Westwood mayhem may signal Orwellian future

Westwood mayhem may signal Orwellian future

By Rolando Locci

We became a community again on April 3, 1995, but the police
turned us into criminals and battered victims.

I remember …

I wanted to eight-clap until the morning, but they wouldn’t let
it happen. As I leapt and screamed next to a thousand of my fellow
fans I was hit across the face by a billy-club. What, what can this
mean? The injury hurt my pride more than my face, and stories of
pain that were told to me later crushed my happy spirit.

One girl had been hit so hard by two police officers she fell to
the ground. First hit by a male officer and the second female. Only
my roommate could help her to safety. Safety? Why did she feel pain
at the hands of the LAPD? It can’t be right, nor can it be sane.
Me, you, everyone, felt the blow of the LAPD. And I write that with
conviction, anger and dismay.

I remember …

The riot copters flew overhead as men in suits told me to leave
my home with gun in hand. Have you ever had a gun in your face with
the intent of hate? Now I have and I can’t bear it. Our night of
joy turned into a brawl. Simply put, the police ­ not the
students and fans ­ turned Westwood into a site of
conflict.

I was supposed to be happy, but I can’t help but cry. The cheers
and screams from next door couldn’t overcome the whirl and bump of
the helicopter blades. Why? Why do I feel this way and see hate in
their eyes. Well, for all those who couldn’t believe it, I feel the
same way, too.

Who taught them to do that? Why do they act that way? Because we
pay them to act that way? I don’t want to believe in our protective
system if it’s set up so that those who congregate in peace must be
hit and beaten. Buck fifty sub and Tommy’s was transformed into a
background scene for a police brutality documentary, but it was the
police who had the video cameras.

How do we make them responsible for their actions? We give them
power, the power to hit us, and if we resist, take us to jail. This
is the same power that allows the Army to cover themselves after
they kill four of our own soldiers in a routine training mission. I
hear about that on the news and I’m sure it will fade away just
like this incident will.

I want to remember the day of the Wooden Classic when J.R. put
in a couple of buckets that laid the road to the final. I won’t
forget the talk and the hype over our players. I really feel we are
the classiest players in the NCAA, and we proved it. I salute our
whole team for treating Tyus Edney with the respect he deserves.
Without him we would have never seen the Sweet Sixteen nor the
night of April 3. I will never forget this night for what it was:
injustice from the police, but justice from Seattle.

If Bill Clinton, Newt Gingrich or Charles Young had been at UCLA
that night, none of them would have said, "Take those kids away and
hit them in the mouth with a billy-club." I write this because I
can’t hit back with my fist. I don’t want to be mad, but that
changed, and I can’t forgive them for that. Not for a long
time.

We’ve all laughed at the ’60s and ’70s for their clothes and
ideas, but those decades dictate who we are and who we are to
become. Kids just like us died at the hands of the National Guard
sent out by the governor. We are so close to that reality it blurs
our eyes. Why did so many kids die years ago? Because they dared to
raise and resist.

I felt like a living cliche with my middle finger extended to
the police. They were wrong and I could feel it. I saw a man in
uniform point a gun at me and I shuddered as I stared down the
barrel of hatred. We ran away in laughter, yet confused at why we
heard shots in the night. The birds circled our fearful souls, but
we found comfort in our homes with TVs and food. We were docile, so
all could be right.

Asimov and Orwell foretold of our imminent obsequiousness to the
state. Maybe their admonitions ring true, maybe it’s hitting us in
the face ­ but many of us have turned our cheek. Maybe we need
to wake up and see what is really going on. Maybe …

They tell us that we can’t be intelligent people, that we are
not the future, but the end. Why? Why do we have to be treated like
criminals? They hit us with clubs that were emblazoned with the
dictum, "In the name of law and order, we have come to protect and
serve."

Just remember the night of the game and the helicopters and the
riot police. I remember the old UCLA basketball calls of joy and
John Wooden’s wise words. I hope Mr. Wooden understands that we
care about UCLA, and the only thing that has changed is Los
Angeles, and not the pride. Rubber bullets pierced the sky as many
cheered for something they could not have ­ victory.

Locci is a junior business and economics student.