It was New Year's Eve, 2008. My friends had invited me to go out with them to a huge hotel party, but instead I decided to go out alone and have a drink to celebrate obtaining my real estate license.
As I was driving down Mission between 16th and 17th street I heard an E-40 song playing nearby at Blondie's bar and grill, so I went inside to check it out. The bar was filled to capacity as I made my way to the front to order myself a drink. Everyone was dancing and having a good time, so I joined in on the festivities. I began dancing with a few people, including a Caucasian lady who sealed my fate when she accused me of touching her behind. Even though I did not touch this female in any disrespectful manner, she told her partner that I had done so. When he learned of this, he and his friends attacked me. I was punched and knocked to the ground. I tried to defend myself, but I was overwhelmed by the kicks and punches I received by them until I lost consciousness.
When I came to, the men still proceeded on with their assault against me. I had thrown a bottle in self defense, but it just bounced off the wall. The fight continued on outside until the bouncer broke it up. When the police arrived, reports were made for both sides and I was given a ticket. I went home, barely able to walk. I laid in bed for a couple of days, immobilized by unbearable pain. Eventually, with a struggle, I went to the hospital to get checked out.
When I had recovered from my injuries, I went to 850 Bryant Street to take care of the citation. The clerk at the district attorney's office told me that the ticket had been dismissed. Then a few months later I was pulled over by the police. I was arrested because my citation pertaining to the fight at the bar had escalated to a warrant. All this, after I had been told it was dismissed.
I couldn't comprehend the injustice of this incident. I was one man that was brutally beaten by three white males who I later found out were skinheads, and yet I was the one being charged with sexual assault, battery and mayhem. After being bailed out of jail by a relative, I began fighting my case from the streets. I was appointed a former district attorney to represent my case. He had no hope that I would receive any kind of justice. One of the men in the attack had a father who was an attorney and several times I would see him, the DA, my attorney and the judge leaving the chambers confident that I would lose the case. I didn't understand why I was the only one involved in the incident who had to face charges in court. Why didn't the girl who accused me of this crime, and the men who assaulted me ever had to show up in court? These questions fell upon deaf ears.
After getting a new attorney and contacting two of the witnesses that would help my case, I was denied a chance to have my case go to trial. When I had contacted the bouncer that was there and witnessed my attack, he had agreed to testify on my behalf. The court then slapped me with a stay-away order for harassment, and in the quest for justice, I had lost my freedom.
My eight month incarceration had an immense impact on not only my life, but my family's lives. I was forced to be separated from my children, the youngest child being only 6 months old. Everything I had worked hard for was taken away from me because of an age-old tale of being accused of assaulting a white woman. It’s a crime that, guilty or not, was sure to cost a black man his life in Amerikkka. This accusation cost me my real estate license, time away from my children and my freedom.
Going out to celebrate that New Years' night really messed up my life. The corrupt criminal “justice” system did nothing to promote real justice or healing. I may have been physically beaten by skinheads, but I was mentally lynched by the kangaroo courts. Like my favorite MC of all time, KRS-ONE said- "THE SYSTEM GOTCHA!"