Monterey, California—It’s a little past 4 p.m. and the parking lot in the Montgomery County library is packed.
There’s a waiting list for hours.
There are a dozen people in the room.
I’m in my wheelchair, with a severe back pain and a constant feeling of dread.
The crowd is not at my door, but a few dozen people have come in for an early morning meeting.
The room is packed, but there’s no one to call the police.
I look up at the police officer sitting in the back.
“Is there any trouble?”
“There’s a couple of people here with a warrant for a DUI, so I can’t let them in.”
I ask why.
“They have a warrant out for someone who broke into our library and stole a computer, but that’s not illegal,” he says.
The Montgomery County police chief says the county’s library is home to the most dangerous people in America.
“If they are coming in here and are in a situation where they are violating our code, we’ll send a police officer,” he explains.
“And we will hold them accountable.”
A few dozen hours later, a Montgomery County deputy parks a white Toyota Tacoma and drives out of the parking area.
He picks up a stack of paperwork.
“I think you’re going to be okay,” he tells me.
“You’ll be fine.”
We go back to the office.
The officers don’t ask why we’ve been arrested, and they don’t tell us anything about the warrant.
We sit in the lobby for hours until the afternoon.
As I sit in a conference room in the police department, I hear some people whispering in the background.
I can hear them calling for someone to get arrested.
Then they start to yell at me.
They’re yelling at me because I’m here.
It’s hard to hear what they’re saying, but I know they are calling me an anarchist and a terrorist.
But I’m not an anarchist.
I don’t have an agenda.
I know the law, I know what the consequences of breaking it are.
I also know that if you don’t get arrested, you won’t get charged.
And that if people are going to break the law for the purpose of disrupting our government, they need to be held accountable for breaking the law in the first place.
We’re sitting in front of the Montgomery Sheriff’s Office, in a room where two officers sit in pairs with two deputy sheriffs and two plainclothes officers.
I ask the officer next to me, “Are you a lawyer?”
He says, “I am, but they don’ have me.”
It’s 5:30 a.m., and I’ve just come back from the hospital.
My back is hurting, and I’m feeling sick.
But the officers say to me that the hospital is full, and that I should take care of myself and not worry about it.
I sit back down on my chair, and the officers start to talk.
“We know who you are,” one of them says.
“This is our warrant, and we’re going back to arrest you.”
I look at him.
“No, no, no.
It was a mistake.
It wasn’t a mistake.”
The officers tell me that they’ll be taking my records, and then they’ll put me in handcuffs and take me to the jail.
I tell them that I’m OK, and if I have to be arrested, I’m going to do it.
But they tell me, in the process, to call my lawyer.
“Go ahead and arrest me,” I say.
“But I’m a lawyer.”
They take me back to my car and I start driving.
The next day, I find out that my arrest warrant has been for stealing from the Montgomery Library.
It says that I broke into the library, stole a laptop, and damaged the computers.
They say they’ve found an electronic copy of the warrant and that it says that the laptop was stolen on the day that the warrant was issued.
But it’s a fake warrant, they say.
The only thing missing is the name of the library.
They tell me I have two hours to call a lawyer.
I do, and soon I get a call from a friend who works in the library who says that there is no lawyer there and that the police have taken her to jail.
After a few days, I get another call from the police, who tell me they’re going down to the courthouse to get me.
I call my wife, who says, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be there when you get there.’
“I was not planning to call her at all, but then I was like, oh, no,” she says.
I finally call her back.
She tells me that her friend’s son was arrested for a parking ticket. They gave