When I decided to
write an article about participating in March’s Critical
Mass ride, I was almost certain that I was going to be
arrested. After all, it was the first ride since the
NYPD rewrote the parade rule to criminalize rides of 50
or more people without a permit. Under the new terms,
violators could be jailed for up to 10 days. The police
were so adamant about it that they drafted it without a
public hearing — after two different versions of it were
rejected in legislation. One civil liberties attorney
stated the obvious: The cops were out to “get” Critical
Mass.
An article in the LA Times predicted
that the ride would be the biggest standoff since the
Republican National Convention, when the police
corralled over 200 cyclists in mesh netting and threw
them in a makeshift holding facility along the Hudson.
The NYCLU report documenting the incidents of spying,
harassment, excessive force, and false arrests totaled
69 pages. By the time I got up the courage to ride, it
was too late to apply for a press pass, which I could
only obtain through the police department, whose rule I
was protesting.
Even though many people were
probably scared off, about a hundred gathered at the
Union Square starting point. Eventually, one man handed
me a white t-shirt with the number 25 written on it in
red magic marker. “Do you want to wear this?” he asked,
explaining that they went up to 49. He wanted me to be a
moving target, an advertisement mocking the parade rule
and daring the police to enforce it. I put it on,
reluctantly.
The evening started with a
half-hour protest, which drew major print, radio and
television media. Here’s what was probably edited out of
the coverage: During civil liberties lawyer Norman
Siegel’s speech, when he said, “In Brooklyn, we have a
word for this kind of law,” one small group yelled
“BULLSHIT!” (The word that Siegel meant to use, he
insisted, was “cockamamie.”) Aside from that, a
representative from the Five-Borough Bike Club announced
his organization’s lawsuit against the NYPD, and leaders
from the environmental group Time’s Up talked about
their ongoing legal battles. Councilwoman Rosie Mendez
told a cheering crowd that she would risk arrest by
riding along in a pedicab.
With that
announcement, the swarm began to pedal — headlong into a
police barricade a block away. I knew the first person
the police shoved into their vehicle. She was a
49-year-old jazz singer named Kim Kalesti, and we’d
spoken before the ride. It was her first one. She knew
little about it, but had friends prominent in bike
advocacy groups and wanted to show her support. Her
business card had pictures of red carnations and
advertised “BEAUTIFUL SINGING” in pink letters. It was
strange to see this woman treated like a criminal.
The cops ordered the crowd to disperse, and I
slipped away into traffic and away from the scene. But I
knew the ride wasn’t over. Since there are no leaders,
it can reconvene wherever there are enough cyclists to
join together. This time, the cops unwittingly helped me
find the group. I knew I was getting close when I saw a
police squad traveling in their direction. Two blocks
later, I joined two other riders meeting with a larger
group at Times Square.
Predictably, as
soon as the cyclists rolled into 43rd Street and Seventh
Avenue, the cops started handing out tickets, whether or
not the violations made sense. People riding in the bike
lane were ticketed for not cycling on the right side of
the street. Arguments over the fines heated up, and
again the crowd was ordered to disperse. Shortly after,
a photographer was arrested, and anyone trying to find
out why risked the same fate. The flare-ups only got
worse, but I would have to wait until after the ride to
find out the details.
When we arrived at the
Time’s Up headquarters for the afterparty, it felt like
a victory even for the people with tickets to fight, and
a television crew broadcast the return live.
Critical Mass had never received so much sympathetic
media attention. Once inside, people ate and traded
stories. Ms. Kalesti, the jazz singer, was back, and was
cleared of all charges. I spoke with an older man named
Steve Faust, who also wore a numbered shirt. When the
cops pulled him over to summon him, they shouted,
“Number 19, pull over!”
Since I had a tape
recorder with me at the celebration, some people
suspected I was an undercover cop. When one person made
the accusation out loud, Jefferson Siegel from The
Villager vouched for me, “Would a cop wear shoes
like that?”
Bike advocates reviewed footage and
photographs of the arrests, and I saw a girl I
recognized in one video. When we’d walked our bikes on
the sidewalk along West 43rd Street, she appeared shy
and nervous. I found out later that she was a
21-year-old photographer named Joyce Lin who originally
got into trouble for taking pictures of officers’
badges. One cop restrained her and another searched her
bag. When he found a knife, several officers suddenly
forced her to the ground. She screamed, struggled,
kicked, and bit wildly, and she was taken in for assault
and four other charges.
He wanted me to be a
moving target, an advertisement
mocking the parade rule and daring the
police to
enforce it. I put it on
reluctantly.
The arrests that
followed — as related by the DA’s report — could have
been written by the Marx Brothers. When videographer
Christian Gutierrez had taped the Lin arrest, the police
ordered him to go and eventually arrested him for
obstruction of governmental administration and
disorderly conduct. Then, photographer Jordan Groh
snapped pictures of the Gutierrez arrest, and was
brought up on the same charges. The police were camera
shy that night, and a journalist from another popular
alt-weekly was told to stop taking pictures even after
he flashed his press credentials. In addition to the
three arrests, there were 47 summonses.
Nobody, tellingly, was taken in for parading
without a permit.
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