I feel weird about the nuances of this, but I don’t think I can let it go unnoted in this space.

On Friday, I got an email from a reporter that “one of the officers [I] quote on [my] blog” was charged regarding a shooting that happened in 2007. I immediately assumed it was my nemesis Kevin Smith, but it turns out to be Kris Overwater, whose hilarious pronouncement marked the beginning of my court writings.

The reporter must have Googled the names of the officers and found the commentary. Giving disgraceful police a web presence was one of the side benefit of the effort, so it’s neat to see it play out thus. Perhaps they would have found out anyway, but this made it easier. The media connexion between attempted murderer Selley and evidence falsifier Overwater’s actions at the May 2006 Critical Mass and the 2007 shooting and coverup hasn’t made much sense, but it’s still somewhat pleasing to have the extreme fallibility of the police given a high profile.

Speculation is rampant regarding what implications this might have for the Critical Mass trial. It’s been nearly five months since I was back in Winnipeg for court and there’s no trace of a verdict, whoa. Did the police and/or crown know during season two that Selley and Overwater had fabricated evidence? Surely it’s an isolated incident and not routine behaviour on the part of officers! Certainly they would never, say, conference after a mass arrest and decide what story to enter in their notes.

What do people like John Barr and Krista Piché think when they hear about things like this? I don’t expect we’ll ever find out.


In other news, my charge of presence at an unlawful gathering in St. Paul was dropped. Yay! Now when I cross the border, can I pretend I was never arrested? HMM. I have significant notes about events preceding the arrest that I could share, but it all seems so remote to me now. Really, we were having a fairly routine anti-war demonstration, I have no idea why I was arrested. At least now I know what compression grenades look/sound/feel like and will be more aware of being corralled.

And thus I return to a life of crime.

(elided: me showing up at the Legislative Building in my underwear two weeks early, having misunderstood the date)

After that embarrassment, I forgot about the World Naked Bike Ride until reminded by a clerk’s radio at the passport office. When I arrived at the front of the Legislative Building in underwear and Fuck Cars T-shirt, I was dismayed to see only a couple of cyclists versus forty or more spectators. We hung about, feeding parasitic media and observers.

The flyer had said “as bare as you dare” and I felt sufficiently dared to ride in my underwear, but as we pulled up on Broadway to the light at Osborne, a fellow cyclist convinced me to go all the way. It was predictably liberating. Really, what is the big deal about naked bodies? I am far from brimming with body image confidence, but I went for it.

The ride proceeded well, for the most part. We had a police escort that provided the usual irritation. Many people reacted well. Others were more creepy, speeding ahead only to get out and record us with camera phones. “Do some sit-ups!” while riding down Corydon was unappreciated, but unsurprising. My nadir was hearing a mother instruct her children to cover their eyes. What is the deal about naked bodies?

We rode through OV, down Corydon, over the route 90 overpass, and onto Portage. After we were well-established there, I spotted officer 1849, one of my preëexisting nemeses (ask me or fellow Copwatchers why, or watch a video), passing us in the opposing lane, with a glare.

Maybe a minute later, we were pulled over. Despite having accompanied us three-quarters of the way with little more than a peep, they told us we were breaking the law with public nudity, blah blah bullshitcakes. Officers paired with cyclists and I got to be BFF with 1849. As anyone in Copwatch has learned, I do not handle myself well when confronted with illegitimate authority. (Is there anything but?) We predictably came to verbal sparring.

1849 repeatedly threatened me with arrest. In turn, I repeatedly called his bluff, at one point yelling “Take me, then!”; while I do find him disturbingly attractive, I didn’t mean that. I had bridge to play, so I didn’t push it. Though I knew I was not obligated to do so, I gave my phone number. But I first evaded by giving my work number, which he immediately recognised as a city number.

After checking my file in his car, he returned and attempted to shame me by threatening me with how my workplace would react once he phoned them the next day. Miscalculations:

1. It’s likely my boss wouldn’t give a fuck
2. If I got any guff, I would simply quit

I’m surely in a privileged position, but you do not get to me through work. Fuck. You. I was only more inflamed.

When he had noticed the pants I had in a backpack when I retrieved identification, he’d become fixated on getting me to put them on. (When the police had demanded that we cover our nakedness everyone but me had scrambled to get fully dressed, but I merely reapplied my underwear. I have no desire to comply farther than the bare minimum.)

After endless dithering and bullshit, a supervisor-type told us we were free to go, as long as we didn’t get nekkid again minutes after taking off. He pitched a nonsensical story about protecting us from ourselves and the motorists who would be unable to help themselves from steering into us in their distraction (“it’s a liability issue”), with no mention of the procession of hideous animated signs that line Portage.

There was a tension between the words of the supervisor, who said we could leave, and 1849, who seemed to be very much interested in me getting pants on. I tried to have the supervisor confirm that he was indeed overriding 1849, but he seemed unwilling to contradict 1849 in front of the kids. I took advantage of the authoritarian chasm and left with the rest, neglecting to remember that 1849 still had my driver’ license. Have fun with that!

Most time we were stopped, 1849 was berating me any way he could. The peak of his creativity came when he said something like “If you ever do this again, maybe you should think about enlargement.” (This was repeated in some form three times over the length of his bloviation.) I could probably dedicate another lengthy post to overanalysing this line of attack, but why? It’s obviously an inappropriate thing for a police officer to say in the line of duty. Expect a LERA complaint, 1849.

Audy Recksiedler, Jonathan Michael Rowley, Andrew Wahl, George Geoffrey Van Mackelbergh, Christopher Blain, Kristopher Overwater, Darrel Selley, Aristomeni Berdesis, Danielle Elissa Crackel, Peter Carabatsakis, Benjamin Rosentreter, Dennis Pedersen and Jack Ewatski

defendants.

Statement of Claim

TO THE DEFENDANT(S):

A LEGAL PROCEEDING HAS BEEN COMMENCED AGAINST YOU by the plaintiff. The claim made against you is set out in the following pages.

Sure, I don’t expect this to be any more just than the nonsense we’ve been dragged through, and they’ll probably still be getting paid for appearing, but it’s still somehow pleasing.

The aforementioned Danielle Crackel (sketch by G.E.F.), now going under a new (original?) last name (not sure of the ‘a’) made an appearance on the stand at the Highway Traffic Act trials of April 21 and 22.

Early on in this court-attending saga, the importance of a particular rule was impressed upon us: don’t taint the witnesses! This meant that anyone intending to testify was forbidden from hearing about anything that had taken place in the courtroom. It was particularly difficult during season one of the criminal trial, as the intensity of the justiciness experience demanded equally intense processing afterward, which led to steadfast self-imposed isolation on the part of those intending to take the stand.

M(a)cKinnon was granted leave from the stand while some procedural nonsense regarding video evidence was tediously slogged through. Christopher Blain, next on the stand, was curiously missing from the hallway, so a recess was called. The accused and lawyer went to confer, leaving me alone.

Blain returned and he and M(a)cKinnon began to chat. It was impossible not to overhear, given my proximity. Eventually it became obvious that M(a)cKinnon was relating to Blain events that had occurred during her testimony. I was predictably outraged, as we are expected to hew to the rules with the utmost care, and are frequently reminded of that. Not that the police not following the rules is in any way out of the ordinary, but it’s rare that it happens in my presence in a restrictive environment with a clear demarcation of right and wrong.

I interjected: “You can’t talk about that.” M(a)cKinnon leapt right into vicious argumentation. Unfortunately, she employed logical fallacies, primarily ad hominem, rather than actual points. Still, it got to me.

The lawyer appeared at the end of the hall and I stalked off to tell him. She called out behind me: “That’s right, run as fast as you can. Or maybe you should bike.” This taunt brought me right back to nightmarish elementary school experiences. I turned back, raised my hand to deliver a middle-finger gesture (not something I do reflexively), thought better of doing so to a police officer, and ended up unintentionally displaying a shaken fist. Oops.

My tattling to the lawyer had no effect. As we returned to the courtroom, M(a)cKinnon appealed to the accused that I was damaging the defense and that they should eject me. A fellow attendee had to leave after this recess and was accompanied out by M(a)cKinnon, who attempted to convince them that I am dangerous and should not be attending court.


M(a)cKinnon is very effective at emotional manipulation. The term “psycho”, the use of which is not something I personally endorse, has been applied to her by a few who have experienced her personally. It’s dead easy to get me upset, but I remain ashamed that she had such power over me.

Before I can tell of my brief, triumphant moment in court, I must relate my history with Ben Rosentreter (who once lied to Stacey and gave his last name as the ultra-common Friesen). Back in September 2006, I attended a group ride called SPIN in an effort to bridge a media-inflated gap between Critical Mass participants and “regular” cyclists.

More detail here, but the relevant part is that I was wearing the pictured outrageous outfit as a statement and that the officer I learned in court was Rosentreder tried to stop me handing out printed materials. The next day, at my regular dinner with my dad at Mondragón, he taunted me by saying “Nice dress, yesterday.” After that, whenever I would see him, he would make some snide comment, and I would respond in kind, often with nasty innuendo.

At the October 2006 ride, the police tactic of heavy ticketing had reduced numbers significantly. As we rode down Broadway, a police car was to my immediate left, with Rosentreder in the passenger seat. He had a video camera and was pointing it directly at me, as the police had been recording rides and ticketing people later.

In exasperation, I said (with some sort of verbal stumble): “You must have so much video of me, you probably take it home and masturbate to it every night.” Then I (allegedly) proceeded, agaisnt a red light, through the intersection at Carlton. There was no oncoming traffic, and to do so was following the directions the police had distributed in July.

The ride terminated just down the street at the Legistative Building. A police officer, not Rosentreter nor his car-mate, issued me a ticket for going through the light. I’m sure it was punishment for my snark.

With that as context, come back (maybe late next week?) for the January 2008 hearing I got by disputing the ticket.

(Update: I spelled his last name wrong, it’s been corrected.)

Is it wrong to be hot for a police officer? George Geoffrey Van Mackelbergh is my secret boyfriend. There he is in front of the Public Safety Building accepting identification from the inimitable Kinneret after the arrests.

My infatuation with him caused some consternation among my peers. (And it wasn’t because they were appalled by my taste, for which I make no apologies.) It’s true that he stood by as his partner Andrew Wahl beat up G to apparently educate him, but does that push him out of consideration for hotness? I don’t think about who people are when I drool over them. It doesn’t mean I’d date them.

It’s kind of weak for me to post about this because I can’t really remember any of the arguments against it. Perhaps I’ll ask around tonight.

Beau got that still for me, and while he was at it, got this one of Andrew Wahl. Beware, he’s known to be violent! Imagine, if you will, him opening his mouth wide in a mock-biting gesture. Love it.

A local maximum of hilarity was reached during the testimony of Andrew Wahl, the officer who beat one of the accused (hereafter referred to as G) in an interrogation room in the Public Safety Building.

Wahl claimed that after he had tackled G and driven his face into the pavement that G attempted to bite him on the arm. When asked how he knew G was trying to bite him, he said:

I’ve been bitten before.

No one said it, but I would submit to you that Wahl’s previous experience with biting makes him paranoid that it will happen again: confirmation bias.

His demonstration of G rearing for the bite was much imitated in the days following. If only the transcript could adequately convey the humour. At a going-away/end of season one party, a cake was produced featuring the infamous phrase. It was delicious.

David Sanders scored with a biting cross-examination:

…those notes in your notebook are in fact a fabrication designed to cover up the fact that while you were supposed to be reading him his rights, you were beating him to teach him a lesson in what could be called “street justice”.

Unfortunately, it’s not the police who are on trial. That’ll have to wait for season three.

As bareftinthesnow mentioned in the comments of the last court post, officer Crackel produced some tasty tidbits. She was being questioned on whether she gave instructions to Critical Mass cyclists during the festivities.

I did not give him any direction, however, direction is not always verbal.

…

I did not give him any direction, but he still disobeyed.

O RLY? I think we had some trouble containing our guffaws at that one.

Really, the directions they gave were contradictory. Some said we could continue with differing answers on in what form, some said we should disperse. So much for the efficiency of hierarchy at communicating orders!

This isn’t the last from her.

Criminal court for two weeks was an intense mindfuck. The long-term impact is hard to know, but the level of in-joking about court weirdnesses and hilarity reached a fever pitch a the days wore on.

Now that it’s over, with a projected continuation in September, it’s been weird to return to regular patterns.

To make use of my sometimes-faithful note-taking, I’m going to share a series of amusing/disturbing/whatever moments in court. First we have officer Chris (Kris?) Overwater, asked to define an anarchist:

Someone who doesn’t follow any laws, doesn’t believe any laws of any importance.

HAHAHA

Probably only funny to those following the proceedings or familiar with the group was his analysis of Rat Patrol:

It appears to serve no general function.