A POINT OF PERSONAL PRIVILEGE: You Didn’t See What You Think You Saw

You didn’t see confusion. You didn’t see fear. You didn’t see escalation gone wrong.

What you saw, we are told, was order. Professionalism. Law enforcement doing exactly what needed to be done.

And if your stomach tightened when you watched it…well, that’s on you. You lack context. You’re being emotional. And, you definitely don’t understand how dangerous the world is.

This is a familiar move. It’s not an argument so much as a dismissal. A way of waving away questions before they can fully form.

“Trust us. We’re the government. We know what we’re doing. And if you disagree, that says more about you than about what happened.”

It’s a comforting message, especially for people who like their politics neat and their moral math simple. The bad woman didn’t comply. The good guys felt threatened. End of story. Please proceed directly to the comments section.

But there’s a problem with this script, and it has nothing to do with partisan loyalties or social media outrage. The problem is that a free society is not supposed to work this way. Authority is not supposed to explain itself by telling the public to stop believing its own eyes. Power is not supposed to demand obedience first and justification later.

And when the state’s answer to visible violence is, essentially, “You didn’t see what you think you saw,” that’s not reassurance.

That’s a warning sign.

A Proud Tradition of Overreacting

America has a long tradition of panicking badly and then congratulating itself for acting decisively.

In 1798, we decided the evil French were everywhere. Not just in Paris, mind you, but lurking in taverns, newspapers, and possibly behind the butter churn all over America.

And what was America’s response?

Congress passed the Alien and Sedition Acts, which allowed the government to jail critics and deport people deemed “dangerous.” This was all very serious, very legal, and very patriotic. Sound familiar?

It was also a mistake.

The laws didn’t end the republic, but they did establish a recurring American habit: when we’re scared, we expand power first and ask whether we overdid it later. Sometimes much later, after the damage has already been folded into tradition.

Fast-forward a couple of centuries. The wigs are gone, the muskets are gone, and the printing press has been replaced by social media.

But the instinct hasn’t changed.

A woman is shot by a federal agent. Another is dragged down a snowy street. Videos circulate. People flinch. And almost immediately a soothing chorus rises up to restore order:

Relax. Trust the authorities. She should’ve just complied.

Nothing to see here. Move along.

That phrase—just comply—has become the Swiss Army knife of modern moral reasoning. It explains everything. It excuses everything. It absolves everyone who matters.

And that should bother us. And, thankfully, judging by the rallies this weekend, it did. (Well, at least most of us.)

“Just Comply” Is Not a Political Philosophy

Ok, but, let’s be honest about something: “just comply” is often good advice. If you want to survive an encounter with someone who has a gun, a badge, and the legal authority to use both, escalating the situation is usually a bad idea. Parents know this. Lawyers know this. Anyone who’s ever watched a traffic stop while gripping the steering wheel knows this.

But advice for staying alive is not the same thing as a theory of justice.

When “just comply” becomes the final word—when it’s treated as the moral sorting hat for every use of force—something important disappears. Responsibility flows only one direction. Confusion becomes culpability. Panic becomes proof. Any failure to behave perfectly under stress is treated as consent to whatever happens next.

Meanwhile, fear on the part of the state is treated like evidence. If an officer felt threatened, that’s the end of the analysis. Case closed. Pack it up.

This is a curious arrangement, when you think about it. The side with the guns, the training, the backup, and the institutional insulation gets an enormous benefit of the doubt.

The civilian gets none. And, that’s not law and order.

Laws Are Necessary. They Are Not Self-Justifying.

A lot of the defense here leans heavily on legality. Supreme Court cases get name-checked. Statutes are waved around like sacred Roman talismans. Policies are quoted with the confidence of people who believe footnotes end arguments.

Law matters. Yes, of course it does. But, guess what, history is full of things that were legal and wrong.

The Alien and Sedition Acts were legal. Japanese internment was legal. Plenty of police violence later condemned was legal at the time.

Law tells us what may be done, but it does not tell us what must be defended without question.

If legality were enough, we wouldn’t need judgment. Or restraint. Or accountability. We’d just need a checklist and a shrug.

A free society asks more than “was this permitted?” It asks “was this necessary, proportionate, and restrained?”

That second question is where the trouble starts.

The After-Death Scavenger Hunt

Once the state kills someone, a strange secondary ritual often begins.

Suddenly, the internet turns into a forensic team rummaging through the deceased’s entire life. Custody disputes. Arrest records. Rumors. Old social media posts. Sexual orientation. Associations. All dumped onto the table with the same implicit message: See? This wasn’t a good person.

This is meant to be clarifying. It never is.

What it actually does is shift the argument. We stop asking whether force was exercised properly and start arguing about whether the victim was worthy of restraint in the first place.

That’s a dangerous move.

In a free society, due process is not a character reward. It’s a power restraint. It exists precisely so the state doesn’t get to decide, after the fact, that someone was the wrong kind of citizen to deserve it.

If the rule becomes “we’ll look into your life after you’re dead and decide whether you mattered,” the standard has already collapsed.

Fear Is Not a Get-Out-of-Scrutiny-Free Card

Another familiar refrain follows close behind: You didn’t see what you think you saw.

The video lacks context. Trust the officials. Let the process work.

Fair enough. Context matters. And, investigations take time.

But notice the asymmetry. The public is told to wait patiently, suspend judgment, and trust the system, while officials issue confident declarations immediately and ask that those declarations be treated as authoritative.

News flash: That’s not patience. That’s submission.

Institutions worthy of trust don’t demand it reflexively. They earn it by explaining themselves, tolerating doubt, and recognizing that when force is irreversible, explanation is not optional.

Why This Hits Home Outside the Bubble

If you live far from cable-news studios and press briefings, this debate feels less abstract.

In places like rural Oregon, encounters with federal authorities don’t always come with a crowd of witnesses, a body cam angle, and a lawyer on speed dial. They happen on quiet roads, in moments of confusion, when adrenaline does the talking and clarity shows up late.

People imagine themselves there (not as activists or villains) but as ordinary folks trying to figure out the right move while everything is happening too fast.

A system that demands perfect composure from civilians while granting broad moral latitude to armed authority is not designed for human beings.

It’s designed for obedience.

Who Is Actually Creating the Fear?

Words matter. Especially big ones like terrorist.

Terrorism isn’t defined by who the government says you are. It’s defined by the use of violence to instill fear and compel obedience. It’s about power wielded to make an example of someone.

When the state reaches for violence first and explanation later, say, like when people are dragged from cars, shot, or treated as disposable obstacles, and the public is told to cheer or shut up, something has flipped.

Noncompliance is not terrorism. Questioning authority is not terrorism. Asking for accountability is not terrorism.

If there is domestic terror here, it lies in the normalization of force without accountability, and in the eagerness of some to defend it simply because it was done in the name of order.

The Old Habit We Can’t Quit

The Alien and Sedition Acts didn’t fail because America was weak. They failed because fear was allowed to do the thinking.

Every generation gets its own version of that test.

Different enemies. Different uniforms. Different language. Same temptation.

Do we still believe that authority flows upward from the people—or have we decided that obedience is close enough?

Because once a society stops demanding restraint from those who wield power, it doesn’t become safer.

It just gets very good at explaining why cruelty was necessary.

And history suggests that explanation never ages well.