Oh What A Week

Every day, every week, things happen in here that give me pause, and make me challenge long held assumptions.  This week was no exception.

Mid-week we had a fairly brutal fight in here.  One guy ended up going on a medical run the next day:  broken orbital bone.  No one knows what started it.  “Sife” a young, small Muslim with horned-rim glasses fought Tee – a 6’3” muscular black guy.  It was 5:45 pm, fifteen minutes before count, and all hell broke loose.  Chairs went flying and fists, arms and legs hitting flesh and bone could be heard.  A few fellow Muslim inmates jumped in to break it up.  The floor CO:  Ms. West, a sweet, Rollie Pollie country gal hit the “panic button” and ran toward the fight.  Tee slipped off to the rear of the building and his bunk.  In less than one minute our building was packed with 30 officers as radios blasted “fight in 4A.  Cease all movement on the compound!”

“Get to your bunk.  Hold your hands out.”  A dozen officers came down the aisles looking at hands – and faces – for evidence of fighting.  “Chase”, a quiet black Muslim who sleeps across from me was pulled out of line.  There was blood on his sleeve (he’d pulled Sife out of the fight).  He and Sife headed with officers to the watch commander’s office.  Tee, meanwhile – hid out.

An hour later two sergeants entered the building.  They proceeded directly to Tee’s bunk.  The “eye in the sky” Id’d Tee.  He left and Chase returned.  Sife went to the hospital.  Upon his return he found himself in an isolation cell next to Tee.  Both men will do 10 days in the hole for fighting.  They probably are out of the college program.

I don’t understand fighting.  I never have and am more convinced than ever nothing good comes of them. I see more fights in a week in here than I did in my entire adult life.  I’m sure there is a better way.

Then, there was the pie caper on Thursday night.  IG managed to scrounge up ten or twelve apples from guys sneaking them out of chow.  He began making pie crusts (the famous crushed cookies crust) while his side kick, Mustafa, peeled and diced.  They forgot one thing:  the CO on the floor that night was Barksdale.  Besides liking to watch guys shower (now known as “pulling a Sandusky”), he also likes sneaking up on inmates and busting them.  There was no lookout for Mustafa as he sliced and diced.  There went the apples; there went Mustafa to the watch commander.

Now there are four cooked pie crusts.  Big S says “IG, let’s eat them.  They’re nothing but cookies.”  Great idea!  IG, Markees and Big S start chowing down.  Here comes Barksdale.  “That’s contraband.  That’s conspiracy to destroy evidence.”  Off those three guys go to the watch commander.

An hour later all four are back, no charges filed.  “They asked if we were making wine. ‘No’ we said; ‘Pies’, Big S piped up.  The Lt on duty was ticked off:  ticked off that so much food made it out of the chow hall, under the noses of her CO’s.  But she was also ticked that an officer was wasting her time over cookie crumbs.

The next night, Barksdale’s shift ended.  To celebrate, IG made apple pies!

There’s an update on Mustafa’s case.  Last week, I detailed his medical problems and the resulting “unauthorized drug” conviction.  On Mustafa’s behalf, I filed a grievance against the assistant warden alleging 1) violation of Mustafa’s due process rights by assessing additional penalties – loss of visitation and telephone use – not part of his charge conviction; and 2) retaliation for his family seeking medical care for him.

Less than a day after the grievance was filed Mustafa heard from the operations officer and medical.  “The additional penalties were improperly assessed and will be immediately withdrawn”, and “you are scheduled for follow up medical care on 1/4/12.”  Score one for the inmates!  Mustafa called his folks after showing me the responses. 

Then there’s the strange victory enjoyed by Faheem this week. Faheem is a young Muslim inmate.  A great kid:  quiet, polite, hard-working.  He’s twenty-five, a former Army tank driver (The VA, to their credit, provides some services for incarcerated vets), who is three years into a five year sentence for ecstasy distribution.

Faheem does just about any job that comes along.  He’s the building painter, but can be counted on to fill in on laundry, bathroom cleaning and, when needed, trash detail.

And that’s where the story gets interesting.  Our building has a new shift sergeant:  Horn.  That name may sound familiar.  He’s the same sergeant who fought – and choked out – an inmate a month ago in “2 building”.  So they moved him to our building.  They say the trains run on time in a dictatorship.  It’s true.  Our building runs – on time – with Sgt. Horn here.  But he is vindictive, arbitrary, and dishonest; everything that is dangerous in a corrections officer.

A few weeks back, Faheem went outside for 8:00 am rec.  When he came back in he was called to the watch commander’s office and presented with a 100 series charge.  “Failure to perform work as ordered.  Sergeant Horn told you to take the trash out.  Plead guilty and we’ll fine you $12.00 (oh yeah, and not mentioned, the warden will then try and drop your good time earning level).”  Faheem refused to plead guilty and asked for my help in preparing a defense.

Here’s what we “discovered”.  The charge said the Sergeant ordered him to take the trash out at 7:45 am.  Funny, but the Sarge never arrived and signed in to the building until 8:55 am.  Even the hearing officer (supposedly “objective” yet the system is rigged against the inmates much like the kangaroo court structure in the Soviet Union dealt with dissidents) was forced to find Faheem “not guilty” and noted on her decision “the charging officer could not possibly have ordered the offender.”

So, Faheem won.  And Sgt. Horn?  He told Faheem “I’ll have your job before long and you’ll be on food stamps.”  It’s not over.  I’m preparing a letter for Faheem to the Regional Director.  Just because we’re in here doesn’t give men like Sgt. Horn the right to make charges up and screw with a man’s life.

The crazy thing about all I’ve written is this kind of stuff happens every day, every week in here.  If that’s not reason enough for prison reform, I don’t know what is.