Police Misconduct / California / San Jose

       My name is Ramon Vasquez and I am a twenty-eight year-old father of two. I was born and raised in San Jose, California, where I’ve lived my whole life. On March 20, 2008, I was arrested and charged with a gang-related murder. It was a charge I was completely innocent of. I did five months in jail, until they released me for lack of evidence. No apology was given to me or my family.

I was arrested while leaving work, guns pointed at me, and was interrogated for countless hours about something that I didn’t know anything about. As I sit here typing this, I still can’t believe it til this day. Apparently, I fit the description -- "Average Hispanic Male" adult. That, along with the fact that I have tattoos (none gang-related) was enough for them to peg me as a gang-banging murderer. Because of the horrible mistake, my family had to move, I almost lost my job, and five months of my life were taken from me that I can never get back.

Do having tattoos and being an "Average Hispanic Male Adult" justify why I should have gone through this ordeal? I would sure hope not. My tattoos come from my love and passion for Hip Hop which has been a positive force in my life. Nonetheless, the police used them to insinuate that any tattoo is gang affiliated.

When I went to my first court date, it was then that I found out I had two codefendants that I had never met nor seen in my life. Now at this point, I was lost and in disbelief of what was going on. I still thought that the police would still come and take me home. It didn’t happen.

Sitting I my cell, the more I read the police reports that were written by these police officers, the more I thought that I was being railroaded. I would sit at night and cry asking myself, "Why do I have to go through this? What did I do to deserve this? Why do my children have to go without their father? Why is my fiancé forced to live a single mother’s life?"

All my questions still haven’t been answered months later. Let me guess what you’re thinking. You’re probably saying, "Well, you were at the wrong place at the wrong time." But I wasn’t even there! I was at home asleep with my fiancée and two kids with my mother-in-law there awake on the phone. But did the investigators want to hear that? No. Whatever went against their story of what happened, they didn’t want it to be discussed.

Initially, my family cooperated with the investigation until one of the Sergeants made a statement to my sister-in-law. When she told him that I was being falsely charged, he had enough cockiness to say, "We arrest innocent people all the time. It might take a year or two, but he’ll get out."

I never thought this type of injustice happens, but I guess it does. Later on in the investigation, when detectives found D.N.A. that was left at the scene by the suspects, and mine came back negative twice, I thought that evidence would surely liberate me. Yet even then they still held me, headed towards a path of life in prison for something I did not do. I asked to take a polygraph test and passed it, twice.

Eventually, just a day before my preliminary examination (a sort of mini-trial) I had an unexpected court date.

It was a Tuesday morning about eleven am. I was laying on my bunker style bed, cold as always, thinking about the days to come. I was in a daze deep in thought when all of a sudden the Correctional Officer came to my cell door and unlocked it. "Vasquez, get up and get ready, you have court!" I told him, "It couldn’t be me. I had court yesterday and I have court on Thursday." He looked at me like I was stupid and said, "I don’t know. They just called for you, so let’s go."

I was led through the hallway to the elevator, then to a waiting holding cell. I was placed with some other guys that were going to court as well. We were all talking and I was asked, "What do you have today?" I replied, "I don’t know. I’m not supposed to have court until Thursday." Then some scruffy man in the back said, "It’s bad news, it’s more charges!" After I heard that, my heart just stopped. Then the Sheriff came to the holding cell and called out, "Vasquez, let's go!" I was placed inside another elevator then guided to another holding cell by myself. I sat there shaking and my mind was racing.

My attorney walked in this room that was connected to my holding cell; he’s on one side and I’m on the other side of the graffiti marked window. He took one look at me and said, "Don’t look so sad; didn’t I tell you I would take care of you?" Then he just walked out. At that time the Sheriff, an older lady, unlocked my cell door and took me inside the courtroom. When I walked in the courtroom, I looked to the right, and I saw my friends and family, some crying, some smiling.

The judge came in. We all stood up, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up as well. The District Attorney read off all the charges against me and finished with, "We the people drop all the charges against Ramon Vasquez due to lack of evidence." As I heard that I dropped my head down with relief and finally let my guard down for the first time in five long months. The nightmare was over. I started crying and looked directly at the judge, and he gave me a smile. As I was being removed from my seat, I looked at the D.A. and said "Thank you." He just said, "Yah, I bet." I was then led to my holding cell, and the Sheriff said, "You can smile now. You’re going home." That’s when it really hit me. I fell to my knees in tears and thanked God for this miracle. I was led back to my floor and eventually my cell. The night, the time when I would be released, could not come any slower.

When I was finally released at about three in the morning, the first person I saw was my brother. He walked up and gave me the tightest bear hug I’ve ever felt. I was eager to see Yvonne my fiancée, the woman who fought so hard for my innocence. So I raced to the car only to find her asleep. She jumped out of the car and gave me a loving hug that was from her heart. That’s when I knew my freedom was real, and I looked up at the jail in disgust.

We then went to grandma’s house to see the kids and take them home. I woke up my daughter, who’s five, first and she pulled back from me and started crying as if I was some kind of stranger. The same went for my 9-year-old son. He looked at me as if I was some random man from the streets. I couldn’t really blame them because during the whole time in jail, I only asked to see them twice.

The reason I rarely saw my kids was because when I would see them I could see the pain in their eyes. When my daughter first visited, in the middle of a conversation between me and Yvonne, she started crying out hysterically, "I want my daddy!" It hurt my heart so much I walked back to my cell holding in my tears so I wouldn’t show any sign of weakness. When I reached my cell, I fell to the concrete floor and bawled like a baby. It came to a point where I couldn’t even talk to them on the phone. I always told Yvonne that you put the outside world out of your mind. I made it hard on my family by not calling for days, but it made the time get easier for me to try not to think about what I loved. Everything you love on the outside makes you vulnerable on the inside, and you become a zombie, just a projection of your environment. And of course, being incarcerated also has its own challenges. I wish people wouldn’t limit themselves to their own race when they go to jail because we are all equal and you can learn so much from other races. I know about the pressures to stick to your own cause, but be your own man, and it will show others that we are all equal.

Being away from my family was one of hardest things I have ever had to go through. Being a father, I had never been away from my kids since the day they were born, and now I was away from them for a wrongful arrest. The time and distance hurt their little hearts as well as mine.

Yvonne then took pictures of me the same night I was released because I came out looking like a P.O.W. You could see my ribs and I was very pale. We took them to show the destruction that was done to my body, but from the pictures, you couldn’t see the damage done to me mentally. In the days to come, I had panic attacks to the point where Yvonne had to console me because someone was at the door. I always envisioned the police coming back for me to take me away from the people I love. Even now, when I see police on the street or even on my block, I get very nervous and I’m reminded of the whole ordeal again. This is something that I will have to live with for the rest of my life because of the poor police work. But hey, they "arrest innocent people all the time. It might take a year or two, but he’ll get out."

In the months to come, I was involved in a battle with my employer to get my job back. That’s when it hit me that even though we proved my innocence, I was guilty in the courtroom of public opinion. Eventually, I received my job back after two months of jumping through hoop after hoop. Since I’ve been home, my life has come back together, but I still sit and ask myself, "What did I do to deserve this?"

I’ve lost faith in the criminal justice system because it has let me down. It’s funny because every attorney I speak to ask the same thing, "Why did you talk to the police?" Well, isn’t that what we're taught growing up, to trust the police? Yet these same people we are told are there to protect us, tried to take my life. I know I ain’t the first, and damn sure I ain’t going to be the last. I probably would have slipped through the cracks and got convicted if it wasn’t for my family’s persistence and De-Bug’s guidance.

When locked up, I prayed so much that what was done in the dark is shown in the light, but when I was praying, I was talking about the crime. Now I see it was really for me to show what the police do and how unfair the system is.

All I ask of you reading this is don’t be afraid to be yourself and educate yourself not only when it comes to the criminal justice system, but everything in life.