LAS VEGAS REVIEW-JOURNAL
I pulled the Subaru past the orange temporary fencing next to a trash-strewn Interstate 15 overpass Saturday morning and into a government-issued “First Amendment Area.”
You know, just to get a sense of what such a place would feel like. At the risk of grabbing for easy irony, I suppose it was a little like being one of hardheaded rancher Cliven Bundy’s wayward steers.
Perhaps I’ve led a sheltered life, but until that moment, I had never set foot in a First Amendment Area. On Saturday, the lot was otherwise empty. There were no fiery voices of libertarian protest, no throng of angry Nevada ranchers with rifles in their pickups, not even a gaggle of curious tourists or a covey of head-scratching reporters.
Of course, the fact the free-speech pen was located several miles from Bundy’s ranch and even farther from the federal government’s corral of “trespass cattle,” the lack of attendance was understandable. (By Monday, the voices of peaceful protest would increase considerably a few miles up the road near the banks of the Virgin River.)
When you’re using the full weight of the federal government to overcome the boot heel dragging of one recalcitrant Nevada rancher, it’s probably best that not too many taxpayers watch it happen. I wasn’t out there to prosecute or defend Bundy — in large part because a federal court has already spoken, and I don’t think he has the law on his side. Instead, I drove through the area to see whether the Bureau of Land Management and National Park Service could manage to round up a few hundred head of cattle without looking like they were invading a small country.
They couldn’t.
Nearly every federal official I saw — and there were many dozens of them — wore a semi-automatic pistol on his hip. Some cruised the area in unmarked SUVs with tinted windows. Given the lack of attention Saturday from even other members of Bundy’s large extended family, the crush of security gave the quiet area a surreal feel.
The cow cops were out in force.
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