I’ve been watching a few too many YouTube videos lately.
What strikes me most is how often a narrative is used to justify behavior—as if there’s been a secret script passed around. Everyone’s read it. Most have memorized it. In actor’s terms, they’re “off book.” That doesn’t mean they’ve analyzed the words—only that they can say them with conviction.
The First Amendment as Performance
Take the “First Amendment Audit” videos. People take their cameras out into public spaces and film what they see. This stems from a Supreme Court ruling: the police cannot trespass the eyes. If you can see it, you can photograph or film it. If you don’t like that, build a fence.
It’s a landmark decision—especially in an era where privacy is deeply personal and deeply fragile. The Court’s logic is simple: If you are standing on public property, or in a space open to the public, you have no expectation of privacy. Some spaces can be restricted, but they must be clearly marked. Even in public buildings, rooms with restricted access require signage. Private businesses open to the public can ask you to leave. If you don’t, and they call the police, you can be legally trespassed—but only after being warned. And all of this? Yes, it can be filmed.
Privacy in the Age of Phones
Here’s a lesser-known detail: Speaking on a pay phone = protected privacy. Speaking on a cell phone in public = not protected. Why? Because pay phones were physical enclosures—complete with “sound wings.” They signaled: what’s being said here is private. You had the expectation of privacy. Cell phones ride public bandwidth. No sound wings. No booths. No privacy.
The Scripts Collide
Back to the audits. There are hundreds—maybe thousands—of people who go out to “re-educate” the public and public officials on these rulings. Some are respectful. Some are insufferable. All are—technically—legally right.
They recite familiar lines, over and over: “Am I being detained?” “Is being suspicious a felony or misdemeanor?” “If I’m free to go, I’m free to stay.” “ Your uncomfort does not trump my Constitutional rights!” It’s not just repetition—it’s ritual. They’ve studied the script. They’ve practiced the cadence. Sometimes nerves distort the delivery, but the words still land.
The Other Script
Then comes the counter-narrative. From security guards, police officers, and concerned citizens: “You have to understand, in this day and age…” It’s stunning how often this phrase appears—and how natural it sounds. It spreads like a virus—maybe because it offers emotional justification without legal weight. Sometimes it’s followed with the sacred addendum: “…after 9/11.”
This language sounds informed, as though the speaker has read the rulings, analyzed the risks, and come to a reasoned conclusion. But often it’s a policy argument, not a legal one. Policy is not law. Moral discomfort is not legal precedent.
A Built-in Conflict
This is the center of the tension: One side is quoting court decisions. The other is quoting the mood of the culture. One is armed with a camera. The other is often armed with a gun. And both are acting out a script—believing that saying the lines is enough to own the scene.
Final Thought
Words matter. They shape behavior. They determine how we “play our roles” in public life. If we’ve learned anything from these audits, it’s this: The drama isn’t just what happens— It’s the script we bring with us.
