This Is a War on Love. Love Will Win.

On April 18, I held my friend Aditya’s shoulder as he blindly navigated our jail cell. He had been assaulted by police, gassed, and blinded by pepper spray.

Three days later, a Wisconsin court ordered me not to speak with him. I was indefinitely banned from any contact with Aditya and three other people I love—rescuers who’ve risked everything to save beagles from criminal abuse. Our support for one another, apparently, is seen as a bigger threat by the local authorities than the torture of dogs at Ridglan Farms.

It all happened at my bail hearing last Tuesday. Court Commissioner Brian Asmus set the conditions of my release after I was arrested on April 18. The bail amount was so high, $20,000, that even a jail officer expressed shock afterwards. (“Damn! I’ve never seen that for burglary.”) Accused pedophiles and other violent criminals were given bail amounts that were thousands of dollars less.

JOIN THE COURT HEARING TODAY: I’ll be in court today (April 29, 3 pm CT) to face the government’s evidence for the first time and challenge the unconstitutional conditions of my bail. You can find details to join us by livestream or in person here.

But what came next was even more cruel.

“Defendant shall not have any contact, direct or indirect, with Aditya A., Michelle L. [Misha], Melany B., or Dean W.”

These are all people I love.

Aditya is a gentle soul, someone whose Buddhist training shines through in the peacefulness of every one of his words and actions. His dive through a window at Ridglan Farms on March 15, a last-ditch effort to save one more dog, showed the world that true peace is an active force.

Aditya was assaulted by the police upon arrival at Ridglan Farms.

Misha is built from the stuff of courage. In our trainings, Misha stood out as someone who would throw their body between a bully and a rescuer, protecting friends from violence.

Melany is a former beauty queen whose compassionate spirit is more stunning than anything one might see at a pageant. In the weeks prior to April 18, she stood outside of Ridglan with her prayers and her camera, even as men threatened to shoot her.

And then Dean, the one whose commitment I know best. Dean was an anxious and soft-spoken college student at UC Berkeley when I met him 10 years ago. But even then, I saw the spark in him, a fierce compassion. That spark has transformed into a supernova. Dean was last seen leaping on hay bales on April 18, as tear gas canisters and rubber bullets whizzed all around him, to rally the spirits of the rescuers.

“Tear gas! Pepper spray! It’s ok!” Dean shouted into a megaphone. And it was—because his courage steeled all those around him.

These four, and so many others, represent what I love most about humanity: courage and compassion. And these four suffered the worst of the state violence on April 18. When Aditya arrived in my jail cell, after being beaten and tear gassed, I had to hold his shoulder and guide him to his bunk bed. He was still blind—with eyes stinging and swollen—from the pepper spray.

Now Aditya and my friends face over 12 years in prison, charged with burglary for our attempt to save the Ridglan dogs. And there is nothing in the world, in this moment, that I want more than to protect my friends.

And the government has taken that away.

In a constitutionally indefensible order, Commissioner Asmus, a former prosecutor who apparently worked under District Attorney Ismael Ozanne, ruled that he would ban us from any contact with one another to “protect members of the community from serious harm.” This was deeply ironic, given that the defendants themselves had just experienced “serious harm”—beatings and terroristic threats—at the hands of Ridglan and the police. (One rescuer on April 18 was beaten and kicked in the face, knocking out two of his teeth and leaving him unconscious on the ground for around 14 minutes. No officer rendered aid, as they are required by law.)

Commissioner Asmus also banned each of us from going near Ridglan—and from the entirety of Dane County. The Dane County ban can only be interpreted as a direct attack on the First Amendment. The only “unlawful conduct” I am alleged to have engaged in within Dane County, where the state’s Capitol is seated, is petitioning the government to enforce the law and protect the dogs.

A criminal law professor I sent the order to was so flabbergasted that he laughed out loud. (“That is absurd,” he said. “These are supposed to be narrowly-tailored.”) Yesterday, our lawyers filed a motion challenging its constitutionality. But this is simply the latest example of lawlessness in Dane County by the authorities. And it is all directed at one purpose: a war on love.

The county government is attacking the friendships among rescuers, not because of any laws broken, but because our friendship targets a powerful industry in Wisconsin.

It assaulted grandmothers holding flowers because it saw their compassion for dogs as a threat to local business interests.

And it has prioritized the prosecution of animal rescuers, while falsely claiming Ridglan is above the law, because it believes love is a greater danger than cruelty.

And in a sense, it is right about this. The love of the rescuers on April 18 is a threat—to the alliance between government and business interests. The assault inflicted on nonviolent rescuers shows how far the legal system will bend towards those with wealth and power, even when they inflict unspeakable cruelty on those who are innocent. The system is bending so far, revealing corruption so deep, that it is on the verge of breaking. Trust in government has fallen off a cliff precisely because of cases like this.

But here is the most important point: love will win. So long as we tell the story of what is happening in court, and at Ridglan Farms, the nation will side with us—and tear down the government’s alliance with corporate interests. I saw this even in the officers arresting me on April 18.

“How do you feel about what’s happening at Ridglan?” I asked. “How do you feel about what’s happening to the dogs?”

The officers were nervous and uncertain, unwilling to look me in the eye or even say a word in response. They knew they were waging a war on love. And they knew that, in the eyes of the public, they could never win.

So let the authorities bring their war on love today in court. Let them try to tear apart our friendships. Let them beat us for our compassion. And, above all, let them try to imprison us for bringing frightened beagles to loving homes.

It is a fight we are more than willing to have. Because in the long run, love will win.