Don't talk to the police!

(... at least, not without your lawyer present.)

If you’re like me, the vast majority of your exposure to the American legal system comes from TV and movies.

So, who is it that we usually see “pleading the Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination”?

That’s right, the evil mafia don ... the guy who we in the audience know is guilty as sin.

I don’t know about you, but that experience has always left me with sort of a funny taste in my mouth about the necessity, the legitimacy — the justice — of the Fifth Amendment.

Well, no more.

In the brief video presentation Don’t Talk to the Police — In praise of the Fifth Amendment right not to be a witness against yourself, Law professor James Duane (27 mins.) and police investigator George Bruch (21 mins.) explain why you and I should always “take the 5th”:

[A]ny lawyer worth his salt will tell the suspect in no uncertain terms to make no statement to police under any circumstances.

~ U.S. Supreme Court Justice Robert H. Jackson in
Watts v. Indiana, 338 U.S. 49, 59 (1949 - Justice
Jackson concurring in part and dissenting in part)

This constitutional protection must not be interpreted in a hostile or niggardly spirit. Too many, even those who should be better advised, view this privilege as a shelter for wrongdoers. They too readily assume that those who invoke it are either guilty of crime or commit perjury in claiming the privilege.

~ Ullmann v. United States, 350 U.S. 422 (1956)

One of the Fifth Amendment’s basic functions is to protect innocent men who otherwise might be ensnared by ambiguous circumstances. Truthful responses of an innocent witness, as well as those of a wrongdoer, may provide the government with incriminating evidence from the speaker’s own mouth.

~ Ohio v. Reiner, 532 U.S. 17 (2001 - internal
punctuation and citations omittted)

Prof. Duane is very easy to listen to — quick, personable and funny (if a bit toungue-tied at times). Bruch is a bit more reserved, but he gives you the same advice from the cop’s perspective.

Watch it, then pass it along to everyone you know.

The time to be aware of your legal rights is now … not when you find yourself in “a situation.”

Unbelief and the Deification of the Civil Magistrate:Insomnia

In the 2002 film Insomnia, Al Pacino is Will Dormer, a veteran Los Angeles homicide detective who isn’t above tampering with evidence — only “when necessary,” of course. (I.e., only to ensure the conviction of suspects that everybody knows are guilty.) He and his younger partner, Hap Eckhart, have been sent to Nightmute, Alaska to help the police chief, an old LAPD buddy, investigate the beating death of 17-year-old Kay Connell — and to get them away from a widening Internal Affairs investigation into the dubious ethics of certain detectives.

After arriving and getting settled in, Hap tells Dormer he’s decided to make a deal with IA so that things will go better for him in the long run. Dormer warns Hap that IA only wants to use him to get to Dormer — the “big fish” that will get IA the headlines they want.

Hap protests, “You’re not going to be involved. You’re a G-- d--- hero. With your reputation he can’t touch you. ... You’re clean, Will. ... They’ve got nothing on you because there’s nothing to get.”

“What about [the] Dobbs [case]?” asks Dormer.

“That’s different,” Hap replies. “Even [IA] doesn't want [feces] like Dobbs back on the street.” Everybody knows Dobbs is guilty, you see.

But Dormer also understands that all his prior cases will be jeopardized if Hap cooperates, and he expresses in no uncertain terms his disgust with his partner for deciding to do so.

The next day, Dormer, Hap and several Nightmute cops are in hot pursuit of Kay’s murderer along a rocky, fog-shrouded shoreline. Dormer accidentally shoots Hap, who dies in his arms — convinced that his own partner shot him in retaliation for his decision to cut a deal with IA. Of course, Dormer easily convinces his Nightmute colleagues that Hap was shot by the fleeing killer.

But the killer, Walter Finch (Robin Williams), witnessed the shooting and knows it was accidental. He also knows that Dormer will try to pin it on him. So he calls Dormer to express his sympathies — and to assure Dormer that his secret will be safe with him, so long as he works to convince the Nightmute cops that Kay — and now Hap — were both killed by Kay's high school boyfriend, not by Finch.

Now the race is on between Finch — the creepy, pathetic perv who seems to genuinely believe that Kay’s death was every bit as accidental as Hap’s — and Dormer, the renowned, “honorable” LA homicide detective who must manipulate the evidence to support his “innocence” in Hap’s death — everyone knows he’s innocent, you see — and implicate Finch instead.

Insomnia is an extremely well-crafted psychological crime drama that defends the vital importance of personal integrity. This is probably one of my favorite films — I can’t recommend it highly enough.

But after seeing Insomnia back when it first came out, I also began to consider how our society’s unbelief — our refusal to accept God’s word in faith — might cause us to excuse doing injustice in the name of justice, and thus, to deify the State. Maybe we would prefer to see a possibly innocent man punished in this life — even if a Detective Dormer has to “strengthen the case” against him to assure a conviction — rather than to allow a possibly guilty man to go free in the full confidence that, even if he escapes judgment in this life, he will face God’s judgment at the Last Day.

• Next post: “Unbelief and the Deification of the Civil Magistrate: Woodard v. Wade”

Gold – A political metal

Political rulers throughout recorded history have asserted a monopoly over money. They have argued that the State possesses legitimate authority over the creation and distribution of money. Because gold and silver have been widely used as money metals, the State has asserted control over the monetary uses of these two metals.

This is the origin of the war against gold. Gold is widely recognized and desired as an investment. It is a highly marketable commodity. This was far more true in 1913 than it is today. Prior to the de-monetization of gold, which began in 1914, a person could take a gold coin anywhere where international trade was common and buy just about anything. It did not matter which ruler’s image was on the coin. The coin was valuable because of its gold content. The image may have helped to convey information about the coin -- so much gold of a certain fineness -- but the face on the coin had merely a brand-name recognition effect. ...

Gold’s value is not independent of governments. This is because governments buy and sell gold. This activity affects its price. Gold’s value is also affected by laws against the circulation of gold coins. The Soviet Union had such laws. So did the United States, 1933-1974. But gold’s value as a money metal can exist independently of a government’s actions to subsidize or stigmatize gold’s use as money. Gold circulates as money precisely because it has a value independent of government policies. Or it did. It no longer does. Gold has been de-monetized by governments and their acolytes, the economists.

As with any scarce resource, gold moves to those holders who bid highest. The more widespread gold’s use as money becomes, the more likely that trade will accompany gold. Gold reduces risk by reducing the likelihood of default or fraud on the part of the State or its licensed agents, fractional reserve banks. A government can go bankrupt, but its gold coins will still circulate at gold’s market value. The same is true of any coin-issuing agency. The gold may be marginally more or less valuable in a particular form because of the degree of recognition of the producer, but a government that accurately certifies its gold coins will find that its coins circulate at full value even if the government itself faces bankruptcy or extinction.

Gold’s independence from the fate of governments points to a political truth that governments despise: governments are not the source of the value of gold. To the extent that gold is money, gold testifies against the sovereignty of the State in the realm of money. It testifies to the sovereignty of consumers in a free market. The free market, not the State, is the primary source of gold’s exchange value [emphasis added].

~ Gary North, The Gold Wars (free pdf book), pp. 44-45

The only good politician ...

Most of the world’s currencies and coins today have images of politicians, either dead or alive. By law, American coins and bills may not have the image of anyone living. (In this instance, I am strongly in favor this law. If I must daily look at pictures of politicians, I prefer the dead ones.)

~ Gary North, The Gold Wars (free pdf book), p. 18

White Roses for Uncle Sam(or, Passing the time at DTW)

I wrote previously about my encounter with the TSA upon leaving Phoenix Sky Harbor.

During my week in Ohio and Michigan, I pondered my experience. Remembering the fear I felt as my backpack went through the x-ray machine 3 times ... remembering the looks of resignation on the faces of my fellow travelers ... I think I felt the seeds of a plan begin to form in my mind.

Before leaving Phoenix, I had printed some interesting articles off the Internets and brought them with me, thinking I might engage my old friend and her fiancé in some political conversation. As it turned out, my girlfriend and I spent most of our time reminiscing, touching on current events only occasionally.

Anyhow, one evening as I was tidying up my guest room at their home, I took out the folder of articles and one of them caught my eye: "The White Rose: A Lesson in Dissent," by Jacob Hornberger. The non-violent resistance mounted by die Weiße Rose against Hitler's regime is one of the most inspiring stories to me. (I can't recommend highly enough the recent film Sophie Scholl: The Final Days — German language with English subtitles — about three students who were arrested, tried and executed for distributing anti-Nazi pamphlets on their Munich university campus.)

After reading Hornberger's piece once again, the seed that was planted at Sky Harbor Airport earlier that week started to germinate.

The articles I'd brought with me from Phoenix included some classics from LewRockwell.com, some speeches by Rep. Ron Paul, etc. I started looking for shorter pieces that didn't have a whole ton of underlined "hot links" which might prove distracting to readers of the printed articles. I narrowed it down to seven titles:

• The White Rose: A Lesson in Dissent by Jacob Hornberger
• I Lost My Son to a War I Oppose. We Were Both Doing Our Duty. by Prof. Andrew Bacevich, Col., USA (Ret.)
• Political Power and the Rule of Law by Ron Paul
• National ID Cards Won't Stop Terrorism or Illegal Immigration by Ron Paul
• Power Lust by Lew Rockwell
• The Wanna-Be State by Lew Rockwell
• The War Criminal in the Living Room by Paul Craig Roberts

Hmm. These should offer food for thought to folks with a lot of time on their hands, in a place where they may have just had a less-than-pleasant, up-close and personal brush with the federal government.

I could make copies and distribute them around the Detroit airport!

Yeah, silly, right? People can read this stuff on the Internet if they want to. Well, yes, they can, but while more folks have computers at home than ever before, I'd bet a whole lot of them don't frequent the same websites I do. In fact, I tend to think a lot of people just use the Internet for e-mail, or to shop for some doo-dad or gee-gaw or other, and little else.

Besides, I really wanted to do something for Ron Paul's presidential campaign. I've got a great sign on the back of my mini-van, but I've been itching to do something more. Two of the Ron Paul speeches were short and sweet ... I could hand-write "Ron Paul for President" and "Google Ron Paul" on those ... yeah, that would be great! The next day, I went down to Office Max and made a bunch of copies.

— • —

I had a couple of days before my flight back to Phoenix, giving me some time to consider what I was thinking of doing ... "What would I do if I were questioned?" Gulp!

"Relax," I told myself. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"I'll be forbidden to fly, and I'll have to hitch-hike home instead."

"No, no, that won't happen, just for distributing some political literature ... 1st Amendment, freedom of speech ... surely that still applies, even in the airport."

"Well, I seem to remember you can't say certain words in an airport, like 'bomb,' and some of my articles mention bombs, terrorists, 9/11, things like that."

"Okay, okay. You've got a point. So what? So it might be a bit risky. What's life without a little risk?"

"It's not just the 'authoritahs" I'm worried about. There are those constant P.A. announcements telling passengers to report anyone who looks suspicious to the airport authorities. It's not like I won't be nervous!"

"Look, you have a right to do this, and it's a great idea! If you chicken out now, how the heck do you think you'll hold up if the going ever gets really tough? Just do it. Speak the truth. It's way less dangerous than what Hans and Sophie Scholl did, and it'll honor their memory."

"Alright, I'll do it. If I don't go through with this, then I'm a miserable coward and have no right to consider myself a Gryffindor." (Sorry, it's a Harry Potter thing ...)

— • —

Fast-forward to Friday, 28 September. I woke up at oh-dark-thirty, showered and grabbed some coffee and a bite of toast. Didn't feel much like eating — too excited!

Got dressed for the day. Brought a long black rain coat on the trip with me. (Got to use it, too — rain's always a bonus for us desert rats!) I decided to try for somewhat of a ... dramatic look. Black jeans and chukka boots, dark red blouse, all under the black raincoat. At 5' 11", I'm rather tall, and brunette (Frank says it's more like auburn), and the effect was pleasing. Took a little extra care with the make-up, too — more than I usually would wear for a day of traveling.

Not much to throw in the rent-a-car: a black suitcase to check; and a black-and-red day pack for carry-on, stuffed with the aforementioned articles, some library books and a spiral-bound notebook.

My girlfriend wouldn't be up until well after I left, but I said a quick good-bye and thank-you to her fiancé as he left for work. Then I was off for Detroit Metro Airport (DTW), about 45 minutes away. Listened to the Dixie Chicks' latest CD on the way; thought it would be inspiring to someone who was aimin' to misbehave.

Got to DTW with loads of time to spare. Checked my bag, then headed for the ladies' room. I left a few articles there. Whew! That wasn't so hard! Then I found a coffee shop, ordered a tea and left a couple on the table outside the shop.

DTW's terminal is rather tiny. You can walk around the whole place in a few minutes. I dropped a few more articles here and there, at pay phones, at the little laptop workstations — even at one of the airport shops, on the shelves below the magazines for sale. On one of my go-arounds, I saw two TSA guys at one of the computer workstations, looking at an article I'd placed there earlier.

Unfortunately (for my purposes), the cleaning crew at DTW is very efficient. I saw one janitor pushing his wheeled trash bin along with one hand, and holding one of my articles in the other, reading it as he went. (And he had another one sticking out of his back pocket ... score!)

It then occurred to me that more folks would probably read these if I put them in the gate area, after they'd passed through security. After all, most people go through security, then spend lots of time waiting at the gate for their plane to arrive. A little "subversive" reading material might be welcome.

So I made my way over to "security central." Not busy at all — breezed right through. The gal at the x-ray machine wasn't the least bit interested in my bag.

I made my way to the gate.

The concourse was laid out in a semi-circle, with gates all around. I went up and down the rows and rows of chairs, placing one and two articles at a time. Several passengers saw me, but no one said anything.

Finally, I reached the end of my stack. Done! Now what?

I was sort of hungry. Went back down the long hallway to get a breakfast sandwich and a bottle of juice.

Sated, I headed back toward my gate. Noticed quite a few folks had picked up the articles I'd laid about, and it also appeared that the janitors weren't so prevalent around here. Lots of empty cups and used newspapers laying around, so I figured my articles might linger a little while longer, as well.

Oh. I almost forgot. I wrote across the top of each one: PLEASE READ, COPY AND DISTRIBUTE! I had no idea if anyone would, but just maybe. It might cause a few people to think about the state of our nation, or at least serve as an encouragement to others of like mind.

The flight home was bumpy, but otherwise uneventful. I cat-napped through part of it, since I hadn't slept much the night before.

My sweetie picked me up at Sky Harbor, and on the way home I told him what I'd done. I didn't tell him about my plan beforehand because I wanted him to be able to honestly deny knowing anything about it — just in case things went badly and he found himself being questioned about my activities! (Honestly now, do you think I was being unnecessarily paranoid, or not?)

Anyhow, Frank loved the story! And as we talked, I realized I want to do more of this. I could leave interesting pro-liberty essays, Ron Paul speeches, etc. at coffee shops, doctors' offices, those wire racks dispensing free magazines and classified ads in grocery stores ... I'm sure there are even more good places to do this that I haven't even thought of yet.

And many more Americans need to be awakened from their slumber.

Fear and loathing at Phoenix Sky Harbor

Find out just what the people will submit to, and you have found out the exact amount of injustice and wrong which will be imposed upon them; and these will continue until they are resisted with either words or blows, or with both. The limits of tyrants are prescribed by the endurance of those whom they oppress.

~Frederick Douglass (1817-1895),
American Abolitionist

I recall a day long ago, before we slipped into our bizarre post-9/11 mindset, when you could arrive at the airport just a half hour before your flight left. Only time it took longer was over the holidays.

A couple weeks ago, I flew to Detroit to see my mom in Toledo, Ohio, for a few days. The following is an account of my experience prior to departing Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport.

— • —

Arrived at 7 a.m. Checked in, no problem. Went to the rest room, then headed toward the cattle chute.

Not too busy. Just a family in front of me, some of whom spoke English and were translating for other family members who didn't. I saw some passports out so I gathered they were taking an international flight. I think the other language I heard was Italian — sounded something like Spanish, but not quite.

One young woman in the party was helping an elderly lady, probably her grandma, with her bag. The rest of their party were up at a podium speaking to the TSA guy who was checking their papers. He was yawning, not saying anything. Looked as if he might have had a late night — shirt wrinkled, hair mussed up. I heard him direct them to Station Four. They'd started to head over when Mr. Jackboot shouted at the young girl (who was maybe 19 or 20) and the old lady, "Keep up! You need to stay with your party! Over to Station Four now!"

Well, I was next in line, and I noticed there were actually two TSA guys, at podiums maybe ten feet apart. The other one wasn't doing anything, so I headed toward him, only to hear a curt, "I'm closed — over there." He pointed me back to the other guy. (TSA: "Thousands Standing Around".)

Bracing myself, I went over to him, ticket and photo ID out and ready. He looked at it, handed it back and said, "Station Two." From where I was standing, I couldn't read the numbers above the various stations, so I backed up to see where Two was. Got it — last station on the left.

I began to head over to it, and there was a large concrete pillar in my way. I made to go around it on the right, as there was a bit of a hold-up on the left involving a lady in a wheel chair. As I attempted to go around, another TSA guy at a desk (don't know what his job was — he wasn't checking IDs or anything) barked out, "Don't go through here! Other side of the pillar!" No "please," no attempt at kindness. He sounded annoyed. (Hey, maybe that is his job — keeping people from walking around the wrong side of the pillar!) I did as he said, muttering "jackboot" under my breath — he didn't hear me. (The P.A. guy was droning on about something, and it was really loud.)

Made my way to Station Two. There was one couple ahead of me, retirement age, nicely dressed. I heard him speak with a British accent. I put my coat, daypack and shoes in the bin, placed the bin on the conveyor, and stepped through the metal detector — no problems. Waiting at the end of the conveyor for my stuff, I noticed the lady ahead of me — the other half of the British-sounding couple — was agitated. She was talking to the TSA gal, who was examining her bottled water. It was still sealed — a small bottle, about 16 ounces. Heard the passenger explain that she has to drink water every hour due to a medical condition. Her husband broke in: "We called the TSA last night, and they said it would be alright."

But it was a no go. Miss Jackieboot said she'd have to go back out of security and drink the water back there. (Question for Kip Hawley and the rest of the TSA idiots: Why not simply have her break the seal and take a healthy swig to verify that the bottle does not, in fact, contain a chemical component that could be used in a — ahem — "binary liquid bomb"?) The lady said she couldn't drink it all at once. Then her husband asked, "Can we purchase water past this point?" The TSA gal said yes, so the lady said, "Just bin that one, then. I'll purchase another." They were clearly annoyed. I felt badly for them.

Meanwhile, another gal at the x-ray machine had my bag, looking intently at its image on the screen. (Could she read my book titles?!) She called a supervisor over, and both viewed the image, consulting a small spiral-bound notebook. She told me she'd have to run the bag through again. I put on my shoes and took my coat. She scanned the bag a second time and made a few notes on a paper I couldn't see. Then she ran it through a for a third time.

By then there was quite a line behind me, and a bit of panic began to rise within me — what the hell was she looking for? She made a few more notes, still looking at her small spiral notebook, then gave me my bag.

Whew! I couldn't believe how nervous I was getting! I had a few books with me and some choice articles printed off the Internet — figured they'd come in handy for conversations with my old friend Connie, whom I hadn't seen in several years. I suppose the "authoritahs" — not to mention the current regime — might not like my choice of reading material: Chris Hedges' War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning ... Michael Scheuer's Through Our Enemies' Eyes ... and Iraqi bloggerette "Riverbend's" second Baghdad Burning compilation.

But as far as I know, the First Amendment still applies, even to us hapless folk who have to fly on airplanes. Still, I'd love to know just what the TSA lady was writing down about my daypack.

When I caught up with the couple who was in front of me, they were purchasing another bottled water. I told them I sympathized totally, and we mused how awful it is to fly anymore, at least in the US and UK. The couple turned out to be Swiss citizens, headed for home.

I told them I hoped they could keep their republic, and how inspiring the Swiss were to me personally. And how, sadly, we had lost our republic and were descending rapidly into a police state. They nodded, and the gentleman said, "America is not what it once was. So much has changed since 9/11, and not for the better."

The Bourne-Moby-Voldemort Identity

Just saw The Bourne Ultimatum yesterday.

On the plus-side: A fun, action-packed summertime popcorn thriller ... with a moral:

Never volunteer to be a remorseless, unquestioning killer for the State.

In the minus column: Gratuitous overuse of the "shaky-cam." You want to communicate to your viewers the chaos and disorientation that attend (I imagine) a man-to-man fight-to-the-death with an equally-trained and even more remorseless killer? Okay, fine. Shake away.

But in a quiet, subdued, face-to-face meeting in a café between a newspaper reporter and his mysterious insider source? C'mon ...

But I digress.

Each of the three films ends with the same song, "Extreme Ways," by a fellow named Moby. Since I'm a certified "credidiot" (one of those people you see in theatres sitting all the way through the final credits), I tried to pay attention to the lyrics this time. What I heard intrigued me, so I looked 'em up on-line.

Wow. In the context of the Bourne films, Moby's lyrics sure seem to express the lament of a remorseless, unquestioning killer for the State.

"So, just who is this Moby?" I wondered. So I went to his website. Where I read the following post in his journal:

i was just in washington dc for a day, and while there i was wearing my 'republicans for voldemort' t-shirt.

granted it's a fairly subtle literary reference (as the harry potter books have only sold, i believe, 300 million copies, and the movies have only been seen by a billion people or so), but i'm still surprised at how many people respond to the t-shirt as if i were really endorsing a republican candidate named voldemort.

every now and then someone will stop me and say 'your t-shirt is very funny, where'd you get it?', but more often than not i get dirty looks from democrats ('boo, hiss, dirty republican') and approving looks from republicans ('yahoo! another member of the cabal!').

but this isn't about politics, it's about my excellent t-shirt (and no, i don't remember where it came from. i think that someone might've given it to me in a bar?) and how surprising it is that the vast majority of americans seem to be unfamiliar with the central antagonist in the most successful book franchise of all time.

isn't that surprising?

i think it's surprising.

maybe if the t-shirt didn't look so authentic. ...

What a hoot! Pulling one over (quite unintentionally) on both Republicans and Dems, both sides thinking he's supporting a GOP candidate named Voldemort!