Deputy District Attorney Kamala Harris definitely put her weight on the scales of justice for me!
This is a true story.
It was very stressful, distressing and traumatic when it happened to me. Until Deputy District Attorney Harris came riding up on a white horse, brandishing a sword of justice, to save me. I have loved her ever since.
Back in 1990, when I lived in Alameda County, California, my then-spouse and I lived in a duplex, with a concrete driveway leading to our garage and off-street parking area.
Over the garage was another rental unit. Parking and garages for everyone back there.
We tried to be a good neighbor to all who lived in our little complex. The family who lived in the garage apartment in the back was a dad, a stay-at-home mom, and their toddler. The dad, who was slightly younger than us, was a big, burly guy, built like a refrigerator. He also had a perennial chip on his shoulder, with a bullying sense of testosterone-fueled, self-righteous entitlement. We all know the type.
We tried to be good neighbors to everyone in our little compound. Since I was working full-time for a law firm in San Francisco, I hired the wife as a weekly housekeeper. She did a good job, and I thought all was working out well.
Celtic Pagan magical symbol
However, I didn’t realize that she was nosy and overly curious about us, inspecting our bookshelves and personal items.
At that time, I had a hobby of studying world religions, including pagan and shamanistic practices and beliefs. I even had one book on Celtic witchcraft.
Well, I didn’t realize that wifey was going home and reporting to belligerent husband that I was practicing witchcraft in our home on the property. They apparently got all fomented and scared that I was putting spells on them, and especially on their child. No kiddin’. (Sure, I had been known to sit out on the back stoop at night with a candle and incense, meditating under the stars.)
All we know is that Mr. Big Bulk started agitating for a fight with us. Demanding that we stop parking our vehicle in the back, where we were certainly entitled to, as part of our rental unit, but below his apartment. This went on for awhile, constant baiting and verbal harassment. Complaints to the landlords about their threatening tenants fell on deaf ears.
One afternoon I was backing out of the driveway, but paused by our back porch for a moment. Evidently this was the cue Mr. Bully was waiting for, to catch me alone (my husband was in the house).
The neighbor came raging out of his house and accosted me at my open car door on the passenger side, where I had stepped back inside the car. He was nearly foaming at the mouth (‘roid rage?), as he yelled at me to remove my car immediately or else.
I was surprised by this ambush, of course. But also immediately pissed. Who the hell are you to talk to me like that? Not fearing for my safety at this point; somewhat cluelessly, it turned out. I yelled back at him.
He leaned in on me, inside my car; his face huge right in front of me. He continued to rage-spittle abusive epithets in my face, blocking me with his bulk. I reached up to push him away. He took that as the trigger to yank me out of the car, physically, like a rag doll; then slammed me flat backwards onto the hard concrete. I might’ve screamed, I don’t remember.
My husband, who was not a small guy, but not built like a linebacker, came out onto the back porch and saw the scene. I wanted him to step back in and call the police before he came out to take action. But when he saw me slammed down like that, he came charging at the guy, who flattened him, too, right away.
We were severely bruised and battered from this physical assault and battery. We called the police. They came. Took photos of our injuries. Took our statements, and those of the neighbor and his wife.
Unbeknownst to us, a tenant in the unit upstairs was in her window the whole time and saw the entire event. Also unknown to us, she gave a statement to the police.
Then they just left. Nothing happened.
Why wasn’t this thug arrested for the blatant assault and battery of the two of us? The photos more than told the story. Our attacker certainly didn’t have a scratch on him. We couldn’t figure it out. So we went to the police station after a few days, to inquire.
Imagine my surprise to find that I was, in fact, written up in the police report as a practicing witch. Yeah, it’s right there in the police report, which I have kept to this day for posterity. (I’m kinda proud of it, actually. My Alameda County notorious claim to fame. I’ve actually been adjudicated to be a witch!)
We were pretty outraged about this down at the station. So a police liaison officer came out to explain that the neighbors had reported me for the “burning candles,” and of the wife seeing “books on witchcraft” in my house. Apparently other creative tales of my witchy exploits were recounted to the cops. They said they would “look into it further” and get back to us. We were totally W.T.F.
We were naive about how the government good-ol’-boys network operated back then, especially in Alameda County (remember Oscar Grant?). Seems this guy, our assailant, was a maintenance employee for the police department. So course they were shielding him from his crime. (And did I mention I was now a known witch?)
We waited a month or more for something to happen. In the meantime, the verbal intimidation on our property continued unabated. He had an additional smug smile when he did it, too.
I confided the situation to one of the attorneys I worked for, as a senior paralegal. She was appalled and sympathetic. There seemed to be nothing further that could be done to ameliorate the situation.
HOWEVER…
Something else happened, fortuitous and unexpected.
The attorney whom I had confided in, who was also my close friend, was at a weekend cocktail party in the East Bay. A certain young Alameda County Deputy District Attorney, who was a good friend of my friend (they went to law school together), was also at that party.
My friend, Shelley, while sharing a drink with Kamala, and chatting about their respective work, mentioned casually that she had a friend who had been assaulted, and gave a brief recounting of my story. She inquired of her DA friend what had happened with that case. Kamala was thoughtful, and replied, “Oh yes, I recall that case. Wasn’t the woman practicing witchcraft or something like that?” The implication being, I think, that I had somehow harassed, agitated, or incited the assault.
My attorney friend, Shelley, went ballistic at this point. She was very emphatic to (then) Deputy DA Harris that I most definitely was “not a witch!,” but was a very respected, competent, accomplished senior paralegal in their law firm! “She works for me!” Shelley exclaimed.
Kamala was surprised at this news. Not at all the report of the incident that had been relayed previously to her at the DA. She promised to go back and review the allegations.
She found the buried police report; our buried photos; and the upstairs witness’s full-account of what had really happened, clearly stating the neighbor assailant was the sole instigating perp, beginning to end.
The DA’s office had not known, previously, that there was a witness beyond the parties involved; without which it seemed merely like a he-said/she-said situation. Evidently the mention of me being “a witch” caused everyone to just shrug it off as some manner of neighbors’ spat, which was the downplayed impression the police department strove to convey to the DA’s office, to shield the perp.
Well...in no time at all, we saw the neighbors packing a U-Haul truck hurriedly, the thug glowering at us, as we were smiling back from our window.
We found out from the upstairs witness (whom we previously did not know) that a detective had recently come back to interview her for her testimony again. She had witnessed every minute of the entire incident.
I also heard from my attorney friend that Deputy DA Harris had given the bullies the option to leave the state, or face felony assault and battery charges. Not just to move away from us, but to leave the whole state. They chose to flee.
We continued to live there peacefully for a few years after that.
Thank you, Deputy DA Kamala Harris. You saved me.
Of course, we voted for you to be the State Attorney General, and to be our CA Senator. Of course. We love you. You will be a terrific Vice President.
Go get ‘em, Madam VEEP!
