|
|
|
|
April 25, 2003 Dear friends and supporters, I have been out of town (for a trial of my own) since last weekend, and returned early Thursday morning to Oberlin. I spoke with Jesse twice that morning, at 7:30am and 9:30am. He said that he is doing just fine and will make it through, although 10 more weeks to go feels like a really long time. Jesse is still on bad terms with his counselor, and once when going to talk to him, the counselor took one look at Jesse and said, "Turn around and just walk right out that door!" But then Jesse spoke with numerous other prison employees and inmates who said that this guy is just a jerk and that they hate working with him, too, and to just stay away from him. Unfortunately, he is the person Jesse needs to deal with about the missing paperwork. Jesse's Pre-Sentencing Investigation and medical records have not yet arrived at Danbury, so his parents, the lawyers and I are working to assure that they arrive soon. Without this paperwork, no one can visit Jesse and he cannot receive any medial care. This past Tuesday, April 22, was the two-week mark when Jesse was supposed to have received his first shot while incarcerated. However, without the medical records having arrived in Danbury, it is impossible for us to advocate on Jesse's behalf. His new plan is to work toward receiving the shot on the next two-week mark, May 6. We hope that missing one shot will not affect Jesse's health too much yet. Also, while typing this message, I received a call from Jesse! We could only talk for a minute, but he had his first day of work in the grounds department today. This is the job he wanted, so it's good, but today the group was accused of talking with an "outside contractor" (although no one was) so they had to be strip-searched. So although it wasn't a great beginning, Jesse is happy to have been assigned to an outside job. Thank you again for all of your love and support! Below is a letter that I received from Jesse when I returned yesterday. Now his PAC has been turned on, and his days will be spent working outside (7 hours/day). Take care and stay strong, Sarah (N.B.: When I type in Jesse's letters, I omit words or sentences sometimes that are directed only to me, but I never change spelling or punctuation. The only changes that I do make are to add paragraphs when one paragraph is really long and to capitalize words that are underlined. Sarah) April 21, 2003 You made me promise to tell you what prison is really like and then in your last letter there it was again: how are you really feeling? I have tried to be as thorough and honest as possible but it is hard to be honest. Why? Because my mood and spirits change minute by minute, because part of surviving this is letting the bad parts in slowly, gradually, or not at all, because I am TOO furious, TOO inspired, TOO confused to even be able to describe a lot of it in words. You tell me to just describe, so I will and I suspect this will be a more jumbled and less narrative type letter than you are used to receiving from me. The man in charge of grounds is big, white guy with mustache and New York City accent. He has brought a truck full of lockers, bulky and metal and heavy, and has called out A & O folks to unload them. He stands by the truck pulling a lever up and down, 2 women move lockers from the truck bed to a platform, he lowers the platform, 2-3 women grab each locker to carry it in, he raises the platform again. He is screaming at us. Come on, they're not that fuckin heavy, you women are so clumsy, this is just like women. Someone shouts at him about the creation of Eve, she gave birth to us all and was sent by God. Eve came and she screwed everything up he replies and calls us all Eves for the rest of the time. Facing North of the Camp is Unicor, the prison's sweatshop. UNICOR products are sold mostly to the military or back to the prison itself. I sleep on a UNICOR mattress and wear a UNICOR uniform. When it is cold I wear a UNICOR winter coat and even some of my hygiene products ? comb, toothbrush, etc. are UNICOR. When I hear about prisons having no money, I wonder why? The inmates care for the grounds, clean the buildings, fix and maintain the equipment, do the laundry, cut people's hair, work in recreation, the library, the law library, and even as teachers for $5.25 -$20 per month. Most of the materials used in the prison are old, broken, or made in UNICOR where women are paid, at most, $1.15/hour (50% of this is subtracted automatically to go towards restitution or "the cost of incarceration"). Health care is a joke, and the food certainly is not gormet? where is the money going? To the man in charge of grounds who calls us all Eves and says Eve came along and messed everything up. To Mr. Metielski, counselor for 31 years, who rants and raves about illicit lesbian activity, Muslim men between the ages of 17-40, and how people who don't speak English should go back where they came from. To the two guards who were transferred a few months ago when it was found out they were having sex with inmates. To the guard down in the SHU (segregated housing unit ? "the hole" "solitary confinement") who threatened to staple a girl's lips shut and then blasted his music to drown out the sounds of screaming and weeping women. And who is incarcerated here, anyway? At the moment, 4 or 5 SOA prisoners, to start with ? 1 or 2? in the medium security FCI, 2 in the minimum security FCP, and I in the SHU for unclear reasons. Helene doing 5 years for selling drugs to support her own habit, who wants to be a drug treatment counselor when she gets out in 2005. Tracy who wants to be an out lesbian minister when she gets out, and has already been here 7 years. Women who used or sold drugs because they were poor, meaning because an income, any income, means food on the table. Women accused of conspiring with their husband or boyfriend who they couldn't escape because of beatings, rapes, and more beatings. Women who describe the welts that used to criss-cross their backs and list the broken bones, counting on their fingers. Women who didn't do anything but get accused and found out the hard way that there is no presumption of innocence for poor women, immigrant women, women of color. Women whose whole families are in and out of prison all the time, who have spent most of their lives in institutions ? visiting, being locked up, writing, visiting, being locked up again. And mothers, so many mothers to so many children, carrying their pictures in their pockets, missing high school graduations, first words and steps, mothers saying oh, my daughter has breasts now, saying maybe when I get out I can get my kids back, do you think so? I tell one woman about why I am here, about the school of the Americas, about the torture and murder and people kidnapped off the streets never to be seen again. "Yes," she says, nodding emphatically, and waving her hand around at all the women streaming by us. "Yes. We here are also the disappeared." Those are the obvious injustices but there are more, and they are largely the injustices of inefficiency, the injustices of bureaucracy and red tape. It has been almost two weeks now and I do not have a working phone access code PAC. I will not receive my first shot on time, maybe not at all. Everyday, for an inmate who got caught in the net of paperwork, it's, ok, I need my medicine. (The doctor's not there now) When is the doctor in? (Oh, he's around, just keep checking back.) OK, I don't have a PAC # yet, where can I get one? (Talk to Mr. Tinelli) Mr. Tinelli's not there right now (oh, he's around, keep checking in.) OK, I haven't been issued clothing yet (go down to the laundry room) No one is in the laundry room (oh, they'll call you, you just listen for your name) In the meantime, those are the wrong kind of shoes, you aren't allowed to be barefoot, no not even outside, no, not even going to the bathroom, ok lets remake your bed for you, the sheets must be turned back at least 12 inches with a folded section no more than six inches, blanket folded at the foot of the bed. No, not like that, in thirds. Go see the doctor, I hear he's in now, Doctor I need my medicine. Sick call? When is that? 6:30 in the morning? OK. Count time, everyone to their rooms, standing up, no talking. absolute silence. Laundry is here? OK. What size underwear, what size bra, what size shirts and pants? Too small, ok, too big well that's the smallest size (EXTRA LARGE) that we have. Well maybe you can exchange it on exchange days. When are exchange days? Monday. Usually. Sometimes. Just take these for now, I know they don't fit. Excuse me sir, are you Mr. Tinelli? (No) Do you know where he is? (check his office) I did sir, he's not there. (well keep checking, he's around) I haven't been able to make a call for two weeks. (Well talk to Tinelli about it.) I don't have stamps, where can I get them? Commissary.) when are they open? (It depends on your inmate #) OK, how do I get a comissary order sheet? (They make them available) Who does? (comissary) When and where do they do that? (I don't know, that's a good question, just ask around, someone will know) Excuse me sir, are you Mr. Tinelli? (Yes) Well my PAC # doesn't work and I haven't been able to call anyone. (Well the woman who deals with that has already gone home, why don't you check back with me tomorrow?) Tomorrow. OK. What time should I come? So you're right, Sarah, to call me on that: what is prison really like? How are you really feeling? My letters are cheerful, hopeful, because I try to think of this mess; the bureaucracy, the running around, the paper work, the yelling about Eves and Muslims, the endless stories of the disappeared? I try to think of that as what I am doing in my spare time, where as the bulk of my day is writing these letters, sitting outside talking w/ the trees, the geese & hawks & mocking birds, reading novels. When I am waiting in line for food I count backwards from 500. These are my days, I run errands, I read & write, I count backwards from 100, I eat, I run errands, I count backwards from 500, I have my meeting w/ whoever, I walk outside, I pray, I read, I go to count, I count backwards from 100, I eat, I get my mail. I smile. I write letters. And I can say, with a bit of a smirk, but with total honesty, it's not too bad. It's alright. I'll be ok. It's almost over. I'm in a better position than many of these women. It's not too bad. It's alright. I'll be fine. And the scariest part of all of this is that it's true. Body mind and spirit can put up with a hell of a lot and ironically it is our ability to survive this shit that dooms us to it, because unfortunately it seems to me that in this world if you come out anything short of dead it doesn't count as injustice, and sometimes even being dead won't cut it. So? that's that. That's what it's really like. I hope this letter wasn't too much of a downer. <3 Jesse |