“I’ve listened to this for over five minutes. Look here. You see this?” Special Agent McNamara said, producing his badge. “This is a federal badge. We’re not with the rest of them. We’re federal agents from Homeland Security...”

Good grief.

He told me that I’d broken the law by not providing my ID to the original investigator (a man who I personally feel has entirely too much power). I told him that I’d asked if I was legally obligated to produce my ID, and that he’d clearly told me “no,” but it was obvious that that didn't matter to Special Agent McNamara in the slightest. I was just wrong, and he was just right.

He went on to tell me that the minute I’d photographed federal property, citing the Ballard Locks, the train bridge, and the Patriot Act, that I’d, again, broken the law. Of course, I asked why there weren’t any signs on that parcel of public property disclosi
ng that photography was forbidden...

You know, I just read (and reread) that last paragraph, and I still don’t get it. I mean, you’re joking, right? The Ballard Locks are easily my neighborhood’s most recognizable landmark and its highest point of tourism. Tour buses and tour boats make regularly scheduled visits here, and guided tours escort groups of visitors through this landmark daily. Everyone’s taking pictures of the Locks, the boats, the bridge, and the migrating salmon. In fact, on any given weekend, you really can’t throw fish at the Locks without hitting an amateur photographer. And yet this guy is justifying this invasion of my privacy by telling me that it's illegal for me to take photos?

I knew something he didn’t know. I went on to clarify that I’d actually been to the Ballard Locks just two days earlier, where I’d met with the park ranger, specifically requesting permission to take a series of photos. We’d had a genuinely pleasant discussion about photography and the freedom of speech. In the end, he’d clarified that I had permission to take photos, just about any photos I’d like, on the city side of the Locks... which was the side I was currently on. Of course all of this information was immediately discounted as Special Agent McNamara’s dissertation turned towards the logic behind investigating suspicious activity.

I continued to ask why the eight of them weren’t “investigating” and harassing any of the curious, non-brown tourists that were now milling about. “There’s a man, right there, with an easel and canvas, standing under the bridge, right now! Why aren’t you asking him for his ID?”

“Have you read today’s paper?” Special Agent McNamara asked gruffly.

Exasperated, I gave up, saying that I really didn’t want to play those kinds of guessing games. No, I didn’t know what he was talking about.

Special Agent McNarmara went on to lecture me in front of his peers and the gathering crowd on the finer points of 9/11 and the social climate that’s ensued. (Thinking back on it, I think he skipped over several significant points regarding the damage to American liberties.) At long last, he punctuated his keynote by referring to some “maniacs” slamming 747’s into skyscrapers, and saying something about how people are concerned about suspicious activity in their country, and how they needed and deserved to feel safe,

I couldn’t help myself. I interrupted again, stating that I knew about 9/11, ‘cause it happened in my country, too!

After being detained for thirty of the longest minutes of my life, my ID was finally returned and the congregation of men— three Seattle Police officers, three Federal Homeland Security agents, and two security guards for the Ballard Locks (including my original confronter)— slowly disbanded. After a quick thought, I caught up with Special Agent McNamara in the parking lot at the top of the hill and asked for a business card. (“Here he comes,” one of the men announced sarcastically.) Special Agent McNamara gave me his card, and then retrieved a bulky digital camera from his car and asked to take my photo… you know, just to help him out… just for his file. He even instructed me to call him before returning to the Locks to take additional photos. I reiterated that I’d done nothing wrong, and that I did not want him taking my photo. He continued to gently persuade me, and I continued to refuse, and then he made it perfectly clear that I had no choice in the matter. So, I let him take his goddamned photo, and then I returned to my tripod.

I tried to act like I even cared about my class project for about ten minutes before giving up and packing up my gear. I felt sick. My head was swimming with all kinds of ugly thoughts regarding what had just happened, and passing by dozens of camera-happy tourists en route to my car really didn’t help to lift my spirits. I knew that this experience was going to be with me for a while. I wished I could find a way to do something about it... and then, like a bolt of lightning, it came to me!

On the way back to my car I approached everyone I could that had a camera and was out taking pictures of the Ballard Locks. I simply and quickly explained that I was a photography student with Shoreline Community College, that I was working on a class assignment, and that I’d decided to incorporate photos of tourists taking pictures into my project. I then asked for permission to take their photograph. That was all it took. I got a bunch of friendly smiles and a few odd looks, but not one person that I approached turned me down. They were all very happy to pose for my camera… and they didn’t even ask to see my ID!

So, why have I gone to such great lengths to write about all of this? Well, as the saying goes, if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry. In an all too literal sense, it seems like it’s getting harder for me to be comfortable in my own skin, which is about as difficult to admit as it is to convey. I honestly don’t know what to say to family and friends, except that I’m still embarrassed, angry and utterly heartbroken over these events. I’ve lived in Ballard for over ten years now, and I’ve lived in the Seattle area all my life. Now I’ll have to make an effort to going back to feeling safe and free in my own neighborhood. And the worst part is that I can’t stop wondering how long it will be before I have my next altercation with the Seattle Police, or Homeland Security, or something else, simply for looking the way I do and carrying a camera. I’ve been persuaded, detained and interrogated twice, just in my first quarter of photography classes, and in both of those instances I was on public property, in areas well known for their high volumes of tourist traffic. Dear God, I really don’t want to think about what might happen to me without witnesses around, or when I finally get to work on those industrial studies in the photojournalism class. All I can try to do at this moment is raise local awareness about this issue, and look for a way to make a constructive contribution within this bizarre social and political climate.