Getting to the Root of the Issue

This past week BET ran in its entirety Alex Haley’s “Roots”.  Originally broadcast in 1977, “Roots” was a transformative event in American television.  It told Haley’s family story from the capture of a young Gambian teenager, Kunta Kinte, sold into slavery before the American Revolution, through Haley’s own life as a successful author in the late twentieth century.  It was a moving, powerful story of a man’s search to find who he is and the relationship of that quest to this nation’s story.

I read “Roots” as a high school sophomore.  And, as a senior, I sat in my living room and watched Haley’s family saga unfold.  That Haley was criticized for “creating” dialog for his ancestors didn’t faze me.  The fact that I was a WASP with family roots traced back to the 1600s didn’t strike me as odd.  Like my own family’s story, Haley’s was as American as apple pie.

With that in mind, I watched dozens of young black men between the ages of twenty and thirty watch “Roots” and completely miss Haley’s point.  And, I became discouraged and troubled.

For starters, not one man in here had ever read Haley’s book.  “Roots” was a seminal publication.  Haley almost single handedly led Americans of all races, creeds, and national origins to discover who they were and how they tied into the quilt that is America.

As with most issues in here, they saw “Roots” purely in terms of black and white.  Slavery, oppression, failure.  “No wonder all of us are locked up.  They’re doing the same thing to us they did to Kunta.”

That’s a shame.  Prison breeds ignorance and victimization.  Too many black – and white – inmates see their situations one dimensionally.  And, that one dimension is race.  They miss the big picture.  The story of Kunta Kinte and all of Alex Haley’s other relatives is a story of triumph.  It is the Exodus story, a story of struggle and ultimate success.  And, it is a story that needs to be told especially here in prison.  Only then will the chains of ignorance be broken.

Moving

A few weeks ago I finally was assigned a bottom bunk.  After almost three years here at Lunenburg, I switched from a “top rack” to a bottom one.  I had other opportunities to switch bunks in the past but decided I wanted a specific area with guys I thought I could live near.  And the area you live in is important.  Cleanliness and neatness matter especially when your personal space is less than two feet to the left or right.  And, being in such close proximity to five other men, you see, hear and smell everything that goes on around you.  You think you’ve “seen it all”, then some new chucklehead comes along and reminds you there is always someone out there more ignorant, more disrespectful, more slovenly, than you imagined.

It’s hard to describe living in such close quarters.  Your bunk becomes your personal island.  There is a list of don’ts in prison and most involve your personal living space.  You never sit on another man’s bunk; you never sit in their chair without permission; going in a man’s cut – without prior approval – is close to breaking and entering; you don’t “ear hustle”, listening in on another guy’s conversation – even when that guy is less than two feet away from you.  Finally, you don’t run your hustle around your bunk to call attention to your cut area.  No one wants the officers snooping around your cut.

Still, guys aren’t locked up because we’re smart.  Everyday someone will leave a plastic knife out (used to cut veggies, smuggled out of officer’s chow).  Everyday someone will leave their locker open with bags of fresh vegetables and fruit in broad daylight; or, they’ll have their TV blasting BET.  It’s stupid, disrespectful, and brings heat on the neighborhood.

So I was careful where I moved.  I didn’t want to live in the “trailer park”, six bunks full of dirty, redneck white guys with trash everywhere.  Nor did I want to move into the “projects”, six bunks of mostly young black guys who listen to RAP late into the night and play poker and tonk nonstop every weekend. 

And I’m happy with my move.  No more climbing up and jumping down from five feet.  I can sit in my chair, watch TV, and write.  And my neighbors are almost all quiet and studious.  If you can have such a thing as privacy and respect living with 95 other guys in the space of a basketball court, I’ve got it.  And, I know, things could be worse.

Lunenburg is changing.  We’re not sure why.  It could be the Gov’s re-entry program, or budget constraints on DOC, or the realization that compounds made for 800 overtax water and sewage at 1200, but the compound population is decreasing.

Those rotten, short middle bunks the warden spent months installing in buildings are being removed.  Top bunks in the middle two rows in buildings 2 and 3 were taken out as were rear bunks sitting in the Fire Lane.  That’s a reduction of 26 inmate beds per building side, 104 less beds on the compound.  And the guys who lived in those bunks?  They were transported elsewhere.  Buildings 5 and 6 are next.  That change will reduce Lunenburg’s capacity to approximately 1,000. 

We’re not sure if our college building (4) or the factory building (1) will also be reduced.  It would be great:  70 guys fighting over four showers and four commodes instead of 96.  But, with 88 students (and more coming in around October 1^st) the college building would need both A side and B side.

Moving is expensive.  To transport an inmate from one compound to the next costs money, but so does keeping a man locked up for a year:  $25,000 and counting.

Ironically, the bunk I moved into belonged to one of our first IT grads who went home.  He’s working, going to school and doing well.  And ultimately, that is the move we all dream about.

Pet Peeves

Living in a space the size of a basketball court with 95 other guys takes some getting used to.  The sheer number of bodies compressed into that small a space is bound to generate tension (and odors!).  Troubles – whether in the form of arguments or the occasional throw down – are a natural result of putting men in cramped space with limited mobility and virtually no regular contact with members of the opposite sex.  Privacy is created in one’s own mind (you would be amazed what guys will do in their “private bunks”) and an uneasy “live and let live” attitude develops.  Still, it is a daily battle not to go bonkers over some of the foolish and ignorant behaviors guys in here exhibit.  Here’s my current list of pet peeves.

There are guys who insist on slamming lids:  washing machines, ice maker, commodes.  If it has a lid…bam, just let it drop.  We live in a solid block building with metal everywhere.  It’s not what you would call acoustically well designed.  Any sound reverberates off the walls.  There is a constant hum in the building from the washers and driers with the occasional “beep” of microwave timers and watches.  But the lid guys, they are oblivious to the decibels expended when they just let the washer lid slam.  Almost every day one of those losers will be recipient of “heh a-hole.  Quit droppin’ the lid!”  They can be counted on to retort “What?  I was just checking the wash.”

Noise.  I love days when I head out back to the ball court at noon and there’s no one anywhere.  I hear the birds and the silence, the sweet sound of silence.  The building is always loud.  Foam earplugs, are a regular purchase on commissary day.  But it’s the out of the way noises, the lids that drive guys crazy.

Closely following “lid slamming guy” is “vegetable bag guy”.  Every day is like a farmers market in here.  Whatever fresh fruit or vegetables are served end up back in the building.  Add to that hard boiled eggs, bread, butter, sausages.  If it can be smuggled out of the chow halls it will find its way to the building.  The more the COs pat down and search guys coming out of chow, the more creative guys get with sewing pockets in pants legs and coat backs.  The market for fresh foods is a big dollar business (one of my students “Stoney” is so adept at taking apples that he brought 27 back in his coat at one time and was patted down.  At 2 apples for 1 ramen noodle - 30¢, he makes decent money).

I don’t begrudge the black market.  Fact is, DOC feeds the inmate population nutritionally suspect meals.  Only guys on religious diets are provided fresh produce.  Illness and disease contributed to by poor food are major problems inside prison.  No, I understand why guys steal the veggies.  What drives me nuts is the storage.

Guys use large chip bags to chill their veggies overnight. Every try and pack a crinkled plastic chip bag (think mid-sized “Lays” bag) with ice?  And the bags are notoriously unstable so they fall over and ice and water (because a good number of the men in here still don’t comprehend the science behind melting) go everywhere.  Twice, I’ve found Katrina-like flooding under my locker due to the infamous chip bag collapse.  And, melting ice has to be replaced.  It never fails.  2:00 am some chucklehead decides to repack his ice.  Crinkle, Crinkle, splat (from the water and ice hitting the floor), then slam – ice maker lid.  From around the building then comes the melodic chorus “shut the f--- up!”

How about the guy in the bunk next to me who insists on shaking his package of oatmeal vigorously five times before opening it.  Not six, not three, but five every pack.  And, he’s an angry shaker.  Four times a day (again, not two, not three, everyday four) he huffs and puffs and grunts his way through five oatmeal shakes.

Pet peeves.  We have six guys who don’t wash their hands after using the bathroom.  Six guys who don’t have the sense to use soap and water after defecating.  Imagine seeing one of those six health nuts using the microwave when you’re getting a meal ready.

Then there’s singing guy.  He’s the guy who likes to sing at the top of his lungs.  He knows every rap lyric known (“yo, yo mama, bring me sum sug…”), yet 1) he sings everything off key; 2)  he sings loud;  3)  he lacks basic knowledge on things like balancing a checkbook, reading a lease, you know – silly things that don’t mean anything.   If there was only one singing guy it’d be tolerable; but, Friday evening, 6:00 pm, BET does “freestyle” Friday, a show about ordinary Joes rapping off against each other.  All the singing guys unplug their headphones and crank up the volume and let everyone know what ordinary Joe just spun.  My response?  I’ve been known to breakout a John Denver tune or throw down my own rap.  Last week, I even got two guys (surprisingly, both young rapper wanna be’s) to let loose with “Bohemian Rhapsody” and “Don’t Stop Thinkin’ bout Tomorrow”.  The reaction was initial dead silence followed by laughter and applause and a half-dozen “you’re crazy Larry’s”.

Pet peeves.  We all do things that annoy others.  We all have our own idiosyncrasies that we do in the privacy of our homes.  Here, everything is seen, every quirk, bad habit and annoyance on full display.  And you see the same things, the same behaviors, the same stupid quirks, day in and day out and they begin to gnaw at you.   Eventually some guys snap.  Me?  I get outside, clear my head, meditate, pray and write.

Ironically, little things used to bug the hell out of me.  I’d blow up at petty annoyances on a regular basis.  Perhaps, just perhaps, that’s one of the good things coming out of my stay here.  You have to learn not to sweat the little stuff.

Still, if the grungy six don’t start washing their hands, I may blow a fuse!

Herman, Jo Pa and Us

Yes, we have cable connections at our beds.  Most guys have TV’s:  clear plastic, 13 inch color sets (remotes are prohibited) that cost over $200.00 but can be purchased in catalogs for $70.00 (electronics are covered by the exclusive contract DOC has with Keefe.  Inmates – just as with commissary, phone calls, and CDs – pay exorbitant mark ups for “personal property”.  And most guys do their time watching TV – a lot of it.

Sports, as you can imagine, dominates TV watching in here (closely followed by BET and Univision (the Spanish network that specializes in beautiful women 24/7).  This past week all eyes were focused on two huge scandals and news and sports converged into a perfect storm of opinions.  Herman Cain, black Republican candidate for President, has been dogged over allegations brought by four white women that years ago he sexually harassed them.  As that story swirled around the building with debates over the veracity of the accusers’ stories and underlying racial component to it, the tragedy that has become Penn State broke.

Penn State:  Football, Jo Pa and pedophilia.  Newscasters flocking to “Happy Valley” to “report” (I use that word tongue in cheek) every scurrilous detail.  With self-righteous indignation, talking heads tell the viewers exactly what the proper moral response should have been from Joe Paterno, the athletic director, the grad assistant and everyone else involved.

And the news reporters:  what must Edward R. Murrow be thinking?  They report as “breaking news” every lurid tidbit they can find.  Each mention of “anal penetration” brings another spike in their Network’s Neilsen rating.  And the notion of innocent until proven guilty?  “Screw that.  We can speculate why Sandusky wasn’t offered a head coaching job anywhere. “

Meanwhile, as their grandfatherly head coach is forced out, Penn State students gather and chant, “Jo Pa” until the cameras show up and the night mixes with alcohol and anger and cars are turned over and windows broken.  All the while we sit in our prison dorm and watch and argue.

Herman Cain.  You want black inmates to feel sympathy for a Republican, run the stories the way they’ve come out about Cain.  The entire episode smacks of the century old fears that black men are hypersexual.  The fact that the black man in question is a conservative Republican only adds to the feeding frenzy.

Penn State.  Regular inmates hate sex offenders, especially pedophiles.  Though this – and all compounds – have their share of them, they survive in prison under the constant fear their crimes will be found out.  If my crime and education carry special status with respect and admiration, theirs is at the opposite end of the spectrum.  At higher level facilities child sex offenders are routinely raped, beaten and murdered.  They spend their bids in “pc” – protective custody – for fear of what the general prison population would do to them.

Here, they are taunted (“diaper sniper”, “clown hands”), pushed around and robbed.  A year ago I wrote a blog detailing my ambivalence dealing with sex offenders.  How, I wondered, do I meet my Christian duty to be merciful with my disgust over a man who would find sexual release with a child?  I reached an uneasy equilibrium, a “don’t ask, don’t tell” approach that allowed me to treat each man the same, to not pass judgment.  And then came Penn State. 

Is Sandusky guilty?  I don’t know.  Should Joe Paterno morally have done more?  I don’t know all the details.  I know this – in a frenzy to get ratings our “Fourth Estate” has sold their souls and we collectively encourage it each time we buy into the “breaking news” of the day mantra.

I know one other thing.  The New Testament Book of James (my favorite Book in the Bible) details in five chapters Christian discipleship.  It is not an easy path.  As I listened to the debates in here unfold about Herman Cain, Penn State and Joe Paterno; one admonition from James kept replaying in my mind:  “mercy triumphs over judgment.”  Wise words if ever there were any.

And for all those who “know” precisely what Herman Cain did and what Joe Paterno should have done Rudyard Kipling said it best:

“If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

to serve your turn long after they are gone
And so hold on when there nothing in you
except the will which says to them:  Hold on.”

Saying No

The PBS news broadcast “News Hour with Jim Lehrer” had a story last night about California’s response to the U.S. Supreme Court recently declaring – in Brown v. Plaza – that the state’s prison system was “inhumane” and ordered the release of 33,000 inmates over the next two years to partially alleviate the excessive overcrowding that exists in complete violation of the Eighth Amendment.

What has California decided to do in response?  According to the news report, they are just saying “No”.  The DOC director (query:  how do you keep your job after the stinging rebuke received from the court?) announced that “no inmate will be released early”.  What is their solution?  Force local jails – already overcrowded and straining under the pressure of excessive prisoners and budget shortfalls – to keep state prisoners up to three years.  As one sheriff noted “we can’t afford to have the inmates we already have.  We don’t have the space or the money.”

The few men in the building who watch PBS news instead of BET’s “Freestyle Friday” (a “rap off” hosted by the incredibly attractive “Roxie”) came over to my bunk, heads hung low.  “They aren’t doing what the court ordered”, I heard from a number of men.  “We break the law, we go to prison.  They break the law and nothing changes.”

I smiled and uttered four small words:  “You gotta have faith”.  I have never been a patient man until…until all this.

California’s DOC director is not the first political leader to “say no” to justice.  History is full of men who arrogantly presume they know better.  And those men end up as mere footnotes to the transcendent power of human beings to overcome.

It was then Governor George Wallace who stood on the steps of the University of Alabama refusing to let black students enter.  “Over my dead body” he roared.  “Segregation now and forever.”  Wallace, the loudmouth bigot, is gone as are his sick views on race relations.  Young men in my writing class find it hard to believe that fifty years ago the idea America would elect a black President was “beyond reason”.

Few people recall that the case of Brown v. Board of Ed was heard and decided twice.  The first case was held over by Chief Justice Warren.  A new justice came on board, arguments reheard and by a vote of 9 to 0 the United States Supreme Court ruled “separate but equal” unconstitutional.

Southern states thumbed their nose at the court.  The public school system my own sons attend(ed) in fact closed for years rather than integrate, all part of Virginia’s “massive resistance” campaign against integration.  Hey Virginia, how’d that work out?

My faith tells me good triumphs over evil.  Imagine sitting beside your radio in the darkest days of the Great Depression, 25% unemployment, the Midwest bread basket turned into a dust bowl.  There on the radio you heard Roosevelt say “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself”.

Imagine being an Israelite, enslaved for 400 years, crying out to God “when Lord, when?”  And a fugitive shows up.  Wanted for murder, this shepherd goes up to the most powerful man in the world – Pharaoh – and says “I have a message from God.  He says ‘Let My People Go’”.  Pharaoh?  He says “no”.  Plagues and pestilence follow and Pharaoh still says “no”.  Each action by God hardens Pharaoh’s heart even further.

Even after the Passover, after the death of the first-born of every Egyptian, Pharaoh still says “no”.  The waters part.  The Israelites walk to freedom.  And Pharaoh and his army?  Swallowed by the waves.

The California DOC director isn’t the first leader to say no to the drumbeat of justice.  And, he won’t be the last.  California will release inmates as will Virginia and every other state.  America can no longer afford the reckless, backward, inhumane prison system it has created.  Politicians may say “no” but the truth sees it differently.

Convict Cable

Prison has cable and prisoners have TV’s. To a good many people, that will come as a surprise. Our prison here is on “Corrections Cable”. We get basic channels, bare minimum, and the inmates pay for it, not individually but with the “slush fund” the prison collects from overcharging on commissary (for a detailed explanation on the commissary and cable contracts read my previous post – “Contracts 101”).



TV watching is a prime past time in here. Inmates can buy a color TV (13 inch) through commissary for over $200. The TV is specially manufactured for prisoners. It’s made out of clear plastic so officers can see inside to make sure there’s no contraband stored in the case. The same TV in a catalog lists for $89.


You order your set, wait two weeks and then you walk across the compound to personal property and pick it up. The property officer puts “security” stickers around the case (stickers removed, you get an alteration charge) and engraves your name on the set to prevent theft. You also need to order a surge protector, coaxial cable (to hook your set up to cable) and a headset. Prison rules prohibit you from watching your set without headphones. After spending your $300 for the full “set up” you’re ready for TV.


Of the 96 bunks in this building, there are 92 individual sets. We get the four major networks (ABC, CBS, NBC and Fox). Then there are the specialty channels: CNN, TBS, TNT, CW, A & E, Univision (Spanish), PBS, Health Channel, ESPN & ESPN2, BET, Spike, and Lifetime.


The two “eye opening” prison experiences for me have been watching guys line up for ice cream on Tuesday nights and seeing all the sets tuned to Lifetime. There is something off kilter about guys sitting on their beds, eating butter pecan ice cream, intently watching “Army Wives” on Lifetime. To be fair, most guys watch Lifetime because the women are hot.


The other big channel is Spike. Spike is all bikinis, guns, cars and action movies. Two weeks ago, Stallone’s newest “Rambo” came on Spike. From the corner of the building, P or V or E (pick a letter; it’s someone’s name!) yelled out “Rambo on 10”. Within nanoseconds 50 sets turned to Spike.


You can spot the child molesters. They love cartoons (no joke) and avoid any show with bikinis (Spike had “Ms. Hooters” contest on a month ago, the “game guys” all had “You’ve Got Mail” on).


TV is really mind numbing. There are guys that lie in bed all day (except for meals and bathroom breaks) switching from “Jerry Springer” to “Wife Swap”. They know every channels programming schedule by heart. Their TVs remain on 24/7 except during “standing counts” (there are only 3 of these each day).


If you are shocked that prisons allow inmates to have TVs and cable, think of the alternative. 96 guys living on top of each other, many guys angry at the treatment they received in court, feeling wronged, pissed off at the world. Guys with kids put in bunks next to child molesters; Bloods next to Crips; and you hire two female COs to keep the peace. TV does more to keep the building quiet than 10 Cos could do.


I used to be a big TV guy before I got arrested. Now, I check the scores on ESPN at 5:30 in the morning and then the local news and headlines. With the exception of an hour a night, my TV is off. There are too many books to read, stories to write, crossword puzzles to work, law work to handle; to dull my mind with TV.


Don’t get me wrong, I love a couple of shows. Besides sports and news my “picks” for TV: any Gordon Ramsey cooking show; “The Mentalist”; “The Office” (Tuesday night 3 hours on TBS, just an FYI); “The Closer”, “Rizzoli and Isles”, and “House”. I’m just trying to keep my mind fresh to get through each day. Gotta go, “Big Brother” is coming on.