Forbearance or Freedom

How Caution Became Complicity

In the waning hours of a February evening, I found myself once again dumping my thoughts into the digital ether of Bluesky. It's become my nightly ritual, a stark contrast to the algorithmic purgatory of X—that mockery of a platform where my voice, like so many others, has been unceremoniously “deboosted” into near oblivion.

As I scrolled through my feed, firing off observations on the day's political absurdities and technological perils, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were all dancing on the edge of a precipice. The usual mix of tech chatter, political commentary, and sardonic memes felt like a thin veneer over a much darker reality. Little did I know that this evening's digital meanderings would soon crystallize the very crisis I'd been warning about for months.

The catalyst was a letter. Not just any letter, but a missive from U.S. Attorney Edward R. Martin Jr. to Representative Robert Garcia. The letter, ostensibly a “request for clarification,” was in response to comments Garcia had made during a CNN interview. When asked how Democrats could stop Elon Musk, Garcia had said, “What the American public wants is for us to bring actual weapons to this bar fight. This is an actual fight for democracy.”

Martin's letter, dripping with faux civility, suggested that Garcia's words “sounds to some like a threat to Mr. Musk - an appointed representative of President Donald Trump.” It demanded clarification by a specific deadline, a thinly veiled threat masquerading as procedural inquiry.

This wasn't just an overzealous lawyer overstepping bounds. It was the weaponization of the Justice Department against political opposition, a flagrant abuse of power that struck at the heart of democratic discourse.

I had proposed a response for Garcia—a blistering takedown that pulled no punches. It was confrontational, unapologetic, and dripping with contempt for the thinly veiled intimidation tactics employed by the U.S. Attorney. The letter I drafted was a deliberate provocation, a gauntlet thrown at the feet of creeping authoritarianism. It was designed not just to respond but to expose the absurdity and danger inherent in such a “request for clarification.”

To some, it read as a necessary rallying cry in the face of democratic erosion. To others, it represented a reckless escalation, a step too far in an already precarious political landscape.

Enter Ken White, a respected legal commentator known for his measured analysis. His response was swift and unequivocal:

“This would feel good, but it would be dramatically misreading the situation. This isn't a bumptious lawyer sending a bogus defamation threat. It's the U.S. Attorney of an office that can seek to charge you. Don't yield, but exercise communications discipline.”

And there it was. In those few lines, the battle lines of our current crisis were drawn. On one side, the instinct to fight fire with fire, to meet creeping authoritarianism with unrestrained defiance. On the other, a call for restraint, for working within the system, for faith in institutions even as they crumble around us.

This clash speaks to a broader concept in democratic systems: forbearance. Traditionally, forbearance—the restraint of one's own power in the interest of long-term stability—has been a crucial, if unwritten, rule of democratic governance. It's what keeps presidents from using the military against domestic opponents, what stops congressional majorities from completely reshaping the judiciary to serve partisan ends.

But what happens when one side abandons forbearance entirely? When the very institutions meant to uphold democratic norms become weapons against democracy itself? This is the crucible in which our current crisis is forged.

Our exchange that followed wasn't just a disagreement about tactics. It was a fundamental clash of worldviews, a microcosm of the broader struggle facing our democracy. As the night wore on, it became clear that this wasn't just about a letter, or a response, or even about Robert Garcia. It was about how we, as a society, choose to face the twilight of our democratic experiment.

This incident isn't isolated. It's part of a broader pattern of democratic erosion that I've been warning about for months. We've seen the weaponization of government agencies against political opponents, the erosion of institutional independence, the blurring of lines between private tech power and public authority. The U.S. Attorney's letter to Garcia is simply the latest manifestation of this creeping authoritarianism.

Let me be clear: I don't advocate for lawlessness or unethical behavior. In fact, I strive to model strict adherence to legal and ethical boundaries. But there's a world of difference between breaking laws and being impolite. Sometimes, rudeness isn't just justified—it's necessary. When faced with the erosion of democratic norms, when intimidation masquerades as official inquiry, politeness can become complicity.

My proposed response wasn't about “over-reacting” or stepping outside the bounds of law. It was about meeting authoritarianism with the contempt it deserves, about using sharp language to cut through the façade of procedural normalcy.

Ken White's response, while well-intentioned, seemed to miss the forest for the trees. His concern appeared to stem from a belief that I might not fully grasp the extent of a U.S. Attorney's power, or that I was naively unaware of the potential consequences of being “rude” to such a figure. But this assumption couldn't be further from the truth.

I am acutely aware of the immense power wielded by a U.S. Attorney. I understand intimately the kind of hell they can bring down on those who dare to challenge them. It is precisely this power—and its flagrant abuse in this case—that demands our loudest, most unequivocal opposition.

Some might argue that provocative responses could provide ammunition for further crackdowns. They might say that by being confrontational, we risk escalating the situation and giving authoritarians an excuse to tighten their grip.

But this argument fundamentally misunderstands the nature of authoritarian creep. These encroachments on democracy don't happen because of provocation—they happen because of opportunity. Politeness and caution don't deter authoritarians; they embolden them. Each unchallenged overstep becomes the new normal, the new baseline from which further erosions of democracy can be launched.

The issue at hand isn't a lack of understanding on my part, but a fundamental disagreement about how to respond to such blatant intimidation. White advocates for cautious maneuvering, for “communications discipline” in the face of threat. I argue that such an approach, while perhaps prudent in normal times, is dangerously inadequate in our current crisis.

When those entrusted with upholding justice use their power to threaten and intimidate elected representatives, it's not a time for careful navigation. It's a time for clear, forceful, and yes, even rude resistance. The power of the U.S. Attorney's office is precisely why this overreach must be called out in the strongest possible terms.

To treat this as a normal legal matter, to be cautiously tiptoed around, is to normalize the abnormal. It's to accept the unacceptable. In doing so, we become complicit in the very erosion of democratic norms we claim to be defending.

Look. I understand the wisdom of maintaining norms in the face of norm-breaking. But we're beyond that now. We're seeing the foundations of how power works in our society change underneath our feet, and the contours of executive authority grow in dangerous ways that imperil the entire project of self-government. These are simple truths. And you should never, ever feel like you're going too far by stating the truth. Loudly. Rudely, if necessary.

This is the crossroads at which we stand. Will we cling to the comforting illusion of normalcy, tiptoeing around authoritarians in the vain hope that institutional inertia will save us? Or will we rise to meet this moment with the moral clarity and forceful resistance it demands?

We should never be afraid of speaking the truth. Especially not these kinds of truths, upon which our future—quite literally—depends.

“And anyone who disagrees with this can pick a number, get in line, and kiss my ass.” – Christopher Hitchens