March 2, 2012
Dear Renelle,
Suddenly, or so it seems, I find myself in an agonizingly tension-filled time of waiting. One week is allowed from time of offense to delivery of a D-R, and now they've got until the 4th for my first one. Not that I've never gotten a D-R prior to this; what I mean by first one is the first of a possible series of them. I'll clear up my reasoning for writing on this form, if I can. My short-sightedness in being sent to confinement with no envelopes/stamps/paper sort of breeds other uses for the many forms I've got access to. I spoke to the Investigator, explained my version of the events on the evening in question are unreliable, and expressed my wish(es) to retract the accusation(s) I made. I could tell this saddled him with a dilemma, but don't know what type it is/was. So, it is completely out f my ability to change the end result now.
On that happy note, I'm continuing to heal, though not as rapidly as once would've been, or that would be an ideal case. A nurse who looked at me right after, I heard telling a guard while I was still unable to see very well, that some of the guards put in place to watch over violent and unpredictable inmates lack training as to what steps to take under a crisis situation. I haven't seen that nurse since. It's safe to say that, being an "old hand" at the confinement routine, one would easily think I should get a break once in a while. Do I? I can't answer the question without equivocating at length, which I won't do, as it sickens me. Let me cut to my answer du jour: No. If anything, more is demanded of me in light of my capabilities. Totally unfair, but then I remain unconsulted.
Regarding my dietary habits: Somehow I was put on a "2,800 calorie diet" which I don't even pretend to know anything about. I suspect my words of grievance regarding the amounts of food on the trays have filtered down to the kitchen manager's ears--backed by looming complaints about quality, and before I knew it, I suddenly have what I need. Now, if I could figure out how to get salt. I guess I would deprive myself of the benefits of the jail/prison experience, though, if I did.
Close(r) to the end of the 8-4 shift now, and it looks like a day (important day, too) closer to not getting a D-R and off the hook for whatever possessed the guard's mind to spray me. Words fail to describe the horribly misunderstood state I'm in now, with release merely a ticking clock away from me. For, if the powers controlling my fate don't agree that I should be in confinement, as nothing will get done either Sat./Sun., then I'm out of here. Of course, not having a way to tell time presents some difficulty, yet my principle is sound.
I'm betting it was comical--my following the nurse's instructions that Sunday. My eyesight was still poor/breathing labored because of the spray. I wasn't to lay down because of blows to my head. I couldn't stand because both feet were badly bruised--and I wasn't at all sure I could sit either, as my body felt like a giant bruise too! I was in rough shape. The part I still don't think on without severe rage, is really two parts, why and how it all came about. One second I'm peacefully minding my own, and wham! I'm sprayed without cause the next. After I'd gone down because of blindness, they began hitting/kicking me. Don't think for a second I don't know I'm in a tough spot. I truly understand now about being in a no-win position.
3/3 now, and my mood is much improved. Taking an honest self-appraisal isn't easier just by the fact I can write my name. Also, what is true today possibly won't be true of me in six months. Oh well, not for the first time, I'm finding myself with a quite large inventory of rhetoric, but very limited media with which to convey it to anyone else.
Stay creative, and continue healing too!
The only bird that doesn't fly,
James (Jailbird)
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Letter 95
(These next two letters are James' account of a female guard's brutal attack on him in a GEO private prison in Florida on February 26. He had just been released back to open population after a month in Confinement in a tiny cell alone, except for a large population of rodents. During this beating, he was thrown back into Confinement. In confinement, James was forced to sign a waver to allow a prison action to take place against him before the required 1 week after an inmate is placed in Confinement. He was issued a D-R and a 30-day extension of his 3-year sentence. His official release date was Jan. 2013.
After he was released from Confinement and returned to his former area, James learned that the guard who attacked him was moved into a job that removed her from contact with inmates, due to a number of complaints against her. At the urging of inmates who witnessed his beating and macing, he has since pressed charges against the officer. James is small in stature, only 5'5" tall, 160 pounds. He could have been killed. --Renelle)
March 1, 2012
Dear Renelle,
I made an inadequate try at maintaining in general population, it seems. I'll give a play-by-play on further in this letter. First, thought, I suppose an explanation for "recycling" would be good: at this time, I've got no paper, the envelopes you sent in the last letter, and I'm bored sick on top of it all! From the sound of the letter on reverse (the letter I sent him), it seems your actively resisting--taking a proactive role with yourself in a healthy way. Really, I'm very glad for you.
I need to limit my verbiage, paper is now non-existent at the moment. O.K. here is all I factually know took place on the fateful Sunday (2/26):
The gestapo had gone through almost all the cells in the wing I'd been placed helter-skelter into, but I wasn't aware, as I'd been getting my meds straightened out. My celly told me they'd taken a laundry bag from me, and I went to find out who'd done it and why.
As they were leaving our wing, I asked the last officer, and she popped a seal! So I added that to the growing list of complaints about being in prison, backed away, and forgot about it. I had a cup of coffee going in the microwave by now. I'm eagerly anticipating having salt again (they provide none in Confinement); all the sudden I get spun around and sprayed point blank in the face with stuff they call "Black Jesus"! At no time did I hear the officer issue a warning, I'm blinded, immobile and trying to breathe on the floor, and this one keeps spraying that mess on me.
But wait, there's more. . . . I've got no idea what possibly provoked her to do this to me. There's a wrestling hold I call the "chicken-wing" used to get instant compliance/submission, so of course I was put into a double chicken wing, run into the door (I think), both feet stomped on, and had various collisions--all while blinded. Supposedly, the most time between getting sprayed and getting to wash that awful stuff out of your eye(s)/airways is 1/2 hour. At 1/2 hour mark, I was still in the dorm I'd gotten sprayed in! They took their sweet-ass time getting me in a shower.
I reflect back to that day begotten in some intense hell, trying to figure out if I was at fault, but--now I'm back to miserably tiny pens and all that implies. About the only thing that happened to the positive is that I'm no longer bleeding internally. Miracles of healing do still occur. The alleged medical care inmates receive here is limited to those few getting ready to go home. Severe cases, like an injury during a sports-related activity, are given small supply of Tylenol and routinely lied to about the severity of their complaints. If they continue to complain, the guards set up a situation to validate their right to have the inmate locked up in confinement, possibly what happened with me, though proving it is out of reach.
Unable to get fit treatment, I'm leaning toward refusal of all offered services (except dietary) to hasten the process of transfer back to a D.O.C. prison. Chiefly, as I don't actually have a lot left of my sentence and don't anticipate any added time, though they'll likely take the little gain-time I've got. It will be worth it, for me, as I know the state of things is badly messed up at any D.O.C. prison--but it isn't any great shakes here, either. Maybe I won't need to pursue that either, as I'm told transfer is always a real possibility if one is seen as problematic, especially.
One thing that I started while still reeling from the rapid-fire way things were happening, is that I spoke to an Investigator about my suspicions and signed an affidavit to my testimony. I've since thought that through in a realistic light, and now want to just get through my time with as little disturbance as I can. So far, no more talks to the Investigator to let them know that though; I could be here for a lot longer. I'm going to go at this from another angle. I just found out not long ago that something known as a "staff/sec. vendetta" is an option for me to claim. That would meet my needs while not imposing on their keeping of me. I don't know much about it, but surely I qualify for it, all that needs happen is to talk to a captain or higher rank and tell them what is going on.
I was just now called back to speak with the Investigator, but the information I'd already provided had been reviewed. Any other time I develop a need for anything, I'm ignored--suddenly, information is "already processed"? Hmmm. Because I came forward like I did, I was told he'd pitched it in his boss's lap. It isn't my intention to bring to public attention the corruption I'm privy to--I just want to finish up and go away. The only result of running into this wall is continued degradation and deprivation for me, and I've had quite enough already!
When I'd gotten out of Confinement 2/24, I was waiting for a gate to be opened to get back to my dorm--and this big old guy starts "helping me " carry all the stuff I got from the property room. I told him I could get it the last 50 feet, and he started looking around like he was going to take off with my stuff. I dropped what I'd been carrying and did the same while moving closer o him. It was just about shift change with guards everywhere, and he asked if I remembered that I owe him. Then it hit me, I did. I told him where I'd be until E.O.S. in hopes he wasn't going to do some stupid thing or other. He looked me over really well, nodded, and told me "he got me." Tense moments, indeed!
I'd better put some brakes on this buggy, and get it on the way to you. I apologize for my hieroglyphic-scrawl, but have no way of doing it otherwise. I'll work on my credibility and hope nothing else happens to me. So, if you can, will you send a small amount of freedom in your next letter? I'm overdue for some.
(Almost) Live, from jail in prison--
James
After he was released from Confinement and returned to his former area, James learned that the guard who attacked him was moved into a job that removed her from contact with inmates, due to a number of complaints against her. At the urging of inmates who witnessed his beating and macing, he has since pressed charges against the officer. James is small in stature, only 5'5" tall, 160 pounds. He could have been killed. --Renelle)
March 1, 2012
Dear Renelle,
I made an inadequate try at maintaining in general population, it seems. I'll give a play-by-play on further in this letter. First, thought, I suppose an explanation for "recycling" would be good: at this time, I've got no paper, the envelopes you sent in the last letter, and I'm bored sick on top of it all! From the sound of the letter on reverse (the letter I sent him), it seems your actively resisting--taking a proactive role with yourself in a healthy way. Really, I'm very glad for you.
I need to limit my verbiage, paper is now non-existent at the moment. O.K. here is all I factually know took place on the fateful Sunday (2/26):
The gestapo had gone through almost all the cells in the wing I'd been placed helter-skelter into, but I wasn't aware, as I'd been getting my meds straightened out. My celly told me they'd taken a laundry bag from me, and I went to find out who'd done it and why.
As they were leaving our wing, I asked the last officer, and she popped a seal! So I added that to the growing list of complaints about being in prison, backed away, and forgot about it. I had a cup of coffee going in the microwave by now. I'm eagerly anticipating having salt again (they provide none in Confinement); all the sudden I get spun around and sprayed point blank in the face with stuff they call "Black Jesus"! At no time did I hear the officer issue a warning, I'm blinded, immobile and trying to breathe on the floor, and this one keeps spraying that mess on me.
But wait, there's more. . . . I've got no idea what possibly provoked her to do this to me. There's a wrestling hold I call the "chicken-wing" used to get instant compliance/submission, so of course I was put into a double chicken wing, run into the door (I think), both feet stomped on, and had various collisions--all while blinded. Supposedly, the most time between getting sprayed and getting to wash that awful stuff out of your eye(s)/airways is 1/2 hour. At 1/2 hour mark, I was still in the dorm I'd gotten sprayed in! They took their sweet-ass time getting me in a shower.
I reflect back to that day begotten in some intense hell, trying to figure out if I was at fault, but--now I'm back to miserably tiny pens and all that implies. About the only thing that happened to the positive is that I'm no longer bleeding internally. Miracles of healing do still occur. The alleged medical care inmates receive here is limited to those few getting ready to go home. Severe cases, like an injury during a sports-related activity, are given small supply of Tylenol and routinely lied to about the severity of their complaints. If they continue to complain, the guards set up a situation to validate their right to have the inmate locked up in confinement, possibly what happened with me, though proving it is out of reach.
Unable to get fit treatment, I'm leaning toward refusal of all offered services (except dietary) to hasten the process of transfer back to a D.O.C. prison. Chiefly, as I don't actually have a lot left of my sentence and don't anticipate any added time, though they'll likely take the little gain-time I've got. It will be worth it, for me, as I know the state of things is badly messed up at any D.O.C. prison--but it isn't any great shakes here, either. Maybe I won't need to pursue that either, as I'm told transfer is always a real possibility if one is seen as problematic, especially.
One thing that I started while still reeling from the rapid-fire way things were happening, is that I spoke to an Investigator about my suspicions and signed an affidavit to my testimony. I've since thought that through in a realistic light, and now want to just get through my time with as little disturbance as I can. So far, no more talks to the Investigator to let them know that though; I could be here for a lot longer. I'm going to go at this from another angle. I just found out not long ago that something known as a "staff/sec. vendetta" is an option for me to claim. That would meet my needs while not imposing on their keeping of me. I don't know much about it, but surely I qualify for it, all that needs happen is to talk to a captain or higher rank and tell them what is going on.
I was just now called back to speak with the Investigator, but the information I'd already provided had been reviewed. Any other time I develop a need for anything, I'm ignored--suddenly, information is "already processed"? Hmmm. Because I came forward like I did, I was told he'd pitched it in his boss's lap. It isn't my intention to bring to public attention the corruption I'm privy to--I just want to finish up and go away. The only result of running into this wall is continued degradation and deprivation for me, and I've had quite enough already!
When I'd gotten out of Confinement 2/24, I was waiting for a gate to be opened to get back to my dorm--and this big old guy starts "helping me " carry all the stuff I got from the property room. I told him I could get it the last 50 feet, and he started looking around like he was going to take off with my stuff. I dropped what I'd been carrying and did the same while moving closer o him. It was just about shift change with guards everywhere, and he asked if I remembered that I owe him. Then it hit me, I did. I told him where I'd be until E.O.S. in hopes he wasn't going to do some stupid thing or other. He looked me over really well, nodded, and told me "he got me." Tense moments, indeed!
I'd better put some brakes on this buggy, and get it on the way to you. I apologize for my hieroglyphic-scrawl, but have no way of doing it otherwise. I'll work on my credibility and hope nothing else happens to me. So, if you can, will you send a small amount of freedom in your next letter? I'm overdue for some.
(Almost) Live, from jail in prison--
James
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)