ZACK ST JOHN (Spokane Police & Freedom of Speech)
by ZACK ST. JOHN (Special Correspondent)
by Zachary St. John
Special thanks to Zach and his family
When I woke up on July 4th of this year, I remember what it was like outside. The sun was beaming, and the light shone into my apartment window and woke me up earlier than my usual late slumber. My girlfriend was planning on going to see Willie Nelson at the Gorge, and I was planning on seeing some friends up north, and possibly go to this protest downtown that some of my old friends were throwing. Little did I know that beautiful morning, that this day, would be changing my life, my city, and the way I see the world. For better or for worse.
Skipping past the non-matters, the dog-walk, the music listening, the kiss to my girlfriend telling her to have fun at the Gorge, while I sit here in boring Spokane waiting for her to get back, trying to kill some time. Skip past the busy store with all of these americans buying pointless cloth flags made in China. Skip to the park under the bridge in Peaceful Valley, sitting on the grass, hearing the organizers --my old friends; give their words about things I care very dearly about. The deaths of Otto Zehm, Eagle Michael, Trent Yohe, and the near death of Shonto Pete are tragedies for both me and the community. The cops we trusted with our lives seemed to be consistently abusing their power in an uber-macho chauvinistic way. My day had just begun.
I was one of the first to see the police cars come around the corner, as a well established professor from Gonzaga was making his speech I decided to stand up to try to block the view of the officers from our protest, which at the time was about 50 people sitting in the grass. After all the speeches on the protesters side were done, the police officer’s decided it was their turn to make a speech of their own. While I don’t remember the words exactly, I do remember being told that if we were to stay on the sidewalk and respect all pedestrian right-of-way laws, that we were told our march would not be interrupted . The march began, with visible surveillance from a few cop cars, and not so visual surveillance from lots of other law enforcement types (see feds). The police seemed at this point to be receding from the battle-lines.
Skip to the park, the battlefield on that day. Once we got into the park, the police were keeping their tabs on us, and staying very close to us. Out of my recollection, and much to the contrary of most accounts of that day, I remember almost a fifty-fifty split of cheers and jeers to our protest. Some of our signs were radical, and some of the stickers were offending, but for most free-thinking people that day, the message stayed persistent: there is a problem, and it’s going to take everyone to fix it. We then sat down for the picnic.
The sandwiches were chock full of veganaise, tofurky, and veggies, and as I took my first bite into this sandwich (which cost nothing by the way) I felt trouble coming. Combat boots at eye level, police officers shoving their way through the group. Cameras were flashed within inches of our faces. Profiling for the revolution, they were getting their suspect list updated.
I remember vividly being pushed from behind, flat on my face, my sandwich hit the grass. As a rather defiant individual, who doesn’t like to take $hit very often, I shot up like a rocket right in that cops face. I screamed, give me your name and badge number (protest law 101, but a rather pointless request). He denied me my request and within a half a second, I was on the ground. Face first. My angst ignited.
Another vivid memory from that day is at this very moment. Face in the dirt, knees in my back, and a few carefully placed elbows to inflict maximum pain. I looked up and saw some of my best friends. The crowd erupted in an incredible ensemble of “let him go” which quickly changed to “shame on you”. The handcuffs were placed so tightly on my wrists that I bled down my arms. Being lifted by my arms I realized the true magnitude of what was taking place. In my foreground was the protesters, so outraged that at this point, I would have believed you if the story ended here and ended in an actual riot. In the background were citizens, most with one of two forms of disbelief. The first was outrage at the blasphemous kids sitting on the flag and disrespecting the police on our nation’s birthday. The second, absolute disbelief that on our nations birthday, the police were assaulting and arresting people exercising one of this nations most fundamental principles, the freedom of speech.
As I walked across the wood bridge just south of the clock tower, with police officers on each side of me, I was shouting things to my friends. “Tell Judith I’m OK”, “My Parents number is ---“ and finally “Tell my work I won’t be there tomorrow” I heard the police officers say something at that moment on the bridge that changed my trust in public figures though forever. I heard “You saw him choke me right”, as the second cop laughed and replied “uhhh sure”. I was taken to the Spokane county jail on a charge of Second Degree assault. As I was making my phone call to my mother, screaming obscenities to her about those damn pigs arresting me for assaulting them, and ranting about how I didn’t touch them, a wonderful corrections officer slammed my face into the brick wall and then reminded me that I was in their territory now, and it would be best for me to shut up. My attitude ended there. At this point, I was just another guy in jail.
Skip past my bail being paid, my girlfriend pretty much going door-to-door to get me out of jail, skip past telling my work the story, and eventually, having to tell everyone the story, skip past the July 9th follow-up protest, with support seemingly unstoppable. Skip past someone’s huge mistake that involved late-nights and spray-paint, skip past the prosecutors supposed picture that if you blow it up just the right way and enlarge it and reverse the colors and do all these things, you MAY be able to see what COULD be a silhouette of my hand NEAR this cops neck.
Skip to when I gave up. For months Judith and I have been talking about moving, and when her best friend headed to the east coast, we saw no choice but to follow her. Plans were made for me to finally continue my education and move to Pittsburgh. I sold my car and bought a van big enough for both of our things. The trial was a looming date, a gamble on my life. If I was not-guilty, we win and I can move far far away and put this great experience behind me. If I was guilty, I was in jail, and we lost. I mean the cops would be completely winning this battle. Arrested me for assault and won with a jury of Spokane’s very own citizens. I believe the chances of Guilty were small, and the prosecutors continued talk of deals months in advance solidified that thought. But I just couldn’t bring myself to risk it.
For me, it was already a done deal. So last Thursday, I swallowed my pride and finished my tenure that one of my good friends refered to as “Spokane’s biggest punk celebrity”. But this is just the beginning. My idea of protests is much larger than this town. As I said in court, my days of standing up for what I believe in are far from over. I hope to take this experience with me to next years Republican Convention, and through the rest of my life. So thanks to everyone who supported me through this ridiculous ordeal. Thanks to the couple who paid my bail and the gentlemen who paid my fines.
This ones for the animals.
Thanks,
.......... Zachary St.John
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(this essay sponsored proudly by a Republican….a Liberal Republican….me…david e)
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Special thanks to Dr. John Olsen and Marshall Smith, who both donated nearly 200 dollars for the fine
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