Beaten and Broken — Part 3. How I was forced to witness torture
By: Mark Farnsworth
Tags: Trauma, Nicaragua, Police Brutality, Beyourself, Torture

The cop spoke hurriedly into his radio one last time and then sprinted towards the crowd, gun still in hand. The crowd reacted instantly and scattered. One man in the crowd seemed to realize that the cop was running towards him. He was wearing a yellow t-shirt and black shorts. He was barefoot. He took off running and the officer chased him down the street.

Out of nowhere, a dark blue pick-up truck materialized and blocked the man’s way. Painted on the side of the truck was a crest with the words “DELEGACION DE POLICIA, MANAGUA, DISTRITO No 3,” written inside. In the bed of the truck were six cops carrying AK-47s and M-16s. The man in the yellow shirt froze; the cop chasing him took the opportunity to tackle him. Two cops jumped out of the truck and began beating the man. After they had each punched and kicked him a few times they helped him up and threw him into the bed of the truck. They jumped in with him. The truck peeled out of there and drove down an alley, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.

We were alone.

“Where did they go?” I asked. Jen took my hand and I squeezed it, hard.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Okay,” I said. “The best thing we can do is just keep our cool and walk slowly.” I cracked my knuckles nervously. “Don’t panic, and don’t run.”

“Sure,” she said. She looked much calmer than me.

We walked down the street towards where the truck had been. There were only about two dozen people outside now. A few of them approached us and asked me questions, but I couldn’t understand them and I didn’t care. No one was laughing at us anymore. The same woman that had offered her cell phone earlier offered it again. I didn’t say anything to her. I just shook my head whenever anyone approached me.

We got to the point where the truck had been. I had no idea what to do, so I walked past the corner.

Then there was a commotion behind us. I turned around and there was the pick-up truck, back where we had just been before. The cops were beating the life out of the man in the yellow shirt. He was screaming. They looked at me and yelled; I couldn’t distinguish what it was they were saying. They motioned for me to hurry up and run towards them — they did it the Central American way, with the palm facing down.

I looked at Jen and grabbed her hand. “Run,” I said.

We ran towards the truck. And then it took off again.

“What?” I yelled. “What’s the matter with them?”

I let go of Jen’s hand and clenched my fists. I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said. “We’re just going to go back to where we were, and we’re just going to wait.” Jen said nothing.

We walked back to where we had last been standing.

We stood there in silence until the roar of the truck engine materialized again. The truck burst out of an alley — it was momentarily airborne — and braked harshly, stopping a few feet away from us. The police officers laughed as they were thrown forward by the truck’s sudden halt. Then they started shouting at us in Spanish. I still had no idea what they were saying. I couldn’t see the man in the yellow shirt but I assumed he was laying down on the bed of the truck. I opened the rear door and helped Jen climb in. I pushed her butt with my hands to force her to go in faster. Then I climbed into the truck after her and saw that I had shoved her into a policewoman’s lap. The cop helped her sit up, and Jen looked at me and started yelling at me about how I had just embarrassed her. I couldn’t help but think that this was the worst possible time to be complaining about being shoved into another person.

As the truck got onto the highway I looked out the back window. In the bed of the truck were the same cops from before: the ones with the semi-automatics. The man in the yellow shirt was with them. One of the cops held him in a half-nelson chokehold, and the other cops took turns pounding his arms with the butts of their weapons. Eventually, his arm broke, hanging limply. When the truck got to a red light, they changed positions and laid him on his back. One of the cops pressed his thumbs into the man’s eyes as hard as he could. I heard the man in the yellow shirt scream. Another one of the cops tapped on the window and motioned for me to pay attention.

“Hey!” I yelled, tapping back. “Hey! What are you guys doing? Stop! Hey! Stop! Why are you doing this?”

I looked at the policewoman sitting next to Jen. She was skinny and had shiny black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Even with everything going on, I thought she looked beautiful.

“Hey!” I said. “Hey you! Police!”

She looked down at her combat boots and stayed silent.

“Hey! Look at me!” I said angrily.

I poked Jen on the shoulder. “Tell her to stop all this. Now.”

Jen translated for me. The policewoman shook her head solemnly.

“Tell her they should be ashamed of themselves. These scum should be ashamed of themselves.”

Jen translated. The policewoman hung her head lower and said nothing.

In the passenger seat of the truck was the first cop we had dealt with, the one who had kicked the man wearing the tattered shorts in the balls. He was chatting with the driver and evidently thought the whole ordeal was quite funny. The driver, a chubby woman, laughed at everything Jen said.

I grabbed the cop in the passenger seat by the shoulder and asked him in Spanish, “What is your name?”

He laughed. “Gonzalez,” he said. He laughed again. Everything seemed funny to everyone but us.

“Tell him he is one of the worst people on earth,” I told Jen. She did.

Gonzalez and the driver both howled at that. The cop sitting next to Jen stayed silent. I turned around to watch the man in the yellow shirt again. The cops were kicking him in the face now.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Jen said. “If we try to stop them, they might do the same to us.”

“I know,” I said. I didn’t really believe it, though.

Jen and I sat in silence for the rest of the ride. I stared straight ahead and tried to ignore the screams coming from the back. I didn’t look back again. It seemed to take a really long time for us to get to the station. Finally, we arrived at the police station and got out of the truck.