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SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 15th
This beginning part of the story deals with my experience on this
particular
Saturday. It is therapeutic for me to write this all down, and release
it
to others.
I had an offer to go with my roommate to Sarasota for the weekend,
which I
declined, due to my preset plans of going to Miami. (this detail seems
coincidental later on). I was getting ready to attend a street medic
training at the temporary wellness center, where I was to learn about
how to
deal with emergency protest-related injuries.
I woke up at 5am with barely 3 hours of sleep, and biked 3 miles to the
tri-rail train station. I rode the train until the metro-rail stop.
At
that point, I met up with 3 other activists I recognized from the
FCAA-lake
worth warehouse. They were also heading to the medic training, so we
found
our way there together.
It was a long, busy day. There was so much vital knowledge crammed
into
only 8 hours. I learned how to treat abrasions, head wounds, spine
injuries, and give eye flushes to people who had been tear gassed and
pepper
sprayed.
As sunset approached and the session ended, the 4 of us headed back
toward
the metro-rail station. About 2 blocks away, we noticed we were being
followed and watched by a couple police officers, and also noted that
there
was a large police presence actually at the station. Walking into the
doors, a strange intuition set in. somehow I dismissed it, knowing we
were
doing absolutely nothing even remotely illegal, and we would be fine.
I was
wrong.
As we approached the turnstile, we were quickly surrounded by a horde
of
bike cops. They grabbed our backpacks from us and immediately started
searching through them. They also began to separate us and started
asking
for IDs. I looked over at the one other womyn and she made a motion
over
her mouth “zip your lips”. I realized right away that I was the only
one
with an ID on me (& I would never have brought it if I knew I was to be
stopped like that).
They quickly started writing down my information on some form. They
also
started pulling things out of my bag, specifically information I had
just
been given at the medic training. One of the fliers had the title of
“oh
shit, I’m about to be arrested”. It included tips on what to be aware
of,
including a line that said, “remember, cops lie.” They took the sheet
and
photocopied it with one of those phone cameras. They also looked
through my
personal journal, which left me feeling more violated than the frisking
and
pat down I was subjected to a few minutes later.
Within the first half hour, the only words I remember saying were
phrased as
a question: “what am I being held for?” one police officer answered
that
we fit the description of four people who were running around the
streets,
changing clothes, and avoiding the police. I bit my tongue, inwardly
screaming, “even if that WAS us, that DOESN’T constitute a crime.”
I decided to pass the time by counting how many officers I could see.
Without being able to turn around, I tallied up 30, and I knew there
were
many behind me out of view. Obviously, I was really angry. But I also
felt
powerless and worried. I didn’t know if I was going to be spending the
night in jail, and I hadn’t fully prepared myself yet, in regards to
legal
contacts. These emotions, coupled with the burning knowledge of my own
innocence & the sense of being profiled as an activist, made me feel
gross.
30 minutes or so passed by. I couldn’t stand how I felt. Suddenly, I
found
myself remembering a story I was once told by a man named Kevin, who
conducts the prayer services at casa maria. He told about a monk who
was
captured by an army, and spent many years brutally treated and
imprisoned by
them. When the monk was finally freed, he was asked what he thought
about
all that time. His only prayer, he said, was that he not lose
compassion
for his captors, or surely he would have lost hope. This remembrance
hit me
powerfully.
I began to call upon all the strength I could muster, all the people
who had
shown me compassion in my life, and focus on the thought of “human law
is
not the same as divine law”. I started to somehow detach myself from
the
experience. I began to feel empathy and sadness for the police
officers.
In this new vantage point, I saw that they were less free than I, even
though I was in their custody.
I noticed that only two or three of the police were “calling the
shots”.
More and more, the specific officers took on unique humanness. It
became
less and less of a “faceless intimidation” (which is definitely a
tactic
used by police in these types of situations) as I began to look
individuals
straight in the eye, with compassion and not fear.
Everything began to shift. First, there was a question about my
shorts:
“what do those patches mean?” I looked down and saw one specifically
--- a
lock attached to a female symbol with the words “break free”. I
pointed to
it and told the female officer who asked, “well this one is about
womyn’s
oppression”. Right away, it sparked a debate among the two female and
three
male cops that were immediately in front of me. I just watched &
listened,
surprised & amused.
More questions came my way. One male officer of color asked me if the
anti-FTAA demonstrations had anything to do with race. I answered him
by
saying yes, that it had to do with equality in many forms. I said, as
a
white womyn, I needed to be an ally to people & communities of color,
constantly questioning my privilege. I also asked that he be an ally
to
womyn, and urged him to consider his privilege as well. As
U.S.americans, I
said, we need to be allies to those in central and south America, who
would
be severely affected by the unfair FTAA trade war.
This seemed to open up a channel for some of the police officers, of
which I
noticed many were people of color. They became more curious about me
as a
human being, wondering if I was educated (yes, a bachelors degree and
next
year to attend grad school) and what I did for a living (coordinate a
non-profit teen program for low income youth). Somehow this instilled
a
sense of trust suddenly in me, the one being detained.
One officer really gravitated to me. He told me a long story about his
family and two children, as well as anecdotes from his personal life.
He
also said that the two years he spent doing community service for the
police
force where the most rewarding two years of his career. He wanted to
one
day start his own non-profit.
After another hour and a half, they finally decided to let us go.
However,
before that, I had many more interesting conversations. One police
officer
told me that 90 percent of the officers agree with what we are standing
up
for and protesting. But he declared that they were there to weed out
“the
anarchists”, implying that I was not one due to my peaceful nature.
When I
told him that I was an anarchist, AND I was nonviolent, (while also
stating
that most anarchists I know are also nonviolent) he looked shocked. He
actually said, “in my IGNORANCE I thought all
anarchist were violent. You know, you just taught me something.”
Another officer commented that he didn’t understand why us protestors
thought the police were so awful. Without responding to the ignorance
of
his question, I pointed out to him the situation as I saw it--- there
appears to be a “war” between police and protestors, but it’s really
about
who we are representing. The police are there with weapons
representing the
government & corporations; the protestors are armed with signs &
puppets &
instruments representing the many people of all the Americas that will
be
negatively affected by the trade agreement.
Right before leaving, two officers wished me luck, and blessed me.
Just as
I was headed out, one of the “commanding officers” came up and said
loudly
“yeah, we’ll let these ones go --- but in a few days, they’re gonna be
the
ones smashing the glass windows”. I didn’t need to respond. The one
officer that told me about his personal life stood up for me, directly
confronting the other (who was most likely his boss). I heard him say,
“no,
I know they won’t do that”. I turned and looked back as I walked away,
and
saw the two of them engaged in a heated discussion.
We went outside and were quickly picked up by two lawyers from NLG, and
taken to a safe space. Later on, we got a ride to a different train
station
and boarded the last train home. I was left with conflicting feelings.
From this experience, I came to some new personal truths.
1. I directly experienced injustice, which was only a prelude to the
awful
police misconduct I witnessed the forthcoming week.
2. I was very grateful that I had not been physically harmed, and I saw
how
easily I could have been.
3. within myself, I found compassion in the face of anger, and was able
to
understand how imprisoning of a profession being a police officer is,
especially in Miami at this time.
4. I only had a small taste of what I feels like to be profiled. As a
white
womyn, I usually am not subjected to the constant police profiling that
many
young men of color (particularly black & latino men) go through on a
daily
basis.
The following day, I told my detainment chronicle to my mom. She told
me
that Saturday night, she had spoken to my aunt carol who lived in
Sarasota,
informing her that I was going to participate in the Miami
demonstrations
and asking her to pray for me. I haven’t seen my aunt in over 10
years, and
if I would have gone to Sarasota, it would have been to meet up with
her
again. Carol is a former Chicago police officer, and she flashed into
my
memory as I stood in front of the other officers. Being related to
her, I
recognized that each one of those officers has families they treasure,
and
they do put their lives on the line every day, not to mention usually
being
underpaid as well.
I also spoke to my friend Kelly, who had gone to an interweave ritual
Saturday night. (interweave is a group of womyn in Milwaukee who come
together for food and spirit-filled celebrations; I used to attend
these
gatherings when I lived there). She told me there was an extra empty
seat
in the circle that night, and she visualized me sitting there. I
definitely
felt synchronicity at work. I had visualized some of the interweave
elders
when I was being detained, because they were examples of compassion for
me,
and I had also dreamed about them 2 nights before.
This is only my Saturday story. Many more events took place the
following
week. Because of the massive police brutality that I witnessed,
specifically
on Thursday and Friday, it is very challenging for me now to hold onto
that
sense of compassion. I will write more about the protest when I can.
Thanks for reading--- I know this is long. I appreciate your support.
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