Southside Pride

For residents of the Phillips neighborhood, the scene outside the Little Earth housing complex last Thursday morning was all too familiar. About 200 people shivered in 3-degree weather as American Indian community leader Clyde Bellecourt used a megaphone to voice a festering anger over the treatment of Natives by the Minneapolis Police Department. The two-mile “March of Pain and Shame” to City Hall would not be comfortable in such cold, Bellecourt shouted, but it would be easy compared to the suffering of Ronald Lee Johnson, the latest high-profile victim of alleged police brutality in Minneapolis.

Little Earth residents who witnessed the incident say two police officers “manhandled” Johnson and a woman in their car early Saturday (Jan. 25). They say the officers threw Johnson onto a snow bank and urinated on him, then left the two alone in a Little Earth parking lot in freezing temperatures. Both alleged victims are homeless and were believed to have been intoxicated, community sources say.

The witnesses say when they went to check on Johnson he had urine on his hair, face and coat.

Off-duty police officers working night security at the housing complex transported Johnson to Hennepin County Hospital where he was treated for minor injuries and released.

The witnesses say Johnson’s companion escaped the officers by crawling into an abandoned car where she spent the night. A spokesperson for the Minneapolis Police Department said the woman is being sought as a witness but has not been located.
The march wound somberly through the Phillips neighborhood, home to the largest urban population of Native Americans in the country, and the setting of a decades-long history of contention between cops and the community.

Many marchers invoked a 1993 incident in which two intoxicated Indian men were stuffed into the trunk of a squad car, handcuffed together, and driven around town for 40 minutes while (according to court records) the police “jumped on the breaks, violently jostling the men, causing cuts, bruises, and a fractured foot.”

For some this procession to City Hall was a sad repeat of a recent protest over the treatment of the body of Carol Garbow, a member of the Leech Lake band who was found dead in the courtyard of the Minneapolis American Indian Center October 29. Medical examiners and police officers left the half-naked corpse in full public view for three hours while conducting their investigation. Police Chief Robert Olsen assured the protesters at that time that the city was aware of problems between police and the Native community and was taking steps to correct them.

In light of unfolding events, Olsen and the Native community now seem to agree on at least one thing: relations have not improved—they may in fact be worse than ever.
“This is terrible,” Olsen said. “We are very, very, very concerned about this. We have launched a full-scale investigation into what happened.”

Bellecourt said whether or not it can be proven that the officers urinated on Johnson and his companion, leaving intoxicated people on a snow bank in 2-degree weather is “alone a crime.” Bellecourt said he is seeking a change in the way police brutality cases are handled in Minneapolis. “I’m tired of paying for the crimes of the police. They mistreat our people and get a free vacation.”

Olsen said the officers in question have been put on paid leave while facts are being determined. The officers names have not been released under the rules of the MPD’s internal affairs division.

Johnson’s attorney, Larry Leaventhal, says he is planning DNA tests for articles of Johnson’s urine-soaked clothing which may provide a link to one or both of the officers.

President of the Minneapolis Police Federation, Sgt. John Delmonico, said that he is “positive the evidence will show [the officers] did not urinate on those two people.” Delmonico held a press conference at police headquarters last week to defend the officers.

The size of Thursday’s march surprised members of Mayor R.T. Rybak’s staff. They scrambled at the last minute to find a space large enough for the group that grew to around 300 when it merged with marchers from Minneapolis’ north side. The basement auditorium at the Hennepin County Government Center was filled to twice capacity. People stood in the aisles and jostled for position in the open doorway to hear Rybak and Minneapolis police officers field questions posed by incensed community members.

Dozens of people stood to share their experiences with police harassment and brutality. Common themes among the complaints emerged: police officers refusing to take reports from Native residents; two to three hour response times to citizen calls; profiling Native teens as gang members; random acts of cruelty.

A young Native man who identified himself as a resident of Little Earth came forward with photographs of a badly bruised woman. He alleged that MPD officers beat down his door with a sledge hammer after mistaking the identity of a family member. He said the woman in the photographs was his wife. “They started hitting our two boys and when my wife tried to stop them they beat her. This happened in front of our children and there was nothing I could do,” he cried.

Chief Olsen did not attend the meeting. He was represented by two deputies who excused the chief’s absence, pointing out that he was at the Humphrey Institute “speaking to minority students.” Mayor Rybak competed to control the discourse with Bellecourt, community activist Spike Moss and a vocally unhappy roomful of constituents.

At one point Rybak ordered Moss to quit addressing the gathering. “We’re here to listen to them,” said the mayor, indicating the members of the Native community.
Moss launched accusations that Rybak was attempting to defeat the people with divide and conquer tactics. “Don’t separate us. We are all people of color suffering under racism in this town,” Moss said, overpowering Rybak with a more powerful megaphone. Moss addressed Rybak directly: “You’re the man who hires [the police], you’re the man who has to fire them. We’re tired of suffering.”

The mayor, looking worn by the end of the three-hour assembly, urged everyone who had a complaint of police misconduct to document it with a representative from his office. “You bet I’m outraged when I hear stories like these,” he said. “If these charges are true they’re outrageous.”

But Rybak said things aren’t as bad as they seem, certainly not as bad as they used to be when he worked as a print journalist. “In 1979 I covered the Minneapolis police department. There was a whole lot less accountability in the force than there is today.”
To that, a man from the north side responded, “This is just another dog and pony show. I just have one question, Mayor. Why does it no longer say ‘To Protect and Serve’ on the police cars?”

Rybak referred the question to Olsen’s deputy. “They made that change to the design about fifteen years ago,” he said. “I think that was a mistake. They should have left it on.”