(no subject)
Feb. 23rd, 2005 12:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stonebenderThis is a response to someotherguy who asked about an item in my
"ten things nobody else on my friends list has done". I thought I'd make it
a journal entry so everyone would have the chance of seeing it.
Around 1981, maybe 1982, the ADA hadn't been passed yet and disability
rights advocates were trying to get AC Transit to provide access to their
buses. Some wheelchair lifts on buses did exist, but the design was awful
and maintenance was nonexistent. Even when the lifts worked, bus drivers
regularly refused to pick up people in wheelchairs. The excuse was always
the wheelchair lift didn't work.
There is/was an annual meeting of the major public transit agencies that met
in different locations around the country. On this particular occasion the
meeting was scheduled for San Francisco. Several disability rights
organizations had targeted the meeting for protests. At the time, I had only
been in California about a year and wasn't particularly active politically.
I heard about the protests and told Carol I was going to take a look. I had
no intention of getting arrested. No intention of getting involved at all.
I was going to rubber neck that was it. Carol, knowing me, warned me not to
get arrested. I assured her that was not my intent.
The target of the protest was the cable cars. Not because there was any
particular interest in making them accessible, but it was thought that
stopping the cable cars would get press. I showed up at Powell Street with
the protest going strong. There weren't that many protesters at first
although there were a lot of spectators. I struck up a conversation with one
of the protesters whose name I cannot remember. I've never seen him since.
One thing led to another and I found myself sitting next to him, parked in
front of a cable car.
I wasn't parked there very long when the police showed up. We got our three
warnings and the police started arresting folks. Being a person in a
wheelchair and getting arrested presents a particular problem for police.
They don't want to be seen as brutalizing "poor cripples" and they weren't
(at that time, things have changed) trained on how to move us without
damaging us. Some of the protesters chose to make their arrest difficult.
This being my first arrest, I decided to cooperate rather than be lifted
and carried to jail.
The 40 or so protesters were taken to the parking garage of the jail in San Francisco. We spent hours there waiting for the police to decide what to do. I later found out that the police had wanted to just let us go. In their opinion the cable car was no longer being blocked and they didn't have the facilities to deal with us. Diane Feinstein (who was San Francisco's Mayor at the time) apparently was adamantly opposed to just letting us go. While we waited in the parking lot there was discussion amongst us as to what was going to happen next. Most everyone assumed we would be let go. Most of the arrested protesters were disabled. Of the disabled protesters, most needed personal attendant care. A few were even ventilator dependent. Many used catheters etc. We knew the police were not prepared to deal with our personal care needs. So we assumed we would be let go soon.
Meanwhile, the police tried to process us. When it became my turn. They
tried to search me, but were clearly uncomfortable. I was asked to remove
my jewelry. I used to wear quite a bit, but I couldn't remove it on my own.
I told them they would need to take the pierced earring out themselves.
They decided to leave me with my jewelry. They did take off my handcuffs
which were helpfully connecting my left-hand to my wheelchair. What they
were supposed to stop me from doing I have no idea.
Throughout the process everyone kept telling me that they would let us out
soon and I would be going home. They loaded a bunch of us into an elevator
and we went to the top floor. The elevator opened to a hallway that was
lined on the left with four or five televisions on pedestals. On the right,
were several jail cells with way too many scary looking gentlemen in orange
jumpsuits.
At the end of the hall against the wall were rollaway cots, catheters,
urnal's etc. One of my companions turned to me and said, "I think we're
staying the night."
Feinstein had us kept in the basketball court on the top floor of the city jail. Sheets had been hung to separate men from women. We were allowed a phone call and I left a message letting Carol know where I was. We were given dinner a lump of rice with a grayish meat and tomatoes. I drank the milk and white bread they gave me but couldn't manage the rice thing. I didn't like the idea of lying on the cot in jail. When I am scared, I'd rather be in my wheelchair. So I stayed up all night talking to one of the jailors. A woman who had one of the most depressing and scary views of the world I'd ever encountered.
By morning the news had reported on the protest and what it was about. Instead of breakfast, I bought some cheese crackers and peanut butter and a couple of a candy bars from a cart. I couldn't even think of eating what they called breakfast. As we were taken to court, we passed the same gentlemen in orange jumpsuits. They cheered and applauded us.
I pleaded no contest to the charges and was given 30 hours of community service. Which I completed by volunteering at the Center for Independent Living in Berkeley and that's my story about how Diane Feinstein had me arrested.
someotherguy who asked about an item in my "ten things nobody else on my friends list has done". I thought I'd make it
a journal entry so everyone would have the chance of seeing it.
Around 1981, maybe 1982, the ADA hadn't been passed yet and disability
rights advocates were trying to get AC Transit to provide access to their
buses. Some wheelchair lifts on buses did exist, but the design was awful
and maintenance was nonexistent. Even when the lifts worked, bus drivers
regularly refused to pick up people in wheelchairs. The excuse was always
the wheelchair lift didn't work.
There is/was an annual meeting of the major public transit agencies that met
in different locations around the country. On this particular occasion the
meeting was scheduled for San Francisco. Several disability rights
organizations had targeted the meeting for protests. At the time, I had only
been in California about a year and wasn't particularly active politically.
I heard about the protests and told Carol I was going to take a look. I had
no intention of getting arrested. No intention of getting involved at all.
I was going to rubber neck that was it. Carol, knowing me, warned me not to
get arrested. I assured her that was not my intent.
The target of the protest was the cable cars. Not because there was any
particular interest in making them accessible, but it was thought that
stopping the cable cars would get press. I showed up at Powell Street with
the protest going strong. There weren't that many protesters at first
although there were a lot of spectators. I struck up a conversation with one
of the protesters whose name I cannot remember. I've never seen him since.
One thing led to another and I found myself sitting next to him, parked in
front of a cable car.
I wasn't parked there very long when the police showed up. We got our three
warnings and the police started arresting folks. Being a person in a
wheelchair and getting arrested presents a particular problem for police.
They don't want to be seen as brutalizing "poor cripples" and they weren't
(at that time, things have changed) trained on how to move us without
damaging us. Some of the protesters chose to make their arrest difficult.
This being my first arrest, I decided to cooperate rather than be lifted
and carried to jail.
The 40 or so protesters were taken to the parking garage of the jail in San Francisco. We spent hours there waiting for the police to decide what to do. I later found out that the police had wanted to just let us go. In their opinion the cable car was no longer being blocked and they didn't have the facilities to deal with us. Diane Feinstein (who was San Francisco's Mayor at the time) apparently was adamantly opposed to just letting us go. While we waited in the parking lot there was discussion amongst us as to what was going to happen next. Most everyone assumed we would be let go. Most of the arrested protesters were disabled. Of the disabled protesters, most needed personal attendant care. A few were even ventilator dependent. Many used catheters etc. We knew the police were not prepared to deal with our personal care needs. So we assumed we would be let go soon.
Meanwhile, the police tried to process us. When it became my turn. They
tried to search me, but were clearly uncomfortable. I was asked to remove
my jewelry. I used to wear quite a bit, but I couldn't remove it on my own.
I told them they would need to take the pierced earring out themselves.
They decided to leave me with my jewelry. They did take off my handcuffs
which were helpfully connecting my left-hand to my wheelchair. What they
were supposed to stop me from doing I have no idea.
Throughout the process everyone kept telling me that they would let us out
soon and I would be going home. They loaded a bunch of us into an elevator
and we went to the top floor. The elevator opened to a hallway that was
lined on the left with four or five televisions on pedestals. On the right,
were several jail cells with way too many scary looking gentlemen in orange
jumpsuits.
At the end of the hall against the wall were rollaway cots, catheters,
urnal's etc. One of my companions turned to me and said, "I think we're
staying the night."
Feinstein had us kept in the basketball court on the top floor of the city jail. Sheets had been hung to separate men from women. We were allowed a phone call and I left a message letting Carol know where I was. We were given dinner a lump of rice with a grayish meat and tomatoes. I drank the milk and white bread they gave me but couldn't manage the rice thing. I didn't like the idea of lying on the cot in jail. When I am scared, I'd rather be in my wheelchair. So I stayed up all night talking to one of the jailors. A woman who had one of the most depressing and scary views of the world I'd ever encountered.
By morning the news had reported on the protest and what it was about. Instead of breakfast, I bought some cheese crackers and peanut butter and a couple of a candy bars from a cart. I couldn't even think of eating what they called breakfast. As we were taken to court, we passed the same gentlemen in orange jumpsuits. They cheered and applauded us.
I pleaded no contest to the charges and was given 30 hours of community service. Which I completed by volunteering at the Center for Independent Living in Berkeley and that's my story about how Diane Feinstein had me arrested.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 08:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 09:05 pm (UTC)Leaping up from the chair and running away, maybe. Or possibly arrest=handcuffs in thir minds, and the purpose has long since faded into obscurity.
This is the bureaucratic mind at work.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 09:44 pm (UTC)I'm guessing you're right here, but its still funny.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-23 11:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-24 12:50 am (UTC)*shrug* I dunno. Sometimes I feel like everybody must have heard this one by now.