The odds weren’t fair. They rarely are when it’s six on one, with
the bigger team enjoying home-field advantage in a windowless,
concrete room.
Last March 29, Steve Bierfeldt was surrounded by TSA agents and
police in the Lambert-St. Louis International Airport. He had
just spent a long weekend shaking hands and schmoozing sponsors
at the Campaign for Liberty regional conference, an offshoot of
the movement spawned by Ron Paul’s 2008 Republican presidential
campaign. Bierfeldt just wanted to get back home to Virginia.
Air travel is as much ritual as function these days. You stand in
line. Take off your belt, your shoes, your bulky outer garments.
You cram shampoos and mouthwashes into three-ounce containers and
then stuff those into clear plastic baggies. You herd yourself
through stalls and past checkpoints. Bags get pulled aside,
searched, and the occasional personal manicure set or contraband
bottle of water is thrown into the trash.
When Bierfeldt’s bag was flagged for search he figured it was
simply one of those routine inconveniences of modern America.
It’s not like he was carrying anything illegal. He had a
computer, some bumper stickers, brochures, and a box filled with
$4,700 in cash he’d raised in his role as the Campaign for
Liberty’s director of development.
“I know there are some regulations regarding the number 10,000,
and I thought as long as I was under $10,000 I was legal,”
Bierfeldt said. “For now it’s still legal to carry cash.” But it
was the cold, hard cash and additional checks that caught the
TSA’s attention. And that’s when the questions started.
“Why do you have all this money?”
“Where did it come from?”
“Who do you work for?”
Politely, Bierfeldt asked if the law forced him to answer the
questions. When the answer was yes, he provided the required
information. When the officers wouldn’t or couldn’t answer, he
declined, citing his legal right to privacy. That didn’t satisfy
the TSA agent, who dragged him into a closet-sized questioning
cell.
“Anyone who knows anything about law enforcement knows you don’t
say anything to the police when they start questioning you about
your actions,” Bierfeldt said. He didn’t have anything to hide
and he hadn’t done anything illegal, but Bierfeldt didn’t want to
give the authorities any information that could appear
incriminating. Not in Missouri.
In March, an internal document surfaced from the Missouri
Information Analysis Center (MIAC) titled “The Modern Militia
Movement.” The MIAC report identified potential domestic
terrorists as tax resistors, anti-immigration activists, and
anti-abortion advocates. It specifically singled out support for
former presidential candidates Ron Paul, Bob Barr, Chuck Baldwin,
or the Constitution and Libertarian parties, along with anti-tax
bumper stickers, as common militia symbols. The Campaign for
Liberty was mentioned by name.
An open letter from Barr, Baldwin, and Paul forced an apology
from Governor Jay Nixon, but the report had already been
distributed to Missouri law enforcement. Bierfeldt’s options were
simple: either risk falsely indicting himself as a potential
terrorist or demur from voluntarily offering the authorities his
private information. He chose to exercise his Constitutional
right to shut up.
“Some people will say if you don’t have anything to hide, just
submit to government,” Bierfeldt said. “Well, I don’t trust the
government with everything. The Bill of Rights protects the
innocent from government abuse, so I don’t think I should submit
to them unless I have to.”
The officers started out about as nice and polite as any
policemen who suspect you are drug smuggler or some other kind of
criminal could be. Bierfeldt tried to return the favor. He gave
the officers his driver’s license, and they already had his
property and boarding pass. But they just wouldn’t answer that
one question: Does the law compel me to answer your questions?
A little over four minutes into their back and forth, the
officers lost their patience. Although his background check came
in clean, and he was only suspected of legally carrying a large
sum of cash, a team of police officers and TSA agents questioned
Bierfeldt and tried to scare him. They invoked the ominous
alphabet soup of DEA and FBI. They threatened to cuff him and
take him downtown.
Some digital sleight of hand caught the whole encounter on tape.
As he was pulled into the questioning cell Bierfeldt tapped the
screen of his iPhone, activating its recently downloaded voice
recorder. You can hear the officers get angry. They ask him if he
is from this planet and advise him to say what they want to hear
if he has nothing to hide. Eventually a plain-clothed agent
walked in on the interrogation. Within minutes he examined the
cash box and campaign literature, and immediately released
Bierfeldt.
The rest of the trip was easy. The TSA agents grudgingly let him
through security. Bierfeldt kept his cash box and his Fourth and
Fifth Amendment rights. He even made his flight.
