| Posted on Mon, Mar. 04, 2002 |   |
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For 3 who broke code of silence, no peace
The former N.J. State Police employees spoke out about improper acts. Their lives, they say, are forever changed. Inquirer Trenton Bureau
TRENTON - Emblez Longoria rarely leaves his house for fear of being followed. Jennifer Morse can barely hold a conversation without tearing. And John Oliva takes medication nightly just to carry out the simple task of sleeping. All three used to work for the New Jersey State Police - Oliva and Longoria as road troopers and Morse as a civilian employee. All spoke out against what they believed was improper or criminal behavior inside the agency at a time when the state police was battling revelations of racism, cronyism, sexism and secrecy. Now, as the agency braces itself for today's confirmation hearing of superintendent Joseph J. Santiago, who has promised to usher in an era of accountability, its critics wonder whether the state's most elite law enforcement agency will ever truly be held accountable for its past. To date, only two troopers accused of firing on four minority motorists on the New Jersey Turnpike in 1998 have been punished for wrongdoing, despite telling authorities that racial profiling and other abuses were widespread within state police ranks. For its part, Gov. McGreevey's administration has said the agency has made strides in improving its image, but was clear that the administration will not tolerate any other wrongdoing. Santiago has said that, if confirmed, he intends to hold officers "accountable to the standards and integrity of the organization." But neither Santiago nor other members of McGreevey's administration have said how they intend to accomplish that. And the state police has declined to comment. "The message being sent is that there will be no justice," the Rev. Reginald Jackson, executive director of the Black Ministers Council of New Jersey, a vocal critic of the state police, said in a recent interview. It is a particularly difficult message for Oliva, Longoria and Morse. Their lives have been destroyed, they said. They've either lost their jobs, or feel they can never return. They are on medication to ease their nerves, and they spend their days locked inside their homes. All they want, they said, is some semblance of justice, and have filed suits against the state police, alleging everything from discrimination to retaliation - joining roughly three dozen other state police troopers or civilian employees to do so. "I just want to know that what I did was worth it - that what happened to me will never happen to anyone else," said Oliva, 34, who filed suit against the state police last year, alleging retaliation. Oliva, a former police officer in the Shore towns of Pleasantville and Absecon, said it had been a long-time dream of his to become a state trooper. He joined the academy in 1998, graduating first in his class, and went to work in the state police's Bellmawr station. His troubles began almost immediately, according to his suit. Within the first month on the job, his training coach at the time took him to the same spot every day: the I-76 ramp in Camden. There, the two would park in an adjacent grassy area, headlights trained on the ramp, and stop motorists based on their race, the suit states. "If we saw a car that fit the profile, like whites coming out of inner-city Camden, we would stop the car immediately, without any probable cause," he said. "Then, the probable cause was made up in the report." Within his first two weeks of training, Oliva and his coach wrote tickets on four motorists - three white men and one white woman - for "failure to maintain lane," according to the police reports. "But it was a lie," Oliva said, when asked about those reports. "We never even followed them. We made up the violation to justify the stops." Oliva said he spoke with his supervisor about his concerns. When word got out he had complained, Oliva contends in his suit, his squad mailbox was vandalized, and he received threatening notes. "I became afraid even to go to work," he said. He filed suit in April 2001. Today, he is out on stress leave, visits both a psychologist and a psychiatrist, and takes antidepressants to steady his nerves. Meanwhile, his coach has been promoted and is now an instructor at the academy. "The state police, it's like a cult," said Longoria, who sued the agency in 1999 for discrimination. "We've been talking about our stories for years now. . . . We've been labeled as disgruntled employees. We're treated like malcontents." Longoria said he too had always wanted to be a trooper, so in 1988, he joined the academy. When he graduated, according to the suit, he was assigned a coach, and was taught to racially profile. He said he and his coach routinely stopped minorities, and often heard his superiors and colleagues make derogatory references to blacks and Hispanics. Over the next several years, he was transferred from one station to another and was twice passed over for a promotion, according to the suit. He was reassigned to the turnpike, where he said he continued to witness racial profiling. By January 1999, his superiors were trying to transfer him to a station where he had already worked and where he said he had encountered racism. "Enough was enough," said Longoria. He said he filed suit against the state police shortly after. "I just felt I had endured a lot of nonsense for many years," Longoria, 39, said in a recent interview. "We [minorities] were treated like animals." Since filing suit, he said, the mailbox outside his home has been vandalized three times, and he has received harassing phone calls. He said he feels he can't leave his home without putting himself in danger, and is now on antianxiety medication, as well as medication for his stomach, because "my nerves are shot." "I know my career is over," said Longoria. "But I know I chose the right path, and I'd do it again. . . . It's just a bitter pill for me to swallow that no one has been held accountable." Jennifer Morse knows that feeling well. Morse went to work as a secretary in the state police in 1990, and is now contending in a lengthy lawsuit that she endured years of sexual harassment and intimidation by her immediate supervisor. As part of her suit, which alleges a hostile work environment, Morse, 29, contends her supervisor made inappropriate sexual remarks to her, touched or pinched her on her arms and shoulders, and refused to stop even after she complained. In the suit, filed in 1999, Morse also contends she was denied a transfer to another office - despite repeated requests for one - until 1997. After her transfer, Morse alleges she continued to be subjected to harassment, and was eventually fired in September 2000. For the last three years, she has been in and out of workers' compensation hearings. The proceedings, she said, have been stressful - sometimes, witnesses don't show up. At other times, neither the prosecutor nor the judge has shown up, further delaying an outcome. These days, Morse is taking a battery of antidepressants. She has been diagnosed as suffering from panic, depression and anxiety. She has thought about suicide more than once. And when she's asked about her past, she cries. "I just want this to be over," Morse said in an interview. Yet she acknowledges she doesn't know what she will do once it all ends - she can't think that far down the line. "I just want to show people what the culture of the state police is," she said. "And I don't want what happened to me to happen to any other woman."
Contact Angela Couloumbis at 609-989-9016 or acouloumbis@phillynews.com. |
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