up as a woman and read stories to children about ‘gender fluidity’, the police would not be stopping me. They would be arresting them! They would be arresting perverts dressed as women, who are men—”

“Last warning—“

“So you’re going to arrest me for standing on a public parking lot?”

“Move across to the protest zone or you will be arrested.”

“You’re going to have to arrest me then.”


Within minutes I was handcuffed and handed over to SWAT.

My wrists were cuffed in front and then chained to my torso. I was then thrown into the back of an all-steel SUV mobile prison cell with a narrow bench. The industrial-strength air conditioner was blasting on high at what felt like 40°, and The Mark of the Beast by Iron Maiden was blasting over the vehicle’s speakers.

They checked in on me a few times, “Just want to make sure you’re still kicking.” Did they think I was going to kill myself?

They did this two or three more times and then disappeared for hours. I’d asked them before they put me in, how long I was going to be in there and was told, “As long as the event lasted.” The music was loud enough to break my concentration every time I tried to pray. It felt like I was in some kind of MK Ultra experiment in a psych ward with nothing but the all-steel walls to stare at, my wrists chained to my own body—listening to heavy metal that I used to listen to in high school.

I called for the officers to no avail, to see if they could escort me to the bathroom. At one point, one of them did come, but only to the front of the vehicle, inexplicably turned up the music, and left.

Three to four hours later, I was transported to county jail, fingerprinted, booked, and was asked some questions by a health worker, who asked me if they could prescribe pharma drugs if I needed it, to which I declined any and all healthcare while in custody.

I got my phone call and my wife bailed me out several hours later, just minutes short of the deadline; otherwise, I would have had to spend Father’s Day 2019 weekend in jail.


Then the prosecution began. The city prosecutor tried me for “obstruction” of police while discharging their duties and later threatened to add new charges onto my case (in the middle of trying me)—including, “falsifying information to the police”, after we denied his “plea bargain”. The prosecutor actually pulled my attorney aside, months after we’d already rejected his “plea”, and asked if we’re sure we don’t want to revisit that. When my attorney denied him, he indicated that he is going to be filing new charges on top of the old.

I was picked up by The Pacific Justice Institute pro-bono—with the recommendation of my State representative, Matthew Shea—as a Christian Constitutional case. After six months of back-and-forth in pre-trial hearings, the honorable judge on the case, Judge Tracy Staab, dismissed the charges and exonerated me, ruling that: “Mr. Yaghtin had every right to be standing on public property. He was not blocking traffic and was not conveying any kind of message that might incite a response. He was not being disorderly, disruptive, or aggressive” and that “the evidence is insufficient as a matter of law to support the charge of obstructing”.

But this was not enough for the prosecution.

It only took one day for the city prosecutor to indicate that he would be appealing the case, which is where my case currently resides at the time of this writing, in the superior court of Washington State.

Weeks before the judge’s decision, the prosecutor, a Richard Dawkins fan, revealed his extreme bias and used the phrase, “religious loonies” to describe Christians on his Facebook page. Shortly after, his page suddenly “went down” once the Federalist picked up on the story.

DQSH 2.0

If anything, the police should have stood with me, and put a stop to the event themselves. When I was a child, growing up in the U.S.A., police did arrest grown men dressed up as women, if they got anywhere NEAR kids. Now, they protect them.

The next Drag Queen Story Hour was held on June 22, 2019, at the downtown, Spokane library, exactly one week from the day of my arrest.

I attended the event as a reporter with my Saved Magazine press badge. If they were going to deny my first amendment rights as an individual and as a minister wanting to practice his religion, were they also going to infringe my rights as the free press?

Sargeant Vaughn, who had a hand in my arrest the week prior, pulled me aside when he saw me on the forbidden LGBT “counter-protestor” side of the public sidewalk. I was now outside of the official “protest zone”. They weren’t going to arrest the press, were they?

“Here’s the deal—” Officer Vaughn began in on me. “You can move freely. Alright? Once you start engaging people and if you cause a problem or anything like that you’re subject to arrest. Plain and simple. If you want to act as the press and report on it, you can do that. Until you start engaging with people and there’s problems, we will deal with it then and you’ll be subject to arrest.”

I wasn’t about to get arrested twice in one week, and I was there as the press that day. I also knew that our next battle would be fought not on the streets, but in court. “I’m not here to cause any problems, sir. I’m here as the press today.”

I had never heard of the press being told that they can’t openly engage, interview, or ask people questions. Isn’t that the fundamental role of the press and the bedrock of American journalism? To engage, to interview, to ask questions, irrespective of political beliefs?

I can’t begin to describe the mayhem, the noise, the jeers, and the strange and bizarre outfits worn by the boisterous LGBT Left. Pastor Ken, from the Church at Planned Parenthood, was preaching from across the street:


I made my way down the sidewalk with a reporter and my partner in the mag, to shouts of, “BIGOT! BIGOT! BIGOT!” from a Cuban dead man named, Alfredo Fidel Llamedo. I later learned that he was questioned by the FBI and that he was an extremist Leftist Marxist activist. A different man who I had met counter-protesting the Church at Planned Parenthood, advanced towards me: “Are you the one who advocates for the execution of gay people?”

It was my friend, Sean. I’d try to reach out to him with civil discussion a few times. Sean had a habit of interviewing me on his phone cam with tough, but honest questions. And I welcomed the discourse. There were some who I could speak to, and others who were too far gone.

“No, that’s what the Bible advocates in Leviticus 20:13—“

Before I could finish, two police officers came up out of nowhere, and one of them cowered over me: “OK, you’re not exercising your press rights …”

“I’m just answering his question.”

“No, you’re not exercising your press rights.”

OK. “We’re here to comply. We’re not here to cause any problems. We’re the press.”

“And when you’re acting like the press, you can be here.”

Now he had my attention. “How exactly are we not acting like the press?”

“To comply, you can walk here and report on the story … You can’t preach the Bible to people or you will be arrested or escorted off this side of the property. Do you understand?”

Oh, I understand. “I understand,” I said, “That I’m the press. If I’m asked a question, I will answer it. However … if they ask me a Biblical question, it’s my right to answer from the Bible.”

The police then escorted me silently through the sea of counter-protestors and then we made our way to the press box inside the forbidden reading room. Once inside, the downtown library manager harassed one of my reporters, and we got in each other’s face a bit over it. About halfway through “story time”, hearing, A Family is a Family is a Family, I could stomach it no more and we left. I’d seen enough.

Saved Magazine is now suing the City of Spokane and the Spokane Police department for infringement of press rights, while we await the final outcome of my criminal charge at the first drag queen “reading hour”. Your prayers are appreciated.


Draq Queen Story Hours are continuing all across our cities, in private businesses, public libraries, and even some so-called “churches”.

But people are beginning to push back. GLAAD, the world’s largest LGBTQ media advocacy organization, published its annual study that measures American tolerance towards LGBTQ people, and found a “significant decline” from 53% to 45% support among 18-34 year olds. Considering the age bracket studied by the index, the results have been “alarming” to LGBT activists. USA Today reported these findings came during Pride 2019 and the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall riots, which sparked the “LGBTQ rights” movement. In Missouri, one lawmaker, has even proposed a bill criminalizing public library drag queen story hours.

The “LGBTQ community” has crossed too many serious lines—between targeting small children, infiltrating schools and public forums, destroying businesses who don’t bow to the Alphabet Mafia, and overtaking the media to the point where you can’t even turn on a TV show or watch a movie without being accosted.

“Love is love” is a false and redundant aphorism. The Bible says God is love (1 John 4:8). Homosexuality is unnatural. It is wicked. It is vile. It is sin, and more than sin. It is abomination. It’s not hateful to speak the truth of God’s Word. But, as the Pro-LGBT Leftist extremists have demonstrated, truth is hate to those who hate the truth.