(French) Faut pas pousser meme dans les orties.

(English) Don’t push grandma into the nettles.

As a forewarning, and perhaps even as a foretelling, when I was in the theater watching “Lord of the Rings,” in the scene where Aowyn is talking to the Ranger about her fears (“I fear neither death nor pain.” “Then what do you fear, my lady?” “A cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them.”), a friend I was watching with turned to me and said, “Sounds like your kinda girl.”

While it might seem strange when I first say it, I tend to think people need to be shocked in order to get a point: I’m more scared of authority than I am of most criminals; more worried about restrictions than safety. This tells you a couple things about who I am. I grew up in a quiet rural/suburban town, one of the “safest in America,” and I go to college in a bubble (but, if you’re reading this, you probably do, too).

However, it also tells you that I don’t deal well with absurd policies. In my hometown, I got picked up by a cop once because I was walking around alone at night. A 16-year-old girl, unarmed, etc., I obviously could have caused some major damage. Another example? My high school confiscated any CD players brought to school, even if you never listened to them except waiting for the bus. They banned them not because they were a distraction, but because “they might get stolen.” Would anyone mind telling me how this makes sense? The only people we were ever worried about stealing our CD players were the people who were supposedly protecting us.

When I first came to Stanford, I thought I wouldn’t be constantly fighting with The Man, because so many “rules” were just knocked out of the way. Now, in my first couple weeks as a starry-eyed frosh, this certainly seemed to be true. I could stay out as late as I want, I could skip classes, I could eat in my room and I never needed to have a visible floor.

Gradually, however, the absurdities started manifesting themselves again, like this recent bike ban (which has had plenty said about it already), or the complete suspension of the Band for something a few of its members did. I mean, without the Band, what was the point of remodeling the stadium? There’s nothing to see there now. Aside from our football team ... which is better than Duke’s, last I heard.

Sometimes I wonder whether the administration does silly things like that just to kick students into action. We’re supposed to be some of the best and brightest — our nation’s future, or something like that. So what do we do? We spend our weeks with our heads down, scribbling out problem sets and papers. And when the week’s over, we remain in the bubble. It’s almost like we’re asking to be kicked sometimes.

Apparently back in the ‘60s or so, one of Berkeley’s names for us was “the campus of social rest.” We live in a bubble. We’re in denial about things occurring outside that bubble, but we can be trained to care about things within it. Enough, at least, to do something about them, as practice for when we hit the Real World. I mean, I’ve gotten who knows how many emails about a protest on the bike ban that’s apparently happening today. That’s more of a reaction than the one I saw to torture being legalized by the Bush administration. (I’ve had a total of two emails for this particular issue in the several weeks since the bill was passed.) I suppose the bike ban affects us more directly and immediately.

Come on. I could be identified as a terrorist worthy of torture for committing a “violent action” (blowing my nose too loudly) near a “designated protected building.” But in our little bubble, the protest of the day is about the bike ban.

Remember, kids, Bush was the one who said, “If this were a dictatorship, it’d be a heck of a lot easier, just so long as I’m the dictator.” I do not feel any safer, knowing that “terrorists” can be tortured to elicit confessions about crimes they might have committed, and the judicial system can’t challenge the bill.

No, I don’t feel safer. I feel terrified.

Kate is already on her way to the border by the time this runs, but if her account doesn’t disappear without a trace, you can reach her at kltang@stanford.edu.