Okay... This is a doozy... I hope you have a solid attention span if you intend on experiencing this in full.
This is a real life experience, I got kidnapped by the local police, beaten up, and psychologically tortured for 18.5 hours; then when I got home, pounded this out to make sure it was written while everything was fresh; and sent it out to local media, who ignored it; filed a complaint with the local obudsmen, who was supposed to do an external investigation; then got a letter a few months later from the chief of police himself who had taken over the investigation and done a personal internal investigation, and the officers stated to him I had taken a fighting position and attacked them; leading to the malarkey that ensued.
They also did not read me my rights after beating me up and while kidnapping me.
So here goes.
A series of letters addressed to the media.
The noise making starts here.
.Part I.
.Just A Normal Day.
The day of May 23, 2008 started as any other; this day brought me a goal of taking some movies to my friend, Meaghan's house so she may enjoy them while I am on a journey in the future; so to speak.
Upon arriving at the Commons, I became aware of a Police Van driving down the walk paths; forcing people off onto the grass. It stopped as the officers operating it made direct eye contact with me.
As I rounded the bend, towards the public washrooms; the van back around and turned to face me, hidden behind the bathroom building.
Turning the corner; it was obvious both officers were now staring intently at me with hostile intentions. The driver rolled down his window and ordered me in a combative tone of voice to:
"Stop, and come here; now!"
I responded:
"What? Why?"
Both officers then exited the vehicle and the hairs on my neck began to rise. They walked in very close and with a typical box in menuver so I could not look at both of them at the same time.
"You look like a suspect in a robbery."; said the driver.
"Well; I didn't do it cause I just woke up."; I stated.
"That dosn't mean anything; what is in the bag?"; said his side kick refering to my back pack.
"Movies that I am taking to my friends house."
"Let me see that", officer 2 reached out.
Giving them a questioning glance; attempting to nonverbally assert my rights as a law abiding, tax paying Canadian Born Citizen; and thus their boss; resulted in both officers stepping closer in an intimidating manner.
Slight taken aback I complied.
I opened the front pocket by accident at first; revealing three bottles of water. Two empty; one full of murky mixed down Starbucks coffee stuff (Not originally mine.) with water; I was trying to make coffee water...
Slightly embarrassed I opened the second, larger pocket.
Many movies sat present.
Officer two grabbed the bag from me and started going through it all.
"So what do you do man? Whats your job?"; Officer two demanded.
"I am an Artist, dude."; I replied casually.
"What do you mean?"; Officer two had a hard time understanding this.
"I am an Artist, jeeze, you want me to draw you a picture or something?" I stated in a terrible attempt to amuse myself.
Turning to Officer one I asked:
"Is this guy for real?"
"Yeah he is VERY REAL." he replied; as if I needed assistance with this tiny speck of matter within reality."
Looking back at Officer two I replied again.
"I am an Artist, I do lots of stuff."
"Well I ment are you a painter or what?" he retorted.
This was wearing thin on my own personal nerves.
"Dude, I am no one--"
Being cut off at that point as Officer one, the driver, started questioning me.
"Whats your problem?"
"Um? I just woke up, and now some cop is barking in my face... Not to mention the only medicinal drug avaliable that will undo my "problem" (Cranky is my problem.) is illegal; refering to marijuana; and that there was a Government suppressing the people rather then being represented by the people."
Typical hippy crap.
"I don't like the Government either man!"; Officer two volleenteered.
"Then why are you working for them?", pretty simple question.
Officer two continued going through my bag; making snarky remarks about my selection of video viewing variety, when I looked back at Officer One and inquired:
"Let me guess; good cop, bad cop?" suggesting Officer One; being slightly less testosterone driven was the "good" cop.
"We are all bad cops." he replied with a menecing grin.
Officer two had finished violating my VHS and zipped up the back pack.
"Thats private property you ass--"
Before the sentence had even FINISHED:
Things took a very rapid turn for the worse.
Some how; between reaching for the bag; and informing the officer of the social status surrounding my knapsack; Officer two grabbed me and slammed me into the ground; gashing open my shoulder. He then inserted what felt like a knee into my upper torso into my lungs and heart; after smashing my head on the pavement twice, face first, thankfully saved by my forehead; he smashed what at the moment of Now in the story looked and felt very much like a large knee into my throat.
This sensation I was not familiar with at all.
My blood and breath were instantly cut off; and my nervous system blew into a state of survival mode; however all my limbs were locked by both Officer one and Officer Two.
A third time my head hit the pavement.
"Don't fight us man! Your only making it worse for yourself!!!" Officer two was screaming in my face.
I was not fighting; my perception was dimming on and off like flickering floresenct light bulb and my lungs screamed for air while blood pooled in my head and my nervous system spazzed out trying to save my life.
Some how I managed to stop my limbs from moving; or maybe my inner workings just took over and realized that playing dead was the only route to survival at this point.
They continued hammering on my throat.
Everything continued to fuzz in and out as I attempted to explain that they were killing me.
For several very, very, very long moments after I ceased activity Officer two continued to squeeze on my very clingings of life; screaming in my face about how I was a punk and needed to learn a lesson about respecting authority and such and that if I just didn't fight he would stop attempting to murder me.
Suddenly my arms were freed by Officer two.
Only to be hand cuffed, in a purposefully painful twisting position.
Only after I was hand cuffed did the massive body of Officer two remove himself from my breathing/blood pumping/nervous system apparatus.
I was informed I was going to possibly be charged with a breach of the peace; for my "Out burst.'' by both Officers each time I questioned why I was being led to a paddy wagon.
They twisted my arms in opposite directions constantly.
I felt like I was going to shit my pants; and informed the officers of this;
"Go right ahead." Officer two replied, then they tossed me in the back of the van.
"Have you previously been arrested?"; Officer two asked.
"Yes; once a few years ago; when you boys booked me as the perpetrator and the victim in an armed robbery. Real good work there fellas; obviously he robbed himself!"
At no point was I read my rights.
The drive down was rather uneventful beyond me saying they were gonna go to hell for suppressing the innocent people of the world with their governments; and them telling me I was going to jail.
Upon arriving at the Gottengen Street Police HQ; a greeting party had formed. Several large Robot Officers waited; smiling; as if expecting a form of entertainment to arrive.
Great.
They wanna go to the circus.
And I'm the clown.
This is why clowns cry I think to myself.
The posse led me down a hallway; turned right and entered a booking room of some kind.
They stripped my of my belt; tore my trustworhty - and - only sneakers to pieces; cut my decorative pumpkin belt apart, and generally made a good show of me for what was a room full of cops; all coincodently staring right at me.
Odd the things one picks up in the run of a day.
"My throat is sore man; like all screwed up sore. Why'd you jack your knee into me?" I inquired of Officer two; who sat across the room preening himself on the glory of a good kill.
"That was my hand punk; and we have witnesses that your were fighting us."
This was strange; because in the slowed down; adrenaline fueled moments of fight or flight I remember looking around praying someone was seeing this and riding in on a stallion to save me (Stressful moments bring stressful thinking.) and the entire area was clear of people; save for one pedestrian far enough away they looked shorter then a match stick.
Still failing to read me my rights; they bossed and ordered me around through bully tactics to do as instructed; threatening physical retribution. They asked if I would "Behave", after my handcuffs were removed.
I agreed; not really in a position to barter.
After the cuffs were off I was free to inspect my wounds; which is when I pointed out the bloody gashes on my shoulder; Officer one glanced and snorted.
Then they put my shoes back on me; and Officer one led me down the hallway with was could have been two other Officers; however they all stayed behind me so I am unsure exacally; there were multiple bodies moving about though.
To cell Number Seven I was escorted.
"I want a phone call; a lawyer; and some charges or reasons for why I am going through this!" I demanded.
"You don't get ANY of those!" Officer one informed me.
"Why am I being put in here?"; I asked rather indigently.
"Because you are crazy." responded the Officer as if he was a trained psychologist.
However his only real analysis of my person had been in a combative, then physically combative environment. In my opinion my reaction was the same as anyone who was suddenly attacked; physically suppressed; then essentially kidnapped.
Rather distressed.
It was approximately 4 o'clock in the afternoon at this point.
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