My mind was scrambling how am I going to get out of this? How can I talk my way out of this quickly? I didn’t just have one cop, I have 4 cops surrounding me, all very angry . Each one was  cussing loudly at me in a thick patios, I could feel the deep animosity towards me. I was a white woman putting up a fight with the Jamaican police, by myself.

I physically froze as they continued to hurl obscenities at me yelled, one particular cop was within an inch of my face,  both his hands placed on my chest,  pushing me backwards towards the cement wall, that divided the parking lot from the road. No matter how hard they pushed, I would not budge. I honestly could not tell you how I had fallen over by now. I could see that the cop was getting irritated as he continued to shove me back and embarrassed by his peers for not having the ability to get me on the ground. I was surrounded by a crowd of at least 70 people, a mixture of local Jamaicans and foreigners visiting. The situation had escalated to the point that no one was going to risk getting involved, it was obvious these cops had enough anger to go after the entire crowd. At the moment it was all focus on me, the Jamaicans in the crowd knew how bad it could get and the foreigners were too scared.

It had started out as another Maxi Priest concert, an annual event at Sam Sara in the west end in Negril. The Venue itself is incredible; the stage was situated on the very edge of the cliffs, the back drop is the ocean and the night sky  filled with stars. It was one of those places that is not just magical but made visitors fall in love with Jamaica.  You would get lost watching a  performance; the artist was up on stage, the cool breeze blowing through the crowd, and the moon light dancing in the background on the water. Of course when you add a big blunt, that whole other level.

Maxi Priest  is a born Jamaican artist that caters to the foreigner market, mostly the spring break market.. So he would come to Negril Jamaica firm the US Negril to perform the cost to get into the concert was more than usual concerts, so a lot of locals could not afford it.

My friend and colleague Sally Sue with her son DJ  had just arrived from Fort Lauderdale. Sally was married the Jerimiah a Rasta guy, bit it was a strange marriage I barely would see the together in public. Sally was about 400 pounds, with long blonde hair , beautiful face especially smile and Jamaicans men being true Jamaicans always had a lot of things to say - good and some bad, mostly about her size. We heard a lot of "gyal Iike your size"

Her son was 23 and trying to find his way. He had reddish hair and was a big build but not fat more like a bod builder, he could easily pass for a white supremist but he wasn't but he creeped me out a little because he had that "look". Sally had brought him on this particular  trip because he had recently been busted with a bunch of prescription pills that he was selling and Sally had to bail him out of jail. He owed her a lot of money so she told him he would have to come to Jamaica and carry a couple kilos of hash to Florida to make the money to pay her back. Sally has been carrying hash back to Fort Lauderdale for the past 2 years, I knew because  I was the facilitator.

When we arrived at the concert the parking lot and the outside of the venue was completely packed, which is normal at these kind of events. Sometimes the party could be just as fun on the outside as it was on the inside. The people who can afford to go in and people who could not afford to go in.

We had a couple drinks on the outside with some of the guys I knew, I could see DJ was getting nervous as we were all talking probably and he could not understand what we were saying. We decided to make our way to the entrance and along the way I saw a young Rasta that I always check in with at concerts,  he sells jewelry to tourists at beach parties. At the moment the police had him pinned on the ground and they were about 12 feet away from where I was standing before entering through the final gate and into the venue.  His bag of jewelry scattered all over the ground,  one of the cops hit him in on his back with his baton, as the other pulled apart all hos pickets and bags looking for ganja. As this was all taking place all the tourists faces showed fear.

Then the Rasta rolled over, jumped up, pushed through the crowd and started to run. He had got just to a clearing on the road, as people moved out of the way, leaving all his hard work behind him when one of the officers took out his gun and shot up in the air. In the same moment 2 other cops caught him, pushed him to the ground and started to kick him all over his body as he lay there. Then the 3rd cop who just fired the gun ran over,  I followed the 3rd cop over and once we reached the rasta, who was now badly beaten and I grabbed the officers arm and said “hey why you doing this guys there are way too many tourists to carry on like this especially for such a minor issue; its just herb and you’ve got all his stuff, let him go and stop beating him ”.

The officer was pissed and pushed  my hand away, telling me in no uncertain terms   "to move my white bumbaclot self" I did not move and positioned myself with my back towards a concrete wall, that way I knew no one could come up from behind me. There were now  4 cops and a bunch of on lookers, including Sally and DJ. Everyone circled around all waiting too see what's was going happen next.

It was on, me and this one cop he had some true animosity towards me and as much as he yelled at me I stared him directly in the eye and yelled back. One thing I knew I could not and would not back down to this

One of the other officers pulled up on a Yamaha 175 trail bike, as he edged closer towards me the cop  I was engaged with move over and let the officer ride the bike and lace the front tire between my legs, I had on a long black skirt, with a slit in the middle and the heat and dirt on the tire could be felt in between my things. I was now pinned against the wall with the front tire of the motor bike between my legs. The more we argument escalated the harder he would rev the bike as though he was about to ride it directly on me.

The other officers saw this exchange was getting overly heated, there were lots of bystanders not too mention Sally in the background crying and begging them stop.  All the tourists clearly a witness to the whole event from beginning to end,  so they decided to arrest me and take me jail

By this time they had the Rasta in the back of the police car handcuffed

they tried to grab me and told me I am under arrest for obstructing justice.

I froze, getting in the police car was a whole other level, ive heard the stories over the years and I knew about beating in the bush left for dead, I did not want to get into that car

But every time they push me I just stood solid. After a good 15 minutes of pushing screaming and yelling from not just myself the cops but by standers , I just had to accepted the fact that I had to go and I went and let them handcuff me and I got into the back of the police car

As I sat shoulder to shoulder with the rasta, he turned to me with the biggest smile and a face a full of gratitude and said “Jaz thanks for that, your really something to have my back like thar- maximum respect"

I looked at him and did even thunk, it just came out of my mouth “ Star- Im  yo in enough trouble for the night because of you so just sssshhhh!” He laughed. The officers that took me to the station kept looking back at me and grinnin,  when they arrived at the police and I was stepping out of the car they made the comment, “ you are one bumblcloth champion white girl” I just smiled and laughed, I mean hey it was a compliment.

Once we entered into the station, which was empty at that time of night, they took the rasta straight to his cell and did not even bother book him. They did stuff like that all the time to the hustles vendors that would get into trouble, for whatever reason, legit or not. They will keep them over night sometimes beat them and then release him the next day.

The station itself was about 20x 40 feet with cells in the very back of the building. There was a waiting area with benches about 12 ft long lined against a grey concrete wall, that looked like it had not cleaned in years. The wooden counter divided the waiting area to the administration area.

Behind the counter was a heavy set woman with her beige uniform, looking at me with zero expression. Her uniform was far too tight, the buttons were popping, her skirt was stretched to capacity and her movements were limited as she stood to escort me  behind the counter and sit down at this was a big desk, that had a stack of papers and a big black rotary dial telephone. She looked as though I interrupted her and she did not look happy or impressed I was there. She open up a big ledger book that was heavy and at least 16 inches by 12 and started by asking me my full name, even the tone she asked me was as though my name was irritating.

By now all 4 cops had gathered around the counter, watching and making random comments to each other. With no expression the woman officer told me to empty te contents of my purse and take off all my jewellery and each item had to be itemized

I first open my purse; Sally had come to take back hash so I had cash to buy that hash that same night. As I watched thewoman Sargent count each stack, the other 4 cops just kept say "wha cha gyal you one rich white gyal" One cop told me hes available if I need a lover/ body guard" I laughed considering what he was doing an hour ago.

It was the 90's II wore a lot of jewelry, so we began to itemize and record each piece so I super slowly took one ring at a time off each finger then I moved on to each bracelet then each necklace. The Sargant was rolling her eyes at me, she thought she was finished when I bent down to take off my toe rings. That was the final straw for her ;  she says couldn’t help herself with the most emotion and expression I had seen she raised her voice and asked " what the hell, you doing with so much jewels"

Right at that moment there was music to my ears;

“ Hey I’m here to bail out my friend Jaz” Tyrone was there to bail me out. Tyrone had a bar restaurant in the west end of negril and was a big 300 pound guy, that everyone knew. His place was home to the rotten box posse, they were like the local mafia gang, who did illegit business.

They released me and gave me court date and as I left the building, I passed the cop that was on the bike; he softly said as I passed by "you better watch my back"

As we drove back to the West End, Tyrone started preaching how I should not put myself in jeopardy for others.