articles in english

Being put up by the Flemish state police
De Morgen, September 3, 1998

Update April 2002

GroinGrabber, the Flemish gendarme described in the following article, has sued me for libel: both for writing this article and for filing an official complaint against him. For the lawsuit (that of course includes his real name) and other legal documents, see www.klotenknijper.com. After Zenon made www.klotenknijper.com, GroinGrabber sued him too: for putting legal documents on the web (and thus making his name available).

The court ruled on April 26, 2002. According to the court, we need to pay GroinGrabber a total of € 6250 damages. We are planning to appeal. You can support the appeal and help cover the damages through donating money to postgiro 4322679, c/o Karin Spaink, Amsterdam, or via Paypal. For those in the Netherlands, using the postgiro has less costs and thus more revenues.

Chronology:

September 3, 1998

The Flemish newspaper De Morgen publishes my account of how my lover Zenon was maltreated by the Flemish state police. After both of us were illegally arrested, Zenon was beaten and kicked by a state police official; afterwards, he had a broken or bruised rib. No report was written in our presence.

After this account was published, VRT Radio picked up the story, just like the Antwerp local radio. As it turned out, the state police refused comments for quite some time and had to confer all afternoon before they could come up with the predictable reply that my account was not true: according to them, Zenon had not been maltreated.

September 4, 1998

De Morgen published a rather angry editorial about the state police's système parapluie (hush-hush policy) that seemed to be in full gear. And indeed, that same day Het Nieuwsblad wrote that the state police claimed to not have used violence. The state police further explained that we had been libellous and provocative. Also, they claimed that a report had been written about the matter. They could not yet assess whether charges were indeed going to be pressed against us. Personally, I hope they do press charges - such a lawsuit could turn very well against them - but I bet that they will drop the case.

In a second article that same day, De Morgen wrote that the Permanent Committee for the Supervision of the Police (Comité P), a parliamentary committee that can question people under oath, had started an investigation of the case. (Meanwhile, Zenon and I have filed a complaint ourselves with the Comité P.) The article again describes the reluctance with which the state police dealt with the matter: the Brussels spokesperson pointed to his Antwerp colleague, and vice versa. Finally, somebody was found who was willing to state that Zenon and I had been written down for "libel and unarmed recalcitrance". They also declared that there was no reason whatsoever for an internal investigation into the matter.

De Standaard wrote about the affair too. Spokesperson Leen Nuyts, representing the Antwerp Office of the Prosecutor, blatantly lied and told this newspaper that Zenon and I tried to incite others to stop the state police from checking the two Moroccan youths.

On September 5, 1998

The NCRV, a Dutch broadcasting corporation, made an radio item about the affair on Saturday September 5, 1998 for their program Cappuccino. Het Parool, a Dutch newspaper, published an article on September 5 and de Volkskrant, another Dutch national newspaper, wrote about it on September 7.

On September 7, 1998,

Monday morning September 7, 1998, VRT radio devoted a whole hour to a debate about (state) police behaviour, and covered 'our' case as well. That same day, de Morgen published various letters to the editor in which similar accounts were disclosed or in which people expressed their sympathy for us. On September 9, the BRT tv news program Terzake (To the point) covered the affair, and interviewed Zenon. The most remarkable part of the item was not that the state police had - as per usual - no comments to make upon the beating up, but their sudden disclosure that the two North-African youths "had been caught carrying 2,6 grams of marihuana". Earlier, the state police had informed the press that the two youths had been carrying heroine...

October 1999

GroinGrabber sues me for the article in De Morgen, for my complaint filed with Comité P and for publishing this article on my website.

The day after, Net Theatre opens www.klotenknijper.com and puts the summons there. Zenon Panoussis is the webmaster. Within a few weeks he ends up being sued too.

Front page of de Morgen, September 3, 1998

Visiting Flanders
De Morgen, September 3 1998

"Training isn't a game," says the back of his T-shirt. The man's arms are straddled, per force: under the one armpit he carries a holster and gun, under the other two handcuffs attached to a leather strap. He is a member of the Antwerp section of the state police. They are real men, all of them. All the officials that I see look very snug, fully convinced of their own importance, their use, their status, their right, and especially of their power and our defencelessness. In a side room, a state police officer kicks my lover and I hear him scream. Training may not be a game but beating is apparently a popular sport on the premises.

Journalists who write about their personal experiences, often find themselves caught between a rock and a hard place. It is both difficult to maintain your objectivity and to convince your readers that you have managed to maintain your objectivity. Fortunately I am not a journalist, but a writer and a columnist. Furthermore, I am a writer who believes that words offer protection and that words deserve protection. And precisely because my lover and I spoke freely, we were arrested.

An hour earlier. We're in the train between Amsterdam and Antwerp, travelling to the Theatre Festival in Ghent; I'll be lecturing there tomorrow. A short, slightly stocky man wearing a suit-jacket passes us. 'Must be on his way to the toilet,' I think in the back of my mind. A few minutes later I see the same man at the end of the compartment, next to where two North-African youths are seated. He hands them back their passports and gestures that he wants their coats. They hand them over immediately. Border control, I deduce, and shake my head pityingly. The smoking compartment is fully occupied, and who are the only two people the police chooses to check upon? You said it. The only two North-African people. I point the scene out to Zenon. The police guy's posture is - well, strange. He has made his body big and broad, his arms rest massively upon the arm rests on both sides of the youths. He hovers over them and blocks their way. Then he makes a short gesture: "Follow me!" The youths stumble out of their seats, a second man joins them and the four of them disappear into the small platform between the train compartments, where the toilets and exits are.

"Hmm, let's take a look, I don't trust this," Zenon says.

We walk to the platform and once there, light a cigarette. The two state police men are performing a body search upon the youths. They haven't found anything yet. The short stocky guy grabs one of the youths in the groin and feels it - minute after minute. Kneads his left testicle. Kneads his right testicle. Kneads the penis. Shifts the lot and starts kneading anew. The youth's eyes are fixated on a faraway point in space and he's desperately trying to mentally disappear. He's terribly embarrassed. The groin search takes awfully long.

"Considering how long this groin examination is taking, you'd think that this police guy enjoys doing this," I say to Zenon. "Chances are that it's a case of repressed homosexuality. Must be grand to work with the police when you're a closet case."
"Ah, but these guys are fighting big crimes," Zenon corrects me. "It's clear why they picked these two boys. They are obviously big criminals. A real catch!"
I chime in. "Having an innocent outlet for your gay tendencies plus getting to be a hero. What a wonderful profession."
The short-haired colleague of the groingrabber shoots us an angry look. They didn't like our presence to begin with - it prevents them from doing whatever they want - but our comments are appreciated even less. We don't reciprocate his glance. The groingrabber, who still hasn't found anything, pushes the youth into the toilet and orders him to drop his pants; he keeps the door open and he himself stays outside. In that toilet, a boy is almost dying of shame.

"To arrest and search somebody without an actual and concrete suspicion is illegal," I say. "Then again, being Moroccan is sufficiently suspicious."
"Ah, but you forget where we are," Zenon says. "This is Dutroux country. Prejudice, corruption, and meanwhile the police go for the wrong people."
The eyes of the short-haired guy narrow to a slit. I hesitate. Dutroux, that's a national wound, you don't rub salt in it just to score. But Zenon is right, I then realise. It is precisely this narrow-mindedness, this snugness, the ease with which these cops violate their legal possibilities, their air of being sacrosanct, their deprecation of the law and the ease with which they harass these two youths that allowed for Dutroux to happen. Dutroux could do whatever he wanted because too many officials lacked a sense of responsibility. And here we have two of such officials.

We are silent for a while and continue to watch the scene. The train enters the Antwerp station. We get off. Fifty meters down the platform we are suddenly joined by the groingrabber.
"Come along, the two of you," he says. "You're under arrest."
The Schengen Treaty, free traffic of people between member states, arrests that can only take place after having established offences or on the grounds of an actual and concrete suspicion - none of this matters.
"On which grounds??" Zenon asks, to force the man to come up with an explanation.
"You'll find out. Come along!" snarls GroinGrabber. Of course he can't explain why. The reason for the arrest is clear, but not at all legal. GroinGrabber and Shorthair didn't appreciate it that we made ourselves witnesses of their intimidating treatment of the two Moroccan youths, thereby preventing them to do more; and our comments begged for revenge.
"I will demand that you do everything according to the book," Zenon says, more in order to let GroinGrabber know that we are not impressed than because he thinks that GroinGrabber might be deterred at the thought of the ensuing paperwork. GroinGrabber is silent. We walk next to him.

In the make-shift police room of the Antwerp Central Station we find, besides six other people who are apparently under arrest - none of them older then twenty, all of them very subdued -, the two North-African youths. They are timid. Their papers were OK, they were searched, nothing was found; yet they were brought in. Later, they will be sent away without the police writing any report.

GroinGrabber wants to see Zenon's papers. There is of course nothing wrong with them. Then he is to be searched. He takes off his jacket, he takes off his vest. I watch the scene closely. Will I please remove myself, GroinGrabber demands, rather irritated. Huh? How? Wasn't I myself arrested only minutes ago? But GroinGrabber doesn't want me to witness his dealings with Zenon, that seems to be more important than my own arrest. I refuse to sit elsewhere. Zenon says that he demands my presence - "because after an illegal arrest one can expect anything to happen," he adds - upon which GroinGrabber implodes.

It is visible from the way in which his muscles tense, his eyes darken, his body clenches. "You come with me, now!" he snarls again (his vocabulary seems to be rather restricted) and he grabs Zenon by the upper arm and hauls him alongside the tables, through the aisle, past the empty tables with the old typewriters where no reports are being written, to a side room at the back of the room, and GroinGrabber's movements and posture plainly state what will happen next: Zenon will be beaten up shortly. It's only a matter of finding the right excuse.

It is evident that GroinGrabber is going to hit him. Everybody knows. GroinGrabber knows, Zenon knows, I know, the other people who are under arrest know. The blows hover tangible and thick in the air. Despite that, none of the other officials present pay any attention to it; nobody twinges. They continue, unperturbed, to do whatever it is they are doing. The routine is not broken. And then I suddenly understand the point: this is the routine.

The folding partition of the side room is closed. More officials get into the side room; one wears a uniform. Shorthair is done searching Zenon's coat and is about to join his colleagues in the side room. "You forgot to search his bag," I remind him sweetly, pushing the bag in his direction. Shorthair takes the bag from me while throwing me a foul glance and then pushes it aside, unopened. He is not at all interested in Zenon's possessions, only in revenge; the both of us know it. I hear stumbling sounds noises from behind the folding wall.

Fifteen minutes later Zenon is escorted out of the side room. He is led towards a bench, far away from me, and then gestures to me what I already deducted had happened. Yes, beaten up. Kicked, too. He was down on the ground. Foot on his chest. Foot on his throat. Two of the three men did it. By now he's under judicial arrest instead of police arrest. He is supposed to stay. They refuse to say on which grounds they plan to keep him - how predictable, this, by now - but it has become more or less clear that the original ground for his arrest was 'disturbance of the peace'. I should continue my trip to Ghent if I can, Zenon gesticulates, and although it feels like treason to leave him here I know that he is right. In the outside world I can do more for him than here.

Only later he is able to tell me what happened exactly.

"Take off your belt," GroinGrabber said. Zenon answered him that he had no intention to do so and that if GroinGrabber wanted the belt to be off, he'd better do it himself: Zenon had already been subjected to an illegal arrest and refused to co-operate in an illegal body search. GroinGrabber sighed ostentatiously and then himself removed Zenon's belt. "Take down your trousers," GroinGrabber then said, and Zenon replied that GroinGrabber had better do it himself. GroinGrabber made a new show of sighing and half a minute later his face was only centimetres away from Zenon's naked genitals. After having asked for permission to do so, Zenon put back his trousers. "Take off your shoes," GroinGrabber then said, and Zenon answered that he'd better do so himself. "Take off your shoes," GroinGrabber roared, and Zenon again refused, friendly yet firm, and raised his one leg so that GroinGrabber could more easily access his shoelaces. "If you do not comply immediately, you will find yourself on the floor within seconds," Uniform threatened. "I can save you the effort," Zenon answered, and lay down on the floor himself. He lifted his one foot - ballet style: upper leg straight up, under leg at a straight angle, foot stretched - to assist GroinGrabber. Ballerina dancing a tight rope.

GroinGrabber could hardly refuse the offer. Previously, he had undone Zenon's belt and taken off Zenon's trousers. He had already accepted the worst part: he had had to put his face straight in front of Zenon's crotch and had had to sniff the warm smell of Zenon's genitals. To now recoil was impossible, but to give in anew he wanted to prevent at all costs: he considered himself to have been humiliated enough already. Then again, letting Zenon go without having taken off his shoes would have been an even worse defeat. Faced with this dilemma, GroinGrabber went for the simple solution: he got furious.

"Get up, you!" he yelled. Zenon got back on his feet. Somebody - it may have been GroinGrabber, it may have been Uniform, but it was not the one colleague who was silently watching the whole scene - used his fist on Zenon's face. Zenon was thrown back on the floor and somebody pulled off one shoe; then GroinGrabber demanded that Zenon took off the remaining shoe. Zenon dislikes compromises; hence, he refused. He was pulled back on his feet and thrown back on the floor. Uniform put his shoe on Zenon's throat to immobilise him (as if Zenon had previously defended himself with other means than words), GroinGrabber used force to take off the second shoe while balancing himself and getting leverage by pressing one foot on Zenon's chest. GroinGrabber was too stupid, or to angry, to first untie the shoelace so that the whole procedure of taking off the second shoe was rather time-consuming; all the while, GroinGrabber kept his foot firmly on Zenon's chest. Then, the procedure was repeated in order to take off Zenon's socks. The third officer watched silently. Zenon stayed put; he knew that each move he might make would provide the officers with an excuse to further beat him up, and that they would later claim that he had put up resistance. The only thing he did was to call out once: partly for my benefit, partly to warn the three officers that their acts would not go unnoticed: "They are kicking me!"

Uniform grabbed Zenon's hair and pulled him up - not high enough so that he could stand, not low enough so he could support himself on his knees - and jarred him left and right with one hand, hitting him on the chest and face with the other. Then he threw him back on the floor. Zenon stayed there for a second, then looked up and smiled, right into GroinGrabber's face and said: "Thank you. Can I now put my shoes back on?" Not that they had meanwhile searched his shoes or socks for drugs, but that had indeed not been the point. "You are under judicial arrest," GroinGrabber answered, "and yes, you can put on your shoes." "And what about my belt?" Zenon asked, staying put just in case. He feared that they would step on his hands if he reached out for the belt without having asked. Now that he asked, the only thing that GroinGrabber could do was to mumble "Oh well yes..." Never mind. He had had his ball anyway.

Zenon collected his clothes and was then led to the faraway bench. In fifteen minutes you can be beaten up rather thoroughly, but how bad exactly I did not know yet. Zenon and I continued to look unperturbed at one another: he from his spot, I from mine. We even smiled. We wanted to show them that we refused to be intimidated: to make that point was more important than anything else.

A female officer enters the room. Perhaps she has been called for my sake; men are usually not obliged to body-search women and in this Catholic country that's probably a rule even the state police obeys. But I'm wrong. She takes the only other arrested female into the side room. The two of them are done within three minutes; afterwards, the female officer leaves. To a certain degree I find this annoying. They are indeed after Zenon - as if my criticism wasn't just as severe, as if am to be taken less seriously, as if it would take less to intimidate me. They are not only corrupt but also sexist.

Shorthair returns with my passport. GroinGrabber joins him and together they finally search Zenon's bag. In it, they find a book with my name and portrait on the cover. They study it with great attention.
"Such bad luck," I comment, smiling sweetly. "But bad luck happens even to the best, doesn't it?"
They retract.
Five minutes later Zenon is suddenly allowed to leave the penal bench and GroinGrabber informs us that we have been released. No report has been made; only our names and passport numbers have been taken down. My. The power of the word. Books are indeed safeguards.
"And what about that judicial arrest?" Zenon asks. Irony smoothens his voice.
GroinGrabber sways his hand.
"Never mind," I reply instead, shrugging my shoulders. "That was mere intimidation. It was a rebuke, because we kept an eye on them and they don't like that."
GroinGrabber turns towards me. "That is not why you were arrested," he says.
Then why were we, I ask. Didn't he earlier on just pass us in that train compartment? Was our arrest indeed totally unrelated to the fact that we made ourselves witnesses to their treatment of those two youngsters, or that we said things they didn't like?
"You can believe whatever you want," GroinGrabber says. "This is a free country. And if you don't agree, file a complaint."

'A free country,' yeah right. He had just proven how free: he had punished us for not being intimidated, for speaking freely, for believing that the police needs to abide by the law and needs to follow the rules. Some civil servants hate citizens like this: they believe that only they can define what justice is and what rights people have. And filing a compliant? The Antwerp state police that we had seen had collectively put itself above the law. GroinGrabber kicked, Uniform beat, Colleague stood there and did nothing and Shorthair would have happily participated; the others heard it and knew it and nobody even blinked. Nobody did anything. Each and every one of them apparently considered this to be normal behaviour. This was standard procedure, this was their right. If we would file a complaint, they would cover up for one another and scratch each other's back. In cases like these, the only thing that can make a difference is a public complaint, not an official one.

And the good news is that I can lodge the latter kind of complaint: I am a writer. The bad news is that those two Moroccan youths are probably less versed with words, do not have a similar network and do not have access to the media. If the state police hadn't kicked my lover, their story would never have reached the press. The worse news is that my account will only refine the state police's moral corruption: next time, they'll take greater care with people like us and they will focus on young Moroccans with even greater fervour: they are quite safe targets.

The most tragic part of this account is that GroinGrabber proved that Zenon's remark about 'Belgium is Dutroux country' was painfully justified.

I have never disclosed GroinGrabber's real name except when I filed a complaint with a parliamentary committee. I still have the T-shirt that Zenon wore on the occasion; faint footprints are visible. Zenon had a broken or bruised rib. And by now (November 1999) GroinGrabber is suing me for slander; see www.klotenknijper.com, which contains amongst others the lawsuit that he filed against me.

The following newspaper articles deal with the affair:

1. Het Nieuwsblad, September 4 1998, page 7. Headline: "State police denies using violence".
2. De Morgen, editorial, September 4 1998, page 2. Headline: "Who's afraid of the state police?"
3. De Morgen, September 4 1998, page 3. Headline: "Commitee P investigates 'state police handling' of writer Karin Spaink".
4. De Standaard, September 4 1998, page 4. Headline: "Complaint buy and against Karin Spaink. State police denies brutal handling of Dutch writer ".
5. Het Parool, September 5 1998, page 2. Headline: "Spaink accuses police Belgium".
6. de Volkskrant, September 7 1998, page 3. Headline: "The adventures of Karin Spaink and her lover in 'Dutroux country'".
7. de Morgen, September 7 1998, letters to the editor, page 2.
8. de Morgen, September 10 1998, article by Spaink & Panoussis, page 2. Headline: "Belgium citizens appear ashamed over their police".

Copyright Karin Spaink.
This text is offered for private use only. Any
other use requires the author's written permission.