(Inspired by Foucault and jail bird)
I was inspired to write about a very unusual jail experience, after reading Foucault, and jail bird’s blog. When I was 16, living in Manhattan, I was invited to a meal that would change my views on torture and punishment forever. My boyfriend and I went to his grandmother’s house in Spanish Harlem for lunch, a traditional and common event in my life at that time. As we walked into her building and up the stairs to her third floor apartment, we were stopped by two young police officers. At first they made it seem as if they thought we were “tagging up” (graffiti) the building, possibly so that there was a substantial reason to arrest us, because we were honestly and obviously not committing any crime. But anyway, it only gets weirder. The police searched us and found two pens on my boyfriend. I remember him telling the officers that they were simply writing utensils, and that is when they took him somewhere in the building that I could not see. I later came to find out that they physically and verbally abused him in the staircase while they walked me downstairs to the “paddy wagon” a large police patrol van. I had been told that we were being arrested for criminal trespass, on the grounds that the address on our identification did not match the address of the building we were in. it was still unclear to me how this was a crime, I had visited my boyfriend’s grandmother numerous times, and I had never known that it was something to grant an arrest over. However this was not the worst part. At the precinct I was put in a holding cell for about 15 hours with three other women, one with diabetes. They wouldn’t let anyone use the bathroom, and when one woman asked to, the police officers replied in sheer delight and laughter, “pee on the white girl” (meaning me). I was more afraid of the police (our supposed protectors) than the people I was in the holding cell with, (the supposed criminals). The woman with diabetes ended up weeping and crying on my lap, after countless hours of begging for insulin or some type of medical assistance for her illness. They threw snicker bars at her to quiet her down. Around three am, I was put in handcuffs that were attached to three other women, and we were taken in another ride in the paddy wagon, down to Centre Street, a place known to us criminals as “central bookings”. We rode down the FDR drive, past my lovely house overlooking the east river, and I still could not understand what went wrong. Did this happen every where, and, what exactly was the crime committed?
Central Bookings was where I was most frightened and received the worst harassment, cops laughing and snickering, questioning each individual’s mental health and medication use, so they could weed them out of bookings and into Bellevue Mental Hospital. When it was my turn they asked me where I stole my puma sneakers from, and a million other bizarre questions that were completely inappropriate. I was then sent to a cell with 30 other women who had committed all types of different crimes, left to sit and wait until morning, in hopes that my case of would be called by a judge. I sat on a bench surrounded by tough, unfamiliar women, for another 15 hours. When my case had finally been called my boyfriend was let go because he had his grandmother vouch for us, however I was summoned to do community service cleaning the union square 14 street train station. From this experience I have come to learn about all the misconceptions of law enforcement and incarceration. The NYC police officers that I encountered that day were enthralled in acting out most cruel and unusual punishments. My biggest issue is, when the police are out arresting all of the 16 year olds for “criminal trespass” or “tagging up”, who is tackling the bigger issues such as violence, murder, theft, and so on. There are many crimes committed in this world, and in my opinion, the only crime I experienced that day, was committed by the police.
