🧨 EPISODE 4 — THE LAW THAT TARGETS PROTEST

There’s a moment in every creeping authoritarian project when the people in charge stop pretending they’re governing and start writing laws like they’re drafting the Terms of Service for dissent. We’ve hit that moment. And if you blinked, it’s because they buried it under the same bland legislative language they always use — the kind that sounds like it was written by a malfunctioning Roomba but somehow ends with people getting arrested for standing in the wrong place with the wrong sign.

Let’s start with Florida, because of course it’s Florida. In 2021, Governor Ron DeSantis signed HB1 — the so‑called “Combating Public Disorder” bill — and insisted it was about “public safety.” Democrats in the legislature, including Rep. Anna Eskamani (D‑Orlando), called it what it was: a direct attempt to criminalize protest in the wake of the George Floyd demonstrations. The law expanded the definition of “riot” so broadly that three people standing together could be charged if one person in the vicinity threw a water bottle. It also created legal immunity for drivers who “unintentionally” hit protesters blocking a road — a clause that civil rights groups immediately flagged as an invitation for violence.

DeSantis said critics were “overreacting.” Eskamani responded, “This bill is designed to silence people, not protect them.” And she wasn’t wrong. A federal judge later blocked parts of the law, calling the definitions “vague to the point of unconstitutionality.” But the message had already been sent: protest is now a legal hazard.

Then there’s Oklahoma, where in 2021 the Republican‑controlled legislature passed HB1674, a bill that made it a misdemeanor to obstruct a public street during a protest and granted civil and criminal immunity to drivers who injure or kill protesters while “fleeing a riot.” State Sen. Rob Standridge (R‑Norman) defended the bill by saying, “We’re trying to protect motorists.” Rep. Monroe Nichols (D‑Tulsa) countered, “This is a bill that excuses killing people.” The governor signed it anyway.

And because no creeping coup is complete without a Midwestern cameo, Iowa passed a similar law the same year — SF342 — which increased penalties for protest‑related offenses and expanded immunity for drivers. Gov. Kim Reynolds (R) said it was about “respecting law enforcement.” Opponents pointed out that it effectively turned peaceful protest into a high‑risk activity and gave vigilantes a legal shield.

These aren’t fringe bills. They’re not symbolic. They’re not rhetorical red meat for the base. They’re laws — passed, signed, enforced — that redefine protest as a threat and dissent as a crime. They’re written with surgical precision to target the kinds of demonstrations that challenge state power, not the ones that flatter it. You’ll notice none of these lawmakers were drafting emergency legislation when armed men stormed the Michigan Capitol in 2020. No one was wringing their hands about “public disorder” when a mob in tactical gear screamed in police officers’ faces because they didn’t want to wear masks. But when Black Lives Matter protesters blocked a road? Suddenly it was terrorism.

And the coup‑adjacent lawmakers pushing these bills know exactly what they’re doing. They watched the protests of 2020. They saw the crowds. They saw the organizing power. They saw the multiracial coalitions. And they realized something terrifying: people were willing to show up. People were willing to fight back. People were willing to take to the streets in numbers that made the powerful nervous.

So they wrote laws to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

They didn’t ban protest outright — that would be too obvious, too easy to challenge in court. Instead, they made it legally and physically dangerous. They created a world where attending a demonstration means risking arrest, injury, or worse. They created a world where a driver can plow through a crowd and claim fear as a defense. They created a world where police can decide, on the spot, that a peaceful gathering is now a “riot” because someone in the back dropped a sign.

And they did it with the same smug confidence they bring to every anti‑democratic maneuver: the belief that no one will connect the dots. That no one will notice how these laws dovetail perfectly with voter purges, election office raids, and procedural sabotage. That no one will say out loud what this really is: a coordinated effort to silence the public before the next wave of anti‑democratic actions hits.

But people have noticed. Civil rights groups have sued. Judges have blocked parts of these laws. Protesters have adapted. And lawmakers like Eskamani, Nichols, and others have been explicit about the stakes. “This is about power,” Nichols said. “This is about who gets to speak and who doesn’t.”

He’s right. And the coup crowd knows it.

Because a democracy where people can protest is a democracy that can resist.
A democracy where protest is criminalized is a democracy already halfway in the grave.

And that’s why Episode 4 matters.
Not because these laws are shocking — though they are — but because they’re strategic.
They’re part of the same playbook as the raids, the purges, the intimidation, the procedural sabotage.
They’re the legal infrastructure of authoritarianism, built one bill at a time.

And if you think they’re done building, you haven’t been paying attention.