Portrait of RNC protestor

NY Times, September 28, 2004
A Political Activist to Make a Mother Proud
By JAN HOFFMAN

AS he applies to colleges this fall, Richard Prins, 17, has credentials
like those of thousands of overachieving, bright, well-educated and
well-to-do seniors. High grades, high SAT's; track team, president of
two clubs; winner of Scholastic poetry awards and a citywide contest.
He's given dozens of poetry readings, written a 100,000-word unpublished
novel. He studies Spanish, Greek and Latin at Trinity School, a top
private school a block from his family's duplex penthouse, and Swahili
at Columbia. (He taught English this summer in Kenya, at a school he
helped to build for the Free the Children Foundation, whose board he is
joining.)

Anything else, Mr. Prins? At 13, he passed out fliers for Ralph Nader.
At 14, he threw himself into the unsuccessful campaign of Norman Siegel,
the civil liberties lawyer who ran for public advocate of New York City.
Anything else?

Mr. Prins, a sweet, exuberant idealist whose own mother calls him
"pathologically honest," recently became part of an event that
ultimately distinguished him from most college applicants. On Aug. 31,
he was arrested with hundreds of other demonstrators during the
Republican National Convention.

When defense lawyers filed a writ of habeas corpus to obtain their
release, Mr. Prins was the youngest of three named petitioners. He spent
41 hours in custody. And now, Mr. Prins, who has been charged with
violations and misdemeanors, is named in an effort to hold the city in
contempt for having detained the protesters after the deadline set by a
judge.

Is Mr. Prins concerned about how admissions officers will perceive his
activism and legal imbroglio? He did consult his college counselor at
Trinity, but he's not losing much sleep: "Swarthmore," he says, "has
Quaker values."

At first glance, Mr. Prins appears to be almost a parody of a rich kid
chomping on the hand that feeds him. His father, Rick Prins, is a
corporate lawyer at Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher & Flom, and his
mother, Connie Steensma, is chairwoman of the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra.
Visiting Africa, the family met with the president of Uganda and stayed
with Jane Goodall. Their home was once owned by Barbra Streisand; their
art collection includes Picassos.

And here is their elder son sitting in their library under a Picasso
drawing, looking, as his mother says ruefully, like the people she went
to college with. He has a long ponytail, an earnest mustache, a starter
beard, and wears a beaded necklace, alarmingly colorful Senegalese
pants, a brass arm cuff that says Jesus - a gift from friends who noted
a physical, and pacifist, resemblance. Jimi Hendrix posters adorn his
bedroom walls. By his own count, he's attended at least 50
demonstrations in New York and Washington.

But when Mr. Prins opens his mouth, the pop psych clich=E9s evaporate. He
seems respectful of his privilege. He is both confident and modest, with
thin arms that flap eagerly in the air and a low-key mien that can be
endearing. Nor does he seem angry at his parents, instead reserving his
teenage outrage for national policies that he sees as unjust - with
reasoning that has almost as much substance as heat.

Mr. Prins didn't hesitate to join the convention protesters. "Most of my
friends left the city because they thought we would get bombed," he
says. "And I said: 'Don't play into that game. You're letting the
Republicans play into the culture of fear that they're relying on to get
re-elected!' "

That week, he joined demonstrations on Sunday and Monday. On Tuesday
evening, he went to Herald Square, near Madison Square Garden, the
convention site.

On his lawyer's advice, Mr. Prins declines to describe the actions that
led to his arrest. The criminal complaint from the Manhattan district
attorney's office says that Mr. Prins, "along with approximately 500
other individuals," congregated on the sidewalk, disrupting pedestrian
traffic. Mr. Prins, it says, locked arms with about 20 others and, when
ordered to disperse by the police, did not. If found guilty of his
charges, he faces up to a year in jail.

Mr. Prins says he was handcuffed for nearly three hours. He got word to
his parents only because another protester had a cellphone. "I said to
my dad, 'I've been arrested!' and I had to repeat it about five times,
because he thought I was saying, 'I've been elected!' " That was his
last contact with them.

THE protesters were, Mr. Prins allows, good company. "We were singing
Dylan songs. But we slept in two-hour shifts, because the cell was too
small for 20 of us to lie down together. A lot of people were irate
because they were missing the chance to protest."

Mr. Prins's frantic mother contacted Mr. Siegel, who, with other defense
lawyers, filed the writ of habeas corpus to compel prosecutors to charge
and then release the protesters.

Ms. Steensma enters the library as Richard heads back to class: "When
Richard was detained," she says, "I knew I couldn't try to help just
him, because he wouldn't accept help unless we'd speak for all of those
who'd been detained.''

She laughs. "He refused coaching for the SAT's because he said that if
he had been disadvantaged, he wouldn't have gotten it," she says. "He
would never allow us to call our contacts on boards of certain colleges.
Our hands are tied. My son! My son! But I am so damned proud of him."
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