The following is an excerpt from part one:
My gregarious cellmate provides me with an extensive drug education, direct from an addict’s perspective. He has been clean for a few months. Staying that way has been challenging; many opportunities and temptations are plentiful at his doorstep. I always thought people snort the stuff but Jay informs me how to go about smoking it, along with all sorts of narcotics nitty-gritty. He even fills me in about street workers who provide “blow and blow package plans.”
At the same time, on my strolls in the day room I am getting a coke dealer’s lowdown from a tea-tone-skinned, mid-thirties compadré. For José, the big bucks and excitement are the motivation to becoming a major link in the Mexican-American drug trade. I learn many of the practical aspects of dealing pure and crack cocaine; obtaining, cooking, and blending THC; bribing one’s way across the border; and the process of purchasing and modifying BMWs with secret compartments. (They hold up to a hundred kilos—enough “bricks” to construct a fireplace.)
In return, I train my instructor in the correct definitions and articulation of troublesome terms such as burn vs. born and Thursday vs. Tuesday. Until now, he has been pronouncing them the same, neither being recognizable as any language with which I am familiar. José is preoccupied with the quest of legitimizing the birth of his four-month-old daughter to his native Rhode Islander BM. Due to his lack of citizenship and his prominent Rhode Island would-be in-laws being aghast at their daughter’s incredible indiscretion; marriage is not a consideration.
Nevertheless, he feels that his child should legally carry his name and, by his view, his legacy. I gently impress on him that his daughter would be likely to someday marry and forfeit her surname to obscurity. Far more important is the connection he shares with his child and the bond that blood defines. It transcends far beyond what a piece of paper can officially ratify. Realizing that his effort would likely be futile, he considers my recommendation.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Puzzle solved
The following is an excerpt from part one:
After chow that night, Jed drags himself back in. Consternation melds with conciliation on his deep Hershey-colored countenance. He is weary from an exhausting day of being hauled to and from court and sent back to P-7 without release. It is a disappointing but familiar experience for many. He halfheartedly attempted to arrange bail and expresses his resignation to indulging in a long overdue retreat. Jed seems enthusiastic for the opportunity to spend time with someone who “can relate.” It is not so much with his voice but with his commanding gaze that he conveys the need for a friend and a desire to share, soul to soul.
I am pleased to be hosting him, especially since acquiring a new cellmate is always a crap-shoot. Jedadiah is a proven winning combination in terms of good hygiene, stimulating personality, respect, and general compatibility. Being easy on the eyes is an added bonus, or frustration—I’m not sure which.
Counseling sessions resume promptly. Why Jerry waited forty-nine years to get married for the first time is beyond explanation. The fact that his Saudi-Arabian fiancée is an illegal alien, and that the romps in the king-size water bed promptly ceased once the knot was firmly fastened, are obvious clues of bad faith. That becomes apparent once I put the pieces together for him.
In addition to the alcohol- and casino-addicted bride, there had been additional significant others. One of them produced an only child, now twenty-five and involved in his second serious same-sex relationship. Both of his liaisons have been under the guise of “roommates.” Jed shares a special closeness with his “spittin’ image” offshoot (lucky him,) and for years they were inseparable, much as David and I have been. Then the kid turns teenager.
After chow that night, Jed drags himself back in. Consternation melds with conciliation on his deep Hershey-colored countenance. He is weary from an exhausting day of being hauled to and from court and sent back to P-7 without release. It is a disappointing but familiar experience for many. He halfheartedly attempted to arrange bail and expresses his resignation to indulging in a long overdue retreat. Jed seems enthusiastic for the opportunity to spend time with someone who “can relate.” It is not so much with his voice but with his commanding gaze that he conveys the need for a friend and a desire to share, soul to soul.
I am pleased to be hosting him, especially since acquiring a new cellmate is always a crap-shoot. Jedadiah is a proven winning combination in terms of good hygiene, stimulating personality, respect, and general compatibility. Being easy on the eyes is an added bonus, or frustration—I’m not sure which.
Counseling sessions resume promptly. Why Jerry waited forty-nine years to get married for the first time is beyond explanation. The fact that his Saudi-Arabian fiancée is an illegal alien, and that the romps in the king-size water bed promptly ceased once the knot was firmly fastened, are obvious clues of bad faith. That becomes apparent once I put the pieces together for him.
In addition to the alcohol- and casino-addicted bride, there had been additional significant others. One of them produced an only child, now twenty-five and involved in his second serious same-sex relationship. Both of his liaisons have been under the guise of “roommates.” Jed shares a special closeness with his “spittin’ image” offshoot (lucky him,) and for years they were inseparable, much as David and I have been. Then the kid turns teenager.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Enter Jed
The following is an excerpt from part one:
June in jail. It’s my birthday month. It is the best, and definitely the most horrendous, of times. Jorge, thankfully, departs on Memorial Day weekend. That makes the occasion memorable indeed. He is then replaced by a succession of two or three overnight occupants. The new month rolls indistinctively with the welcome arrival of Jedadiah, or Jay, or Jed, or Jeddah, or Jerry, to share my Piss mod pad. It is well organized and settled in, complete with visitors’ parking lotview and one of the mod’s few TVs. I routinely jest that my penthouse unit is the “deluxe suite.”
Jay, a returning Pee patron from the previous year, plans to stay only for the weekend. He finds the accommodations and company quite suitable. I cannot even count how many times he repeats, “Man, you just have no idea how glad I am that I ended up with you.” He doesn’t even change his stance the next day, when one of my thoughtful mod mates runs over to point out the incriminating newspaper article about me. Jed remains impartial to and unaffected by the eager informant’s revelations. We are all in there for some type of misdeed or alleged crime. Those without a need to judge, like Jed, also lack the need to pry. The same applies to certain of the prison staff, but they are as rare as a C/O with a conscience.
Jerry is an interesting, articulate, and attractive African- American Brooklyn transplant. He is on the brink of fifty. His enormous bulk of chest and shoulders, when camouflaged by the baggy pull-over shirt, blends with the diminutive stature of the plentiful Hispanic constituents in the mod. On Monday he would be on his way to court for the matter of unpaid court fines. He would then return to his contracting business and his wife of three months.
I share my snacks. We play some cards and tell a few stories. The weekend flies by. On the morning of his departure, I assist with cleaning up some patches he missed when shaving his head. I wish him luck with a handshake and a shoulderhug. Reaching my arms around is a stretch, even with my long gorilla arms.
June in jail. It’s my birthday month. It is the best, and definitely the most horrendous, of times. Jorge, thankfully, departs on Memorial Day weekend. That makes the occasion memorable indeed. He is then replaced by a succession of two or three overnight occupants. The new month rolls indistinctively with the welcome arrival of Jedadiah, or Jay, or Jed, or Jeddah, or Jerry, to share my Piss mod pad. It is well organized and settled in, complete with visitors’ parking lotview and one of the mod’s few TVs. I routinely jest that my penthouse unit is the “deluxe suite.”
Jay, a returning Pee patron from the previous year, plans to stay only for the weekend. He finds the accommodations and company quite suitable. I cannot even count how many times he repeats, “Man, you just have no idea how glad I am that I ended up with you.” He doesn’t even change his stance the next day, when one of my thoughtful mod mates runs over to point out the incriminating newspaper article about me. Jed remains impartial to and unaffected by the eager informant’s revelations. We are all in there for some type of misdeed or alleged crime. Those without a need to judge, like Jed, also lack the need to pry. The same applies to certain of the prison staff, but they are as rare as a C/O with a conscience.
Jerry is an interesting, articulate, and attractive African- American Brooklyn transplant. He is on the brink of fifty. His enormous bulk of chest and shoulders, when camouflaged by the baggy pull-over shirt, blends with the diminutive stature of the plentiful Hispanic constituents in the mod. On Monday he would be on his way to court for the matter of unpaid court fines. He would then return to his contracting business and his wife of three months.
I share my snacks. We play some cards and tell a few stories. The weekend flies by. On the morning of his departure, I assist with cleaning up some patches he missed when shaving his head. I wish him luck with a handshake and a shoulderhug. Reaching my arms around is a stretch, even with my long gorilla arms.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Shangri-La
The following is an excerpt from Part Two:
In an ideal world, humanitarian aspirations could unfold. We could envision programs of effective monitoring, advocacy, and rehabilitation. Even in a not-so-ideal world, we could imagine excessive spending and system abuses being slashed. Using conservative numbers, based on Missouri’s rehabilitation centers that operate at nearly half the cost of prisons, the figures are staggering. With US annual prison budgets exceeding $55 billion and nearly 75% of America’s prisoners held for nonviolent crimes, 50% equates to over a $20 billion savings.
James Hilton, in the 1933 novel Lost Horizon, describes Shangri-La as a mystical place, a Garden of Eden. FDR named what we know as Camp David after the mythical, harmonious land. American tobacco heiress Doris Duke named her elaborate estate in Honolulu after the beautiful utopian valley.
Shangri-La proposals of such magnitude do not stand a chance without awareness at the helm. A plan of action follows desire to transform. Achievement is next. It sounds easy enough. In truth, overturning a monolith is a monumental challenge. The weight of resistance is astronomical. Reconstruction would demand epic tenacity, unparalleled determination, and consummate devotion.
In his 2008 edict to humanity, the Dalai Lama imparted, “Take into account that great love and great achievements involve great risk.” Unbridled, insidious cruelty thrives behind clandestine walls. Perhaps now is the time to challenge this outrageous evil. Perhaps the time has come to counterattack. Perhaps Shangri-La need not remain a myth.
In an ideal world, humanitarian aspirations could unfold. We could envision programs of effective monitoring, advocacy, and rehabilitation. Even in a not-so-ideal world, we could imagine excessive spending and system abuses being slashed. Using conservative numbers, based on Missouri’s rehabilitation centers that operate at nearly half the cost of prisons, the figures are staggering. With US annual prison budgets exceeding $55 billion and nearly 75% of America’s prisoners held for nonviolent crimes, 50% equates to over a $20 billion savings.
James Hilton, in the 1933 novel Lost Horizon, describes Shangri-La as a mystical place, a Garden of Eden. FDR named what we know as Camp David after the mythical, harmonious land. American tobacco heiress Doris Duke named her elaborate estate in Honolulu after the beautiful utopian valley.
Shangri-La proposals of such magnitude do not stand a chance without awareness at the helm. A plan of action follows desire to transform. Achievement is next. It sounds easy enough. In truth, overturning a monolith is a monumental challenge. The weight of resistance is astronomical. Reconstruction would demand epic tenacity, unparalleled determination, and consummate devotion.
In his 2008 edict to humanity, the Dalai Lama imparted, “Take into account that great love and great achievements involve great risk.” Unbridled, insidious cruelty thrives behind clandestine walls. Perhaps now is the time to challenge this outrageous evil. Perhaps the time has come to counterattack. Perhaps Shangri-La need not remain a myth.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Better Homes and Gardens
The following is an excerpt from Part Two:
From nearly nine months of witnessing C/O abuse tactics, I could fill volumes about sadistic incidents. It would make Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment seem like a volume of children’s fairy tales. Limits to Pain summarizes precisely what my experience reveals:
“The receiving institutions do not like to be regarded, or to regard themselves, as ‘pain-inflicting’ institutions. Still, such a terminology would actually present a very precise message: punishment as administered by the penal law system is the conscious inflicting of pain.”
Textbooks might say that the goal of prisons is rehabilitation. That remains debatable. An attempt at such a lofty goal, within the current climate of supremacy, is doomed before the slightest benefit would be realized. In the 1976 electronic publication Instead of Prisons: A Handbook for Prison Abolitionists, the prologue by M. Sharon Smolick points out that the element of choice is eliminated:
“Until choice can be freely exercised and caring behavior encouraged, there can be no meaningful change and the rehabilitation of criminals will only be a system’s triumph over the values and behavior of the powerless in our society. Even a Better Homes and Gardens bedroom, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year for 20 years, is an intolerable prison.”
Add to that the unabashed repression of prisoners who inhabit the sinister institutions, by lethal ferocity of prison personnel. The result is nothing short of a living anguish. It is senseless and counterproductive. It simply does not accomplish the goal for which it is intended. Ms. Smolick further reinforces: “Reconciliation, not punishment, is a proper response to criminal acts. The present criminal (in)justice systems focus on someone to punish...”
From nearly nine months of witnessing C/O abuse tactics, I could fill volumes about sadistic incidents. It would make Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment seem like a volume of children’s fairy tales. Limits to Pain summarizes precisely what my experience reveals:
“The receiving institutions do not like to be regarded, or to regard themselves, as ‘pain-inflicting’ institutions. Still, such a terminology would actually present a very precise message: punishment as administered by the penal law system is the conscious inflicting of pain.”
Textbooks might say that the goal of prisons is rehabilitation. That remains debatable. An attempt at such a lofty goal, within the current climate of supremacy, is doomed before the slightest benefit would be realized. In the 1976 electronic publication Instead of Prisons: A Handbook for Prison Abolitionists, the prologue by M. Sharon Smolick points out that the element of choice is eliminated:
“Until choice can be freely exercised and caring behavior encouraged, there can be no meaningful change and the rehabilitation of criminals will only be a system’s triumph over the values and behavior of the powerless in our society. Even a Better Homes and Gardens bedroom, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year for 20 years, is an intolerable prison.”
Add to that the unabashed repression of prisoners who inhabit the sinister institutions, by lethal ferocity of prison personnel. The result is nothing short of a living anguish. It is senseless and counterproductive. It simply does not accomplish the goal for which it is intended. Ms. Smolick further reinforces: “Reconciliation, not punishment, is a proper response to criminal acts. The present criminal (in)justice systems focus on someone to punish...”
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Punishment - imposed by the guilty onto those who are caught.
The following is an excerpt from Part Two:
Limits to Pain by Nils Christie elaborates on the difference between a prison sentence versus the reality of castigation to the extent of slaughter: “Social systems ought to be constructed in ways that reduce to a minimum the perceived need for infliction of pain for the purpose of social control. Sorrow is inevitable, but not hell created by man.”
The intentional infliction of pain is not an action that suits our “advanced” civilized social order. A sad commentary is that the way people treat others is a reflection of how they view themselves. When anger and hatred prevail, it manifests itself internally. When it has finished the demolition there, it works its way outward with brutal tyranny the result. What truly is disturbing is when those attributes become so ingrained that they are no longer considered out of the ordinary. Nils Christie explains:
“Pain delivery is the concept for what in our time has developed into a calm, efficient, hygienic operation. Seen from the perspective of those delivering the service, it is not first and foremost drama, tragedy, intense sufferings. Infliction of pain is in dissonance with some major ideals, but can be carried out in an innocent, somnambulistic insulation from the value conflict. The pains of punishments are left to the receivers.”
The ratio of maniacs to sane prison personnel is far higher than the proportion within the inmate population. Most prisoners are locked up for nonviolent crimes. Conversely, most C/Os have a fl air for brutality. They are criminals on the inside of a uniform, licensed to violate rights. The main difference between C/Os and the small percentage of violent prisoners they guard is that they get to go home at the end of the day. If they are not vicious predators when they start out, it will not take long before they are. Just as they intimidate the defenseless, their brand of malice terrorizes their peers and thus a completely new breed of antagonists, under pressure to comply, is constructed.
Limits to Pain by Nils Christie elaborates on the difference between a prison sentence versus the reality of castigation to the extent of slaughter: “Social systems ought to be constructed in ways that reduce to a minimum the perceived need for infliction of pain for the purpose of social control. Sorrow is inevitable, but not hell created by man.”
The intentional infliction of pain is not an action that suits our “advanced” civilized social order. A sad commentary is that the way people treat others is a reflection of how they view themselves. When anger and hatred prevail, it manifests itself internally. When it has finished the demolition there, it works its way outward with brutal tyranny the result. What truly is disturbing is when those attributes become so ingrained that they are no longer considered out of the ordinary. Nils Christie explains:
“Pain delivery is the concept for what in our time has developed into a calm, efficient, hygienic operation. Seen from the perspective of those delivering the service, it is not first and foremost drama, tragedy, intense sufferings. Infliction of pain is in dissonance with some major ideals, but can be carried out in an innocent, somnambulistic insulation from the value conflict. The pains of punishments are left to the receivers.”
The ratio of maniacs to sane prison personnel is far higher than the proportion within the inmate population. Most prisoners are locked up for nonviolent crimes. Conversely, most C/Os have a fl air for brutality. They are criminals on the inside of a uniform, licensed to violate rights. The main difference between C/Os and the small percentage of violent prisoners they guard is that they get to go home at the end of the day. If they are not vicious predators when they start out, it will not take long before they are. Just as they intimidate the defenseless, their brand of malice terrorizes their peers and thus a completely new breed of antagonists, under pressure to comply, is constructed.
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