But, What are the Charges?

by Laurie McElroy/PoorNewsNetwork

My son Evander is a regular boy, he loves riding any kind of train; so Saturday night, the 9th of February , I chose to take us home from his Glen Park babysitter’s via Glen Park BART. Very public transportation. We exited at 16th Street cautiously because it was around 10:30pm and that intersection tends to be busy, especially after dark; but I wasn’t particularly worried since all we were doing was passing quickly through on the way home: my son and I live right near 18th and Folsom. We came out of the entranceway to the station and turned onto Mission Street from the lightless, pee – smelling corridor. We were both relieved at the mixture of neon and streetlights illuminating the main drag, and we paused. I recalled a story I’d glimpsed on one of the big networks about the San Francisco Police Department intensifying their presence in and around our neighborhood, and particularly this area, in what the reporter called a "sweep". I wasn’t sure what the news report meant, but I hoped that it translated to Evander and I being a little more secure that night on the walk home.

We stepped into the din and motion of the sidewalk going south down Mission toward home, holding hands. After a very few paces I heard someone yell, "HEY!" It didn’t sound like a cry for assistance to me, and in my experience, in a high crime area like that, if the person calling you doesn’t know your name, it’s best not to acknowledge them or turn around. So I didn’t. At that moment Evander broke from me and headed into Taco Bell. I went in after him and recaptured his hand, turning him around and walking him back toward the door, gently reminding him that we’d eat when we got home if he was hungry, like always. As we approached the door, I saw three big uniformed police officers standing in a semicircle, a latino man, a white woman, and a black man, all arms folded. I walked forward with raised eyebrows, wondering. Why were they waiting there? Maybe they were looking for someone… "Hi, is there anything wrong?" I asked.

"What are you doing out here?" the middle cop asked in a clipped, hostile voice.

Her tone hit me like a puzzling brick, and she and the other two standing there began to look more and more like an inexplicable wall. "I was just walking my son home from his babysitters’… " I shrugged a little and began to frown myself. What was going on here?

"At 11o’clock at night?! What kind of mother has her kid out in this area this late?" Now the woman was glaring, and her tone was more like a snarl.

I was increasingly mystified. I motioned my son behind me as I further explained, "I’m sorry, but his babysitter lives in Glen Park and he likes to ride the trains, so we got off here because this is the closest…"

She cut me off. "Turn around, face the car and put your hands behind your back."

Finally alarmed, I searched the faces of the other officers, hoping for some semblance of sense or sympathy. "But I don’t understand, what did I do? Are you arresting me or questioning me? "

Her pale face was now a mask of unmistakable contempt, and although (or perhaps because) I had no idea who any of them were as people, or if they were people at all, I began to feel a terrible sense of shame along with my confusion, and a lonely, helpless fear for my sweet little boy, who understood so much less than I at this moment, and whose fear I could not even begin to imagine.

"Turn around, face the car, and put your hands behind your back!" the female officer barked.

My stomach churned. I half- turned and, pleading, eyes on my boy, repeated, "But what are the charges? "

That was when she hit me with her club. " Turn around!"

"OW, that hurt, why did you hit ---"

Then the next one hit me, this time in the leg.

"But what are the charge—" I moaned, and the last policeman thrust his club into my stomach with a vindictive force that doubled me over. When I went down they ground my face into the pavement and hogtied me. I kept asking the charges until they put duct tape over my mouth.

My glasses had flown off and I was facing the wrong way anyway, so I couldn’t see my baby standing alone on the sidewalk ,but in the squad car, after the doors were shut, the female officer muttered "What kind of mother are you, making your kid watch us beat you with clubs?"

That was when I started to cry..

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LAurie's child is currently in custody and this is the beginning of a three part series from laurie and Courtwatch- Laurie, who is a disabled journalist, poet and artist with PNN is working with Dee from Courtwatch to get justice for her and her child, who following her arrest was taken from Laurie by Child PRotective Services(CPS) and charged Laurie with "Child Endangerment". CPS is using Lauries' Disability to keep her child in custody. Please stay tuned for further organizing efforts around this atrocity.

Courtwatch is a media advocacy project of POOR Magazine/PoorNewsNetwork(PNN) dedicated to helping parents who have been abused by an adversarial court system and/or Child PRotective Services, for more information, to help out, or to tell your story of CPS abuse go on-line to the front page of PNN and click on COURTWATCH - or call (415) 863-6306