Tales Of Rebellion

Heavy Times

The last few days are a mess, a blur. Epiphanies, brutality, peace signs and police lines. A camp torn to pieces, a school smashed into the ground, a passport lost beneath the rubble. Exciting times but heavy times. A day in court. A friend refused representation. The situation looked uncertain but he's given bail, finally. Coming back on the tube... who knew that we'd create the 9th circle of hell to get to work faster? Still you can joke, and we did.

I have lost the replacement tent my parents so kindly got me as a late birthday present. I have lost the bag which I had packed so carefully, including the metal tin containing a notebook, another nicer notebook, two pens, a pencil, three candles, a lighter and a copy of Walden: Life in the Woods by Henry David Thoreau. The words, 'have a good time- Jorgen' are written on the inside cover. I had promised to return it to him someday, but this is one promise I won't be able to keep. I never even got to read it. I think about Walden now, catacombed within a box, within a bag, within a tent amongst tons of broken glass, art supplies, asbestos, children's toys, dissident literature and twisted metal. JJ Cale comes on the laptop speakers with “Travelin' light is the only way to fly”. Wise counsel. Wise counsel, indeed.

While all this was happening I was checking in to Paddington police station giving the constable on the desk a hard time. In my experience it pays to make things difficult for them at certain points, it gives you a certain leverage and a certain power. As soon as you cave into their authority completely they despise you. From that point on they'll treat you like something stuck to the bottom of those Magnums they wear. The Magnum is a nice looking brand but they tend to wear out quickly. I tell the officers this as they strip search me. Nothing beats these army boots I say as they come off.

“Lift your fella up, mate.'

I'm not sure exactly what he thinks I'd be hiding under my penis. Perhaps, I should take it as a compliment.

Back in the reception a shield bug crawls from my coat onto the desk. The sergeant picks up an empty tissue box and moves threateningly.

“Don't kill it.” I command.

He gives me a dirty look and brings the shoe-box down with a great deal of malice. He asks me the next question, something health-related. I clam up for a bit, then say.

“Now I'm not saying anything. You know why? Because you disrespected life.”

They will tell you that if you refuse to answer their inane questions then you'll be in the cells much longer. This is just one of the many lies they will tell you to make you more compliant. It really doesn't take any longer, unless they want it to of course, and they are certainly not going to speed you through the process just because you're cooperative. The only bits I answer are a few health related things. If they can't be sure you're not suicidal, depressed or on drugs they will 'rouse' you every half-hour during the night. This is to make sure you haven't slipped into a coma or swallowed your tongue.

Me and this stupid pig are having a real battle of wills. He tells me that the lawyers I want to call are giving bad advice and proceeds to denigrate them in various ways. I look him dead in the eye and say:

“Why would I believe you and choose to disbelieve the word of lawyers acting in my best interests? You are not going to give me advice that protects my interests, you are going to give me advice that advances your interests. Have you seen the awards that this firm has won? Do you think I am stupid?”

I say the last word with a particular loudness and emphasis that makes everyone in the reception turn round. He sighs, he knows he's beaten. He lifts the kleenex box and the shield bug scuttles away unharmed.

As they take me to the cells I request a blanket, a copy of the codes of practice, pen and paper and a selection of religious texts including the Sutras and Upanishads. From then on I'm very charming and polite to the police that visit my cell from time to time. I know that they will be my only human interaction for the night. They are always rookies and generally speaking have their humanity intact. I even detect a hint of flirtatious interest from a few of the females.

A few hours pass with comfortable, dreamless sleep. The sun has dawned and I am taken to meet my lawyer. We sit across the desk from each other, he seems tired. We seem to have an instant understanding of the situation, namely: I've done nothing wrong and they're slowly realising that.