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The Federal Court of Appeal’s January 16, 2026 decision in Attorney General of Canada v. Canadian Civil Liberties Association (2026 FCA 6) is not a cultural commentary on the Freedom Convoy. It is a narrower—and more consequential—statement about threshold: what must be true before the federal executive can lawfully reach for extraordinary powers.
The Court’s conclusion is unambiguous: “every appeal before this Court should be dismissed.” It affirms that “the declaration of a public order emergency was unreasonable,” and it adopts the word that matters in a rule-of-law system: “ultra vires.” It also states that “parts of the Regulations and Economic Order infringed paragraph 2(b) and section 8 of the Charter.” That is the spine of the judgment. Everything else is the anatomy supporting it.
What happened, in the Court’s own framing
The decision “results from the Proclamation Declaring a Public Order Emergency … issued … on February 14, 2022,” declaring “reasonable grounds to believe a public order emergency existed under subsection 17(1),” followed by “Emergency Measures Regulations” and the “Emergency Economic Measures Order” on February 15, 2022. Those instruments were deployed in the midst of what “came to be known as the ‘Freedom Convoy 2022’,” as “hundreds of vehicles” converged on Ottawa, alongside “a number of border blockades,” including the “Sweetgrass-Coutts, Alberta border crossing” and the “Ambassador Bridge.”
The Court also records the litigation path. On January 29, 2024, the Federal Court found “the reasons provided for the decision to declare a public order emergency did not satisfy the requirements” of the Act, and that some temporary measures “infringed section 8 and paragraph 2(b) … and were not justified under section 1.” The Attorney General appealed those findings; civil-liberties groups cross-appealed on peaceful assembly. The Federal Court of Appeal’s answer to the main question—was the invocation lawful and reasonable?—is no.
“Last resort” is not a slogan; it is a constraint
The most useful line in this decision is not a flourish. It is an instruction.
The Federal Court (quoted and endorsed in the appellate reasons) states: “Due to its nature and to the broad powers it grants the Federal Executive, the Emergencies Act is a tool of last resort. The GIC cannot invoke the Emergencies Act because it is convenient, or because it may work better than other tools at their disposal or available to the provinces.” It then ties that principle to factual assessment: “the evidence is clear that the majority of the provinces were able to deal with the situation using other federal law, such as the Criminal Code, and their own legislation.”
That pair of sentences does the real work. It rejects the idea—common in crisis politics—that “better” justifies “exceptional.” It anchors emergency powers to necessity, not preference.
The Court of Appeal adds a helpful nuance later: while the Act is “meant to be an instrument of last resort,” it “cannot be construed as a straitjacket” that forces Cabinet to exhaust every imaginable legal tool before acting. But that is not a concession to improvisation. It is a warning that the reasoning still has to be there, and it still has to meet “exacting” statutory demands.
Evidence, not atmosphere: “compelling and credible information”
A second throughline runs alongside “last resort”: the requirement that the executive’s belief be anchored in something sturdier than fear, political pressure, or generalized disorder.
The Court states the prerequisite in crisp terms: “the GIC must have reasonable grounds to believe, based on compelling and credible information, that threats to the security of Canada as described in section 2 of the CSIS Act existed.” And then it drops the verdict: “this evidence was lacking here.”
This is where the decision becomes a rebuke rather than a mere disagreement.
The Court rejects the attempt to stretch the statutory trigger to match the government’s policy urgency. It insists, “For the time being, we must take the Act as it reads, and not as the AGC would like it to read.” And it draws a sharp boundary around the phrase doing much of the litigation’s heavy lifting: “It would stretch beyond rationality the meaning of the words ‘serious violence’ … if they were to encompass purely economic consequences or speculative disruption of essential goods and services.”
That is a judicial way of saying: you don’t get to expand the fuse because you prefer the explosion.
When it turns to violence, the Court is equally direct. It notes that “the evidence is quite simply lacking” for serious violence against persons; and that, aside from the economic disturbance, “the only incident of violence put forward by the AGC was the seizure of a cache of firearms and ammunition at Coutts, as well as vague reports” of harassment, intimidation, and assault, plus the fact that Ottawa police were overwhelmed. “In our view, this is insufficient” to meet the “compelling and credible information” requirement for reasonable grounds.
Even where the protests were “disturbing and disruptive,” the Court concludes “they fell well short of a threat to national security.” It notes that this was “borne out by CSIS’s own threat assessment,” and it flags that an alternative assessment was requested but the Act was invoked “before it was completed.”
The implication is not subtle: emergency powers require proof-grade reasoning at the time of decision, not post-hoc narrative scaffolding.
Charter impacts: expression and financial measures
On expression, the Court endorses the Federal Court’s findings as to overbreadth and unjustified limits. It records that “the Regulations were overbroad to the extent that they criminalized the entire protest,” and that “the freedom of expression of peaceful protestors who did not participate in the actions of those disrupting the peace was infringed.” The appellate court’s own conclusion at the front end of the reasons affirms that “parts of the Regulations and Economic Order infringed paragraph 2(b) and section 8 of the Charter.”
It also disposes of the peaceful assembly cross-appeal without enlarging the rights analysis: “We are satisfied that the paragraph 2(b) infringement sufficiently accounts for the related right to assemble under paragraph 2(c), and decline to address the cross-appeal.”
On the financial measures, the Court’s concern is about sweeping power paired with loose identification and weak safeguards. It calls out “the lack of rigour contemplated in identifying individuals” who may have been subject to information-sharing provisions. Then it names the operational hazard bluntly: “The suggestion that financial institutions may have been expected to rely on information they obtained from news or social media reports or the internet … is troubling in the extreme.”
That line will survive because it captures a broader institutional truth: when the state deputizes private actors into enforcement, the state inherits the private actor’s epistemic sloppiness—unless it builds guardrails. The Court is signaling that the guardrails were not proportionate to the power.
What this decision changes (and what it doesn’t)
This judgment doesn’t settle the political argument about 2022. It does something more important: it narrows the legal escape hatch for future governments.
It teaches three lessons that will matter the next time Ottawa faces a sprawling, ugly, high-pressure public disorder:
- “Last resort” means necessity, not superiority. “Convenient” and “works better” are not lawful triggers.
- Economic harm is not a magic synonym for statutory violence thresholds. If Parliament wrote “serious violence,” courts will not applaud a creative rewrite.
- Extraordinary powers demand evidentiary discipline and procedural safeguards that can withstand sunlight. “Troubling in the extreme” is what happens when you skip that.
If the government seeks further appeal, the next stage will likely fight over deference, evidentiary sufficiency, and how “exacting” the threshold must be under real-time stress. But the shape of the precedent is already clear: the Act is not a general-purpose crisis broom. It is a weapon with a trigger guard, and the Court has just tightened the guard.
References
- Attorney General of Canada v. Canadian Civil Liberties Association, 2026 FCA 6 (Federal Court of Appeal, judgment delivered January 16, 2026; PDF).
- Justice Laws Website, Emergencies Act (R.S.C., 1985, c. 22 (4th Supp.); enactment note “[1988, c. 29, assented to 21st July, 1988]”). (Department of Justice Canada)
- The Canadian Encyclopedia, “War Measures Act” (notes repeal in 1988 and replacement by the Emergencies Act). (The Canadian Encyclopedia)
- Public Order Emergency Commission (POEC), Order in Council P.C. 2022-392 (April 25, 2022) and POEC site summary of establishment. (publicorderemergencycommission.ca)
Musical Summary of “Omaa Biindig” by Andrew Balfour, performed by musica intimaThis is a contemporary choral work composed by Andrew Balfour, a Canadian Indigenous (Cree/Métis) composer known for blending classical choral traditions with Indigenous musical influences, storytelling, and spiritual elements.
“Omaa Biindig” (performed live by the Vancouver-based chamber choir musica intima in March 2023 at St. John’s College, University of Manitoba) is a short, atmospheric a cappella piece that draws deeply from Indigenous perspectives and languages.Style and Mood: It features ethereal, meditative choral writing with a sense of introspection and reverence. The harmonies are modern and somewhat modal, often evoking a sense of vastness or spiritual connection to land and ancestry.
There’s a gentle, flowing quality—think slow-moving, sustained chords with subtle dynamic shifts that create a contemplative, almost hypnotic atmosphere rather than dramatic tension or high energy.Structure and Key Elements:Primarily a cappella (unaccompanied voices), showcasing the choir’s rich, blended timbre.
It incorporates Indigenous text or syllabic vocables (common in Balfour’s work), giving it a ceremonial or ritualistic feel—evoking invitation or entering a sacred space (the title “Omaa Biindig” roughly translates in Cree/Ojibwe contexts to something like “come inside” or “enter here”).
The texture builds gradually: starting with sparse, layered entries that create overlapping voices, then swelling into fuller, resonant chords before gently receding.
Overall, it’s a poignant example of contemporary Indigenous choral music—quietly powerful, culturally rooted, and emotionally resonant, inviting listeners into a moment of reflection and connection rather than spectacle.
A classically liberal society survives on habits, not slogans. It needs restraint, due process, toleration, and the willingness to lose without declaring the system illegitimate. Those habits are the machinery that lets disagreement stay political instead of becoming civil war by other means.
Here is the problem: liberalism can be weakened without censorship or coups. You dissolve it by corroding its reflexes. Make truth optional. Make process contemptible. Make opponents morally untouchable. Then the only “honest” politics left is permanent emergency.
Toolkits like Beautiful Trouble matter because they don’t merely argue for outcomes. They teach a style of conflict that can push a society toward that emergency posture. Not secretly. Openly. Proudly.
The mechanism: reaction as leverage
The core move is simple: the decisive moment is not what you do; it is how the target reacts. Beautiful Trouble states this as principle. Create a situation where the target has only bad options. If the target responds forcefully, you get optics of oppression. If the target hesitates, you get optics of weakness or complicity. Either way, you harvest narrative.
This is not foreign to the Alinsky lineage. The organizing sensibility there is similarly pressure-driven: personalize, polarize, keep heat on, force choices. Whether you call that “empowering the powerless” or “cynical theatre” depends on your politics. But the effect is measurable. It rewards escalation.
In an attention economy, that reward multiplies. The clip travels. The caption hardens. The audience concludes. Process arrives too late to matter.
Why this is corrosive to liberal life
Classical liberalism is not blind to power. It assumes power exists and will be abused. That’s why it builds constraints: rule of law, rights, neutral adjudication, stable procedures, and a civic ethic that treats opponents as citizens.
Revolutionary politics often treats those constraints as camouflage for domination. Once you accept that premise, liberal restraint stops being virtue and becomes collaboration. Due process becomes “violence.” Neutrality becomes “support for the status quo.” Compromise becomes betrayal.
That frame is solvent. It dissolves the very institutions that make peaceful reform possible. Courts become illegitimate. Journalism becomes propaganda. Elections become theatre. At that point, direct action isn’t one tool among many. It becomes the only “authentic” politics. And authenticity is a poor substitute for governance.
Three tactics that act like acid
1) Identity tricks that blur truth and theatre
Impersonation formats, spoof announcements, and “identity correction” are often defended as satire. Sometimes they are. But they also train a destructive habit: truth is what produces the right reaction.
In a low-trust society, that habit is gasoline. It makes people easier to steer. They learn to treat moral satisfaction as verification.
2) Reaction capture that rewards escalation
Media-jacking and engineered dilemmas push institutions into visible confrontation. Institutions then over-respond to avoid losing control. Activists then present the response as the point. The public is invited to judge the system from the most inflammatory ten seconds.
This is why incremental reform struggles. Incrementalism is procedural. It is slow. It is boring. It does not produce good clips. When politics is mediated by clips, boredom becomes political death. And the responsible becomes invisible.
3) Framing that turns disagreement into moral emergency
The most dangerous tool is not a hoax. It is framing that converts disagreement into existential crisis. Once politics is narrated as emergency, restraint becomes treason. Any compromise becomes proof of corruption. The only acceptable posture becomes maximal conflict.
That is how a society stops being governable. Not because people disagree, but because they can no longer share a procedure for disagreement.
The case for incremental progress
Incrementalism is mocked as cowardice. It is not. It is the political expression of two hard truths.
First, institutions are complex. Sudden shocks break things you cannot rebuild at will. Second, moral certainty is a poor engineer. It is good at burning. It is bad at designing.
Classical liberal reform says: specify the harm, propose bounded remedies, build coalitions, accept partial wins, and keep the legitimacy of procedure intact. That is not complacency. It is the recognition that power vacuums don’t stay empty, and that revolutions rarely end with stable liberty.
If you care about justice, you should fear the emergency habit. Emergency is where rights go to die. Emergency is where “temporary” powers become permanent. Emergency is where the loudest faction learns it can rule by accusation.
A prediction worth taking seriously
As these tactics normalize, politics will become less about persuasion and more about provocation. Institutions will either harden into managerial coercion or retreat into paralysis. Both outcomes invite more radicalism, because both outcomes confirm the radical story.
A liberal society that wants to survive has to stop rewarding engineered crisis. That means demanding evidence over captions, procedure over theatre, and reform over revolution, even when reform is unsatisfying. Especially then.
References
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Beautiful Trouble toolbox and principle page (reaction as leverage).
Beautiful Trouble tactic pages: Identity correction; Media-jacking.
OR Books listing / bibliographic info for Beautiful Trouble editions.
Secondary summaries of Rules for Radicals (Alinsky overview used for comparison of tactical sensibility).
Beautiful Trouble is a public toolbox for creative activism: first a collaboratively assembled book, later an online repository, and now also a training ecosystem. Its pitch is not subtle. Movements don’t only need convictions; they need methods.
The core value of Beautiful Trouble is not that it “proves” anything about the morality of activism. The value is that it exposes a modern fact of politics: attention is terrain. If you want to understand contemporary protest, you have to understand how actions are designed to travel, how institutions are pushed into visible choices, and how audiences form conclusions with partial information.
The project’s structure supports that aim. It’s modular: tactics, principles, theories, and short case stories that can be mixed and reused. It describes itself as a kind of “pattern language,” and its licensing encourages adaptation. That makes it unusually legible as an object of civic study: it doesn’t hide the playbook.
What it optimizes for
Most people still think politics is mainly argument. It isn’t. Not anymore. It’s increasingly interpretation under time pressure.
A large share of the public will never read the policy memo, the injunction, or the investigative timeline. They will see a clip. They will inherit a caption. They will absorb a moral frame already installed. Beautiful Trouble is built for that environment. It treats activism as attention design: actions shaped to be seen, remembered, and shared.
One of its principles says the quiet part out loud: the decisive moment is often the target’s response. That is not inherently nefarious. It is a standard logic in asymmetric conflict. When you can’t move power directly, you provoke power into showing itself.
For media literacy, this yields a simple rule: some public actions are designed less to “state a grievance” than to produce a reaction that will be more persuasive than the grievance.
Three clusters worth understanding
The toolbox contains many tools, but three clusters matter for public comprehension because they recur across movements and because they interact strongly with journalism and social media.
1) Impersonation formats and “identity correction”
The toolbox includes tactics associated with hoaxes, spoof announcements, and “identity correction.” These actions usually aim to create a dilemma: if the target rejects the message, the target may look callous; if it accepts any part of it, the target concedes ground. Their success depends on speed. A claim that travels faster than verification can leave residue even after correction.
The neutral point is not “this is always unethical” or “this is always justified.” The point is functional: these tactics exploit a predictable weakness in information flow. Novelty beats confirmation. Moral satisfaction beats caution.
The reader’s defense is boring and effective: treat “too perfect” claims and “official-sounding” announcements as unverified until corroborated.
2) Media-jacking and reaction capture
Another cluster focuses on borrowing attention: hijacking an event, inserting into an opponent’s stage, or redirecting a news cycle. The target is forced into a choice: ignore the action and risk looking weak or indifferent; respond forcefully and risk producing the exact optics the activists want.
This is why the response becomes the payload. The goal is often to make the institution appear brittle, panicked, or oppressive, whether through its own errors or through selective presentation.
The media-literacy question here is straightforward: is the target reacting to a genuine threat, or to an engineered dilemma designed to force a visible response? Sometimes it’s both. Don’t let a viral clip collapse the distinction.
3) Framing and reframing as the main contest
The most consequential “tactic” is not a stunt. It is framing: assigning roles, values, and categories before evidence arrives. What counts as “violence”? What counts as “self-defense”? What counts as “harm”? What is “legitimate”?
Framing is unavoidable. Humans need categories. But because it is unavoidable, it can be weaponized. When framing succeeds, neutral description becomes socially costly. Even vocabulary starts to signal affiliation.
The most reliable defense is category discipline. Separate:
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what happened (event),
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what the rule was (policy),
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what the law allows (legal),
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what you think is right (moral),
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what will work (strategic).
Framing tries to weld those together into one reflex. Citizens stay free by refusing that weld.
What this means for civic competence
Beautiful Trouble is a public, teachable catalog of activist methods. That is precisely why it matters. It’s a window into how modern movements think about leverage in an attention economy.
The neutral takeaway is not “activism is manipulation.” It is that contemporary politics runs on reaction, narrative compression, and low-context consumption. A public that wants to be hard to steer needs one habit: slow the tape when an event arrives already framed as a moral emergency.
That is media literacy now. Not cynicism. Pattern recognition. 🧠
References
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Beautiful Trouble homepage / toolbox landing pages.
Beautiful Trouble principle page (“the real action is your target’s reaction”).
Beautiful Trouble tactic pages: Identity correction; Media-jacking.
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OR Books listing for Beautiful Trouble: Pocket Edition.
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ICNC resource entry describing Beautiful Trouble as book/toolbox/training resource.
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Google Books bibliographic page for Beautiful Trouble: A Toolbox for Revolution.
In his January 16, 2026 X post, James Lindsay treats the “ICE is Trump’s Gestapo” line as more than overheated language. He reads it as a political technique: a framing move that aims to provoke escalation, polarize interpretation, and sap legitimacy from federal immigration enforcement by making every subsequent clash look like retroactive confirmation.
Even if you don’t accept the strongest version of his claim (that it is centrally orchestrated), the underlying mechanism is worth taking seriously—because it doesn’t require orchestration to work. It requires an audience that consumes politics in fragments, and a media ecosystem that pays for heat.
The point of media literacy here is not to pick a side. It is to recognize when you are being handed a frame that’s designed to steer your moral conclusion before you are allowed to know what happened.
The loop, reduced to mechanics
The escalation loop has four moves.
1) Load the moral frame early.
“Gestapo” is not an argument. It is a verdict. It tells the audience what they are seeing before they see it. It collapses a contested enforcement dispute into a single image: secret police.
2) Convert observation into resistance.
Once people believe they’re facing secret police, ordinary scrutiny becomes morally charged. Disruption can be reframed as defense. Escalatory behavior becomes easier to justify, especially in crowds, especially on camera.
3) Force a response that looks like the frame.
As tension rises, agents harden posture: more crowd-control readiness, more force protection, more aggressive containment. Some of that may be lawful, and some may be excessive; the loop does not depend on the fine print. It depends on optics.
4) Circulate optics as proof.
Clips win. Captions win. The most provocative 15 seconds becomes “what happened,” for millions who will never read a court filing. The frame spreads because the frame is legible in low context.
Frame → friction → hardened posture → optics → reinforced frame. Repeat.
Notice what’s missing: slow adjudication of facts. The loop thrives on speed. It preys on low-context attention.
Why Minnesota is an instructive case
Minnesota matters here because the escalation loop is visible across multiple lanes at once: street-level conflict, political rhetoric, and rapid legal constraint.
Recent reporting describes the Department of Homeland Security deploying nearly 3,000 immigration agents into the Minneapolis–St. Paul area amid intense protests and public backlash. In that environment, a fatal shooting—Renée Good, shot by an ICE agent on January 7, 2026—became a catalytic event for further demonstrations and scrutiny.
Then the conflict moved into procedural warfare. On January 17, a federal judge issued an injunction restricting immigration agents from detaining or using force (including tear gas or pepper spray) against peaceful protesters and observers absent reasonable suspicion of criminal activity. That order is narrow, but it is not trivial: it codifies a boundary in exactly the arena where optics are most easily weaponized.
The rhetorical layer matters too. DHS has publicly condemned Minnesota Governor Tim Walz for using “modern-day Gestapo” language about ICE (and the White House has amplified that criticism). Whatever you think of the underlying enforcement operation, this is the accelerant: the label that turns complexity into a single moral picture.
If you want a single media-literacy takeaway from Minnesota, it’s this: the escalation loop often ends up constraining policy through courts and procedure, not merely through street confrontation. Once the story becomes “secret police,” legal process itself becomes part of the narrative battlefield—injunctions and motions become content, and content becomes legitimacy.
“Low information public” is the wrong diagnosis
“Low information” is typically used as a sneer. The sharper term is low context.
Most people aren’t stupid; they’re busy. They consume politics the way they consume weather: by glance. They get fragments, and fragments invite frames.
The “Gestapo” label works on low-context audiences because it is:
- Instantly moralized: villain and victim are assigned immediately.
- Highly visual: it primes the brain to interpret normal enforcement cues (gear, urgency, crowd control) as secret-police signals.
- Clip-native: it fits perfectly into captions and short video, where emotional clarity beats evidentiary completeness.
- Correction-resistant: anyone who says “slow down” can be painted as defending tyranny.
This is the real vulnerability narrative warfare exploits: not ignorance, but context starvation.
The key analytical distinction: intent vs incentives
Here’s where writers often lose credibility: they jump from “this pattern exists” to “this was orchestrated.”
Sometimes there is coordination. Often there isn’t. And you typically don’t need it to explain outcomes.
Shared incentives can produce coordinated-looking behavior without a central planner:
- Outrage frames mobilize attention.
- Attention produces fundraising, followers, and headlines.
- Headlines pressure officials and constrain institutions.
- Institutions respond in ways that produce more outrage footage.
That is enough.
The media action depends on showing a self-reinforcing system: rhetoric that increases confrontation risk, confrontation that increases hardened posture, posture that increases “secret police” plausibility to spectators.
That is media literacy: the ability to separate “this felt true on my feed” from “this is true in the world.”
How to defuse the loop
Defusing the escalation loop means starving it of inputs. That requires two fronts: institutional discipline and citizen discipline.
What institutions can do
1) Treat optics as a real constraint (not PR garnish).
In a clip-driven environment, unnecessary spectacle is narrative fuel. If tactics can be lawful and less visually coercive, the second option is often the strategically sane one.
2) Over-communicate rules, thresholds, and remedies.
Explain what triggers stops, detentions, and uses of force; explain complaint pathways; publish policy boundaries. If courts are drawing bright lines around peaceful protest and observation, those lines should become part of the public-facing doctrine, not buried in litigation.
3) Correct fast and publicly when mistakes occur.
Silence functions as permission for the loudest interpretation to win. Delay is a gift to the escalation loop.
4) Avoid “timing that reads like punishment.”
Even lawful actions can look retaliatory if they cluster around protests. In narrative warfare, timing becomes motive in the audience’s mind.
What readers can do
1) Treat moral super-labels as a stop sign.
When you see “Gestapo,” “fascist,” “terrorist,” “insurrection,” assume you’re being pushed into a conclusion. Slow down.
2) Refuse clip capture.
Ask: what happened thirty seconds before this clip starts? If you can’t answer, you’re watching a weaponized excerpt.
3) Use a two-source minimum.
One source gives you mood. A second source often provides the missing constraint—timeline, legal posture, or what is actually being alleged. The injunction’s specific limits, for example, are precisely the kind of detail clips rarely include.
4) Separate event, legality, and morality.
“This happened” is not “this was lawful,” and neither is “this was tyranny.” Narrative warfare succeeds by collapsing those categories into one reflex.
5) Ask what behavior the story is trying to elicit.
Is it trying to make you understand, or to make you react—share, donate, show up, escalate? That question alone breaks many spells.
Where this ends if we don’t learn
If the escalation loop runs unchecked, politics becomes performance for low-context consumption. Enforcement becomes optics. Protest becomes optics. Courts become props. Everyone plays to the camera because legitimacy is increasingly adjudicated there.
The antidote isn’t bland neutrality. It’s refusing to let a frame do your thinking for you—especially one engineered to convert fragments into certainty.
That’s what media literacy looks like now: not knowing everything, but knowing when you’re being steered.
“When a word arrives preloaded with a verdict, your job is to slow the tape.”
References
- James Lindsay, X post (January 16, 2026), “ICE is Trump’s Gestapo” narrative thread. (X (formerly Twitter))
- Reuters (January 17, 2026), report on federal judge’s injunction limiting immigration agents’ tactics toward peaceful protesters/observers in Minneapolis–St. Paul; includes mention of DHS deploying nearly 3,000 agents and context following Renée Good’s death. (Reuters)
- Associated Press (January 17, 2026), coverage of the same injunction and the lawsuit context, including limits on detentions and crowd-control measures against peaceful protesters/observers. (AP News)
- ABC News (January 14, 2026), background reporting confirming Renée Good was fatally shot by an ICE agent on January 7, 2026 and noting an FBI probe. (ABC News)
- U.S. Department of Homeland Security (May 19, 2025), DHS statement criticizing Gov. Tim Walz’s “modern-day Gestapo” language about ICE (useful for documenting the rhetoric’s public circulation). (Department of Homeland Security)
- White House (January 2026), article compiling public statements about ICE and “modern-day Gestapo” language (useful as an example of administration amplification rather than a neutral factual source). (whitehouse.gov)
When designers try to overrule human incentives with a barricade, they don’t get obedience. They get a workaround. The meme Councillor Peter Fortune shared shows it in one frame: a paved bike path blocked by metal barriers, and a dirt trail worn smooth beside it where people simply go around. The joke lands because it’s familiar. The system “wins” on paper; the public wins in practice.
The lesson isn’t that people are bad. It’s that people optimize for time, effort, and friction. Put an obstacle in the shortest route and you don’t remove the desire to move—you relocate it. The new path brings second-order costs the designer pretended didn’t exist: erosion, muddier edges, conflicts between walkers and riders, and a steady drift from the “safe” route to the “usable” one. The dirt trail isn’t misbehavior. It’s feedback.
This is why public planning fails in a predictable way. Government systems are often built to defend the plan rather than learn from the result. Once concrete is poured, changing course becomes politically costly, procurement-heavy, and reputation-sensitive. So the incentive is to explain the barrier, not remove it, even when the public has already voted with their feet. You get infrastructure that looks orderly in a report and behaves disorderly in the world.
A competent planner doesn’t start by asking, “How do we force compliance?” They start by asking, “What will people do instead?” Then they design for that answer: align the official route with the desire line, reduce friction where it matters, and treat workarounds as data. Ignore that, and the meme becomes policy. The public routes around you, and you pay twice: once for the plan, and again for the consequences.
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