To Be Set Free..

After a conversation with a friend last night I got to thinking about the difference in what we, as prisoners, feel essential to our lives and that felt by those power to make important things a reality to us. Lawmakers have satisfied the voters wishes (and their own personal wealth issues) by ensuring that when people commit crimes, they get fat sentences and long tails of supervised release. On the surface, there is nothing wrong with this- what loving, caring, sensitive community member wants some violent offender, or addict, or sexual predator, or thief living among them? The problem lies in the care and rehabilitation these offenders are supposed to be receiving while serving their sentences before release- because release should be a reality in most cases. And those releases should be expected to be merit-based, should they not? What tax-paying member of society should expect that criminals are just locked up punitively for years only to get worse and worse before a release date that will come whether that offender is ready to go or not?

     The truth is that offenders are not beholden to change, and they will not usually do this on their own- unless a major impetus is present. There are exceptions. But they are few. The truth is that prison is easy to adjust to. Thicken the skin a little and camouflage all the emotions and weaknesses behind a growing reality that says you'll fight rather than be put down and, suddenly, you are ready for a long sentence until that sentence ends- and you'll enjoy some good times without the constant reminder of what was lost. This is the product that usually gets released.

     Congress doesn't want to let us go. Understandably. But the money situation is such that, to not let us go means a loss of money. Now they want to let the least offensive go- but that doesn't change the essential problem. That problem lies as much with the offenders as with the beautiful families who just want to see their offender loved ones released. My mom, my friends, and this beautiful chick who helps with this blog want me to be released because they deeply feel that so many years was unfair- especially for drugs, while violent sexual offenders often get less time. The fact is that there is no difference in the overall effect of crime on society- crime is crime and it breeds a lack of trust within the community- whether there are many victims (withdrug dealing and fraud) or a single victim (with violence and sexual crimes). What makes the difference is that people change while they are in- and if and when they do make these essential changes, they need to be judged for this as well and released to their communities.

The Knockout Game

There is a new game sweeping the nation. It is a Youtube sensation. Here are the rules: You must find a white person who is unsuspecting of any kind of aggression. You must be a minority yourself. And you must try you're best to inflict as much violence as possible in one hit- knocking them out. Consequences to the violation of these rules: If you attack someone who isn't white, the police will probably come after you for gang violence. If you participate in this game and are not a minority( particularly black) then you will be prosecuted under the federal hate crime statutes. (If you are white you will be prosecuted under these laws without a doubt) and receive a 10 year minimum sentence. If you don't try to knock out the unsuspecting person, they may get up and beat youre ass, or shoot you. Have fun with the knockout game, and don't forget to film your exploits so you can post them online. This is what is happening out there right now. Whenever violent black attack white people, the media makes up silly little monikers for them to advertise it with. Remember the Thrill Kill? Stand up for what is right and start calling sh*t what it really is, Why hasn't one news station declared this Knockout Game a racially motivated hate crime? This country has allowed the media to make a mockery of the law, and the law enables that.

Beau/ Shane( Beau's cell mate helped with this)

Changing

I appreciate the fact that many of you out there sympathize with men and women behind bars, doing long stretches time, etc. But my greatest hope in establishing something of a voice from in here is not to wave this banner of justification or call to arms those who see the goodness in those convicted.....though those things do exist, I want it to be clear that most of the men and women behind bars have earned it.

Perhaps not lifetimes, and perhaps not even years, but they have earned it. And most of them continue to prove they deserve nothing better- I speak from experience- because they use this time for gang activity, drug usage, pinochle and dominoes and BET and CMT and TeenMom. The exception to this rule will eventually get out and make big changes in their communities- and for these men and women I would ask that all of you think about the necessary changes that might be enacted within the American prison complex.

The number of men and women who make the decision to change can be vastly increased with a little more available impetus- and an elevated penalty for those who choose not to make the changes society expects. You have the power to create a system that works. And this does affect you- and your families

Patiently Waiting.....

I'd been in USP Beaumont, TX for a few weeks when we were locked down for a multiple group incident( disruption involving various gangs or races). We might have been locked down for a couple weeks, tops, but the tier outside our cells was trashed and dirty from all the fishing lines passing and the officers smoking in the building, flicking their ashes on the floor during counts. The day before we were let up, the unit orderlies were allowed to come out for an hour to clean, and when we were released the next day, piles of trash stood in the corners and mop buckets, brimming with black water, waited by the mop closet doors.

While most of the inmates were shuckin' and jivin', showering or talking on the phone, one inmate- an old black guy who'd spent most of his life on prison basketball courts-was cleaning his cell. When he came to one of the mop buckets and realized that the mop closets were still locked, he went the officer's station where a black female officer was talking on the phone. After waiting patiently for five or ten minutes, her conversation ended and he asked her to come open the closet so everyone could get on with the process of cleaning their cells. She said that she'd get to it. So he went back to cleaning the cell and when he'd run out of things to do-left only with the mopping- he went back to the officer's station where she was, once again, on the phone. Again he waited. When she hung up he repeated his request and was given the same response. So he went and took a shower. With his shower out of the way, he pushed the mop bucket up to the office door to show the guard that the water was, indeed, filthy and needed to be changed if anyone were to clean their cells. But she was busy again, this time eating her lunch.

"Come back in a minute," she said. " Can't you see that I'm eating?"

"My Bad," he answered, stepping away from the desk. He pulled the soiled mop out of the water and turned it in the wringer with a couple good pumps. Then, setting both the mop and wringer unit on the floor, he picked up the bucket and dumped it's dirty black contents over the women's head before slamming the plastic container down on her subway sandwich.

Strips of lettuce and salami, trickling black, ashy water, hung from her chin and shirt lapel. The shocked look on her face-mixed with absolute terror that this was not the end of his attack- will stay with me forever. Not so much for the humor, but because it was a peek into the general perception many in society have of us : animals with no imagination or hope for returning to the grace of thoughtful humanity. In this instance at least, the assault ended with a lost meal and a ruined beehive hairdo. I distinctly remember that, for the longest time afterward, we didn't have a lot of trouble getting cleaning supplies.

Were Not All Bad

A lot of people out there may not have a clear picture of what convicts think about tragedies that occur out there. And, for the most part, they would be correct in assuming that a lot of these guys are apathetic, uncaring, and self-centered when it comes to pain they don't directly take part in. In many cases the only expression of compassion and community-mindedness come in the form of vengeance on the guilty parties of victimism on the streets (I'd kill that child molester if he'd been in my neighborhood.....etc.).  But there are exceptions and they usually come in the quiet moments in the cell or at the dinner table when only a trusted ear is around to judge those thoughts. Last night I heard a guy talk about the terrible destruction suffered over in the Philippines, and how it would be nice to be a part of some sort of effort to help restore people to homes who've lost them, or construct buildings and bridges for the communities most impacted. This led to another guy entering the conversation and bringing up the topic of the recent Oklahome tornado disaster and how he would have acted so differently now had he been present to help the victims...

     When I mentioned that the thoughts these guys were offering sounded a lot like men who wanted to change their communities for the better- and stand against stupid shit like drug dealing and the familiar levels of violence they grew up with, they attempted to draw a line.....call a disaster and a lifestyle two different mediums for action. I disagreed, and everyone out there knows that I am right when I defend the change necessary for a convict to become an acceptable member of society. These guys don't require big arguments to convince them, really. I think we just need a few opportunitites and the right examples telling us, "You still hold value- we want the best you have to offer."

The Story of the Six-Man cell- White Knight, Plastic Parrots( Finale)

By the time the Plastic Parrots joke wrapped up and the Stuttering Cowboy came on the scene, even Elkins couldn't resist to "join'em" in the laughter- a frustrated, almost tearful capitulation around 2:30 in the morning. He had already gone through the violent turning and exaggerated flopping phase that screamed everything he was unwilling to actually voice. It was evident that these endless jokes were indeed meant to try him and let him know that if he wanted to flex even an inch, he would be visiting the infirmary long before he made it to the SHU for lock up. It became and hours-long fever for Elkins, and when he was nearest to succumbing to the heat-to snapping and going right over the edge- the fever broke and he laughed. The effort of that laugh cost his ego something and he tried to regain it with a lame , " stupid motherfu**ers," but there was no heart in it. By consensus, we all saw that he was broken, and in my mind i felt the night was a success. In the end we all laughed-as much at Chunk's aggressive, "in your face Elkins" giggling at the stupid, never ending joke.

The remaining worry in my mind was that Elkins would find a way to climb out of bed early in the morning, after so little sleep, and still apply the passive-aggressive armbar of ritual oblations while we tried to sleep an extra 30 minutes. And when his alarm went off at 5:00, i believe that he was earnestly, admirably surprised to find Beau sprawled in the middle of the floor doing yoga. He stared at Beau for a quiet minute before sighing a long, " Jesus Christ....."

Shane-O turned over and peeled the wool cap up from his eyes. His soft laughter was a mixture of such glee and surprise and....understanding that I knew I would never meet guys like this again.

In the end Elkins moved into another cell and i found that his bottom bunk fit me very well, very comfortably, and I slept like a baby every night there after.

Beau Hansen

The Story of the Six-Man cell-Elkins....(Part 7)

Later that afternoon, walking back from the chow hall with Chunks, I decided to try my hand at diplomacy and remedy Elkins frustration before they had the chance to get fired over the edge. When I told Chunks that Elkins was having a hard time dealing with everyone shooting barbs at him and purposely chatting loud into the night , he just laughed. When I told him that his homeboy, Jamie, and the other two that had just come from the USP's wouldn't get two chances if Elkins actually snapped and they beat him up, he just laughed. When I said that Elkins had told me that morning that he was on the edge of calling some people out and getting it over with, he didn't laugh. He only said that everyone would be really happy to hear about that. He said " Thank you". Then he laughed and veered into the unit's common area to sit down beside Shane-O and began the animated retelling of everything I had just said. I wondered if maybe I should have talked to one of the others. I wondered why the hell I imagined I might be a diplomat in any situation. A last glance at the two of them assured me that I should not have told Chunk's anything. Shane-O's face was perfectly angelic and he nodded while looking straight at me. I knew that his amusement was not in the words he heard. His light, generous smile and twinkling eyes forecast a long night of laughter and joking at Elkins expense. I shook my head sadly an went into the cell.

How the White Knight on the Black Horse was born no one ever told me. And how on earth a guy went from buying a few little yellow plastic parrots for his son, to buying a warehouse full of little yellow plastic parrots I never found out, but these things indeed did happen- at least that night they did. An hour after lockdown, and fifteen minutes after we turned out the lights( hours earlier than on any previous night) the cell was eerily silent and I knew immediately that these guys had something terrible and violent planned for Elkins. I pictured the four of them tying him up and torturing him with razor blades and burning wicks. At the very least one of them would taunt hum until he lipped off-then the beating would commence. Instead, just as Elkins made his comfortable turn toward the wall and his breathing settled into a heavy rhythm that leads into the blessed chambers of sleep, Beau's voice filled the silence.

"Whose wants to hear about the White Knight on a Black Horse?"

Shane-O: "OOOhhh...I do, I do, I do!"
Jamie: " Me too! Sounds kinda freaky."
Chunks: "Let's Hear it!"
Me: You know damn good and well that there wasn't a peep coming from me-not yet anyway.

Elkins turned over and heaved a laboring, angry breath at being awakened. His frustration and anger were almost palpable in the moments of silence that stretched out to embrace the beginning of Beau's jokes.

"Okay," Beau started, and I swear that I could hear the big smile on his face in these opening words: "This joke kind of stretches out in parts but hang on for the punch line- Shakespeare wrote this shit back in the day and you know how sleepy that motherfu**er was- everything good in time... Back in the days of knights-errant and sweet Dulcineas and rotten hookers with no teeth, there was a knight that went by the name of "The White Knight on a Black Horse". Obviously he rode a horse that happened to be black.

Regardless of the trouble I caused, no one was hurt . Apparently I was worried for nothing because Elkins didn't blow a gasket like he said he would, and everyone but me seemed to know this long before I did. When the guards came by for midnight count and Beau was just wrapping up the White Knight on the Black Horse, I had given up holding my laughter in. My stomach hurt even though I was so tired that my eyeballs felt like sand dunes, the sheer length and inanity of this joke kept me interested in what the hell this poor knight might be up to next. We were all in and out of sleep, hypnotized by the sing song voice and repeating rhythm in the adventure when the punch line came. I found myself laughing with everyone- and not so much at the punch line as at the heaving sigh given by Elkins.

After we had stopped the laughter (Elkins even threw in a side comment about how stupid the joke was) and there was silence, once again, I felt sleep crush in on me and my final conscious thoughts were that this night hadn't turned out too badly-no fights and it seemed like everyone was going to find a way to compromise their egos....