Superintendent Advocates Against Drug War

Tuesday, January 31st, 2012

One would think Rick Van Wickler, Superintendent of the Cheshire County “Correctional” Facility, was committing career suicide when testifying at the House Criminal Justice Committee (See video above) – you know, that committee focused on justice and stuff – in New Hampshire. Only when employed by the government is it logical for y0u to take a “vacation day” (which is still paid for the same way – taxes – as “regular days”) and testify for something that would cost your employer billions of dollars – and keep your job.

Now I don’t want to take anything from Rick and the courage he has for speaking the truth about the war on drugs. He honestly has my respect for that but as a man who’s been “on the bad end of him doing his job so well” (a statement I made to him at his Keene State College speech) I find it questionable, in terms of his character, to have such a clear understanding of the “War on Drugs” and still go to work where the majority of ‘his’ inmates are there due to drug prohibition.

Don’t you just want to ask him, “How can you know that [prohibition failed] and go to work everyday and continue to contribute to this problem?”

He may even say something like, “I’m advocating against the system – just like you do. I’m sure you, like me, dislike the compromises we make against our principles. You don’t like to pay taxes of any kind knowing they’ll go to fund more things you rather not support. I feel guilt when I see marijuana users in my jail but I’m doing what I can and trying to fix it the only way I know how.”

Though I bet Rick would feel better if he weren’t part of the system that was built off something he seems to despise. Regardless, it’s nice to see someone not blinded by the paycheck, who has the courage to speak the truth. Thanks.

FinalCB.orgBanner1 Superintendent Advocates Against Drug War

 

Superintendent Advocates Against Drug War is a post from Cop Block - Badges Don't Grant Extra Rights

Be Respectful…

Thursday, January 26th, 2012

The text below was sent to us via our submission tab from Grace, who thinks:

Police officers are brothers, sisters, wives, husbands, and children. Showing up to traffic stops with signs saying they are harrassing us is just rediculous. I’ve gotten a couple tickets in my life, yea it sucks but its the law. Go do something to help the homeless, donate your time to a womens shelter, help kids who have nothing, or go work at an animal shelter. Saying the police are harrassing citizens, come on. The streets are already dangerous enough without you trying to interfere with them doing their jobs. Do something to better your community which is not standing around with signs protesting the people actually out there trying to protect us.

-Grace

Grace, let me ask you this. What would you do if I forced your car to the side of the road, demanded your identification, yelled at you for your speed or broken tail light and demanded money from you for the encounter? What if I get eight of my friends to raid your home and search it for whatever we consider to be illegal? What if I also used some more of my friends to force you to pay for my actions? What if I did these things to you? Would you then hold a sign in displeasure outside my office? Or film me while me and my friends did the same to others? What would you do?

What if, by targeting the police, who seem to do any act their told to because ‘it’s their job’, we’re actually making the homeless, batter women and kids who have nothing at all lives better? After all, the homeless are routinely harassed by the police, at times even murdered. Spouses of police officers have a higher rate of domestic abuse than most professions, maybe because of all the guilt/pressure that comes with their jobs. Or by questioning police about victimless crimes and the failed war on drugs, we’re really helping the kids who have nothing. Since their parents where carted off by Drug Task Force and SWAT members – again on your dime -, leaving them with nothing.

I hope to target, highlight and protest policing until the money – and we’re talking BILLIONS  of dollars – that is spent on the police state is allocated to starter programs for the homeless, abused people to leave their abusers and kids who’s parents are addicts. Of course, you’d get to decide what to spend your money on and no one would be able to force you, via taxation, to pay for anything you didn’t want. But what do I know, I’m the disrespectful one who’s harassing people by holding a sign and pointing out the double standard of police today.

Donate banner Be Respectful...

Be Respectful… is a post from Cop Block - Badges Don't Grant Extra Rights

How Prohibition Almost Killed My Friend

Thursday, January 19th, 2012

NOTE: Names have been changed to protect the identities and legal situations of the people involved.

I first met Joe during my sophomore year in college. We became fast friends, hanging out whenever we weren’t in class or at the library, and eventually became roommates the next year. Joe was always a pretty quiet and shy guy, but we got to know each other quite well over time and he gradually opened up more around me. I always knew him as generally a good person who had some struggles with depression, but I never thought anything would happen anywhere near what happened the first semester of my junior year.

We were both avid pot smokers, and because we were unemployed at the time we sold small amounts of weed – nothing too significant, just enough to have some money in our pockets – on and off. One night I was driving back from the store with another friend of mine when Joe called. He said that someone had gone into the room and stolen all our weed and cash when he was outside smoking a cigarette and to get back to our building as soon as possible. When I got back, Joe told me he had a decent idea of who might have robbed us, so we went to talk to the guy. Dave, the guy we suspected of robbing us, didn’t take the accusation well at all; he started yelling and pushed Joe to the ground but we walked away before it got out of hand and that was it for a while. To this day neither Joe nor I know for sure if Dave robbed us or if it was someone else, but pretty soon I basically forgot about it and thought Joe did too because our weed man was a great guy – he was understanding of the situation and agreed to front out product with a small interest fee so we could stay in business.

A couple weeks later, I had just gotten back from class when I heard a knock on the door. I had a bad feeling right away so I looked through the peephole before answering, and sure enough, it was the cops. I stepped out into the hallway, locked the door behind me, and the cops started asking if they could come in. Knowing my rights, I told them they couldn’t come in without a warrant and I wouldn’t answer their questions without a lawyer present. They kept trying and failing, refusing to leave until they talked to Joe as well. Joe eventually got back from class and told the cops the same thing, that they couldn’t enter our room without a warrant. Everything was normal except for a higher level of caution for the next couple weeks, but the overall mood was one of triumph because we had successfully kept the cops at bay. But things started going to hell pretty soon afterwards. Joe apparently never completely got over the robbery and was completely convinced that Dave had masterminded the whole thing, so he went out in the middle of the night and did a number on Dave’s car with some rocks. This was the first of a long list of things he did that fucked things up for both of us.

A few days after the incident with Dave’s car, the dean of students came to our room accompanied by school security and a few cops. The dean produced an internal search warrant, the document required by the housing contract for school officials to enter residences. Luckily neither Joe nor I was selling at the time, but he admitted to having a small amount of pot. Once his bag was located, the cops took over. I didn’t have much of anything in the room – they charged me with paraphernalia, which I’ll quite possibly be able to fight successfully – but they found a few hundred dollars and a scale in Joe’s desk. Because the amount of pot found was so small, the cops were unable to find enough evidence to show intent, but Joe’s downward spiral went out of control after that night.

Almost immediately after the search warrant, I started noticing Joe’s depression getting worse. He bought a huge bottle of Klonopin (a benzodiazepine, or type of downer) and started binging on it. The only time he wasn’t on Klonopin was when he woke up in the morning, and the first thing he’d do was pop a couple pills before class. He started getting even quieter and more withdrawn than usual, not even saying all that much to me beyond how much he hated Dave and how pissed off he was that we got arrested. He eventually stopped going to class and sleeping more and more. He also started stealing around the same time the binge started. It got so bad that I couldn’t take him to the store without him shoplifting something, and his favorite activity at night became car shopping. He rarely took anything of value at first; I think the stealing was more a way for him to briefly escape the reality of the legal situation and school discipline hanging over our heads.

Unfortunately, his stealing quickly escalated to more expensive things in much riskier locations as the disciplinary hearings got closer. Shoplifting turned into car shopping, car shopping turned into stealing bagfuls of books from professors’ offices, and stealing books turned into full-on burglary. The last weekend before finals week, I woke up Saturday morning to a phone call from my friend Chris. Someone had gone into his room the night before and taken his laptop and Xbox, as well as other electronics belonging to his roommate. Chris and I both suspected Joe because of his recent actions, causing me to look through Joe’s stuff when he wasn’t around, but I didn’t find anything from Chris’s room. Sunday morning I woke up quite hung over and decided to run to the store. I walked out to my car to find that the driver’s seat had been moved up and there were boxes of various electronics and other valuables on all the other seats. I called Chris over to see if his stuff was in my car – it wasn’t – so I went back to the room and asked Joe if he knew anything about the stuff in my car. It turns out that on Saturday night, after I was in a deep drunken sleep, he had broken into a nearby building and used my car to bring back what he stole. We got the stuff out of my car and Joe stashed most of it in an abandoned warehouse while he figured out what to do with it. He brought a few of the smaller things that could be quickly sold back into the room, which ended up being the fatal mistake.

A few days later, I was in the library working on my final paper for a class. I realized I’d forgotten my notes from that class in my room so I packed up and started walking back to my building to grab them. While I was on my way, Joe texted me saying to stay away from the room because he had a girl over and that he’d text me again when she left. Not wanting to violate man law, I decided to write what I could without my notes and then head to the bar for a while so he could do his thing. Several hours went by without him texting me, so I assumed he forgot but just in case I waited a while longer before going back to the room. When I finally got back, I found out that there was no girl – Joe was lying in a pile of blood and vomit, barely conscious, with several cuts going up and down his forearms. He told me he’d tried to commit suicide and when I asked him why all he said was “shit sucks” and “I don’t want to live anymore.” I called 911 to get him to the hospital and the cops found a few things he’d taken from the building he robbed the previous weekend. They also searched my friend Steve’s room, not finding anything stolen (which they claimed they were looking for) but finding his drugs as well as some I’d stashed in there to keep them away from Joe. Joe later admitted from the hospital that he had stolen Chris’s laptop and Xbox and told us where we could find them and seemed to genuinely feel bad about everything he’d done – Steve and I went to visit him and the first thing he said was “I fucked everything up, didn’t I?” Joe and I both ended up being kicked out of school; the official reasons for his expulsion were the indicia of dealing found in the initial search of the room and the reasons for mine were accusations of selling harder drugs such as cocaine (which I don’t even use) and making a violent threat, both false.

School situations aside, I firmly believe that if it weren’t for drug prohibition – especially cannabis prohibition – Joe would not have attempted suicide. I also believe that he wouldn’t have smashed up Dave’s car, robbed Chris, or broken into that building. Obviously he would have suffered from depression regardless of any law or lack thereof, but every one of the events that led to his downward spiral and eventual suicide attempt was made possible by prohibition. Whoever robbed us when we were selling – whether it was Dave or someone else – was in all likelihood another dealer looking to make some extra money. If not for prohibition, it would have been more like having a case of beer stolen and even if we had lost a lot of cash we would have had the option of trying to get it back through legal channels. Certainly not motivation to smash up a car. If not for prohibition, the tip that led to the room being searched wouldn’t have happened. Even if the cops had searched our room based on accusations of violence or violent threats, they wouldn’t have assumed “well, they have drugs so it’s probably true” and they would have realized that there was nothing more dangerous than a Swiss Army knife. There wouldn’t have been any charges, no reason for the school to discipline us, and no reason to send a mentally unstable person deeper into his depression, changing his drug habits and turning to stealing in search of a way out. If not for prohibition, we would still be in school. Joe would still be the quiet and shy guy he is, he still would have battled depression, but he wouldn’t have started stealing and his arms would be minus about 30 scars. Sad to think that compared to the other lives ruined or even ended by the war on drugs he’s one of the lucky ones.

- Anonymous

Send your stories (or videos) about police abuse, police issues and/or suggestions on improving police tactics to CopBlock.org, via the submission tab.

Escape Banner 03 How Prohibition Almost Killed My Friend

How Prohibition Almost Killed My Friend is a post from Cop Block - Badges Don't Grant Extra Rights

Gang attacks homeowner, media solicits donations for fallen gang members, public laments gang member death.

Saturday, January 7th, 2012

Some people out there, even our regular readers, get squeamish when we liken police to gang members. I’ll stand by that analogy, which I elaborated upon in another article -

Mostly, this comparison is based on the fact that police, like gangs claim ultimate dominion over a particular territory. They stake out these particular territories, and demand “protection money” for reasons mostly out of the control of local residents. If their demands are not met, they resort to violence.

They swear an oath of  loyalty to each other, and will cover up for each other’s gruesome crimes at the expense of good sense and morality. Officers have purposely failed to take reports, covered up evidence, and even turned a blind eye to sexual battery and torture by their fellow gang-members (see here). Those who do not abide by the code of loyalty are ostracized or otherwise punished (see examples here and here). They even have a gang color – blue.

See the full article here. As long as government police exist in their current form, I will never retract my sentiment in this regard. However, for the sake of argument, let us assume police are ordinary human beings like the rest of us. Fair enough? (More than fair, in my opinion).

When was the last time the public got their panties in a bunch when 5 armed men in dark clothing were shot because they were mistaken for intruders after they busted into someone’s house?

Probably never.

How about if the homeowner at issue was suspected of growing marijuana plants, and the armed men, dressed in dark clothing were allegedly there to “protect” the public from a dangerous weed smoker? If you still think it was an evil tragedy the armed men were shot, then it’s because you’re still thinking about police. Think harder.

Imagine your friend Joe has been growing a little pot in his living room. Imagine a bunch of your neighbors, against all scientific evidence, believe that because Joe smokes weed occasionally, he is a dangerous individual. Instead of knocking on Joe’s door, talking to Joe about his “problem” or asking him politely to refrain from smoking, or engaging in about a million other peaceful and civil ways of addressing the issue, at least twelve of them decide to dress in all black, arm themselves, and kick down Joe’s door to “solve” this frightening problem of weed propagation. They declare to you they have a piece of paper that gives them such authority and will present it to Joe as proof they have a right to seize his little plant. They kick down Joe’s door at night. As a result, Joe mistakes them for burglars and opens fire, killing and injuring several of them, while also receiving injuries himself.

What would you think about these neighbors? You would think they are insane. You would think they are fucking stupid. You would wonder why it takes twelve (or more) grown, armed men to give your friend Joe a piece of fucking paper. You would think they are juvenile, violent, self-righteous assholes who mirror something out of Lord of the Flies, who think reckless use of violence and guns is some sort of game (you’d half expect to find Piggy with his smashed eyeglasses lying amid the bloodshed). If you are a bit of a judgmental prick, you might wonder why Joe keeps such offensive plants if the consequences can be so severe, but even so, if you are a reasonable person, you would not blame Joe for opening fire in terror upon seeing twelve or more armed men in his house after having his door broken down.

On the other hand, because the juvenile, violent, self-righteous assholes who don’t know how to mind their own damn business are police, the public is horrified, and the media is soliciting donations for the fallen and injured police officers gang members (see full story here). This is a travesty. The media literally is soliciting funds and sympathy for a bunch of aggro psychopaths whose careless indiscretions created the entire situation to begin with. Meanwhile, the victim of all this is being changed with crimes, and will likely suffer draconian legal penalties.

No one forced these officers to enforce bad laws. No one put a gun to the heads of these upstanding members of society and said they had to arm themselves, put on dark clothing, and kick down someone’s door to “serve a warrant” because the suspect had a certain plant in his living room. They did it anyway, and as a result, 6 of them were shot and 1 died.

This is not to say that any of them deserved to die, or that death is an appropriate punishment for burglary, but really – what is there to be so sorry about? If they were ordinary people, Americans would be flabbergasted at why these idiots believed rounding up a gang of armed people to solve a non-violent situation was necessary. Americans would rightly question the intelligence of those who claim drawing guns and breaking into houses at night in furtherance of eradicating a plant somehow makes society safer.

Anyone who feels truly terrible for these wounded/killed officers, without acknowledging the officers’ own stupidity, recklessness, and unwarranted aggression that brought on these consequences has unfortunately bought into the police state mentality – that police can do whatever they want because different – or perhaps no moral and legal standards apply to them.

 

Gang attacks homeowner, media solicits donations for fallen gang members, public laments gang member death. is a post from Cop Block - Badges Don't Grant Extra Rights

I’ve Been Raided and All I Got Was This Lousy Felony

Thursday, December 1st, 2011

This post was sent to us via CopBlock.org’s Submit Tab.

This month marks the anniversary of the day my home was attacked in military fashion by my local police, who after breaking down my door and running through my home with automatic rifles while screaming, handcuffed me and took me away to jail while my young granddaughter and daughter watched. Luckily we didn’t have a pet dog or it would have most assuredly been shot. Most know my story but in summary, this dramatic assault occurred for one reason only; I had ordered less than a months worth of some meds online so that I could live, which in theory could be gotten from any doctor. I assure you, there is nothing more to the story as far as why they did what they did and what my “crime” was. It’s a matter of public record.

The attack happened on the 5th of November 2010. To tell you the truth, that day came and went this year without a thought.  Although I didn’t remember on the exact day it actually occurred, it is definitely an event that I will never forget. It was the day my reality was given a huge perspective shift and while not pleasant, it was certainly instructive and cause for growth. I’m a huge fan of growth.

I’ve had a pretty busy year, which included creating a web site full of resources on the topic at hand and also writing and publishing a book. So, I thought in tribute to that life experience, I would list what I’ve learned this past year. Some things I knew about but had not experienced first hand until now.

THINGS I LEARNED THE PAST YEAR

1. If you can’t afford the astronomical cost for medical testing or treatment you indeed do not get tested or treated. The medical system is about profit only.
2. Millions who suffer severe chronic pain do not get relief because of the prohibition/drug war.
3. American prisons are the fullest in the world because of the prohibition/drug war.
4. The wide spread abuse that goes on in our prisons make GITMO seem like summer camp.
5. Constitutional and civil rights are ignored frequently because of the prohibition/drug war.
6. The wide spread corruption seen in law enforcement is because of the prohibition/drug war.
7. Over 150 military SWAT raids a day (over 70,000 a year) happen on nonviolent citizens because of the prohibition/drug war.
8. A great deal of our crime and violence is because of the prohibition/drug war.
9. Asset forfeiture is used and abused constantly because of the prohibition/drug war.
10. Police corruption is at an all time high because of the prohibition/drug war.
11. The reason we have prohibition and the drug war? Corporation profit and mass funding for those who fight it.

It was a very educational year for me, though what was learned was not pleasant. In fact, its downright scary. There are many things in our society that cause a good deal of damage but the War on Drugs seems to trump them all. And the reasons it continues, despite facts and proof of its damage, are the most disturbing of all.

Thousands of law enforcement officers, ex-narcotics agents, judges, lawyers, prison workers etc. speak out constantly and with great integrity against prohibition and the War on Drugs, having seen the damage it is doing and the lives being lost because of it. They know it does not work. They know the huge cost of its failure. They’ve seen men, women and children killed because of it. They’ve lost fellow officers because of it. They’ve seen families torn apart and destroyed because of it. They’ve seen the system so overburdened that they are not able to focus the real crimes because of it.

“Jailing people because they put certain chemicals into their bloodstream is a gross misuse of police and criminal law. Jailing drug users does not lessen drug use, and incarceration usually destroys the person’s life and does immense harm to that person’s family and neighborhood.” ~Joseph D. McNamara, Former Police Chief, 35 years in law enforcement.

There does seem to be a glimmer of hope as more and more American’s are realizing that things are not as they seem and what they have been told is not always the truth. If only social change were not such a slow process. But 40 plus years of lies are hard to undo. Again, I’m a huge fan of constant learning and growth; so, here is to my year of eduction and here’s hoping my next year will bring more of the same. I only hope its of a less dramatic nature.

I am a 52 year old mother, wife of 34 years, voter, student, web designer and author. (Though my “right” to vote has now been stripped away)

Nancy Rector

FinalCB.orgBanner1 Ive Been Raided and All I Got Was This Lousy Felony

I’ve Been Raided and All I Got Was This Lousy Felony is a post from Cop Block - Badges Don't Grant Extra Rights

Driven By Drug War Incentives, Cops Target Pot Smokers, Brush Off Victims Of Violent Crime

Friday, November 25th, 2011

By Radley Balko via Huffington PostCHICAGO — As Jessica Shaver and I chat at a coffee shop in Chicago’s north-side Andersonville neighborhood, a police car pulls into the parking lot across the street. Then another. Two cops get out, lean up against their cars, and appear to gaze across traffic into the store. At times, they seem to be looking directly at us. Shaver, who works as an eyebrow waxer at a nearby spa, appears nervous.

 

“See what I mean? They follow me,” says Shaver, 30. During several phone conversations Shaver told me that she thinks a small group of Chicago police officers are trying to intimidate her. These particular cops likely aren’t following her; the barista tells me Chicago cops regularly stop in that particular parking lot to chat. But if Shaver is a bit paranoid, it’s hard to blame her.

A year and a half ago she was beaten by a neighborhood thug outside of a city bar. It took months of do-it-yourself sleuthing, a meeting with a city alderman and a public shaming in a community newspaper before the Chicago Police Department would pay any attention to her. About a year later, Shaver got more attention from cops than she ever could have wanted: A team of Chicago cops took down her door with a battering ram and raided her apartment, searching for drugs.

Shaver has no evidence that the two incidents are related, and they likely aren’t in any direct way. But they provide a striking example of how the drug war perverts the priorities of America’s police departments. Federal anti-drug grants, asset forfeiture policies and a generation of battlefield rhetoric from politicians have made pursuing low-level drug dealers and drug users a top priority for police departments across the country. There’s only so much time in the day, and the focus on drugs often comes at the expense of investigating violent crimes with victims like Jessica Shaver. In the span of about a year, she experienced both problems firsthand.

THE BATTERY

On the night of May 13, 2010, Shaver was smoking a cigarette with her friend Damon outside the Flat Iron bar in Wicker Park. She said she saw a woman walking away from the bar alone when two men began shouting profanities at her. The men then began walking toward the woman. “I made eye contact with her, and she looked like she was in trouble,” Shaver said.

Shaver shouted at the men to leave the woman alone, at which point she says the the two men turned their attention to her, approached her, and began shouting at her. Damon told the men to leave Shaver alone. They jumped Damon and began to beat him. Shaver said she then tried to pry the men off her friend, and managed to free him long enough for him to get away and call 911. Shaver said she was punched repeatedly, including in the face. She fell, stood up, and was hit in the face again. The men then robbed her and left. When she woke up the next morning with bruises, she went to the hospital. Doctors found a concussion and several contusions.

Two weeks later, Shaver still hadn’t heard from the detective assigned to her case. When she finally went to the police station in person to get an update on the investigation, she was told there was no record of the incident. She filed another report, but was told it was unlikely police would be able to track down the witnesses again, and that even if they were, the witnesses’ memories were likely to have faded. Shaver says she decided to investigate on her own. She went back to the Flat Iron and questioned customers and employees herself. A bartender gave her the men’s nicknames: “Cory” and “Sonny,” the guy who hit her. Shaver learned that Sonny was also a reputed cocaine dealer. She heard he had a violent streak, and had been banned from a number of neighborhood bars.

“I was scared,” Shaver said. “I’d heard bad things about this guy, and he knew who I was.”

Shaver is thoroughly tattooed, which makes her easy to recognize. So she dyed her hair, covered her tattoos with clothing, and kept investigating. She worked her way through social networking sites like Facebook and MySpace until she was able to put actual names to her attackers’ faces and nicknames. And yet she still couldn’t get anyone at Chicago PD to help her. “I gave them the guy’s name and everything,” she said. “There were even hip hop videos online with him in them. I told them, ‘That’s the guy!’ They still wouldn’t listen to me.”

In August 2010, three months after the attack, Shaver contacted a reporter for Time Out Chicago, who began asking around about her case. Shaver also met with Chicago Alderman Joe Marino. Shortly before the Time Out article went to press, a detective finally called Shaver down to the police station to identify her attacker. But even with her identification, the police didn’t arrest “Sonny.” He wasn’t charged with the assault until the following month, when he was arrested on an unrelated domestic violence charge.

Shortly after she finally identified her attacker at the police station, Shaver said the detective in charge of her case told her, “Now I don’t want to hear any more bitching from you.”

MISPLACED PRIORITIES

Arresting people for assaults, beatings and robberies doesn’t bring money back to police departments, but drug cases do in a couple of ways. First, police departments across the country compete for a pool of federal anti-drug grants. The more arrests and drug seizures a department can claim, the stronger its application for those grants.

“The availability of huge federal anti-drug grants incentivizes departments to pay for SWAT team armor and weapons, and leads our police officers to abandon real crime victims in our communities in favor of ratcheting up their drug arrest stats,” said former Los Angeles Deputy Chief of Police Stephen Downing. Downing is now a member of Law Enforcement Against Prohibition, an advocacy group of cops and prosecutors who are calling for an end to the drug war.

“When our cops are focused on executing large-scale, constitutionally questionable raids at the slightest hint that a small-time pot dealer is at work, real police work preventing and investigating crimes like robberies and rapes falls by the wayside,” Downing said.

And this problem is on the rise all over the country. Last year, police in New York City arrested around 50,000 people for marijuana possession. Pot has been decriminalized in New York since 1977, but displaying the drug in public is still a crime. So police officers stop people who look “suspicious,” frisk them, ask them to empty their pockets, then arrest them if they pull out a joint or a small amount of marijuana. They’re tricked into breaking the law. According to a report from Queens College sociologist Harry Levine, there were 33,775 such arrests from 1981 to 1995. Between 1996 and 2010 there were 536,322.

Several NYPD officers have alleged that in some precincts, police officers are asked to meet quotas for drug arrests. Former NYPD narcotics detective Stephen Anderson recently testified in court that it’s common for cops in the department to plant drugs on innocent people to meet those quotas — a practice for which Anderson himself was then on trial.

At the same time, there’s increasing evidence that the NYPD is paying less attention to violent crime. In an explosive Village Voice series last year, current and former NYPD officers told the publication that supervising officers encouraged them to either downgrade or not even bother to file reports for assault, robbery and even sexual assault. The theory is that the department faces political pressure to produce statistics showing that violent crime continues to drop. Since then, other New Yorkers have told the Voice that they have been rebuffed by NYPD when trying to report a crime.

The most perverse policy may be asset forfeiture. Under civil asset forfeiture, police can seize property from people merely suspected of drug crimes. So long as police can show even the slightest link of drug activity to a car, some cash, or even a home, they can seize it. In the majority of cases, most or all of the seized cash goes back to the police department. In some cases, the department has taken possession of cars as well, but generally non-cash property is auctioned off, with the proceeds then going back to the department. An innocent person who has property seized must go to court and prove his property was earned legitimately, even if he was never charged with a crime. The process of going to court can often be more expensive than the value of the property itself.

Asset forfeiture not only encourages police agencies to use resources and manpower on drug crimes at the expense of violent crimes, it also provides an incentive for police agencies to actually wait until drugs are on the streets before making a bust. In a 1994 study reported in Justice Quarterly, criminologists J. Mitchell Miller and Lance H. Selva watched several police agencies delay busts of suspected drug dealers in order to maximize the cash the department could seize. A stash of illegal drugs isn’t of much value to a police department. Letting the dealers sell the drugs first is more lucrative.

Earlier this year, Nashville’s News 5 ran a report on how police in Tennessee are pulling over suspected drug dealers and seizing their cash along I-40, often without bothering to make an arrest. The station combed through police reports showing that officers spent 10 times as long policing the side of the interstate where a drug runner would be leaving after he sold his supply — and thus would be flush with sizable amounts of cash — than on the side where he was likely to be flush with drugs. The police were letting the drugs be sold in order to get their hands on the cash.

Back in Illinois, Gov. Pat Quinn (D) recently signed a new law that will require convicted drug dealers to reimburse the police agencies that arrested and prosecuted them. The law will provide even more incentive for departments to devote time and resources to drug crimes — and that shift comes at the expense of solving more serious crimes.

The bill does not require reimbursement from convicted rapists or murderers.

Which means battery victims like Shaver can expect even less cooperation from police as more officers are moved to investigations that pay for themselves — and then some.

THE RAID

 Driven By Drug War Incentives, Cops Target Pot Smokers, Brush Off Victims Of Violent Crime

Shaver’s next encounter with Chicago police came in April of this year. She and her then-boyfriend were living on the first floor of a three-story graystone in the Edgewood neighborhood. “Nate,” a friend of Shaver’s boyfriend whom Shaver describes as a “stoner hippie,” was between residences, and asked if he could sleep on their couch while he waited for his new apartment to become available. They agreed.

“He never had keys,” Shaver said. “He’d text us when he was coming home to sleep, and one of us would let him in. He had been here about a week before the raid.”

The raid came on the night of April 14, 2010, part of a series of drug raids across Chicago that night by the city’s Mobile Strike Force and Targeted Response Unit, essentially a SWAT team.

Shaver, her then-boyfriend and a roommate were in the apartment with her four dogs when the door flew open with the crash of a battering ram. “I thought we were being robbed,” Shaver recalled. “It wasn’t clear to us that they were cops at all. I had a flashback to my attack. I was just terrified. I peed myself. I had peed myself, and I was shaking, trying to gather my dogs while they were pointing these guns at me — these huge guns that could blow me apart. My Vizsla mix ran off, and I was afraid they were going to shoot it. I asked if I could get it, and they said ‘We don’t give a fuck about your dog.’”

According to the search warrant, the police were searching for Nate. Shaver said they looked through Nate’s belongings gathered on the couch and found about $900 and a sandwich bag filed with marijuana. They didn’t leave a receipt for what they took.

“They were going through his mail,” she said. “They tried to say he was my brother. They kept looking for some way to say he had always lived here. He had mail here, but it was mail he brought from his old place. It all had his old address on it.”

Shaver’s boyfriend and roommate were handcuffed. Shaver started to panic. She told the police about her prior assault, and asked if she could take some anti-anxiety medication and change her clothes. They refused.

“There were 20 to 25 cops in my apartment now. Some of them were in street clothes. Some of them were in SWAT clothes with face masks. They told me I wasn’t allowed to move. I wasn’t even certain they were police until about two hours later, when a uniformed cop showed up with the warrant,” she recalled.

Shaver says she heard laughter from her bathroom and bedroom. “They went to my bathroom and started going through all of my medication, laughing about how messed up I was,” she said. “I also have a ‘lady drawer,’ where I keep sex toys and some sex-related gag gifts friends have given me.” Shaver said that when the cops finally left, they had left her place a shambles. When she looked in her bedroom, the police had emptied the drawer and laid all of her sex toys out on her bed.

 Driven By Drug War Incentives, Cops Target Pot Smokers, Brush Off Victims Of Violent Crime

The raid ruined the door to Shaver’s apartment and she has since been evicted. She filed a complaint with Chicago PD, but never heard back. When she attempted to get a copy of the affidavit for the search warrant to see what probable cause they had for such a violent raid, she was told that since she was not the target of the raid, she is not allowed to see the affidavit. As for “Nate,” authorities have yet to issue a warrant for his arrest. Chicago PD and the officer who left Shaver his number after the raid did not return The Huffington Post’s requests for comment.

FIGHTING CONSENSUAL CRIMES IN A VIOLENT CITY

“This case is a perfect example of how the war on drugs distracts police from doing the job we hired them for,” Downing said.

Chicago is one of the most violent cities in the country, and is home to America’s most violent neighborhood. The city is usually left out of annual “Most Dangerous Cities” lists because of disputes between the state of Illinois and the FBI on how crimes are reported, but Chicago has roughly triple the murder rate of New York City, and double that of Los Angeles. Crime has gone down in Chicago over the last 20 years as it has in the rest of the country, but at a slower rate than in cities of similar size.

Perhaps more tellingly, the city’s clearance rate — the percentage of homicides solved by police — was 70 percent in 1991. It dropped to under 40 percent in 2008 and 2009. According to a report (PDF) from the criminal justice reform advocacy group The Sentencing Project, drug offenses made up 4.8 percent of Chicago PD arrests in 1980. In 2003, they made up 28.2 percent. The overall number of drug arrests increased 264 percent over that period. An analysis by the Marijuana Policy Almanac found that from 2002 to 2007 alone, overall pot arrests in Cook County jumped from 25,776 to 32,996.

The drug war’s financial incentives appear to be having an effect. A drug offender is much more likely to be arrested in Chicago than he was 10 or 20 or 30 years ago. But kill someone in Chicago, and you’re only about half as likely to be caught as you were in the early 1990s.

Last July, more than a year after her attack, Shaver’s assailant “Sonny” was finally convicted. He was sentenced to six months of probation. Reflecting back on the last tumultuous two years, Shaver says, “It just doesn’t make sense. Repeat violent offenders get to walk while casual pot smokers get terrorized by SWAT teams. I’m pretty disappointed in the justice system.”

Driven By Drug War Incentives, Cops Target Pot Smokers, Brush Off Victims Of Violent Crime is a post from Cop Block - Badges Don't Grant Extra Rights

Why You Should Film Police Even if You’re Breaking the “Law”

Monday, November 7th, 2011

It was a simple bust, as Police Officer Steven Lupo explained.

It looked like an open-and-shut case. A cop pulls over a car, walks up to the driver’s door, and sees a plastic baggy of marijuana. He brings in a drug-sniffing dog to prove probable cause for a search, gets a warrant, and finds a kilo of weed in the trunk.

Text book all the way.  The request for a medal for excellence almost writes itself.  On cross-examination, Michael Diamondstein played the “are you sure” game, locking Lupo into his testimony.  Close your eyes and envision the smug cop on the stand, calmly testify with that half-smile on his face, believing that he, Police Officer Lupo, was king of the courtroom.

In court, Diamondstein asked Lupo to confirm that account, according to a transcript of the hearing.

“Before you got to Mr. Farsi, did you open the rear driver’s side passenger door and take that individual out and pat him down?”

“No,” Lupo said.

Then Diamondstein asked, “I just want to make sure that we are clear that you certainly didn’t just open the door prior to any conversation, take him out, and pat him down. That definitely didn’t happen?” Diamondstein said.

“Correct,” Lupo replied.

Change the names and this could be the transcript from a thousand other trials.  Except what came next doesn’t happen often.

Then defense attorney Michael Diamondstein produced the video.

Turned out reality was different.

The video taken from nearby surveillance cameras contradicted key facts in Lupo’s report and sworn testimony. Most crucially, Lupo and an unidentified supervisor are seen rummaging through the trunk hours before a warrant was issued.

Straight down the line, Lupo lied, secure in the mistaken belief that he could plop his donut encrusted butt on the witness chair and tell a completely fabricated story about how he’s just about the dandiest cop ever, just doing his job, applying the Constitution and keeping us safe from the bad guys.  Except he was a liar, and Diamondstein had the video to prove it.

Judge Lydia Y. Kirkland tossed the case after the video was played.  Had no video been played, she would have been sentencing the defendant instead.

“I can just tell you from my experience,” said veteran defense attorney Diamondstein, “in the majority of cases, while the clients may not deny having narcotics, in the vast majority of cases the circumstances surrounding the arrest did not happen as it was described in the paperwork or in court.”

Years ago, New York Daily News columnist Murray Kempton coined the phrase, “there they go again, framing the guilty.”  It’s one I repeat often, as its point reflects the most problematic part of law enforcement and law.  Despite the fact that Lupo turns out to be a liar, there will be a great many people who think to themselves, “so what?”  The guy was a drug dealer, and who cares that a cop stopped a drug dealer, seized the drugs and then said what he had to say to lock the scum away.

The ends justify the means, especially when there’s an undercurrent that if it wasn’t for criminal-coddling technicalities that make a cop’s job so difficult, he wouldn’t have any need to lie.  In fact, in a perfect world, there wouldn’t have been a trial at all, Lupo’s word being all any law-abiding citizen needed.

This story was sent to me by a young Philadelphia civil litigator who was shocked (shocked!) that police officers would so brazenly lie.  He was outraged that such a thing could happen.

If they don’t press charges against the police officer for perjury, then our system of justice is a joke.  I don’t practice criminal law, but it’s like the courts downright refuse to make the police and prosecutors follow any of the rules, unless it’s so egregious that it ends up on the news.  (like Duke Lacrosse).  One way of looking at this is the prosecutor proffered perjured testimony… (though I hope the cop just lied to the DA).

To anyone who has spent time in the criminal law trenches, this has to raise a chuckle.  Even the implicit epiphany misses most of the problem.  Lupo wasn’t a lone indian, but working with his partner, and later a supervisor, all of whom studiously violated as many constitutional rights as they could get their hands on. What of the partner? What of the supervisor?  They were all complicit, both in the violation of constitutional rights as well as the conspiracy to lie to the court.  No one came forward to out Lupo’s lies.

But the bigger picture, as Diamondstein notes (and Kempton reiterated decades ago), is that this isn’t the outlier, but the norm.  There’s a game played in courtrooms, where testimony is provided that conforms to what naive or compliant judges and juries expect of police officers.  But cops know how things go in the streets, and laugh at the law.  They do what they think they have to do, what the believe they can get away with, and tell the story to the court they know it wants to hear.

When it’s only a bad guy involved, there’s no hard feelings.  It’s a game.  We fight over rules, and they lie about them to put the bad guy in prison.  Everyone goes home feeling pretty good about themselves.

Had Diamondstein not been able to get his hands on a video that proved Lupo a liar, the case would have gone down the usual path.  Lupo would have gotten another ribbon for his shield, and the defendant would be doing some time in the pokey.  The judge wouldn’t have broken a sweat buying the testimony and imposing sentence, and the prosecutor would have enjoyed a beer and the admiration of his friends for a job well done.

There was a video, this time.

After the video was played, and Lupo’s lies were revealed to even the blindest person in the room, the brazenness wasn’t over.

After seeing the video, Kirkland took over questioning. In response to her questions, Lupo admitted that his testimony about never having searched the trunk was incorrect.

“I totally forgot about he asked me to open it at one point,” Lupo said, referring to the supervisor on the scene.

“Without a warrant?” Kirkland asked. “Did you have a warrant?”

“No,” Lupo said.

He forgot.  All is forgiven.  Try that with anyone other than a cop and see how well it works out.

Why You Should Film Police Even if You’re Breaking the “Law” is a post from Cop Block - Badges Don't Grant Extra Rights

The Cost of the War on Drugs

Friday, June 17th, 2011

Originally posted at FeeTV.

June 17, 2011 marks the 40th Anniversary of Nixons’ War on Drugs. Ever wonder what it costs and if it’s worth it?

“That’s like putting almost everyone in Hawaii and Alaska in prison.”

Sheldon Richman once wrote “For years advocates of free trade in drugs—that is, basic rights to life, liberty, and property for drug consumers, producers, and merchants—have pointed out that prohibition, in addition to being an immoral invasion of liberty by the State, sets in motion a variety of concrete evils that harm innocent people. These evils include the corruption of law enforcement, violent crime, and the expansion of intrusive government. Besides these domestic evils, the U.S. government has alienated farmers in foreign lands by helping to destroy their crops and livelihoods. If that’s not terrorism, nothing is.”

Read more about the War on Drugs:

Drugs, Economics, and Liberty by Walter E. Williams
What the Drug Warriers Have Given Us by Sheldon Richman
The Fiasco of Prohibition by Douglas Rogers
Politics and Prohibition by Donald J. Boudreaux
The Re-legalization of Drugs by Tibor R. Machan & Mark Thornton

The Cost of the War on Drugs is a post from Cop Block - "Something must be done about vengeance, a badge, and a gun"

Oops, our bad (cont’d).

Friday, June 17th, 2011

Sage Wisdom. Daily Brickbats (2011-06-17):

A Broward County, Florida, sheriff's deputy spotted Robin Brown when she was bird watching one day. He thought that the sage she had with her was marijuana, and a field test seemed to confirm that. He didn't arrest her then, but confiscated the sage and sent it to the crime...

Want to guess how much compensation she might be able to get from police and state prosecutors to make up for the harassment, arrest, abduction, sexual assault, torture, and confinement that they inflicted on her, a completely innocent bird-watcher, based on nothing more than belligerent ignorance, a fraudulent "field kit," and pure, callous negligence?

Ha, ha, it's a trick question. Even if she does win her lawsuit (which will be hard; the system overwhelmingly favors immunity for government violence), the police and prosecutors will never pay anything for the damages she's awarded. Government police and state prosecutors never pay for what they do to innocent people; you pay for their crimes instead, when they send the tax bill on to you.

In which I perform a public service

Thursday, March 3rd, 2011

I am back in Auburn for the next couple weeks — visiting my folks while also taking in the Tractatapalooza that Kelly and Arata are putting on (today - March 5, at the Museum of Art), and also dropping some science for the Molinari Society panel on Spontaneous Order, which will be at the Austrian Scholars Conference 2011 (March 10-12, at the Mises Institute).[1] Since I generally avoid flying these days, and Greyhound over that distance is too long to be workable, getting to Auburn meant renting a car, and a long drive, mostly along I-40, from Las Vegas to Alabama.

While I was in Texas, I was stopped on a flimsy excuse, detained, interrogated, and subjected to a long forced search of my car by two cops from the Texas Highway Patrol.

I am fine: I was not arrested, not ticketed, and nothing was seized; at the end of the day, aside from a paper warning, I ended up with nothing other than an annoying delay, an attempt at a petty humiliation, and a sad reminder of the sort of random-sweep police state tactics that are routinely used, with the minutest of ritual gestures at a sort of farce on due process, against people who are often legally innocent, who are suspected on the most unreasonable of suspicions and detained on the most specious of pretexts, and who, even if they are legally at risk, are almost never morally guilty of threaten the rights or liberties of any identifiable human victim whatever. I am awfully lucky in a couple of respects, and the sad fact is that many people are subjected to this kind of thing who come away from it a lot worse, even though they are no less innocent than I was.

I didn’t have much at hand to record what was going on, and I had a long drive ahead of me, so bear in mind that this is all written from memory, and the location is an estimate. Because there was no escalation of legal threats against me, I just got on my way as quickly as possible and did not take down the details or the detaining officers’ names.

I had stopped for the night in Tucumcari, New Mexico, and in the morning I set out along I-40 into Texas, towards Amarillo. About half an hour past the state border, near Vega, a black Highway Patrol SUV pulled onto the road behind me and followed me in the left lane. The posted speed limit was 70 mph, and at the time I was driving on cruise control at about 75 or 77mph or so. Since my speed was so close to the posted limit, I wasn’t sure whether the cops intended to pull me over or just wanted to pass me and drive up the road, so at the next opportunity I signaled and shifted over to the right hand lane, then slowed down to 70mph even. The patrol car did not get over or flash their lights, but did not pass me either, and continued driving in the left lane just a little behind me or to the side of me for several miles. (We passed by at least one exit.) There’s no way to know for sure, but in retrospect I wouldn’t be surprised he was hanging back to see if he could catch me in a traffic violation that would provide a stronger pretext for the stop. Finally he got tired of waiting for me to change lanes without a signal or whatever; he slowed down again, shifted into the right lane behind me, and flashed their lights; I pulled onto the shoulder, took out my wallet and waited with my hands on the steering wheel.

Not the actual police who rifled through my car, but close enough that you get the idea.

Now the first state trooper gets out of his SUV, in the usual Texas Highway Patrol silly-suit. I didn’t ask for a name, so we’ll call him Cowboy Hat. Cowboy Hat tells me he pulled me over for driving a little fast; I said sorry about that, handed him my driver’s license, and when he asked for proof of insurance I told him that the car was a rental and handed him the rental contract. Cowboy Hat asked where I was going and I said Alabama; he thought about this for a minute and then decided to have me step out of the car, then sit down on the passenger side in the Cowboy-mobile while he typed things up on his computer. He then began asking more questions, mostly about things that were none of his business (where I worked, what I did, how I could take a two-week vacation from my job to visit my family, why I live in Las Vegas, what my wife does there, where my luggage was, why I rented a car to drive out of town, etc.) When he began repeating questions that were already asked and answered, changing subject seemingly at random, and peppering them with questions about my history with the law — if I had any warrants out, if I’d ever been in trouble, it became clear that he was using the standard cop procedure to try to put me off guard and work up an answer that would help him gin up some reasonable suspicion. Then Cowboy Hat came around directly to asking if I had any drugs in the car. Nope. Any guns? Nope. Any cocaine? Nope. Any marijuana? Nope. I should have forgotten about trying to get back on the road quickly, and just trusted my instincts earlier that this was where the whole thing was going and simply said that he had my identification and I would not answer any more questions without an attorney. This wouldn’t have changed my situation with him any — it was clear enough by now that he was going to do anything he could to get to a search of the car, but it would have made me feel better and relieved me of having to try to explain my business to a belligerent armed stranger who believes that it is his job to try to trip up, manipulate and lie to the Suspect Individuals he forces off the road.

In any case, at this point Cowboy Hat wrapped up by asking me if he could look in the trunk. I told him, calmly, Not without a warrant. The dramatic irony here is that I knew there was in fact nothing at all in the trunk — literally nothing, not even my underwear; just the rental company’s spare tire and jack. I had no drugs or guns to find anywhere in the car, and I had left all my luggage plainly visible in the back seat. But I do not believe in allowing police to search me or anything of mine without a warrant. I value my privacy, and I do not believe in giving government police any latitude to harass or humiliate random people off the street. (There is in any case no possible legal benefit to helping out the police in their efforts to search, seize or question; you may as well make them work for it.)

To his partial credit, Cowboy Hat didn’t go out of his way to try and further bully or intimidate me after that. (I’d say he was polite, but of course there is no way to be polite to someone when you’ve used coercion to pull them off the road, while they are minding their own business, and interrogated them about a lot of things which are none of your business.) He simply said that he was giving me a warning for the speed, and he would be calling a canine unit to do an open-air search with a drug sniffing dog. I shrugged and waited in the SUV. While we were waiting for the handler and the dog to arrive, Cowboy Hat suggestively informed me that I seemed a bit nervous, as if he meets a lot of people every day who love to be pulled over and interrogated by highway police.

After a very short time — maybe 2 or 3 minutes at most — another SUV comes down the highway and pulls over onto the shoulder. Another cowboy hat gets out — we’ll call him Officer Friendly with what looks like a golden retriever. They then commence to engage in the Supreme Court-approved method of ginning up Probable Cause for a warrantless forced search when you don’t have any; it looks something like this. Officer Friendly jogs all the way around the car with the dog at a run. Then at a slightly slower pace he directs the dog over to the car, pulls back a little on the leash to get the dog to jump up and stick its face at the door or window, and jogs down a bit to the next part of the car. When it’s jumping up at the passenger-side front door the same way it jumped up at the other doors, the dog paws at the door a bit. They come back around and do the same trick again. I guess this is signalling. Of course, this is odd, since I know that there are no drugs in the car. There are, however, food from breakfast and wrappers from some gas-station snacks in the front seat.

Officer Friendly comes over to talk to Cowboy Hat for a minute then turns to me to ask whether there are any illegal drugs in the car. Nope. Any guns? Nope. Cowboy Hat then informs me that the dog signaled and that he is going to search the car. The passenger-side window was rolled down to talk to him when he first made the stop, so he goes over and unlocks the car at that door, then starts rifling through my stuff in the front seat and the back seat while I sit in the SUV and wait. Officer Friendly comes by, I guess to watch me.

He’s a chatty fellow and tries to talk. I guess it’s possible he was doing a Good Cop/Bad Cop thing in tandem with Cowboy Hat to try to get more information or check my story, but I don’t think he had much invested one way or the other in the bust and didn’t ask much in the way of direct questions, so I chatted with him about websites and college football. Meanwhile Cowboy Hat is now rifling through my luggage in the back, dragging out my box of book and pamphlets to look through, and finally comes back around to demand the keys for the trunk. The dog didn’t indicate anything at all anywhere near the trunk, but whoever said probable cause has to be very probable? He takes the keys and opens up the trunk, to find nothing at all in it. He stands there staring for a minute and then picks up the cover to look down at the spare tire compartment. He stands there staring for another minute, feels around in the compartment, and finally shuts the trunk. But while he’d gotten what he asked for, he hadn’t gotten what he wanted. I expected I’d be done in another minute, but instead Cowboy Hat goes around and spends another five or ten minutes opening up the hood and staring at the engine block, feeling around under the car to find my magic compartment or whatever he expected, and finally tossing everything back into the backseat and closing up the car.

He gives the keys back and has Officer Friendly hand me back my driver’s license and printed citation. Officer Friendly tries to shrug off the obvious false positive from the dog-sniff, and says that, since it was a rental, there’s No knowing what was in that car the day before yesterday. I shrug and Cowboy Hat mutters that I’m free to go and I should drive safe, at which point I waited for the next opportunity, got back on the road, and changed my planned route so as to spend as little time on Texas highways as possible (I was going to take I-40 to I-20 through Dallas; instead I took I-40 across the panhandle, straight through to Oklahoma City and on to Memphis). I didn’t take down the time, but my subjective recollection is that the whole thing took about half an hour or so.

On my way from Vega to Amarillo and out of the state, I noticed that the Highway Patrol was everywhere — there had been one stop I saw before Cowboy Hat stopped me, and by the time I got past Amarillo I saw a total of 7 or 8 other cars pulled over, with more than one of them involving multiple lights-flashing patrol cars on a single pulled-over car, and more than one with another person being obviously interrogated at the side of the road. I wonder how many of them were trying to work their way up to a search like the one inflicted on me. Given the response time for the dog handler on my own search, it’s obvious that they were keeping the dogs nearby. I don’t know, but given the obviously pretextual stop in my case, the really dense police presence, and the high number of multiple-cruiser stops, I wonder whether this was part of another stupid drug corridor sweep.

As for the search: it was based on suspicion that consisted entirely of the fact that I was very slightly over the speed limit (no more so than surrounding traffic), that I was driving a rental car from out of state, and Cowboy Hat’s completely unquantifiable gut feeling that I must be hiding something. When I refused to consent to a baseless search this was taken as reason to detain me longer and find a way to carry out the search by hook or by crook. The hook in this case was a farcical ritual in which a dog was jogged around the car to get a signal which I know to have been a false positive, so that Cowboy Hat could toss my books and papers, pop my car’s hood, and rifle through my underwear. I never had any drugs and in fact I have never carried drugs or a gun in my car in my entire life. If I had, this would, of course, be a peaceful lifestyle choice that is none of Cowboy Hat’s business anyway. But I hadn’t, and the fact that the magical dog-search was used to justify a warrantless contraband search of a random car pulled over on something that couldn’t even merit a traffic ticket is a good indication of just how secure you are in your person, papers, and effects these days. There are, I guess, four possible explanations of why the dog signaled in the first place. I know that it is not because there were drugs in the car (as Cowboy Hat found out); that leaves us with the following:

  1. It could have been a fraudulently-obtained false positive. Handlers of course have no trouble making trained dogs do more or less whatever they want them to do. You might think that it’s uncharitable to believe that police would do this as a pretext for an otherwise-baseless search, but given the long history of acknowledged police abuse, the incessant series of baseless asset forfeiture cases, and the weekly parade of corruption stories, I have no reason to extend the benefit of the doubt to a random cop off the street.

  2. It could be a simple false positive; sometimes dogs do the things that human trainers interpret as a signal, even though they didn’t smell anything, either for reasons of their own or because they are expected to. There’s no way to ask the dog for clarification, of course. Without any conscious manipulation police dogs have been observed to give absurdly high false-positive rates, especially when handlers subconsciously signal the fact that they expect to find something.

  3. It could be that the dog was jumping at the food I had in my passenger-side front seat — there were left-overs from breakfast and snack-wrappers there, and if the dog could smell drugs he no doubt could smell breakfast too.

  4. As I repeatedly told Cowboy Hat (because he repeatedly asked), this was a rental car which I had had for all of one day (which was clear from the rental contract). Of course, it’s possible that the dog really smelled drug residue; although I have no reason to assume that that’s the case. But if it is the case, I was, after all, driving a car that had been driven by hundreds of people before me. Any one of them could have put anything in the car.

Some of these explanations are more benign and others are more malign. But whichever explanation is the correct one, it ought to be a reminder how incredibly thin and really stupid this sort of evidence is as a probable cause basis for holding me or anybody else hostage and rifling through our stuff. Given how absurdly little transparency there is in the training and handling of police dogs, that dogs are far more likely than not to signal when subconsciously primed by their handlers, that the signals are all common dog behaviors that may be provoked by any number of things, and that even if the signal is in some sense accurate, in a case like mine there is no way to determine whether it came from anything I did or from something that any one of a hundred people before me did, causes for search can get by on being pretty improbable.

I am glad that I stood up for my rights in all this, whether or not I had anything to hide. I’d do the same in a heartbeat, and would in fact cooperate less than I did. I should say that there are a couple respects in which I was just plain lucky. I happened not to be carrying any drugs or guns, but if I were, there is no reason why I ought to be subjected to this kind of interrogation, or search, or hauled away to be locked in a cage at the end of it. I am lucky that Cowboy Hat, unlike some cops, did not choose to escalate his intimidation tactics when I asserted my rights, although if he had I would have stuck to my refusal all the more firmly. I am relatively privileged, as far as law-force encounters go, in that I’m white, Anglo, no longer a teenager, and seem obviously to be what the cops would consider middle class. If I spoke with a different accent, or had a different color of skin, or looked younger, I would no doubt have had it even worse. And it is just sheer, dumb luck that, besides not carrying any drugs or guns in the car, I also was not carrying any significant amount of cash (I had all of $3 in singles in my wallet).

Whether or not they found anything, no matter how flimsy the pretext, had I been carrying any amount of cash above what Cowboy Hat personally felt to be reasonable and lawful, I could quite probably have been subject to asset forfeiture, based on nothing more than the sniff-test and the amount of the money. It’s happened plenty of tims before, including with Texas cops. If I had had cash, and they decided to seize it, it would almost certainly be gone forever; the money would be kept back in Texas, and the burden would be on me to prove (how?) that it wasn’t drug-related. Lots of people are, unfortunately, much less fortunate than I am in some or all of these respects, and are subjected to all kinds of hell on similarly flimsy grounds (the car, it was 5mph over the speed limit! the dog, she barked! I had a feeling!). I was just lucky.

The consolation in all this is twofold.

First, the entire experience was exasperating, but since I knew ahead of time that there was nothing — literally nothing — in the trunk, I did get the minor satisfaction of watching Cowboy Hat standing around like a jackass staring at an empty trunk, peeking with fading hope at the spare tire, and then spending the next few minutes wandering around trying to find some kind of secret compartment in my engine block or under the car.

Second, while I was subjected to a flimsy stop, a harassing interrogation, and an utterly bogus forced search, I asserted my rights, and while they were harassing me, Cowboy Hat, Officer Friendly, and their magic golden retriever were off the road for a good half-hour or more, occupied on petty harassment of me with nothing at all to show for their effort at the end of it. That all sucks, but the minor consolation is that at least while they wasted their time on me, the road was that much more open for honest drug-dealers, gun-smugglers and people with cash under their seat to drive through unmolested. I didn’t volunteer for this, but given that I was drafted into it I consider making the cops work for their search, and this entire waste of police time and resources, to be a minor act of public service to my fellow motorists, who might have came out of it worse than I did.

See also:

  1. [1] I’ll be presenting the current iteration of Women and the Invisible Fist, which I suppose will be rather different fare from that normally offered at the ASC. The panel is the same Spontaneous Order panel we had intended to put on at last December’s APA Eastern Division meeting in Boston, which the gods buried in an impassable snowdrift. ASC graciously allowed us the time slot to reschedule the panel, and since Roderick and both of our original commentators live in Auburn, it seemed like a natural fit.