My Short Time in Jail

Last night I had my first encounter with the inside of a holding cell.

I was whisked away from the protest marking the 5th anniversary of the War in Iraq by a police man who undoubtedly arrested me for the sole purpose of scaring the crowd back onto the streets. At first I didn’t realize what had happened. I was one of the people who wasn’t supposed to get arrested. I hadn’t lain down in the streets or spray painted any circled A’s on the IRS building. But regardless I was frisked and crammed awkwardly into the back of a police car.

As the car began to pull away I asked repeatedly what I had been arrested for. "You’re being charged with disorderly conduct for blocking traffic" was the response I kept receiving. "Blocking traffic? But I was only about a step away from the curb, and I wasn’t the only one standing there." There must have been about 10 others standing in what they then told me was technically the street. I had been assuming that I was standing in parking space, after seeing two cop cars pulled over at the side of the road. I later found out that the cops knew who I was and were well aware that I was very active in the student movement. It was for this reason that I was targeted to be arrested.

I was brought to the parking lot of Strong Museum (known as "the museum of play" ironically) where I heard 7 others had been arrested. I imagine this was just to regroup and figure out how many had been arrested. Out of the window I could see the top of Jeff’s bald head, a local RAW and ISO member who had come to check up on us and make sure everything was going alright. The police asked me a few repetitive questions, to which I responded in only my finest English. I wanted to try to break down any effort to dehumanize me that the pigs may been attempting, consciously or unconsciously.

Sweet as apple pie, I began to chum around with the officer in the front seat. "My name is Jake, by the way" I said to him. I received no reply. "So... you guys drive Impalas, huh?" Again, no response. Part of my talking may have been to merely keep myself calm and try to forget that I was immobilized in the back of a police car.

We parked next to another cop car in the parking lot of the museum. From where I sat I was able to see Sister Rita, one of the others who had been arrested, in the car next to us. We exchanged glances, giving each other the biggest grins our anxious faces could muster, which calmed me even further. I had never realized how uplifting being with your comrades could be when you are arrested.

Finally we were taken to the Monroe County Jail where we were processed, photographed, heckled, badgered, questioned, and promptly tossed into a holding cell -- of course not before being called a "dirty hippy" and other verbal abuses that I had believed weren’t in use since the Vietnam era.

The whole place smelled like urine and chlorine. I remember sitting in what I considered a "waiting room" especially for prisoners being brought in, and asking again what my official charges were. The officer on the bench across from me said "you were blocking traffic (which was false). We only did it for your safety." I couldn’t help but laugh under my breath at that. It’s interesting how those in power will always say that "it’s for your own good" when trying to justify their position of privilege. I turned to Harry, one of the other arrestees who was brought in shortly after me and noted what a resemblance that statement bore to the rationale for maintaining the centralized State. .

I was so happy to find the face of one of my comrades, Eli, in the cell I was taken to. At this point we had the cell all to ourselves and began thinking of all the outrageous things we could do to fuck with the guard’s heads. I suggested perhaps having a dance party. He declined after saying "they’d be expecting that."

And, again, the talking began. For the first half hour, I kept up a constant conversation with Eli. If at any point there was a lull, I noticed my brain racing for a new topic to talk about. I felt sorry for him after a few minutes, realizing that I had nearly gabbed his ear off, but I also began to notice that I was a little less tense.

After a long wait, Mike was brought in, followed shortly by Harry. There the four of us sat, exchanging stories and waiting for the others to show up. By that time we had figured out that it was Kathy and two local nuns, Sister Grace and Sister Rita, had been the remaining three who had been detained. We saw them brought in, given their phone calls, and walked past the cell to another unit. I was disappointed to find out the women were to be kept in separate facilities.

But none-the-less, the party ensued. We all told stories about our past, political or otherwise, laughing as if sitting on a park bench in Washington Square Park. I had almost forgotten that we were in a holding cell aside from the fact that from where I was sitting you could see the pigs walking arrogantly past the Plexiglas window. I asked aloud "How can these motherfuckers walk around here spitting in these people’s faces, and then go home and raise their children and pretend they’re a decent human being?"

Then I began noticing the race structure of the facilities. As I looked out the window, I saw that nearly all the inmates were black, and every one of the guards I saw was white. In fact, everyone who worked in the building was white, aside from one heavy set nurse I saw at one point.

It began getting late, and we asked repeatedly for mattresses -- mattresses that were visible from our cell, perhaps twenty feet away. I was hungry, dehydrated, and had no where to sleep, aside from the 2 inch thick benches that we were sitting on. The water that came from a corroded fountain in the cell tasted like metal, and should any of us have to go to the bathroom, they were forced to stand behind a waist-high wall that jutted out only a few inches past the side of the toilet, and which had no front covering.

A few others were brought in to the cell, but they are not worth talking about in any detail. The only part of that which should be noted is that their presence hardly changed the interaction between those who had been arrested at the rally, and in fact we talked freely with those who were brought in.

After spending about five hours in the cell, an officer opened the door and called out my name. I was brought to a desk near by and was allowed to retrieve the items which had been taken from me. Everything in this institution was slow. It took nearly twenty minutes to go get my things, sign a single paper, and exit the holding facilities.

As I waited behind the steel-reinforced green door, images of an infuriated 120 pound WASPy-looking mother rushed through my head. "I’m going to open this door, and there she’ll be." I almost wished I could stay in the cell.

Suddenly, a loud "click" rang out through the chamber and the door was opened. I peered through to find 10 fellow activists waving red and black flags, with balloons, cake, and other assorted foodstuffs. And no mother! I managed to hold back tears after realizing how many comrades I had that truly cared about me.

I was free, and headed back to my friend Ted’s house to sleep and wait for my arraignment the next day.