On July 6, 2005, at approximately 5:30 pm, I was informed by a former roommate that a protest decrying our government’s foreign policy would
assemble at the statues located at the intersection of Westport Road and Broadway. My girlfriend’s younger brother, Michael, and I resolved to go as independent observers, detached from the crowd, unwilling to be anything more than a concerned citizen.

We arrived at the scene when the demonstrators reached the sloped park area near 42nd Street. Several squad cars and a police van were already present. As I was standing on the opposite side of the street, I witness the police mace the crowd, strike a few of the demonstrators and arrest two youth. Still on the opposite side of the street, standing on the sidewalk, I attempted to ask every police officer for their names and badge numbers. They all refused. One called me “yard bird” and asked me if I wanted to step into the street and teach him the law. I stood silently thereafter until the situation calmed.

As the police began to leave, a woman, Nikki, called out to me from the opposite side of the street. Nikki is an acquaintance I made through performing at a few open-mic competitions. I made it over to her by way of the crosswalk at the intersection of 43rd and J.C. Nichols Parkway, passing directly in front of a squad car stopped at the red light.

Of the two officers in the car, one of their nametags read “Fletcher” and I recognized him to be the only officer who smoked cigarettes openly during the entire ordeal.

I briefly spoke to Nikki, and she invited me to participate with her and the demonstrators as they marched further, their goal being to reach the Kansas City Board of Trade Building in a response to the G8 meetings. I told her that was their thing, and that I preferred to watch rather than get directly involved. She moved along Southbound to catch up with the demonstrators who had already proceeded on towards the Plaza. I maintained at least a 20-foot distance from the crowd throughout the entire demonstration.

The marchers dispersed upon reaching their intended location, agreeing that they should reassemble at 12th Street and Locust to protest the arrests. At this point I decided to go home, so I turned around and headed Northbound towards my residence at 39th Street and Central. Michael accompanied me during most of this time. His sister and I agreed that to view this march was a rare opportunity for him to get a real live lesson in civics.

Upon reaching 39th Street and Broadway, both he and I were stopped by the police. We were told to put our hands on the hood of the car, and we were searched. An officer asked me my name, address, phone number and Social Security Number, also inquiring as to whether I had any warrants. I gave him my information and responded that I had no warrants. He asked my relation to Michael and I told him. He said I was contributing to his delinquency. He asked me why the demonstrators were protesting and I told him to the best of my knowledge. He asked me who organized the protest, and I said I didn’t know. I told him how I came to learn of the demonstration and how the public was informed through word of mouth, the Internet and posted bills. He said he knew something was going to happen tomorrow night, and wanted to know what information I could provide concerning it. I told him that I had no idea what he was talking about. He then asked why I was there, and I told him that I resolved to go as an ndependent observer, detached from the crowd, unwilling to be anything more than a concerned citizen. He said he didn’t believe me and that I was under arrest while handcuffing me. I asked him why, and he said it was because I was coming into this
country to stir up trouble. I said, “What are you talking about? I’m from here.” He then said I was being arrested for leading and organizing the
protest. I said, “But I was behind the crowd the whole time.” He said “Exactly.” As they loaded me into the van, I asked another officer why they were doing this, and he said I had the rght to remain silent, so to be quiet. While sitting in the open van, the original arresting officer
came to me and asked, “So, your name’s ‘BO-DREW’, huh?” I said, “Yes sir, my name is ‘BAH-DREW.’ He said, “Well then ‘BO-DREW,’ why are they
calling you Michael?” He was referring to my girlfriend who had just arrived at the scene. I told him that Michael was the name of the young
man with me. He then asked me if I was Arabic. I told him that I’m Black and White. He then sneeringly laughed at me and asked if it was a
made-up name I’d adopted. I told him it was my birth name. He asked if I’d ever been arrested before, and I responded “No.” He said, “Well, you are now.” I asked him what the charge was and he said my arresting officer downtown would tell me and they proceed to take me to the police
station.

In the elevator on the way to the booking area, they finally told me what the charges were: not using the sidewalk and not complying with the orders of an officer. My bail was set at $2000. I was released after my friends found a bondsman for me. I’ve tried to obtain a copy of the police report on the incident, but I was told at the police station that no such report exists. The officers issued me tickets, but never wrote out an actual report on the circumstances. This is not surprising to me, considering the charges against me were fabricated.

I’m currently organizing a Hip Hop fundraiser to help pay for a lawyer.

I can be contacted at 913-226-1314, if you’d like to help in any way. Since the incident, I’ve had to create a new email address, because my
original account has been suspiciously rendered inactive or shut down for unknown reasons. If anyone reading this could email or forward this
statement to everyone you know, I’d greatly appreciate it. The officer’s name on my tickets is Huth, his Serial Number is 4755 and his Unit
Number is 185. On my tickets he described my ethnicity to be White, disregarding what I told him, (possibly doing this to avoid being held
accountable for the obvious racial profiling that occurred.