Abstract
After over 35 years of incarceration, in some of the most notorious prisons in California, I can attest to witnessing just about every possible scenario imaginable in a carceral world. Violence breeds violence within these captive walls and inside these walls lies a different world than what society assembles its citizens to abide by. An oxymoronic system of beliefs developed by those subclass of residents condemned to make residence there. For example, Good is bad, stop means go, empathy is weakness. . .don’t show your vulnerability or you may very well become another forgotten statistic (victim) or one who condones violence which is acted upon in-concert by those whose responsibilities, as well as job obligation is to prevent it.
Prison rape, murder, beat downs, stabbing, and suicides I have viewed over the decades. The memories of each image stirring emotions inside my mental facilities birthing trauma that cannot be wiped away, much less forgotten! It becomes the norm, an accepted mode of survival that soon, all too soon, callouses the heart and decision-making conscious.
Despite my attempts to remain some level of society, over the years I too have been the catalyst perpetrating violence on occasion throughout this cycle of incarceration. Initially, to prove my self-worth or loyalty to my race or to demonstrate my lack of humanity to others as a means of survival to an attentive audience, “Don’t mess with that Indian, he’s crazy!” Just one of the many labels placed upon me or hats I placed upon myself over the years of wanting to be accepted.
Tortured voices singing in the winds that never dissipate yet linger on no matter where I hang my hat or attempt to evade. It could be Folsom or Calipatria or Solano, locations soaked and dripping in pious and distorted belief systems, raw violence, and pure disenchantment with self. When will this nightmare end? Where can I travel to find peace? How ill I make it would completely losing these final ounces of sanity or empathy longed for in me.
Once I was in a great program located at a very fine facility. Sure, there were some problems but all minor in nature and not serious. I was chosen to partake in the only BA degree program in the State of California’s entire penological history. There were approximately 40 of us chosen. Many eventually gotten communities from LWOP to freedom because of the program or because they were housed at Lancaster and worked in the “Paws for Life” dog program.
I was doing well there. I facilitated several self-help classes, ran Sweat Lodge Ceremonies, kept a GPA of 3.87 with CSU-LA’s BA degree Program, and I was happy. That was short-lived because I got a RVR because my old cellie handed me a cellphone during a search and I panicked, sticking it in my pocket. I got transferred because of this incident but ironically, the kid got to stay even after admitting the phone was his at his hearing and that I didn’t know he had which I didn’t.
This is the type of injustice and bizarro world living in prison is. I had just one (1) semester, two classes, to have graduated but yet was transferred mainly because of the wrath of a CPM whom I had angered for filing a lawsuit about the Sweat lodge, not just the RVR. Hundreds of people were caught with phones but not transferred. I must admit, I longed to revert back to old habits but had submitted a commutation request for mercy, which is still pending. But for that and some personal reflections, I understand because I panicked by pocketing that contraband, I must own my mistake. I often wonder how I could have jeopardized so much still without reason. Even staff psychologists stated to me this is a normal reaction and not some pattern of criminology I may possess. I don’t possess this but do believe I suffer from Carceral PTSD. I have never been a criminal or even arrested before this current life crime. In fact, I had two (2) hung juries before being sentenced to LWOP because the trial judge changed positions mid trial and reneged on previous granted motions.
In prison, whether you did something or not, you are presumed guilty. You are thought of and this is taught in Academy training, to be a liar, manipulator, felon who are viewed as a 2nd class citizen. You have no rights and the few that are afforded, are ignored under the green wall authority and badge blindness. How dare you even question their authority or point out a mistake. Often this will birth retaliation like getting your cell tossed up or imaginary assault charges put on you which further injuries your existence.
As I comprise this reflection, I sit in the ‘hole’ because of “confidential” information received about me here. I’ve done nothing wrong but it doesn’t matter, it’s the nature of the beast in here so I’m being punished anyway. After waiting months back here to be transferred, the day before my transfer I was told because of my “could risk case factor” score, my transfer is cancelled because suddenly I can’t live in a dorm, only a cell. For 35 years I lived in a cell and you sent me here to a dorm! Now, I feel again kicked in the face having to now suffer more time because of some alleged regulation I never heard of! This continuous punishment for no violations, being accused of something I’m innocent of, or newly created rule, only creates mental health issues to people which could in turn, create reactions due to frustrations.
It’s not easy to live in prison being separated from society or isolated from your family, especially if you are a person of color and elderly, where is my humanity now? Of all the voices in the wind, I hope I can still have mine. Again, to be Indian in prison, to be voiceless without a platform, and void of hope can be very dangerous.
I believe deeply in prison reform, forgiveness, being of service, and most of all in my Creator. I have no strength to continue yet something inside me can’t stop fighting the good fight, trying to change perceptions of the incarcerated and social justice.
But I am just a Red Man, alone behind the Grey Mountain. Can you hear my voice?