Lessons Learned From The Onion Field

Last February, I began an evening walk with Sophie, my nine year old service dog near Havasu, Arizona. I carried a water bottle, T-shirt, and Sophie’s ID card. It was too warm for much else. The deserted campground a BLM parcel called Craggy Wash. As the sun was setting, Sophie and I were on our way up to a rocky, ridge top trail and anticipating a fine view of the town of Havasu below. Just prior to reaching the trailhead, we saw four people ahead. Two of them were the campground hosts we’d met the night before, and the other two were unknown to us. The first was a nicely dressed 20-something young lady who looked a bit out of place in a primitive desert campground. With her was a uniformed BLM agent of similar age. They all stood, talking, about ten yards away from a rugged, late model SUV marked with the BLM insignia. Before we approached the group, I had Sophie sit next to me at attention, visually demonstrating while also wordlessly introducing her as a trained service animal. Once I knew we’d been seen by the group, I approached, and verbally presented Sophie as my service dog. Unexpectedly, the young officer confronted me with the harsh demand that Sophie be on a leash. It contradicted almost everything I experienced as Sophie’s handler. Virtually all uniformed officers in every discipline, officers from local, county and state police departments, park rangers in similarly diverse jurisdictions have welcomed Sophie and I as a team. Yes, Sophie is lovable, but she is a working dog. Law enforcement officers recognize and have always respected this about us. Countless many of them have expressed as much to me, in what often amounted to them as a few minutes spent in the company of a wonderful dog. And why not? She is the spitting image of the ultra intelligent police dog Rin Tin Tin. None of that was evident in this officer. His sudden demand took me by surprise. Knowing that we were on federal public land, all I could think to say was that the Americans with Disabilities Act makes an allowance to not require amputees, like me, to leash a voice-controlled service dog. Sophie clearly is one such dog. Regardless of his motivations, the officer did not accept my explanation as a sufficient answer to his request. He turned to the campground host and said “Wait here while I take this man to his camper to write him a summons.” I replied that federal law did not allow for such action on his part, either. Essentially, he intended to cite me for what amounted to nothing more then being disabled. I couldn’t understand why a federal law enforcement officer was going to punish me and, presumably, fine me for it. My situation turned desperate when the officer suddenly lost his temper toward me. He didn’t like that I questioned his demand and his behavior escalated into violent threats and wanton physical aggression toward me. It ended violently for me and for Sophie. The young officer knocked me down and dragged me to his vehicle. Sophie, who is trained to stand by me in the event of a seizure, came to take her place beside me. As she tried to do so, the officer pepper sprayed her in both eyes. We live in a world where the reality is, right or wrong, that any law enforcement officer can defend their poor judgment, reckless decisions, or even criminal behavior with impunity. All that is required of them is to claim that their safety was somehow endangered. This Sophie and I were experiencing firsthand. I sat in the sand, my only arm handcuffed to his truck bumper, listening to the young officer’s celebratory remarks about his brave apprehension of me to deputies who later arrived. Over the next two hours, the young officer directed many disparaging, often profane remarks toward me, mocking my relationship with Sophie and questioning her role as my service dog. This officer, clearly reveling in his conquest, was also well aware of his ability to subjectively define and enforce the law. He clearly knew that, if need be, he could also evade it. In my case, and this is important, no impartial witnesses were present. The campground hosts’ safety in the isolated desert depended upon this officer’s protection. And the young girl who was dressed for a night on the town was only acknowledged to be a “federal employee” whose presence was never mentioned again. If the young girl was, indeed a love interest, I can’t help but wonder what she thought of sharing an evening with a person capable of the atrocious behavior he showed toward an innocent disabled man and his beautiful service dog. Falsified witness reports were filed by the officer, who had confiscated Sophie’s ID badge. Another similarly uniformed officer arrived and identified himself as the young officer’s supervisor. The end result was that I spent a week in a Flagstaff jail, four hours away, across the state. I had no idea of Sophie’s whereabouts or her condition. Was she still alive? I didn’t know. But for the first time in over eight years, I was separated from Sophie, and in an emotional state of shock from the rapid progression of events. As it turned out, Sophie was being housed in an animal control shelter where, I was told, she’d be euthanized if I didn’t plead guilty so I could be released and go get her. Even on-scene, it became clear to the federal officers that the young officer had, in fact, assaulted a disabled man and his service animal. There was no doubt that I wasn’t a danger to anyone: I owned no weapons, possessed no illegal drugs or any other questionable objects. License plates, car registration, driving record, etc., all perfectly clean as a whistle. Despite having been bloodied after being dragged through the sand, then tasered as I lay face down, defenseless next to the truck, I was charged with assault. Apparently, the young officer and his supervisor saw fit to cover their actions by casting doubt on my mental well-being. Their falsified reports supported this, with claims that I was “nuts,” and the like. Obviously, I didn’t just encounter a trigger happy officer, but a law enforcement culture that supported, even encouraged violence. Later, while handcuffed and in the BLM vehicle, the officer whispered as much through gritted teeth into my ear. But I’m no criminal, hell-bent on creating chaos and terrorizing people with a violent canine sidekick. Rather, I’m simply a tourist in the American southwest, returning to my home state of Colorado with only my dog for a company. After driving 25,000 miles over the course of the past year, seeing anything and everything we could along the West Coast, we were merely a pair of weary travelers looking forward to being home again. No matter our state of mind, however, there is a lesson to be learned here. Over the past seven months, I’ve had the chance to work with therapists to put the trauma of this ordeal into perspective. Today, I can write about it in terms that are conducive to resolution, and not just catharsis. Also helpful have been the number of strangers, the parade of which have continued throughout my life with Sophie, who comment on how beautiful and well-behaved she is. Most notably among them are the many law enforcement officers we’ve met in passing since then. They often smile at us as we pass, with no apparent fear of either of us and, most likely, and appreciation if not outright respect for us as a team. One of them happens to work firsthand with the county K9 unit, and is well aware of the discipline, loyalty, and positive temperament of Sophie’s breed. They are wonderfully loving dogs when off duty but can immediately snap into work mode when commanded to do so. As my seizure dog, Sophie has been trained to be calm and to sit patiently at all times except when I seize. The moment I fall and hit the ground is Sophie’s cue to come and stand by me until I regain my wits and can think for myself once more. Such times are where Sophie becomes more than just a pretty face. Her ability to attract attention draws people who only intend to help, if needed. She is enough of a visual deterrent, however, to deter any bad guys from approaching while I’m down. The agent who assaulted us interfered with Sophie’s ability to do the job for which she has been trained. That’s an egregious act for anyone to perpetrate, let alone a law-enforcement officer who was in no danger at all, save for his reputation in front of a pretty girl. While part of my disability involves multiple head traumas that impair my ability to react quickly and with the smooth social adeptness I once had, my inability to realize I was in a potentially dangerous situation is typical for me. Sophie’s presence usually means these situations almost never materialize. Until now. Traveling alone, with only Sophie for company, I was able to work through many of my PTSD symptoms. But even 25,000 miles of introspection behind the wheel, from a route incorporating my favorite states, Colorado, Oregon, Utah, Washington state and on down to Mexico. Finally, en route home to Colorado, I felt it all was only a good start to my healing. The rest would require a therapist, which I had already arranged to meet in northern Colorado before Sophie and I were waylaid. To the extent that our violent experience in Arizona might help you, I can only recommend that you have a Plan B ready at all times. No matter where you go, no matter your disability or what you think it looks like or even feels like to others, preparation is key, And knowing your fallback contingency by rote is a must. For example, had I carried some simple, small leash with me or simply been willing to turn back and include the return hike to my camper as part of the evening’s journey, I would have saved Sophie and I a great deal of pain and anguish. Please understand that I do not advocate any sort of concession to our rights as disabled individuals. Rather, just the opposite. We are disabled, and that in itself makes us special and, by necessity, exceptionally strong. And it’s a power we must both recognize and employ responsibly. In keeping with the spirit of “better late than never,” I have only recently realized that I do have the strength to turn around and retreat in the face of anger and outright belligerence and comply with what I am told. Convincing a bully of your rights is traditionally a losing proposition. However, I realize that the responsible aspect of employing my power lies in having the wisdom to pursue the absence of truth and fairness ex post facto. Only afterwards, and with a clear mind can I identify, then pursue my options. For my money, the first and best thing I’ve learned to do is enlist help. There truly is power in numbers. Anyone who violates your basic rights by acting with poor judgment and without witnesses will likely find defending himself alone his biggest fear. And so it goes for the cowardly few who look upon a disabled individual with disdain. “After all,” they reason, “there are more able-bodied people than disabled ones, more of me than them.” This is where our power must be employed responsibly. In the painful example above, waiting to state my case later, optimally with witnesses present, would have been the best option. In the confusion of the incident, I was unable to see this right away as any reasonable person might be. That’s why having a workable Plan B is so important. I say workable because the plan must be flexible enough to handle any conceivable situation that arises. I have cards, for example, that have the words “I am a Service Animal” boldly printed on the front, with “Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990” printed on back. Handy, perhaps, but I’ve long stopped carrying these cards for lack of use. I’ve often felt that presenting such a card would, for me, be condescending. Worse, reaching into a pocket to withdraw such a card could even be construed by a trigger happy cop as reaching for a weapon. In other words, your idea of resolution could be misinterpreted as an affront. It happens frequently in our country, and many unarmed and innocent people are shot and killed due to such claims. Though in my experience most disabled people are aware, it’s worth reinforcing to people that not all service animals walk in lockstep and hug the leg of their handler. Sophie, for example, walks to my right side and about half a pace behind. While my waking seizures are infrequent, I’ve had balance troubles as an amputee. Sophie is there for me to lean on and has helped break many otherwise imminent falls. So, while service animals can be trained for a diversity of goals, every handler and dog team enjoys the same rights. Working unhindered and safely is a top priority among them. Sadly, this is news to some but, happily, the onus falls on us to educate them, and who better than us, the end user who benefits most, to do it? For example, I and my disability advocates could help see to it that the young officer I encountered could learn and otherwise expand his knowledge of the law he enforces. Continually moving up the chain of command might be necessary in order accomplish the desired goal. Since cultural influences within organizations may exist that limit acknowledgement of disability rights, waking up those who don’t (or won’t) know the law is a great place to employ some of our power. Today, after months of reflection, I’ve concluded that diplomacy is the best problem resolution strategy. Had my mind been ready to respond with this in mind, that young officer in the desert would never have been drawn to cite me, or worse. Here in my state, I found wonderful advocates at the Colorado Cross Disability Coalition, (CCDC), as well as the Disability Resource Services (DRS). Many others have helped and continue to do so, nearly all of them due to my legwork. If you’re somehow unable or unready to try reaching out to potential advocates or advocacy groups, I recommend reaching out to someone who might help you do so. While it seems as if it takes an advocate to make an advocate, favorable progress will likely make you want to join in and keep the effort going in your direction. Here are some that helped me here in Colorado. Your state will have them, too. Perhaps the single best resource I’ve found to date for finding disability advocates here in Colorado is: http://www.indivisible-co.org/aboutus/listofadvocatesadvocacyorganizations.html Outside of Colorado, you can begin your search for your state’s advocacy groups with a basic Google search. Key words such as “disability advocacy organizations” and “disability resource organizations” followed by your state, county, city, etc, will likely turn up many results, and you can then expand it from there. Social media is yet another great place to connect with the disability advocacy community. One excellent site I’ve found on Facebook is: https://m.facebook.com/pg/NationalAdapt/photos/?mt_nav=1 Yet another advocacy group that’s national in scope is the Disability Rights Education and Defense Fund, http://www.dredf.org There are many more waiting to be discovered and some will undoubtedly suit your interests well enough to become favorites. By visiting a few sites and reading the “About Us” page on them you’ll get the gist of each group becomes apparent. It has taken me years to realize a Plan B is sometimes needed to defend my rights as a disabled person. It will likely remain a work in progress. This in mind, a big part of what drives me is not just learning from my own experiences, but sharing them with others who may also learn from them. Hopefully, some of the ideas I’ve presented here will help you create or further reinforce your Plan B in the event of a sudden conflict over your rights as a disabled person. It may be the one thing I spend lots of time on that I hope to never use! Still, please always keep this in mind: Having even a basic working knowledge of the advocacy organizations in your area means you’ll always have others to stand with you if and when you must find truth and fairness for yourself. After all, much of what we see in the world is, by design, too big for only one person.