#BipolarLivesMatter
What Happens When Police Beat and Torture a Lawyer With Alcohol-Induced Psychosis?
It Was Painful, and it Cost My Career — One Fucked Up Night
My first episode with what has now been diagnosed as alcohol-induced psychosis was in three weeks in February 2003, when I was 37. During those years before my attack, I graduated from Stanford Law School with distinction, was a member of California and New Mexico State Bars, and developed a broad plaintiff class action practice.
On Friday, February 7, 2003, my life changed. The hearing on class certification that brought me to Minneapolis extended through lunch before Judge Davis in the U.S. District Court.
After the hearing, I changed out of my suit and put on a red XXL Ernesto “Che” Guevara t-shirt under an over-shirt. I wore no jacket because I traversed the heated skyways. After taking a long walk around the “skyway” to the window shop and return phone calls, I returned to my hotel bar. At approximately 6:00 p.m., I had a few beers in the bar at the Hilton in downtown Minneapolis where I was staying.
At 9:30 p.m., I took a cab to The Cabooze, 915 Cedar, in Minneapolis. I had seen in the alternative press that a two-night reggae concert in honor of Bob Marley’s birthday was taking place there.
At approximately 1:45 a.m., I went to the front bar and asked for a taxi to the hotel, handing a female employee the card from the cab that I had taken to the bar. A snotty employee of the bar then said, to the best of my recollection, “Why did you wait 45 minutes after the last call to call a cab? We want to go home and drink already!”
I politely asked to remain inside for 5 minutes until the cab arrived outside. I was told to leave immediately. I informed all present that I was a lawyer, and I would sue if I were to become frostbitten. At that point, I was grabbed by several bouncers and physically was picked up. I shouted, “Unhand me! I am a lawyer. This is the battery!” At that point, the Cabooze employees and presumably the owner became angry and threw me down in the icy parking lot and slammed the door.
I went to the Hennepin County Medical Center (HCMC), located less than a mile from the hotel downtown. This way, I could go to the emergency room to report and have a doctor document the injuries, and then the next day, I could go to the police precinct and file a police report against the Cabooses.
By this point, at 3:00 a.m., anger at the hotel not calling me a cab, and adrenaline with a heaping helping of psychotic energy caused me to run out of the hotel, turning right down Marquette, in the direction of the HCMC, wearing only black jeans, and my t-shirt. I was flailing my arms, trying to get any cab or car to stop and give me a lift to the HCMC. If there were any effects to earlier consumption of alcohol and marijuana, they were very mild at all. Several cabs drove by empty. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was in a full-blown psychotic episode.
I walked up to the nearest door. Several ambulances and police cars were parked there. As I walked up, a stretcher was being wheeled in. I tried to enter that door. Officer Nelson, Badge №143 (from memory), told me to stop and asked where I was going. I politely informed him that I was presenting myself for treatment by a doctor on the advice of my lawyer because I had suffered injuries at a bar earlier and was unable to get assistance from the police.
He then said, “sorry, we’re closed.” I said something to the effect that “my lawyer told me it was open 24 hours, so if this was the wrong door, would you please direct me to the 24-hour emergency room.” He then said, “You look drunk. Why don’t you just turn around and go back to your hotel.” I said I just came from there and that after I saw the doctor, I would wait for a taxi back to the hotel. Moreover, I pointed out, “even if I were drunk, which I was not, why would that preclude me from seeing a doctor?”
He then jumped me, along with 3 or 4 other officers. I noticed that one officer, an African American female, stood by and watched. (As I watched the footage of the M.N. police killing George Floyd by stepping on his neck while others looked on, I had PTSD. I believe that only because I am white am I alive. Non-fatal police brutality directed toward the mentally ill is also inexcusable.)
Other paramedics and EMTs were in the area. I was handcuffed and placed sideways, knees first, into the squad car. At this point, I had never been verbal, let alone physically, abusive with the police, or I presumably would have been charged with assault on an officer. Also, since I was not allowed a phone call until sometime around 10:00 a.m. the following day, I could not have phoned in a bomb threat to the Hilton, as one of the police reports states. I was never read my Miranda rights nor told — at that time — why I was being arrested.
I asked what I was being charged with. Answer: trespass (apparently disobeying an order to “move on.”) and disorderly conduct. I again asked if I was free to go. Officer Nelson then parked at the jail, and I waited for what seemed like an eternity but was probably 10 minutes, in shock and in pain.
Officer Nelson opened the door. “Get out!” He yelled! “I can’t! Please take the handcuffs off just so that I can get out of the car” Officer Nelson and about 3 or 4 other officers then dragged me out onto my hands and in cuffs. I was pulled back so that the weight of my body landed on my cuffed hands, causing a gash in my right wrist and severe bruising. My Blackberry holder broke, and my phone went flying. I screamed in agony.
I was led into a solitary cell. The sheriffs told me to lie on the floor, which I could not do. I knelt, and they uncuffed me and locked the door. I continued to communicate with various faceless voices of police officers over the intercom in the room. A spirited discussion of my Constitutional rights ensued.
“I am a lawyer,” I pleaded. The answer: “No, you’re not.” (Obviously, they did not comprehend ‘Arshawsky Law Firm’ in my explanations and on my business cards.) “Yes, for the past couple of days, I was in federal court before Judge Davis.” The answer: “Chili Davis?” “Am I free to go?” I asked. The answer: “No.” “What am I being charged with?” “Trespassing and disorderly conduct.” “I would like to speak with the FBI.” “We called the FBI, and they are not interested in your case.” “I am not interested in talking with the FBI about my case, but about the fact that you gratuitously beat me up.”
It then got nastier. At one point, an officer said: “You are not welcome in Minnesota.” I said, “Believe me, I won’t be coming here again unless I have to.” One female officer said, “You have no penis.” At one point, an officer was peering at me through the window and wiggling his eyebrows. I asked if he was gay, and he did not reply, so I said, “that’s all right, I won’t ask, and you don’t tell.” I said, “I have the right to remain silent.” They said, “Where did you learn that from, T.V.?”
Finally, after several hours (also without food given my diabetes), I imprudently said, “What the fuck is it going to take to get the FBI down here? Is it going to take me telling you that there is a dirty bomb in my underwear at the Hilton?” “Is there a bomb at the Hilton?” “No, you morons, my question was what will it take to get the FBI down here.” Apparently, the bomb squad was dispatched to my room at the Hilton, where the most dangerous object found was my dirty underwear. I later learned that my watch and my calendar book were taken, as were some of my frequent flyer cards.
I finally decided to “play dead” until the morning. I should have done that from the beginning, but I was out of my mind, literally.
At the Hennepin County Jail, I Wake Up to Felony Terroristic Threat Charges and $100,000 Bond and Completely Lose My Mind
I was finally booked in the morning and called a lawyer and my wife, who divorced me after this. Before the call, I was told that I was being held without bond for “probable cause terrorist threats.” I was booked into the Hennepin County Sheriff’s Office Adult Detention Center (“ADC”).
On Saturday morning, February 8, I got to meet with a lawyer who photographed my bruises. He also referred me to my criminal counsel.
On Sunday morning, at about 4:30 a.m., I had a massive panic attack. I pressed the buzzer repeatedly. By 10:00 a.m. on Monday, I was finally given a dose of Buspar by the nurse. On Sunday afternoon, we were given bail slips. Judge Zimmerman upped the bail to $100,000 for felony terroristic threats.
I drafted a pro se petition for a Writ of Habeas Corpus. I demanded that it be presented to the United States Magistrate Judge on duty. The Sheriff refused but offered to mail it to the courthouse. They said they had no way of transporting me to the federal courthouse located across the street. By that point, the Sheriffs realized that I was a lawyer I called Goldberg’s bail bonds.
I ultimately bonded out after sunset on Sunday night. One of the employees at Goldberg said, “Don’t tell anyone, but before you got here, the police called and asked if you were really a lawyer, and I said of course. They said ‘uh oh.’”
In this case, I had to plead guilty rather than risk a three-year sentence and summary disbarment. I ultimately was suspended by the California Bar for this episode, which effectively ended my career.
Years later, to turn my trauma into something positive, I formed Bipolar Lives Matter Inc., a Massachusetts nonprofit and grassroots organization looking to reduce police violence against the mentally ill solely because they are mentally sick. I set up a website where we share stories and ideas. Please check it out if you are interested.
Are you inspired to write your own story as a mentally ill person who had a negative experience with law enforcement personnel?
#BipolarLivesMatter℠ would love for you to send your story to joe@bipolarlivesmatter.org. We need some information to know that you are a natural person. Let us know how you would like to be listed (full name, first name and initial, just initial, just first name, etc.) on our website. In any event, please join our movement, even if you only register a (fake) email address to get our new blog posts.
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