a power-trip in uniform
all i know is, i am suddenly terrified. on the surface i am calm and even comfrontational. but inside, every time i pass a policeman on the street, my stomach clenches up, and i pray with every fibre of my being to not be stopped. the numerous bad experiences; questions that insult, injure and threaten; lead to prove that if there is anyone i need to be protected from, it is those very men that are supposed to protect me.
a few nights ago, a hen party at global towers has just come to a close and three of us leave together in one cab. two of us are fairly sober, one of us is not. D runs back into global towers to buy a bottle of water, while i hold out C’s head, out of the cab window. two cops, one young, one old, pull up next to the cab on a motorbike. the older one comes towards us. opens the van door and asks for identification, and proceeds with the usual set of questions that would seem to you and me are futile; “where are you coming from?” “where are you going?” etc. i answer confidently. i have nothing to hide. D comes back, and he asks her for ID. in the bustle of the scene, she momentarily misplaces her ID. inside, my heart sinks. i know he is looking for something, anything to pin on us; three girls, alone on marine drive, well dressed; and this could be all he needs.
he proceeds to ask for my name and address. i feel like saying my name and address are on the identification i offered him, can’t he read? and yet, i am afraid of the consequences and aware of the delicacy of the situation. i’m smart enough to not be too smart. i tell him my name and address. he writes it down on a notebad of blank pages. finally, he asks for my phone number. i am suddenly convinced of my notion that this man is far from trust worthy. the words spring to my mouth; “i know my rights, you can’t take my phone number”, but once again, i am compelled to restrain. out of fear. i think fast and give him my home phone number. in retrospect, i can think of a million things i could have done, but in the moment, i am scared shitless. he takes all our names and addresses and writes them in his notebook. he is looking at me; my legs, my breats. i can tell. the moment he moves to the front of the van to talk to the cab driver, i call my mother. i tell her he asked for my phone number. she stays online.
he checks in our bags, much more thoroughly than he must have ever checked any vehicle or house, i’m sure. he finds nothing, but decides that a toothbrush in C’s bag makes her ’suspicious’. he starts talking in riddles; “where are your other friends?” “how often do you come here?” “do you always come in cabs?” we are quick to establish that we do not make a habit of visiting global towers as he seems to suspect. i tell the truth; my friend is getting married and we rented an apartment between us and threw her a party, now it’s over and everyone’s going home. he continues with his funny questions. i know what he is insinuating. i wonder if he truly believes we are prostitutes, or whether he is simply implying that to insult and humiliate us. i feel it is the latter. he is just that kind of man, i can tell.
after a long while, he finally plays his ace. he threatens to take us to the police station. he says we are ’suspicious’ and that he feels he should haul us in. D boldly asks him to kindly explain to us why we are suspicious. he picked the wrong girls to intimidate, although we are trembling inside, we are not afraid on the surface. he wants us to be scared; he wants us to say “please don’t do that, i’ll do anything” so that he can get in to the cab and ask for a ‘favour’. i am not afraid of being taken to the cop shed; in fact, i far prefer that to being stuck here all alone with not a dog in sight with a pervert policeman. i am more afraid of what he can do to us, here and now. my heart is in my mouth. i am aware of what men like him are capable of. all he has to do is send away the other policeman and the cab driver.
my mother calls D. D tells the policeman her aunt is on the line, if he is detaining us, to please explain to her why. i fix my eyes on the number on his shoulder, made brave by my mother on the phone. he gets agitated, and tells us to leave.
how pathetic is life when i must the fear a person that i am entitled to go to for protection?
i know of policemen who have brazenly touched a girl’s breast, a policeman who has gotten into the vehicle next to my friend and unzipped his fly.
at the end of the day, i feel violated and very, very scared. where is the sanctity of life?
Sad times.. somertimes this country really sucks
Comment by me — January 3, 2008 @ 11:37 am
these fears are rational. it is well known the reputation of the police here. this is just a mere incident.
Comment by star — January 3, 2008 @ 11:40 am
Sounds like the kind of scenario I fret about when Mrs C gets late coming home. One thing she told me was that male Police constables are not allowed to search or make women get out of vehicles without a female constable present. But then the guy who hassled you was clearly not a stickler for rules
There is an online form that can be used to report complaints. Under the “Subject” line there’s a drop down menu which has “Complaint against police”.
Granted at a gut level my “Sri Lankan” instincts (Vut tu du kno? being third verld and all) make it hard to believe that an online complaint will get registered any where. But if you did remembered his serial number and if that fact rattled him, then there might be a hope of a working disciplinary process. Ok so I’m assuming a lot.
Of course it is your call
The sad fact is my first instinct was to wonder if you had a relative in the police to contact. Or think that complaining might mean more hassle of running around police stations. Then again may be a complaint might trigger a process that might make him think twice.
Perhaps another reader of this blog will have better insight on the options than me.
Comment by cerno — January 3, 2008 @ 11:48 am
I know it may be very very different for girls, and it may not work with every cop, but I have developed this way with cops after much trial and error. Acting confident, friendly, chatty, respectful, but still a little superior works a charm for me.
I know it’s old, and at the risk of sounding like a complete ass, have you tried dropping a name, title, designation or location into the conversation as casually as possible, even if it is just among yourselves and even if it’s just a bluff? It may work, but you’ve got to be chatty.
Having said that, I’m never around to see this lecherous side of Sri Lankan men, let alone cops, so what do I know, right?. I have to hear about it from my female friends. Men never act like this when the girls have got another man around.
Comment by Ravana — January 3, 2008 @ 12:06 pm
we had the EXACT same experience one time, on Galle Road. the difference being that we had one guy with us, among 5 girls, and it was blatantly suggested that he was our ‘pimp’. it would have been hilarious had we not been scared shitless. if you know me, and you do lol, you’d know that i wasnt about to keep my mouth shut about this type of behavior, but as luck would have it i was a wee bit tipsy and was forced to shut up by my friends. now that i think about it, that was probably a good thing. he asked the most insulting questions and we were splitting mad, but what to do. a name was dropped here and there and finally he let us off. my thoughts on it are the same as yours: if the people who are supposed to protect us are the ones we fear the most, what else is there left to say?
Comment by T — January 3, 2008 @ 2:44 pm
This is a country where a person like Mervin Silva could be a miniser…what else you can expect
Comment by poojitha — January 4, 2008 @ 4:41 am
Just a clarification. Prostitution is legal in Sri Lanka. Pimping is not.
Comment by Anon — January 4, 2008 @ 8:24 am
This is bloody outrageous… it really pisses me off when I hear things like this. It’s bad enough we still have these arcane laws that prevent women of any age purchasing alcohol, but to then have a so called ‘law enforcer’ humiliate you by insinuating that you are a prostitue makes my blood boil.
I had a similar experience once. I was driving with this girl (about 4-5 years ago) and I got stopped at a routine checkpoint (opposite Bishops). The bastards were looking for a quick buck obviously and gave me the whole spiel about her being a known prostitute and that I was to be hauled off to the police station. The poor girl was in tears and it was an extremely humilating experience for her - by this time other vehicles had been stopped and were embarrassed as well) I was livid and had to pay the fools off to make them let me go - I was all ready to make a complaint through a very connected friend but the girl was actually a prostitute
Comment by Art Vandalay — January 7, 2008 @ 11:21 am
One shitty experience.
It looks like minorities of all kinds face the same hassle. women being the biggest minority of all.
Comment by Jack Point — February 12, 2008 @ 6:48 am