The Artist's Statement

Art 100E - Photography
Motion Study Artist’s Statement
by Ian Spiers

Humiliated, Angry, Ashamed, Brown.

Now, over the next half an hour or so, I noticed a number of suspicious men walking around the path in my general area. It was still raining lightly, but they didn’t seem to be dressed for an outing at the Locks. I noticed them, and I noticed them noticing me. They kept walking by me every once in a while, and I got that feeling I get sometimes when I’m shopping at a mall. These guys weren’t tourists.

I then saw a Seattle Police patrol vehicle driving on a nearby path, one that was inaccessible to the public, and parking in the hilltop parking lot. At that point, I knew what was coming. A few minutes later, I watched in dismay as eight men descended from the parking lot, down the hill, making a bee-line for me and my tripod.

One of the Seattle policemen, using his strongest, most authoritative voice, gripping his holstered sidearm, was now demanding to see my ID. I asked what this was about and why I had to show him my ID. “Look, we can do this one of two ways. You show me your ID right now! I'm not kidding!” the cop yelled.

Let me be the first to admit to my total loss of composure. Eight grown men, five of which were in uniform and wearing sidearms, now surrounded me. I just had a camera, a tripod, and a bad flashback to Rodney King. You bet I was emotional. How composed would you be?

I gave the cop my ID, and it was quickly whisked away by one officer to the top of the hill. I went on to express my sense of helplessness, shame, humiliation and anger about the confrontation. I insisted that I was a photography student and that I had done absolutely nothing wrong. I acknowledged my constitutional rights. I pointed to curious bystanders, and pointed out that they had cameras, but that none of the police were interested in them. I identified a man with a canvas and easel, standing directly underneath the train bridge, and asked why no one was asking him for his ID. In retrospect, I realize that I still wanted someone to say it to my face.

The police officer had failed to rebut my arguments, but he was definitely being a lot nicer now (which was quite welcome). He’d been explaining how the SPD are required to investigate all calls, which I said I understood, but I was still looking for some real accountability. That’s when one of the three non-uniformed men stepped forward, brandishing his badge, and began talking at me with his own rendition of the voice of absolute authority.

“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.

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