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Trump is aping King George III in attacking constitutional restraints on unreasonable searches and seizures.
Suppose the police want to get illegal drugs off the streets, and they believe Black and brown people most likely to be carrying and selling drugs.
One way the cops could go about suppressing drugs would be stopping most of the Black and brown people on the streets (at gunpoint, since drug dealers might be armed); lean them up against a wall; frisk them; and search their pockets, wallets, and hand bags. They could also force their way into every house on the street to search for drugs.
The great majority of people frightened, humiliated, and invaded wouldn’t be criminals. But the police would likely seize some drugs and arrest some dealers.
Can they do that?
The United States Constitution affords a clear answer: No.
The assault in Chicago was what the Framers of our Constitution feared and what they hoped our Bill of Rights could thwart. But a Constitution is not self defending.
The Fourth Amendment to the Constitution provides, “The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated...”
And further: “No Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.”

This means you’ve got a right to be left alone unless the police present evidence showing that there’s a strong chance you’ve committed a crime, and a judge issues a warrant.
How’s the Fourth Amendment doing these days?
Not too well. For years, right-wingers attacked these rights as “technicalities” for freeing criminals when the cops ignored the Fourth. But those who wrote our Constitution knew alleged crime could be an excuse for abuses, and they valued security from searches and seizures highly. Indeed, the King of England’s defilement of such rights was “one of the driving forces behind the American Revolution itself,” the Supreme Court has explained.
“The Fourth Amendment was the founding generation’s response” to supposed law enforcement “which allowed British officers to rummage through homes in an unrestrained search for evidence of criminal activity."
The abuses that provoked the American Revolution are no longer ancient history. In the name of fighting “chaos” and an imaginary crime wave, President Donald Trump has launched a broad assault on the Fourth Amendment as part of substituting a Trump-loyal, federal, militarized force for local civilian control of law enforcement.
Trump has openly proclaimed his militaristic intentions, threatening, “Chicago about to find out why it’s called the Department of WAR.” Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) commandos conducted a military assault on a five-story apartment building in Chicago. There was no attempt to persuade a judge that anyone—let alone everyone in the building—was likely a criminal, and no judge issued any warrants.
ICE agents dropped from Black Hawk helicopters onto the roof of the building. Then, as reported by Time magazine, “agents worked their way through the building, kicking down doors and throwing flash bang grenades, rounding up adults and screaming children alike, detaining them in zip-ties.”
The ICE agents seized everyone in the building. They pointed guns in the faces of citizens, handcuffed them and held them for hours. “Photos of the aftermath,” reported Time, “show toys and shoes littering the apartment hallways that were left in the chaos as people were pulled from their beds.”
Trump’s excuses for militarization are falsehoods. For example, a Trump-appointed federal judge recently held that Trump’s claim that Portland, Oregon, was “war ravaged” was “simply untethered to the facts.”
In his September 30 speech to 800 generals and admirals, Trump asserted, “America is under invasion from within” and signaled his intent to “use some of these dangerous cities as training grounds for our military.” The Chicago apartment building action occurred the same day, and may be a model of the “training” Trump favors.

In recent months a series of national demonstrations have embodied the theme, “No Kings!” Aptly so.
One of the complaints listed against King George III in the Declaration of Independence, and a reason for separating from England, was: “He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.”
The assault in Chicago was what the Framers of our Constitution feared and what they hoped our Bill of Rights could thwart. But a Constitution is not self defending.
As Trump muses over an unconstitutional third term (“A lot of people want me to do it”), uses the summary execution of alleged drug smugglers as a model of military power, and invokes pretend uprisings to justify federalizing the National Guard, the danger is real and imminent. But we defeated a King in 1783 and—if we all recognize the danger and are prepared to stand up for our democracy—we can do it again.
The public must be vigilant about those who claim vigilance as a mandate without bounds. A republic cannot outsource its conscience to machines and contractors.
The feed has eyes. What you share to stay connected now feeds one of the world’s largest surveillance machines. This isn’t paranoia, it’s policy. You do not need to speak to be seen. Every word you read, every post you linger on, every silence you leave behind is measured and stored. The watchers need no warrant—only your attention.
Each post, like, and photograph you share enters a room you cannot see. The visible audience, friends and followers, is only the front row. Behind them sit analysts, contractors, and automated systems that harvest words at scale. Over the last decade, the federal security apparatus has turned public social media into a continuous stream of open-source intelligence. What began as episodic checks for imminent threats matured into standing watch floors, shared databases, and automated scoring systems that never sleep. The rationale is familiar: national security, fraud prevention, situational awareness. The reality is starker: Everyday conversation now runs through a mesh of government and corporate surveillance that treats public speech, and the behavior around it, as raw material.
You do not need to speak to be seen. The act of being online is enough. Every scroll, pause, and click is recorded, analyzed, and translated into behavioral data. Algorithms study not only what we share but what we read and ignore, and how long our eyes linger. Silence becomes signal, and absence becomes information. The watchers often need no warrant for public content or purchased metadata, only your connection. In this architecture of observation, even passivity is participation.
This did not happen all at once. It arrived through privacy impact assessments, procurement notices, and contracts that layered capability upon capability. The Department of Homeland Security (DHS) built watch centers to monitor incidents. Immigration and Customs Enforcement folded social content into investigative suites that already pull from commercial dossiers. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) linked open posts to location data bought from brokers. The FBI refined its triage flows for threats flagged by platforms. The Department of Defense and the National Security Agency fused foreign collection and information operations with real-time analytics.
Little of this resembles a traditional wiretap, yet the effect is broader because the systems harvest not just speech but the measurable traces of attention. Most of it rests on the claim that publicly available information is fair game. The law has not caught up with the scale or speed of the tools. The culture has not caught up either.
The next turn of the wheel is underway. Immigration and Customs Enforcement plans two round-the-clock social media hubs, one in Vermont and one in California, staffed by private contractors for continuous scanning and rapid referral to Enforcement and Removal Operations. The target turnaround for urgent leads is 30 minutes. That is not investigation after suspicion. That is suspicion manufactured at industrial speed. The new programs remain at the request-for-information stage, yet align with an unmistakable trend. Surveillance shifts from ad hoc to ambient, from a hand search to machine triage, from situational awareness to an enforcement pipeline that links a post to a doorstep.
The line between looking and profiling thins because the input is no longer just what we say but what our attention patterns imply.
Artificial intelligence makes the expansion feel inevitable. Algorithms digest millions of posts per hour. They perform sentiment analysis, entity extraction, facial matching, and network mapping. They learn from the telemetry that follows a user: time on page, scroll depth, replay of a clip, the cadence of a feed. They correlate a pseudonymous handle with a résumé, a family photo, and a travel record. Data brokers fill in addresses, vehicles, and associates. What once took weeks now takes minutes. Scale is the selling point. It is also the danger. Misclassification travels as fast as truth, and error at scale becomes a kind of policy.
George Orwell warned that “to see what is in front of one’s nose needs a constant struggle.” The struggle today is to see how platform design, optimized for engagement, creates the very data that fuels surveillance. Engagement generates signals, signals invite monitoring, and monitoring, once normalized, reshapes speech and behavior. A feed that measures both speech and engagement patterns maps our concerns as readily as our views.
Defenders of the current model say agencies only view public content. That reassurance misses the point. Public is not the same as harmless. Aggregation transforms meaning. When the government buys location histories from data brokers, then overlays them with social content, it tracks lives without ever crossing a courthouse threshold. CBP has done so with products like Venntel and Babel Street, as documented in privacy assessments and Freedom of Information Act releases. A phone that appears at a protest can be matched to a home, a workplace, a network of friends, and an online persona that vents frustration in a late-night post. Add behavioral traces from passive use, where someone lingers and what they never click, and the portrait grows intimate enough to feel like surveillance inside the mind.
The FBI’s posture has evolved as well, particularly after January 6. Government Accountability Office reviews describe changes to how the bureau receives and acts on platform tips, along with persistent questions about the balance between public safety and overreach. The lesson is not that monitoring never helps. The lesson is that systems built for crisis have a way of becoming permanent, especially when they are fed by constant behavioral data that never stops arriving. Permanence demands stronger rules than we currently have.
Meanwhile, the DHS Privacy Office continues to publish assessments for publicly available social media monitoring and situational awareness. These documents describe scope and mitigations, and they reveal how far the concept has stretched. As geospatial, behavioral, and predictive analytics enter the toolkit, awareness becomes analysis, and analysis becomes anticipation. The line between looking and profiling thins because the input is no longer just what we say but what our attention patterns imply.
The First Amendment restrains the state from punishing lawful speech. It does not prevent the state from watching speech at scale, nor does it account for the scoring of attention. That gap produces a chilling effect that is hard to measure yet easy to feel. People who believe they are watched temper their words and their reading. They avoid organizing, and they avoid reading what might be misunderstood. This is not melodrama. It is basic social psychology. Those who already live closer to the line feel the pressure first: immigrants, religious and ethnic minorities, journalists, activists. Because enforcement databases are not neutral, they reproduce historical biases unless aggressively corrected.
Error is not theoretical. Facial recognition has misidentified innocent people. Network analysis has flagged friends and relatives who shared nothing but proximity. A meme or a lyric, stripped of context, can be scored as a threat. Behavioral profiles amplify risk because passivity can be interpreted as intent when reduced to metrics. The human fail-safe does not always work because human judgment is shaped by the authority of data. When an algorithm says possible risk, the cost of ignoring it feels higher than the cost of quietly adding a name to a file. What begins as prudence ends as normalization. What begins as a passive trace ends as a profile.
Fourth Amendment doctrine still leans on the idea that what we expose to the public is unprotected. That formulation collapses when the observer is a system that never forgets and draws inferences from attention as well as expression. Carpenter v. United States recognized a version of this problem for cell-site records, yet the holding has not been extended to the government purchase of similar data from brokers or to the bulk ingestion of content that individuals intend for limited audiences. First Amendment jurisprudence condemns overt retaliation against speakers. It has little to say about surveillance programs that corrode participation, including the act of reading, without ever bringing a case to court. Due process requires notice and an opportunity to contest. There is no notice when the flag is silent and the consequences are dispersed across a dozen small harms, each one deniable. There is no docket for the weight assigned to your pauses.
Wendell Phillips wrote, “Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.” The line is often used to defend surveillance. It reads differently from the other side of the glass. The public must be vigilant about those who claim vigilance as a mandate without bounds. A republic cannot outsource its conscience to machines and contractors.
You cannot solve a policy failure with personal hygiene, but you can buy time. Treat every post as a public record that might be copied, scraped, and stored. Remove precise locations from images. Turn off facial tagging and minimize connections between accounts. Separate roles. If you organize, separate that work from family and professional identities with different emails, phone numbers, and sign ins. Use two-factor authentication everywhere. Prefer end-to-end encrypted tools like Signal for sensitive conversations. Scrub photo metadata before upload. Search your own name and handles in a private browser, then request removal from data-broker sites. Build a small circle that helps one another keep settings tight and recognize phishing and social engineering. These habits are not retreat. They are discipline.
The right to be unobserved is not a luxury. It is the quiet foundation of every other liberty.
Adopt the same care for reading as for posting. Log out when you can, block third-party trackers, limit platform time, and assume that dwell time and scroll depth are being recorded. Adjust feed settings to avoid autoplay and personalized tracking where possible. Use privacy-respecting browsers and extensions that reduce passive telemetry. Small frictions slow the flow of behavioral data that feeds automated suspicion.
Push outward as well. Read the transparency reports that platforms publish. They reveal how often governments request data and how often companies comply. Support groups that litigate and legislate for restraint, including the Electronic Frontier Foundation, the Brennan Center for Justice, and the Center for Democracy and Technology. Demand specific reforms: warrant requirements for government purchase of location and browsing data, public inventories of social media monitoring contracts and tools, independent audits of watch centers with accuracy and bias metrics, and accessible avenues for redress when the system gets it wrong. Insist on disclosure of passive telemetry collection and retention, not only subpoenas for content.
The digital commons was built on a promise of connection. Surveillance bends that commons toward control. It does so quietly, through dashboards and metrics that reward extraction of both speech and attention. The remedy begins with naming what has happened, then insisting that the rules match the power of the tools. A healthy public sphere allows risk. It tolerates anger and error. It places human judgment above automated suspicion. It restores the burden of proof to the state. It recognizes that attention is speech by another name, and that freedom requires privacy in attention as well as privacy in voice.
You do not need to disappear to stay free. You need clarity, patience, and a stubborn loyalty to truth in a time that rewards distraction. The watchers will say the threat leaves no choice, that vigilance demands vision turned outward. History says freedom depends on the courage to look inward first. The digital world was built as a commons, a place to connect and create, yet it is becoming a hall of mirrors where every glance becomes a record and every silence a signal. Freedom will not survive by accident. It must be practiced—one mindful post, one untracked thought, one refusal to mistake visibility for worth. The right to be unobserved is not a luxury. It is the quiet foundation of every other liberty. Guard even the silence, for in the end it may be the only voice that still belongs to you.
The US Constitution does not permit government agents to detain people because of how they look, the language they speak, or the jobs they hold.
Earlier this month, a member of my staff—a person of color—was aggressively stopped by three Customs and Border Protection officers near Union Station on his commute home from the Capitol. He had done nothing wrong but was targeted because he fit a profile. The questioning ended only when he produced his congressional identification.
This is the daily reality for countless Americans who cannot end such encounters by showing their staff badge: If your skin is darker, your English is accented, or your job low wage, you may be forced to prove your right to exist in public spaces.
In a 6-3 decision in Vásquez Perdomo v. Noem, the US Supreme Court permitted federal agents in Los Angeles to carry out “roving” immigration stops based on factors like appearance, language, workplace, or location. This marks a departure from the 1975 ruling in Brignoni-Ponce, which held that ethnicity could be considered but not be the sole basis for suspicion. By setting aside lower court rulings that regarded the recent Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) stops as racial profiling, the court has now paved the way for agents to target individuals even when race or ethnicity is the primary factor driving their suspicion.
The order is not the Supreme Court’s final word, but it signals that the majority may not uphold strict limits on immigration stops. For millions, that is chilling. Back home in Illinois, community leaders are already sounding the alarm on residents skipping public celebrations like Mexican Independence Day and even the workday, rather than risk being stopped and potentially detained, even if they have legal status or are American citizens.
No one’s freedom should hinge on the color of their skin, the cadence of their speech, the work they do, or the number of letters in their name.
Such consequences are not theoretical. The Trump administration has pushed for 3,000 arrests per day, redirected agents from criminal work into sweeping dragnets, and ramped up employer audits often used to stage raids. Under such pressure, mistakes and abuses multiply. Law enforcement is moving quickly to meet Trump’s demands, and profiling the public to do it, due process and civil liberties be damned.
In Georgia, a South Korean engineer with a valid visa was swept up in a factory raid and coerced into “voluntary” departure. In Florida, a US citizen was jailed on an ICE detainer despite clear proof of his citizenship. These are not isolated errors but evidence of how quotas and racial shortcuts endanger all of us.
The US Constitution does not permit government agents to detain people because of how they look, the language they speak, or the jobs they hold. That safeguard, rooted in centuries of American law, is not a privilege reserved for the well-connected, but a constitutional right held by us all. When officers detain first and question later, they invert the burden of proof, forcing individuals to justify their own freedom. That is not order; it is the slow normalization of a society where those who don’t match preconceived notions of what it means to look like an American must constantly prove they belong.
The fiercest advocates for mass immigration raids often draw on the Great Replacement Theory, an antisemitic and racist belief that nonwhite immigrants are being brought into the country, with the help of the Jewish community, to “replace” white Americans and shift political power. Once confined to the fringes of the far-right, this lie has caught fire in recent years, even inspiring national tragedies such as the Tree of Life synagogue massacre in Pittsburgh, where 11 worshippers were murdered for the imagined crime of aiding “replacement.” Variations of this conspiracy theory have since been invoked by US President Donald Trump and echoed by members of his administration to justify mass, militarized immigration raids amid a new wave of xenophobia.
Beyond its hateful consequences, the Great Replacement Theory denies a fundamental truth: We are not a nation defined by race or ancestry, nor by narrow ideas of what an American looks like. If we were, a child born in India who spent time living in public housing and on food stamps would not go on to serve in the halls of Congress. But that story of the American Dream, which is not unique to me, illustrates the beauty of this country and the promise of that dream. It was President Ronald Reagan who reminded us in his last speech as president that Americans are defined by principles, not bloodlines: “Anyone, from any corner of the Earth, can come to live in America and become an American.”
We must insist that liberty and equality are inseparable: No one’s freedom should hinge on the color of their skin, the cadence of their speech, the work they do, or the number of letters in their name. We must reject policies that turn people into targets—whether through arrest quotas, sweeping dragnets, or the politics of fear. And we must remember that our freedoms are never self-executing; they endure only so long as we defend them, together.
The Fourth Amendment’s promise is simple: Power must knock, explain itself, and answer to law. That promise belongs not only to the fortunate few but to every worker heading to a factory, every parent walking a child to school, every neighbor waiting at a bus stop. It belongs to those who may never carry congressional identification, yet who carry something far greater: the unshakable right to live with dignity and security in the country they call home—a country bound by our Constitution.