London Guardian 
June 3, 2012
I handed the goji berries to the cop. “He dropped these.” The cop thanked me, tossed the gojis in the trunk, and bustled away his captive amid a cacophony of outrage from the crowds. Moments earlier, the man with the berries had called out to the crowd: “They can’t arrest us all! Let’s stand together!” Moments later, poignantly, he was grabbed by the police and bundled into the squad car.
It was a silly arrest, really. He wasn’t doing anything at all. He was eating goji berries, standing on the edge of the road. Jaysnacking. A token flex of muscle from Fairfax County police. I’m not sure this constitutes a legal defence, but I’m pretty sure that if you’re eating a bag of organic goji berries, you’re probably not much of a threat to society. As the police pulled away, the bullhorn sirens started up and I walked away from the noise.
There was a little too much testosterone on the sidewalk this afternoon – a few too many megaphones for my liking. But hey, you want to shout about the tyranny of a corrupt transnational banking oligarchy, you go right ahead. I’m not about to tell you to hush. It’s horses for courses. Two years ago, a group of Spanish activists sat in silence on the beach and sent a white ring of positive energy up the hill to encircle and cleanse theBilderberg  hotel. Whatever gets the job done.
As I left the crime scene, I met a member of Oathkeepers trotting down from their gazebo to check on the arrest. “We’ll be looking at the video evidence,” he assures me, puffing past.