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LOPES, AINA, WINGO, AND AKAGI:
EXPERIENCING
POLICE MISCONDUCT
A Citizen's Report by Alfred
Arney
Introduction
Early on the morning of September 26, 1996, I was assaulted,
battered, and beaten
unconscious by officers in the Honolulu
Police Department. In addition to that, they accused me
of
pushing one of them, and charged me with harassment. I was eventually
found not guilty, and
cleared my name, but felt that it was my duty - to
myself, my fellow citizens, and the state of
Hawaii - to bring
my assailants to justice. In pursuit of that justice, I went to the
Police
Commission, through the U.S. Civil Court system, and the
F.B.I.
As of this date
- October 15, 2003, my pursuit has been fruitless. Not only have I failed,
but
the various agencies and institutions that are supposedly set
up to protect Hawaiian and
American citizens have failed. One
might argue that if procedures and policies were followed
according to the rules and precedents of law, then the system worked
as well as it could, and I
should be content that I, at least,
had followed the law and done what I could. I don't agree with
that argument. Just because the system is working the way the people
who run it desire, that
doesn't mean that the result is what
American citizens desire, or need. Equal justice under the
law,
and the preservation of law and order was not achieved in the procedures
and policies that I
observed. Criminals are still employed at the
Honolulu Police
Department.
Perhaps that is
because the procedures and policies are inappropriate or insufficient.
Maybe
certain individuals are compromised, or biased, or just
plain dishonest. What I observed in my
few years dealing with the
legal system in Hawaiian and U.S. Courts did not lead me to believe
that they are dispensing equal justice for
all.
What I went through was a frustrating and
educational experience, and I write this now
mostly to share it
with my fellow citizens. I was taught in American public schools that we
as
voters are responsible for those we elect, and the public
employees we pay, on all levels. In
order to be responsible
voters and citizens it is necessary that we be informed of the facts as
fully as possible. You can read accounts in the newspapers, or
see stories on television, but
these are from established media.
This is the story from the victim's point of view. Nobody is
paying me to say anything, or changing what I write for an editor's
or publisher's agenda.
The
story is best heard in the order it happened, and in the words of the
people involved. We
start with my fullest recollection of the
"incident." I was hoping to give this testimony in court
sometime in 2002. I offer it to you now.
Part One: Testimony of Alfred E. Arney, January
2002
Your
Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury: citizens and taxpayers of
Hawaii;
My
testimony is that at least one - and possibly all - of the defendants
assaulted and battered
me without cause or provocation, resulting
in my being beaten unconscious. All of the
defendants conspired
in arresting me without cause, filing reports that brought false charges
against me, lying under oath in court, and lying to the Police
Commission.
These
actions took place during or in connection with an "incident" early on the
morning of
September 26, 1996. Some of the -aspects - of the
situation probably need an expanded
description so that you can
fully understand what was going on. I hope that I can do that in the
course of my testimony so these aspects can be seen in their proper
perspective. Will that be
permissible, Your Honor?
Thank
you.
At the time of
the incident, and for several hours prior to it, I was with my girlfriend,
Wendy. She
had been my girlfriend for about six months at that
time. Before that - in 1995 - she was a taxi
passenger of mine. I
moved in with her and her family about January, 1996. This was at her
father's house on Aiea Heights. The other people living
there were her father, her three children
and another
friend/tenant. I was just a tenant when I moved in.
In the course of our relationship,
Wendy and I had found a mutual interest in shooting pool -
billiards. We tried several of the pool halls in Honolulu, and hadn't
found one that we really liked.
On the night of September 25, we
decided to try some of the clubs downtown, along Hotel Street.
This was partly so we could invite a friend who lived downtown -
at Marin
Towers - to join us,
and partly to see what the bar atmosphere was like, as opposed to
pool halls. We parked (Wendy
parked - we were in her car) at the
Marin Towers parking lot, met our friend, and proceeded to
Hotel
Street about a little after 8 p.m.
The first
place we went to was Two Jacks bar. It was easy to see, just looking
through the
door, that they were not busy, and had an available
pool table. We stayed there for an hour and a
half or two, and in
addition to playing pool, I had maybe two or three drinks. Wendy had had
hepatitis B previously, was a very rare and light "drinker", and
usually just had Kahlua milk. I had
a
couple of Budweisers, and I don't know about our
friend. None of us liked to get drunk, and I in
particular hate
to pay bar prices. I want to make it clear that we did not get drunk or
out of hand.
These were basically "courtesy" drinks for the bar.
After all, that's what bars' and clubs'
business is - selling
liquor.
Anyhow, about 10
p.m. we left Two Jacks. It might have been getting crowded, or somebody
else wanted to use the table, I'm not sure. We walked around for
a bit and found another
available pool table at Club Hubba Hubba, across the
street from Two Jacks. We stayed there for
another hour and a
half or two, and it was the same as at Two Jacks. We played pool, drank a
few courtesy drinks, and had fun. We left about midnight - as I
recall, in a good mood. Nobody
was drunk, staggering, or anything
like that. There was no "scene" at either Two Jacks or Club
Hubba Hubba. We headed back
to the car.
By the
time we got to the parking lot, Wendy and I were having a disagreement, or
a situation ...
I'm not sure what to call it, or what it was
about ... this is one of those "aspects" I mentioned
earlier.
Every so
often, Wendy would - as she put it - "bitch you out." This would be a one
way torrent
of verbal abuse, directed by her at her family
members, or her friends, or me, or anyone who set
her off. She
would carry on for hours, putting down the subject's behavior, relatives,
friends, job,
co-workers, cat, dog, or whatever, on and on, and
if she ran out of things to criticize, she'd just
go back to the
beginning and start all over again. These were never physical fights, just
one way
verbal assaults, and a lot of times you never knew what
had, or would set her off. I'm not saying
this to make her look
bad, or to excuse anything I did. Like everyone else, Wendy had her
reasons, and her problems. These "bitch sessions" were a part of
being around Wendy.
Nobody put
up with this, though. Everybody who she lit into would at some point get
up and
leave. If it was her family or friends, or some stranger,
she would let them go. I was the exception,
meaning that if I
walked away, she would follow me out the door and down the street,
continuing
with her session. Like I said, these were never
physical confrontations, and I think that if
anybody in this
courtroom ever saw us, you would probably hide a smile behind your hand
and
shake your head in pity at these two fools. You would see two
short people walking as fast as
we could, me in the front saying
"shut up and go home!" and Wendy behind, going, "Yip! yip!
yip! Don't you
walk away from me!"
Usually we
got along pretty well. These situations had only come up once or twice in
the six
months of our relationship, and nobody ever thought they
were serious enough to call the police.
Let me
correct that, if I may. One of these episodes took place about one month
before the
Sept. 29 incident, and I was the one who called
H.P.D., because I thought they might be able to
help
her.
Wendy had
started in on me, I walked out of the house -in Aiea- and she
followed me. It was
raining pretty steadily, and she was
barefoot. We went down Aiea
Heights, then along Ulune
Street toward Honolulu. By the
time we got to Halawa Heights Road (?) I could
see that her feet
were hurting -she was limping- but even though
she was in pain, she kept following me and
cussing me out. We
came to a pay phone by a church, and I called H.P.D., asking if maybe they
could give her a ride home. Two patrol cars showed up, and not
only did Wendy refuse a ride,
she started to bitch the cops out.
Like everyone else, they left.
Anyhow - on
Sept. 26, 1996, shortly after midnight - I realized that Wendy was in one
of these
modes, and when we got to the car, I didn't want to ride
with her. I had to work the next day, and
didn't need to be kept
up all night and exhausted. When she saw that I wasn't going to get in the
car, Wendy grabbed my shirt. This was a nice tee-shirt that
someone had given me as a
Christmas or birthday gift, and I
didn't want to risk it getting damaged, so I took it off and threw it
into the front seat. That's as close as we got to anything
physical.
I walked out of the Diamond Head side of
the Marin
Towers lot, wearing
only a pair of shorts
and slippers. Wendy followed, and I think
our friend went up to her apartment.
My intention was
to walk home, and whatever happened, to get to work the next day.
I've been
hiking and backpacking all my life, so to walk
from downtown Honolulu to Aiea - basically 5-7
miles of level terrain - is no problem. From the Marin Towers lot I went down Smith Street
to
Nimitz
Highway, and turned right, heading Ewa. Wendy was right behind me. We crossed over
Maunakea Street, I think
Kekaulike Street, then
River
Street, and over the Nu'uanu Stream bridge.
As I've related, Wendy
was behind me, cussing me out, and I was saying "Shut up and go
home!"
Just after we
crossed Nu'uanu Stream, we passed the entrance
to a parking lot - I think it was
A'ala
Parking. As we passed that entrance, some H.P.D. vehicles pulled out, two
squad cars and
a Cushman, I believe. I hadn't seen any blue
lights as we approached the parking lot ... as far as I
could
tell they were just sitting there in the dark, and came out when Wendy and
I showed up.
Several officers
got out of the vehicles and approached us. I was glad to see them. I
thought
that they'd separate us, and I would at least get to walk
home in peace. When they got close
enough to hear, I said
"She's trying to argue, and I'm trying to walk away."
One of the
officers took hold of Wendy and pulled her away from me. Another one asked
me in
an awkward, jerky, huffy manner, "Can you... produce... any
form... of i-den-ti-fi-cation?"
Like I
said, I was glad to see the officers. I thought that Wendy and I
looked silly and pathetic. I
thought that since I only had
shorts and slippers on, the officer might wonder whether I had any
I.
D. or not. All in all, I thought
that the officer was joking, poking fun at us. His manner certainly
struck me as comical, like Foghorn Leghorn from the old T.V.
animated cartoons. Unfortunately, I
imitated him. As I got my
wallet out of my back pocket, to show him my driver's license, I
parroted him, saying, "Can you... produce... any form... of... i-den-ti-fi-ca-tion?" I was smiling
when I said this.
The officers
flew into a rage. On my left, two officers yelled that they didn't have to
show
anybody anything - they could do whatever they wanted to,
and didn't have to account to
anyone. On my right side, another
officer was bent forward, his face contorted in rage, his hand
clutching his uniform where his name was stitched on. "You want to
see my I.D.?" he snarled.
"Here! Here it is! C'mon, have a
*@^#%@* look!" (He did not actually swear, but indicated
profanity with his manner and body language.)
I was shocked at
their actions. At first I thought that they were offended because I'd
imitated the
first officer, but they were "going off" as if I'd
actually asked for his I.D. I tried to explain that I
didn't want to see anyone's I.D., and if I did, what the agitated one
was being so dramatic about
would have been fine - his name
stitched on his uniform. They shouted me down, though. I
couldn't get two words in edgewise.
This went on for
- I don't know - thirty seconds or a minute. One of the officers
indicated that
he wanted me to sit down. There was a wall
about two feet high, ten feet or so behind me, and
he said that I
should sit down over there. I was still standing with my wallet in
my hand, waiting
to show them my
identification.
What
happened next is just a blur in my memory - I'm not sure what the exact
sequence of
events was.
It seemed
that none of them was interested in seeing my driver's license, so I put
my wallet
back into my pocket. I was pushed - bumped -
bullied - physically manhandled over to the wall. I
didn't
get to sit down on my own; I was forced down onto the wall. My face
was in an officer's
chest, and I could clearly see his name on
his uniform - Aina. Somebody was holding/pushing
me by the
back of my head, forcing me to look at Aina's name. My glasses were
gone.
In
retrospect, that seems like the correct sequence, but I'm not sure.
It all happens at the same
time in my
memory.
My head
was being held in Aina's chest. Somebody asked me, "So what do you
see?"
"I see 'Aina'," I
responded. "As in 'keiki o ka aina', or 'kama'aina', or 'aloha aina'. And
I don't
see much aloha in this treatment I'm
getting."
"So. What
are you looking at?"
I was
starting to get offended at all of this. I replied, "I'm looking at
his Batman suit."
"Oooh, it's a Batman suit." This was the same voice
that had asked me for my i-den-ti-fi-ca-
tion. Now he sounded like one of the
Three Stooges, going "Oooh, it's a wiseguy." I heard
laughter around and behind
me. Whoever was holding my head released it. When I could look
up, there was an officer standing 4-6 feet in front of me. I
was sitting on the wall. Other officers
were moving on my
sides, seeming to be positioning themselves, but they were at the edge of
my field of vision, or out of it entirely. The officer in
front started badgering me with questions
like "Who was I to ask
for anything (I.D.) from any officer? Why should I want to know?
They
(police) could do whatever they wanted to, so why was
I asking for trouble? Why should they
have to tell anyone
anything..?" These are not the exact questions - verbatim - but they
were all
along that line. I didn't get to answer most of his
questions, but I do recall saying that they
shouldn't be hiding
behind their Batman suits.
I
realized that they had not asked me a single question about what was going
on with Wendy
and me. Everything had to do with why should I
question the Secret Police? I resolved to not
participate
any further with this agenda, and my last answer - to some "why?" question
- was
"Because you are public servants, and you should respect
that."
I sat on
the wall with my hands in my lap. The officer continued with his
badgering and
berating, but I said nothing.
Somebody punched
the left side of my face - hard enough so that I was lifted (slightly) off
the
wall. My head flew way off to the right. I settled
back, in a while, on the wall. Nobody was visible
to my
left.
The officer
asked me more questions. I looked him straight in the eye - as much
as was
possible without my glasses - and said
nothing.
After
about a minute (?) of more questions, somebody punched the right side of
my face. Like
the first time, this was hard enough so my body
lifted from the wall, and my head flew way off
into
space.
I settled
back on the wall, with my hands in my lap. Nobody was visible to my
right. Whoever
was punching me didn't have the glandular
integrity (testicles) to be seen. The officer in front of
me could obviously see what was going on, but did nothing to stop it.
Giving directions with his
eyes, he was directing this
scene.
The first
officer moved off to my left, and another officer took his place, holding
my attention
with his questions. After about a minute, I
was punched again on the left side of my face. Again,
my body
lifted, my head flew, and I settled back on the wall.
I
remembered being knocked unconscious years earlier, and how that
experience had
unbalanced me for years. I didn't want to go
through an ordeal like that again, but now I was
trapped.
If I tried to run or fight back, the officers would claim that I was
resisting arrest - even
though none of them had said anything
about an arrest. I remembered seeing the Rodney King
video
- how when he flinched in pain he was beaten more. I resolved to not
make any move at all
that could be construed as resistance, or a
threat. I told myself to remember as much as I could,
even
though my brain was being rattled. Remember Aina. Just try to
hold/retain as much as
possible. I resolved that I would
not rest until these criminals were brought to
justice.
At some
point Wendy had started screaming; I could hear her some distance
away.
The first
officer moved back in front of me, coming from my right side, and his
substitute
moved off to my left. He resumed asking me
questions, with a twist now.
"How did I
feel now?" he asked." Did I still want to see someone's I.D.? Did I
still think it was
any of my business who the police were, or
what they did?"
I said
nothing, but sat on the wall with my hands in my lap.
A blow on
the right side of my face sent my head flying again, and again I settled
back on the
wall and sat with my hands in my lap. I vowed
to never let this go.
Remember
Aina.
I sat on
that wall, with my hands in my lap, and let the officers punch my head
until I was
unconscious. The last thing I saw was a police
officer’s face, smirking and asking questions.
The last thing I
heard was Wendy,
screaming.
I woke up,
as from a bad dream. I was lying on the ground - it took a while to
recall where I was
and why. I was behind the wall where
H.P.D. officers had been beating me. They were still
there.
I could still hear Wendy screaming. It seemed that the best
course would be to make no
move or sound.
Officers
gathered around. One asked, "Hey, asshole, where do you work?"
I did not reply.
After a
while, one of them told the others, "We'll charge him with harassment, in
case he makes
a complaint."
I was
handcuffed very tightly, with my hands behind my back. The position
I was left in - on
my side- and the tightness of the handcuffs
pinched my nerves and circulation. It would be
months
before the numbness faded, or until I could pick up my trumpet
again.
I was
searched while I was on the ground - finally they looked at my driver's
license.
Everything I had was taken from me, including a hair tie
that held my hair back neatly. My hair
was roughed up so I
looked more unkempt that I would ever appear voluntarily. I was not "read"
any rights, or informed that I was being
arrested.
I had
resolved to make no moves at all, but at some point I was hoisted by the
handcuffs -from
behind, which was very painful - about a foot off
the ground. Opening my eyes, I saw that they
were going to
drag me over the wall to a patrol car. I didn't want to be cut or
scraped any more,
so I stumbled semi-erect to "help". I
also realized that my glasses were gone, so I called,
"Wendy...Wendy...I don't have my glasses." I heard one of the
officers say that he had them,
then I was shoved roughly into the
car.
. They took me to the main police
station, on Beretania
Street, where I was photographed,
fingerprinted, and “booked". All I remember about that was that
when the desk sergeant was
taking my picture, I wanted to look
defiantly into the camera, to communicate that I would not let
this crime go unpunished. The officer insisted that I put my
head down, though, so besides
having my hair messed up, the photo
made me look far more like a rat than I do normally.
I had
enough money on me to "post bail", which is to say that $160 was taken
from my pocket
and appropriated as bail, and I was released in
about thirty minutes. Once again I started
walking home
(toward Aiea). The army base Fort Shafter sits between Honolulu and Aiea, and as
far as I know,
there are only two ways around it (Shafter). On the Mauka side is
the Lunalilo
freeway (the old H-1), which, as
far as I know, doesn't have a lighted sidewalk. On the Makai
side is Nimitz
Highway, which is paved and lit all the way.
I mention this because I obviously had
to take the Nimitz
route, which would bring me past the scene of the crime. I'm not
sure which
streets I took, but I worked my way from the police
station to Nimitz, and again headed towards
Aiea.
When I
came to the Nimitz/River
St. intersection, I found Wendy talking with a
security guard -
S. Lauer. I talked to him (them), and he said
that he was employed at that location, had seen what
happened,
and was willing to help me. He gave me a card with his name and
pager number on
it. We talked for a while, then Wendy and I left.
No longer
at odds, Wendy and I went back to her car at Marin Towers and headed home. At
some point she saw that blood was coming from my (left?) ear, and
insisted that I see a doctor. I
had no medical coverage at
that time, so Wendy took me to Kaiser Hospital at Moanalua, where
her family had an
account.
At Kaiser,
the doctors treated me for "multiple cuts and bruises." They asked
if I wanted x-
rays or a CAT scan, since I'd been unconscious, but
I declined, as I couldn't afford it (the E.R.
visit alone cost
$400). They also said that since I had been assaulted, they had to
call H.P.D.
An officer
was sent to Kaiser - I don't recall his name - and when I told him that
I'd been
assaulted by H.P.D. officers, he said that he wasn't
allowed to take complaints against fellow
officers. If I
wanted to make a complaint I would have to contact the Police Commission.
He
asked if I had done anything to "set them off." I
said that I guessed that they thought I'd asked
for their
IDs.
"Oh,” he
laughed. "If anyone gives us any trouble..." he punched the air with his
fist.
The next
day I (and Wendy) made a complaint at the Police Commission. We
talked to
Inspector Cluney, who took
pictures of my injuries, and said that they would "accept my
complaint."
My court
date for arraignment was about one week later. I could see that I was
charged with
"harassment". I wondered if harassment
included asking for an officer’s I.D., and determined to
ask the
judge if that was so. If it was, even though I had not really done
that, I figured I would
plead guilty, write off the experience as
a crooked cop nightmare, and remember Aina.
When the
date came, and I went before the judge, she stated that I was charged with
pushing
an officer. That was so ludicrous and unfounded -
so false - that I almost laughed aloud.
Fortunately, I kept my
wits, and pleaded "not guilty".
It took
three months - the officers kept missing trial dates - but we finally got
to court at the end
of December, 1996. Your Honor, may I
tell the jury what the verdict was?
Well. |
