Handcuffed for no reason in Baltimore, 3: “Was the handcuffing normal?”

Last night at 6 pm I went to the Internal Affairs office of the Baltimore Police to give a statement in person about being handcuffed for no reason. My statement was already recorded over the phone by a detective from that office on the day it happened, so I don’t know why I was supposed to go in person. But I did anyway, as much to cooperate with the process as anything else — because I could. Undergoing the process, even swaddled in my white privilege, also helps me understand what the process is like for others. (As a byproduct, it also helps me understand what it’s like for people in the healthcare system to encounter a process that is forbidding, inconvenient, and adversarial.)

To belabor the obvious, the only reason I was able to go give this statement is that I have the money to hire a babysitter to be with my kids while I went to the police station.

I figured I would walk. Sure, this was two days after a huge snowfall, and the city transitioning from idyllic snow cover to slushy streets and confused drivers, but I wanted to see where the office was. I walked down 25th Street, passing Baltimore Hydraulics (“Performance Under Pressure”) and Baltimore Belts. I turned onto Kirk, and wandered around in the dark for 10 minutes or so. I figured there would be a well marked sign, saying something like Police Complaints.

Here’s what I finally realized was the front door. A welcoming face presented to the community. Certainly no one meaning to file a complaint would be dissuaded by such a red carpet.

Once I made it in, the officers were friendly and professional. However, the assumptions baked into their questions were fascinating.

First, I asked if I could record the conversation. The two officers looked at each other. “That’s the first time anyone has asked that,” said the guy in charge. (“Well, it won’t be the first,” I thought, knowing — for example — how patients in health care are beginning to do so.) They asked their boss and got permission.

Then, after asking me my name and address, they asked if I was under the influence of drugs or alcohol. No, though I wanted to add — “except for the natural high I’m getting from being here!”

The most curious questions were about the behavior of the cop who handcuffed me. “You mentioned in your original complaint that the office was ‘unprofessional,’” asked the one who was in charge. “How was he unprofessional, exactly?”

“Because he handcuffed me for no reason.” (“Ah,” said one of the officers. Or “Hm.” I couldn’t tell.)

“Did he use any force to handcuff you?”

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I consider handcuffing for no reason to be force.”

“Did he handcuff you in a way that wasn’t normal?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been handcuffed before.”

The subtext? I was complaining about something that wasn’t worth complaining about. Handcuffing people for no reason can be done professionally, and is not by itself an infringement on their person. Obviously, I don’t agree.

Lastly, they asked if I would agree to sign a printout of my statement. But they didn’t give me one. While I was waiting for my Uber, they hastily thrust a citizen’s complaint form in front of me, asking me to fill it out so they could notarize it later. I went ahead and signed it, though I daresay such a notarization won’t be valid.

I am not sure what my next steps are. But the requirement of an in-person statement; the fact that the building isn’t labeled; and the baffling questions about “normal” handcuffing are windows opening onto the culture of policing in Baltimore that a privileged white doctor doesn’t often get to look through.

I have reached out to a number of political figures and advocacy organizations, wishing to use this story to aid the cause of police reform. Watch this space for future developments.