by Alex Berenson, Unreported Truths:
And why the fight to protect our Constitution and our rights will never end
Last month, my rights were violated up close and personal.
I was driving home from New York City. 2 a.m. Sunday morning. Four-lane divided highway. Empty. I was exhausted, alone, and sober.
Ahead I saw a police sedan’s flashing lights. A drunk driving checkpoint. State troopers, not local cops.
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I slowed, pulled up, lowered my window. Can I see your license?
I know sobriety checkpoints have been found constitutionally okay. In my opinion – which predates this interaction – they aren’t. Want to pull me over because I’m speeding, or failing to signal, or weaving? Have at it. Sure, no one drives the limit at 2 a.m. (or ever) on Route 9, but at the least I have committed a legal infraction.
But stopping me when I have broken no law – not even, in the famous words of Jay-Z, doing fifty-five in a fifty-four — and demanding identification?
That game should not be allowed in the United States of America.
Nonetheless, I handed over my license.
Have you been drinking?
Well, I’d had a beer at around 11 p.m. Three hours before. One beer. I’d actually been at my mother’s place. Earlier, I’d driven her to New York from New Haven, where she had gone to my father’s 60th Yale University reunion (they invite widows, which is nice). I had briefly stopped by my 30th.
I wanted to get back to my kids during the night, when I knew the city traffic wouldn’t be bad. I knew this would be the last leg of a lot of driving, and alcohol doesn’t mix well with quiet highways at night. So just the one.
I had a beer, I said. Maybe three hours ago.
I expected to be waved on. I was alone, I was cooperative, I had no open containers or alcohol of any kind in the car. And I can guarantee you I did not smell of alcohol.
But I’d said the wrong thing, because the trooper got very interested.
Just one, he said? Are you lying?
Nope.
People lie. What were you doing in Manhattan?
I told him, or tried to. By now I was nervous and stammering. Though I had done nothing wrong.
He waved me over to the two troopers ahead. They asked me the same questions and shined a flashlight in my eyes and told me I needed to take a roadside sobriety test.
Now, what I should have said at this point is, what exactly is your probable cause? I told you I had one beer three hours ago, you have no evidence I’m lying, that’s the end of this.
But the words “probable cause” never left my lips. I was nervous and looking at guys with hats on their heads and pistols on their hips at 2 a.m.
I didn’t argue. I pulled over.
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