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Reporting from the protest. |
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Total Detention Time: 28 hours Two "Meals" (Bologna Sandwich) No Phonecalls for Anyone *please correct errors or fill in informational lapses, I apologize in advance for these Though I am tempted, I will not recount the details of the M20 phenomenon, let me simply skip the glory and jump right into the muck. The Arrest I was detained around 10:00 pm at the Chicago street round-up. I would like to briefly verify that we were not allowed to leave, we were never told to disperse, and were directed East while in fact there was no East to move to. In fact, as you know by now, people on the other side were being forced West. We were being crushed and in desperation we started chanting "East! East!" a chant which some claim a policewoman started. We all suspected what was happening and yet we played along. Whatever lessons should be learned and whatever new tactics pursued, let us not do that again. We looked silly and played into the CPD's hands. It only gave them confidence. Like hundreds of others, I was simply picked off the slowly moving edge. I was taken nonviolently, but I have heard reports of people being physically abused during their arrest. I did not note my arresting officerıs badge number, but this may be a good thing to do in the future. Later the CPD got their paperwork all screwed up and we suspect that in several cases they simply made up badge numbers and forged signatures. The Paddy Wagon There are already some great accounts of our wonderful ride in these deathtraps (no sarcasm, the company truly made it great despite the hardships). I would like to note that we were locked up for 3 - 4 hours in a metal box without windows. There were a few air holes but when we werenıt moving there was zero airflow and the carbon dioxide levels were getting intolerable. Cellmates from a different car later told me that one of theirs had passed out inside another paddy wagon. The police just left us in these things and our cries for air went unheeded. Thank goodness for our collective sense of humor, The Simpsons quotes, and the tangerines I packed (you're welcome guys). Introduction to Area 2, 5th District: 727 E. 111th We came off the wagons between 1 and 2 am. I think we were some of the first inside (and oddly the last out). The boys in blue were ready with their white gloves and Gestapo tactics. I would like to point out that our introduction appeared staged for maximum fear. The same cops who were barking orders and treating us like violent criminals were completely slack 6 hours later. The scene was something like this: The guys who searched us were going crazy yelling at us exactly where and how to stand, meanwhile detectives and plainclothes cops were standing around making jokes at our expense and threatening us with what's to come. I would like to confirm earlier reports of special harassment against those who looked sexually deviant or cross-gender. We need to all be prepared for this and show our support to those at maximum risk for abuse. We were put into 12x12 cells near the "reception area." As others have noted, being together helped a lot, and the company could not have been better. We had fun and also discussed serious topics about our course of action as a growing movement. We analyzed M20, rejoiced in our victories and pondered the mass arrests from which we all suffered. Despite all the attempts at demoralization you will read below, I feel that many did come away feeling even more energized and committed. Detention Aide Folks, a brief warning: be weary of CPD employees low in their own pecking order. They will take it out on you. For those who were there, you know the man I'm talking about. We wish him a life-changing hunting accident; may it teach him principles beyond strength and sadism, amen. Promises From the start we were told "several hours." One officer said, "Economically, we want to get rid of you before we have to feed you." The prevailing theme was that the officers did not want us there any more than we wanted to be there, and they would do their best to get us out as soon as possible. Many of us believed this. For a while people were being steadily finger-printed and photographed. Then the machine came rolling to a halt around 3 or 4 in the morning. Literally. The machines were stopped. We were not sure what this meant, but some guards told us that they may no longer be fingerprinting and photographing, and the rest of us would simply be left off without charges. We were very happy to hear this and very willing to believe. Another guard mentioned that we would be held until 11am. We figured that they were intent on keeping us away from the early-morning actions, and would then release us. Containment Cells For 7 hours we waited patiently. There was contact between three containment cells, A, B, and C. We were all shuffled around these cells in the early hours of the night, and the lasting configuration was an absurd concentration of men in the cell I called my temporary home (I think it was cell A). There were 32 of us. 32 men in a 12ft by 12ft cell. With two men napping underneath the benches, it was standing room only. 7 hours in a room full of dirt, 32 guys, and a toilet. No wonder one of us was sick and vomiting by noon. I hope you're alright brother. Quick note about the dirt, the cells were in relatively good condition when we arrived, but when the CPD carelessly packed them tight with protesters, the floor covered with a dark gray filth. I just blew my nose and black dust came out. Remember that we were in these cells, most as dirty as described above, for 28 hours. More Promises Somewhere along the line, I think in the morning around 7am, a shift change occurred and some of the new faces offered relief. One officer praised and defended our principles. Another officer re-iterated that we would be released without being charged, and promised to do his best to help us out. It was up to the Sergeant, we were told, and there were what appeared to be debates and conversations going on about our future. Ten minutes, we were told, we would be released in ten minutes. One hour. Two hours. Some of us were getting very irritated. My 31 cellmates and I had been pressurized in a tiny containment cell for 7 hours now. Our total detention time was going on 13 hours. We still had communication between the three cells (I praise those who initiated it), and some of us were trying to "raise the energy level" in Area 2. After all, we had been completely meek and compliant and where has it gotten us? Still most of us had hope that we would be released soon. We remembered the 11am release claim and we responded with warmth to the officer who seemed to show us compassion. By noon nothing had been accomplished to release us or at least release the physical and emotional pressure in the dangerously cramped Cell A. We were realizing that all of this was either incredible incompetence on the side of the CPD, or an intentional tactic meant to both pacify and demoralize us. Many were starting to believe the latter over the former as things got more and more absurd and the hours rolled on. My name was called; I was taken out, told that I would be set free. I got my things as instructed, but then was interrupted, barked at, and instructed to get back in the cell as I would not be let out after all. I needed to be fingerprinted and photographed. It seemed that we were back to step one, only after a night of unexplainable inactivity on the side of our captors. We began to realize that we would be intentionally held until after the 5pm actions downtown. Cell B was released without charge, as far as we know, only 12-17 people. The rest of us were being held for processing. Nobody believed the cops any longer, and we were getting rowdy, trying to put pressure on the officers to meet some of our needs. Food (or lack-there-of) Only a brief factual comment is required. During our 28 hour detention, we were fed just twice. Both times the meal consisted of two slices of cheap white bread and a slice of barely edible bologna. We Want Phone Calls Throughout the entire detention we were not allowed access to a phone, despite our pleas, songs, and demands. Remember that we were locked up for 28 hours. Some of our families and friends did not know what had happened to us. Those who were being forced to miss work could not alert their employers or get someone to cover for them. Lives were being seriously messed with. Of direct importance to our well-being was the inability to request someone to come and post bail. We were isolated from the rest of the world, stuck in these cells, being pre-emptively punished for charges that have no foundation and will never stick in a court of law. Final Hours After hour 20, I have very little positive mood to report back to you. Those who had been feeling fine so far were starting to get very antsy. The sleep deprivation was hitting us. Also, we no longer trusted that we would be soon let out. We no longer really knew what would happen. We were being slowly processed, one by one, and then placed from the containment cells into one of the lettered cell blocks. We had no solid proof that anyone had been released at all, though we applauded anyone who looked like he might be on his way to freedom. Many times those who seemed to have a foot out the door (like myself), found themselves in yet another cell. The worst was not knowing what would be done with us. When the machines paused, we got seriously worried. There were long lapses of complete inactivity on the side of the CPD. At times they were not even physically present. We were starting to feel somewhat doomed. Around hour 24 I was processed myself and placed into cell block I. Those processed were starting to feel better. It looked like they were taking care of people at a steady rate, and while it took "4-8 hours" for your fingerprints to clear the register of outstanding warrants, we had already proven our patience. Then something odd happened. Being in a cell block is inherently slightly more nerve racking as you cannot see what the officers are doing (or not doing) as you can from the containment cells. You can however see the occasional processed arrestee being placed from the holding pens into a cell block. This flow was suddenly cut off. There was no movement for over 45 minutes. Then we heard a voice (a cop voice, it was easy to discern) preaching to another cell block about politics and probably the war. We were already feeling like this was punishment for a wrong we hadn't committed, not just detention to keep us off the streets (as it was getting late), but punishment dished out by the officers present. This moral self-righteous preaching only irritated us in cell block I further and we began to chant, "We don't want this war!" An officer then promptly closed the door on us, and cut us off from the rest of the building. This was looking more and more like unjust punishment by design. Eventually the wheels started rolling again, and people seemed to be getting released, by one or in twos every half-hour. I was one of the last in cell block I and probably left about 75 comrades still jailed behind me. I, like everyone, was expecting to sign an I-bond, a money-less guarantee that I will appear on my court date. However, they led me straight to the lobby where the brave souls of an improvised Chicago Jail Support greeted me with smiles, applause, and chocolate. What I signed was an actual bond form. Somebody from Jail Support, Carolyn Danckaert from American Friends Services Committee had posted the money needed to get me and all the others out of there. Apparently, the CPD was not allowing us to use I-Bonds. This poses an interesting question. If our release was based on somebody posting money, and our phone access completely absent, how were we to get out of there? Had the CPD any intention in getting us out? This may be premature, but I feel like I had been kidnapped by the police, and then rescued by the anti-war community. Do not doubt that I will repay this debt. I will see you all in the streets. Special Thanks to: Everyone jailed for political reasons on March 20. The fabulous improvised Chicago jail support. D of Red Line Radio for giving me a ride and lending me an ear (www.redlineradio.org). Eugene |
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