The Jail Story
August 15th, 2002 05:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shiredancerAhhhh... one more day at work and then my vacation starts. Two weeks off, and no plans more serious than a visit to Disneyland and some museums at L.A.'s Exposition Park (and maybe something good at the IMAX Theater... oh, I do love IMAX movies). It's going to feel like getting out of jail. And speaking of jail, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chrystimd has requested my jail story, so in honor of her almost-day-in-court, it hereby follows. (Chrysti, it's really just a bit of nothing, so I hope you didn't have your hopes built up too high!)
Way back in 1981 I was arrested and jailed for five days. Only it wasn't a *real* jail with bars and all that; it was a huge gymnasium at the California Men's Colony in San Luis Obispo. There were about 400 pallets on the floor laid out end to end, to accommodate the 400 women also arrested with me, all of us charged with the serious crime of... trespassing. Because this was the big Abalone Alliance Anti-Nuclear Protest/Diablo Canyon Blockade of 1981, and my first (and last) venture into political activism. It was also How I Spent My Summer Vacation that year. To participate in the production, I had to join an affinity group and take non-violence training (read: New Games in a park, learning to trust each other whilst being silly). There were handbooks, and meetings, and phone trees, and legal representatives; we were told what to expect very clearly: a non-violent protest and blockade action, followed by a day in jail, followed by release on our own recognizance. Okay, I could do that. I could prove to myself that I, too, could be out on the line for something I believed in (or, in this case, didn't believe in -- nuclear power, that is). Here are some thoughts on what happened.
The Encampment:
A field full of hippies, activists, and other assorted rabble, camped out for three days of excruciatingly slow consensus-process planning. Nightly police helicopters buzzing overhead with searchlights, so Apocalypse Now as to be freaky. Me, waiting on pins and needles for the call to move out to finally come.
The Hike:
Two days of hot, heavy back-country hiking to the fields behind the nuclear power plant. My backpack from Europe, put to a different purpose. New friends along the way, and news cameras following us.
The Arrest:
First, the whole lot of everybody leaping into the trees, to pee before being arrested. It only made sense. Stepping over the little, tiny wooden fence that was, what, the only protection for this hugely expensive and potentially dangerous nuclear power plant they could come up with?? The waiting riot squads, who simply didn't care if one smiled nicely up at them before yielding oneself to be roughly hauled away. Handcuffs... oh, that was a surpise, I didn't expect handcuffs; didn't they know how non-violent I was? Little plastic strippy things, like you'd find on a pack of sodas or something. A mug shot (I smiled. How dumb.) and then, they grabbed my arm, took a huge black felt marker, and wrote my arrest number on my inside left forearm. For some reason, that was shattering. It felt invasive and depersonalizing; it was too.. concentration camp. I cried then; I think I was the only one who did.
The Holding Compound:
Bussed back to the power plant itself, we were fenced in next to the domed... things. Reactors? I don't know. The psychological implications of keeping us there didn't escape me. We were kept there most of the night. All my tension had resolved into a massive, exploding headache, and guards do not hand out Tylenol. I rocked myself for hours to try to ease it.
The Jail:
The gymnasium already mentioned, surrounded for miles by incarcerated men. A clever holding place for the women, I guess, although the guards were more than bemused when most of those hippie-and-activist gals shed their clothes in the hot sun. Nobody stopped them. I learned that the stench created by a hard two-day hike with no washing facilities, followed by a day of tension and arrest, can cause burly guards to rear back and let you pass to the showers in nothing flat. I learned that a bandanna makes a very nice top in 100 degree heat. I learned that 400 women linking arms and singing protest songs can be inspiring at first, but it gets old. Fast. I learned that there are professional activists who wear their jail terms like Scouts wear merit badges. I learned that jail food sucks. I learned that freedom is very sweet, and very precious. Nobody offered to release us on our own recognizance.
The Release:
They let us stew for five days before anybody got out. That wasn't in the plan; we were told one day -- all major protests worked that way, they said. Hell, I was on my one-week vacation here and time was running out. What if they just kept us until the trial? There were supposed to be legal delegates who would actually go on trial, and the rest of us were supposed to abide by the outcome (maximum one year in jail and $1,000 fine, but you can bet I was not counting on that). My brother-in-law the cop had me called out so he could bail me out; I was still maintaining jail solidarity and politely declined. But still the release-on-our-own-recognizance (ROR) was withheld. We were arraigned and appeared in court. Still no ROR. Finally, finally, the word went around; the sytem buckled as the protest continued and more arrests were being made. I took that ROR double quick. Processed out, and released, and in the arms of my affinity group once again. I have a picture of us outside the gate, me in my bandanna top. We went for pizza and beer... I'd been dreaming of pizza. Nothing ever tasted better, ever. I called my parents to let them know I was okay (dutiful daughter), and was informed that my family was ashamed of me. Ah well.
The Outcome:
After a few years of legal wrangling, the case was thrown out of court. I have no arrest record.
The Joke:
My future husband, not yet known to me, was counter-demonstrating with his other nuclear engineering buddies. They were not arrested (but then, they didn't cross any lines). Nyaaaah to you, honey.</lj-cut
chrystimd has requested my jail story, so in honor of her almost-day-in-court, it hereby follows. (Chrysti, it's really just a bit of nothing, so I hope you didn't have your hopes built up too high!)Way back in 1981 I was arrested and jailed for five days. Only it wasn't a *real* jail with bars and all that; it was a huge gymnasium at the California Men's Colony in San Luis Obispo. There were about 400 pallets on the floor laid out end to end, to accommodate the 400 women also arrested with me, all of us charged with the serious crime of... trespassing. Because this was the big Abalone Alliance Anti-Nuclear Protest/Diablo Canyon Blockade of 1981, and my first (and last) venture into political activism. It was also How I Spent My Summer Vacation that year. To participate in the production, I had to join an affinity group and take non-violence training (read: New Games in a park, learning to trust each other whilst being silly). There were handbooks, and meetings, and phone trees, and legal representatives; we were told what to expect very clearly: a non-violent protest and blockade action, followed by a day in jail, followed by release on our own recognizance. Okay, I could do that. I could prove to myself that I, too, could be out on the line for something I believed in (or, in this case, didn't believe in -- nuclear power, that is). Here are some thoughts on what happened.
The Encampment:
A field full of hippies, activists, and other assorted rabble, camped out for three days of excruciatingly slow consensus-process planning. Nightly police helicopters buzzing overhead with searchlights, so Apocalypse Now as to be freaky. Me, waiting on pins and needles for the call to move out to finally come.
The Hike:
Two days of hot, heavy back-country hiking to the fields behind the nuclear power plant. My backpack from Europe, put to a different purpose. New friends along the way, and news cameras following us.
The Arrest:
First, the whole lot of everybody leaping into the trees, to pee before being arrested. It only made sense. Stepping over the little, tiny wooden fence that was, what, the only protection for this hugely expensive and potentially dangerous nuclear power plant they could come up with?? The waiting riot squads, who simply didn't care if one smiled nicely up at them before yielding oneself to be roughly hauled away. Handcuffs... oh, that was a surpise, I didn't expect handcuffs; didn't they know how non-violent I was? Little plastic strippy things, like you'd find on a pack of sodas or something. A mug shot (I smiled. How dumb.) and then, they grabbed my arm, took a huge black felt marker, and wrote my arrest number on my inside left forearm. For some reason, that was shattering. It felt invasive and depersonalizing; it was too.. concentration camp. I cried then; I think I was the only one who did.
The Holding Compound:
Bussed back to the power plant itself, we were fenced in next to the domed... things. Reactors? I don't know. The psychological implications of keeping us there didn't escape me. We were kept there most of the night. All my tension had resolved into a massive, exploding headache, and guards do not hand out Tylenol. I rocked myself for hours to try to ease it.
The Jail:
The gymnasium already mentioned, surrounded for miles by incarcerated men. A clever holding place for the women, I guess, although the guards were more than bemused when most of those hippie-and-activist gals shed their clothes in the hot sun. Nobody stopped them. I learned that the stench created by a hard two-day hike with no washing facilities, followed by a day of tension and arrest, can cause burly guards to rear back and let you pass to the showers in nothing flat. I learned that a bandanna makes a very nice top in 100 degree heat. I learned that 400 women linking arms and singing protest songs can be inspiring at first, but it gets old. Fast. I learned that there are professional activists who wear their jail terms like Scouts wear merit badges. I learned that jail food sucks. I learned that freedom is very sweet, and very precious. Nobody offered to release us on our own recognizance.
The Release:
They let us stew for five days before anybody got out. That wasn't in the plan; we were told one day -- all major protests worked that way, they said. Hell, I was on my one-week vacation here and time was running out. What if they just kept us until the trial? There were supposed to be legal delegates who would actually go on trial, and the rest of us were supposed to abide by the outcome (maximum one year in jail and $1,000 fine, but you can bet I was not counting on that). My brother-in-law the cop had me called out so he could bail me out; I was still maintaining jail solidarity and politely declined. But still the release-on-our-own-recognizance (ROR) was withheld. We were arraigned and appeared in court. Still no ROR. Finally, finally, the word went around; the sytem buckled as the protest continued and more arrests were being made. I took that ROR double quick. Processed out, and released, and in the arms of my affinity group once again. I have a picture of us outside the gate, me in my bandanna top. We went for pizza and beer... I'd been dreaming of pizza. Nothing ever tasted better, ever. I called my parents to let them know I was okay (dutiful daughter), and was informed that my family was ashamed of me. Ah well.
The Outcome:
After a few years of legal wrangling, the case was thrown out of court. I have no arrest record.
The Joke:
My future husband, not yet known to me, was counter-demonstrating with his other nuclear engineering buddies. They were not arrested (but then, they didn't cross any lines). Nyaaaah to you, honey.</lj-cut
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
fascinating story...`
Date: August 15th, 2002 09:03 pm (UTC)Re: fascinating story...`
Date: August 15th, 2002 10:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: August 15th, 2002 09:47 pm (UTC)Okay, I could do that. I could prove to myself that I, too, could be out on the line for something I believed in (or, in this case, didn't believe in).
This just begs for an explanation. Do you mean that you don't believe in it now? You were just out for fun at the time? You were led along by the feeling of the moment? You really made my eyebrows go up with that sentence. And that's good, it means you made me care!
Next, your description, of the Encampment and the Hike were just perfect. Nearly terse, contributing to the feeling of anticipation and nervous tension, but descriptive enough for me to feel a part of it all. Then this bit.
For some reason, that was shattering. It felt invasive and depersonalizing; it was too.. concentration camp. I cried then; I think I was the only one who did.
You know I am weepy anyway, and you know whose fault that is, but I cried with you. So even if you were alone then, you're not alone now. Poor Sally-activist!
And the rest of it - I'm horrified. I'm irritated with the system, I'm mad at your parents, I'm confused by your future husband. All those emotions wrung out of me by your choice of words. And yet, what I like most about this is that you hold it all together so nicely with the wry sense of humor about it all. It's there in every line - the irony - and the feeling of not taking yourself too seriously, even then, but certainly not now. I love the way you put this out there. It's a great story. I love your style. I love you!
You realize you now HAVE to write more stuff for me while you are on vacation, don't you? Good lass.
Re:
Date: August 15th, 2002 10:34 pm (UTC)Oh. Well, it means (and I guess I didn't convey it very clearly) that I didn't believe in nuclear power. Still debatable, in my mind. And this particular power plant is located on an earthquake fault upwind from where I live.
And thank you for your kind and loving words. Love you!
no subject
Date: August 15th, 2002 11:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: August 16th, 2002 12:07 am (UTC)Wow Sally
Date: August 15th, 2002 10:22 pm (UTC)Re: Wow Sally
Date: August 15th, 2002 10:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: August 19th, 2002 05:49 pm (UTC)Bussed back to the power plant itself, we were fenced in next to the domed... things. Reactors? I don't know. The psychological implications of keeping us there didn't escape me. We were kept there most of the night.
This kinda reminds me of The Handmaid's Tale, the book (haven't seen the movie).
I don't have a jail story. *pouts* I do have a "wandering into a bar while one a bad date set up by your friend, and discovering that a team of kilt-wearing, pierced
soccerfootball players is there, drinking and dancing to Nine Inch Nails" story, but that's pretty much the story.;-)
Re:
Date: August 19th, 2002 06:05 pm (UTC)