vendredi 21 mars 2014

Third complaint with a civil party - a parody of hearing for a TI


 This text was written in 2011 
It was the 3rd complaint with a civil party. The complaint was filed in 2006 in Paris and this hearing was performed in ANGERS (49) where I lived in 2007. It included a gang rape which  is a crime , depending on  who is the victim in FRANCE . That crime  was NEVER   mentionned by any policeman or judge in 4 years.

Any way previous blogs mentionned that over the years,  bad treatment by policemen has been frequent.

Here is another one with its details  : a parody of justice, for a court determined to deny an unimportant woman’s case
***

The victim chosen by the police of this provincial town for ridicule and entrapment was a woman, their  rookie colleague.

When I opened my mail after ten days’ absence, I found a summons. I had barely half an hour to get there. I rushed to the address indicated, letter in hand.

This hearing, concerning a complaint , had been suggested five months earlier. The Paris judge had finally delegated it to the police chief of the provincial town where I lived part time.
Her instructions stated that the hearing should take place in the police premises in the centre of town.

But this letter summoned me to the small police station in  a dormitory part of the town on the outskirts.

Arriving just in time, I gave my name to the desk sergeant and sat down to wait.

There were two chairs in the small square entrance. The first was occupied by a pour soul covered in boils, exuding a rancid odour of sweat.
After a few minutes, he struck up a conversation. His toothless mouth made it rather difficult to understand what he said. To simplify things, I nodded to everything he said.

Twenty minutes later, two policemen appeared. The woman policeman who had written to me called out my name. I expected to be called into the office. Not at all.
Standing there in the entrance, I was bombarded with questions, all biassed. I was expected to say whether I was under a doctor and being treated, the doctor’s name and telephone number.

I thus learned from these specialists in public security that I was not quite normal, and that something had to be done.

At first I was conciliating. Like them, I had a GP. That did not please them : they wanted to know if I was under specialist care.
I responded by a question : where was the register that I was supposed to sign to indicate that I had responded to the summons I had received ?

At that point neither of them had actually asked for proof of my identity.

Finally, after hesitating, I was brought into the office. The young woman policeman sat behind the desk and flipped through the file.

Her colleague started leafing though my letters that I had brought and laid on the table in front of me. He took out an envelope that fascinated him, turning it over and over. It came from Panthéon Assas.
He left, no doubt to make his report, then came back.

Along with the letters there was a catalogue for an exhibition which I was intending to give to a friend I was going to have lunch with that day. The policeman plunged into the catalogue, reading it attentively and covering it with fingerprints.


After that it was the turn of the screen. Sitting in front of a computer he appeared to be getting information from, the male policeman asked me to give more details on my detention in custody. I did not know what he was talking about.
That should not have been on his screen.

The young policewoman took over and began the hearing. I answered the first question. She reacted with unexpected violence, calling me a liar.
Because of the difference in age, the questioning was brutal and rude. She claimed that my answer was different from that in my letter. And yet I was saying the same as in my letter.
Anxious to conciliate them, I suggested I had forgotten the exact words of my letter. This made her hysterical.
As a professional intimidation she listed the consequences of perjury... but then she was interrupted. Someone came to tell her her mother had brought her lunch.

Her colleague told me she was new and couldn’t afford bought sandwiches.

Once he had finished reading the catalogue, the other policeman wanted the telephone number of someone in my family. I refused at first : I have no close family. In vain. The policeman wanted any number, friends, cousins, anyone.
So I gave the name of some cousins.
I discovered later that the policeman had merely been trying to get me put in a mental home. My cousins had never noticed any mental illness, quite the contrary.

The young policewoman answered her mobile phone, once she had dealt with her sandwich. She left the room, leaving me alone with the file.

It was the right file, from the Paris examining magistrate.The letter she had used to say I was lying lay alongside. It was perfectly clear, and repeated what I had said.

There was something fishy about this police station.
Upon her return, the young policewoman began to write the report. The room filled up.
One after the other, her colleagues came and sat down for a while, listening in.

The policewoman’s mobile phone rang several times. For each call she left the room and returned with a new line of questioning, rubbing out what she had written and rewriting the report.


After a good hour and a half of this performance, the report was ready for me to sign. I signed, requesting a copy, as is normal. I was a victim. I had started the prosecution alone, and begun a civil suit.

All three policemen in the room refused to give me a copy.

A pretend hearing and a pretend report, all imagined by real policemen in uniform.
No trace was eve.r found of the report, certainly not in my file

Not only was I a victim of evildoers, I was a victim of unscrupulous representatives of the State.

Representatives of the State that used methods and staging like the others : playacting, mockery, derision, lies, and a parody of legal documents.

The next day three uniformed police came to my home. No report, of course.

Only one of the three policemen asked questions. Military bearing. Legs apart, arms crossed, flexing his jaws, chewing gum.

He had a call on his mobile phone and left the apartment. A few minutes later he came in from the corridor with a torn off piece of paper with nothing written on it. He said he’d found it in the corridor.
He wanted me to tell him if it was a clue left by the people who had broken into my flat and damaged my property.

His call on the mobile had been for that, of course. The last joke that mocked a victim’s complaints and would give him and his colleagues a good laugh back at the station.
****

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