While he was in the can, Ridley wrote an op-ed that was published in the local paper today. Here's a reproduction:
Camcording: a check on government abuse
By Dave Ridley
Published: Thursday, July 16, 2009
Outlaw journalist defies order to stop recording (July 9, 2009). Letter from a New Hampshire Jail.
WESTMORELAND — It is said that silence is often louder than speech, that a voice quashed is more powerful than one left free. So, as I undertake the third night of a six-day civil disobedience imprisonment, there is no urgent crush to communicate. But it is fitting to outline the events that led here and the cause that fires so many others to suffer a similar path.
In this formerly free land, a grand parade of exploding government is under way. No truce or parley checks its dark course. Beside the New England forts, which stood or fell in the first revolution, all ’round the siege lines that still mark the British surrender, lights are going out — the lights of homes stolen by state forfeiture or eminent domain, of businesses ruined by growing tax and mandate.
There are, however, several lines of defense that sometimes hold against the encroaching cancer. Perhaps the most valuable of these is the newly decentralized expression of press freedom. The practice of camcording official activity and placing it upon the waves of the electronic Web for all to support or decry, that practice has fallen into the desperate hands of the “little people.” As a check against government abuse, it is indispensable. It is, in this land of so many hills, a good one upon which to die.
Across New Hampshire, the freedom to record exists, but only in a tenuous, ambiguous form. An elderly “wiretapping” law is often cited by officials wishing to frighten from their presence the troubling light of independent recording. In courtrooms, judges are encouraged by law to permit independent taping but granted a hazardous leeway to limit the same. Some choose to expand their mandate and exert censorship over the lobbies outside their force-funded chambers. Others permit relatively unfettered access, ban cameras altogether or moodily swing from one extreme to the next.
In the twilight of 2008, videographer Tom Caruso gently presses Keene District Court for leave to film the controversial trial of a victimless defendant. The defendant approves, but Caruso’s lens captures the judge in a fit of anger. The New York documentarian has driven four hours to record this proceeding, but four minutes into it, the flustered jurist’s enforcers compel him to stop. Meanwhile the defendant is hustled away and tried in relative secrecy. In protest, I report to the court with a promised course of action. I pledge that come the next such proceeding, weeks hence, I will follow Caruso’s path and endeavor to film. I will peaceably disobey any unjust order to turn my camera off.
In the event, upon arrival, press recording is forbidden completely — both in the court itself and in the lobby outside. Lawful or not, the unsigned order has the weight of a small-town army behind it. I am seized in the lobby, camera in hand, perhaps the first journalist to video-broadcast his own arrest live. Much of what ensues is well-known to our liberty community: the five arrests surrounding my arraignment, the more heroic and robust stand of videographer Sam Dodson, the eventual readmission of our cameras to Keene District Court.
But it is our purpose that gives meaning to these deeds:
The purpose of accountability, holding “our” officials before the cleansing glare of a camcorder’s sunlight and saying to all who would interfere: “On the job means on the record.”
The purpose of liberty — the right of each soul to do all she pleases that harms or threatens none against their will. And, as unprecedented government growth brushes a nation toward the cliff of collapse, the purpose of ensuring it may never be said we did nothing.
Decades after the largely peaceable struggles that brought partial liberation to the bonded peoples of India and the American South, children still asked, “What did you do in the struggle, grandpa?”
From this concrete box, it is appropriate only to ask: Please do what you are able, while there is still time, to ensure that when you stand before this question, you may proudly provide a convincing answer.
