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Arrested & Violated
March 14, 2002
This
letter started out as a letter to the American Civil Liberties Union
describing what I consider a civil rights violation... as I started
writing it, it just grew into a raw, detailed account of the whole ordeal
and hopefully the beginning of a healing process for me. I know it will
need major editing before it can be submitted for ACLU's consideration,
but in the meantime it can serve its purpose of explaining what has
happened to me and my recent absence. I'm sorry if it seems melodramatic
and conveys more information than is comfortably needed, but I needed
to remember it all as it happened and to write it all down while I still
could.... once I started I couldn't stop.
Dear Sir/Madame,
I would first like to introduce myself, my name is Linda though I’m
also known for my work in the arts and healing/spiritual community as
Harusami. I have an award winning web site (Soul2Soul with Harusami
& Friends) dealing with inner child, mental, spiritual and emotional
healing, awakening and transformation: harusami.com/soul2soul I am also
an artist, web designer, writer, Reiki master, spiritual worker and
ordained minister. My business cards also say I’m a “generally
happy person”. I have no criminal record.
On March 9, 2002 my “soon-to-be-ex” husband Wayne and I got
into an argument at home after a rare night out together. I admit I
drank too much merlot at a karaoke bar and was stressed due to the recent
ongoing stress of:
- My father’s suicide.
- The
task of dealing with his remains and what was left of his company.
- The
relentless responsibilities of being the executor of his insolvent
estate, dealing with lawyers, creditors, realtors and former clients.
- Being
my mother’s durable power of attorney, representative and personal
caretaker until her return to Japan in January which involved the
enormous task of moving her belongings box by box to the post office
while handling all the paperwork involved with all the government
agencies.
- Working
my part-time job as graphic designer
- Trying
to start up my own freelance web design business while being solely
responsible for building and maintaining my 120+ page web site.
- Having
to clean and muck through 42 years worth of my parents belongings
in order to get my childhood home in saleable condition to satisfy
my fathers creditors.
- The
additional financial burdens within the past 2 months of having our
van stolen and costing over $800 to recover and repair, $800 in emergency
vet bills to treat my beloved dog for a heart condition. We were also
trying to recover from an emergency sewer repair that cost over $3000,
all this on top of the fact our income had been halved since the closing
of my father's business
I
had also inherited my parents obese, incontinent, vicious and seizure
prone poodle that added to the stress of daily life, along with Wayne's
unmet promises to help with the cleaning and his reluctance to finish
the estate work related to my father's insolvent company, this meant
frantic calls from the lawyer necessitating my hunting through company
records in his stead. He had worked at my father’s business for
years being groomed to take it over one day. When I told my parents
of my plans for divorce nearly 4 years ago they said they would disown
me so I did not have contact with them until a month before my father’s
suicide. Since my father’s death Wayne seemed in my eyes to have
taken to doing little else but watch TV and drink beer when he wasn’t
working his part-time job at a major shipping company. I had grown resentful
and tired and had no time in my schedule to grieve the death of a father
I loved dearly despite his inablity to stand up to my mother's abuse
for either himself or I. I was trying to get Wayne to commit to a divorce
settlement, I needed my freedom as being housemates with him was getting
on my last nerve. Our divorce plans had been amicable, we were as brother
and sister.... even though he’d confessed to me after my father’s
death of certain betrayals of trust he'd committed to gain their favor,
I thought I'd been able to forgive him....and I was grateful that he
was assisting me to get on my own feet again.
That
night his typical reluctance to listen to or answer me when I was pleading
with him to settle on what he wanted from me for this divorce to finally
happen set me off completely and that night I unfairly accused him,
his laziness and incompetence for being the cause of my father’s
death, mimicking the accusations my mother had expressed to me, knowing
full well her accusations were only to alleviate her own feelings of
guilt, she'd also begged my forgiveness for her "disownment"
and her senseless loyalty to "the son she'd always wanted".
I screamed out 10 months of frustration, anger, pain and grief. I rarely
speak in anger but it was pouring out now. Crying, I pushed at him,
wanting a response, an answer, a reaction... an apology for the hell
he kept me in.... he yelled back accusations about my father, then he
says I came at him, slapping him... I only remember cursing him, his
reaction was to harshly put me in a headlock/choke hold. I thought he
was trying to strangle me. This made me livid and I fought mightily
to get out of it, scratching him on his chest and forehead in the process.
After fighting him off, angry and breathless, I went to my room and
dialed 911, a part of me perhaps remembering a night 14 years ago when
I was drinking heavily and depressed, I'd locked myself in the bathroom
and Wayne called the police because he was concerned, I was in bed asleep
when police arrived, they pulled me out of bed and arrested me for domestic
violence. There was no violent act other than perhaps recklessly endangering
a toilet. Denver law says if police are called, someone goes to jail,
I could have fought it at the time, but I seriously needed the counseling,
and the incident, though burned in my mind, was wiped from my record.
The small, unforgiving part of me wanted him to be punished for what
I perceived that night as life threatening violence, I truly felt he
was breaking my neck. Then I caught reality and realized it would be
crazy to have him jailed... we'd both acted badly and had been drinking,
but this was vindictive and crazy. I hung up before the call went through.
The 911 officer called back, I told her it was a mistake and apologized.
About 3 years ago I thought I was calling 411 information and asked
for a telephone number at the time not realizing it was 911 I had accidentally
dialed, I apologized profusely at the time and the officer laughed it
off... I didn’t realize this would be any different..... and the
call hadn't even rung through...
I was working at my computer, after calming myself and had sobered up
considerably when the police came to the door around 2:30am, they asked
if everything was ok.... I said yes that the call had been a mistake,
everything was ok, they asked if I was alone, I believe I said yes as
I thought they meant was I the only one up, and I had assumed Wayne
was in his room sleeping, they asked if there was anyone else in the
house, I said yes my soon-to-be-ex-husband was in his room. They wanted
to talk to him, I said sure, reassuring them that nothing was wrong
as I was now fearing that they would try to arrest him. They went in
to talk to him, saw and asked him about the scratches, he, I believe
assuming that I had called the police to arrest him, told them I had
attacked him... he didn’t realize that the scratches were only
inflicted on him as I was fighting to be released. I was in complete
shock when they came out of his room, very brusquely interrogated me
and then accused me of attacking him... I was in shock and not resisting
in anyway as they asked me to put my hands out... I cried and begged
Wayne to tell them the truth, and I admit I was screaming something
along the lines that he’d been the reason for my father’s
death and now he was killing me with his lie, this was after the officers
had me laying face down on the floor cuffing me, they refused my request
to put some clothes on as I was wearing only a robe. In my rage at the
absurdity of all this and my grief of losing my dad and now being subjected
to even further trauma by the man I felt at the time somehow responsible
for his death, I told the officer to just shoot me, I didn’t think
I could survive being jailed, my mind could not fathom the thought,
I was in blind panic and fear.
I was not allowed to put on my own shoes and they made me wear Wayne's
oversized filthy flip-flop sandals instead. I feared for my small dog
Scooto who suffers from a bad heart, he was concerned and upset and
I prayed he wouldn’t try to bite or growl at the officers as he
usually did when I was approached while sleeping. I knew they could
hurt, even kill him if they so desired. He ran out the door to be with
me twice and I begged them to please put him back in the house. The
male officer as he was leading me to the police car told me his step
dad committed suicide and that was just tough.... I didn't understand
if he was trying to comfort me or belittle me. I didn’t realize
at the time that Wayne had begged them to take him instead of me when
he realized they were arresting me, he tried to tell them all the stress
and pressure I’d been through, that I didn’t deserve this,
they wouldn’t listen.
I was subdued, resigned to fate and crying in shock as they took me
to the south Denver precinct and handcuffed me to a wall in a small
holding cell for what seemed like hours. They then booked me in the
city jail in downtown Denver. I arrived there around 5 am Sunday morning
and my court appearance was set for 1 PM Monday owing to the domestic
violence law that demands a minimum 24 hour stay. After coming off my
initial shock I tried to make the best of having to attempt sleep on
a filthy floor in the company of screaming heroine addicts and other
hellish unpleasantness' of jail. I tried to pretend I was at a Zen meditation
retreat. I meditated and sent Reiki healing and compassion to the fellow
inmates in pain, I prayed to be shown the reason for my incarceration,
to be a conduit of Spirit, love and light and to be of help where I
could. I prayed for strength, I prayed for my sanity in a very insane
place. In all the trials of my life I’d come to learn to surrender
to Spirit in times of suffering, that enlightenment is often born of
pain... that there is a reason for everything.
My
first cellmate, Jessica, an 18-year old frightened ex-gangbanger, ex-junkie,
was in jail for juvenile offenses that caught up with her when she got
snagged in a no-knock raid done on the wrong house. Her long dark hair
and proud, gentle features hinted at her Native American heritage. Her
father had been in prison for all of her young life, and her step-dad,
who she loved, had died of a heroine overdose. We mused that the both
of us were in here because of our Dads in some way. She wanted to be
an artist someday, loved to draw... and she wanted to know more about
God but feared she would go to hell because she was gay, she asked if
it was true, whether she was damned as the Christian sermons had told
her... I told her that the God/Goddess that I knew found no sin in love
of any kind... she talked about how much she loved her girlfriend. She
showed me how the skin on her arms turned white when pressed... an after
effect of her previous addiction to crystal meth, she was proud of her
recovery and her courage in leaving the gang life. Her mother had assured
her she would be bonded out ASAP. Hours passed and she was sent to county
jail on Monday morning... they said the policy was to send anyone to
county who’d be in jail for more than 3 days and she’d been
in since Friday. The whole jail experience had frightened her and she
assured me she would never see the inside of one again, she was staying
straight from now on. Most of the repeat offenders clamored to get to
county as they could watch TV, read the newspapers, snag a contraband
smoke, they were allowed more freedoms there.
Most of the women attended “church” in the small eating room
on Sunday, as it allowed them some time beyond the 15 minute breaks
for breakfast, lunch, dinner and phone/shower time to be out of the
cells. I declined. I could overhear most of the 2 hour service while
I was meditating in my cell.... the emphasis today was how we were all
sinners, born in sin to die in sin and our only salvation was through
Jesus. I wondered if this was what they called a non-denominational
service.
Sunday night was spent sleeplessly as the guards loudly taunted an obviously
drugged inmate in another cell every half hour or so. From what I could
hear, Teresa was belligerent and foaming at the mouth and they wanted
to know what she was on. It sounded like a bizarre exorcism and I would
fall asleep for a few minutes and then the cursing and insult volleys
would start up again after the overture of the loud bang of the metal
doors opening. We were awakened at 4:30AM for breakfast, the scarier
portions I left on the plate, eating only the boxed sugar frosted flakes
and milk. Lunch is served at 9:30 and dinner at 3:30 in jail, 15 minutes
each break, phones and showers could be utilized at noon. Visiting hours
were after 6PM.
Immediately after lunch on Monday my cell door banged open and I was
ordered out by the short dark-haired female guard. She shouted at me
while pointing to the thin braid in my hair held by 3 small beads, "Do
those beads come out?" "Not often." I replied, as I'd
worn this single braid in my hair going on three years. She ordered
me to sit and remove them while she barked at whoever would benefit
from the information that I wasn't supposed to be wearing those....
they should have been removed when I was booked... she was pretty ticked
off... as if it were my fault.
Wayne retained the services of an attorney for me and tried all he could
to get me released, called the victim’s advocate and DA’s
office and talked to anyone who’d listen and asked all he could.
My attorney got my $1500 bond lowered to $1000... apparently the reason
it was so high for a first time offense was because I had said “shoot
me”. My attorney met with me in the holding room before court and
told me we were pleading “not guilty”, that we were fighting
this and that I’d already done the hard part, she promised they
would take care of it from here... nothing worse could happen to me
now than the hell I’d already been through, I cried in relief and
gratitude. She said I would be bonded out within 2 -6 hours time. I
was the only one of the group of female domestic violence offenders
who had an attorney and the others were being advised by the legal advisers
furnished by the court to plead guilty unless they had multiple offenses
that would mean immediate long term jail sentences.
One girl who pled guilty was there because her neighbors heard breaking
glass, called 911 and the police came barging in on her and her boyfriend
while they were making love on the couch... they saw the broken glass
and asked what had happen, she said she was PMSing and stressing and
threw a picture. They arrested her as her boyfriend watched in shock,
and one officer threatened to shoot her dog in the head if it didn’t
stop barking. She also happened to be a heroine addict and after she
pled guilty they were very accommodating in getting her Gatorade and
drugs to calm her while she was coming off it. When we all gathered
for the 3:30 feeding in the jail lunchroom, I overheard another regular
tell her that she had done right, and announced to all of us that “her
girl done right pleading guilty, she’s gonna be outta here in a
couple of hours”, when she heard about us that pled “not guilty”
she admonished, “Girl, they are reeeally gonna f*ck you
over now, you’re not getting out of here tonight” and the
other regulars knowingly agreed with her assessment. They said the system
knows how to f*ck you over if you dare to plead not guilty... best just
to plead guilty, pay your fine and get out in a few hours time. I just
kept the words of my attorney in my mind... I would be leaving in a
matter of hours.... nothing worse could happen to me now.
At 4:30 my cell door clanged open and my name was called, I was so relieved
as I gathered my blanket as was routine for departing inmates and met
the officer in the hallway expecting to be released. Six other women
were gathered up with me. “You all are going to county” she
barked out. “But I’m getting bonded out.... my lawyer assured
me I would be out in a few hours!” I pleaded, “I don’t
care, you’re going to county”, she answered, not bothering
to look up from her clipboard. I protested that the policy as I heard
it was for prisoners to go to county if they had been or were going
to stay in jail for more than 3 days and I had barely been there for
2, she ignored me, and ignored the other woman who had also been waiting
for her bond to be released. Beth had been wanted on a domestic violence
warrant, 4th offense.... and paid her bondsman before turning herself
in wanting to get this done so she could be back at work at the Soul
Food restaurant by Tuesday, she’d worked there 6 or 7 years and
couldn’t afford to lose the job. From here a desperate game of
beat the clock ensued. I begged to use the phone so I could inform Wayne
and the lawyer and bondsman that I was being transferred out... It was
refused.
They lined us all up against a wall and a smirking jail guard shackled
our legs and cuffed us. The shackles dug into my swollen ankle painfully,
I’d told them about my sprained ankle when I was booked in. The
other inmates were glad to be going to county, just to be able to watch
TV... then they all talked of the humiliation of the strip search...
that everyone booked into county is strip searched and showered. I felt
the panic and cold fear stick in my throat... this can’t be happening,
nothing worse can happen to me... I’m not guilty.
There were 6 of us on the bus over to county, I noticed 4 of us had
been the ones who’d pled not guilty in domestic violence court,
3 of them had previous records 2 of those were planning on a long stay,
and there was myself and Beth who had paid her bondsman before turning
herself in. The fifth in our party was a most unlikely, fresh-scrubbed,
black-framed-glasses-Lisa Loeb-look-a-like, very white, 20 year old
midwestern college girl. Angela was being extradited back to Missouri
were she was wanted on a bad check warrant.... she just missed her parents
so much and wanted to take care of this so she could move to Australia
in the future to be with her boyfriend who owned a sheep ranch there.
She had written the bad check to cover her last semester of college
where she was a chemistry major, it was for $320.00. The sixth was a
tiny elfin Hispanic girl/woman who had a bond of $25,000, the highest
of us all, she was a drug dealer.... I believe Dena, or Deanna was her
name.... she was in for a long stay.
At county we were herded in to the first booking room amid cat-calls
and leers of the male inmates we passed in the halls. There was a toilet
and a charge phone in this roughly 8’x 9’stagnant room and
we were allowed to take turns using it as we were called one by one
into the office adjacent. It was Dena/Deanna who jumped on the phone
first. She called her sister to tell her what she needed for her stay
and told her she loved her. I begged to use the phone next as I had
to call Wayne and tell him I’d been transferred... I’d just
dialed and gotten the now tedious long message of “at the tone
state your full name” and then the “you are receiving a collect
call from Denver County Jail from ______ you can refuse this call by
hanging up or accept the charges by dialing “1” your call
will be disconnected if 3 way calling is detected, etc., etc.,....”
It seemed to go on forever and my name was called, I had to hang up.
I went into the room and found a very pleasant female officer who asked
me if I had ever been in this facility, whether I was gay or bi-sexual
and whether I had any gang affiliations and some other less memorable
questions. I told her I was suppose to be bonded out... that my bond
was supposed to have been posted ... and I was to be out in a few hours
time. She seemed very understanding and I think she could feel my panic
as I told her my fears of being strip searched... that I was not guilty,
my lawyer assured me I’d gone through the worst. She explained
that the bond could very well have been brought over on the bus with
me, that it could be being processed at that moment but that it usually
took about 2 hours to process once it reached county. She told me if
I could get  the
bond “walked” over to county it might expedite the process.
She said I could be pulled out and bonded anytime during the booking
procedures once the bond was processed. I thanked her for the info and
was herded back into the holding cell with the brown-stained light blue
plastic cup, large orange, chewed-up plastic spoon, inmate ID, toothpaste,
comb and Denver County Jail Inmate Handbook each of us was issued.
Beth was on the phone now, she was screaming to someone on the other
end about her bondsman not bonding her out, that that M*F*er had her
money and had better get her a&& out of jail before she was
booked and stripped... as tough as she’d been acting, I could tell
she was as frightened and panicked as me. Her called seemed to last
forever... the clock seemed to tick away and a strange sense of timelessness
and panic set in. Her conversation started to go in circles about how
she couldn’t call out of city jail phones, but could call out now
from this phone... couldn’t understand it and seemed to be endlessly
explaining it to her friend, finally as her conversation seemed to drift
into laughter and idle chit chat, I begged her that I truly had to use
the phone to get my bond walked to county before they booked me....
she was kind enough to relinquish the phone. I called Wayne told him
I’d been transferred to the county jail, that if my bond wasn’t
already in process it needed to be walked over or it wouldn't get here
in time and I would be strip searched and booked into county jail. He
gasped, “Oh No....Oh God” He’d gotten the bond arranged
immediately after my hearing, it was posted at 3:30 and at the city
jail, it was now almost 6:30. I told him that if I didn’t get bonded
out by 10 PM I would have to stay the night.... a rumor most of the
inmates believed as they related to me that two female inmates were
released at night and were found murdered, so now no one was released
after 10 and no one was released at night without someone to pick them
up. Wayne made the desperate calls to the bondsman and to the lawyers
answering service while I was on the line.
Next we were herded into an even smaller and stuffier holding cell,
furnished with two incredibly uncomfortable metal benches and the now
familiar communal toilet/water fountain all in one... I cracked my first
nervous joke as I mentioned that I don’t even let my dog drink
out of the toilet.
Time seemed to stretch on forever as we waited here, a fact Beth and
I clearly didn’t mind but the others were getting tired and impatient,
they just wanted to get booked, get the humiliation over with so they
could go to bed. We peeked out of a part in the small curtained window
to see a clock on the far wall of what appeared to be the infirmary...
the clock said 7:15, we realized it was broken when it said 7:15 in
what must have been an hours wait. The women grew loud, animated and
boisterous by the long wait, a couple of times the smirking officer
pounded on the door and told them to hold it down... this didn’t
stop them at all, after all what could he do, arrest them? So this was
where we all learned about each other.
The thin exotically beautiful African American woman whose name I cannot
remember, had pled guilty because it was her 4th conviction... all 4
times because her husband of 12 years called the police on her. She
said she was the jealous type and admitted she couldn’t handle
her alcohol and her husband knew it, she would binge and her husband
would piss her off when she’d catch him cheating on her. Her husband
had beat her numerous times... once with a baseball bat, she’d
had her hand broken, her arm badly wrenched and she was clearly missing
her top front teeth... all from his beatings... but she never called
the cops on him...she considered it snitching to do that. They’d
just moved into a new apartment, bought a lot of new toys, big screen
TV and CDs, she was convinced he’d gotten her drunk and framed
her so he could bring one of his "whores" home while she was
in jail... she was accused of biting his ear. She’d also been arrested
in a state of undress but was given time to slip on two dresses but
couldn’t get her panties on. She’d started her period and
was anxious to get booked so she could get some tampons, her black velvet
dress was being ruined. She was dreading the strip search, her and another
woman both nervously joked about having to spread their butt cheeks
and cough with menstrual blood gushing out... they both done time before.
I could feel my heart pounding in my throat.
The other woman with us, a very tall, large African American woman,
I can’t remember her name either...perhaps these names will come
to me one of these sleepless nights.... She was stopped for a minor
traffic violation and was wanted on a domestic violence warrant. She’d
led a hard life, buried 3 husbands already and was only 36... said her
mother buried 3 husbands too.... I don’t believe it was any of
their doing though. She talked about how as big and mean as she thought
she was, it didn’t stop her from getting jumped last time she was
in county jail. She talked about gangs of inmates who jump you and do
unspeakable things to you. I remembered an old Linda Blair movie from
the 70’s where she was a teenage drug addict in prison... a horrible
scene of her being strip searched, and another scene where she was raped
with a broom handle by fellow inmates, it frightened the heck out of
me as a kid and made me vow never to do anything to get myself in prison.
Everyone wanted to know the story of what brought each of us to this
place. They were quiet as I told mine. Told of my father’s suicide,
my mother and him blowing their fortune on bad business practices and
casino gambling... how they’d disowned me after I told them I wanted
a divorce... not for any moral reasons but simply as a control thing,
a way for my mother to drive a bigger wedge between my father and I...
I knew it was her idea. But that I was the one who had to "clean
up" after he blew his brains out... had to close his business,
handle all the matters of estate, sell my childhood home to settle the
creditors, get my mother back to Japan... all while trying to earn a
living and get my freedom. Told them about my anger and frustration
with my soon-to-be-ex, and the fight and 911 call that landed me here.
I didn’t realize I was crying when Angela stood up and walked over
and hugged me.
The wait in that room was maddening... part of me hoping that door would
open and my name called out to be freed, part of me fearing that this
was the waiting room for the dreaded search... and there was this twilight
zone effect of that mocking clock on the far wall behind the curtained
window... it was 7:15 forever here. I prayed for courage in the face
of whatever the universe wished of me. That if I was here for a greater
purpose, to please make it known to me. I also bargained with Spirit,
I didn’t need this lesson, oh please don’t make me go through
this. I remembered with bitter irony how I’d told friends that
after seeing my father lying on a gurney with a hole shot through the
top of his head, that nothing could scare me anymore... I was fearless.
I was wrong.
Finally after what seemed to be a 2 hour wait in the cramped and now
pungently scented room, the guard opened the door to announce we were
going to be treated to a free physical, I again stated that I was waiting
to be bonded out, could he please check bonds, he said not to worry,
I’d be notified as soon as it came though and when I voiced my
fear of being strip searched he said not to worry, they were only going
to take my temp and give me a brief physical... I was somewhat relieved...
good, I thought, they are sensible enough not to strip search a person
who’s going to be bonded out in minutes. We were then taken one
at a time to see a medic. He took my blood pressure, temperature (I
was not too surprised to be running a fever of 100 after nearly 2 days
in filth and stress) and asked how I was doing, whether I was having
any health issues, what drugs I was on and such.... I told him of my
sprained ankle and that I ached all over... he asked me if I wanted
a Tylenol and I told him no, that I tried to avoid taking any drugs.
He said I would be entitled to a free physical in 2 days when the nurse
practitioner came around, I told him I was to be bonded out in a matter
of minutes I was sure.
We were then marched into another section of the jail... the women's
section I believe. We passed a gauntlet of women inmates, some leering
as blatantly as the men had in the entrance way. We were led to a small
dimly lit room furnished once again with toilet/water fountain and thank-god-a-phone.
This was to be the last stop in the booking process. At least 3 women
guards and several helper/inmates were on the other side of the door,
a heavy-set guard wearing latex gloves said we could make this hard
or we could cooperate and it would go easy on us. I once again stated
that I was not suppose to be here... I was to be bonded out and released,
I was assured by my lawyer, there must be a mistake. At this point I
felt like an animal being led to slaughter. She said she would do me
last in case my bond posted, the other women and I pointed out that
Beth was also suppose to be bonded and released and could they hold
off on her too... all the women who knew it was inevitable wanted to
get it over with anyway. The guard agreed. I jumped on the phone to
Wayne after Beth finally was called, I knew it was pretty hopeless now,
I was next. He could hear the sheer panic in my voice as I fought back
tears. I told him they were letting me go last but the bond hadn’t
come through and the last girl had been taken. I thanked him for trying
and said good-bye. This was 8:47.
The guard explained what I was to expect, that I would be asked to remove
all my clothes, they would look into my mouth, behind my ears, and I
would have to turn, spread my legs, bend over and pull apart the top
cheeks of my butt three times as they watched me, then I was to shower,
dress and she would let me compose myself in the holding cell for a
few minutes before she put me in the dorm with the other women. She
explained that if I went into that room visibly shaken and in tears
I would be a vulnerable target. She said she was putting me in a quiet
cell, mellower than the others, Cellblock A, and that she’d have
someone look out for me once there. I thought I was in some bad B movie
on late night cable. I wanted to wake up and find this all just a most
horrible nightmare. I prayed for strength.
I went into the exam room/shower which was open and fully visible from
a hallway populated by several guards and several inmates that seemed
to be serving as helpers, bringing clothing and such, two of them were
loudly bickering with each other and “talking trash”. I saw
Beth getting dressed in the room behind me as I was ordered to stand
just inside the doorway. I was ordered to open my mouth and lift up
my tongue, I was ordered to pull my hair back behind each ear, then
to shake out my long hair while bending over The guard instructed me
to take off the zippered gray fleece robe that had been my wardrobe
the past 2 long days. I saw several pairs of eyes watching me and I
tried to close my eyes and wish myself away. I was ordered to remove
my panties and turn around, instructed to spread my legs and pull apart
my butt cheeks 3 times.... I did. She told me I would have to do it
again as she was suppose to be able to see my vaginal area and demonstrated
to me to pull them apart harder, to spread my legs wider. I did as I
was instructed, shaking uncontrollably, I felt like vomiting, I saw
the bizarre shadow I cast on the shower room floor as I was forced to
do this unspeakable "simon says". I hadn’t been to the
gynecologist in years because I just couldn’t stand the invasion.
I was ordered to shower, a towel and soap were waiting for me on top
my jail issued clothing. I scrubbed and scrubbed in pain, in anger,
in shock.... crying uncontrollably I willed myself to show strength,
damn it, I was strong, I’d been through hell and back over and
over again, I couldn’t let this break me, couldn't let this define
me. This was not me. I was NOT a criminal. I had been VIOLATED.
After trying to pull on the too-small jail clothing I was issued, an
inmate brought me a larger size. 2 pair of pants, 1 T-shirt with Denver
County Jail emblazoned on the front, a shirt, black sneakers, no socks,
one bath towel, one wash cloth, one bar of soap. I managed to screw-up
the uniform by putting the T-shirt on over what was suppose to be the
outer shirt and was ordered to reverse the order. After dressing I gathered
all this gear with me and sat in the holding cell to compose myself.
I prayed that this barbaric humiliation I’d suffered have a higher
purpose and serve a greater cause...that if I could stop this unfair,
unreasonable and offensive practice from happening to any other "innocent
until proven guilty" soul, then God/dess make me the tool to do
that work.
I was stoic when the guard returned... I wasn’t going to let anyone
see fear in me, hell, I didn’t fear anything in there now. I was
then issued a sheet, a blanket, a mattress and led to Cellblock A a
large room filled with metal 2 tiered bunks. I was issued bunk 37. I
was met by a perky blonde inmate who’s name I couldn’t get,
and a very kind African American woman with a smile as warm as a summer
day named Sarah. They helped me haul my mattress to my bunk as it seemed
100 eyes peered curiously at me as I walked chin up into the noisy,
buzzing cell. Women in the neighboring bunks introduced themselves to
me, asking me how long I was in for... I was suppose to be out hours
ago I said. They told me I would probably have to spend the night and
recited the same story to me about how the jail wouldn't release female
inmates after 10 PM since those two girls were murdered. At this point
I really didn’t care if I had to spend the night, but I was certain
my name would be called in a matter of minutes... they’d done what
they wanted, they thought they’d broken me, whoever it was who
was sitting on my bond could finally release it now.
Sarah helped me make my bunk, the women were all talkative and friendly,
few a little too friendly perhaps as their stares were uncomfortably
odd, but I felt at one with them all now. I had a top bunk, it was quite
a climb with my swollen ankle and entire body in mental, physical and
emotional pain, but I hauled myself up with as much of a tough swagger
as I could muster. Sarah noticed the stitching on the edge of my blanket
and said with what sounded like envy, “Oh.... you got one of the
good blankets... with this thread...” Her finger traced along what
remained of the grayish plastic thread that ringed the edge.... she
pointed out her necklace, an intricately woven crucifix and cord. “That’s
what this is made from, that little gal over on that bunk made this
for me” as she pointed out into a swarm of bunks and women of every
description... my eyes were too tired to make out anything in the chaos.
She told me that I would be amazed at the talent in that room... a lot
of them were incredibly creative and artistic and their talents blossomed
in this confinement. She assured me she’d watch out for me and
make sure nothing bad would befall me... I quietly said it already had.
Her and another woman said yeah, the strip search... that traumatizes
everyone the first time... you get used to it though.
I settled in for roll call at 9. The roll call guard told me my name
and bunk number would be announced when it was time for my release.
At about 9:10 Beth and I were called on the loud speaker to grab our
gear and go to the door of Cellblock A, we were being released. I wasn’t
surprised. Sarah hastily helped me undo my sheets and blanket as inmates
swarmed me wanting to trade for my jail issued stuff... a tall thin
inmate asked to trade pants with my 5’ 3 1/2” rounded self,
Sarah looked at her and said “What you crazy girl? Just what do
you think you’re gonna do with this girls pants? You ain’t
near her size!” I traded her my second pair anyway, didn’t
have much choice in the frenzy... others wanted my toothpaste, my grungy
cup, my shoes... until Sarah growled for them to "back the hell
off and let the poor girl go home". I wondered how this angel came
to be in this jail, and was grateful for her.
Beth and I were swiftly doing the reverse process of check in, returning
all the gear, signing it back in, getting back into our own filthy clothing.
They did an identity check and had us sign the bonds. I asked the smirking
officer if there was someone waiting to pick us up, he said he didn’t
know, wasn’t up to them to care, I asked if I could use a phone,
he ignored me as he unlocked the door and let us both out... my hair
still wet from the shower, dressed in my robe and flip flops in the
cold night air. It was 9:49. Beth handed me her cellphone before another
panic set in.... I called Wayne to pick me up. Beth got in a car with
her waiting friend as I stood by the barbed wire fence alone wondering
about those two dead girls. Minutes and several disinterested officers
walked past me before one kindly told me that I could wait inside if
I wanted to... yes I wanted to, didn’t know there was a lobby at
the main entrance and preferred that to freezing to death. Wayne finally
came and I rode home. Scooto was overjoyed.
On March 11, 2002 I was dehumanized and violated by the city of Denver
and State of Colorado for the crime of pleading “not guilty” to a charge of domestic violence. I was vindictively booked into the
county jail and given a body cavity strip search a half hour before
my release. I have reason to believe this is a cruel and vindictive
policy of the system and one that appeared to be very well known by
the repeat offenders in the Denver jail system. I believe I was also
violated by the current mindless policy regarding 911 calls.
I
asked myself what did I learn from this weekend. It’s not so much
a matter of learning as it is a matter of remembering.... A few of the
things I remembered is: holding anger and resentment truly is like taking
poison and waiting for the other guy to die... even a fleeting vindictive
thought can snowball. I learned never ever to call 911 unless someone
is actually in the process of murdering you and you can prove it. I
remembered that there are good hearted souls and people of evil actions
on both sides of the iron bars. I learned that there are barbaric, offensive
acts performed on the citizens of this nation everyday by the people
we expect to protect and defend us. And I learned that our legal system
sees you as guilty until proven innocent. You know what's really scary
is most of the time it’s people doing what they think is very righteous
that ends up being very evil.
I’ve learned I need to come to terms with my grief and anger in
more concrete and progressive ways. I’ve learned that speaking
my truth is more important than being liked and to be impeccable with
my word regardless of the outcome. I'm ashamed I let my grief and anger
overtake me, I regret that I wasn't more proactive in dealing with my
grief through healthier outlets then alcohol. I'm human, I'm in enormous
pain and learning to forgive myself this " fall from grace"....
I hope others will also.
I haven’t been able to sleep much since my release Monday night,
the first night back I was exhausted but kept abruptly waking up crying
and shaking uncontrollably. I have a sore throat and possibly a temperature,
could be strep. I've pain in my wrists. I’ve had to cancel my appointments
with prospective clients and cancel my appearance as a reader at the
Women’s Spirituality Festival at Auraria this week, an event I’d
been looking forward to. I’ve not been able to go into the office
nor explain to my boss the reason for my absence. I have regained the
intermittent stutter I struggled with after my father died. I haven't
been able to mentally focus on or complete anything but the most menial
tasks until I started writing this letter, but I feel, as in the words
of my Beloved, "bruised but not broken" and I hope to be ME
again soon.
Wayne was laid off his job on Tuesday night. Wednesday morning I got
the news that my mother is in a Niigata ICU with pneumonia, she’s
on a ventilator unable to breath on her own. My aunt wants to know what
I want to do.... I want to wake up from this nightmare.
Harusami
March 14, 2002
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