Atrocities

On this page I am writing about atrocities I’ve experienced over the last decade; this writing is a work in process…

2000 member Facebook harassment group in Leicestershire

After spending one month as a voluntary patient in Amber Ward, Highgate Mental Health Unit (police said it was madness to sleep next to huge chunks of ice with no blanket then sectioned 136 me) I was discharged onto the streets of London. After 36 hours of sleeping rough in Westminster tolerating seemingly relentless abuse on dejected filthy urine stinking streets I dreamt about the safe embrace of the Northwest Leicestershire countryside, the clean air and wide hillside views that long ago gave me a place as a child to escape the many deluded paranoid accusations of my unwell mother. Arriving directly from London I journeyed across this yonder bracken hillside (now signposted as the National Forest), 12-14 miles daily (partly to relieve anxiety) sleeping many nights under a vibrant star lit sky.

Whilst walking winding countryside lanes I began to notice people in cars taking pictures of me with their mobile phones. At first I shrugged observation of this motion until the annoyance began to stop and wait in front of me to catch a chance to take my picture when walking past. Some cars would reverse, others cars would drive by with passengers shouting ‘Pink Lady’ at me through half wound down windows.

Local dog walking people approached me whilst rambling near Thringstone, after sometime talking to them they informed me of a page on Facebook where people had been uploading pictures of me with some very strange attached comments, some of these comments where transphobic, homophobic others spiteful, disillusioned and most certainly slanderous. Harassment from the public in Shepshed grew worse, up to three or four cars in convoy would follow me around the streets, again shouting at me (trying to provoke a reaction) and taking my picture.

On a Sunday I decided to take a look at my old community college (Hind Leys) in Shepshed, I walked around the college campus remembering times I spent there as a pupil. Contrary to one paranoid local accusation I never took photographs whilst I was there, not that it would matter much if I did cause the college was closed. The particularly nasty policeman who stopped me in Queens park, Loughborough asked if I had taken any pictures at Hind Leys community college, I told him I hadn’t, he then asked to see my mobile phone, I handed it to him, he checked it then left with is colleague, I didn’t see him again.

It was two or three days later I heard Hind Leys college had written a letter to the parents of pupils giving a brief description of what had been reported about me in India and that people in this day and age where allowed to wear what clothes they wished to wear, they also made effort to quash unfounded fears by stating that I had absolutely no history of abusing children.

This mass hysteria even prompted me to be bought up at the local town council meeting were the police attempted to put matters straight….

We have received a number of reports of a male walking around the area dressed as a pink lady (wears a pink tutu). He is often seen walking on the A512 between L/bro & Shepshed. There have been reports of him being a paedophile which are untrue, he is eccentric and dresses in an unusual way so is the cause of attention but nothing more. A press release has been completed to allay concerns. Cooper has done nothing wrong – he just looks slightly odd and leads an alternative lifestyle. – Sergeant Paul Latham Deputy LPU Commander. [1]

Two days later a local police man came to my mothers house, he was polite and apologetic stating that he hadn’t experienced such prejudice since the stigmatisation of gay people with aids during the early eighties.

Over the next few weeks my brother liaised with the Leicestershire police force in an attempt to get the Facebook Pink Lady page closed down. Police traced the creators to Whitick and Ibstock who had been using a pseudonym “PhildeTranny”. In a bizarre twist they said one of the creators had severe learning difficulties and that they were surprised he could even use a computer, the other creator had disappeared, rumoured to have moved to the UAE?

I was contacted by the Loughborough Echo who wanted to run a story about the Facebook ‘Pink Lady’ page. I told the reporter I had no intention of contributing to an article that would inevitability promote the Facebook ‘Pink Lady’ page and in so provoke further harassment and slander of myself ; so I advised him not to run the article as it wasn’t news. He refuted stating that people were talking about me walking around in a pink blanket and that would constitute an article of which the Loughborough Echo published regardless of my petition.

Seeking some information about press complaints I made effort to contact Derby ‘Friends’ GLBT organisation but they completely ignored emails sent requesting help. In a later post I’ll be writing about Derby ‘Friends’ complicity in esoteric games and turning a blind eye to the stalking harassment I was going through whilst living on the streets in Derby and also threatened the exclusion of a volunteer because she briefly helped me out of the cold.

The next press email I received was from the Coalville times, the reporter played a sympathetic approach when requesting ‘my side’ of the story, I repeated the same stance to her as I did to the Loughborough Echo reporter but the Coalville Times chose to run their own ‘story’ regardless. From what I remember the Coalville Times article quoted a teacher stating “Leave Mr Cooper alone” accompanied by snap and grab picture of me in the countryside looking very tired and stressed.

It’s a dissociating experience when on your feet fourteen hours each day because your to anxious to sit down, then when you collapse exhausted your denied sleep because people are bothering you all night. Without washing and nothing to eat for days on end you don’t really look your best. To have a persistent barrage of people shout at you whilst taking your picture and inevitably launching through uploaded attached facebook comments a prolific hate campaign to desolate and isolate you wherever you go is an barbarous cruelty rarely seen or spoke of in this world.

[1] Charnwood together town hall meeting minutes 17/5/2012 PDF here.

Update 2016

Not once did the newspapers, police or other officials respect my gender identity during this time and absolutely nobody was held liable for the thousands of slanderous comments publish in deformation of my good character. The offending Facebook page was never taken down but eventually died from having nothing to publish but this was only because I had left the area.

Loughborough council had offered to transfer authority to another council due to repeated threats being made on my life.

Grievous bodily harm (GBH) Bayswater, London

Seven o’clock, the street lights are spotlighting the rain drops relentlessly falling from above. I’m chilled cold, clothes are sopping wet, sight darkens as I rest my head upon glass. It’s evening and  I’m tired from being constantly moved on since early morning.

The doorway I’ve rested in is fifty and barely deep enough to keep out the sidewards rain. A man passing by glances over, he looks at my clothes, then my face, he glares wildly whilst forcing air through his lips into his teeth. He pushed comment “Why don’t you put some trousers on?”; I picked myself up and responded “f*ck off, you put some trousers on”. Enraged he yelled “you don’t tell me to go, this is my yard, if your here when I get back am going to beat you”, “you’re not going to beat anybody” I replied, he slouched off and I sank back into a doorway and huddled up to keep warm.

My eyes started to low as my mind wondered through passages of memories; as the outside light dimmed the dream projector lit it lens.

Crack into my nose, I felt paper, rolled up newspaper, thud thud thud rammed into my face. I looked up, he’d returned and was attacking me. Disappointed he threw the paper down then ran to flying kick me in the face; on impact breaking my nose sidewards. I threw my up my right arm to shield oncoming blows but he kicked and kicked relentlessly until my radius bone cracked splitting my forearm in half. He paused tired, then gaining momentum proceeded to kick me in other places, I shouted “You broke my arm in half”; responding he said “he would do the other arm if I didn’t leave”; I drooped semi- unconscious onto wet paving slabs laying there for what must have seemed two or three hours in pouring rain. I motioned passers by with my good hand for help, observing some laughed whilst others remarked to each other did nothing.

bonebreaker

An ambulance eventually came, as paramedics abruptly loaded me onto a stretcher I glanced over to where I’d been attacked, noticing the building  next door was a busy Greek restaurant named “Aphrodite”.

It was a short journey to Saint Mary’s hospital. I was left in a corridor for a couple of hours, during this time no pain relief was offered. Another hour passed, I was briefly assessed, the nurse tried to lift up my broken arm which crunched. Dismayed she said it was broken and went way. I was taken into a cubical where I waited another two hours without pain relief.

In between this time CID had arrived, a male and female officer asked me what happened. I told them in detail, they empathised and said the assailant was very dangerous, not just because he had attacked me so badly but because he had returned to do it (premeditated). The said the offence he’d committed was GBH (Grievous Bodily Harm) and that they would be investigating. They took my details and left their number before talking with a nurse outside.

A wild eyed nurse came and pushed me through x-ray then back to the cubical again before disappearing. He return with oxygen and motioned me with the mask to breath lots of deep breaths, then he pulled over his tray and began to plaster my arm.  The plaster cast was bogey and soon after completion I was told to pick up my belongings and leave the hospital. Exiting the A&E a nurse behind remarked “don’t get the plaster wet” I turned and walked through the entrance outside into the pouring rain.

Two months later I contacted Paddington police station and spoke to one of the CID officers, they’d be unable to trace / locate the assailant that had kick broke my arm in half.

My arm was slow to heal and was plastered again more professionally; twice, once at Kingston and another time at the Whittington. Viewing the X-rays one of the nurses seem stressed, she told me they should have plated my arm because it was completely broken (bone pulled apart); later I could hear her in the doctors room.

Seven years later my arm has healed but the recurring flash backs still haunt me every other morning. The arm that was kick broken in half was the same arm I blessed and the aligned the crown chakras of thousands of Hindu shakthi devotees in India, such as the contempt of this benign world.

Covered in Excrement – West Smithfield Rotunda Garden

I usually used to check the places where I slept even if I’d been and slept at them the night before. This time I was so tired from the long anxious day I fell collapsed in the side of a bush without checking the area. At 3am I awoke, my dizzy head felt strange and they were flies around me, blue bottles. I sat up and ran my fingers through my deadlocks to feel something sticky was in them. Focusing my weary eyes I turned around and glared down to find I huge puddle of light brown diarrhoea that I’d evidently rolled in during my troubled sleep.

I started to psychically cough and wretch, my head, neck and face were all covered in stinking excrement. I rummaged through my possessions collecting them together, got onto my feet and walked in search of a toilet to access running water to clean myself. I walked searching in vain two hours without finding a convenience to wash, tired I stooped on to a bench and attempted to calm anxiety by focusing on my breathing.

As the sun rose higher rush hour in London started; under an hour later hundreds of morning commuters were walking past, staring but not stopping. I felt myself altercate, not just detached from the shell of my body but from the onlooking environment around me; still, voided without reaction.

It wasn’t till a concerned commuter came, shook my arm lightly and asked if I was aright did I return from this dazed state; I lucidly told what had just happened and then left tearful; half an hour later I’d found my way to a park and sourced access to water, washing slowly bought me back but not my belonging which were thrown in the waste bin,

Seven full mouths of saliva spat into my face

Whilst attempting to rest on a public bench  on London’s South bank by the river Thames a group of seven Negro youths rode up to me on hired ‘Borris bikes’ and took in turn to off load huge mouthfuls of saliva onto my tired face. As I got to my feet they peddled off as fast as they could revelling in laughter. Whilst angrily in pursuit I could hear laugher and mockery coming from an observing evening party hosted on an overseeing balcony of ITV towers.

Beaten black and blue by Security Guard