The View From the Other Side
Two washingtonpost.com Reporters Describe Their Time in Police Custody

By Michael Bruno
and Christina Pino-Marina
washingtonpost.com Staff Writers
Friday, September 27, 2002; 9:37 PM

Plastic handcuffs are an interesting topic of discussion and good fodder for jokes when you're killing time while being detained by the police.

Oh yeah, they also hurt.

We were in Pershing Square on Friday morning, where several hundred protesters had gathered without a permit to demonstrate against the International Monetary Fund and World Bank. Police on foot, horseback, and motorcycles had completely surrounded the park by 9:30 a.m. By 10:15 a.m, the demonstrators were tiring out. Some reporters were leaving and protesters were singing, dancing and, in some cases, napping.

A Metrobus appeared at the southwest end of the park at the corner of 15th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue.

Then it happened.

Without an announcement or command of any sort, the police, who had seemed far away just moments before, suddenly advanced toward the protesters and reporters and began to corral everyone toward the bus. Some people were pushed to the ground, dragged down a sidewalk, handcuffed with hands behind their backs, and escorted onto the bus.

So, what's it like to be rounded up during a protest? Confusing and intimidating, to say the least.

Despite having identified ourselves as news reporters several times, we were grabbed forcefully by police officers in riot gear, handcuffed and led to Metrobus No. 8771 with 34 protesters and an indignant United Press International reporter.

Aboard the bus, no charges were ever announced, and we watched as other journalists were allowed to leave.

Plastic handcuffs look flimsy, but they hurt. When cinched tightly around our wrists, they dug into our skin and our hands turned a reddish-purple color as numbness in our fingers set in.

Inside the bus, the mood was subdued and contemplative. Stunned protesters as young as 17 sat with activists decades older. Few talked at first, but the painful handcuffs proved to be the icebreaker.

One of the police officers started it off.

"OK, whoever wants the air conditioning on, raise your hand."

A protester then introduced himself with a smile.

"I'd shake your hand, but..."

Once the bus was moving, another protester, wearing a Redskins cap, stood up with his back to an open window and stuck his handcuffed hands outside. "I don't want people to think we're just commuters in here."

The jovial police officer was suddenly not amused. The man rushed over and pulled the protester over to a seat near the front of the bus, where he would stay under the officer's watchful eye for the remainder of the bus trip. The driver took us through downtown Washington, onto 395 and 295, and finally to the police academy at 4665 Blue Plains Ave. in Southwest Washington.

Oddly, the 15-minute ride was long enough for the police officer and the young man in the Redskins cap to strike up a friendly conversation about the relative merit of the Redskins and the Baltimore Ravens.

Once we arrived at the police academy, protesters in the now parked bus started asking to have their handcuffs loosened. Police officer J.R. King helped out by swapping the tight handcuffs for thinner, more forgiving ones.

Protesters' questions about what charges they faced remained unanswered. Several turned to their seatmates to strike up cell-phone partnerships. With everyone in handcuffs, one person would retrieve the other person's phone, dial a number, and stand up to hold it next to the other person's ear. It worked for us, too. Some callers were telling friends where they were; others were seeking legal advice.

One young protester reclined with his cell phone wedged in place between the bus seat and his ear.

"Should we give them our names?" he asked the person on the other end of the line.

By noon, 11 buses had arrived at the police academy, forming a line so long that some had to park outside of the grounds. Our wait would be much shorter than the others who were being detained. Our staff worked with police officials to clear up the matter and we were released without any charges at 1 p.m.

Just before exiting the bus, we had a conversation with Chris Downes, a peace activist from Fairfax. He recalled his experience at Pershing Square.

"Somebody walked up behind me and grabbed me by my knees, and basically threw me face first into the ground, handcuffed me and directed me on the bus," he said. "I had the intention of not getting arrested."

So did we.