The Day Nothing Happened

Update on the case

If you haven't read yesterday's story about the fight in the parking lot, read it first. Then the following will make more sense.

music: Tori Amos - Cornflake Girl (maxi single)

Thu Sep 9 11:44:40 MDT 2004

This morning, I again attempted to place a call to the Westminster city governmment, and dialed the extension printed on the card the police had given me. This time, I got an answer right away. I briefly described the incident to the person on the other end, said I was calling to find out whether they would want me to testify in court, or if there was anything else I could do to help with the case. I gave the case number that the officer had written on the card.

The clerk looked it up and told me that the case had already been processed. It had already gone to court. She seemed somewhat surprised that nobody had informed me, and said that they (whoever "they" is) should have kept me up to speed on what was going on, since I was, after all, the "victim" of the assault. I responded I had not heard a thing about it since the incident, and wondered what the status was. (I had given the police my cell phone number. Of that much I am quite certain.)

The police clerk didn't have any further information, but transferred me to the district court's office, who she said should be able to give me information about how the case had turned out. (Or something like that.)

While I waited, I instinctively grabbed a pen and paper, ready to write.

When the person at the count's office answered, I repeated the information, and asked if they could tell me anything.

Initially, she asked if I could give the Defendant's name. I responded that I had never been told the defendant's name (i.e. the name of the guy who hit me). But I could give her my name. Since I was the victim, and I had confirmed that I wanted press charges, my name should be on file too, right?

She said she would see what she could do, and asked for my last name, followed by first. A moment later, I'm sure she had the whole case file in front of her. (Yep, at least they're up to speed with the database age.)

She began to read off information about the case file. Almost under her breath, she uttered the name of the defendant. I wasn't sure if I understood the last night correctly, but I silently wrote down what I heard, and did not ask her to repeat it. A few days after it happened, the case had been processed. (I wrote the exact date down on my paper, but that paper is not in front of me right now.) He had been found guilty of battery, and harrassment (I think). Charges which had been dismissed (i.e. not prosecuted) included resisting arrest, and... a couple other little things, which I also wrote down, but don't have here now.

His sentence? 12 months probation. That means he's out. Probably back in that apartment across the street, with nary a slap on the wrist.

If all he had done was punch me (apparently the only thing he was prosecuted for), I would be inclined to say that such a sentence was plenty. But there was absolutely NO MENTION of KIDNAPPING A BABY, attempted battery against the woman with whom he had been fighting, or any of that. Why?

The most likely thing I can assume is that SHE decided not to prosecute for any of the crimes that she told me he had supposedly committed against her and her child. Thus, he gets out on a light sentence, comes back to live across the street, and I can just HOPE that he doesn't recognize me when I walk through the neighborhood -- or if he does, maybe he'll think twice before trying to attack me again. Maybe that girl isn't really as strong as I thought she was, if she can't even stand up to him enough to tell the courts what he did (or perhaps he did nothing to her, and she lied to me)...

OR...

Maybe she already understands what I have only started to discover again. That the police and the courts cannot, or WILL NOT, help. They are, at best, dumb and ineffectual; at worst, they are our greatest enemy. Ultimately, we are all left to fend for ourselves in this world, so we better learn how.

How else can one explain the fact that people who grow cannibas in their own gardens regularly get hard time, while violent abusers such as the one I confronted are allowed out with nary a wrist slap?

I am finally beginning to understand why so many strong women are apparently attracted to the anarchist way of life. It's their best hope, not only for their own survival, but for a future in which their children can grow up to be strong and healthy.

With that in mind, I am now placing a call to Food Not Bombs...

No answer. Right now, I can only take that to mean that the house is not yet ready for newcomers such as myself to begin assisting with food preparation today. Still, I want to see some of those people again, so I intend to be at the Boulder Bandshell this afternoon at around 15:30. Later this evening, I plan to attend BLUG. (And/or open mic night, if one will be happening this week.)

Between now and then, I'll see if Scott has any other fires that need help putting out.

Thu Sep 9 12:28:48 MDT 2004

P.S. After reading the first two chapters, I think I can safely say that the Vatsyayana Kamasutra is one of the most awesome pieces of written philosophy ever recorded. It is not only profound in an abstract sense, but contains much in the way of practical tips on living. The annotated Oxford Press translation by Wendy Doniger and Sudhir Kakar, which also features tons of annotations, commentary, and footnotes, was well worth the $12.95 I paid for it. Thank you for helping me learn how to seek pleasure without burning myself out in a self-destructive blaze of insanity. It's food (not bombs) for my soul.

Thursday, September 9, 2004

Update on the case