Journey into Disaster by NOKBEW™

1.02. Running the gauntlet

It's not the easiest thing to deal with this reckless police officer. That's a fact! But if I think he's done with me in his shabby civilian clothes, then I'm pretty wrong. And the media team still hasn't had enough. No, the show has to go on. The fun — meaning the real action — is now to follow.

I confirm the contents of the Adidas backpack as my property. The police searched me again and put the purse back in my pocket.

Desperately, I try again to explain the situation. It bubbles out of me: “The parents of the children are my best friends from the village. We only sleep in the hotel, because of the countless construction sites between the cities and the resulting longer travel time. It is far too dangerous to return to Sendong City in the middle of the night. So late it is almost impossible to find a Motorela from the bus terminal back to the remote village. In Sendong City, there are frequent power outages throughout the city at night. No electricity, no light means that crime is on the rise, especially at the bus terminal and downtown.” I now stutter out my arguments and at the same time think: I risk my neck with my reckless speech. But I have to do it and say it now because I have to defend myself and prove my innocence.

Probably the Filipinos do not understand my quickly spoken English with a hard German dialect, because during my speech some look at me questioningly, others smile and others have an astonished facial expression on their faces. The smile unsettles me and makes me angry. The situation is serious. They handcuffed me! What, damn it, is the reason to smile? What the hell, what? My anger does not break out. I am calm and silent. In this exceptional situation, it does not occur to me that most Asians hide their true emotions behind a standing smile.

The young policewoman — the name tag on the uniform shows her name “Papillio” — gives me signs not to speak, with serious expression and defensive hands. After ignoring it, she stops my flood of words: “Please be quiet!” Her forehead shows worry lines. She speaks in a dominant tone.

“Okay, okay!” My premature reaction sounds too apologetic, too submissive.

It is chaotic, very noisy and crowded in the room. But no one wakes the children. Maybe it's too turbulent now for the arresting officer. He has a brief eye contact with the policewoman, and my removal from the room begins. The officer takes my hands, which are tied behind my back and pushes me out of the room. Some people follow and of course the camera to capture the news of the year.

The woman who probably knocked on the door now breathes much more calmly. She roams around the room with many others. I look her in the face for a moment, but she smiles contentedly and constantly photographs the children with her smart phone. I see the three beds next to each other. The children are still sleeping deeply.

Goodbye children. What's next?

The rough policeman pushes and the camera films greedily. He suddenly pulls my arms until it tears in the shoulder joints and I moan in pain. Then he clapped my neck with his sweaty left paw and pushed my head down. A clapping in the neck was not necessary, because only by pulling up my arms and the subsequent stabbing pain in the shoulders I bent forward. I had never been arrested in my life and had never experienced handcuffs. Well, I'm not sure if this is the special Filipino police grip. In any case, we, the little fat proud arrest officer from the Philippines and the curved German colossus, are absolutely suitable for the media. Suddenly, in this posture, the run begins. The policeman behind me is slightly shifted to the right and pushes my head down. We go faster and faster, quickly pass by cottages, shocked hotel guests, foreigners with very young Filipina and families with children. The police action seems to have awakened the entire hotel complex. My boys were excluded from it, but I'm sure they're being woken up right now.

Everything flies past me on this hot Asian night.

We pass the beautiful pool area with a water slide and a tiny waterfall. I see guests sipping cocktails at the bar and curiously stretching their necks at us. Then we walk through the lobby of the hotel. On the right is the reception and behind the desk is a beautiful young receptionist. She wears a dark blue kimono and now looks down and then up. Our eyes meet in a fraction of a second.

Do I see a hint of sadness in their eyes?

During the humiliating run, we are accompanied by the parallel running camera — in the double sense of words — because I am running and the camera is running. Now the policeman behind me skilfully pushes me into a Toyota pick-up. The front seats are occupied by the driver and front passenger, officers in uniform. They don't care about me; they don't even turn around and don't say any words. The driver, half above the steering wheel, throws his cigarette butt out of the window. I sit in the middle of the back seat. The policeman, who didn't tell me his name, sits on my right side. He doesn't take the slightest step to take his disgusting paw away from my neck and push my head down without interruption and in a very media-friendly way. And the camera films continuously. First through the driver's window, then through the rear window. But the place to my left is taken by the attractive policewoman — she looks like Japanese — so the camera's view is now blocked. The adrenaline-fueled idiot on my side doesn't stop tormenting me. His paw looks like a screw clamp on my neck. He pushes me further down, grins extremely contentedly and chews an imaginary chewing gum. Now he is in a winning pose to impress the camera and enjoy the few minutes in the spotlight.

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What about me? I'm desperate, confused and don't understand what's going on. Damn! Where is the crime? Who gives these people the right to humiliate me to the blood? Crime, crime, where is the crime? And what about the damn stupid camera? It is an inarticulate protest. Nevertheless, I am in turmoil and it screams at me: Tommy, defend yourself! Do something! Don't let it be like that! Do not remain silent. But I come from a rational world and maybe that's why I behave this way. Wouldn't it be possible to clarify the problem in a short conversation? I'm deeply frustrated. Well, okay, the police vehicle and hotel room are certainly not places to speak for a complaint or even a misunderstanding.

I shake my head and wonder about myself: My God, how stupid is my mind in this absurd situation! I close my eyes and think bitterly: It happened, and it's happening now. I am in their hands. Firstly, they kick me down and secondly, they probably humiliate, condemn, beat or shoot me and then they ask: “You are a perpetrator?”

I am painfully bound! As a result, the handcuffs between the seat and my back cut the skin of my hands. I am silent. Outwardly, it seems that I am calm, but it is boiling inside me. No one notices my despair, the frustration and the anger. I have high blood pressure, but there's nothing I can do. From one second to the next, I am powerless. I no longer have any power over myself. My humanitarian rights are being thrown into the Philippine dust.

This is evil police violence against me.

A barely perceptible gesture from the policewoman and the proud officer finally removes the screw clamp from my neck. The wordless communication between the beauty and the beast works.

“We talk in the police station, don't worry.” The policewoman speaks to me in understandable English: “My name is Police Superintendent Papillio and that is CIDG Senior Police Inspector Sir Villanova.”

I move forward a little and stretch my body, but the handcuffs burn on the wounds. The policeman next to me has a big grin on his bacon face. I have already forgotten his name. Papillio is probably annoyed by the bright light of the camera, because she instructs the reporters to stop the filming. Her words carry weight. The light turns off immediately. Behind us, quite sporty people jump on the vehicle. These are certainly not children. Carefully I look around. There are two more police pick-up cars, but I can't see my kids. Now the driver starts the engine, and the heavy car staggers like a boat, circumnavigated by deep puddles. We leave the rain-soaked parking lot of the hotel. Blue and red police lights flash at night, reflected in the puddles and raindrops of police vehicles. I hear the gearbox, the engine and the siren. The driver pushes himself recklessly into the flowing traffic and accelerates.

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