PGHIMC - Pittsburgh Independent Media Center

Officer Friendly
by Michelle Burton Brown Tuesday, Oct. 17, 2006 at 3:48 PM
michelleburtonbrown@yahoo.com

Standing in solidarity Pamela Lawton, a local activist shares her story of a past encounter with police officers on Pittsburgh's North Side.

As a child, I remember my mother teaching me to respect the police. She told me, and my eight brothers and sisters, that the police were our friends and we could depend on them to protect us from bad people and bad things. I believed my mother, and for a long time what she taught me as child about the police remained with me. As I stood in solidarity with Pam Lawton, the woman whose seven-year old child was held at gunpoint, outside the Municipal building with other concerned citizens on October 13, 2006, to protest police aggression, I thought back to the events that caused me to lose whatever respect, trust or faith I held for the police.

In the fall of 1990, I was visiting my mother in North View Heights, a public housing community on the North side of Pittsburgh, where she lived at the time. My former husband and two children were with me that day. When my youngest sibling, Rance, told me he was running late and asked me if I could drive him and his friend to work, I didn’t hesitate to offer to help him out. I asked my mother to keep an eye on the kids while I drove Rance and his friend to work, promising to come right back. We left my mother’s house in good spirits, laughing as we climbed into my car. We drove one block and paused at the stop sign before proceeding on our way up Mount Pleasant Road. It was a normal day. Nothing seemed amiss.

Suddenly, three unmarked vehicles surrounded my car and blocked me from moving. The car doors flew open and seven men dressed in black with weapons in their hands jumped out and began yelling at me. "Put your fucking hands where we can see them." I turned to my brother in the passenger seat and said, "Did I miss the stop sign?" He said, "No, you made the stop." The men in black with guns continued screaming at me. "Give us the fucking drugs." I turned to my brother again and asked if he or his friend had drugs. They immediately answered in the negative, swearing they had no drugs. The officers had pump-action weapons. They were long, black and looked deadly. I’ll never forget the frightening sound of seven shotguns being pumped and readied to blow our heads off. "Get the fuck out car now!" They were screaming obscenities and shouting orders while pointing their weapons at us.

I stepped out of the car with my hands visible. I cautioned my brother and his friend to play it cool, stay calm. We had seven masked men each one of them armed and dangerous, holding us at gunpoint. My brother and his friend were pulled out of my car. The police treated my brother and his friend roughly, yanking them out of the car. My brother’s head was banged off the car door as he was pulled from the vehicle. They screamed for the two young men to get on the ground. Once they were down, the cops quickly handcuffed them. "Why are you stopping me, I asked. What’s going on?" "Shut the fuck up and give us the drugs", someone shouted at me. A female cop reached into my car and grabbed my purse off the front seat. She looked through my purse and triumphantly pulled out a roll of cash. "What the fuck is this?" She began to verbally abuse me, insisting that I was a "drug dealer’s bitch" and that I had better turn over the drugs. I looked at her like she had lost her mind. "That’s me and my husband’s pay. I can tell you exactly how much is there." I tried to calmly explain to the female officer, and the rest of her posse, that they had made a mistake. The cops told me to shut up with my lies. The female officer continued to disparage and harass me, telling me she despised "hoes like me", acting all sweet and innocent. "You think your cute, don’t you?, she nastily asked"

I was handcuffed and taken to a car. My brother and his friend were placed in another vehicle. As I sat handcuffed in an unmarked police vehicle, I watched a man take my car away, driving it recklessly down Mount Pleasant Road. I was then transported to a holding area. There were at least 30 people already there. I recognized quite a few of them. They were as surprised to see me as I was to see them. I finally understood what the hell was going on after talking to the people in the holding area. I was caught up in a drug sweep. The DEA, Pittsburgh Police and Housing Authority Cops were conducting a "Sting" in North View Heights.

I told the arresting officers that they had made a mistake. I repeated my story as I was being processed and fingerprinted. I knew my mother would be worried about me and I wanted to get word to her that I was alright. No one would allow me to use a phone. I continued talking to the other hostages. They didn’t belong there either. Many of them were regular working folks who had no idea why they were arrested. I told the officers that I didn’t even live in North View Heights. They told me that if I didn’t live there, then what was I doing in a known drug area. And they kept talking about the money they found in my purse, insisting that it was drug money. No one would listen to me or help me. As bad as things were, it was about to get worse.

They called in the media. The police placed the money that they had taken out of my purse on a table and spread it out in a long arc. They then put a small amount of crack cocaine, that I assume they confiscated during their raid, on one side and a gun on the other side. The media filmed the money, drugs, gun and "criminals/hostages" and it broke the 6:00 News as a "brilliant DEA Sting Operation" in North View Heights. I still remember the bright the lights shining in my face as we were paraded before the media in handcuffs.

By this time, my family knew why I hadn’t returned, having recognized me on the 6:00 News, despite the fact that I had turned my face away from the cameras. I worked with children, and other protected populations back then, and I knew a pending drug charge would prevent me from passing any of the required state clearances. I had young children of my own who watched television. I was horrified that my reputation and lively-hood were on the line. My mother and sisters were in the courtroom for my arraignment. My family was relieved that I was finally going to be released from police custody. When I went before the judge, I learned I had been charged with Refusing to Disperse, Inciting a Riot and Disorderly Conduct. Every one before me had simply pled guilty to the charges so that they would be released. I protested the charges and told the judge that there had been a mistake. I began explaining what happened and told the judge that the DEA, Housing Authority and Pittsburgh Police had taken a community hostage under the pretense of a "Sting Operation". I told her that the police pretended my hard-earned, legally gained wages was "drug money," and that they didn’t even find any real drugs or weapons during their alleged "Sting Operation."

The female Housing Authority cop, the one who had called me names, trying to goad me into a confrontation, the entire time I was in her company, was in the courtroom. She began disputing my account of the events. We had a short verbal exchange. Suddenly, the woman went nuts and said I threatened her. She started shouting to the judge that I had threatened her life and she wanted me arrested. The judge quickly added "Terroristic Threats" to my charges and ordered me held. I remember my mother’s face as I was handcuffed in the courtroom and taken back to jail. My mother and my sisters looked perplexed.

Eventually, I was released. Everyone was relieved that I was safe and finally out of the custody of the Pittsburgh Police. I was able to provide pay stubs for my money and it was returned. My brother’s $150.00, taken from him by the police, was never recovered. My car was at the pound in the Strip District. The steering column busted open, damaged by the police. I tried to get help immediately after my release, believing there was someone or an organization that could prevent something like this from happening again. I ran into brick walls. I was traumatized and disillusioned. I gathered my small family and we moved from the City of Pittsburgh. I had a life to live...