NetNews Usenet Archive 1993 #3/NN_1993_3.iso/spool/soc/college/6082

Internet Message Format | 1993-01-28 | 20.1 KB

Path: sparky!uunet!think.com!linus!agate!web-3d.berkeley.edu!c60b-3kx
From: [e-mail] (Leor Jacobi)
Newsgroups: soc.college
Subject: College Kid Goes To JAIL, 1/23
Date: 28 Jan 1993 08:06:32 GMT
Organization: University of California, Berkeley
Lines: 326
Distribution: world
Message-ID: <1k8468$[e-mail]>
NNTP-Posting-Host: web-3d.berkeley.edu
Originator: [e-mail]



           College Protest Kid Goes to JAIL


I have sprinkled the following, entirely true story of what I did last
Saturday, 1/23, with quotes from Franz Kafka's "The Trial".
For convenience, when not stated otherwise, the gender of law enforcement
officers is assumed to be male.

__________________________________________________________________________



I woke up at noon.
It was a sunny day, a Saturday.  I thought, maybe I'll go for a bike ride
today.  Hit the bathroom, peel an orange, throw on some "new" clothes.
I put on a CD, Sonic Youth, Daydream Nation, flipped on my PC, checked my
email, read some news...

"K. lived in a country with a legal constitution, there was universal peace,
all the laws were in force; who dared seize him?...  He had always been
inclined to take things easily, to believe in the worst only when the worst
happened, to take no care for the morrow even when the outlook was
threatening.  But that struck him as not being the right policy here, one
could certainly regard the whole thing as a joke, a rude joke..."

(about 2 hours later - the music's over, I'm oblivious)
I heard some cheering outside, I looked out and saw a streetful of bikers!
(bicycles, not a bunch of macho HD-riderz)
I thought, wow, a protest..."It takes a teenage riot to get me out of bed".
I knew what they were protesting: the widening of I-80.  I knew a lot about
the issue (mostly from a CRS class).  I feel adamantly that the money that
the folks at Caltrans want to spend on transportation should be used to
encourage people to use PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION (like, make it cheaper!) and
BICYCLES.  Building an extra lane will:
1. Result in more oil consumption.  Oil is a non-renewable resource.
2. Pollute the Bay Area more, Air Quality, etc.
3. Pave EVEN more of the precious, SF bay, an ecosystem already taxed to the
    limits in which it may survive.
(Hey, this isn't a %$?@ing lecture, get on with it)

Immediately, I threw on some shoes, logged off, got my keys, rather
unfortunately forgot my wallet, snapped on my helmet, hopped out the door,
on my bike, and I was off.  I caught up with the protesters at 6th and
University.  There were at least a hundred of us.  We rode down University
and over to the Aquatic Park, where we had an ad-hoc "meeting".
We rode all the way around the park, waving banners and cheering.  Caltrans
had recently removed the large bushes protecting the park from the freeway,
which was about 30 feet away.  Needless to say, traffic had slowed down on
the freeway as there were CHP cars and bikes all over the shoulder of the
freeway, "protecting" the freeway from the protesters.  Many of the
protesters wanted to ride on the freeway in protest.
The police had blocked the north exit from the park, leading to Ashby and
its freeway on-ramp.  They would let no one on a bicycle pass.  A stream of
bikers took a little-known off-road path leading to a service road and soon
many (including me) followed.  More police were at the freeway entrance, in
our way.  We rode our bikes over to the rear of the police blocking the park
exit.  We re-entered the park past the same policemen and via the same
road over which we were prohibited exit.  We rode right up to the fence
separating us from the freeway, which was now barely crawling from all the
commotion.  Protesters stood on a big hill of dirt and pulled out anti-
widening banners.  There was much cheering and chanting of slogans. Reporters
with cameras were asking questions of protesters.    (eg. "Do you
really think that this protest will accomplish anything?")  Food Not Bombs
had an electric car serving bread, soup, and beverages.  People were
standing in front of the fence majestically holding their bikes above their
heads so that the freeway drivers could see them (many of whom were honking
and waving peace signs at us).
    After about a half an hour of this, it became apparent that chances of
getting onto the freeway were slim, due to the ENORMOUS police presence around
us.  Some of us decided to head out of the park and ride around, just
checking out the scene near University Ave.  The police had blocked the steps
leading to the Marina.  I was riding with 3 other bikers, heading east on
University to check out the bridge, which was also full of cops.  At this
point, heading home to go to the bathroom seemed like a very attractive
option.  I live on 10th St, near University Ave.
    As I was approaching 5th St, right in front of the Canned Food
Outlet, a police car zoomed up near us, a cop jumped out with a baton and
yelled "Stop!".  In the seconds that followed, I apparently committed a
crime: I did not stop.  I didn't know who the officer was yelling at, and
maybe it's just me, but the sight of a big cop with a baton scared the s$#%
out of me.  There was no conscious decision at all.  I was confused and
didn't know what to do.  I turned around just in time to see his baton fly
into my rear wheel.  My bike locked and I crashed, rather abruptly.
Fortunately, I was wearing a helmet and gloves and only suffered a minor cut
on my hand.

Penal Code 148PC - Resistance or evasion of a Law Enforcement Officer...

    I was lying there on my bicycle, with my limbs tangled in the bike
when the cops grabbed my arms.  They pulled them behind my back so far as to
cause me to scream.  Metal handcuffs were slapped onto my wrists.  They were
very tight and caused me to yell, "I'm not going to fight!  You're hurting
me!"  Then, they pulled me up by my hands behind my back.  My feet were
still tangled in the bike and they were pulling so hard that the bicycle was
being dragged along the pavement.  At this point I was wincing in pain and
had resorted to just screeching "Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" over and over again.
Finally, my legs got untangled.  They pulled me over to the car and asked
"Have you ever been arrested in Alameda County?" "No."  I have NEVER been
arrested before.  "Do you have a California Driver's License or ID card on
you?"  "No."  They then proceeded to ask all my personal details and gave me
a very thorough padding to search me.  I was put in a squad car alone,
surrounded by police officers.  I could hear the police radio and the cops
outside.  The officer told others that I was "obstructing traffic" and
"evaded a police officer."  I thought "I can't believe this.  He's serious."
The radio said four other people had been arrested on the freeway.  Apparently
the media knew all about them.  Only a handful of people knew about me.  My
bicycle was in the street and a cop wanted to move it to the sidewalk, so he
DRAGGED it to curb.  I don't see why he couldn't pick it up and roll it
over.  I thought, "How petty."  I made nods to the officer who arrested me
and he opened the door.  I asked "Could you possibly lock my bike to a
meter?" "Don't worry.  We'll take it." "These handcuffs are painfully tight.
Could you please loosen them?"  I was told, "They're not built for comfort."

"Whatever he may seem to us, he is yet a servant of the Law; that is, he
belongs to the Law and as such is beyond human judgement."

    After about a half an hour in the car, he asked me "Do you have any
questions?" "No."  All I knew about my situation was that I was under
arrest.  It all seemed like a dream.  I knew this kind of thing happened to
other people, but NOT ME.  I was being treated like a criminal.  Cop cars
had pulled up all over the place and there were dozens of BPD cops on the
scene.  I was astonished at how much money the city was wasting on arresting
'lil 'ol me.  My handcuffs were finally replaced with looser-fitting ones
and I was transferred to a new car, where a female police officer buckled me
in and drove away.  After a couple of blocks she asked, "How was the
protest?  Did everything go as planned?"  I had NOT been read my rights,
didn't know what was going to happen to me, and I did not want to play along
with any good cop/bad cop routine.  I just stared at her.  She said, "You
don't have to talk.  I'm just trying to make it easier for you."  As we
drove up University Ave., people looked at me (I was still wearing my
helmet) and I tried to smile and flash the peace sign, but it was difficult
with my hands in cuffs.  She said, "What with where you're going, I don't
know why you're smiling."
    I was guided into the station, at MLK and McKinley, asked questions
regarding my identity, and led through a series of locked doors.  It reminded
me of the intro to "Get Smart".  I was transferred to yet another set of
officers.  One asked me, "Ever been arrested in Alameda County?" "No" "Ever
been arrested?" "No."  He just shook his head.

"This is your first visit?...By the time you've come back once or twice
you'll hardly notice how oppressive it is here."

     My personal items were taken from me, I was searched again and I was
asked the whole barrage of personal questions by an officer sitting behind a
barrier.  When informed about the protest she remarked, "I don't care how
many of them they arrest, as long as they wait 20 minutes until I get off."
To her and probably most of the officers there I was nothing but another
load of paperwork.

"These gentlemen here and myself have no standing whatever in this affair of
yours, indeed we know hardly anything about it.  We might wear the most
official uniforms and your case would not be a penny the worse.  I can't
even confirm that you are charged with an offense, or rather I don't know
whether you are.  You are under arrest, certainly, more than that I do not
know."

    Yet another policeman had me sign 5 forms and began fingerprinting
me - 5 times!  After a while, I just relaxed my hands and let him do all the
inking and pressing.  I had cut a fingertip on the meat during my crash and
it was kind of bloody.  The whole fingerprinting process took about 20 minutes
(all fingers, whole hand w/thumb - 5 times).  The officer wanted to talk
about the protest, but I just kept my mouth shut.

"K. said nothing, he did not even look up, he suffered the two of them to
discuss him as if he were an inanimate object, indeed he actually preferred
that."

    I was asked by the woman at the desk, the one who was off in a
couple of minutes, "Do you want to make any phone calls?"  "I don't know." I
said. "It depends on how long I'm going to be here."  "Oh, you're going to
be here until Monday."  I couldn't believe it.  Now I was scared.  Spending
two nights in jail...images of being raped by big smelly drunks filled my
head.  I stammered "Y-Yeah, I guess I better."  I had to give them the #s I
wanted to call.  I was allowed 3 calls.  My left hand was handcuffed to a
post as I dialed with the right hand.  I called my friends.  Luckily, one
of them called the police station and arranged bail for me.  AT NO TIME
during my incarceration was I informed about the possibility of bail.  Had
it not been for my much more level-headed friend, I don't know how long I
would have been stuck there.  After 5 or ten minutes on the phone I was told
to hang up.  They put a plastic bracelet with my name on it on me and led me
to a cell.

"It was not so much the discovery of the Law Court offices that startled K.;
he was much more startled at himself, at his complete ignorance of all
things concerning the court."

    I was put in a solitary holding cell of about 40 square feet.  There
was a plastic mattress on a metal cot, a small flat metal "seat" and "table"
sticking out from the wall.  In a corner, stood a tiny toilet-sink combo made
of metal.  I was given a sheet, a blanket and a bar of soap.  The door
had a small glass plate filled with chicken-wire and a slot that could open
up for them to bring food.  It was locked.  What's to do in jail?  First I
took a good, long, much awaited pee.  Then, I read the grafitti:
"Ramon G. San Pablo" "Political bust Call Collect 644-xxxx" (I wished I knew
about them when I had the phone), "Love Under the Law, Love As Will" "Jah
Love" "Rosebud was assassinated" "Fuck Cops with the batons they beat you
with.  This is war!"  - Wild stuff.  I used the metal in my wristband
to leave some of my own...sue me.  Jail got old real quick.  I did some
stretching, tried to rest, tried to meditate, but I was too antsy.  I took
to pacing back and forth, doing push-ups, playing drums on the toilet bowl.
I felt like Robert DeNiro in Cape Fear.

"[H]e had come...to assure himself that the inside of this legal system was
just as loathsome as its external aspect.  And, it seemed, indeed, that he
had been right in that assumption, he did not want to make any further
investigation, he was dejected enough by what he and already seen, he was
not at that moment in a fit state to confront any higher official such as
might appear from behind one of these doors, he wanted to quit the place..."

    In a few minutes, 3 cops came and unlocked my cell.  One said,
"You're so pretty, we've got to get a couple of pictures of you."  I
followed him to a room where I held a sign with my name on it and gave them
a great big smile.  While taking my picture he asked me how the protest
went.  I just smiled at him.  He said "Never mind."  Then, after taking
another picture of me, he asked, "Who are the Replacements?  Is that some
kind of band or something?"  (I was wearing a super-rare Replacements tour
shirt).  I kept smiling for a few more seconds as all the cops stared at me.
Mr. Talkative said, "Man, they say us cops are up-tight.  You guys don't say
a word!"  To him it was just doing his job, going through the routine, and
it definitely helps to be cheerful at work.  To me it was nothing but
business-in-usual.  I was in jail.  When returning me to my cell, he parted
with, "Nice talking to you, Mr. Jacobi."

"`Most of these accused men are so sensitive,' said the usher."

    After I don't know how long, a cop brought a meal, a TV dinner and a
paper-cup full of black coffee.  I asked him if he could please not leave it,
because I am a pure vegetarian and the smell of Bar-B-Q beef Enchiladas
offends me.  He said I had to just leave it there and he'd try to find me
some fruit.  The 3 guys in the cell opposite me were obviously much more
pleased with the menu than I.  They grabbed their food and rapidly consumed
it.  Now that the food slots were open, we could converse.  The first thing
they wanted to know was why I didn't want my dinner.  After I explained it
to them they asked me to slide the dinner underneath the door.  They had
been there since the day before and were somewhat unsatisfied with the size
of the portions they were receiving.  I hesitated, because I didn't want to
"get in trouble" (as if I wasn't already).  Eventually. I acquiesced,
grabbed the dinner and slid it under my door and across the hall towards
their door.  I was a difficult shot, somewhat like miniature golf.  I
thought they'd get it when it banged against their door, but before they
could slide it in, a female cop walked appeared from around the corner and
grabbed it.  It was just about the most pitiful, spiteful exercise of
authority I had ever seen.
    Well, since the slots were still open, I had a chance to chat with
the guys in the cell opposite me.  They had a TV and were quite absorbed in
it.  What else is there to do in jail?  One of them started up a conversation
with me.  "What are you in for?" "Protesting" "Oh, so you WANT to be in
here." "No, I shouldn't be here." "Either should I.  Reckless driving."
"What about those other guys?" "Drinking a beer on the street and the other
guy is in for not paying tickets." "Bum deal." "Yeah, no kidding."  After a
while the guy I was talking to went back to the TV and I just hung around.
After about an hour or so (a really slow hour).  I started to crave
something to do.  The guy in the other cell told me I should push the red
intercom button and request a phone or reading material.  He told me that he
had a phone in his cell.  I asked him to make a call for me.  He made me
promise to buy him some candy when I got out and give it to the guard to
give to him.  I said OK and gave him the # of my friend.  He called and was
informed that a bail-bonds(wo)man had been called and I would get out in
about an hour and a half, when I was through "processing".  I work in Sproul
and hear a lot of complaints about the bureaucracy.  I finally found a worse
one - jail!

"...[B]ehind my arrest...there is a great organization at work...And the
significance of this great organization, gentlemen?  It consists in this,
that innocent persons are accused of guilt, and senseless proceedings are
put in motion against them, mostly without effect..."

    After waiting some more, I decided to try and push the red intercom
button in the cell.  I heard, "What?" "Could I please have a phone or some
reading material?" "Not now, thank you." <click>.  I didn't expect much from
the room service but I was getting bored...
    At long last an officer came to release me.  He had me pour out the
coffee which I hadn't touched into the sink and collect my stuff.  As he led
me into the hallway, the guy in the cell opposite me yelled, "Don't forget
the candy!  You promised!"  I dumped the sheets and stuff into their
respective bins.  I signed for my personal items and was led to a door.  I
asked about my bicycle and was told to call back on Monday.  The cop
entered the magic code and told me to push the door.  I exited the jail
area, descended a stairway, passed more doors and saw my friends.  Salvation!
I hugged my friends and signed the business with the bail-bonds-woman.  We
went out to dinner (I was really hungry) and I bought my jail buddy some
candy.  Since I knew he was going to be in until Monday, I got him a bunch
of Now-and-Laters.  If you ever get arrested, try not to get arrested over
the weekend.  You won't get "processed" until Monday unless you can post
bail.

"[It] is the fact that you have been treated too well, although you are an
accused man, or rather more precisely, that you have been treated with
negligence, with apparent negligence.  There's a reason for the negligence,
of course; it's often better to be in chains than to be free.  But I'd like
to show you how other accused men are treated, and perhaps you may learn a
thing or two."

As of my completion of this writing, Wednesday evening, 1/27, I have still
not received my bicycle and lock.  When I called the BPD on Monday, as
directed, I was told that they do not have the bike and that I had to call
back Wednesday, when the arresting officer would be on duty next.  Like I
really want to talk to the man who did this to me.  Plus, I use my bike
everyday as transport.  I called back this morning and was told that the
Sgt. would not be on duty until 11 a.m.  He called and left a message at
11:30 and gave me a phone # to call.  I called them and they gave the phone
# 2, they knew nothing about it, so I called back phone #1, who then told
me to try phone # 3, who also knew nothing.  I then called back the Sgt.,
who wasn't in his office.  An hour later, I called phone # 1 and was given
phone # 4, which incidentally, was the same # I tried originally on Monday.
I was told that they don't have my bike and they would leave a message for
the Sgt.  At this point, I felt like there was a sort of bureaucratic form
of punishment being exerted on me that is outside of the letter and intent
of the law.  I was being made to jump through hoops in penance and I had not
been convicted of any crime.  I called my City Council member and spoke to
her aide, who was quite gracious.  She called the police for me as well.
When I just checked my messages, I heard a call from some Lieutenant who
wants me to call phone # 5 tomorrow...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
 Leor Jacobi                ,__o  |"Do you really want to be in America?
 [e-mail]    _-\_<,  | Somewhere else might be better.
             (*)/'(*) | I'm not just talking about weather."
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=|         - the Fastbacks

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Special thanks to: Dave Cohen, of the Auto-Free Bay Area Coalition for his
support; and Al and MG, for taking care of me.