On the Trafficking of Ideas
“The stop signs,” she intoned, in the manner of a poor attempt at oratory, “are there so you stop. They aren’t there to remind you to stop only if you see traffic. You’re not supposed to just drive or roll past them when you feel like it.” My credentials in-hand, the officer sauntered to her cruiser.
She had asked me why I ran the stop sign. “Habit.” When pressed, I said, “There is little to no traffic at this intersection, so for the last couple of weeks I’ve been just driving through it.” No need to lie.
While I waited for the citation, I thought a little about the purpose of law and its enforcement. It’s an age-old quandary, and plenty has been proffered over the course of human history to illuminate and justify various approaches to the authority of a state. Yet, there I sat, having caused no harm or damage, having taken seriously at least the point of the stop sign’s presence; and I would be admonished. The only thing I might actually have been guilty of, the trivial technicalities of statute aside, was injuring the equity of the rule of law within public opinion (though saying so sounds a bit self-aggrandizing).
The officer eventually made her way back to my car and presented the paperwork. I signed. She ripped and sorted, and handed me my portion. “Now, you understand, stop signs are there for a reason: to make you stop.”
“Actually,” I started, “I was hoping to get your perspective on that. This will sound like I’m being a smartass, but I don’t really mean to.” I think I caught her off guard; she didn’t respond. I continued. “Now, I understand the rule of law and the reasons we have laws; but where is the line between a citizen’s compliance with the letter of the law for the sake of compliance, and a citizen’s compliance with the intent of the law? I know the stop sign is posted to remind me to stop; but if I’m keeping to the law’s intent, making sure I’m not going to wreck into someone, is there really anything wrong with running a stop sign?”
She paused, looked around a bit, stalling, and then said, “Well, the stop sign is there to tell you to stop. You can’t just come to the intersection and make sure there aren’t any cars coming, because you never know if something’s going to happen, someone’s going to roll through on a bike, or something.” This argument sounded a bit alarmist to me, especially given that I’d made it plain that I didn’t speed past the sign solely out of rebellion, but instead approached and checked both directions carefully. Yes, I might’ve missed a speeding bicycler or Hoveround; but I offer that that’s almost as likely even if I come to a full stop before proceeding through the intersection. That argument isn’t really motivating, then, and she seemed disinterested with providing any further justification for legalism than for the sake of legalism.
“Well, I don’t do this everywhere. I don’t drive through stop lights at the Kemper intersection. I drive this way daily, and it isn’t a busy intersection.”
“Stop signs are there so you stop.”
I thanked her politely, hoping she understood it was earnest, and accepted what I’d asked for: her perspective. I’m not sure why I expect agents of law enforcement to be agents of legal philosophy. Superficially, the contrary seems ridiculous: that a person would accept responsibility for essentially evangelizing a point of view they can’t adequately defend.
But maybe that isn’t why she took the job. Maybe she took the job assuming she’d be able to do a little good, help her community, make a living, and nothing more. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it still leaves me a little uneasy.
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