44. THE KIDS GO TOO FAR : FURTHER REQUIRING A SWAT TEAM IN BROAD DAYLIGHT

     Petty thievery. Real heavy, man. Did I say steal the enabling hot dog? The bounty appeared Provident, at first, as the nocturnal wanderers spot not one, but two! bags of groceries, sitting unattended on a lawn, in the early morning light. Jackpot! A holy crapshoot for the starving pair (living on fumes). We take the idealized, proffered honey, make haste to our rooming house rental, and chow down on scrambled eggs and toast with jam! (hey! our ribs were showing!) Later, back on the streets of hope, exiting our stomping ground, Cheap Thrills Secondhand Bookstore - Wham! Blam! an authoritarian voice rings out, "FREEZE! GET DOWN! HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEADS!" Totally unsuspecting ourselves, we scan for the action ("who's the culprits?"), unable to deny the two officers, swathed-in-black, "maintaining the position", pointing lethal menace (handguns) at arm's lengths from our heads. It all happened in a FLASH! (dey called SWAT 'cuz even the fly don't see 'em coming!).

     People gather to watch as we are hand-cuffed and led to the squad car. Uncool. Aghast, we spot "business associates" in the crowd. Curiously, we make absolutely no connection between what's currently digesting in our intestines and this outrageous, theatrical arrest. Wanted in regards to the red armbands and black clothing we wear in nihilistic protest? (we've formerly been detained for questioning on that account). Our captors keep us in the dark during the ride to the station, where, under interrogation, we lie about anything and everything, until it finally dawns on us, it's about that thirty dollars worth of groceries. Still, we continue to categorically deny any previous knowledge of, or affiliation with, the facts, not that they've outright mentioned it, either. It feels...necessary to circumvent the truth, in this sinister environment, with these unmerciful robots. Torture might be considered legal here, or in a near-by, soundproof room.

     "Four against one, their idea of fun."1 Indeed, allegations of police brutality brought against the Sûréte du Québec are ongoing (at the time, 1983, our friends in the Montréal punk hardcore band S.C.U.M. had released a Manifesto, decrying police prejudice and discrimination (not to be confused with the S.C.U.M. Manifesto of 1967, by the radical feminist who shot Andy Warhol, Valerie Solanas)). Organized and spontaneous protests continually spilled out onto the streets, for the release of the falsely-charged, badly-beaten, randomly-hated, immigrants-of-the-week, be it Algerians, Sikhs, Iranians, etc. not to mention the constant barrage of police aggression, assailment, harassment and deadly force, directed towards the poor and the homeless, at the whim of the rich and the corporate. Punks misfit right in.....cops routinely targeted us, suspecting we were on our way to anarchist underground rallies of millions, seething to terrorize the city in all-out class warfare......

         

       So, guilty as suspected, we continued to deny the obvious. Finally, with an ugly, demeaning, and official smirk, the bags in question are placed on the table in front of us. Guess our digs done been violated. "Oh, thoooose bags....yes, we took 'em, we were so hungry, we're sorry, Officer-Sirs, OK? Can we get off without losing a hand? Our throwing stars (shurikens) and our homemade nunchucks? (made from broomsticks).....yes, we agree, you'd best confiscate them." More misdemeanor charges, court appearances, apologies to the unharmed victim ("we swear, we'll learn how to grow food!") and yet another round of community service, picking up garbage in the streets.

                "Hey, is that garbage edible?"

1 S.C.U.M., "So M.U.C.H. Hate"

                                          HUNGRY NINJA ANARCHIST