Introduction
The thing about jail is there is nothing to do. The novelty wears off after about five minutes. My cell was maybe 10-feet long and 8-feet wide, with a toilet, a faucet, and a sink. On the right was a metal bunk bed, and on the left was a third bed. Everything was made of cold metal. The mattress was thin and hard and worn and musky.
I’d been arrested earlier that day at a Walmart in Maplewood, Missouri, about 10 miles outside of Ferguson. I was there as part of Ferguson October, a historic, inspiring, and exhausting weekend of protests against the killing of Mike Brown and the pattern of racialized police violence that spawned it. I had been engaged in this struggle for months. At this particular moment, though, I wasn’t a protester or participant—I was a legal observer.
I was ostensibly a neutral party who had been arrested and thrown into jail. Any liberal pretensions to neutrality that I had convinced myself of that day perished when confronted with the material reality of police officers who, in the face of five legal observers—three Asian, one Black, and one white—arrested only the one Black legal observer that day—myself.
But just like the nationally recognized journalists who ha[d] been arrested in Ferguson while fulfilling their professional duties, I found that no tradition of professional courtesy could save me from the urge to squelch political dissent.
I had until then never even seen the inside of a jail cell, not even for a field trip.
Now, a decade later, we have witnessed horrific events in Gaza that compel many of us to confront our own conscience. The UN Special Committee has recently identified these events as genocide,
prompting many to consider whether they should heighten their level of protest, prompting some to consider whether their university’s or workplace’s stance on the issue reflects that institution’s stated values, and prompting me to consider the implications of this historical moment through a critical reading of the First Amendment and the law of protest. Although First Amendment jurisprudence is complex and often obscure,
we can clarify our understanding by framing our reading of protest law with fundamental critical race theory concepts. This will help us make informed assessments of how institutions of power will respond to our activism in the years to come.
Two critical race theory concepts in particular illuminate our understanding of protest law: interest convergence
and the critique of liberal notions of colorblindness.
When applied together, these ideas provide us a framework for effectively analyzing the past, present, and future of First Amendment law regarding protests as we enter the era of Project 2025.