The Long Arm of the Law (Or How I Learned to Forget About the First Amendment, Public Property, Equal Access, etc.)



Federal law enforcement and pro-cannabis protesters outside
Oaksterdam University in Oakland in April 2012.



It goes without saying that, as a photojournalist, I have many opportunities to meet and greet the fine men and women in blue while pursuing the stories that end up in products of [The Great Big Newspaper Chain]. For the most part, these meetings are unremarkable, at press conferences, the doings of government figures, the famous and near-famous, matters of public safety, or just in the random course of daily life.

The past two days' events have lent themselves to a different kind of interaction though, and I have to say that I'm distressed with the general state of law enforcement. Yesterday gave deafening validity to that old axiom that "when it rains, it pours," as Federal agents staged an early morning raid on three different marijuana-based businesses in Oakland, and even as that action was proceeding to riot police and arrests, elsewhere in our fair city, a troubled man decided that the best resolution to the problems of his personal life was to end the lives of seven other random souls.

First, from our Eliot Ness file, Federal agents from the Internal Revenue Service, the Drug Enforcement Agency and the U.S. Marshals staged a spectacular show of force at Oaksterdam University. Acting on the contents of a sealed warrant, about 50 agents broke into the marijuana cultivation school, and confiscated dozens of boxes of paper files, computer records and (naturally) marijuana plants, even as an angry crowd of about 100 demonstrators gathered on the street outside.

Do I have personal feelings about marijuana, the people who use it, and its legality? I most certainly do. Will I share them here? Not a chance. What I will say is that Oaksterdam has the blessing of Oakland city leaders to instruct its students in the propagation, for personal and medical use, of cannabis, and is affiliated with several medical marijuana dispensaries, which are regulated under California state law. According to the city, Oaksterdam paid more than $1.68 million in taxes last year, at a time when fiscally-challenged Oakland needs every centime it can get its grubby paws on.

The Feds, from all indications, came in unannounced to local authorities, and essentially put Oaksterdam out of business – however briefly – for reasons that agents on the scene refused to disclose. However you feel about marijuana and its effect on the community or the nation, this is a chilling development when the government can break into your home or place of business – without having to tell you why – and wreak havoc. Now, I'm no lawyer, but I seem to remember, vaguely, from high school civics class, that there was some obscure prohibition of "unreasonable search and seizure," somewhere in the U.S. legal code.

If you live here, you know that Oakland, and this country, have decidedly bigger problems than pot growers who are, at least at first glance, playing by the state's rules.

Preoccupied

The Occupy Wall Street movement officially marks its 2-month anniversary today, and I'd just like to say congratulations!

Now pack up your tents and go home.

The protest, and its various offshoots around the world, calling for big banks and other multinational corporations to pay their fair share of the national tax burden, has certainly put a microscope on the financial inequities of life in the 21^st century. Millionaires, billionaires, banks, corporations – they should all be hanging their heads in shame, realizing, perhaps for the first time, what greedy bastards they are.

But you see, here's the thing: they're not. And the protesters should get it through their collective skull that camping out, having a nationwide pajama party – even if it goes on for months – is not going to lead to the changes they for which they apparently hope. Because really rich people, and the corporations they run, serve on the boards of, or receive dividends/profits from, don't pay any attention to the likes of folks like you. If they did, they would most likely say something like, "Go ahead! Camp out! Knock yourselves out! Freeze to death! Just don't come near my villa or I'll have you locked up."

Don't believe me? Just listen to Republican lawmakers like John McCain, or GOP presidential candidates like Herman Cain or Newt Gingrich. McCain is calling for lower corporate tax rates (although, one has to ask: how could they go below the 0% that many are paying now?); Cain and Gingrich are suggesting that Occupy protesters are nothing more than layabouts who favor food stamps over a paycheck. Who do you think is funding their campaigns?

If the Occupiers really wish to see the rich take notice of their plight, here's your formula for success: vote with your wallets.

Seriously: stop lining the pockets of the corporations that are making these people rich. Stop going to Wal*Mart. Stop going to Target. Stop going to McDonald's. Stop going to Starbucks. Jesus, stop buying iPhones and Androids and all that other crap that's getting made in China anyway – thus destroying any chance that there will ever again be an American manufacturing base.

If the Occupy people could convince one-third of Americans – plenty less than the vaunted 99% – to boycott General Electric or Microsoft or Apple or (good luck with this) all Chinese-made products for a month, or take their savings out of the big banks and transfer them to local credit unions, you'd see rich people sitting up and taking notice.

Why? Because you'd be taking their money back from them. Most of their millions are only on paper anyway – the value of a stock or a mutual fund.

But this marching in the streets crap? Chanting meaningless, overbaked slogans and tying up the police, costing already cash-strapped cities millions of dollars in overtime and clean-up costs? A waste of time and breath.

Do the smart thing: declare victory, pack up your encampments, and go home and organize a nationwide boycott.

You can start by refusing to read this blog.

Now get outta here, and I mean it.

The Pimping of 9/11

Never forget. Always remember.

Yeah. Okay. Happy 9/11.

At the risk of appearing callous to the deaths of nearly 3,000 people, on one of the most horrific days in American history, I just want to take this opportunity to say: Enough already.

Yes, the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001 were a seminal moment for many of us – you'd practically have to have been in a coma to not remember where you were when you first heard the news of twin jetliners slamming into the tallest buildings in New York City. And it's perfectly fitting that we would remember those events on the 10^th anniversary of the date. And yet…

"Now is the time to reflect on those people who lost their lives in the 9/11 attacks." That well-considered message, by the way, came from my bank ATM, which reminded me of the upcoming anniversary all of last week. Thank God I don't do more banking; I might be a mirror by now, what with all that reflecting. Perhaps next week there'll be a message saying, "Now is the time to reflect on all the millions of people who lost their jobs, homes, retirement, and veritable future, thanks to the gross mismanagement and greed of banks like ours. By the way, may we interest you in an adjustable rate mortgage?"

FOX Sports promoted their upcoming NFL football lineup during an Oakland A's-Texas Rangers baseball game yesterday. Among the features they would air on FOX NFL Sunday would be "Terry [Bradshaw] and Howie [Long]'s thoughts on 9/11!" Excuse me? Unless they rescued injured staffers from the Pentagon, or helped overpower some of the Flight 93 hijackers, why would I possibly care what two former football players had to say?

There's just something truly perverse and ghoulish in the way that the media has approached the 10-year anniversary of 9/11, and I find myself repulsed even though, given a week or so to anticipate the coverage, I expected nothing less.

On the upside, we now can forget about 9/11 and its world-changing events for the next – how long? 10 years? – before we have to review the stories of heroism and loss. But the truth is – and this is, at its heart the reason that this anniversary overkill is so galling – that there isn't a single day that goes by that we aren't touched by the events of 9/11. Going to the airport is only the most obvious example. Entering a government building, parking in an underground garage, or even making a photograph of a "public" place – fear of terrorism has subjected us to increased surveillance, scrutiny, invasion of privacy. It's become so pervasive as to be second nature for most of us.

But every time the government decides to rob us of our fundamental freedoms – of movement, of assembly, of speech – they'll trot out the terrorism boogey man, and he will always be wearing a tee-shirt with the silhouette of the Twin Towers on it.

So, yes, let's never forget. Let's always remember. But let's try not to wallow in the grief, or be swallowed up by the fear.

“The Unbearable Lightness of Funny Bitterness”

"Good news, everyone!"

Yes, we all knew the bloodbath was coming, but who knew that it would be so… bloody?

Now, I'm no media expert, but I am pretty sure that changing the name of the newspaper(s) to make them more appealing to all parts of the geographic spectrum probably ensures that you will endear them to no one. After all, I live in the East Bay, but do I think of myself as an East Bay-ite –oid –ian? No, I think of myself as an Oaklander. Preferably, I would like to get my news from a paper that identifies itself as Oakland-based. Even though I frequently avail myself of the stories in the San Francisco Comical, I do so with the knowledge that they are out-of-towners who care little for me other than my subscription dollars. Unless Oakland burns to the ground, I suspect that the Comical will lead its paper with some event that transpired on the streets of the Baghdad by the Bay.

Meanwhile the East Bay Tribune… I'm sorry, I just threw up in my mouth typing those words. The E.B. Tribune will emphasize the news of the… East Bay?

If you are a Bay Area resident, you are aware that the East Bay is a huge geographical area, comprising the cities of Oakland, Berkeley, Alameda, Piedmont, San Leandro, Hayward, Castro Valley, Pleasanton, Sunol, Union City, Fremont, Newark, El Cerrito, El Sobrante, Richmond, Kensington, Albany, Hercules, Orinda, Lafayette, Moraga, Walnut Creek, Concord, San Ramon, Danville, Alamo, Livermore and Dublin, just to name the ones closest to the San Francisco Bay. The residents of Martinez, Rodeo, Benicia, Vallejo, Clayton, Blackhawk, Brentwood, Discovery Bay, Rio Vista and (especially) Mountainhouse, having the read the previous sentence, are incensed at having been forgotten. This is a perfect illustration of why the E.B. Tribune concept is doomed to failure.

The Oakland Tribune has a proud history, dating from its start more than 137 years ago, including two Pulitzer Prizes for photography. It's hard to believe that we will abandon that pedigree simply to make the paper nominally more appealing to the readers who are, according to management, apparently afraid that Oakland moniker will... I dunno – break into their homes and steal their big screen TVs? "Oh, dear God! It's the Oakland Tribune! Somebody stop it before our property values go down!"

Meanwhile, the name change is the least of our worries – it's the accompanying 120 layoffs that are what really keep me up at night. Can I really survive another round of layoffs? What is this, my 18^th since arriving here in 1990? How can there be anyone left to eliminate and yet still have personnel with which to publish a paper? Are we using Chinese prison labor?

Well, if I start writing a blog entry every day after October 28, you'll know that my luck – and, if you actually deign to read this drivel, yours – has run out.

Until then… savor your Oakland Tribune.

P.S.: Thanks to the lovely and talented AP staff photographer Marcio Jose Sanchez for the inspired title of today's entry.

The Pride of Pequannock

Derek Jeter in 1996

Some of you may have noticed – and I assume that most of those of whom I'm speaking here are, in fact, inmates at a prison for the criminally insane – that Derek Jeter, shortstop for the New York Chubbywallets and erstwhile All-Star, slipped a couple of balls past the Tampa Bay Slurpee™ Drinkers' laconic defense yesterday and thus became the 27th Major Leaguer to accumulate 3,000 or more hits.

Lest you wonder how it is that I came to be aware of this revolting development, please remember that I do pretend to cover the news; also, I have four [reputed] family members who follow the Chubbywallets in a less-than-casual fashion. Their untoward caterwauling at the moment Mr. Jeter achieved this milestone was unavoidable, even from 3,000 miles away.

Let's be frank: Mr. Jeter is a fine ballplayer; certainly, as Scott Ostler of the San Francisco Comical wrote today, a first-ballot Hall of Famer. But, as Mr. Ostler also wrote, the idea that Mr. Jeter could have won all those championships – or, indeed, even had the opportunity to achieve the 3,000-hit plateau – without the complement of the very expensive machine that is the Chubbywallets' perennially star-studded roster is far-fetched, to say the least. The supporting cast at Chubbywallet Stadium, either the old or the new version, is such that many a player has seemed just that much better as a result. Unlimited resources will do that for a team.

I'm more impressed by players like Tony Gwynn or Carl Yastrzemski – players who excelled despite the relative weakness of their respective teams. Let's see Derek get his 3,000 hits playing for Pittsburgh, shall we? He probably wouldn't even have 3,000 plate appearances yet.

Still, because I'm not a hater (so far as you know, that is), I extend my congratulations to Mr. Jeter, and remind him that he still has to get another 181 hits to catch Cal Ripken, Jr.

The Dream of the Blue Umbrellas

Henlopen Acres Beach Club on a perfect summer day

Not that I don't love California, but…

 I can hardly wait to get back to Rehoboth Beach and sprawl on the warm sands by the Atlantic.

The countdown has started.

“Celebrate the Birth of Your Nation By Blowing Up a Small Part of It!”

The Rockets' Red Glare over Oakland, 2009

Now we know what it's like to live in Baghdad.

After spending the last two nights listening to the soundtrack of a war movie, all I can say is, how could so many people be so unclear on the concept of "illegal fireworks?" Aside from the constant assault on the eardrums, the danger of maiming and dismemberment, and even the possibility of starting a fire that could destroy one's neighborhood, why do some Oaklanders think it's okay to keep the rest of us awake into the wee hours of the morning with their M-320s?

I confess that, in my younger days, I thought it was fun to set off a few firecrackers and light some sparklers on the Fourth of July. Why, we were even known to set off the occasional Roman candle.

But all of that pales in comparison to the artillery barrage we have witnessed this past weekend in Oakland – and one can only guess what it would have been like if the city's police and fire departments were not supposedly enforcing a "zero tolerance" policy. Mixed with what could only have been occasional bursts of automatic gunfire, there were non-stop explosions audible last night until well after one a.m. Some of the blasts sounded like dynamite charges. What's next, C-4?

Perhaps this is what we get for not having any "official" fireworks display in the city this year – the traditional Jack London Square show having fallen victim to the budget axe. But then again, these imbeciles would probably have their own fireworks show even if the city's display was in their living room. (Which might not be a bad idea, incidentally…)

Lest you think I'm some kind of Independence Day killjoy, I will tell you that I went to my usual spot in the Oakland hills last night to watch and photograph the San Francisco fireworks, which were mercifully only obscured by smog this year, rather than fog. It's just that I feel that 25 minutes of fireworks are sufficient, thank you.