I Allowed an Arrogant Sheriff to Put Me in Handcuffs Without Fighting Back, Determined to See How Far He Would Misuse His Power

my handcuffs and jerked upward, levering my arms high behind my back to force my head toward the floor. It was a classic street-level compliance maneuver designed to cause maximum agony while making the victim appear hunched, humiliated, and guilty to onlookers.  "Walk," Voss hissed into my ear. "Don't trip, lady. It's a long way to the concrete."  As he marched me down the narrow center aisle between the booths, I raised my eyes. I didn't look down at the floor. I held my head as high as my contorted posture allowed.  Every face in the Magnolia Diner was turned toward us, frozen in terror. There was Mr. Abernathy, the elderly hardware store owner whose family had lived in Pell County for four generations; Mrs. Gable, who played the organ at the First Baptist Church; and two young utility workers in high-visibility vests who immediately cast their eyes down into their grits, terrified of making eye contact with the man who carried the county’s only law on his hip.