Jag fick ett brev ifrån en av våra läsare om ett möte med den svenska polisen. Tyvärr är denna historien inte unik, jag känner till hundratals liknande. Det enda råd man kan ge är att hålla sig långt borta och inom lagens råmärken, den här typen av konfrontationer kommer man sällan vinnande ur. Som Rothbard brukade säga så är det sällan klokt att bryta mot nuvarande lagar, om man ändå gör det så får du ofta betala ett stort pris personligen.
Diaries from the drug war: Stockholm
I feel sick.
While out driving over the weekend, I accidentally made an ”illegal” turn at a confusing intersection near a large construction site. Briefly thereafter, my girlfriend and I were pulled over by two Stockholm police officers that had happened to witness the event. On my part, it was an honest mistake with no victim, and as for the police officers, they were quick to admit they simply had nothing better to do than pull us over. Our tax dollars hard at work!
I managed, with the help of my girlfriend, to explain why I had made the wrong turn and to keep the conversation cordial, but with my basic personal information in hand, they ran me through a computer system and the tone of the conversation suddenly changed. They asked me if I was a criminal.
I knew what they were on about, what they had found in their systems, so I told them. Two years ago, I was caught with 2.5 grams of marijuana at the Swedish border, returning from a trip to Copenhagen. I barely managed to pay my enormous 20 000 SEK extortion fee, but I did manage to pay it, on time. End of story, right?
Not quite. They ordered me out of the car, into the middle of the road and proceeded to touch my body and put their hands down my pants. It wasn’t as bad as the border had been, where they locked me in a small room and a strange man ordered me to show him my penis. That was more humiliating, but then again, this was out in the middle of the streets on a weekend, with families driving by and kids staring as the strange men with guns felt me up.
They then continued the action by violating my property rights and thoroughly searching my car. I would like to admit that I enjoyed telling the officers to be careful with my eggs while they laid out my groceries in the street, but my mind was racing as I couldn’t be 100% sure there was nothing in the car that could get me in trouble. I’d be an idiot to assume that I knew all the laws and regulations of any state, let alone one where I did not even speak the native language.
So I stood there smoking a cigarette, watching strangers with guns run their hands over my property. I politely tried to explain to them the gross violations of my basic human and property rights that they were committing, but there was no coherent response as they welcomed four more of their kind to the party. Four more miserable creatures that had nothing better to do than molest innocent civilians. Our tax dollars hard at work!
Two female officers proceeded to take my girlfriend into a van, invade her property rights and physically molest her. I thought about Göran Lindberg, lit a cigarette, and tried to stop my hands from shaking. She was the real victim. Her only crime: sitting in a car with the wrong man. How did I fail to protect her like this?
I stared at the van, and then back at the four officers now surrounding my car. They seemed to be having fun making jokes about how dirty it was. I had nothing left to say. They teased me and made a “serve and protect” joke as they cleaned off my license plate, all the while threatening that they could fine me for it.
They found nothing. There was no charge, no quotas met. Just a feeling of gross violation and the fear of police and state power reconfirmed as completely rational.
These types of encounters with the state are like horrific accidents that you’ll eventually recover from: You’re left feeling grateful because it could have been worse. A lot worse.
…and that makes me feel sick.