Then I noticed a tall, shaved-head police sergeant from the other side of the stairway coming right at me. I knew exactly what he wanted. Instinctively, I lined up a wide-angle shot and waited until he got to the spot in the composition where I wanted him. I hit the shutter and the fill-flash went off. I was wearing a T-shirt with VETERANS FOR PEACE and the organization's peace dove helmet logo blazened across my chest.
"Do you have a press pass?" he asked.
"No, I don't," I said.
"Then you can't stand here. You'll have to move."
At least three journalists with official press passes hanging around their necks stood on the steps behind me. Another VFP member stood nearby, also with a camera.
"I don't have to go anywhere," I told him. "The law says I have as much right to stand here as anyone with a press pass. I don't need one; I have the First Amendment to the Constitution. That's the law. It was clearly established several weeks ago in a First Circuit Court of Appeals ruling."
I regretted I had not brought a copy of the ruling, which I could have nicely handed to him, emphasizing the appropriately underlined passages that pointed out in no uncertain terms how the First Amendment covered all Americans -- not just members of the well-heeled, corporate press. The issue, I tried to tell him, was not MY lack of a press pass; the issue was HIS deciding I needed one to remain where I was.
I don't presume to stand in her elevated category, but, still, I felt a little like Rosa Parks, who also knew she was right and who also was exploiting the predictable ignorance of those telling her to move to the back of the bus.
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