All The Dumb Things

When I was in Madrid back in 1982, I went to the Post Office near the Atocha station to mail some postcards.  Near the Post Office, in one of the side streets there was a large informal market on the sidewalks. 

When I came out of the Post Office, I noticed there was a disturbance, as two police were trying to arrest a rather large woman.  Now this woman wasn’t large as in fat and soft, she was large as in robust and sturdy.  As a matter of fact she had the body of someone who looked like they did hard manual labour on a farm or something similar, all their life and the two police looked like a couple of pathetic little city weeds in comparison. 

One of the policemen had her by the arm as she resisted and he pushed her up against their Land Rover, whilst the other policeman had his hand on his holster ready to get out his gun.  There was a large angry crowd of a couple of hundred people pressing in close to the police, shaking their fists and yelling abuse. 

The Spanish aren’t a very tall race of people and being about 6 foot tall (183cm) I could see over the crowd quite well, so I took out my camera and started taking pictures from about 50m away (about 50 yards).  I had taken about 10 photographs of the two weedy little police trying to subdue a force of nature when one of the police turned in my direction to see me taking photographs.  He instantly raised his hand and pointed a finger at me in an aggressive manner.  So I stopped taking photographs and let the camera hang from my neck, while I raised one of my hands in a placating way to show my acquiescence, then I turned around and walked away quickly. 

I thought that, that would be the end of it, but I was wrong, because after I had gone about 100 m (about 100 yards) I was suddenly grabbed by one of my arms very forcefully and spun around to be confronted by the very agitated policeman who had been pointing at me.  He made it very clear to me, even though I didn’t speak very much Spanish at the time that I was to go with him back to the Land Rover. 

It flashed through my mind that it would be an easy matter for me to release myself from his grip and make a run for it.  Strangely enough, common sense, overcame my usual stupidity as I realised that as a brightly red haired and bearded, 6 ft tall (183 cm) freckled and pasty foreigner I would be very easy to spot amongst the smaller and swarthier Spanish.  I also figured that being alone with some annoyed Spanish police in a police station would be character building, in the bad kind of way. 

By the time we got back to the Land Rover, the crowd had grown and the lone policeman, had his hands full with the fired up Amazon. The cop who had me by the arm roughly shoved me into the front of the Land Rover, on the passenger side, and made it clear that I was to sit there and wait.  Meanwhile, just outside my window (which was open) the police were still trying to subdue the woman. She was tossing them around and yelling out blue murder.

As the woman being arrested was raising hell, a younger male version of herself, rushed from the crowd to her defence. I can only presume that the man who was built like a bull was her son.

The young minotaur charged straight into the policeman holding the woman and body checked him against the car with a sound that I usually associate with ice hockey. The policemen who had grabbed me then pulled out his gun and swung the man against the Land Rover, hitting his head against the door pillar near my head with loud smacking sound.   Then, quick as a flash the policeman, shoved his gun up the man’s nostril so hard that I thought he was going to tear it right open.  I instinctively pulled my head away, as I expected to be splattered with brain in any moment.  

Even with the gun up his nose the young man made it clear with loud bellowing and much muscular thrashing about, that he was a force to be reckoned with, and the police should let them go.  One didn’t need to speak the language to understand what was going on.  All I had to do was look around and see the faces of the crowd, who were definitely on the side of the man and the woman being arrested, to know that something unjust was happening. 

Only about 30 cm (about a foot) away from my head I could see the fierce determination of the young man and a panicky look on the policeman’s sweaty face as the situation escalated.  I had the feeling that things were spiraling out of control and there was going to be a death, in seconds.  It is no exaggeration to say that the atmosphere was explosive.  I know it sounds trite, but that’s the only way to describe it.

The Land Rover was being rocked back and forth as the man and woman struggled with the police, and then all of a sudden the woman broke free and ran up the street.  The crowd parted to let her past and instantly closed after her making it very difficult for the policeman pursuing her.  In the confusion, the young man threw his policeman to the ground and ran in the other direction.  The policeman instantly got to his feet and went in pursuit. 

So there I was sitting by myself in the Land Rover and instantly the mob crowded around the Land Rover to give me cover and made motions for me to leg it. 

It was amazing how the crowd reacted in such an overtly anti-authoritarian way.  Up until that point, I had preconceptions that the Spanish were still crypto-fascists.  Franco hadn’t been dead for that long and I suspected that his spirit still lived on. Of course I was wrong, the Spanish are just like everyone else in that they don’t like to see what they think is injustice.

I raised my hand and waved the crowd off, letting them know that I wasn’t going to run.  Like I said before, I knew I’d be too easy to pick up later and it would bode badly for me if I ended up in jail.  I had a suspicion that I’d get that crap beaten out of me if I took off.  I’d already had an experience in Houston, Texas in the US that gave me some insight into how quickly one can lose their liberty.

While I was waiting for the police to come back, it did occur to me that I should replace my film in the camera, but to be honest, I was just too scared and a little freaked out.

Sure enough, both the police came back with their quarry and threw them, handcuffed into the back of the Land Rover and locked them up.  Then they came around to the front of the Land Rover to deal with me. 

Even though they were little guys I could tell they weren’t in the mood for any more fun and games.  They roughly dragged me out the front of the Land Rover and threw me up against its side.  Their blood was up and they were yelling stuff at me in Spanish while they shoved me around a bit. 

They grabbed my camera out of my bag (it was an old gas mask bag) and started clawing at the various knobs trying to open it to get the film.  It was an old Nikon F2 with a motor drive, and they are not that easy to open for those who don’t know how to do it.  With calming gestures, I got them to allow me to take the film out so they wouldn’t damage my camera.  I took the film out and handed it to them, and with a smirk, one of them pulled all film out to expose it to the light and threw it in my face.  They then shoved to me one more time away from the Land Rover and got into it and drove away.

There was a young man in the crowd wearing a blue shirt that I had noticed before, who came up to me and wanted to know if I had substituted the film.  When I said no, I hadn’t, he looked genuinely disappointed.  He then told me that there was money to be made with such photographs, as the tabloids apparently love to publish images like the ones that I had been taking.  I was then asked if I was a journalist, and when I explained that I wasn’t the young man looked even more crest fallen.  I guess in his eyes it was all very exciting, and I think he would’ve thought it was very cool to meet a genuine photojournalist.

Nobody I asked was able to explain to me why the woman had been arrested in the first place and few minutes later, the crowd dispersed and I went on my way minus a beating and one roll of film.  I was starting to think that I was getting better at dealing with the police now.

But then I went to Morocco….  and that’s another story for another time.