...that I probably ought to keep to myself for now, until I can whittle it down to something managable.
Major! Court! Victory! Major! Court! Victory! Sort of.
Elana asked me to write about the Critical Mass ruling on the DMI Blog but I don't really have the words.
There is a language for this stuff, for talking about anarchy and political repression. A language I don't have much practice in. The lawsuit (and the ruling) don't have much to do with bikes or sustainable transportation or traffic or any of that. It is about free speech and freedom of association.
In a parallel universe, one where all stereotypes about cops (they live in Jersey and Long Isand with above ground pools and don't really understand why we all feel compelled to live in this godforsaken place that they're sworn to protect) are just truths, the NYPD spends a lot of time fretting about anarchists. They don't really know what the word means, anarchy, but they know it is somehow contrary to neatly edged lawns and obedient school children who do their homework and divide neatly by gender for afterschool ballet and baseball. Figure skating, or jazz dance if they are going to be unique. Maybe karate for the boys who insist on standing out. So over there, in that parallel universe, all you have to do is whisper your code words and the courts, which of course are sworn to uphold all things neatly edged and fertilized, will wink and say "oh? You say they are anarchists? Well. We know just what to do with them." The radicals are thrown in the clink, foaming of mouth and wild of eye.
View An Untethered Little Rant