Lockup by Missy Comley Beattie

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http://www.opednews.com/articles/opedne_missy_co_060308_lockup.htm

 

 

March 8, 2006

 

Lockup

by Missy Comley Beattie

 

http://www.opednews.com

 

 

 

Abu Ghraib it wasn't. But it was dismal.

 

Lockup isn't supposed to be fun, but we are innocent until proven

guilty. Right?

 

I was arrested with Cindy Sheehan, Medea Benjamin, and Rev. Patti

Ackerman on Monday afternoon as we attempted to deliver to the United

States Mission a petition with 72,000 signatures of women who say no

to war. Just a few hours before this, the Iraqi Women's Delegation had

been received warmly at the UN. We were not received warmly at our

publicly owned building, although our group had been told the petition

could be delivered to a receptionist. In fact, as we approached,

security guards locked the doors.

 

We moved from the building and were reading the petition when police

arrived to arrest us. Cindy, Medea, and Patti locked arms and legs to

avoid being hurt. I held tightly to a banner for peace. The police

tried to pull it from my grasp but failed. They lifted me, pulled my

arms behind my back, and carried me to the paddy wagon. I weigh 104

pounds. Might makes right, right??? I yelled, " George Bush killed my

nephew. " I said this over and over.

 

We four " dangerous-to-society " women were driven to a police station

where we were photographed and fingerprinted. The walls and floor of

our cell were decorated with feces, blood, and urine. The bathroom was

also filthy.

 

The police officers treated us with respect and allowed us to order a

pizza. Some said they support our work.

 

About four hours later, we were cuffed, chained together, and placed

in a van to be transported to a holding cell at the Criminal

Courthouse, 100 Center Street, once known as the Tombs Prison. We were

further processed and then taken to a holding cell. Cindy was in

tremendous pain from being dragged and bounced across the pavement by

policemen. She had to have icepacks and Tylenol.

 

The toilet in the cell didn't flush so we were led to another.

 

Let me tell you about the décor. Narrow benches line the walls with

another bench in the center of the room. All of these are bolted to

the floor and three twin-size pads are provided. A toilet is in the

corner of the room. On the wall is a mealtime schedule. There is also

a sign with: " Cover your mouth when you cough. " There was plenty of

coughing.

 

Breakfast is supposed to be served between four and five AM. At 1:30

AM, an officer yelled, " Wake up. " She told us to come out into the

hall where Frosted Flakes and milk were distributed. We ate this in

the cell. At some point, we heard the same, " Wake up. " This time we

were told to put the pads on the benches so that the floor could be

mopped. The mop was dirty and the disinfectant hardly masked the odor

of the room. By morning, 20 women were in the cell. The roaches moved

too fast to be counted. Four women were asleep on one " mattress. "

 

No, I didn't expect the Ritz but to see the conditions of this place,

to experience something that is demeaning to the women who await

arraignment, is to understand despair. But those of us protesting the

war already know despair. Cindy and I have lost a loved one. Medea and

Patti have been to Iraq. We have all listened to the Iraqi women tell

of the destruction of their culture, their country, and the human loss

in Iraq. The inmates lodged with us are defined by their own dejection.

 

Most of the officers were kind. A couple, though, seemed to be getting

off on the power thing.

 

The four of us are lucky. We knew we had lawyers working for our

release. Most of our fellow " guests " are the marginalized. Some were

young. Many looked much older than their ages. A few could barely lift

their heads off the floor and struggled to go into the hallways when

commanded. Rev. Patti offered words of encouragement and counseling to

those who said they are addicts.

 

One young woman was arrested for " borrowing " money from her employer

to pay her tuition. She has one more semester of college and has

worked to make sure her sisters could also get an education. Her

employer was sympathetic but wants her prosecuted.

 

Three Guatemalan women were brought in. Medea speaks Spanish and asked

why they were arrested. One, the mother of the other two, said that

they were selling food without a permit. Her two-year-old son was with

them as they attempted to make a living. He was taken to foster care,

and when his father went to claim him, the child couldn't be released.

The father didn't have proper identification.

 

Another woman was arrested for shoplifting. She told us she's been a

heroin addict since the age of 11. She said she learned to count as a

young child when her mother, also an addict, had her fill bags with

drugs to sell. This woman was articulate and funny, but her life was

shaped by a mother who she said didn't care. After saying this, she

corrected her words. " Maybe she cared, but she's a drug addict. "

 

I didn't want to be arrested. Neither did Patti, Cindy or Medea. But

the experience of sharing a cell with these activists may be a

requirement of my commitment to peace. The experience of sharing a

cell with the other women is also important. They are human beings who

have made bad choices. But, often, life only serves bad choices. Being

in their presence was a glimpse into their particular pain.

 

Our country under the Bush Doctrine is assuring that the poor and

middle class are increasingly without good choices. Programs to help

these people are being cut because a staggering amount of money is

financing an illegal war and occupation.

 

Misery is everywhere. But there is hope. There has to be. Today, we

must all work harder, though, to secure this hope. We must work for

peace and justice, not just for our country but for our globe. All of

us are members of a world community which mustn't be separated by

levels of education, tax brackets, borders, and oceans. We are one,

united by our humanity.

 

 

 

Missy Beattie lives in New York City. She's written for National

Public Radio and Nashville Life Magazine. An outspoken critic of the

Bush Administration and the war in Iraq, she's a member of Gold Star

Families for Peace. She completed a novel last year, but since the

death of her nephew, Marine Lance Cpl. Chase J. Comley, in Iraq on

August 6,'05, she has been writing political articles.

 

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