I never, in my wildest imagination, ever expected to find myself sitting in a jail cell. I was one of those people who followed the rules, who went out of my way to be a good person, to have everyone who met me think I am a good person. When the policeman pulled my hands behind my back to clasp the handcuffs around my wrists, my life as I had known it before ended abruptly. I then understood the power that injustice could have over good people like me. I understood that a good person could be plucked out of his innocent life by the giant hand of power and corruption, to be flung into a world of victims eager for revenge. All of the ideas I had about non-violence and compassion were heaved into the toilet as I purged myself of naive beliefs of fairness and equality. I was now humiliated to the point where I was no longer able to ignore the insidious continuous attack on my very right to exist as a human being in the world. I was being punished for not being ashamed, for not believing the negative perceptions projected upon me by an intolerant culture.

Inside the holding cell I watched as the more seasoned veterans of this hideous world proudly displayed their armor of callousness. I could not escape the fact that my brothers in crime were mostly African-American. Unlike me, they had to bear their cross all the time because of the color of their skin. Because of the relentless injustice they had all been pushed to the point where they now believed this was real life. To them life had become a game to see how far they could go beyond the expectations of the so called law and order without getting caught. When they were caught, the game was changed to testing the perimeters of power. They danced with their captors in a ritual struggle they all seemed to enjoy. I sat on the floor observing this alien existence with a determination to never return once I found my way out. I thought my white skin would once again afford me the opportunity to hide. I paid off the lawyers and bowed to the judges to expedite my return to the world of the illusion of freedom. I came out to find that my so called familiar world had now become as alien to me as the one I had just briefly visited.

On the way home I noticed a man smiling at me on the subway train. I wondered, through my new paranoid view of the world, if he wanted to make love to me or arrest me when I smiled back at him. Next to him sat a man and woman embraced. When they kissed I felt rage which brought me close to violence. How dare they be so arrogant and free with their public show of affection while I stand beside them struggling with paranoia about returning the smile of a stranger. Now I understood what my African-American brothers must feel as they walk through a white world of privilege that is denied them. I was now sure that everyone was out there as part of some elaborate sting operation designed to put me back behind bars. I felt so lonely and isolated in this fear. I understood how huge the chains of internalized homophobia could be at this stage of the game. I felt I would suffocate and die if I didn’t break free at once. I had spent a lifetime learning to love myself, only to find it unacceptable to display that self love in public.

I decided to stand beside the man who had smiled at me. We touched legs as the train swayed from side to side. I looked into his eyes then we embraced. The next moment we kissed with as much passion as the man and woman seated beside us. They stopped kissing and looked at us with a stern look of disapproval. Others on the train were not so subtle in their disapproval. One woman began to laugh and I felt her condescending laughter penetrate my psyche like a bullet intended to wipe me off the face of the earth. I imagined myself with an automatic weapon killing their disapproval with one clean sweep. I no longer wondered how people could kill all of the occupants of the local McDonald's in a fit of passion. Now I understood how the system that was created to protect us from criminals was actually responsible for creating them. I wondered how many of those men in the holding cell had started out just like me. How were American policemen different than Nazi storm troupers? How can there be justice when racists, bigots and homophobes are given guns and held up as the protectors of the law?

Morality was a word with no meaning now. It was simply a pawn used in the game of power. The definition of morality was changed daily to accommodate the need to create new slaves to sweep the city streets for free or to boost the ego of some psychopath with a gun and a badge. Once I had become the victim of this cruel farce I questioned if morality existed at all. When those in power are so blatantly devoid of morality, when one is punished for something sacred to one’s nature, then where is the motivation to be good?

All of my barriers, all of the illusions I had created to protect myself, to allow myself to survive in a hostile world had been destroyed in my brief stay in jail. I understood that I had wrongly believed that if I lived and let live, if I was good and did what I was told no harm would come to me. My safe place had been invaded by a man who had studied our language in order to entrap me. He assaulted me with no less violence than if I had been a woman bound and gagged while he repeatedly raped me. Then I was dragged through the corrupt judicial system designed to ensure the rape victim’s silence. I was left with no resolution, with scars and fears that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

I sat very quietly upon the hill above the clearing where I had been arrested. I could see the policeman who had arrested me luring the next victim into his web. I watched as the policeman exposed his genitals to the man beside him. I knew the routine now. When the man touched him he would be charged with assaulting a police officer. When the man told that the policeman initiated the sex he would be called a liar. When the policeman put the handcuffs on the victim he would spew out a long homophobic diatribe. The gay man would be humiliated throughout the entire legal process. There would be no innocence until proven guilty!

I felt nothing as I pulled the trigger of my gun six times. I only remembered every one of those moments when I wanted to die because of what he had done to my life. Now I want to live though, to dance the ritual dance of power like my African-American brothers, to have the satisfaction of being imprisoned for something worthy.