I was sitting in a classroom with perhaps a hundred other students, when, unexpectedly, some men who looked like FBI agents, obviously police authorities, stood up and began talking. Soon, as the men began walking back and forth through the room, they began talking about me, and the atrocious crimes which I had committed.

At first, I averted my gaze and didn't look any of the men in the eyes. Since I was using a false identity, I thought they might not recognize me. However, finally, I began staring straight at one of the men, and he stared back at me with obvious hatred. He recognized me, and he was clearly distraught because he knew he didn't yet have enough evidence to arrest me. He was infuriated he couldn't apprehend me right now. From his glare, however, I knew the police would do everything they could to capture me. Nevertheless, I remained defiant.

***

My name was "Getsky." I was a dissident who, with my followers, had long been pursued by the police, who had tried many times, unsuccessfully, to apprehend me. Now, with my followers, who numbered in the hundreds, I had entered a park in Florida, where we intended to have a rally. As my followers and I assembled in the park, the police, wielding their clubs, began to surround us, determined that this time I wouldn't escape. My followers and I decided that we wouldn't resist the police and that we wouldn't be violent in any way. Instead, we all gathered around a monument in the park, a statue, and decided we were simply going to stand still and stare at the statue, in silent protest. We expected the police would attack and beat us, probably even kill some of us.

In the background, as if someone were reading a story, I could hear a high-ranking police officer talking, reciting the details of my life. Describing how I had been involved in serious so-called "crimes" against the state. I reflected to myself that I wasn't particularly proud of everything in my past. I seemed to recall at one point in my life I had used heroin. But even so, I reflected, even my use of heroin afforded the police no justification for arresting me. In fact, my followers and I were also protesting against the laws forbidding possession of drugs.

Once the police had surrounded us, their brutal attack began as the police began beating my followers. Gunfire broke out on one side of the monument. It was soon clear some men not a part of my group, but shocked by the action of the police, were shooting guns at the police. A wild melee followed as people began running in every direction. I didn't run, but I did begin to walk away from the monument, even as I was still listening to the narration taking place in the background.

Surrounding the park was a ghetto area, old dilapidated two-story frame houses. I could hear the narrator referring to the old houses, describing how a meeting of the dissidents had taken place in one of the houses. The narrator described how the dissidents in the house had prepared for this rally. The narrator also touched upon the purpose of the rally, but I couldn't clearly hear what he said.

I thought it was possible the police might kill me this time. I was unsure. Whatever happened, I was determined I wouldn't succumb to what the authorities wanted.

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