The courthouse holding cells before our court appearance
The paddy wagon let's us out in the basement of the courthouse, we assume. Our handcuffs are taken off, our bodies search once again, our wrist bands left on.Our feet are cuffed.
We get placed into a cell again, in the basement of the courthouse that holds about 6 cells, three on each side. We are first with other womyn inmates, and then put into an adjacent cell together by ourselves.
We are told someone is coming to collect our urine. We tell everyone they have the right to refuse. Some womyn are afraid. Others smile shyly. The guard swiftly comes back and says things will be harder on us if we refuse - and we make sure she confirms several times we do have the right to refuse.
A white guard acts like a female nazi, snarling at womyn, man-handling and demeaning people, as if she's afraid if she's not the meanest she can be, she might one day be end up on the other side of this fragile divide.
Our fellow inmate from the city jail is now weeping to the depths of her very soul. She sounds so young now, and so in pain. It is difficult not to wail with her. We ask for her to be placed in our cell but are patronizingly refused.
We couldn't handle her mental illness, we are told. There are 6 healthy, courageous womyn in this cell. Surely we can handle one broken fellow citizen. No, we are told again.
We sing in harmony and in protest, this time "Circle Round for Freedom...For those of us imprisioned, Circle For Release". The acoustics are great in this cellar, the regular noise deafening. The guards implore us to sing softly so as not to be heard outside the cells. We hid our incredulous laughs behind sweet smiles and continue singing - as loud as we are able.
Groups of womyn in handcuffs and dark blue uniforms are brought in, body searched, hand cuffs released, replaced by ankle cuffs, and they are put together into a cell. They are already incarcerated and are to see a judge again.
There is no food in here and we are told to drink the water from the fountain attached to the toilet. The toilets in here are stainless steel also, with no lids. We make human screens when someone has to pee; the other womyn politely avert their eyes. We ask for and receive more toilet paper.
Our traumatized sistah still wails, on and off. Other womyn, in the farthest cell, with the most amazing voices begin singing. We strain to hear the tune, the lyrics above the deafening noise of the cells. We hum and exchange smiles.
We are given numbers and/or letters that are then written on our wrist bands. The six of us all get the letter T - we figure it is for Traffic Court, a court that meets at 1:30 or 2pm. We are taken from that cell and put into yet another cell. By the time we go to court, we have been in half of the cells down here.
It is freezing cold in this jail too. The jail keepers smile knowingly and inform us we wouldn't want to be here smelling 'things' if it weren't cold. We ask to no avail for blankets or jackets if they insist on freezing us out.
We get placed into a cell again, in the basement of the courthouse that holds about 6 cells, three on each side. We are first with other womyn inmates, and then put into an adjacent cell together by ourselves.
We are told someone is coming to collect our urine. We tell everyone they have the right to refuse. Some womyn are afraid. Others smile shyly. The guard swiftly comes back and says things will be harder on us if we refuse - and we make sure she confirms several times we do have the right to refuse.
A white guard acts like a female nazi, snarling at womyn, man-handling and demeaning people, as if she's afraid if she's not the meanest she can be, she might one day be end up on the other side of this fragile divide.
Our fellow inmate from the city jail is now weeping to the depths of her very soul. She sounds so young now, and so in pain. It is difficult not to wail with her. We ask for her to be placed in our cell but are patronizingly refused.
We couldn't handle her mental illness, we are told. There are 6 healthy, courageous womyn in this cell. Surely we can handle one broken fellow citizen. No, we are told again.
We sing in harmony and in protest, this time "Circle Round for Freedom...For those of us imprisioned, Circle For Release". The acoustics are great in this cellar, the regular noise deafening. The guards implore us to sing softly so as not to be heard outside the cells. We hid our incredulous laughs behind sweet smiles and continue singing - as loud as we are able.
Groups of womyn in handcuffs and dark blue uniforms are brought in, body searched, hand cuffs released, replaced by ankle cuffs, and they are put together into a cell. They are already incarcerated and are to see a judge again.
There is no food in here and we are told to drink the water from the fountain attached to the toilet. The toilets in here are stainless steel also, with no lids. We make human screens when someone has to pee; the other womyn politely avert their eyes. We ask for and receive more toilet paper.
Our traumatized sistah still wails, on and off. Other womyn, in the farthest cell, with the most amazing voices begin singing. We strain to hear the tune, the lyrics above the deafening noise of the cells. We hum and exchange smiles.
We are given numbers and/or letters that are then written on our wrist bands. The six of us all get the letter T - we figure it is for Traffic Court, a court that meets at 1:30 or 2pm. We are taken from that cell and put into yet another cell. By the time we go to court, we have been in half of the cells down here.
It is freezing cold in this jail too. The jail keepers smile knowingly and inform us we wouldn't want to be here smelling 'things' if it weren't cold. We ask to no avail for blankets or jackets if they insist on freezing us out.
posted by Xan @ 12:54 PM
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