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A old post by TerryB2012 a good report
Posted on 05/02/12, 10:18 pm
In 2007 a group of registered sex offenders went to Miami Beach, Florida and protested against that state's policy of forcing registered sex offenders to live under bridges. After we were done with the protest I decided to live there with those who had been condemned for a month, so in late June I packed a bag and took a Greyhound back to Miami.
The first thing I did when I got there was took several of the guys to Walmart where we purchased a bunch of camping gear. We bought tents, cots, some cooking utensils, and an outdoor shower room. Oh - and don't forget the plethora of OFF! to ward off the mouse-sized mosquitos! As if it did any good - I don't think anything on earth would keep those blood suckers at bay. And I'll never forget the storm that blew in about two hours after we got back from Walmart - as soon as we had everything set up we had near hurricane-force winds that just about blew everything away. It collapsed all of our tents and blew a bunch of our supplies into Biscayne Bay.
We had a fresh water faucet that was about a mile walk from our encampment, so every morning we would rotate taking turns making the journey with our cart full of water containers to fill up for the day's ration of water. And in the summer heat we really needed every drop! Most of the time I would get my bathing suit on and wade into the bay water (salty as it was) and wash with soap and then just use the fresh water to rinse off. Within ten minutes of bathing I would be drenched in sweat.
And the embankment under the bridge was brutal. We had some older guys living there who could not make it up the steep slope, so they had to have their tents at the bottom of the hill. At the top the noise of the cars passing overhead was nearly maddening (thump, thump, thump, thump-thump-thump-thump) - every minute of every day.
I can remember laying in my tent at night thinking how ridiculous it was that anyone with half a brain could believe that forcing people to live in such conditions would make their communities safer. I swear on every fiber of my being that if they every truly forced ME to live in such conditions I would not be capable of functioning in society. I couldn't drag myself from my tent every morning and pack up my stuff leaving it there and hoping to find it still there when I returned from work the way most of these men did. I could never leave these conditions and go into the community each day and be civil to those who had forced me to live under the bridge.
I remember each night at some point between 10 and 11pm when the probation officers would arrive with their flashlights waking everyone up to do their roll call to make sure everyone was there as they were required to be between 10pm and 6am. I remember having just fought to fall asleep on several nights when they woke me up thinking how much I wanted to punch them in the face for shining their flashlight in my eyes and forcing me from my slumber even though I wasn't even required to be there.
Every night we would build a bon fire to cook and to try to keep the mosquitos away (apparently smoke does that), and on a number of occasions the wind came out of the south forcing the smoke up under the bridge making it impossible for you to breath if you were in your tent. I was amazed at the sense of community we shared and the camaraderie that we enjoyed. We became a family, and I guess that is the only thing that really kept us all sane in such a world of insanity.
I remember one day a bunch of us jumped in one of the guy’s car and took a ride to an apartment complex where a friend of his lived. We all went swimming in the pool, and it was as if we were normal if only for a few fleeting hours. Then it was time to go back to our Hell home. I think that night was the most difficult for me.
One morning I awoke to find two boys standing under the bridge with their fishing poles in hand as if they hadn’t a care in the world. The irony of that moment was overwhelming. Here was a colony of registered sex offenders banished to life under a bridge to protect society – to protect the children – and yet even here in our leper colony somehow we could not escape encountering children going about their lives. And nobody there even gave them a second thought. I’m sure those two boys were safer there than they would have been in many areas in Miami. But society would never care to hear that.
When my month was over and it was time to go back home I actually felt sadness that I had to leave - not that I was leaving these hellish conditions, but that I couldn’t take these guys with me and get them out of their nightmare.
I continued to watch from afar as the colony grew over the coming years before the state finally banned people from living beneath the Julia Tuttle. Last month I read an article that a new policy from the probation office had guys living on designated street corners and parking lots. I guess the madness of residency restrictions knows no limits in Florida. I dread the day when those restrictions work their way to my state. Living under a bridge voluntarily for a month was something I could stomach. Being forced to live there permanently is something I would never allow
Posted on 05/02/12, 10:18 pm
In 2007 a group of registered sex offenders went to Miami Beach, Florida and protested against that state's policy of forcing registered sex offenders to live under bridges. After we were done with the protest I decided to live there with those who had been condemned for a month, so in late June I packed a bag and took a Greyhound back to Miami.
The first thing I did when I got there was took several of the guys to Walmart where we purchased a bunch of camping gear. We bought tents, cots, some cooking utensils, and an outdoor shower room. Oh - and don't forget the plethora of OFF! to ward off the mouse-sized mosquitos! As if it did any good - I don't think anything on earth would keep those blood suckers at bay. And I'll never forget the storm that blew in about two hours after we got back from Walmart - as soon as we had everything set up we had near hurricane-force winds that just about blew everything away. It collapsed all of our tents and blew a bunch of our supplies into Biscayne Bay.
We had a fresh water faucet that was about a mile walk from our encampment, so every morning we would rotate taking turns making the journey with our cart full of water containers to fill up for the day's ration of water. And in the summer heat we really needed every drop! Most of the time I would get my bathing suit on and wade into the bay water (salty as it was) and wash with soap and then just use the fresh water to rinse off. Within ten minutes of bathing I would be drenched in sweat.
And the embankment under the bridge was brutal. We had some older guys living there who could not make it up the steep slope, so they had to have their tents at the bottom of the hill. At the top the noise of the cars passing overhead was nearly maddening (thump, thump, thump, thump-thump-thump-thump) - every minute of every day.
I can remember laying in my tent at night thinking how ridiculous it was that anyone with half a brain could believe that forcing people to live in such conditions would make their communities safer. I swear on every fiber of my being that if they every truly forced ME to live in such conditions I would not be capable of functioning in society. I couldn't drag myself from my tent every morning and pack up my stuff leaving it there and hoping to find it still there when I returned from work the way most of these men did. I could never leave these conditions and go into the community each day and be civil to those who had forced me to live under the bridge.
I remember each night at some point between 10 and 11pm when the probation officers would arrive with their flashlights waking everyone up to do their roll call to make sure everyone was there as they were required to be between 10pm and 6am. I remember having just fought to fall asleep on several nights when they woke me up thinking how much I wanted to punch them in the face for shining their flashlight in my eyes and forcing me from my slumber even though I wasn't even required to be there.
Every night we would build a bon fire to cook and to try to keep the mosquitos away (apparently smoke does that), and on a number of occasions the wind came out of the south forcing the smoke up under the bridge making it impossible for you to breath if you were in your tent. I was amazed at the sense of community we shared and the camaraderie that we enjoyed. We became a family, and I guess that is the only thing that really kept us all sane in such a world of insanity.
I remember one day a bunch of us jumped in one of the guy’s car and took a ride to an apartment complex where a friend of his lived. We all went swimming in the pool, and it was as if we were normal if only for a few fleeting hours. Then it was time to go back to our Hell home. I think that night was the most difficult for me.
One morning I awoke to find two boys standing under the bridge with their fishing poles in hand as if they hadn’t a care in the world. The irony of that moment was overwhelming. Here was a colony of registered sex offenders banished to life under a bridge to protect society – to protect the children – and yet even here in our leper colony somehow we could not escape encountering children going about their lives. And nobody there even gave them a second thought. I’m sure those two boys were safer there than they would have been in many areas in Miami. But society would never care to hear that.
When my month was over and it was time to go back home I actually felt sadness that I had to leave - not that I was leaving these hellish conditions, but that I couldn’t take these guys with me and get them out of their nightmare.
I continued to watch from afar as the colony grew over the coming years before the state finally banned people from living beneath the Julia Tuttle. Last month I read an article that a new policy from the probation office had guys living on designated street corners and parking lots. I guess the madness of residency restrictions knows no limits in Florida. I dread the day when those restrictions work their way to my state. Living under a bridge voluntarily for a month was something I could stomach. Being forced to live there permanently is something I would never allow
I can't think of any other state where men----American citizens who have paid their debt to society----were forced to live under a bridge and out in the weather like animals.
Our country should be ashamed of itself for allowing something like this to go on.
To all my friends, STAY FAR AWAY FROM FLORIDA. That place is toxic to registrants.
rewdiazepam
It's really a concentration camp that challenges any sane mind to attempt to grasp living permanently under such conditions would most likely lead to death. Getting any kind of cut easily could lead to deadly infection and simple illnesses could easily lead to death.
It's hard to to believe this is tolerated in America and debated as proper treatment. It's nothing less than evil, sadistic punishment just as cruel as the days of the Natzi's. Then to be sadistically harassed indefinitely decades later without any regard to facts makes this truly evil.
I have been just a heart beat away from living on the street for the last 6 years. I don't understand how someone just getting out of prison can make it, seeing I been out for over 30 years. The day I was released 1984 I had to register, they just wanted to know where I lived.
The public did not know of me or were I lived that made life easier and gave me a chance to find work. I started a business bought a house raised a family but today I don't believe I could find a job because I can not even hire myself. I have to farm out the work I get from the internet that leaves me broke.