Rough justice

As protesters at last summer's Republican National Convention come to trial, a nasty tale emerges

by Kristen Lombardi

ON TRIAL: housing activist Camilo Viveiros faces felony assault charges for throwing a bicycle at the Philly police chief. But those who know him -- including his boss, who describes the 29-year-old as "Christ-like" -- say he'd never do such a thing.

Civil-liberties lawyers consider it one of the worst large-scale violations of First Amendment rights since the Vietnam War -- and as many as 25 New England activists were caught in the middle.

For nine months before the Republican National Convention, which took place in Philadelphia from July 31 to August 3, Philly police worked closely with the FBI and Secret Service, as well as with state troopers from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Delaware, to ensure that the GOP confab would not be disrupted. The first part of their strategy was effective, if not particularly novel: arresting and jailing street protesters. It's not much different from what their brothers and sisters in blue did last April in Washington, DC, where protesters flocked to demonstrate against the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund.

But the second part of the Philly strategy was much more malicious. When protesters are arrested for acts of civil disobedience, most police departments issue summary offenses, which are no more serious than traffic tickets. The Philadelphia police had done this for years. When police arrested more than 400 protesters last summer, however, they instead slapped them with misdemeanor and felony charges. Doing so allowed prosecutors to seek bail, which they did with zeal -- those arrested were held on bail ranging from $10,000 to $1 million. That allowed police to keep many activists off the streets for days after the GOP delegates had left town. And it also let prosecutors pursue cases against those protesters who've refused -- on principle -- to plead out their charges.

If the city succeeds in convicting people and sentencing them to jail time, it will surely have a tremendous chilling effect on the future of organized activism. As Chip Berlet of the Somerville-based Political Research Associates explains, "In Philadelphia, we saw the return of overt government repression of dissent. Which works fine for a police state, but not at all for the free-speech principles of democracy."

Philadelphia district attorney Lynne Abrahams has assigned attorneys from her office's elite homicide unit -- the city's A-list of lawyers -- to prosecute these outstanding cases. It's a move that Philadelphia defense attorney Lawrence Krasner finds ridiculous. "These are not killers," he says. "They're students from Brown."

To date, the DA's office has prosecuted 143 cases. Despite the high priority they've received from prosecutors, 90 percent of the misdemeanor court cases have been thrown out for lack of evidence, as have half the felony cases. (Of the cases not thrown out, six of 43 defendants have been convicted of misdemeanors in trials since last fall. Many of them were sentenced to six months' probation and community service to be performed in Philadelphia, although they are not city residents. All have appealed. One protester was sentenced to 90 days in prison -- but it was for violating probation for a previous arrest.) But the upcoming January 25 trial of 19 defendants charged with seven misdemeanors -- obstructing a highway, failure to disperse, resisting arrest, disorderly conduct, and three counts of conspiracy -- has observers worried.

Judge Seamus McCaffrey, a former police officer known for his pro-cop reputation, is assigned to the case. Defense attorney Shawn Nolan is representing most of the defendants, including two Boston-area activists: Alex Rae and "Chill Breeze" (who wishes to remain anonymous). He filed a motion asking McCaffrey to recuse himself from the trial. In the motion, Nolan describes how McCaffrey, at a health-care conference last July, told a 40-person audience that he planned to make sure streets were cleared of protesters during the GOP convention. "Our position is that he cannot be a fair trial judge," Nolan explains. But after being challenged in court January 16, McCaffrey has refused to recuse himself.

"I don't know what to expect," admits Rae, 25, a Harvard graduate involved with the Boston Global Action Network. "The defeat rate is huge.... It's as if police and [prosecutors] never thought it'd get this far."

Another case involving a local demonstrator is even more troubling. Providence-based housing activist Camilo Viveiros stands accused of throwing a bicycle at Philadelphia Police Commissioner John Timoney during an August 1 march against the "criminal-injustice system." He originally faced charges of assault with intent to murder, conspiracy to attack police, riot, resisting arrest, reckless endangerment, disorderly conduct, and possession of an instrument of crime. They're charges that the 29-year-old Viveiros described as "trumped up." At an October 12 pretrial hearing, in fact, Philadelphia Court of Common Pleas Judge Pamela Dembe agreed by throwing out the conspiracy charge and reducing the assault-with-intent-to-murder charge to simple assault. Abrahams has appealed the reduction in charges. (Timoney testified at the hearing that he hadn't suffered any injuries in the alleged scuffle. And prosecutors failed to show that Viveiros had acted with two other protesters to commit the supposed crimes.) If convicted of the remaining charges, however, Viveiros could face up to 10 years in prison.

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Rae, Breeze, and Viveiros were arrested August 1, the day protesters had scheduled a massive demonstration against the "criminal injustice" system. Ironically, Viveiros, who works for the Boston-based Massachusetts Alliance of HUD Tenants, didn't plan to attend the demonstration when he went to Philadelphia last summer. He went to advocate for housing issues and intended to return home July 31 to finish a grant application.

But after learning about the August 1 protest, Viveiros decided to stay. By doing so, he joined Rae, Breeze, and hundreds of other activists interested in calling attention to the nation's failed drug war, the death penalty, and the escalating prison population. Protesters also planned to press one particularly sensitive issue for Philadelphia's finest: the 1981 conviction of Mumia Abu-Jamal, who is on death row for the murder of Philadelphia patrolman Daniel Faulkner. Numerous civil-disobedience actions were coordinated for that day, activists say. But the prospect of arrest didn't necessarily cross their minds. As Breeze puts it: "I didn't go down there planning on getting arrested."

The morning of the demonstration, police went on the offensive by searching a warehouse -- dubbed the Ministry of Puppetganda by protesters -- where about 75 activists were preparing the giant satirical puppets that have become a signature of last year's massive protests. Protesters refused to let police enter until they produced a search warrant, which they did hours after arriving at the warehouse. By then, attorney Bradley Bridge of the Defender Association of Philadelphia was on the scene to broker a deal. Protesters agreed to surrender -- but only on the condition that they'd be released if the police failed to find anything illegal. Protesters insisted that Bridge accompany police on an inspection tour to ensure that no illegal items would be planted. Police "found nothing in the warehouse," he recalls. Despite this, the city condemned the building and confiscated the puppets. The police also violated their agreement with Bridge by handcuffing protesters and driving them around the city for hours in sweltering buses without food, water, or bathroom facilities. At 1 a.m., protesters were charged with various misdemeanor crimes and jailed at police headquarters.

At court proceedings last month, the prosecution was forced to withdraw its thin cases against 65 of the protesters arrested at the warehouse. (Ten others had earlier opted for a plea bargain.) Pretrial hearings revealed that four undercover Pennsylvania state troopers, posing as union carpenters, had infiltrated the warehouse. Although troopers testified that demonstrators had planned to use the puppets as "sleeping dragons" to block streets, they failed to link even one protester to a crime.

Also at the hearings, the 28-page affidavit that police had used to obtain the search warrant was unsealed -- revealing a startling Cold War mentality. To justify the search, police had relied partly on a report from an obscure right-wing group called the Maldon Institute, which claims that anti-corporate-globalization activists are funded by "Communist and leftist parties" and "the former Soviet-allied World Federation of Trade Unions." In other words, explains Berlet of Political Research Associates, "police argued demonstrators were being manipulated by some international conspiracy, which is ludicrous."

STANDING FIRM: Police Commissioner John Timoney defends his department's actions during the GOP convention, and describes protesters complaining about police behavior as "crybabies to the core."

Timoney, the police commissioner, is reluctant to discuss the state-police infiltration and his department's actions. "I'm sure we're going to get sued on that," he says. He acknowledges that 10 young officers who were dressed like protesters attended demonstrations, but insists that Philadelphia police did not infiltrate activist groups. Although his department worked closely with federal and state authorities in the months leading up to the GOP convention, Timoney maintains that he didn't know about the infiltration at the Haverford Avenue warehouse until August 1. In a Philadelphia Inquirer article, however, Pennsylvania State Police spokesperson Jack Lewis said that local police were told in advance about the state's infiltration plans.

Philadelphia police continued their aggressive tactics throughout the day, arresting hundreds more activists -- including Rae, Breeze, and Viveiros -- who had filled the streets for the criminal-injustice demonstrations. Rae recalls that he'd made his way downtown that day to attend several "aggressive yet peaceful" marches. Around 4 p.m., thousands of protesters stationed themselves in the streets surrounding Philadelphia City Hall. Some sat in intersections. Others staged soccer games. Rae noticed a growing police presence. Bicycle patrols taunted crowds. "They would ride up into people," he explains. Police helicopters roared overhead. Eventually, officers picked up protesters and carted them away. "I thought, `Oh no,'" Rae recalls, "`here we go.'"

Because of his imminent trial, Rae declines to discuss his arrest except to say, "Police decided not to be open about beating up people in the streets, but they were just as aggressive behind the scenes." Rae did not suffer injuries during his arrest, but he says he knows protesters who did. Rae and Breeze, who was also arrested in the sweep, were charged with seven misdemeanors and held on $10,000 bail for what their attorney Nolan describes as "sitting in the middle of the street."

Compared to what happened to Viveiros, however, Rae and Breeze were lucky. Viveiros also attended protests near City Hall, but made a fateful decision to join a spontaneous march -- a decision that set him on a collision course with police.

According to police testimony at the October 12 pretrial hearing, Timoney and two patrolmen encountered that march -- and 10 people rocking a car -- at the corner of Latimer and 17th Streets. Patrolman Clyde Frasier said he grabbed two men by their shirt collars, but as he tried to cuff them, Eric Steinberg of Memphis, Tennessee, came at him with a police bike. Frasier said he punched Steinberg's chest, knocking him to the ground.

Timoney testified that he was struggling with another protester when Viveiros came from behind and threw a bike at him. In an interview, he told the Phoenix that he grabbed Viveiros by the heel, saying to himself, "This son of a bitch is going nowhere." After Viveiros's arrest, Timoney testified, he noticed another man, Darby Landy of Raleigh, North Carolina, trying to steal a bicycle. Timoney clutched the bike, he alleges, but Landy yanked it and tossed it at him. Another officer arrested Landy as he ran down the street.

After the clash with police, Viveiros was charged with committing felonies and held on $450,000 bail. Similar charges were filed against both Landy and Steinberg.

Viveiros, too, declines to discuss his arrest for fear of jeopardizing his court case. But he says, "Their claims that I attacked them [are] not accurate." His lawyer Robert Levant adds, "He's innocent, and that will be shown at trial. There's no question."

Those who know Viveiros can't believe that he'd throw a bike at anyone. His boss even calls him "the most Christ-like person I know." But for those who participated in the protests-- some of whom know Viveiros -- his arrest isn't unbelievable. It was simply part of a concerted police plan to quash dissent, starting with the infiltration of the protest groups and continuing with the trials.

Defense attorney Krasner says these cases lay bare "a deliberate attempt to stifle traditional dissent" -- and not just in Philadelphia. What happened last summer, he and others maintain, reflects a national effort, one that's become increasingly sophisticated since the November 1999 protests against the World Trade Organization in Seattle.

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