Off the Fence

What it feels like to get locked up at the Capitol.


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Published: Sep 26, 2007

As Told To

Carla Boccella, a 36-year-old nurse from Collegeville, was the 10th of 189 people arrested at an anti-war rally in Washington, D.C., on Sept. 15. Here's Boccella's account of the day, as told to City Paper:

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I've always been politically active, doing stuff like writing letters to representatives and senators and letters to the editor about causes I've believed in, but this war spurred me to action in a way nothing else has. I went to the peace rally [in Washington] in January and a few in Philadelphia. I work in Norristown so I go when I can, and I usually go alone because all my friends work these 40-hour weeks and how can I ask, "Hey, want to spare some time on the weekend to do some political service?"

I don't know why I went; I guess it was because somebody should go. Our bus made stops at Oxford Valley and South Philly. There were about 54 of us in all.

In D.C., we gathered at the White House and marched to the Capitol. Right off the bat, we had some pro-war Democrats spitting on us, throwing things at us, calling us traitors, commies. "Why don't you go to the recruiter's office?" we yelled back. They had flags and signs saying the jihad will come here. We marched to the Capitol steps. There was a die-in. There were bodies lying everywhere.

On one side of the Capitol, the stairs reach a kind of plateau. The Capitol police set up two rows of rail fences, these 4-foot-high things that looked like they could be folded up and brought anywhere. We crowded up against the fences. That's when the showdown started. I ended up at the front, on one of the gates. People were yelling, calling for those people in the front to go over the fence. It was tense.

It was a matter of time before someone crossed the barrier. The police were waiting there for us. They were in riot gear. From my perspective, I couldn't see that two girls had crossed the fence already. I joined the crowd and yelled, "Who's gonna go over? Who's gonna go?" Someone should do it, I thought. Then I said to myself, "Am I here to just do lip service? I'm going to be the one. Someone has to go."

A gentleman to my right let me use his shoulder. I stepped on him, I was up and then I was over, in between the two rail fences. I guess that was the moment I went from demonstrator to activist.

The police told me that if I crossed the next line, I was going to be arrested. I stepped up to the next fence, swung my leg over and said, "Arrest me, then." The cop hesitated. I could tell he didn't want to do it for a few split seconds, but then another officer came over and they both put me on the ground and handcuffed me with plastic cuffs.

I put the peace sign up behind my back as they walked me away. The crowd was still screaming, getting louder. After waiting on the Capitol steps for 30 minutes, they [put] us into paddy wagons. There were 10 of us. I sat next to an 18-year-old girl who came up from a college in North Carolina. Her name was Lindsey.

Lindsey handled herself with composure. I said, if she can be calm about this, I can too. She said she saw me go over, and then she jumped. I felt almost responsible for this girl. She was by herself, too. Her mother gave her a 2-inch pocket knife to carry around for protection in the big city. The police took it and charged her with a felony. Later they downgraded her charges to misdemeanor. They charged me with a misdemeanor too, crossing a police line.

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They took us to a building called the U.S. Capitol vehicle maintenance building on K Street. I argued with the captain. He looked at my arm and saw numbers. He asked if it was my Social Security number. That's when I got upset. "Now do I look like the kind of person who would write my Social on my arm? Do you think I'm an idiot?" They were the numbers they gave me on the bus in case I was arrested.

They held us for six hours. I didn't have the $100 cash bail. I had to sign a paper saying that I would appear in court on Oct. 23. We were released at 11 p.m. Lindsey and I exchanged numbers. My bus was long gone, but there were still people outside on K Street waiting for us. They clapped and gave us some food and coffee. They were from the group ANSWER Coalition. They asked what they could do for me.

I said I just needed a ride to Union Station. The 3:15 a.m. train took me to 30th Street Station. I was there, waiting for the 7:20 SEPTA train to Norristown. I didn't want to be late for work.

(tom.namako@citypaper.net)