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Op-Ed: Busted At The Circle

RVA Staff | September 29, 2020

Topics: black lives matter, Marcus-David Peters Circle, protests, Richmond police department, Virginia State Police

An anonymous protester tells the story of how they got arrested at Marcus-David Peters Circle, and reveals the essentially random and arbitrary nature of police enforcement throughout Richmond’s summer of protest.

It never hurts to show up with a case of beer, so I stopped at Lombardy Kroger on my way to the Circle and picked up some Blue Moons and a box of popsicles — both in response to the festive mood dancing through the air. That morning, the mayor had announced the resignation of our ten-day-old police chief, and while many understood the dense sociopolitical tactics implied with the decision, most celebrated the occasion as well. A Friday night at the top of summer will always carry with it feelings of excitement and reward.

I pulled my bike up to the normal spot at Marcus-David Peters Circle and recognized a few familiar faces in the soft afterglow of dusk’s light. The sun was just setting, leaving only about 30 minutes until full darkness and the cover that comes with it. At that moment, the sky shimmered with raspberry-lemonade tones and watermelon-marshmallow clouds. Around the turn of the Circle, a free concert was underway, made possible with just a microphone, a generator, and a few amps. We doodled with spray-paint or attempted freestyle tricks on our fixed-gear bikes as we sipped beers and mused on the day.

We were all rocking on the obvious cookout vibe, but we were tentative as well; we weren’t completely relaxed. We’ve seen things at the Circle turn from lax to chaos before, in only a second and for no reason at all, and we know it can happen again. When you’re facing an enemy that has full control over the definitions of combat and legality, it’s OK to feel nervous.

For the moment though, it’s good vibes and sunshine. And while our conversations dance around the protests, the police, police brutality, human rights, the mistakes of the generations before us, and our determination to fix those mistakes, mostly we just talk about Richmond. It’s hard to explain Richmond to someone who hasn’t stayed here for any amount of time. Richmond is like an oasis that’s also a black hole. Richmond is the place you’re trying to get out of, and also the place you can’t wait to be back in. Richmond is the place you think you deserve. Richmond is where a lot of us feel most at home, but it’s a home that needs sweeping renovations. 

As we expounded on the failures and accomplishments of the capital city, more and more of our friends arrived, skidding to stops at the periphery of our claimed area and increasing our settlement size. It’s easy to dominate a space when everyone arrives with a bicycle, and in our group it’s pretty much a necessity to show up with some wheels. Besides a general interest in protesting the state, bicycles have been the strongest common factor throughout the ragtag group of friends that I’ve been meeting with near-daily since the brutal murder of George Floyd at the end of May. 

Some of these friends, like Zach (our stoic, de facto captain of the group who seems to know everyone in town) and Twist (our resident artist and Big Wheel extraordinaire), I’ve known for a while and originally met because we were biking in the same parts of town. But others, like Maria (badass girl with a Wide Bars/Big Heart combo) or Rory (no fixie yet, just a road bike, but well-loved for his reputation of generosity and hilarious braggadociousness), I’ve only spent real time with since the protests began. All in all, there’s about 12 of us that have formed a little posse of itinerant protesters. Every summer brings with it something new, but something about the revolution marching down the streets had this summer feeling particularly seismic. And something about all that “newness” in the air made me feel like a kid again. 

Soon, a few men in assault rifles and military vests approached us, seeming threatened by their own lack of acceptance and camaraderie, reflected against our group of laughing friends.  

“Is this your tent? This tent’s gotta go!” one man began, unwilling to exchange pleasantries. 

“It’s not our tent but we don’t think it should go,” a few people responded. “That tent is covering a free community library.”

“Well, when the cops get here this is going to make them upset, and they’re going to come in here and destroy it anyway,” the man said. “So I’m just saying y’all should take it down before I come back with a few other guys with rifles and take it down myself…. because we don’t want the cops to come!”

Photo by Eric Everington

“You can do whatever you want, man, but we’re not going to take down some tent that isn’t ours just because you think the cops might come,” said our friend Marco, who’s always good for a giant smile and a fat joint. “And also, that whole theory doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.” He punctuated this last part with a tip of his head and a swig of his beer.

The man grumbled to himself and walked away, returning ten minutes later with his aforementioned rifled goons, as well as a lady that doesn’t really seem to fit in with them. 

“This lady owns the library so we’re getting her to take it down,” the man said, directing his speech towards our group for no apparent reason other than to start a conflict. He was clearly oblivious to how antithetical his aggressive, commandeering attitude was to the entire idea of the community space that is Marcus-David Peters Circle… or maybe he was just an asshole. Regardless, he was a blatant intimidator, and unless we’re talking about Number 3 (RIP), there’s just no room for that inside the Circle. 

We ignored whatever the guy was trying to serve to us and kicked back, but soon he was back again with an even larger group, now forcefully encouraging everyone to exit the interior of the Circle, under the assurance that “the cops can’t touch us if we aren’t in the Circle.” It’s hard to say no to a group of men with large guns in their hands, so the group was largely succeeding in their attempts to push people out of the area. Our group, though still not completely understanding or agreeing with the logic of the move, followed suit, packing up our blankets, beers, and popsicles. 

Not five minutes after the entire populace of the Circle had been cleared out of the area surrounded by graffiti-covered barriers, officers in riot gear began to arrive, just as the man earlier had “predicted.” Predicted! *Hmpf*! Predicted, or called down? Because I reckon it’s a hell of a lot easier to predict the future when you’ve got a direct line to the chain of command. I also reckon that the only person who would come up and complain about the tent covering up a free library would be someone who knew that the cops were coming that night, whether they had a reason to or not. 

Photo by Darrell Booker

And, of course, there was no reason that any amount of police officers, let alone 50+ outfitted in full riot gear, should have appeared that night. No reason for a city to sic a militarized pack of baton-wielding goons on its own people. No reason why the citizens of Richmond could not have just been left to be: listening to music, drinking beers, talking with friends. These were the crimes we committed before being attacked that night. 

As police announced to the crowd that the surrounding area had been declared an “unlawful assembly,” tempers began to flare — on both sides. Rubber bullets and flash-bang grenades sliced through the air, as chants and screams rose from the civilians. Suddenly, the space felt like a war zone, a battle with what seemed like completely lopsided enemies. On one side stood line after line of grown men adorned in battle armor, helmets, and shields. Some held assault rifles or guns meant for firing rubber bullets and smoke canisters; all wore heavy, polished, steel-toed boots. On the other side stood men, women, children, and pets equipped with nothing more than their wallets, sunglasses, tank tops, and shorts. Some held bottles of water for extinguishing smoke, others had gloves on for tossing tear gas canisters away; all wore a sense of fear, anger, confusion, and determination on their face.

These Richmonders, who had done nothing more than to enjoy the public space of their city, would not be deterred so easily. A feeling spread through the crowd: we would not be punished unjustly tonight. If we were going to have to face the consequences of merely existing in the street, then we weren’t going down without a fight.   

The ranks of G.I. Joe pretenders slowly increased their perimeter, pushing citizens further and further from the reclaimed art space at the epicenter of the Circle. Soon, we stood in the middle of Park Avenue, a block from Monument Avenue, and still we were being told to “back up” and “get out of the street,” by both Richmond Police and Virginia State Police. It seemed the boars with badges would not be content until they had claimed the whole neighborhood as their own Draconian hang-space. 

When my friend Mo shined his flashlight toward a group of suspicious looking officers, he was swarmed upon by a particularly dorky looking VSP officer.

“Whoah! Hey! You got lights for this bicycle here?” the officer asked, taking strides closer and closer to us, hand on his hip. 

“Two, actually!” was Mo’s response, as we all flipped our bikes around to put some space between the officers and ourselves. “You’re not gunna get us on some shit like that!” He shouted over his shoulder as we pedaled up the street towards a safer space. “Ya dumbass cop!”

With some distance between the commotion and us, we regrouped. Mo, Maria, Zach, Ryan, Rory, and I squadded up at a park only a block away. 

“Shit’s wild.”

“What even started this?”

“Oh, they’re definitely mad about the chief resigning.”

“I saw someone get hit right in the face with a rubber bullet.”

“Fuck!”

“I saw a couple kids with paint guns shooting at the cops, I think that’s what started it all.”

“I mean, the cops started it all when they showed up…”

“AGREED!”

Photo by Nils Westergard

Looking behind him, Rory said, “This car coming up is an unmarked cop car; anyone want to see where it’s going?”

“Let’s do it,” I said. 

And we took off, the two of us darting after this beefy-looking tinted black SUV, keeping close but keeping our distance. 

After a few blocks Rory turned to me and said, “They aren’t going anywhere interesting. Let’s head back.” We reversed course back towards the way we came. 

Coming back up towards the intersection where we left the rest of our friends, I can’t say that anything felt particularly off, though it did seem a little quiet; not a simple quiet but a stifled one. 

As Rory and I made our way through the shadow left in the space between two light posts, we heard, “GRAB HIM!” and a hidden mass sprang from the darkness. I watched as Rory’s bike found the space between the charging homunculus and a row of cards and skirted through it successfully, just as the same cop changed direction to tackle me off my bike (FUCK!). The goon leaped into the air as gracefully as an anemic hippopotamus, and tackled me off my bike with the ease of a drunken uncle at Thanksgiving.

“All right, big guy, you got me! You can chill out,” I said to the panting officer, who was shoving my arms into positions not familiar to them, restraining my non-resisting body with the help of three or four buddies. “I appreciate all the attention, but it’s really not necessary.” 

“It’s for both of our safeties,” the stormtrooper said to me without looking at my face, instead holding his nose high with eyes darting around the perimeter like some cracked-out hound-dog. 

“Oh yeah, I bet,” I said, laughing a little. “Hey man, you having any fun?”

The officer just grunted.

“Aw, c’mon man, what’s your name?”

“Officer Harris.” Still no eye contact.

“Hey, officer Harris, you having any fun out here? It’s ok to have fun; I’m having some fun. Are you having fun?” 

Officer Harris shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rolled his tongue across his upper teeth, and said out of the side of his mouth, “Yeah, I’m having a little fun… but you guys are making it hard for us out here.”

“GROSSSSSSS!” I say laughing from the pit of my stomach, “Oh, Officer Harris, we’ve got real problems. I can’t believe you just said that.” And I continued to laugh as this confused cop looked down on me, still zip-tied at his feet. I was beyond affable at this point, due to the insane amount of adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream, and while the fear of this cop and his gang of buddies crossed my mind, I figured if I was in for a penny, I was in for a pound. Being arrested for protesting the police force already put me in a vulnerable position, and I figured the policeman’s image of me couldn’t be altered much in the short time we were interacting with each other. But I wanted to say one more thing before Officer Harris cast me aside as some wanton rioter.

Photo by Erin O’Brien.

“I hope you don’t think I’m just some white punk, some revolutionary with no cause. I’m fighting for what I believe in, protesting with love in my heart. And I sleep well every night, Officer Harris. Do you?”

“I try,” Officer Harris said with a giant sigh as he put me in a cage in the back of a van. 

“Now, watch your head.”

This piece was submitted anonymously by a protester who was arrested this summer. All names have been changed. Though the protester’s case has since been dismissed, and they are no longer being prosecuted by the City of Richmond, they chose to remain anonymous to avoid further prosecution.

Note: Op-Eds are contributions from guest writers and do not reflect RVA Magazine editorial policy.

Top Photo by Domico Phillips

Op-Ed: My Weekend In Jail

Caroline Woods | September 11, 2020

Topics: coronavirus, COVID-19, protests, Richmond City Jail, Richmond police department, unlawful assembly, Virginia State Police

For Caroline Woods, a protest-related arrest turned into a weekend of misery inside Richmond’s jail system — and created some long-term health issues. This is her story.

What they put us through was psychological — and physical — trauma for the sole purpose of extinguishing our spirit. 

This is how it started. I was crossing the median on Allen Ave, diagonally toward Park Ave, when I saw my friend Oliver* [names have been changed to protect identities] being pursued by about six officers with their guns raised and pointed at him. Oliver is a young Black man, who was shirtless and had his hands raised at the time. 

I moved quickly to the area to step between the officers and Oliver. I think I said, “Don’t touch him.” They laughed, said “Okay,” and grabbed me by my right arm. It all happened so fast — I didn’t realize I was being arrested. Officers threw me to the ground, halfway between the curb and the street. I asked them repeatedly, “What are you charging me with? Am I under arrest?” They did not answer my questions. They told me to stop resisting, and I did, then they zip tied my wrists so tightly I couldn’t feel my hands. It started to burn so badly that it felt like everything in my right hand was going to rupture. On the ground at this point. They stood me up, and I was able to work my mask off with my right shoulder (it was a gask mask with respirators, hard to hear through). I was able to scream out, “Call my husband,” repeating his number as much as I could. Three officers marched me across Monument Ave as I was screaming, and someone filming the incident asked how they were hurting me. I told them I didn’t know why I was under arrest, what they were charging me with, and that my hands were numb and painful. 

We crossed Monument Ave and I was taken to the corner of Allen and Grace. When I was finally given to the other officer, I was crying in pain. “I can’t feel my hands. Please, please help me.” The other officer said, “Oh my god, that’s way too tight.” It took him three minutes to find enough space between my wrists and the zip tie to cut it off. The officer re-zip tied me, then they patted me down, turned my pockets inside out. They put handcuffs on me in front of my body. They took my backpack off, searching its contents and asking what everything was for. I had medicine, a mask, panty hose, gauze, my phone, and a portable charger. 

Photos courtesy Caroline Woods

The cop put me in the front seat of his car. He pushed the seat all the way to the front, and I told him “I’m tall.” He said he didn’t care. Then I asked if I got to sit in the front because I’m white, and he scoffed but didn’t answer. He wasn’t wearing a mask, and I no longer had mine on. They drove me to the Whole Foods parking lot where there were about 20 cop cars (paddy wagons). Everyone waited for others to be brought over. The cop, not wearing a mask or social distancing, patted me down. I asked for the female officer on the other side of the car, and he denied my request. Then I said, “Don’t touch my butt.” He replied, “I don’t want to touch your butt,” and proceeded to touch my butt. I told him someone else had already patted me down — he knew, because he watched it — and he flipped my pockets inside out while the female officer watched. They searched my backpack again.  

None of them told me what I was being charged with. I kept asking. They finally did tell me I was under arrest. The cops kept trying to take our pictures with a Canon digital camera. I said “I don’t consent” and they laughed. They kept trying to take it, so I closed my eyes and bowed my head so my hair was in my face. They gave up, and tried to take photos of other people under arrest. 

I watched an undercover agent talking with other officers. He was a tall, lanky man with a mask on and tattoos, wearing all black. But he had a police badge on.

At this point, they put me in the paddy wagon and closed the door to the “cell” on the right side. I was by myself, and they left the vehicle’s back doors open. They put a guy named Charlie* in the wagon with me on the left side. After 30 minutes in the parking lot, they closed the doors to start driving but wouldn’t tell me where we were going. Charlie and I got to talk a little bit. I gave him my lawyer’s number, and had him memorize it. 

They brought us to the jail. It was a garage, like a bunker. They took us out, still handcuffed, to ask questions. I gave them my full name and reminded others that’s all they had to give. That pissed the officers off. They tried to take my photo again, and I was not consenting. I gave them only my name, date of birth, and zip code. And they were livid. 

They took all the men inside, then one officer asked to talk to me. I agreed — he could talk to me all he wanted — and I asked for a mask since we’d be speaking in an enclosed space (his car). He gave me one with his bare hands, so I asked for a sanitized mask. He said, “Thank you for agreeing to talk with me. I want to understand from an insider what is going on. All I’ve been getting [is] vitriol from the right wing.” He let me know before we got started that I had the right to remain silent, so I said I’d like to speak to my attorney. He sighed and said that I could go. 

In the facility, they sat me with everyone else. They ripped the mask off my face with their bare hands and started to take pictures of me. Not mug shots, just pictures. When I finally got processed, they put me through an x-ray machine that moves back and forth, similar to the airport. They took us into a secured lobby, and everyone else already had their mugshots and fingerprinting done. I still didn’t know what I was being charged with. They put me in a cell for about an hour with nothing (not even a mattress). On the way in, a woman behind the desk — who I later learned was Sgt. Cooper* — said “This is not a joke, this is real life.” She mentioned that someone was firing live rounds; we could hear either fireworks or police artillery going off outside. 

After taking my photos, they made me watch a video about prison rape, “The Prison Rape Elimination Act.” They took me away before it ended. Finally, after seeing the magistrate, I was told that I was being charged with “unlawful assembly” and that they had decided “it is such an egregious offense, that for public safety we are holding you without bond until 9am on Monday.”

A Black woman at the lobby desk asked me, “What do you think of the monuments?” I replied that it’s not my call as a white woman, I don’t get a say. She and the white male behind me said the monuments have been there for 100 years, and it’s a part of history. They asked what I was protesting for if monuments weren’t the issue. I said I was fighting against the systemic oppression of Black people, which led us to George Floyd. “He shouldn’t have had that fentanyl in his system,” the white officer said. “I don’t think he would have died had Chauvin not pressed his knee into Floyd’s neck for nine minutes,” I said. He said, “I guess we’ll never know.”

Caroline’s mugshot. Photo courtesy Caroline Woods.

Sgt. Cooper told me they found police reports I made, and they have “all of my information.” I was taken to a separate room with a Black male officer and made to sign forms for forwarding mail, using Apple tablets in jail, and other odd things. An officer asked if I had been hit by a rubber bullet, and I said, “Yes, one grazed my elbow.” He said, “When they first got them in, originally we were going to play paintball and decided to try out the rubber bullets. But each officer only had to be shot once, and none of them ever wanted to do it again.” He said he got hit in the solar plexus and it hurt for days. He was a big, burly man. 

They took me to medical and I spent about an hour there. The nurse was pretty young, and had blue hair. Corporal Robinson sat in with me, taking my civilian clothes, jewelry, hair tie, and socks, and watched me bend over and cough three times. I was given my orange jumpsuit. I thanked her for being with me instead of a male — she said that was protocol — and she made a surprised/disgusted face when I mentioned the man who searched me. She didn’t say any more. I was taken into another room with the nurse. 

Cpl. Robinson was seated in the medical exam room as we went through the process. They took my vitals and looked at my police brutality wounds. Got my medical history, had to sign release forms. They asked about my medication, surgeries and medical history, and dietary restrictions (I am dairy- and gluten-free). They said it was too late at night for medicine, but I’d get it tomorrow. I told them I have an autoimmune disease and that my medication is vital. A nurse offered to ask her friend to get the doses of medicine in my backpack, but I never heard about it again. 

They walk me to my cell to drop off blankets, sheets, underwear, bras, and socks. I was released quickly after being put in, and given my first phone call around 4:58am. I called Eva, my lawyer, first. Breakfast was frosted flakes with local dairy milk, pancakes, muffins, and some other carbs I can’t eat. I wasn’t fed again until 11am for lunch. No one told me who they were, or the process for getting in touch with anyone. All I knew was that I was getting out at 9am on Monday. 

I was given a kit without soap or toilet paper. The cell was 11 x 6.5 ft. I spent my time sleeping or singing while I was awake. I had no reading material, and the lights were on 24/7. There was no clock. It was a tall ceiling, 13 concrete blocks high. I occasionally stretched, but my body was stiff and I was exhausted. 

To entertain myself, I came up with a way to list the cell for AirBnB: 

“Quaint efficiency. Stainless steel appliances with all of the essentials. Modern concrete floors. Post-industrial modern feel. Tall ceilings. Well-lit. Excellent acoustics. Fresh paint. Low-crime area. Free security.” 

Eventually they brought lunch — two hot dogs, white bread, macaroni and cheese, and a corn muffin. I could only eat the hot dogs. They knew about my dietary restrictions. I didn’t interact with anyone. 

The pretrial interviewer came to my cell in civilian clothing. I could tell that he gains information about me to humanize me in court. I gave my social security number and phone info with my hands, so the police don’t overhear, and he told me I was the only one in that whole block of cells/hallway. He said he’s never seen anything like this. 

Maybe around 4pm, I was let out to see my lawyer. I finally saw the other people in jail clothes who were arrested with me. I saw a guy with an ice patch on his shoulder, another with a visible bandage on his head (he was shot by a rubber bullet). The boys started discussing their arrests, and I tried to tell them we can’t — anything we say can and will be used against us. I was called in to talk to my lawyers, and they give me a rundown and took pictures of my wrists. I was taken back after, and could hear everything happening in the lawyer room. It was supposed to be a private conversation. 

Photos courtesy Caroline Woods

I was taken back to my cell at that point. Didn’t see anyone. Tried to use the intercom to get toilet paper and pads. Every 200 times I pressed the button, it beeped. Nothing else happened. I was woken up by the girl next to me, whose cell door was pounding. She was just taken in and wasn’t told anything. Sgt. (I think he was a Sergeant) Martin*, comes to her to say, “Banging on this door isn’t going to get you attention. You can’t do that. That’ll get you into isolation.” The officer comes back with a nurse, Nurse McClary*, a white-haired woman. The girl in the cell says she’s going to kill herself, and the nurse nonchalantly says, “Okay, send her to psych.” They brought three other officers to escort her. 

Time passed, I’m not sure how much. I was taken out for phone calls. My first call with Eva was not supposed to be recorded, but it was. Fox News was playing on the TV. As I was talking on the phone in the lobby, my dinner was placed next to me — peas and sausage, so I could eat more. I was starving at this point (5pm). I was taken back to my cell with dinner and the trash from my first two meals is still there.

On the way to my cell, I asked again about my medication. I was told they will follow up. Another 5-6 hours go by, and Sgt.(?) Martin walks by. I told him I need my medication. He said, “That’s up to the nurses.” I asked to see one. No one comes. I was starting to feel really sick. I could feel my condition getting worse. I started getting systemic inflammation. I felt out of options because I couldn’t communicate that I need this medicine.

Around midnight, I’d received nothing — no treatment, no medication, nothing for my police-inflicted wounds. No shower, even though we’re guaranteed one per day. No toilet paper. No soap. I read through my rulebook, and tried to get attention without going to psych. I had one window that they patrolled every five hours, So I emptied my diva cup into my styrofoam cup and wrote backwards with my blood, “+ MEDS PLEASE.” After that, I fell back asleep. 

There was a shift change. Another cop finds the blood message, knocks lightly on my door, points at me, and brought back four or five people. Through the door flap, they asked me why I wrote it. I said, “I’ve been here for two nights, I haven’t received my guaranteed medication. I have an autoimmune disease and it will get worse if you don’t give me my meds.” Finally, Sgt. Cooper introduced herself and said she’d help me. 

I was moved to another cell without anyone around, all the way at the end of the hallway now. The nurse came and said, “Hey, I’m so sorry, they checked with Costco and they can’t give you meds because you haven’t filled your prescription since February.” I knew that was wrong — only one hadn’t been renewed since February — but I said, “It’s a pandemic and I stocked up.” My meds help with my cognition, thinking, and verbal communication, so my thoughts were getting hard to follow, and focusing was difficult. I asked, “Are you going to let me die in here?” The nurse said, “I don’t know what I can do.” They walked away. 

A white male officer came to my cell and asked if I wanted pain medication. I said I want my real meds. He says he can’t do that, but he can give me Tylenol/Ibuprofen/Advil. I said yes, and the nurse came with a cup full of pain pills. She said, “You aren’t going to die in here. You might be uncomfortable. There’s a 99 percent chance you’re getting out of here on Monday. If you don’t, you see our doctor, and he evaluates and gives you meds.” That was the first time I received any medication. Sgt. Cooper said I’d be put on a schedule to receive it each morning. I fell asleep. New cell already had used toilet paper and used soap. 

Sgt.(?) Martin came by with breakfast. Sausage patty, cornbread and more carb foods, eggs, and some steamed carrots. I told him, “I’m gluten and dairy intolerant and I’ve told his to the nurse.” He said, “Well, I’ve given you two meals already, so why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Making this my fault. I ate what I could. 

They took me from my cell early — around 11 — and I talked to another lawyer, Laura*. She knows Eva, and had me explain everything. She told me I’m brave, and that she’s pissed because she’s never seen this before. She couldn’t believe they wouldn’t let me out with no priors. She said I had a different magistrate than the men I was arrested with. As we were talking, a sheriff opened the door to ask Laura who she plans to speak with today. She rattled off the names. The sheriff said, “Oh, Spencer*? That guy is [does a crazy sign with his hand around the side of his head].” She said, “Thank you for letting me know. I will speak with him last so he has the most time.” We talked more and I got emotional; I think she did too. Very grateful to have her support and help. I didn’t have anything to write with, still, so I tried to remember her advice as best I can. 

Photos courtesy Caroline Woods

I went back to my cell. Lunch had been served — a deep-fried hamburger with a moldy bun. Sgt. Martin wasn’t the one who dropped it off. So I said, “Hey, I need a different meal.” And they said, “That’s up to the nurse in medical.” 

More time passed. I didn’t see anyone. The pain medicine wore off. I didn’t get my morning dose as promised. I tried knocking, then the intercom, and was told I was paging upstairs. I said, “I need a nurse.” They said, “We’ll try and I’ll let you know.” I don’t know what time it is, so at this point, I emptied my diva cup again and wrote on my window in my own period blood, “YOU PROMISED PAIN MEDS LIARS.” 

Sgt. Martin walked by and said, “Clean that up.” I said, “I will once I see a nurse.” He said, “You aren’t going anywhere until that is clean.” Then he sends in four women to bleach the door and make me clean it with my body washcloth. They asked, “Why are you doing this?” I tried to explain I was promised my medication. They said, “Sgt. Cooper can’t make that promise.” I said, “Who is accountable? No one is accountable here.” One woman said, “We’re all accountable, honey.” I said, “Then fucking act like it. I’m grateful that you’re so concerned with my cell’s sanitation, but I need you to be concerned with my health.” 

They left and locked me back in. I got my bar of soap, and wrote “NEED NURSE” on my cell again. About half an hour later, Nurse McClary walked to my door, scoffed, and said, “This isn’t how you get a nurse.” I said that I really need my real medication. Again, she says they can’t get it because I hadn’t refilled with Costco since February. “That’s bullshit, I renewed it last month,” I said. “Well, I was the one that called Costco, and that’s the information they gave me. You’ll have to take it up with them,” she said. “No one has told me the truth since I’ve been in here,” I said. “I don’t even want to get into that,” she said. “You’ll have to take it up with Costco. I would prefer that everyone in here got their meds because it keeps them healthier.” She gave me two Ibuprofen and left. I could tell she was lying, but at least I got some meds. 

Martin came by again and said, “If you write anything else on the window, I’m going to charge you for it. Stop acting like a child.” I responded, “Start treating me like a human.” He left, came back with another meal I can’t eat. I said, “I need to call my attorney.” He said I had already spoken to her today. I told him the woman I spoke with wasn’t my attorney, and he told me I already used my phone call yesterday. I said, “I’m guaranteed one per day, and I need to speak with my attorney.” “It sounds like you know my policies,” he said. I wish I had responded with “They aren’t your policies, they are laws.” About an hour later, he came back to inform me I had a visitor. It was Eva. 

I was brought into the same place I met Eva and Laura before. Two pod supervisors were there to monitor us. Both say, “I was told to be here.” They both shouldn’t be there. They were pissed because they were supposed to be going home at 7pm. They didn’t want to be here. Eva and I were hanging out. 

Walked back to my cell by a female cop. I asked if I could get a shower, because I was guaranteed one and hadn’t had any. She said, “You’re on your period, right?” I said yes, and she said they could make an exception. We got to the lobby area, and Cpl. Robinson* said, “I might be able to [get you a shower], but didn’t you do some crazy shit? I heard you put blood on walls, and I don’t want to deal with crazy shit.” I said, “I won’t do that. I had to do that because I hadn’t been getting my medicine. I won’t do that if you help me.” She said, “I’ll see what I can do.” I went back to my cell, stripped, and washed myself with a washcloth. I poured the water from my sink into a cup to wash my hair for appearing in court the next day.  

I finally got my pain medication from Sgt. Cooper around 8pm. I tried to fall asleep. Around 1 or 2am Cpl. Robinson let me take a shower. She said, “You aren’t doing that crazy shit, right?” And I tried to explain the necessity. She said, “All you had to do was ask for me.” Then she said, “Oh, you probably don’t know my name,” and introduced herself. I said, “I can’t bang on my door, the intercom doesn’t work, and the officers won’t listen to me. How could I ask for you?”

I took the fastest shower I could. She took me back to my cell and asked if I was hungry. She brought two full bags of juice, apples, and white bread with bologna. I eat the bologna and apples, and was so hungry I even ate a slice of white bread. It started to hurt immediately. I used the juice as an ice pack for my wrist. Once it was room temperature, I drank it. I had no idea what time it was, just that when I talked to Eva, I’d had 12 more hours until court. 

Photos courtesy Caroline Woods

A new day shift. An officer came to my cell and knocked on my door, but I didn’t see him. He asked, “Are you decent?” This was the first time someone had asked me this. He asked if I was okay and if I needed anything. He brought me my breakfast and says goodbye. For the first time, someone treated me like a human. He came to get me for my court appearance, and told me the time — 8:45am. 

I didn’t fully understand what’s going on. The judge asked me if I was going to hire an attorney. I said “Yes,” which was the wrong answer. But I had misunderstood, or misremembered, Eva’s and Laura’s advice, and hadn’t been allowed to write it down. I hadn’t had my pills to help with cognition, and I’d been sleeping in small shifts, with no circadian rhythm whatsoever. The judge gave me the loosest restrictions. 

I was brought back to my cell and told I’d be getting released, but I didn’t know when. Listening at the door, I saw a glimpse of someone, and knocked on my window. It was the same officer from before, and I asked for pain medicine. He asked if I was decent again before approaching the door, and went to get a nurse. The nurse came to give me my pain meds. A new Black female officer gave me back my civilian clothes, took all of my prison garb, and discharged me. 

I waited in the lobby area for 40 minutes, waiting to finish my paperwork. Fox News was still playing. The officer walked me to the end of the hall. I told him he was, by far, the kindest person I encountered there. He didn’t know what to say. He told me to stay blessed, and left me in the actual lobby, where I saw outside for the first time since Friday. I walked out the door. I didn’t know who was meeting me, or where I was. I still didn’t have my phone or any of my belongings. Someone told me that I could go to the end of the parking lot, and then I saw friends and Michael, my husband. 

Perhaps it’s retrospective paranoia, but it really felt as if they were excited to watch us break. I never wanted to give them that. Whether or not I did is questionable, but even though I resorted to some “crazy” tactics to get the attention I needed, I felt I still held my dignity. I was just pissed off and angry, not weeping and sad — at least not when they saw me. I cried singing some of the songs I sang alone in my cell. 

I learned that the system mandates that you act out and/or re-criminalize yourself to get help. Or it uses your medical history against you, and tries to re-incriminate you that way. One of the men I went to jail with had schizophrenia, and he was denied his medication as well. It seems like a recipe for holding him as long as they wanted. The whole thing was sickening and dehumanizing, and I wasn’t even convicted. 

Right now, I have hypertension. Before this, I don’t think my blood pressure had ever tested above 120/60. At the doctor recently, it was around 148/83. I have a sprained wrist, with nerve damage from the zip ties. I still can’t feel all of my thumb or index finger, and when the doctor took my pulse, it sent a wave of pain up my wrist and down to my elbow. I still can’t sleep through the night. At the doctor’s office, after being released from jail, I was triggered by a nurse walking down the hall with a set of keys. The jailers who patrolled had giant key rings, which you could hear jingling from far away. I broke down and sobbed in the exam room. Bird calls scare me outside, because VSP and RPD use them before they move in and out of the circle — I guess it’s a military thing. 

Police and media both misreported my charges, stating I was being charged with both unlawful assembly and obstruction of justice. I was only charged with the former. 

Any trust or faith I had in our justice system, policing, and elected leaders has completely eroded. I recognize that, despite what I went through, my privilege did help to protect me. If I am what our policing is built to protect — a young cis white woman — and I was treated this way, I cannot even imagine the way that marginalized people are treated by law enforcement. No one deserves to be treated the way that we were, and the truth is that many people have been treated much, much worse by RPD, VSP, and the Richmond Sheriffs. 

I’ve never had more compassion for the people who get locked in that system. Now I understand that it has less to do with whether or not you are guilty than with trying to keep you in the system. They profit off of you. That’s why they don’t want reform. 

Note: Op-Eds are contributions from guest writers and do not reflect editorial policy. Names* have been changed for privacy.

Top Photo by Royce Rozzelle

Opinion: What Is the RPD Trying to Hide?

Landon Shroder | July 14, 2020

Topics: Dr. Michael Jones, Levar Stoney, richmond, Richmond city council, Richmond police, Richmond police department, Richmond protests, RPD, RVA, Stephanie Lynch

“Instead of spending countless millions on a police force that treats their citizens like enemy combatants, the city should be funding social, economic, and mental health programs that actually prevent crime,” writes Landon Shroder.

Once again the Richmond Police Department (RPD) has attempted to mislead the people of Richmond. This time by reporting an incomplete picture on their monthly “use of force” statistics — conveniently omitting the bulk of police violence which took place against citizen protesters in June. Reported by the Richmond Times-Dispatch (RTD) over the weekend, the Times-Dispatch analysis not only found the omissions, but also that use of force by the RPD against Black people was five times higher than against white people.

The RTD noted, “Officers reported using force against Black people in five times as many cases as they did against white people, according to a review of the reports that include 2018, 2019 and the first half of 2020.”

This should come as no surprise to anyone in Richmond, and certainly not to those who have been advocating for greater police accountability, oversight, and reform. The racist legacies of Richmond and Virginia’s law enforcement history are well known and well documented. Yet the intentional misreporting of statistics highlighting their own misconduct is a deliberate attempt at deception, and cuts to the core of the national reckoning we are having over law-enforcement. As City Councilman Dr. Michael Jones told RVA Mag in an interview last week, “I’ve always believed the police cannot police the police.”

Jones is correct. This is the job of the Mayor and Richmond City Council. 

The RPD eventually updated their statistics three days later, but only after the RTD inquired about the omissions. Naturally the RPD attempted to counter this narrative, with their spokesman, Gene Lepley, saying, “We don’t wait until it’s all complete to post [the statistics]. What’s posted on the first of the month, it’s a snapshot of where we are.” He added, “We’re way behind… It’s been an extraordinary time.”

Indeed, it has been an extraordinary time for two reasons: Firstly, our citizens were brutalized by a police force which clearly made confrontations with protestors personal. And secondly, the city’s elected leadership — with the exception of Councilpersons Jones and Stephanie Lynch — abdicated all responsibility in demanding accountability from local and state law enforcement agencies, which acted without any decent restraint. 

Protesters in June. Photo by Landon Shroder

Councilwoman Kim Gray was even quoted last week in an NBC 12 interview spinning blatant falsehoods about the community project at Marcus-David Peters (MDP) Circle. Reaching a new low, she demanded the police have a plan for “restoring peace” and to keep people from apparently “defecating on the sidewalk” and “having sex on cars.” Anyone who has spent any amount of time at MDP knows this narrative is absolute rubbish.

The only thing not extraordinary about this situation is just how obviously mediocre the RPD and the city’s elected leadership has been. Especially when stacked against the responsibility of providing for the safety and well-being of the city’s citizenry, which includes space to demonstrate without fear of state-sponsored violence. According to the crowd-sourced 2020 Police Brutality Monitor (a GitHub repository), Richmond ranks eighth nationally in the most reported incidents of police violence since May 26th — hardly a marker of the progressive city Richmond likes to position itself as.  

As a result, Mayor Levar Stoney has just announced a 24-member task force to “reimagine public safety.” But this feels like another political stall tactic, much like the ten-member Monument Ave Commission, which met for a year before presenting a list of recommendations that the city failed to action. It is equally naive to believe that a 24-person task force will be able to reach a consensus on a progressive road map that will be able to restore community trust and legitimacy to the RPD. Furthermore, a commission that is allowing police officers and the Commonwealth’s Attorney to sit as task force members undermines the very foundation of what Stoney wants to reimagine.

What should be obvious is that this task force is a politician’s strategy to run down the clock in the direction of the mayoral election in November. A veritable death by committee, and a cynical attempt for Stoney to have it both ways. On one hand, he allowed his police force to commit egregious acts of violence with no accountability, while on the other hand positioning himself as the champion of police reform. This should fool no one. 

Photo by Landon Shroder

The RPD is a police force that is woefully out of touch with the citizens they are sworn to protect. Going through three chiefs in one month proves that the culture of law enforcement in Richmond is no longer compatible with the needs of this city. Look no further than the over-policing and use of force against Black communities at a rate of five times that of their white counterparts. When this is juxtaposed against the RPD’s assault on civil society, protected freedoms, and a default setting of violence, not de-escalation, we remain a city in crisis, not repair. This is unacceptable.

It is time for Stoney to demand accountability from the RPD. City Council should lead an independent and transparent investigation which can hold the RPD accountable for the police violence committed in June. Waiting on a 24-member task force working against a 45-to-90-day mandate accomplishes none of the things needed to repair trust in this city’s law enforcement. Simultaneously, the mayor needs to take the proposals of Council members Jones and Lynch seriously and explore ideas for defunding the RPD’s 100 million budget for 2021.

Instead of spending countless millions on a police force that treats their citizens like enemy combatants, the city should be funding social, economic, and mental health programs that actually prevent crime. Defunding a militarized police force who believes they need an abundance of crowd suppression weaponry — like tear gas, rubber bullets, 40mm sponge grenades, and armored personnel carriers — is not only good politics, but what “reimagining” public safety actually looks like.  

Top photo by Nils Westergard

Exclusive: Q & A with City Councilman Dr. Michael Jones on Police Violence

David Dominique | July 7, 2020

Topics: black lives matter, Confederate monuments, Dr. Michael Jones, Gerald Smith, Jody Blackwell, police violence, Richmond city council, Richmond police, Richmond police department, Stephanie Lynch

Dr. Michael Jones has submitted a bill to ban chokeholds, tear gas, and rubber bullets in Richmond. In this exclusive interview, he talks to RVA Mag about what needs to be done to reform the city’s police force.

Given the ongoing police violence over the past month, RVA Mag wanted to better understand who was calling the shots on the ground. We turned to Richmond City Councilman Dr. Michael Jones, who has been demanding an end to police violence. Jones and Councilwoman Stephanie Lynch have been seen at protests, giving them a ground-level perspective on recent events.

Since his election in 2016, the councilman has written policy and led council efforts to remove monuments and effect stronger gun control within Richmond. However, firm public positions regarding police accountability and defunding represent new priorities for Jones, especially in the wake of the killing of George Floyd, and our local unrest. During our conversation, we talked about his pending legislation to ban chokeholds, tear gas, and rubber bullets, and the need for an independent investigation into Richmond Police Department violence toward protesters, as well as the shooting of Marcus-David Peters, an unarmed Black man killed by RPD in 2018.

*This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

RVA Mag: Hello, Dr. Jones, thanks for making time to chat with us. We’re assuming you’re burning at full steam with everything happening on the street?

Jones: How many times are you really a part of history? This is some dope shit, it just is. Regardless of where you sit with the monuments — 130 years. That’s ridiculous, right? 

RVA Mag: During this historical moment, we’ve witnessed numerous incidents during which the RPD has used force against protesters. Many citizens have described Richmond as a city in crisis. Are we a city in crisis? 

Jones: I would say we are a city that’s always been in crisis. You find out what you’re made of when pressure is applied. That’s the essence of a crisis. Other cities are handling the same things we’re going through differently. Richmond has its own demons. 

RVA Mag: The reason “crisis” feels apt is both parties have no intersection of understanding. The crisis is that the demands of the protesters are being met by endless police violence. 

Jones: You are expecting a dog to do something other than bite or bark. Our policing in America is based on a warrior mentality. We have to have some forward thinking with regards to law enforcement. You can’t beat us and protect us simultaneously. I think people are wrestling with this understanding and finally seeing what the African American community has been saying for fucking decades. We didn’t create this public perception of how the police is viewed — they have to own it. You have just enough white Americans now saying “this is bull.” Because I’ll say this, if it was just brothers getting tear gassed, white America wouldn’t care. They just now started caring about Blacks being killed by the police. 

RVA Mag: Let’s drill into some specifics. Do you know why Chief Blackwell stepped down so quickly?

Jones: I don’t know the timeline. Do I think he was the best hire? All you had to do was listen to what came out of his mouth… “We’re going to take back the city.” Really? That’s not what we need. 

RVA Mag: The timeline for hiring Chief [Gerald] Smith was peculiar given the job ad for a new chief in the Times Dispatch — two days after they had already appointed someone. Was city council consulted on the search? 

Jones: We’re not consulted with most searches. Honestly, I don’t believe in trying to micromanage the administration. I think council is shirking its responsibility in exercising their oversight. 

RVA Mag: Do you have the type of relationship with the mayor in which he seeks your counsel? 

Jones: I am a friend of Levar Stoney…But I am a politician. My people didn’t put me in here to fight the mayor. I pride myself on building good relationships — it is what I do. 

RVA Mag: Do you feel a more robust month-long national search could have revealed a more suitable hire and more diverse applicant pool? 

Jones: With what I know about how chiefs are handled, they go to “chief-makers.” They will go and talk to other chiefs and get recommendations on who they think is ready to be a chief.

RVA Mag: We’ve posted numerous shocking videos this month of police violence — do you think it is fair to say the RPD has gone rogue? 

Jones: This is what police do. You are expecting something different from the police… America is seeing what African Americans have experienced forever. There is a warrior, militaristic mentality within law enforcement all throughout the country. 

Stephanie Lynch and I were leaving [one of the protests]. The crowd dispersed. We were a block and a half away from Grace — literally — going towards our cars, roughly right next to the Jefferson. Tear gas canisters launched our way. A block and a half. What the hell? The crowd is dispersed. Why a canister a block and a half away? That is the wrong policy. 

RVA Mag: Some cities throughout America have now taken a progressive approach to police reforms. Even last night in Norfolk, they held a sleep-in at city hall, which did not end in egregious police violence. How did we get it so wrong? 

Jones: Richmond is the former capital of the Confederacy and we have lived that out. [Richmond] will uphold the Virginia way, and power is in the business of staying in power. That law enforcement entity is there to ensure this. They didn’t get twisted until protesters went out on Monument Ave…Next thing we know folks got tear gassed at 7:30pm, a half-hour before curfew. 

RVA Mag: You’ve now submitted your bill to city council to get rid of chokeholds, flash bangs, tear gas, rubber bullets — what’s your level of confidence in getting this passed?

Jones: I’m worried, and it is problematic. This should be a 9-0 vote, but I am getting “what-about-isms” on council and elsewhere. I think it is anti-American and wrong… I know Steph and I are there. But I also know we have people who are pro-police on council. It should come out of committee with a recommendation to approve. I don’t trust that it will.

RVA Mag: Are you aware of any disciplinary proceedings against the RPD? The mayor put it out there and the police are spinning a narrative which has been contradicted by the videos we’ve all seen. Who runs the police department if there is no accountability or oversight? 

Jones: No — I wish. If they are telling me they’re not using rubber-bullets — that’s why I went out there. I called the mayor while I was out there and told him “they’re popping shit back here.” The mayor called [the RPD] and said they’re not… I think [RPD] are giving some bad information, and some people are spinning some things, which shouldn’t be spun. And if the mayor’s not getting accurate information then someone should be fired…Unfortunately it is their MO to do whatever they want and spin the narrative. 

RVA Mag: Are you confident that RPD is working within legal boundaries when they declare unlawful assembly? 

Jones: You’re expecting blood out of a turnip. You’re expecting an apple to be anything other than crunchy. I’ve heard an amendment [to anti-tear gas legislation] saying: “Let’s ban it except for a riot…” They’ll deem it a riot if they want to!

RVA Mag: Do you support the disengagement of law enforcement from Marcus-David Peters circle?

Jones: When I’m working through back channels, I’ve said, “If you guys stand down it will be different.” And so, there was a night that it was. Some calls were made… [But] if you come in riot gear, they’re going to walk up to you. Because it’s an act of intimidation.

RVA Mag: Do you have a sense of how much the city has spent fighting protesters? 

Jones: That’s one of my asks. When we get it, I’m going to make it public. Tell the people how much it is. I want to know about asset forfeiture. I want to know what y’all are doing with that money. Where’s it going when you get the money from these dope boys?

RVA Mag: What’s the general atmosphere at City Council? We’ve seen a month of strife, and outside of you and Councilwoman Lynch, the bench has been pretty quiet. 

Jones: [Councilpersons] are saying they want it to end. “Stop tearing up our city.” You’ve got that side saying that. It’s still Virginia. We’re still moderate and conservative.

RVA Mag: Do you have the sense that the majority of City Council feels that it’s the protesters who need to stand down more than the cops?

Jones: I would say we have a lot of pro-police persons on city council. They’re terrified by the word ‘defund.’

RVA Mag: You tweeted about it a month ago, but what’s your stance on defunding?

Jones: I’m putting in the paper… I’ve seen firsthand how they go in and beef up their budget. The mayor did a good job of stopping this practice because a budget would be introduced, the department heads wouldn’t like the amount that was budgeted, so they would come back to Council and get five votes for this [extra] thing. You have the chief of police coming around saying, “Look, we’ve got this model, predictive policing, it’s going to make our streets safer, we can do these things…” And I didn’t know any better, so I thought, “OK, this is how it’s done.”  But it’s like, “You guys are inflating things. Do you actually need it?”

RVA Mag: Do you have a sense of what the chain of command is when things are happening in real-time at protests? Is the mayor involved in real time? The police chief?

Jones: I know [they] have [their] frontline guys. I know there are some sergeants on-hand behind them, and I know they’re on the phone with someone in some other place. That place could be five blocks away, it could be at the top of a tower. I don’t know. But I know this: if I were the chief of police, I’m going to try and make some calls. It’s going to be all hands on deck. We’re going to treat tear gas like it’s deadly force. 

RVA Mag: The RPD press release on the morning of June 27 stated there were no chemical agents used on demonstrators on June 26, except for one demonstrator who was pepper sprayed. However, several people were suffering from chemical exposure. Do you support an independent investigation into instances when it seems like the police have not been transparent?

Jones: With you putting me on the record for it, I think we’re going to get to that. We have been talking about the need for an independent investigation into what’s going on. There have been so many conflicting stories… you tear-gassed innocent civilians! We need to have an in-depth conversation. We need to investigate. I need someone coming from outside. I’ve always believed the police cannot police the police.

RVA Mag: I know it is not your domain as a Councilman, but do you support the re-opening of the Marcus-David Peters case?

Jones: Here’s what I think — the police do a shitty job of ministering and serving the families of the deceased. You can go back to 2002. I talked to the family.

RVA Mag: The family of the deceased victim of former Chief Blackwell’s shooting?

Jones: Yes. How they were treated is abhorrent.

RVA Mag: Can you speak to that in detail?

Jones: Nope. This is out of respect to the family. This is real talk. They don’t want any press from this.

RVA Mag: We’ve seen the family’s memo. They did release a public memo stating that they’ve been lied to.

Jones: What’s in that memo does not get to the heart-wrenching detail. So, if [Peters’ sister] Princess Blanding and the family of Marcus-David Peters is going through anything like what this other family went through, even though it’s already been investigated, it should be done.

RVA Mag: Do you have any plan to encourage the Commonwealth’s Attorney to re-open the case?

Jones: I would be willing to have a conversation with her and say, “What is it going to take?” This family has a hole in their heart that may never be filled. And I’ll say this: I don’t think I handled it as well as I could have as a Black male on City Council.

RVA Mag: What do you wish you had done better?

Jones: I wish I would have been more vocal. I wish I had persisted more. I wish I had conversations with the family sooner… I learned a lot. I sent out a tweet [about the killing of Marcus-David Peters]: “Naked. Unarmed. Waiting…” Can I tell you that Chief [Durham] called me? It wasn’t a pleasant conversation.

RVA Mag: Thank you for taking the time to chat with us. Good luck with everything. 

*Landon Shroder contributed to this interview. Top Photo: Dr. Michael Jones, via Twitter

Opinion: Why is the RPD at War with Richmond?

RVA Staff | June 19, 2020

Topics: Confederate monuments, police barricades, police violence, protests, Richmond police department, Robert E. Lee Monument

At a time when Confederate monuments around the city are coming down, VCU Anthropology professor Amy Rector and Landon Shroder ask why the Richmond Police Department are behaving like an occupying army.

Monuments glorifying colonizers and treasonous men who fought for slavery are coming down all over Richmond — the former Capital of the Confederacy. The Governor promised he would take down Robert E. Lee, while the Mayor promised he would take down the rest. The actual removal process has also received a little help from those on the street.

Yet over the past few days the Richmond Police Department (RPD) HQ on Grace St. has erected new monuments — ones that are uniquely befitting an organization which believes they are at war. The new interim Chief, William “Jody” Blackwell, confirmed this at his presser yesterday when he said the RPD is going to “take our city back… and we’re going to get the city back.”

The huge concrete barriers filled with gravel and dirt earthworks provides an impenetrable wall which cuts Grace Street in half, effectively shutting down a major thoroughfare in the city. Looked at another way: it is a militarized position, organized to provide space for the RPD to defend their area of responsibility since they clearly believe they are under siege. The barriers are not just physically imposing however, they are also intended to send a message to the same community they are sworn to protect. 

This photo was taken by Landon Shroder

Humans have been putting up monuments for 8,000 years for this very reason, to psychologically oppress their foes and to remind the lowest status individuals of their place in society. 

With the fortification of the RPD, the police aren’t just waging warfare with protestors who arrive unarmed seeking to voice a desperate need for change in our system, they are also waging psychological warfare against an entire city. They are signaling that they are bigger, stronger, and can impose their will upon a city that is demanding reform, accountability, and oversight of a police culture that has seemingly gone rogue.

Far from making them look strong, the fortifications at the RPD have instead made them look weak and ineffectual — incapable of exercising authority from a place other than violence.

It is the same idea that raised the statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee six stories high in 1890, when Monument Avenue was only a tobacco field. The Lee Monument Association wanted their Lost Cause fiction to be bigger and stronger, using the same tactics of psychological warfare the RPD is using today in Richmond. Nothing has really changed in the past 130 years.

Three weeks ago, after the murder of George Floyd, the racist vein that runs so deeply in all facets of American society was laid murderously bare. So much so it could no longer be ignored, and inch by inch Americans have brought to the surface a reckoning that has been simmering for 400 years. Nowhere is this more relevant than the conversation surrounding the culture of policing, which is outdated at best and villainous at worst. 

This photo was taken by Nils Westergard

Recovering our safety from a “law and order” mindset that disproportionately kills our Black community members, while also reclaiming public space from narratives of oppression, is part of a drive towards truth and, perhaps one day, reconciliation — something that is centuries overdue in America.   

Unfortunately, our city’s institutions have been silent to this reality. The resignation of Chief Will Smith — who proved to be entirely unequipped to lead a city seeking meaningful reforms, account for his officers, or engage positively with peaceful protestors — has done nothing to confront the underlying reality that the lives of our Black community members are disproportionately at risk from interactions with the police.

When those fighting for justice and a more equitable future are chanting “Whose streets? Our streets” and are met with only platitudes from the Mayor and concrete barriers from the RPD, then there can be no “community engagement,” as Mayor Levar Stoney called for at his presser on Tuesday.

This photo was taken by Brian Palmer

This is now evident from the monuments the RPD has erected in their own image. Juxtapose this against the backdrop of a truly transformational moment of trust-building, healing, and reconciliation happening only a few blocks away at the monument to Robert E. Lee. 

For three weeks this Confederate statue and monument to white supremacy has become a living piece of art, a place of pilgrimage, and a reclaimed space for all those in Richmond who were excluded from public life. Black citizens who have lived in Virginia their entire lives are now visiting the statue for the first time, standing on its steps, and taking photos with their fists in the air to commemorate this moment in our shared history.

And for the first time in this statue’s history, it truly means something to everyone. There is a deeper meaning in this than there ever was for a six-story tall racist statue dominating the city’s skyline. 

Yet across town, the RPD has put up its own monument to militarization, just like this city’s forebears, who were looking to signal, intimidate, and suppress a portion of their population. When the interim chief uses the phrase “take this city back” how else are we supposed to interpret this? Especially when egregious police violence has been the default setting of the RPD these last few weeks.

But there is another way: the RPD could take note of what is happening at Robert E. Lee and work towards meaningful de-escalation, starting with removing their fortifications and not treating the city like they are an invading army and its citizens the enemy. 

The path is clear. It is time for the RPD, like other police forces nationally, to accept that reforms are coming one way or another. Taking down monuments and barriers will not arrest the killers of Breonna Taylor or ease the fears of Black mothers when their children leave the house. But it might lead us in a new direction: towards the reality that our city really does belong to all people. There is no place in Richmond for police barricades or shrines to white supremacy — especially since the distance between those two is one of the shortest distances in American history. 

This piece was co-authored by Amy Rector, Associate Professor of Anthropology at VCU and Landon Shroder, a communications and foreign policy professional specializing in the Middle East.

“Held Hostage” By Richmond Police

RVA Staff | June 17, 2020

Topics: Levar Stoney, police violence, Richmond police department, Richmond protests, RVA26, Stephanie Lynch, tear gas

On Sunday night, Richmond police used a detained protester as a bargaining chip to encourage the protest to disperse. The incident was part of a multi-night wave of police violence that led to the chief’s resignation.

When protesters marched to the Richmond Police Headquarters on Grace Street Sunday night, a situation unfolded that left one activist arrested in police custody without medical attention for hours. The activist’s freedom was used as a bargaining chip by RPD, who demanded protesters leave the scene before she could be released or treated for the burns on her skin caused by police mace. 

RVA Magazine has gathered first-hand accounts from protesters on the scene to recall the night’s events.

—–

When protesters arrived at the Grace Street precinct on the evening of June 14, they were met with a wall of RPD officers surrounding the building. Officers created and protected an invisible line between demonstrators and the police parking garage. 

The group of protesters moved to a different side of the building, congregating in a parking lot and on the sidewalk directly across from 200 W Grace Street, which faces the building’s front entrance. 

Around 10:30 p.m., officers deployed mace on the crowd. 

“I did get pepper sprayed,” an anonymous protester said. “An activist was forcefully taken out of our crowd by RPD, and she was used as a bargaining tool for RPD. The pepper spray was [used] to keep us back; from getting her out of their grip and helping her.” 

Officers attempted to negotiate with the crowd after the activist was taken into custody. Showing protestors a picture he took of her on his cellphone, an officer told the crowd that if they left, she would be released. Officers also informed protesters that she had been moved to the Richmond City jail.

“As protesters, none of us condoned negotiation,” activist and RVA26 member Julea Seliavski said. RVA26 is a local group organizing after the protest arrest events in Richmond on May 31, 2020. 

“The officers wanted us to essentially ‘let them take her to city jail by clearing a path in the parking lot.’ This was a tactic for them to split us up, because their car didn’t need to be in the parking lot to get her there.” 

Seliavski and fellow activists were concerned that if they complied with police demands, the protester would not be released, regardless of what they’d been promised by police. “We all knew the second she’s [at the city jail], she’s getting strip searched, she’s getting fingerprinted, she’s going to experience more trauma,” Selivaski said. “She’s not going to have food or water, she’s going to have trouble getting her lawyer.” 

According to Seliavski, she demanded that officers release the activist in custody.  “We were trying to fight for her to hopefully not go to the city jail,” she said. “If that happened, we were standing our ground against what did happen to her.” 

After entering the precinct and returning to the crowd, the Sergeant informed protesters that the activist had already been taken to the city jail. Seliavski informed the Sergeant they would be staying there, peacefully protesting, because their demands had not been met. 

“We’re going to show that we do not tolerate this kind of violent behavior from police, and we’re going to stand our ground as peaceful protesters — showing that we do have the right to be there. We do have the right to assemble, even though they called it an unlawful assembly,” Seliavski said. “We have the right to freedom of speech.”

Photo by Nils Westergard.

After negotiations over the detained protester’s release broke down, an altercation occurred between police and protesters, which may have been touched off by one protester throwing a cone. The police responded by tear-gassing the crowd, which stood its ground and remained in position until around 5:30am on Monday morning.

When the activist was finally released on Monday morning, she had spent the entire night in police custody without treatment. 

“They made her sit with tear gas and mace on her skin all throughout the night,” said fellow activist Rashaa Langston, who had direct contact with the activist after she was arrested. “We had to pour solution on her body right there in the parking lot, because she was still in pain.”

According to a RPD press release, police are charging the activist in custody with two felonies: “felony assault on a law enforcement officer and conspiracy to incite a riot.” No video evidence or first-hand account of the events released so far shows either of these alleged actions occurring. 

“They are trying to scare her with 15 years over her head if she doesn’t stop doing what she’s doing — organizing,” Langston said. “If she doesn’t comply with them.” 

In the early hours of Monday morning, tear gas was used on the remaining crowd, and again during Monday night’s protests.

“A ton of force from RPD and for what? We were peaceful,” said the protester arrested Sunday night. “The brutality was beyond uncalled for.”

Richmond City Councilwoman Stephanie Lynch was at the protest on Sunday night. According to an interview with WWBT NBC 12, Lynch was responding in part to concerns from constituents about the arrest of the anonymous protester, and arrived only minutes before the crowd was tear-gassed by police.

“It was not warranted at all,” Lynch told WWBT. “And I actually looked across the picket line and I said ‘What are you all doing? Why are you doing this? Why?’”

By Tuesday afternoon, Mayor Levar Stoney announced that he had asked for, and received, Richmond Police Chief William Smith’s resignation. Though Stoney’s announcement of Smith’s resignation did not mention the incidents between police and protesters that had taken place over the previous few nights, it was widely seen as a factor, as was an earlier incident in which Richmond police tear-gassed and pepper-sprayed a peaceful crowd gathered at the Robert E. Lee Monument.

“Richmond is ready for a new approach to public safety,” Stoney said during the announcement.

Written by Alexandra Zernik, Caley Sturgill, and Marilyn Drew Necci. Top Photo by Domico Phillips. Photos in this article do not depict the incident described.

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