THE. UNIVE.RSITYCOLLE.GE. OF THE. FRASE.RVALLE.YSTUt>E.NTNE.\i/S?A?E.R
■ I jeremy
treleaven
The police have all the power. The servants of peace in this lightly coated suburb possess supreme right and authority over every citizen that they look upon: I learned this first hand. They have the power to remove anyone's right to freedom merely due to suspicion raised by the features of one's face or the clothes they have chosen to wear. This I have learned first hand. My story is simple and nothing other than the truth. Myself and a companion had decided to visit a mutual friend for the evening. This friend lived in an apartment across town and due to the calmness of the evening we choose to walk. The night passed peacefully as my musician friends played. Soon enoµgh it was time to retrace our journey and go home. We had actually walked to within a block of my house when a patrol car pulled up ten feet behind us, following at the same speed, then flashed its lights and caught up. I was curious as to their interest in us, for the most interesting occurrence we had encountered on our walk home was when we stopped at 7 - 11 and I paid a phenomenally high price for a deck of cigarettes. Anyway, the police woman approached us, asking for ID and my walking companion, Jim gave his driver's license. I had none, but was willing to co-operate in order to quicken our delay and escape the now chilled night air. As we were recounting to her our activities of the previous four hours, a second squad car pulled up with flashing lights and a second police woman with an exceptionally stiff posture got out. She, Constable Pattios approached us sternly. "Where are you coming from?" Was her first interruption. "We were just telling ... " "I asked you where you're coming from!" Was her second interruption. Her tone of voice
was angry and compiled with the rudeness of her interruptions, set me on a defensive edge. "What is your interest in us?" I replied quickly, so as to get the complete sentence out. Constable Pattios was circling me, looking me up and down as the first and calmer officer answered my inquiry. "There has been an assault reported at the Shell gas station." The news of this sparked my willingness to co-operate, as it should, but in NO WAY excuses Constable Pattios's inappropriate behavior. Dealing with crime is her job. Previous to this I had held nothing against the police. I respected their job and in younger years, like many children, I fancied becoming one. Oh, how things have changed for my story does not end here. Constable Pattios motioned her (from what I gathered, rookie; perhaps pointing to demand an explanation for her politeness?) comrade to a private speaking distance away from us. After speaking to each other and into a walky talky for a few moments they returned. "I am here-by placing you under arrest, ... " Constable Pattios reciting while grabbing my wrists "for assault." I was absolutely stunned, beyond stunned. Without making any at-
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tempt to validate my alibi or to treat me as though I may be telling the truth, thus innocent, I was handcuffed and taken to jail without any further questioning as to the relevance of my truth. "What? What just happened?" was the last thing Jim heard me say as the back door of the squad car closed and I still didn't know. All I know, is that for the next five hours anything I said was treated as though I was probably lying, anything I said was completely irrelevant to their opinion making process. I was treated, not as potentially innocent, but as potentially guilty, without human dignity or respect. This Constable Pattios believed me to fit a description of a criminal they were after. And because of this, I was picked off the street and taken to jail simply because of my facial features and the clothes I had chosen to wear that night. I was taken in handcuffs to jail. Already searched on the street for illegal drugs or weapons, I was again searched and stripped during the booking process. I was officially charged with assault. With the only evidence being purely circumstantial and entire case resting on the victim's description of the assailant. The police allowed me to speak to a legal aid lawyer over
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the phone, as per my request. Although reassuring, the lawyer was impractical. He consoled me as though I was guilty and told me to keep my mouth shut when asked for my statement. I was angered by the whole tedious process, especially as more and more time eroded between my immediate predicament and the morning when I was supposed to be at work. I could only shake my head at the eyes as hard as marbles, with which my capture stared contemptuously. For the next four hours I waited, without any further questioning; as my fate was being decided by a person who appeared jaded in the first place. Then waited some more, nervous as to the reality of my situation. What if I was positively identified? I mean it was dark, (as 12:30 am usually is) descriptions could be vague at best. What if the victim positively identified me from the photo as the assailant? What then? All this ran through my head. What if I really did assault this person and just have a gap in my memory? Sounds like a bad movie plot. One thing's for sure, I'm definitely missing work tomorrow. Though the situation, at best, could only be described as extremely annoying it wasn't the fact that I was a suspect continued on page 4 ...
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