“What about you?” one of the officers looks your way. “You want to save yourself a whole lot of trouble and start co-operating?”
Every person has their limit, a line in the sand that shall not be crossed, and you reached yours some time ago. One single word passes through your lips.
“So-li-da-ri-ty!”
You hear the same word echoed back to you in the voices of your cellmates, and you repeat it again, this time louder. Over and over, louder and bolder you chant. The people in the next cell over join in and it spreads like wildfire throughout the entire prison. Panicked, the two guards flee your cell and slam shut the door while other startled looking officers begin barking orders, but the sound of chanting is all that can be heard. The fact that they are the ones who feel intimidated even though you’re the one behind bars is exhilarating and empowering. The other prisoners feel it to. People begin to shake their cages, which look as though they’re about to split open. The guards beat their batons against the cells, although this does nothing but exasperate the situation. They are quickly losing control. You can see the fear in their eyes as raging tempers rise.
Suddenly a squad of police dressed in full riot gear flood into the hallway. You can see a uniformed officer singling you out with their billy-club. In a violent burst, twenty or thirty riot cops stream into your cell and push you up against the wall with their shields. Your hands are bound with zap-straps to the chain-link above your head. Unable to move, unable to resist, you continue to chant defiantly until, in one horrifying moment, an officer raises a can of Mace, and sprays you right in the face.
You shut your eyes, every pore screaming in pain. Your skin feels like it’s being melted off by fire. It burns with every breath, every orifice of your face dripping with mucus. You hear the screams of other prisoners as you presume the same thing is happening in the adjacent cells, but you can’t see a thing. Actually you feel as if you might pass out.
You struggle to control your breath. Waves of emotion wash over you, rising and falling like the tide. Hate, rage, fear, vulnerability, depression. After who-knows-how-long the pain becomes a numb tingling feeling, and you come out of a trance to realize you have pissed yourself, the warm patch on your pants still cooling.
Everything hurts. You hang your head and listen to your surroundings. The warehouse is completely silent save for the occasional cough and the hum of the air vents. The buzz in your ears pulses with the beat of your heart, the flow of blood through your veins. As time passes you think you begin to hear something else, another sound barely audible in the background. It changes over time, but now you’re almost certain you can hear the sound of human voices coming from the ventilation. Unsure whether you’re ears are deceiving you or you’re just imagining things you speak out loud to whomever is listening.
“Can anybody hear that?”
“Hear what?” asks a disembodied voice from just behind you.
“Shhhh. Just listen.”
The two of you search the silence for noises
“Hey! I think I can hear something,” the other prisoner speaks up.
“What does it sound like?” you ask.
“It sounds like… It sounds like chanting!”
A smile creeps across your face “Yes. It does sound like chanting doesn’t it?” A feeling wells up inside you, unstoppable like rising floodwaters, the feeling of hope.
You open your eyes and look about you, they burn like you’ve been standing in the smoke of a bonfire all night long but you don’t care. The guards look about as tired and edgy as you should be feeling, but you’re soaring instead. Someone from across the warehouse, closer to the outside wall shouts out.
“They’re chanting! There’s people outside and they’re chanting to us!”
You let out a ‘WHOOP’ that gets caught up in your throat and you are brought back to the reality that you are chained to a fence in a cell in urine soaked pants, and you are thirsty as hell.
“Water!” you shout out. “Someone bring us some fucking water!”
“Shut up!” snaps one of the guards. “You don’t give the orders around here.”
Despite yourself you respond in kind. “No you shut up and you listen! Hear those people out there? They’re here for us! Ok? The whole world is watching right now and you’re gonna be in all kinds of trouble if you don’t BRING US SOME GOD DAMN WATER RIGHT NOW!”
The officer completely ignores you and walks away, but a little while later two guards appear pushing a cart full of water bottles. They pass six through the gate for the dozen or so people in your cell.
“You’ll have to share. You’re socialists, you can do that right?” there’s bitterness in their voice.
“Hey! Can we get some food?” asks one of your cellmates looking a little pale faced and shaky. “I’m dying here.”
“Sorry there is none,” replies the guard with almost no emotion at all.
“What do you mean there is none? We’ve been in here for over twelve hours!”
“I mean there isn’t any ok?”
“Look I’m diabetic you hear? You can’t do this to us. You get us something to eat or you let us go.” It looks as though they may actually pass out.
“That’s not going to happen. I’ll see if I can find you some juice. That’s all I can do,” they say as they turn to walk away.
“Juice! All you can do is juice! I’m about to have a medical emergency!”
The guard spins on their heel and stares back with a vicious look in their eyes “Look it’s not my fault that your friends have decided to blockade the prison! We can’t get anything in or out of here.”
Now it’s your turn to speak up “But it IS your fault that we’re here in the first place. And it’s completely immoral to continue to hold us. Face it, you have to let us go.”
For the first time since you were arrested you allow yourself to get excited about the possibility of imminent release. The guards make their way along the isle and continue to pass out water. But the more you think about it the more likely it seems: the warehouse is full, police resources are stretched passed their limits, yet the people continue to rebel. What other alternative could there be?
An hour passes and then another, or so you think. It’s hard to tell without a point of reference. Nothing has changed, things seem to be at a stalemate. If anything the chanting outside seems to have grown a bit louder, and with it so have the spirits of you and your fellow prisoners. You try and make out what they’re actually chanting out there. It sounds something like “SET THEM FREE” or is it “SOLIDARITY” Hard to tell but either way you feel as though their solidarity is bound to set you free, it’s only a matter of time.
Then out of the blue, a small group of guards, the same ones in fact who’ve been on duty since the day before, open the gate to the first cell in the block. The prisoners are ushered through the door, and out of sight. After some time the guards return and empty out the next cell, and then the next. One by one you are led down the hall to the table where you were first given a prisoner number. Your possessions are returned to you in a little box with the same ID, and you are told you may leave.
As you are released through the front door you take your first breath of fresh air. The bright mid-morning sunshine blinds your eyes, and you step into a large boisterous group of comrades who welcome you with food, hot drinks and hugs. Your eyes begin to tear up, your heart swells, and you realize that you haven’t just been given your freedom, you’ve won it.