Caught Up in Chicago's NATO Fever: I was Just "Detained" for Being "Suspicious." My "Crime?" Sitting on a Bench at Navy Pier and Feeding the Geese

There is a pre 9/11 America and a post 9/11 America. After that day a new lexicon came into being. The Patriot Act, warrantless wire tapping, GITMO, and the Department of Homeland Security were birthed in this moment of our “great national derangement.”

In all, the national surveillance apparatus was turned inward on the American people in ways that were unprecedented.

For example, as The Washington Post documented in its series Top Secret America, the 30,000 or so employees who listen in and monitor emails and phone conversations, do so both largely out of sight, and out of mind, of the average citizen. And that is the trick is it not? Power is an abstraction until you encounter it personally.

Chicago is in the grip of NATO fever. Police are everywhere. Helicopters and fighter jets are in the sky. The roads are being closed and public transit diverted. The city is in the midst of a spectacle. Before the city unofficially hunkers down for the weekend, I decided to go to Navy Pier—tourist trap, beach, convention center, Ferris Wheel spot and people watching place—and sit, read a book, and feed the birds.

I love animals. I am the guy who has a special voice for when he meets a new doggie friend. As one of my friends observed, while she gets all excited for babies, I could care less, as I immediately focus in on our canine friends. I am the guy who saves old bread for birds. I keep it in a plastic bag, a partial concession to my OCD (there is something fulfilling about watching the bread pile up), so that once or twice a month I can feed the pigeons that wait by the 'L' stop mocking the humans who are forced to rush to and fro in our middling work-a-day routines. 

But my real joy is the fantasy of raising a bird army that I could use to conquer the world. For that I need geese and seagulls. I go to Navy Pier in order to recruit them.

Over the course of several years, I have gotten pretty good at making friends with the geese. I imagine they know me as "He the human with the tasty garlic bread and barbecue potato chips." My bird foot soldiers are pretty cool. The geese will eat out of my hand. They even follow me when I go to sit down on the benches near Lake Michigan.

I would soon discover that this hobby and habit of feeding birds at Navy Pier, in a city deep in the throngs of NATO fever, can be a “suspicious” and dangerous thing.

Thursday, I noticed a low flying helicopter, one of many near the Coast Guard base patrolling overhead. Back and forth it went, tracing the perimeter of the fence which surrounds the compound. It was a curiosity. Nothing more—so I thought at the time.

Then a Chicago Fire Department boat pulled up and stopped at the peer, pausing momentarily at a point nearest to my bench. I ignored the boat. I was too busy fending off aggressive geese who were convinced that I had hidden bread in my bag, grumpy because I had cut them off from their treats. Those geese are tough folks, persistent and hard-headed.

A Chicago police boat pulled up in front of me as I put down my Star Trek novel and talked to a friend back East on my cell phone. These are the sights and sounds of a city getting prepared for protests and dignitaries. But again, I thought it to be nothing more.

A uniformed Coast Guard officer in green BDUs walked past the benches, through the crowds of lovers, families with strollers, and folks just enjoying the day, and passed me on his way to the base. He nodded. I nodded back. Nothing more as I talked on the phone with a friend about a new book about World War 2 and the Eastern Front that I was looking forward to buying this weekend.

In short order a security guard employed by Navy Pier began rousting people off of the benches. We were told to move for security reasons. Apparently, the show was over. With the dozens of other folks I walked away, preparing to get on the bus and head home, or perhaps take in a movie, a double feature of The Dictator and whatever other film that was playing soon and looked good.

Still chatting, I was abruptly approached by the same guard. He was a big man; “large” would be a polite description, morbidly obese a less kind but more apt one. In another life and with much more gym time he could be the Marvel comic book character the Kingpin. In this life, he was built more like the rapper Fat Joe--but with none of the charisma or personality.

He ambushed me, coming at me from my blindside.

“You are being detained sir.”

I was shocked. I wondered if this was a joke.

Excuse me, for what?

“You are suspicious and have been sitting on the bench for a long time.”

I am about to be disappeared, I told my friend. Listen in, you are a witness. I am at Navy Pier. If I don’t come home tell some people where I am.

I continued. Nervous. Trying to remain calm. Mindful of all the things that rent a cops who are poorly trained and ill-prepared can do. Fearful of an undercover cop showing up and trying to tag me with a “disorderly conduct” charge.

Be specific sir. Tell me exactly why you are stopping me. I was feeding the birds. Why stop me? Why not those people over there? Why me? What exactly are you detaining me for?

There is a report of someone with a Segway Scooter trying to sneak into the base. He has an accomplice and they were messing around the gate trying to get in.

I know you are on heightened alert, I calmly explained. You are also just doing your job so this isn’t personal.

I wanted to defuse this situation by offering up some common ground. This got me nowhere.

Are you profiling me? You still have not told me why you are harassing me. I clearly don’t have a scooter. I am alone. This is a public place. Is feeding birds a crime? The bench is a good 40 or so yards from the gate.

His radio chattered back and forth. The voices were very flat and routine. They sounded like generic characters from a video game like Call of Duty or Battlefield 3. My friend on the cell phone made a pitch perfect observation: “This is fucked up. Is this really happening to you?”

The voices confirmed that “he is the guy; Keep detaining him.”

I would like your supervisor and their supervisor. I know my rights as a citizen. I am a tax payer, you have detained me. Someone is going to give me an explanation and an apology at the very least.

I am a letter writer by habit. That is the least I am going to do. Someone is going to answer my questions.

“Really sir?”

I pushed back a little, offering up a test of his reactions, telling my friend on the phone that college lecturers are now suspicious figures who try to infiltrate Coast Guard bases by feeding the birds.

This was an odd moment. The security guard looked nervous, maybe taken aback and surprised. Was I not what he thought I was? Could someone standing firm on his rights be a troublemaker? A nuisance?

I want your name. I want your supervisor’s name. And I am going to talk to them immediately. This is not over. I want to know why you stopped me and not someone else. I am innocent. This is a free country. I know my Constitutional rights.

The radio chattered some more. “He wants the supervisors. Okay. Find them. Confirmed, that is him. Are you sure? Confirmed.”

“Sir, the supervisors will be here shortly. Please wait and do not leave.”

A middle aged, hard looking woman emerged from an SVU. She was wearing an ill-fitting uniform, her inkjet printed badge hanging in a plastic sleeve around her neck, too low, over her now starting to deflate breasts as she was on the other side of 50 or so. She was a clock puncher, simply doing her job.

“Sir, there are cameras all over the base. There were reports of someone to trying to gain access to the base. You were the only person in their field of vision. We were told they had a Segway scooter and were trying to get into the base.”

Again ma’am. I clearly don’t have a scooter. I was some distance from the base. I acknowledged the Coast Guard officer on patrol. I sat there. Did I look nervous?

“You were there a long time. That is suspicious.”

You mean like all of the other people sitting there? I was there for one hour, max. Is that a long time? What about the people there much longer? Why me?

She looked a bit put off and annoyed. “You are not being racially profiled. It is a security issue. You were suspicious.”

Please explain again. Why me? What about me is particularly suspicious? Your camera must not be very good, to only see me and ignore all these other people, seems very odd.

No answer. She looked around for guidance. Her boss, the head of security appeared. He was visibly annoyed at having been summoned. He had a military bearing, wearing what looked like a “high and tight” haircut that had grown out. He was arrogant, an older white man who was used to being listened to and giving directions to others. He seemed petty, under a lot of pressure, but enjoying the excitement and his sense of self-importance. 

I introduced myself.

Hello sir.

He didn’t care, ignoring the gesture of professional respect and my supposition that we could talk as peers. Apparently not. This was his precious place and personal responsibility. I was an interloper who dared to talk back to the Grand High Vizier of Navy Pier.

“What is the problem?” he asked, ushering his staff away.

I was detained by your man here, I did nothing wrong. I want an explanation for why I was stopped. What criteria? I was feeding birds.

"I am under no obligation to talk to you, you are recording me on the phone, I am not talking to you. This is private property."

He turned and tried to walk away.

Sir, I am on the phone for my safety in case your staff tried to detain me. I will hang up the phone. My friend knows where I am and what is happening. I am not recording you.

“This is a secure area. You were near the gate.”

I was on a bench many yards away with other people. I was feeding the birds. Why me? This is a public place.

“It is not a public place. You are on private property. We can do as we wish. Listen, you see that big base there, this is NATO weekend. You were near it. I am not taking chances.”

I understand the need for appropriate procedures. But I am sitting far away, there are many people here. Why me? What about me is particularly suspicious? Do you have an explanation?

“You want some type of apology? Sorry. There you go.”

Utterly insincere.

No answer sir? What is your name and ID number?

Cold and polite I offered the following.

This matter is not resolved sir. Far from it.

Pissed off, the security chief walked back to his vehicle.

I left flummoxed and angered. However, I was not surprised given how security obsessed and terror deranged this country has become. Our rights can be violated on a whim by those who imagine themselves—correctly or not—as having some petty bit of power.

The real tragedy for our country in these times of terror, “security,” and perpetual suspicion, is that it is not so much that our Constitutional rights are violated, but that we are afraid to exercise them.

I could have walked away from the security guard. He cannot legally touch me. I knew this and was prepared to call the police myself if he assaulted me. But, I knew that he could lie, the police could arrest me for some b.s. faux reason, and I would be in jail. I also thought about how the Coast Guard--as part of Homeland Security--could quite literally disappear me for 72 hours. I would be held somewhere while they concocted some charge, punishing me for being an active citizen.

Some will argue the following: what is 40 or so minutes out of your life? There are terrorists out there. What of safety and security? You were not hurt. No harm. No foul.

My reply is a simple one: our rights ought not to be contingent. When people cannot sit in a public place and be at peace in their own company, person, and life, something is horribly wrong in this country. The public’s willingness to sign away their freedoms is why they will ultimately be responsible for this country’s undoing in the long run.

A friend of mine jokingly suggested that I look “vaguely Muslim…whatever that is.” I am a self-effacing, light brownish complected black guy ghetto nerd of average height who wears a goatee done up like a cross between Wolverine and a 19^th century black gentlemen of letters. I also have a habit of wearing jeans, linen shirts, and as I did on that day, an Adidas or DKNY track jacket.

In post 9/11 America, and my adopted hometown of Chicago that is possessed by NATO fever, those affects are apparently enough to mark you as a highly trained saboteur (maybe I actually work for Cobra, Spectre or A.I.M?) who infiltrates Coast Guard facilities on Lake Michigan in order to strike a blow against America's freedoms...cause you know that is why the terrorists really hate us.

I am simple folk. I just want to feed the birds. I will be back there next week, sitting on the same bench, doing it again, if the powers that be will let me.