Taking it to the Max: my encounter with a teenaged Jewish terrorist

When I was 19, I considered myself a radical: left wing politics, disdain for authority, untucked blue work shirt, long hair. It all added up to a portrait of a typical teenage Baby Boomer. Though I left those days (and the scruffy coif) behind long ago, I have never forgotten the freedom and self-empowerment I felt at that age.

Which is why I enjoyed my interview this week with Max Specktor. The 19-year-old Jewish anarchist reminded me of myself at that age... except I was never charged with incitement to terrorism, as he was in his home state of Minnesota. Max was part of a group organizing protests at last summer’s Republican National Convention. But days before he could shout a single slogan through a bullhorn, he was arrested days and kept off the streets.

Now he’s fighting to stay out of prison.

Max is in serious trouble, and I think he knows it. Bush and Cheney may no longer run the show, but Minnesota has its own version of the Patriot Act, and the St. Paul police and the county D.A. invested heavily in this case. They want a conviction.

Talking to him, I thought about myself at age 19. The worst trouble I got in then was a series of speeding tickets. But it wasn’t for lack of trying. I felt invincible, as I suspect Max did, too. The certitude of youth reminds me of Dumbo’s Magic Feather: Not only does it make you think you can fly, sometimes you actually can fly.

I hope this former bar mitzvah boy avoids conviction, in part because I loathe the Patriot Act’s unconstitutional overreach, and mostly because it’s clear Max is no terrorist. He had every right to protest in the streets last summer, just as he has every right to call himself a radical anarchist.

What would I have done were I in his shoes? I’m not sure, but I do know how I felt the one time I was behind bars. I was 16, hitchhiking to Idyllwild in the to visit friends. I made it as far as Hemet, at the base of the San Jacinto Mountains, when the local cops picked me up.

I wasn’t under arrest. But until my mother could come get me from L.A. –– about 2 hours away –– the only place they could stick me was a holding cell. It was horrible. Just knowing I could not get out of there of my own free will put me in a panic. At one point I cried out I was hungry. The sympathetic deputy guard opened the cell door, walked me to the candy bar machine, and then marched me back as I clutched a Clark bar.

After a while, bored, I thought I’d amuse myself. I pulled a small aluminum cup from my duffel bag and ran it across the bars. Just like in the movies. The sympathetic deputy came running and laughed at my little joke. Not long after that my mother arrived, and together we pressed on to Idyllwild in the dark. No more prison walls for me.

My episode lasted all of three hours. Max Specktor is facing more than seven years. I know how it feels to be locked up. It’s not fun. In fact, I can’t think of a better way to lose one’s youth fast.

I may not agree with Max’s politics, but I wish him more time to be young and make mistakes. Just not this bad.

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