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Danger in the Big Blue Room
TUESDAY
Fly-on-the-Wall No More
My original plan was to spend a weekend in Philly -- Friday to Sunday. A friend had sacrificed a room of his group house for my photographer (who returned home early in the week) and I. I expected to snap some photos, scrawl some notes, and arrive at my real job as usual Monday morning slightly tired, but armed with a fistful of interesting parables. What actually happened was quite different from the journalistic drive in the country I had envisaged. I wound up spending eight days in Philly sleeping during hour-long lulls on unfamiliar floors, in the rain, in a muddy park; fed by the generosity of Quakers. I startle to consciousness with contorted images of my friends struggling, screaming, smiling. I wake with my mouth full of screams and my limbs jerking to dodge imagined obstacles.
I departed from my original plan early in the week. Midway through an anti-poverty march, I spotted a well-known activist on a sidewalk and called out to him. After explaining who I was and dropping two or three names, he pulled his face close and whispered that he needed support people, and more importantly, people willing to get arrested. He provided an address that I hastily inked on my forearm before rejoining the procession.
Went to a meeting, made a 1 am call. Luckily, an experienced activist had vouched for my legitimacy. Met my affinity group early next morning in a stifling, cockroach infested, upper-level rowhouse apartment. I still don't know their real names. We crouched on the floor, periodically sipping water (to stave off dehydration during the action) and smoking while the process of consensus ground on. Activist meetings are typically conducted by consensus a democratic process that scorns dominant personalities (there are no leaders, only facilitators), and eventually produces unified, mutually agreeable resolutions. People sit in circles during consensus, and use silent hand gestures instead of shouting to signify their reaction to the topic being discussed. Eschewing the rigid hierarchy of the corporate boardroom, such meetings are tedious, but fulfilling. After introductions, the human circle on the bedroom floor was partitioned into arrestables and non-arrestables. Depending on experience, the non-arrestables became medics, legal liaisons and support personnel. Tactics were finalized and rehearsed.
Before heading out, we marked up our legs, arms and shoes with the legal team's phone number. If the apartment was raided during this meeting (something that used to happen to dissidents in this nation, and, I think will become frequent again), I probably would not be writing this article for another week. I would be punished with a daisy-chain of hysterical misdemeanors like "Conspiracy to incite a riot, or Conspiracy to endanger property."
We had agreed to meet again in several hours. I handed my ID, wallet, keys and bike to my photographer. He would take a few shots of the action, and head back down to Baltimore. I blew a kiss at my bike -- which was chained to a stop sign -- wheeled around, and marched toward the predetermined meeting point.
I spotted my group immediately. They were huddled around a plastic table in the back of a restaurant. The multi-hued bandanas, dreadlocks, and environmentalist slogans weren't exactly covert. Then again, the pairs of heavies encamped around the huddle while scrutinizing last-page classifieds and nursing full beers weren't deep cover, either. A water jug was passed around, last minute lavatory trips were made, and we dissipated into pairs.
Minus the gas-mask holster strapped to my left leg, my partner and I may have been our AG's most clean-cut detachment. I wore orange target shooting lenses to tone down my tunnel vision. The heavies had amassed. We stepped quickly to the street, precisely halting several feet before every crosswalk. Looking both ways, and snatching peeks behind. Several blocks away now.
"Tear it to pieces! Eat it!"
ASSHOLES!
Every night with darkness came rain. Heavy, drilling downpours. The remnants of our AG scattered in loose formation back to the apartment, ducking under every available overhang. I bought a coffee at a Wawa, and requested a plastic bag to shroud my camera. I don't believe that probability governs human behavior. But I can state with certainty that, after dusk, there is always at least one cop shuffling through each of Philly's well-lit Wawas. I could feel his brown eyes jerk up from the body count tally scrawled on the back of my flak jacket to lock on my medulla.
I exited the Wawa, coffee already diluted by rain. We splashed uphill. A squad car roared past us. It slowed half a block ahead. The passenger's window rolled down. "ASSHOLES!" yelled several voices from the dark interior of the cruiser. Then it roared off.
I retorted with a Rebel Yell, the only response that came to mind before I doubled over.
WEDNESDAY
"The Wagon's Cool, But Not Too Cold"
I was walking near City Hall with a friend, winding through the vestiges of a small Citibank demonstration. I policeman stepped into my path and thrust a finger at my solar plexus.
"What's in your vest?" I was wearing a camouflage vest over a olive drab polo shirt (that approximately matched my green cargo trousers with a vintage gas mask case strapped to one leg). Officially, the vest buckled to my torso is called a "load bearing harness." It has multiple cylindrical pouches, loops, and clips and distributes weight between the shoulders and belt line. My pouches were stuffed with pens, granola bars, cigarettes and notebooks. In wartime, such pouches hold one grenade each.
"Left my 'nades at home, officer." "Let's see what's in your backpack." "Fuck no. You need an arrest warrant for that."
In my backpack were several pieces of soggy clothing, and a folded flak jacket nothing explicitly illegal, but I didn't feel like baring all to the first cop that asked.
"Let's see your ID." By this time, three to four more officers had surrounded me. "No." I looked around me. Several people I knew had gathered outside the perimeter of police. "Go get a legal observer!" I yelled. They ran down the sidewalk. I told the police that I wouldn't do anything including display identification until a lawyer appeared on the scene. This stalled them for approximately three minutes. Eventually, I was grabbed, and marched to the back of a police van. This police van had two sets of doors, the outer like an ordinary van (with a few more deadbolts), the inner were metal with a tiny grill punched out near the top. The outer doors opened to reveal an orange-shirted occupant who appeared to be near my age. I didn't realize until later that, for someone who didn't know me very well, he might have appeared to resemble me. He slid down the smooth (no sharp angles) white plastic bench to make way. Before I could get in, the cops emptied my pockets and placed all my affects in the narrow space between the two sets of doors.
"Don't take any of my fucking money!" I shouted out the van, more to the swarming news cameras than to my jailers. The presence of the cameras saved me; the policemen became meticulously polite with vacuous, black lenses hovering behind them. "They're arresting me for no reason!" I pleaded before the media.
"Don't worry, sir. All of your money and stuff will be right here." I heard one cop yank a pair of plastic zip-cuffs from his belt. "No," said another cop. "Don't cuff him."
I entered the van (with my hands free), and the doors snapped shut. A fist pounded the plexiglass square separating the driver's compartment and our white plastic prison. "Is it cool enough in there?" asked the muffled voice connected to the fist. I looked up at the stainless steel air vent. "It's fine!" We had to yell this several times.
Orange shirt and I talked for a while. I had heard stories from paddy-wagon veterans about cops mixing undercover cops or stool pigeons in with the legitimate lawbreakers. So I spoke about my great respect for the police, and my admiration for their restraint. He said that he was popped for the same reason as I was walking down the street. I noticed that I didn't feel nervous or frightened. I figured that I would be in jail, re-united with my friends in a few scant hours. That I would be incarcerated for no reason didn't bother me. I would be with my friends. I would see their faces again and my guilt would be gone.
The first set of doors swung open. I was asked for my ID again. "Fuck it," I thought, "I was going to be public with my name anyway." I dug my passport out of my backpack and gave it up. One cop scratched my stats on a clipboard. He was going to put 5'9" for my height before I explained (a little offended) that I was 3 inches shorter. I know they got my race wrong. They ordered orange shirt to move back on the bench. Then they handed me my gear, and I hopped to the curb.
"Thank you," I said, stretching my arms. "I just want to play it safe, officers. Just let me pull out my notebook and write down all of y'alls names and badge numbers. For the lawyers, you understand."
My friends met me at the curb. One said that he had summoned the television cameras. After waiting for me to calm down, he explained that a reporter had asked him what I was being arrested for. She nodded knowingly -- "Word on the Street" was that I had acid on me. For the first time in a week, my friend was speechless, stunned by the simple stupidity. "Where the FUCK did you hear that?" he finally blurted. She told him that a cop had told her. I still can't fucking believe it. I hope you understand that it took me several days before I could write the last few sections. At least my friends in Baltimore saw me on the news.
Guys like this twit gives real causes that need help a bad rep. I will admit being conservitive and republican, but I have been cheering on the anti-WTO just as much as the next guy (who would have figured that both conservitives and radicals have issues with large multi-national power structures?).
On the other hand, it's all about the press for these guys. (It is always about the press to some degree, that's why you protest). But rather then press for some greater purpose, this is just a attempt for lime-light time. How do I know? Where in this article (which is being read by thousands of affluent americans) does the author even mention what he protesting. You don't protest to protest (you riot to riot), you protest to raise the social cost and awareness of issues.
On the other hand, this guy now has his 10 seconds of fame, gets to call policy various names (gee.. anyone else walk away feeling sorry for the police in this story). If I were them I would have simply hand cuffed him, read his rights and dealt with it later.
To badly quote Bush, So much talent to no great purpose.
I agree. When I saw that 40% of my check was going to the government I realized that they must be taking 40% of *everyone's* paycheck. That must mean that it's a complete wash!
At that instant I realized that I wanted them to take 60% of my paycheck, and give a little bit more to NASA.
If tits were wings it'd be flying around.
but I kinda don't.
:)
:P ). They are there to uphold the law and ensure public saftey, give me one damn good reason why you wouldn't cooperate right then and there. It's stupid. It's on public land patrolled by the police. It is their jurisdiction, and while they can't and won't violate your rights, there's no reason to be an asshole about helping them.... except... You _seem_ to think that being 'oppressed' by the police, when all they did was detain you for a little while during an overwhelmingly intense situation in that town, is either the best way to bring your point across. That, or you just happen to get your rocks off by being taped by the press while getting thrown in the paddy wagon. I don't know your reasons, and I don't care. You were not violated by the government in any way, nor were you physically harmed. Sounds like the police did a fine job to me.
First of all, dude, you -really- suck at reporting your story. Read a book once in a while, learn a little bit about how to effectively write.
It's not that I don't care so much about the protesters, many of whom are peacful. But, for many of the extremists, whose combined combined lack of wisdom, respect for the law, and care for anyone but themselves, coupled with an overall lack of personal responsibility... Well, excuse me if I personally think many of them are assholes.
#1: As made very clear by this story, the "protester's" main goal was to, more than anything, bring the police across as a horrible oppressive force meant to crush the little stupid guy. Sorry, I don't buy it. There's a difference between keeping an air of order and civility and attacking random citizens on the streets. If you refuse to help out those who protect the law and keep people the innnocent of the country safe, then you are an idiot. I'm sorry if you felt like your "rights were violated" when all they wanted to see was your ID. Legally, they couldn't force you to show it, and by all means, you weren't obligated by law to show it or answer any questions without your attourney. But it's your problem if you didn't bring your attourney with you. Trust me, they'll have no problem making one availiable for you (unless you get caught by the oh-so-realistic actors of NYPD Blue
#2: Which brings me to my second point. Bashing the police for doing thier job is unamerican and stupid. I understand protests and revolts, but I do not understand undermining the law of this country, when the people of the country as a whole, through their vote and public expression of their opinion, shapes the law of the land. The police are doing the bidding of the people of a whole. Attacking the police is dumb. They enforce the law, they don't write it.
#3: Maybe your positions really are wrong. And maybe the majority of Americans have come to that conclusion. (People with difereng political views can skip the rest, lest they get mad. Don't say I didn't warn you.) Anti-poverty coalitions? Hell, get off your butt and work if you don't want to be poor. Welfare rights? Complain to God if you think that you should get money and food without struggling or working to get it at all. He's the one who created the world, not the damn government. Just because it can be done nowadays DOES NOT mean it should be done. Partial birth abortion. Guys, my daughter was born at less than 25 weeks old, and managed to make it. There are babies that will never get that chance because of partial birth abortion, and they will be much older than my daughter ever got before birth. It is _WRONG_, and it is murder. Just ask my daughter what she thinks of it. If you can't be responsible for your own child, then find someone who can be. Equal Rights? Try removing affirmative action. The governement should at least be color blind before we can expect our people to be color blind.
Maybe a lot of the protesters just don't get it, and thier target audience understands it.
Of course, this is all just my opinion, I could be wrong.
Really. He had a stand in there? Wow. I must have missed it. He was too busy complaining about the cockroaches, the police and everything else around him. If he was a protestor, he seemed to miss the fundamental point which is to raise awareness of issues.
In this case, given the way he treated everyone around him, I am not suprised that they snagged him. There is no excuse for treating other human beings without respect. Just because someone disagrees with your outlook on life does not mean that you instantly fall into cursing etc...
I feel real sorry for these guys. Protests are one things, whining is another.
You go down there to protest... you volunteer with some activst type to get arrensted, and you are bitching about getting arrested? Am I missing something?
Why do these people bother? I see people like this and all I think is how misguided they are, shake my head, and move on...
DrLunch.com The site that tells you what's for lunch!
So, you went down there, specifically, to protest something.
You placed yourself in a group specifically designed to get arrested.
You decided to be both belligerent and evasive to the officer involved.
You declined to provide identification when asked for it.
You implied, on camera, that the officers involved might steal your money.
I say, what DID you expect to happen?
For God's sake, if a cop asks to see your ID, show it to him. You look damned suspicious otherwise. If you weren't carrying any contraband, why bother hiding it. You can crow about "the principle" of it, but the fact is, you're a reporter looking to get a story. So far, your story boils down to "cops picked on me after I gave them reason to".
The cops didn't cuff you. Sounds to me like they held on to you while they checked your record. Standard operating procedure. You were belligerent, uncooperative, acting like you had something to hide. THey didn't cuff you. When you implied they were robbers, they responded by calling you "sir" and assuring that your stuff would still be there. They checked on you to make sure you were comfortable, temperaturewise. WHen they saw you had no record, they released you.
But, because they were cops, they MUST have been wrong, right? God forbid they would ever arrest you, because you MUST be an upstanding citizen. Here's a clue for you - if you intentionally try to make life hard for anyone, they will probably reciprocate.
Sheesh.
1. R-E-S-P-E-C-T (DIS, THAT IS)
If you want to get arrested, nothing tells the cops "troublemaker" quite like someone whose first word to them is "fuck". In fact, for maximum get-arrestedness, make sure that about every fifth spoken word is an invective. Feel free to mix in words like "pig", "lackey", "fascist" and "thug" with the more conventional vulgarities.
Do not: "I'm sorry, Officer, if you'd like to see my bag, I'd like to see your warrant." This is too polite and subtle.
Do: "Eat penguin shit, you ass spelunker. No fucking way am I letting you pigs get in my bag without a Goddamned warrant!"
2. WHO'S DA MAN? (YOU ARE!)
Never forget who's the really cool/hip/in-charge guy. You are. And if you're feeling generous, you can bestow Magic Coolness on your buddies, too. That means that anyone who gets in your way, even for the most routine of things, is automatically Naughty In The Sight Of God, and deserves a good smiting.
Do not: "Identification? Why, sure, Officer, here's my driver's license." This actually treats the officer like he's a human being who's doing a job. Since the officer is getting in your way and is Naughty In The Sight Of God, this is a no-no.
Do: "You can have my identification when you pry it out of my COLD DEAD FINGERS! LEONARD PELTIER WAS FRAMED! YAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" Even this is not optimal. For best effect, use various profanities and insults liberally (see point 1 above).
3. ALL THE WOMEN LOVE DANGEROUS MEN.
Let's face it. Nothing turns on those lady cops quite as much as a sweaty, smelly, foul-mouthed Lothario. They want your attentions and affections. If they say otherwise, they're just playing hard to get.
Do not: "I'm just heading to the Port-A-Johns, ma'am." This is respectful, it treats her as if she's not Naughty In The Sight Of God for getting in your way, and you're missing on a perfect opportunity for police poontang.
Do: "Yeah, baby. I'm just heading to the Port-A-Johns... say. Does the little piggy wanna get porked?" Rude, crude, crass and utterly offensive to any woman within earshot. This is just about perfect.
4. REMEMBER:
No matter what, The Man is trying to get you down. The Man is trying to break you like a twig. The Man wants you dead, crushed underfoot like a snake.
Do not: "Thank you for helping me with directions, Officer." Don't thank the pigs. Everything they say is a lie.
Do: "Yeah, I'm sure you'd LIKE me to believe that the street ahead is closed! <shoves aside cop, charges forward anyway>"
* * * * *
If you do all the above diligently, you, too, can get arrested! And afterwards, you can write a self-important screed about how evil The Man is and how Naughty In The Sight Of God the Man is, and how your rude, subhuman, and utterly crass behavior is actually the culmination of two hundred years of American civilization.
Hmmmm, let's see...
"What's in your vest?"
[...]
"Left my 'nades at home, officer."
"Let's see what's in your backpack."
"Fuck no. You need an arrest warrant for that."
OK, and you were expecting exactly what from the police at this point? A smile and a wave?
In my backpack were several pieces of soggy clothing, and a folded flak jacket nothing explicitly illegal, but I didn't feel like baring all to the first cop that asked.
So you wanted to go to jail as soon as possible, instead of staying out on the street as a protester, being more effective.
You, sir, are an idiot.
I use Macs for work, Linux for education, and Windows for cardplaying.
Demonstrations are supposed to be shows of support for some cause, person, ideal, whatever. The idea that people were being recruited that were looking to be arrested is comical. It shows how activism in this country has degenerated into spiteful, self-aggrandizement.
The local news radio broadcast carried a so-called "activist" taunting a police officer with things like, "Have you ever felt love?" That shows the simplistic outlook of so many of these demonstrators. Haven't we gotten past the od "Off the pigs" mentality yet?
There were also many groups deliberately blocking traffic. I don't know about anyone else, but if I see people blocking traffic my first thought is "Get these assholes off the street so I can get to work/home/South Street/wherever." I can't imagine anyone saying, "WOW, they're blocking traffic! I wonder if I can join their cause-- whatever it is."
And it doesn't matter whether I agree with their cause or not; thanks to the sensationalistic actions of some, I'll never know what they were protesting. Could have been any one of a number of things. I might have even joined them.
Berkemer v. McCarty (1984) 468 US 420 allows an officer to arrest someone in order to obtain a person's identity if they refuse. But it does not make it a crime for the individual to refuse:r t=US&vol=468&invol=420
http://caselaw.findlaw.com/scripts/getcase.pl?cou
Gregory S. (1980) 112 CA 3d 764, 779 refers to a "vagrancy law", Penal Code 647(e) that "imposes a duty to identify oneself when such person loiters or wanders upon the streets or from place to place without apparent reason or business, and the surrounding circumstances reasonably indicate that the public safety demands identification." but this was overturned in Kolender v. Lawson (1983) 461 U.S. 352, although it remains on the books.
Basically, unless you're on parole or in violation of a traffic code, not showing ID is not a crime... but it does give the police certain rights to make your life tough in order to determine your identity.