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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

Dominion, Decriminalization, and Demilitarizing the Police: An Exclusive Q&A With Jennifer McClellan

David Dominique | August 6, 2020

Topics: Civilian Review Board, defense contracts, Dominion Energy, harm reduction, Jennifer McClellan, Marcus Alert, Marcus-David Peters Circle, marijuana decriminalization, Marijuana laws in Virginia, marijuana legalization, Mountain Valley Pipeline, renewable energy, Virginia State Police

RVA Mag spoke with Virginia State Senator and candidate for governor Jennifer McClellan about her plan for Virginia, from renewable energy and Citizen Review Boards to marijuana legalization and the Green New Deal.

Jennifer McClellan, a Virginia State Senator representing the Richmond-based 9th District, has declared her candidacy in the 2021 race for governor.  If successful, she would be the first Black woman elected governor in United States history, and the second woman elected to statewide office in Virginia. An attorney by trade, McClellan was also the first member of the Virginia House of Delegates to participate in a legislative session while pregnant. After Donald McEachin’s election to the House of the Representatives, McClellan won her current seat in the state senate in a special election.

A former vice chair of the Virginia DNC, McClellan has moved to the left of other prominent Virginia Democrats who have facilitated widely criticized energy contracts and pipelines in collaboration with energy giants such as Dominion. Below, McClellan presents a platform that includes fighting Dominion, demilitarizing the Virginia State police, and decriminalizing all drugs.

RVA Mag: Senator McClellan, thank you for taking the time to sit with us. Let’s start with the main thing on everyone’s mind right now: policing. As a candidate for Governor, how do you view police reform on a state-wide level? 

Jennifer McClellan: Starting with special session, it’s shifting a couple of different ways. There’s accountability, transparency, and consequences around police misconduct — whether it’s use of force, corruption, the whole nine yards. We need independent investigations from either a Civilian Review Board (CRB) or, at the state level, just a separate entity outside the police. They need to have subpoena power, to be able to recommend, if they find a wrongdoing, that there are consequences and that that is transparent. And that you don’t have a system where a police officer can be found to have done something wrong in one place, and just get transferred and go on as if nothing happened. 

Police have been used as the first responder for too many issues that are not crime issues. It’s not just mental health, but mental health is a big part of it. I’m carrying a bill to allow localities to do Marcus Alerts and have the Department of Criminal Justice Services and the Department of Behavioral Health to provide guidelines around that. Ghazala Hashmi and I are working together on the CRB, but we’ll also have broad police reform [legislation] – no chokeholds, no no-knock warrants. 

It’s not just the action of police and the community; it’s also what happens once you’re in the criminal justice system. Making sure that we provide more of what I’ll call “prosecutor mercy” — getting rid of mandatory minimum sentences so that if there is a crime, the penalty for it is proportionate to the injury, and allowing prosecutors to do deferred disposition for certain things. 

RVA Mag: Would you be interested in the CRB being a full-time, paid job for citizens? How do you conceive of the makeup of that board, and how do we give people enough training, confidence, and support to do that job, and do it seriously? 

JMC: From the state’s level, we are [structuring] broad guidelines that localities could use to tailor-fit their areas. Having said that, I do think having, if not full-time, at least members who are fully trained so that they fully understand the nature of what law enforcement does on a day-to-day basis, so that they understand the training that law enforcement has.

RVA Mag: If we only put in place broad legislative guidance that municipalities need to have a CRB, aren’t we leaving undue leeway for racially-biased municipalities to not take it seriously? Aren’t we allowing them to make it toothless?

JMC: I’m not ready to share the full details of [Senator Hashmi’s] bill, but we are talking with Princess Blanding and a lot of the advocates here. We are including their feedback in the draft we have.

We want to make sure that if a locality has a CRB, it has teeth and it’s independent: that it is not beholden to the police that they’re investigating. Boards of Supervisors or City Councils could have bias, and we’re trying to account for all of that. We’re focusing on enabling legislation, because it’s probably going to take more time to figure out all the best practices that we can put in place going forward. 

RVA Mag: Let’s talk about defense contracts and the Navy. Previous governors have seemed somewhat uncritically beholden to these contracts. It’s been said implicitly, and perhaps explicitly, that the economy of Virginia hinges on these contracts. How do you feel about the critical centrality of defense contracts to Virginia’s economy?

JMC: If you’re dependent on mechanisms of war, that’s just wrong. We shouldn’t be dependent on war for people to eat. Our number one business is Agribusiness. Our number two industry is Forestry. We should be working to strengthen those, and working to strengthen small businesses to not be as dependent on defense contracting, because then how well our economy does is dependent on if we’re in a state of war, or a state of [war] readiness, or not. That’s contradictory to the view of a beloved community.

Sen. McClellan with the late John Lewis. (Photo via Jennifer McClellan/Facebook)

RVA Mag: For the past two months, we have witnessed firsthand the intersection of the police and military in the streets of Richmond. That extends to the Virginia State Police, which you as governor would have control of. State police have arrived in the streets of Richmond with military vehicles and artillery. What is going on, and how are we going to address that?

JMC: I do not think police should be militarized. They do not need militarized weapons, and I think we should begin to demilitarize them. A lot of equipment is paid for through grant programs. Rather than using funding to buy military grade equipment, we should be using funding to address the root causes of crime, like mental health issues, and, to a certain extent, poverty: lack of access to economic opportunity. I don’t think you need military grade equipment.

RVA Mag: We already have the military grade equipment. Would you commit to selling off the stock of military equipment?

JMC: I would be open to that.

RVA Mag: And what about the formerly-known-as Robert E. Lee Monument, now known as Marcus-David Peters Circle? Are you for VSP fully standing down and staying out of that circle?

JMC: Unless someone is actively threatening someone else, I don’t know why they’d be there.

RVA Mag: Kim Gray has taken issue with the Black, community-based security that has been there ostensibly to protect black protesters from white supremacists. Do you agree with Kim Gray that we should disallow the carrying of AR-15s by these security personnel who have the legal right to carry them?

JMC: Right now open carry is legal for anybody, and you can’t pick and choose who can carry and who cannot. There are a lot of people who want to have a conversation about whether anybody can open carry in a public park space, and I think that’s a conversation worth having. But I don’t think you can pick and choose: these people can, and these people can’t.

RVA Mag: Let’s discuss marijuana policy. Why, under the new state law, are police still being given enforcement discretion over a petty issue such as possessing a small amount of marijuana, an issue that disproportionately criminalizes Black and brown people? Why decriminalization and not full legalization?

JMC: It needs to be full legalization for both possession and distribution. Unfortunately, the reason it’s just decriminalization now is that we couldn’t get the votes to go farther than that this year, but we’re pushing to go farther as soon as possible. I would have preferred full legalization of possession now. We’re doing a study on how to do distribution in a way so that the new market is not just the folks who have medical cannabis licenses now who are mostly white, upper middle class, and have a leg up. I have the resolution to have JLARC study how we do that distribution piece equitably, while also dealing with expungements and unraveling the War on Drugs, and giving people who have been arrested for what is going to be legal a path forward. We need to do both as quickly as possible. You’ll see, come January, we’re going to have legislation to do both.

RVA Mag: What about harder drugs? For example: heroin, cocaine, crack, crystal meth. We are incarcerating people for a health issue, and it does the opposite of providing rehabilitative care. Do you think it’s possible that sending someone to jail for substance abuse is ever a rehabilitative gesture by the government?

JMC: I don’t think we should send somebody to jail just for using drugs, let me be clear on that. Whether it’s drugs or anything that is a crime, how we deal with it should be proportionate to the injury caused. There are a lot of crimes where the punishment is too harsh, and we should change that.

For example, there are no gradations of assault on a police officer. If you throw an onion ring at a police officer and it hits him, you can get the same sentence as if you beat him over the head with a sledgehammer. That doesn’t make sense. 

I’m open to looking into all crimes to say, “What’s the social benefit of making this a crime? Does it still exist? If it does, is the punishment proportionate?” That’s the direction we should be moving in. They shouldn’t just punish you because you did something wrong and then warehouse you, throw away the key, and assume you’re never getting out. It should be: what is going to be a deterrent and a proportionate punishment, and how do we focus on rehabilitation and reentry?

Sen. McClellan with her daughter, Samantha, at the House of Delegates. (Photo via Jennifer McClellan/Facebook)

RVA Mag: One of the ways people approach drug abuse as a health issue is talking about harm reduction during drug use, since people can’t necessarily just stop using drugs because the state says so. Do you think it would be a good idea to help facilitate safer drug use practices as we treat people for their drug addiction, like providing access to safe supplies of needles?

JMC: Yes, I do. We should be looking at the underlying reasons of what made you turn to drugs in the first place. If it’s a mental health issue that’s gone untreated, let’s get you into the treatment you need so that you won’t turn back to drugs. That has to be part of the process.

RVA Mag: How do you feel about energy exploration off the coast of Virginia? How do you see Virginia’s energy independence moving forward, and how do you feel about Dominion colonizing that area?

JMC: Broadly, electric generation needs to shift away from fossil fuels to renewables. We are going to need more solar and more wind, regardless of who provides it. It would be better to have more wind provided by a third party, separate companies from Dominion. I don’t see how we get to 100 percent carbon-free without wind. We can’t get there with solar only. Wind is much better for the climate than natural gas or coal.

We did not have the votes in the General Assembly to get the full Green New Deal. The Clean Economy Act, which we did pass, does make a huge shift away from carbon into renewable, but it’s a first step. We need to push to try to get there faster.

RVA Mag: Do you take money from Dominion?

JMC: I do not.

RVA Mag: How do you feel about the Mountain Valley Pipeline?

JMC: I oppose it.

RVA Mag: Can you commit for the people of Virginia to make going against Dominion, and speaking out against the Mountain Valley Pipeline and offshore colonization, a central platform in your campaign for Governor?

JMC: Yes. I am focused on addressing climate change and shifting our energy policy so that it is less harmful to the environment, reducing energy demand through energy efficiency projects in a way that does not cause rate shock and allows the lights to stay on. I am fighting for the policy, and whoever stands in the way, I will fight against them.

RVA Mag: So…Big T [Terry McAuliffe] is running again. Is he the right person?

JMC: I can’t explain what he does either. I’m running because Virginia is ready for a new generation of leadership who will build a recovery in a way that addresses 400 years of inequity, and I’m ready to do that. I’m not running against anybody else. I’m just running for the future of Virginia that I want to see, that comes to terms with our past. I’m focused on talking to the community and talking to voters directly, and not on what other candidates are doing.

Top Photo via Jennifer McClellan/Facebook

Rape Cases in Virginia Often Go Unsolved

VCU CNS | December 20, 2019

Topics: crimes against persons, International Association of Chiefs of Police, rape, reporting crimes, sexual assault, sexual assault investigation training, Unbelievable, Virginia Sexual and Domestic Violence Action Alliance, Virginia State Police

This may be the #MeToo era, but here in Virginia, the vast majority of rape cases are still unsolved, and the perpetrators remain unpunished.

In the #MeToo era, survivors of sexual assault are feeling more empowered to come forward with their stories. Despite the social movement, though, sexual assaults and rapes have the lowest clearance rates of all “crimes against persons” in Virginia.

In 2018, for example, fewer than 20 percent of all rape cases in the commonwealth were cleared by arrest, according to an analysis of Virginia State Police data. In contrast, kidnapping had a clearance rate of almost 75 percent.

The numbers don’t surprise Kate McCord, an associate director of the Virginia Sexual and Domestic Violence Action Alliance. She said there are multiple potential reasons for low clearance rates in sexual assaults.

Sometimes, McCord said, police keep cases open for future DNA evidence. Other reasons, she said, include inadequate police training and lack of resources.

One factor, McCord said, is the misconception that sexual assault has a higher rate of false reporting than other crimes.

“The pervasiveness that people who report sexual assaults are not to be believed is still an issue, so that could be contributing to the problem. There are a lot of different factors that could all be kind of interplaying to make this dynamic happen,” McCord said.

Virginia had similar numbers of rape and kidnapping cases last year, according to Virginia Crime Online, a database posted by the Virginia State Police. There were 1,879 reported rapes and 1,546 reported kidnappings.

However, the two crimes had very different clearance rates — the percentage of offenses in which police arrest a suspect:

  • 73 percent of the kidnapping cases were cleared by arrest. In 2 percent of the cases, the victim refused to cooperate, and in another 2 percent, prosecutors decided not to pursue the case.
  • Just 19 percent of rape cases were cleared by arrest. In 10 percent of the cases, the victim refused to cooperate, and in another 13 percent, prosecutors decided not to pursue the case.

McCord said some rape survivors might refuse to cooperate with authorities because of their relationship to the perpetrator.

McCord also said that “victim refused to cooperate” is a subjective reason to drop an investigation and that in some instances, police may be using this as an excuse.

“When you think about the concept of failure to cooperate, that could be a really subjective judgment call,” McCord said.

McCord used the Netflix series Unbelievable as an example of how survivors of sexual assault can be deemed uncooperative. Unbelievable is a drama based on a true story of a sexual assault survivor who was deemed uncooperative and who eventually sued the city of Lynnwood, Washington, after connecting investigations found evidence of her assault.

The Virginia State Police compile data on sex offenses other than rapes. In 2018, there were:

  • 2,831 cases of “forcible fondling”; 21 percent of them were cleared by arrest.
  • 531 cases of “sexual assault with an object”; 25 percent of them were cleared.
  • 623 cases of “forcible sodomy”; 28 percent of them were cleared.
  • 130 cases of statutory rape; 39 percent of them were cleared.

Overall, of the 5,994 sex-related offenses were reported to police in Virginia last year, 1,309 cases — or 22 percent — were cleared by arrest.

The clearance rate for all “crimes against persons” was 45 percent. For instance, of the 8,776 aggravated assaults, 57 percent were cleared. So were 59 percent of the 393 cases of murder and nonnegligent manslaughter, and 47 percent of the 65,261 simple assaults.

Not only are the clearance rates for sex-related offenses low, but many of those crimes go unreported, according to advocates for rape survivors.

The Virginia Sexual Assault and Domestic Violence Action Alliance reported that its hotline last year received 10,017 calls regarding sexual assault.

The combination of the relationship between the survivor and the attacker and low clearance rates for sexual assault can be the perfect storm to keep a survivor from reporting an attack to police.

“When you’re thinking about a survivor who just wants (accountability) but may not want for the person who harmed them to go to jail or prison, then they’re not going to choose to report to a system … where they don’t feel like they’re going to be believed anyway,” McCord said.

Despite low clearance rates, McCord sees a “hopeful trend” of police departments learning about trauma-informed investigation and response.

The International Association Chiefs of Police states that trauma-informed sexual assault investigation training “provides law enforcement and multi-disciplinary community partners with information on the neurobiology of trauma and investigative strategies to respond to sexual assault crimes in a victim centered, trauma informed manner.”

Local police departments had a range of clearance rates for rape cases in 2018.

Among localities with at least 10 rapes, Washington County and the city of Waynesboro had the highest clearance rates at 40 percent. Fairfax County’s clearance rate was similar to the statewide average at 18 percent. Of the county’s 131 reported rapes, 23 were cleared by arrest.

In contrast, Fauquier and Hanover counties cleared only 6 percent of their reported rapes. The Richmond Police Department cleared only two of its 40 rape reports in 2018 — a clearance rate of 5 percent. Suffolk City had a slightly lower rate than Richmond, 4.55 percent, clearing one of 22 rape cases.

Because of the underreporting and low clearance rates for rape, law professor Donald Dripps argued in a recent issue of the William & Mary Law Review that rape should be a federal crime.

Dripps wrote that states and localities aren’t doing enough to solve rape cases. He said making rape a federal offense would focus federal resources on the issue.

Dripps, who teaches at the School of Law at the University of San Diego, wrote that the low clearance rates in rape cases are especially concerning in light of the emergence of DNA testing, searchable law-enforcement databases and other technology.

“As solving rape cases became less difficult, the clearance rate should have gone up,” Dripps stated.

Written by Anna Madigan, Capital News Service. Top Image via Unbelievable/Netflix

Law enforcement nation-wide show support at Siegel Center vigil for fallen Virginia trooper

Amy David | April 4, 2016

Topics: Greyhound bus station, rva shooting, Siegel Center, Virginia State Police

RICHMOND — Usually home to sold out VCU basketball games, there was a markedly different tone at the Stuart C.
[Read more…] about Law enforcement nation-wide show support at Siegel Center vigil for fallen Virginia trooper

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