Independence Day - July 15, 2010

Yesterday was July 4th. To celebrate; E, Big S and I “found” some homemade tangerine wine (by “found” I mean a guy in another building gave us three peanut butter jars full). We sat outside at a picnic table on the rec yard sipping our pulp-filled jars and talked about past – and future July 4ths.



Truth be told, it’s hard to get guys in the penitentiary to give a flip about Independence Day. I watch guys around here and realize how easily they succumb to the loss of freedom.


Inmates have a name for guys that like prison life too much. They call it “state struck”. The other word for it is institutionalized. So many inmates, who are incarcerated for any period of time, forget what it means to be independent, to live free.


They become comfortable having someone call them three times a day for meals. “A-side, standby for chow”. Once a week, the dorm laundryman handles their wash. Bed linens and towels are exchanged each weekend if they desire.


They have no worries about taxes, bills, or groceries. Need to see a doctor? Put in a sick call request and, if you’re lucky, within a week the doctor sees you (the cost $2.00; but, you’d be better off going to see a veterinarian. Medical care in prison is abysmal).


All your basic needs are provided. You have access to a barber twice a month and the library each week. You can choose from about a dozen religions – from Messianic Jews, to 3 or 4 Muslim sects, Rastafarian, Christian.


Guys will cuss the officers and demand to be treated with respect. “I’m a grown ass man” they’ll yell. Funny thing is, these same guys know nothing about being responsible, of living independently, being free.


I just finished the book Stolen Lives by Malika Oufkir. At the age of 18 she, her mother, and all her siblings were imprisoned in the most unbelievably horrible conditions in Morocco after her father – head of the Moroccan Air Force – failed in a coup attempt and was executed.


For 20 years this family suffered unspeakably. Yet, by sheer will and determination they overcame. They struggled, they survived, and they succeeded. As Oufkir wrote of her moment of liberation I couldn’t help but feel her sense of relief, her freedom.


Independence Day means so much more now. I never truly appreciated freedom until I came to this dump. I’ve maintained my dignity in spite of all this.


I wondered for awhile what freedom really meant. I lost everything – family, friends, wealth, my personal freedom – because of my crime. Yet, I discovered inner strength and character.


So I sat there with my two closest friends in the prison, two guys who are as decent, and loyal, and caring as anyone I knew outside. And we toasted the 4th and talked about the parties we threw, the places we’d been on past 4ths. We watched the institutionalized guys walk by, talking to themselves or plotting a new hustle.


We talked about our release, how we’ve changed by going through this. I thought to myself “just keep your sanity, you’ve beat this thing already”.


Freedom is so precious. We don’t realize what we have until we lose it. But, there’s always hope. Like Ms. Oufkir, you can overcome. You can drink again to freedom.