Pity Party of One, Now Departing for The Tombs
Okay, so I think there might be a slight possibility that I'm just a wee bit anxious about tomorrow. My other gay boyfriend, Mr. Saucy Funnybuns (his buns aren't funny, they're cute. But he's funny), called tonight daring to ask a completely innocuous queation about my old computer that he's using and for such a grave unforgivable offense I proceeded to rip him a new asshole. Then I returned a call to my friend Queen Videoblog the Wacky, and snapped at her for having the audacity to invite me to see our mutual friend's band Stickerbook (how dare she?). Although when hormonal I can have the tendency to gravitate towards the bitch end of the behavioral spectrum, I'm not normally a super pissy person by nature. At least I don't think I am, and this is my blog, so that's all that counts. Tonight I seem to be in rare form- shape of...a wildebeast, an ice cube, and pissiness personified. This mode of acting out leads me to believe that perhaps I'm not feeling quite as confident and capable as I'd like to be right about now.
Technically, I really have nothing to fear. I have an excellent lawyer, plenty of evidence and witness to support me, and we're talking a violation here equal to a traffic ticket. It's not even a misdemeanor, and the worst that could happen is I get found guilty with time served (more than time served actually...can I bank the rest of the remaining hours and apply them towards the next bullshit charge I may incur?). Not to mention since we're filing a motion, chances are that if the motion is denied, then the case will be continued and I will be assigned another court date; that's the way things have been playing out for Captain Resistance.
But my fear has little to do with possible repercussions, and more to do with the horrible sense of powerlessness and violation surrounding my experiences with the law thus far in this case; which is, of course, exactly what those who would silence dissent are banking on with the first time arestees. That's why they expect us to meekly accept our ACDs (adjournment contemplating dismissal, which is technically not a plea of guilty or not guilty, but effectively 6 months probation and then the case is supposedly sealed) they keep offerring, never to venture out in the scary dangerous streets again to excercise our first amendment rights.
I chose not to accept an ACD because I broke no law in this particular action. I had been a part of a cd street party out of Union Square earlier that evening, which was rudely interrupted by the riot cops and where about 300 people were arrested; I was lucky enough to be let out...probably because out of fear and nervousness regarding the extreme violence the cops were using on the people near us, myself and 2 other women were clinging to eachother for dear life singing Amazing Grace with tears pouring down our faces. (I didn't choose the song, but luckily knew the words after having had to sing it in a production of The Laramie Project...see Mom and Dad? Theatre can be a very useful and practical career!) I am downright torturous to the ear when I attempt to sing and I'm sure the cops just wanted to get the awful noise as far away from them as possible. I tried this again at 17th and 5th, while standing in line on the sidewalk waiting to be cuffed, but it didn't work that time. I should've switched songs.
I pled not guilty because I am reclaiming my voice and not letting the feelings of fear and powerlessness win. But right now, I'm scared shitless.
Part of it is the fact that this will be the first time I've been back to 100 Centre Street, aka "The Tombs" (I'm not kidding- this is what they're called), which house not only the courts, but Central Booking as well. This is where I finally stumbled out at 10:45pm on September 2, 2004 (and stumble would be an understatement at that point) to take my first breath of polluted urine scented air as a free woman in over 50 hours.
This is where I was shuffled from cell to cell in a sleep deprived haze for about 32 of those hours.
This is where I was forced to change my tampon one-handed in full view of whomever I was held with at that moment, as there were no doors on the bathrooms.
This is where I was threatened with the loss of my paperwork (which did indeed become a reality) by an asshole cop when I, knowing my rights, refused to go to the emergency room for my injured shoulder despite being strongly urged to do so by the Orthepedic Surgeon who examined me during one of my many trips to the EMS room.
This is where I continuously called for water, as we were in a cell without any working running water, for 3 hours in full voice and was ignored.
This is where I was repeatedly laughed at and mocked when I would call in extreme pain to be taken to the EMS room for whatever meager dose of Tylenol they would hand out and an ice pack.
This is where I hurled my used sanitary products through the bars into the hallway in a fit of rage after no trash receptacle or means with which to clean my bloody hand were brought despite repeated pleas.
This is where i discovered the terrifyingly grotesque chemical burns (courtesy of the lovely accomodations at Pier 57, which Bloomberg declared wasn't supposed to be club Med) on the bottom of my toes which looked like the skin just melted away in the raw red center fading into pink and surrounded by these odd white bubbles of raised skin on all sides.
This is where I held some truly amazing women in my arms, stroking their hair as they cried, and where I was held in turn when I broke down sobbing.
This is where I, and the other protesters with me at that time, shared a cell with a crazy civilian (non-protester) who kept rushing our persons and screaming at us about how horribly we stank and how disgusting and offensive we were to her (and we did indeed smell, but there was absolutely nothing we could do about it).
This is where I never got my one fucking free phone call!
Alas, I could go on and on recounting the many treasured memories this building represents for me; suffice it to say I know that location intimately. If seeing the video of the arrest was as unexpectedly difficult as it was, I'm a wee bit apprehensive about returning to The Tombs. It was a nightmare of dehumanization, where we were referred to as bodies, and barely treated as such. I'm very emotionally associative by nature; I don't want to go back there.
I'm also a big fucking baby, who realizes that 50 hours and the treatment my priviledged white ass received is absolutely nothing compared to what many people have to go through for years and years in this country, let alone the travsties of Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib. I do recognize how lucky I am, even while writing this diatribe of self pity.
I'm sure the fact that it was my first arrest and this will be my first court appearrance ever, is a factor in my juvenile response to it all. Indeed, many of the seasoned protesters on the listserves posted comments to that effect regarding many of our responses. Out of over 2000 arrestees, the majority were not only first time arrestees, but first time protesters as well. When I went to pick up the garbage bag containing my possesions, the officer on duty asked me if I would do it again. I said "Absolutely". He looked at me, totally perplexed as I'm sure I was quite a mess to behold, and said, "Really? After all you've been through?" I replied, "I'm even more likely to now than before. How many people have answered no to that question?" He said, "I don't know, I haven't really asked." I replied, "Well you should."
I'm going down to D.C. to participate in the counter-inaugural actions on j20 with open eyes and much clearer vision. While I'm still going to be careful and have designated my arrestability level as 0 because my case will most likely still be open (you should always go with a buddy, and discuss the level of civil disobedience you're willing and able to engage in beforehand so you're on the same page arrestability-wise...Captain Resistance is meeting me in D.C. and has promised to be my buddy and watch my back), I'll be more prepared in the highly likely event that the same pre-emptive mass arrest bullshit is pulled and hopefully more emotionally prepared and equipped to deal with it.
I should probably try to get some sleep since I have to get up at the crack of dawn and usually find it difficult to make it to work by 10:30am most days. I've had just about enough to drink that sleep may be possible. Sorry about the self-indulgence of this particular post, sometimes you just have to thrown yourself a little pity party before you can remember where you misplaced your guts.
In Solidarity,
Synge
-note: for some reason, neither explorer for mac or safari are letting me edit or compose with any of the fancy stuff, so I'll have to go and add in all the cool links whenever I can get to a computer tomorrow. Be sure to check back so you can catch them and at least partially salvage the huge chunk of time wasted reading my long whining post to nowhere.
Technically, I really have nothing to fear. I have an excellent lawyer, plenty of evidence and witness to support me, and we're talking a violation here equal to a traffic ticket. It's not even a misdemeanor, and the worst that could happen is I get found guilty with time served (more than time served actually...can I bank the rest of the remaining hours and apply them towards the next bullshit charge I may incur?). Not to mention since we're filing a motion, chances are that if the motion is denied, then the case will be continued and I will be assigned another court date; that's the way things have been playing out for Captain Resistance.
But my fear has little to do with possible repercussions, and more to do with the horrible sense of powerlessness and violation surrounding my experiences with the law thus far in this case; which is, of course, exactly what those who would silence dissent are banking on with the first time arestees. That's why they expect us to meekly accept our ACDs (adjournment contemplating dismissal, which is technically not a plea of guilty or not guilty, but effectively 6 months probation and then the case is supposedly sealed) they keep offerring, never to venture out in the scary dangerous streets again to excercise our first amendment rights.
I chose not to accept an ACD because I broke no law in this particular action. I had been a part of a cd street party out of Union Square earlier that evening, which was rudely interrupted by the riot cops and where about 300 people were arrested; I was lucky enough to be let out...probably because out of fear and nervousness regarding the extreme violence the cops were using on the people near us, myself and 2 other women were clinging to eachother for dear life singing Amazing Grace with tears pouring down our faces. (I didn't choose the song, but luckily knew the words after having had to sing it in a production of The Laramie Project...see Mom and Dad? Theatre can be a very useful and practical career!) I am downright torturous to the ear when I attempt to sing and I'm sure the cops just wanted to get the awful noise as far away from them as possible. I tried this again at 17th and 5th, while standing in line on the sidewalk waiting to be cuffed, but it didn't work that time. I should've switched songs.
I pled not guilty because I am reclaiming my voice and not letting the feelings of fear and powerlessness win. But right now, I'm scared shitless.
Part of it is the fact that this will be the first time I've been back to 100 Centre Street, aka "The Tombs" (I'm not kidding- this is what they're called), which house not only the courts, but Central Booking as well. This is where I finally stumbled out at 10:45pm on September 2, 2004 (and stumble would be an understatement at that point) to take my first breath of polluted urine scented air as a free woman in over 50 hours.
This is where I was shuffled from cell to cell in a sleep deprived haze for about 32 of those hours.
This is where I was forced to change my tampon one-handed in full view of whomever I was held with at that moment, as there were no doors on the bathrooms.
This is where I was threatened with the loss of my paperwork (which did indeed become a reality) by an asshole cop when I, knowing my rights, refused to go to the emergency room for my injured shoulder despite being strongly urged to do so by the Orthepedic Surgeon who examined me during one of my many trips to the EMS room.
This is where I continuously called for water, as we were in a cell without any working running water, for 3 hours in full voice and was ignored.
This is where I was repeatedly laughed at and mocked when I would call in extreme pain to be taken to the EMS room for whatever meager dose of Tylenol they would hand out and an ice pack.
This is where I hurled my used sanitary products through the bars into the hallway in a fit of rage after no trash receptacle or means with which to clean my bloody hand were brought despite repeated pleas.
This is where i discovered the terrifyingly grotesque chemical burns (courtesy of the lovely accomodations at Pier 57, which Bloomberg declared wasn't supposed to be club Med) on the bottom of my toes which looked like the skin just melted away in the raw red center fading into pink and surrounded by these odd white bubbles of raised skin on all sides.
This is where I held some truly amazing women in my arms, stroking their hair as they cried, and where I was held in turn when I broke down sobbing.
This is where I, and the other protesters with me at that time, shared a cell with a crazy civilian (non-protester) who kept rushing our persons and screaming at us about how horribly we stank and how disgusting and offensive we were to her (and we did indeed smell, but there was absolutely nothing we could do about it).
This is where I never got my one fucking free phone call!
Alas, I could go on and on recounting the many treasured memories this building represents for me; suffice it to say I know that location intimately. If seeing the video of the arrest was as unexpectedly difficult as it was, I'm a wee bit apprehensive about returning to The Tombs. It was a nightmare of dehumanization, where we were referred to as bodies, and barely treated as such. I'm very emotionally associative by nature; I don't want to go back there.
I'm also a big fucking baby, who realizes that 50 hours and the treatment my priviledged white ass received is absolutely nothing compared to what many people have to go through for years and years in this country, let alone the travsties of Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib. I do recognize how lucky I am, even while writing this diatribe of self pity.
I'm sure the fact that it was my first arrest and this will be my first court appearrance ever, is a factor in my juvenile response to it all. Indeed, many of the seasoned protesters on the listserves posted comments to that effect regarding many of our responses. Out of over 2000 arrestees, the majority were not only first time arrestees, but first time protesters as well. When I went to pick up the garbage bag containing my possesions, the officer on duty asked me if I would do it again. I said "Absolutely". He looked at me, totally perplexed as I'm sure I was quite a mess to behold, and said, "Really? After all you've been through?" I replied, "I'm even more likely to now than before. How many people have answered no to that question?" He said, "I don't know, I haven't really asked." I replied, "Well you should."
I'm going down to D.C. to participate in the counter-inaugural actions on j20 with open eyes and much clearer vision. While I'm still going to be careful and have designated my arrestability level as 0 because my case will most likely still be open (you should always go with a buddy, and discuss the level of civil disobedience you're willing and able to engage in beforehand so you're on the same page arrestability-wise...Captain Resistance is meeting me in D.C. and has promised to be my buddy and watch my back), I'll be more prepared in the highly likely event that the same pre-emptive mass arrest bullshit is pulled and hopefully more emotionally prepared and equipped to deal with it.
I should probably try to get some sleep since I have to get up at the crack of dawn and usually find it difficult to make it to work by 10:30am most days. I've had just about enough to drink that sleep may be possible. Sorry about the self-indulgence of this particular post, sometimes you just have to thrown yourself a little pity party before you can remember where you misplaced your guts.
In Solidarity,
Synge
-note: for some reason, neither explorer for mac or safari are letting me edit or compose with any of the fancy stuff, so I'll have to go and add in all the cool links whenever I can get to a computer tomorrow. Be sure to check back so you can catch them and at least partially salvage the huge chunk of time wasted reading my long whining post to nowhere.
posted by Le Synge Bleu at 11:08 PM
2 Comments:
Don't forget, the "a good story will come out of this" factor here is enormous. You know they don't show any of those messy no-access-to-water details on "Law & Order", let alone the oh-no-not-this-time-of-the-month yuckiness.
After you get through this, you'll be able to say to yourself during times of future hard luck, "Well this is bad, but not as bad as the time I got arrested."
It can sometimes help to think, "This will all be over before the milk has reached its expiration date."
Good luck!
KW
Interestingly enough, my lawyer's assistant asked me today during the endless wait if I wrote. I sheepishly replied that I had just begun to delve into that arena, with much trepidation. She said the good thing was that I had a gold mine to draw from with this whole experience. One day maybe I'll figure out a way to write a brilliant play about it. For now, its all I can do to blog. But,yep, the good story factor is huge here, you're absolutely right.
Post a Comment
<< Home