Civil Disobedience of Kavanaugh’s Confirmation — Banafsheh Madaninejad
Chapter 4: Working in the System but Refusing to Buy In
NOTE: The text below is a retelling of the the arrest of 14 Austinites on October 6th, 2018, the day Brett Kavanaugh was confirmed to the Supreme Court of the United States. What comes below is solely the author’s interpretation of said events and is in no way a reflection of what other linefolk experienced, thought or felt. The names of some of the linefolk and certain details inside the Travis County Jail have been kept from the published story for the sake of maintaining the privacy and/or safety of those concerned.
Chapter 4: Working in the system but refusing to buy in
I’m sent to be fingerprinted and by the time that’s done we are rounded up to be transferred to our cells. Candace and I don’t get to see our National Lawyer’s Guild attorneys. I ask about seeing my lawyer and am told nothing helpful. This worries me but I try to put it out of my mind.
Some of us are made to strip once again because we had not removed all of our street clothing the first time around. It becomes even colder after that.
We’re put on an elevator and are instructed to face away from the door of the elevator by the policeman escorting us. Elevator door reopens, and we enter, what I can only surmise, is the women’s cell block. We’re to be handed over to a policewoman who proves to be the worst smackdown-enforcer I met that night. We’re told to stand against the wall. The policeman who had escorted us upstairs stands around as we wait, backs against the wall, to be processed. Noticing some sandwich bags in a corner, one of the linewomen asks if we’re going to be fed. The policewomen responds with: “since there are four sandwiches and five of you, no, it wouldn’t be fair” in a particularly uninterested tone. I hear chuckles from the group, I’m guessing they were just as entertained by the policewoman’s sudden interest in fairness given our predicament. The linewoman pushes back some more: “What if I forgo eating? Will you feed the rest?” “We’ll see” is the response. The policewomen is carrying a smirk on her face during the whole exchange. Not surprisingly, our team was not fed that night. We start chit-chatting and laughing emboldened by our sister’s back-talk. “Time to quiet down now. I’d start behaving if I were y’all” the policeman who had escorted us threatens loudly. We quiet down a bit. We’re given a little plastic bag that contains a tooth brush, a tube of toothpaste and a bar of soap, and a blanket, and escorted separately to our cells.
Once inside the cell, I ask a question about cell hygiene. The policewoman detects my anxiety and smiles a big “I gotcha now uppity girl” smile and says, “you’re in jail lady, live with it.” She slams the door and the bang echoes throughout the block. Whether they make those doors extra heavy on purpose to create the booming sound affect or the policewoman was just putting extra grease into that elbow, the effect was the same. The booming echoes in that space work to wreck the inmates sense of safety. Taken off guard, I look back and see her still standing there, watching me, peering into the cell and into my eyes in order to catch my reaction, perhaps the fear in my eyes. She gives me a look that relayed equal parts satisfaction and repulsion before walking out of sight.
The cell feels even colder than the hallway. I wrap the blanket around me and spend the next few hours trying to get warm. I decide to take a nap but realize it’s not possible with my anxiety levels and all the banging and yelling. The best I could do was to calm myself by following and registering my thoughts.
I’m finally fetched by another woman officer who has a less threatening gaze and taken to my lawyer. Seeing my National League of Lawyers attorney had a soothing effect. He tells me we’ll be out soon.
I’m not sure how long I spent in that cell all together but when the time comes for us to be escorted out of the block we are reassembled in the same spot in the hallway. A new policewoman take us down in the elevator. As we turn the corner, the woman officer who was reveling in our take-down shows up and says, as if speaking to a group of children: “now remember, no more blocking highways!” My mind lands on a personal memory. Several years ago, my family and I had nearly ran over a very distressed woman running wildly in front of heavy traffic on I-35, a main artery in Austin. I yell, looking backward at her as I keep walking toward the elevator,,“it wasn’t a freeway, it was a road. And, you’re welcome.” The linewomen burst into giggles and just like that her attempt at not just infantalizing us but also portraying us as having trod in the subtle ground of madness, disappears into the thin frigid air.
We’re escorted into the elevator again and are all excited about getting out. We wait for it, but the policewoman does not ask us to turn around. I ask why she hasn’t. She says apologetically: “we do this for our own safety. Y’all seem okay,” and smiles. I love her for treating us like humans. Once out of the elevator, the kind officer escorts us to a set of benches. We are loud and happy ya’ll. Someone notices a sign that warns against talking in that space. We take note, pause, look at each other, laugh and keep talking.
Each one of us is called to the final counter where we are given our clothing, asked to change and then asked to sign before being let out of jail. It’s my turn. I approach the police officer behind the counter, yet another gentle out of place soul. She asks for my name, I give it to her. I’m asked, again, if I feel like I need to take my own life, “Hell no! I’ve never felt better!” I say loudly and with a big smile. The bench of linewomen erupts into giggles. The policewoman smiles. “Did you hear about the Bridge takeover?” I ask. “Yes, heard about it on the news before coming in for my shift,” she says softly.
It’s 2:30 am when our team finally gets out. We are immediately greeted with shouts of joy and applause by about 30 or so of the support team and family members. The head attorney representing us is also there. Folks have brought or delivered coffee, water, pizza, and other snacks. The support team had kept our family members up to date, they had fed our cats, they had taken care of us.
As I look back at the experience, I’m amazed at the gentle souls I met inside the jail. It’s possible to work within the confines of toxic patriarchy and not buy in.
In love and solidarity.
