today i grew frustrated as Ruth explained how being up front with one’s felony(ies) is an important part of trying to get a job or house and how it is also important to work to expunge things from our record. it is so frustrating and angering to think/hear that we must do more as “offenders”, that we should spill out our lives for strangers, asking for their understanding. have we not already suffered incarceration and fines? separation from our families and friends? to be labeled “offender”, felon, convict is to be given subjugated status. as if we are no more than that. and we must disclose this one, or more, event(s) because they have something to do with everything else in our lives. one would not go to a job interview and ask the interviewer if they drink every day or have ever assaulted someone.
in this class where we discus parenting, treating kids with respect and letting them be themselves, we are supposed to accept others denying us who we are. the lack of acknowledgement of this hypocrisy makes this class feel that much more empty, off point. honestly i didn’t expect much of it as a class, but more of it as a learning experience. and that it has been
i am pretty quiet during class. i know i have valuable things to say, even though i am not a parent, but i know i am not a full “parent” and i am privileged in many ways and do not want to speak from a place of expecting my position to translate easily. i feel very singular in the space. as an anarchist. as someone with a hella strong community of friends. today a majority of guys voicing their opinion expressed not trusting their friends with their kids. they similarly expressed issue with androgyny and Ruth then went on to say some people have problems, then that we should look at who people are trying to become—shifting into talking about “offenders”.
the only time i spoke besides reading today was to correct Ruth’s consistent mispronunciation of efficacy as efficiency. i just felt it somewhat important to honestly represent what was being read and gave my definition for efficacy when someone asked what it meant.
i have things to say but struggle with taking space. i tend to wait until i know what i am going to say and/or feel stron enough to just speak. there are six more classes. four mor i will atend, and i’m sure i’ll speak up in the coming week and a half.
it is really interesting hearing these men’s, these father’s thoughts on parenting. i am thankful for their sharing and for being there. we all know we want things to be better. a different life, different world is possible. but as evidence in the experiences and mentalities of these men, it is not just going to happen.
I woke up as usual to guards walking through and loudly closing the doors between the pods. I remained in bed for about an hour thinking about the might, my dreams and the day. One of the night guards slams the doors, something they are not supposed to do and that I had just two day prior talked with a regular and consistent evening guard about, but also an inmate in the neighboring A-pod decided to sing and bang rhythms out in his cell very audibly to those relatively close. Once I fall asleep, if I hear the doors close I let myself start to wake up because it should be about six am. You could say I have been conditioned in this way. So when around midnight, it happened I woke up but felt confused. I got up to check the time and grew really frustrated. Then the banging, and people yelling, and I too added my voice frustrated and angry, “shut the fuck up.” I got back into bed and tried to let it go. I was excited about Halloween and didn’t want to wake up tense with leftover agitation. It took a while but I didn’t get back to sleep. I thought about my friends who were probably just then going to bed as that felt good.
So in the morning I was a little extra groggy but felt pretty ready for the day. I wrote my dreams down, lying in bed until breakfast was called. It was crappy rubbery waffles, I got two Boca burger patties as well, fruit (canned and fresh) and raisin bran and soymilk. It filled my up well, almost too much as afterward I thought I’d rather have given away one of the patties, but I ate it thinking I should get all the nutrients I could, especially on the lunch-less weekends, during breakfast I was given letters from K, L, and C, T’s mom. oh and L too! After eating I came to my cell and read C and L letters. It was good to hear from them, and I began writing L back. At some point they called canteen and I went down to retrieve my bag of candy. Pretzels, peanuts, hot chocolate, and new chap stick. I usually don’t order any sweets because I haven’t been eating them in here. (I give away all my cookies and cake.) But it was Halloween and the previous weekend I had schemed and ordered more crap than I have (or will again) in one week. I was excited to eat chocolate crap and for my idea. I ordered two of each candy bar, there are eight different kinds and sixteen cells in here (we happened to be full at the moment) as well as sixteen hot chocolate mixes, and was going to give each person in the B pod a candy bar and hot chocolate. I brought everything up to my cell and separated my stuff from what I planned to give away, then I finished writing L’s letter. canteen comes in brown paper bags, small and large. The pretzels I order usually demand the large bags and I keep them for potential art projects. I pulled one out (they’re similar to brown paper grocery bags, but blank) and drew a jack-o-lantern face on it, and filled it with the candy bars. The cocoa mixes I put in a bag from dinner the previous night. My friend and wallmate in B2, Nick, came by to see what I was going to do, how I was going to execute my idea. I was nervous about coming off as showing off my economic privilege, insulting those who couldn’t afford to do what I was doing. While nick and I were talking our friend shannon walked up, so I took the opportunity to ask him (he’s older that us and has spent a lot more time incarcerated- so I trust his words and thoughts for his experience.) he thought it was a great idea and appreciated my generosity and thinking of it. It still seemed awkward to just walk around being like, “hey everybody, happy Halloween.” I decided to go around after 11 am count, when folks would be just coming out of their cells. I read K’s letter (which was strangely in L’s envelope) and worked on a response until count time. After our cells were unlocked I picked up the bags and went to nick’s cell. He was like, “me first?” and I said, “Yeah, happy Halloween,” then, “do you want to help me pass out the hot chocolate?” (It was hard to carry two bags at once well.” he took his treats and then grabbed the little bag and we moved on to B3, a guy who I’ve never really talked to who recently moved in on SHU (special housing unit) status. I went up o him and said, “happy Halloween, pick one,” he said, “for real?” and we both smiled as he took a candy bar and said thanks. shannon, gabe, and bill were next. shannon again said how he was thankful and that it was a really nice thing to do. We had to sorta wake gabe up and he asked, “do I have to do a trick?” the guy in B8 at the end of the upper tier saw us doing this and was like “oh, what you guys doing over there?” “We’re coming your way snake,” he was a funny, kinda loud guy with awesome gold teeth. We stopped at B7 and then snake. He said, “shit, thanks man,” at this point we were half done and I was feeling pretty good about it all. nick and I went down stairs and went from B16 to B9. The guy in 16 doesn’t really leave his cell except for meals, but nick and him talk and nick woke him up for our gifts. In 5 there is this guy glen who’s pretty alright, but his swastika tattoo and sexism make me really not want to talk to him too much (I don’t know if he still believes in that shit and have been watching him for racist behavior, he’s been respectful to folks and plays cards with non-white people, but I still feel uncomfortable.) 14 is this nice man who’s doing a year, and is older, and in a wheelchair. All three of them were thankful. Corey lives in B13, he’s doing a year as well, and in the beginning of October had his intestines almost burst. He almost died and was in the hospital for a while. When he first was transferred here he could barely walk or eat. He was really excited about what we were doing, he kept saying, you made my day man.” I just said that I was lucky to have friends who put money on my account so I could do it and that I’m pissed I had to be in here for Halloween and figured I’d try and make it better for all of us. The man in B2 is a funny guy who’s kind of always on his own schedule — which can create friction with the CO’s. He is 50 and walks with funny little steps. When we came to him I said something like “happy hallowed, take a candy bar from the bag.” And he said “is it free?” giving things away usually only happens when someone is getting out. The guy in 11 was sleeping and at first didn’t want anything but after Nick tried to explain he said sleepily “just put it on my doorstep,” so I dropped it just inside his cell. The guy in 9, dave (who on the 2nd—a day after his birthday—had twin boys!), owed corey a candy bar so his went to corey, who was excited to get two, and that left daryl. I don’t really know how to describe daryl, but he is definitely a special person. Blessed with some sort of different wiring, you never could be quite sure if he was with you. Daryl’s cell was 10 (he left us on the 2nd) and was always a complete mess. I’d stopped in to try to get him to change his jumpsuit or to get his medicine a few times and I let him listen to my headphones when I wasn’t using them every now and then. He got up and took the heath bar and hot chocolate just like he took pretty much anything edible, readily and without thanks expressed outwardly. And that was it. The leftover kit-kat was mine, as I explained to nick, because I got 16 items, which included one for me, but I was fine with whatever was left over. I had also ordered two snickers, one reeses peanut butter cup, and two “salted nut rolls” for myself for the weekend. I thanked nick for helping and returned to my cell to eat the kit-kat. It felt good to have followed through with and idea I was excited but a little anxious about.
Soon after, around 11:30 or noon, they called “rec” or recreation. The Friday before my friend juan in C pod said I should go to rec to play volleyball because the last time they only had four people. I also figured it was the weekend, where the days feel slower because of the absence of lunch, and it was Halloween, ‘what the hell’, so I went. A, B, & C pods go together along with “limited rec” from the rest of the facility. There were tons of people and it was loud and energetic. I tend to be shy in situations like this one, especially when I don’t really know anyone. One guy who had been in B pod but was switched to C was there and we talked for a minute. There were a handful of people on the court and teams were just kinda formed by people taking positions. I quietly walked up and took a place. We ended up playing maybe two or three games before we stopped really keeping score. Some people stopped playing and others would step in. it was competitive and generally people tried (except this one big guy who only recently fully healed from a hand wound—this was the first time I’d seen him since his pins were out—and who would just hit/smash the shit out of the ball forr better or worse). I had a lot of fun and made some good plays. One guy who took it pretty seriously would give me these “hell yeah” or “good job” looks when I’d score. It felt good in that teamwork comradely way. And in this other way it felt good to not shy away from a potentially uncomfortable situation and to maybe gain some respect from people through being a pretty good volleyball player. And on top of all that it just felt good to use my body. “way to go me,” is how I felt as I walked back, “that was fun.” As I entered B pod the sleepy guy from cell 11 and corey thanked me again for the backwards trick-or-treat, “that was really cool.” And then when snake got back from rec he was like “red’s a beast on that volleyball court. You shoulda seen him volleyball’s his game!” it was a funny exaggeration but felt good regardless.
For the next while I wrote K back and ate candy while also peeking at the t.v. now and then. I was hoping the guards would put on some cheesy horror movies or something at least a little halloweeny. We would lock in for count at four and around three I decided to walk some laps. Soon Shannon got back from laundry where he works and we started walking and talking. He talked about things going on in his life and his upcoming transfer to the LEC [the "Law Enforcement Center", or jail in downtown St. Paul] but also about his past. I listened, interested, and asked question as well as sharing parts of my life. We talked about socialization and this fucked up culture, about personal responsibility for choices as well as, and compared to the responsibility of the context and culture, the environment of one’s decisions. We talked about racism, sexism and homophobia and about friendship. It was really nice. Probably, no definitely, the most “real” conversation I’ve had, meaning closest to one I’d have on the outside. As I locked in for count I felt thankful and appreciative of our talk and of Shannon. I though about keeping contact with him after we’re both out, and I hoped he wouldn’t have to sit at the LEC for a month for no reason (he has been in here for four months and was supposed to have a court date two weeks ago, a sentencing for some minor violation for which he’d be given no more than the time he’s already done, if he’d had his court date he would be released this Thursday, November 5th. For some reason they didn’t send him downtown for his court date and it was subsequently rescheduled to Dec. 3rd. now he is supposed to be transferred to the LEC—a place much worse than here, you only get out of yer cell for something like four hours a day— and held there on $20,000 bail until his court date. His original bail was only $4,000 something. The whole thing is fucked. Instead of getting out he has to sit in jail an extra month for no reason and due to their failure to take him from here to his court date!!)
After count was dinner, nothing special. No extra desert or candy corn or pumpkin-shape, flavored, or colored anything. I spent the evening playing cards and eating candy. I talked to K on the phone, and A, and thought about my mom. It was nice to talk to those friends but also a little sad to not be out there with them. I love Halloween. I love how it is a night where the magic in the world is a little stronger because there is a bit of everyone that gives it a little more attention. I love how strangers go to each other’s houses and find real people not just “others”. How people’s imaginations are tingled and kids “get” to run around at night. I do feel disheartened at the commodification of all of it. The plastic and pre-packaged. The purchased instead of prepared. The heteronormative sexualization “grown-ups” and older kids perpetuate and perpetrate. But even the title “holiday” and all that comes with it isn’t enough to rid me of my wide-eyed love of hallowed.
No scary movie was ever put on, instead our malfunctioning t.v. attempted to show the world series game. As I lay in bed, locked in for the night, I felt appreciation for the day but a restlessness and bit of sadness. “So this is it. I guess I just go to bed.” The only Halloween I experience was that which I created, and I was proud of that, but it wasn’t enough to fill the hole in my big-kid-heart. I listened to a dance-pop, hip-hop station and wrote K, imagining what it would be like to be out dancing with them. I fell asleep after reading the Mary Oliver poem “the lilies break open over the dark water.”
Send me pictures of yours!!
JJ.
Nov. 7th: 22days and a wake-up.
Today was the worst day for me so far. For breakfast I was given: two sad “waffles,” one package of artificial maple syrup, and a piece of banana bread. I complained to the officers who then called the kitchen. A few minutes later I was brought a soymilk, a veggie burger patty and two peanut butter packages.
There are no lunches on the weekend.
For dinner I was given a bag lunch instead of a hot meal! And on top of that insult it had the usual four pieces of bread but only one peanut butter and one jelly. Again I had to complain and ask the custody COs to call down for more pb&j.
It is not my responsibility to do the jail’s job for them. It is fully frustrating and if it continues tomorrow I am going to ask folks to call in to demand I get full meals.
To be given a bag lunch instead of a hot tray is felt as an insult amongst inmates. Those of us with special diets deserve hot food too! Another person in here has been getting bags for hot meals for about a week or so now and it sucks. They even give him things in his bag that he is allergic to (the reason he doesn’t get the normal tray to begin with). He has put in “grievances” but it hasn’t seemed to do anything.
Our ability to feed ourselves is a very basic need and right of all living beings. It is difficult enough to have to take the usual menu offered here in jail, but to be pushed around beyond that is just additional punishment. I’ve realized how frustrated and hard my days are when I am given poor meals, as well as the pimple addition of a handful of grapes or dates can make my entire day. Jail is completely unhealthy, wrong, unjust. I was going to say “inhumane” but considering humanity is singularly misguided enough to cage living creatures, such ugliness as jail is distinctly human.
I also want to communicate my concern and support for Karen. They are about to have their sentencing and it is really hard for me not to be there for them. Court dates are hard, sentencing especially because of the unknown decision that will be made. I hope all who support me will show them the support and care they deserve, even more so because I am kept at this distance. It is hard to think of them going to jail, of them being in jail when I get out. I hope y’all support them.
Love, jj
October 15th, Day 29
i don’t know who i’m writing. i feel somewhat lost in this way. with a pile of letters with faces and hearts i long to be with. it is as one looks into a forested hillside, at times seeing the innumerable expressions of life, all the beautiful individuality as a wall of green unknown.
my friend N asked me to play some cribbage and i said sure. i generally play if i’m feeling aimless or a little down. it helps to be social and it gives me something to focus on which seems to clear my head and heart a little. often times too, when playing cribbage i think of my good friend that taught it to me and i feel the love i feel for them. (i’m really glad i learned how to play—just a month before coming here—now i play it everyday). as in most games, i don’t care all that much about winning, but about having a good game. an aspect of that is definitely friendly competition, and it’s nice that we’re all pretty much evenly skilled. sometimes i get skunked. sometimes i’m the skunker. sometimes we play with only two people, usually with three, and every now and then we play teams of two. the board is made of a shower shoe which has inspired me to make my own board when i get out.
i do struggle with being spread thin. i try hard to intentionally and meaningfully share myself with people. a lot of people, i continue to realize. i am proud of my ability to do this but i create internal situations of pressure. and my life is at such a strange and interesting turning point, as soon i will be returning west, leaving this new midwestern home. my friendships are scattered across the continent and i now must ask myself, who do i see in my future? who do i want to be there? trust to be there? what parts of myself am i wanting to grow and emphasize and who aids me in that? how do i, am i able to communicate my love and appreciation without giving too much? do i even need to try and actively manage this aspect of self or can/will i simply do it innately? i do have my priorities. i have a personal commitment to return to santa cruz and give time and space to feel out my life there. but also i do feel committed to relationships formed and strengthened over this past year and will show that in my actions and decisions.
how strange to be so isolated from everyone.
for even these months are a situation of their own and different things, parts of me, relationships, will thrive in these conditions.
i definitely think an aspect of what i am looking for in letters is a mirror. is me. i look for people expressing themselves and perhaps hope to understand how i do, something i read grasping a part of me, shaking it saying “it’s now or never!” or maybe just “wake up sweetthing.” or maybe it is me grasping. wanting a steady surface upon which to reflect my life. what of this past year? i have much to show for it. i feel grounded in certain realms of self that i did not prior to leaving santa cruz. maybe this is the part of the story just after the big action but before the ending. the anxiety before the conclusion. where will the characters be left? the reader/observer? what feeling, what meaning will we walk away with?
one lesson is clear. we are strong. don’t let anyone, not even yourself, tell you otherwise.
this strength is amplified by our trust, our belief in it. but it is maintained and matured through practice, experience, struggle and play.
the hardest thing i can think of is my friends flittering their lives away. falling victim to boredom or overwhelm, aimlessness or apathy, or even the façade of full days and fun without deeper fulfillment. we all face these things, trust me i do, and our lives are not meant to be overly consistent. and maybe i am enacting a typical story of being removed from my life and feeling the “you only have what you have, make it count, your life is all around you! now! grab it, sing to it, dance with it! please.” would it make it any less true?
it is really cold in here tonight. i have my blanket wrapped around me. and the hot water in the shower is off. the air conditioning is on and the guards can’t or won’t turn it off. some things you fight for and some things you curse and try to move on, or at least learn to deal with. a lot in here i curse. i don’t want to do anything that will wind up bringing me extra attention or extra days, but i am also willing to say something if it’s important. one thing i tolerate is the guards rattling the cell doors (to make sure they’re locked—though they could do so without the noise) when they come by for count. it just feels disrespectful, and i curse them as they walk by.
well, loved ones. until our hot breath and this cold weather meet again, a quote. “Nothing will ‘return to normal’, this pain is something we must learn to hold. Movement with wounds.”
The past few mornings have been slower. I feel a pull to my bed after breakfast, instead of the malleable energy I’ve been getting used to. Maybe it’s the weekend, and the big breakfast that you feel pressured to eat because there aren’t lunches on the weekends. Maybe it is the change of temperature, it seems the vent is blowing warm-ish air now instead of the cool/cold of the first weeks. Or maybe it’s something else.
I don’t really want to sleep. I try to be up most of the day, though every now and then you’ll catch me napping. So here I am in my green chair at my little desk with a blanket across my shoulders.
I’m having a hard time with the sexism and degradation of women. I don’t know how to handle it. I’m trying to be patient, waiting until I have some relationship with folks before speaking up. And also trying to respect cultural differences, but some things are just fucked, and I don’t really want to respect unhealthy aspects of any culture. But it is so hard feeling so alone in here in that respect. I trust myself and know that I’m going to say something, it just feels hard. Sometimes I stay in my cell to not directly have to be around it, but then I just hear shit anyway and feel shitty. Argh.
So I’m trying out listening to the radio to drown it out, but that is just the lesser of two uglies.
Oct. 6-7th. a.m.
Dream of birthday? A and C giving presents: a sweater that was actually a skirt/dress (?) and a homemade picture frame with high schools pictures. And K giving me a skirt/dress so I was wearing a pale pinkish reddish dress with white and black polka dots and a dark purple rough skirt underneath. And it was at my mom’s school (old school?) and lots of kids and parents were there, and people lived there too. And next door some celebrities, like hip-hop artists, were having a huge party. Overall I felt honored and loved and shy. (oh, I was also give a CD/DVD player)
One Oct. 6th I received a slip saying 9 pamphlets and a books maybe called “Red Bird” were put into my property – they didn’t meet requirements. I was also told I can only have four books (and four magazines) in my cell, and subsequently have to turn over a majority of my books to my property. I may be able to exchange them in the future, but it wasn’t guaranteed.
Oct. 9th: I got up and out of bed early. Looked through the letters I need to respond to and waited for breakfast. The sunrise was a subtle one, no fireworks or fantasia. Just the steady coming of day. After breakfast and reading the pair of letters, I let myself go back to sleep (something I don’t usually do) and slept until 10:15. It feels good to have slept. I dreamt steadily but in funny fragments and don’t remember them. Last nights dream involved: a car trip with my high school bandmates B and S. We were separated and they were sitting on the side of a huge bridge and I ended up traversing the bridge line opposite them, back and past them to the other side’s embankment. Then we were along a river or stream, in a gulch. P was there with people I didn’t really know. Then there was a camp of sorts and L and J and J were there (as well as other friends). I was playing banjo at a house then, my family and K were there, I think there was a fire out back. I was fingerpicking “Freight Train” in a funny but nice way. C was there. Then we went to town, D was driving. We went to a mexican/middle-eastern restaurant that also had hookahs. People were out on the street sharing them with drivers. Someone asked “Where do we get STDs?” and they directed us to the last door on the right. It was in this unused room past the restaurant part and it was dirty and red. We saw it and giggled, how funny is that to have an answer to that question. We went to some tables near the window and I played banjo, specifically this wordless song I wrote for/about A. N was around at this point too and I felt a little self-conscious about playing in front of good musicians but I kept playing.
A Day in the Life of an Inmate at the Ramsey County Correctional facility
(started October 8th)
a light is on all night. yellow and staring, watching you sleep alone in your cell. i wake up, well i make the first steps towards waking up between 4 and 6 a.m. when the guards walk through checking on us and closing the heavy doors loudly. my dreams linger as i lay in bed half asleep until the 6:30 a.m. wake up call on the intercom, it is facility wide. it isn’t like the harsh turning on the lights and yelling of the santa clara county jail. it is enough to wake you but it is not violent. the rest of the lights come on a soon after the morning diabetics’ medication call. they call a dorm or two at a time on the intercom. consistent messages for other people intruding on your space. depending on how the night was, how i’m feeling, i’ll get dressed and look out my window for a bit. the sun is usually still rising. sometimes i’ll stay in bed and think of all my sleeping friends, sending the warm dream thoughts. between 7 and 7:30 they’ll announce “B-Pod come get your trays”, or “B-Pod breakfast” and i’ll go down wearing the required blue jumpsuit and shoes (not sandals). we walk in a line around the officer’s desk taking or being handed trays (usually light brown plastic) with food. the trays have six compartments. There is also a table with milk and fruit, empty cups and a coffee dispenser. i’ll take the fruit and coffee – i don’t drink coffee but i get it for others. this is also when they usually give us the mail, although sometimes it isn’t till we return our trays. i get mail most days and it is definitely something i look forward to. it is really nice to have some connection to my friends in the morning, and it is exciting to see who it is that has written.
breakfast is never that exciting. i get peanut butter and jelly, maybe some extra fruit or dates, gluten free bread and a soymilk box. i sit wit the same three folks every meal, S, B, and this nice older an in a wheelchair (i still don’t know his name!?) we share our food, giving away what we don’t want, and make sure everyone gets something/enough to eat. after twenty minutes or so they have us return our trays. i’m usually a bit slow at breakfast but we chat about this and that. after dumping the trays i usually come up to my cell to look at and read the letters. the guards give the pod a newspaper (on weekdays) and while most folks go back to bed for a while, some stay up, read the paper and hangout. a cleaning crew comes in around 9 and we “lock in” again during that.
sometimes i’ll just read through all the letters in those first two hours, hungry for words, thoughts and feelings, stories from the outside. less often i’ll read them slowly and separately. sometimes, well most often i’ll write at least on letter in the morning. i also tend to write for myself then as well. it can be really nice, i sit in my green plastic chair in the morning sun and read my friends’ lives. every now and then i’ll read them and then take a nap. after the doors are opened when cleaning’s done there isn’t much that happens until 11 a.m. count. i tend to stay in my cell until then. again mostly writing and reading. sometime before i go to bed i think of who i’m going to write the next day, and i try and coordinate by regions to save envelopes, although i have plenty. i try to minimize my expenditures, stamped envelopes are 55 cents and the stamp on it is 44 cents, so they’re making 10 cents each which isn’t much, i just don’t like to think of helping people make money off this shithole. oh, sometime after breakfast is the morning custody med call. med calls happen then, at 12:30 (i think), 4:30ish and again in the evening. so many people are on medication. it’s crazy but expected in the context of this culture.
writing and reading letters generally takes up 1/3 to ½ of my day and as such is pretty important to me. it helps to feel like my friendships are actively continuing and to be learning and processing the past, preparing for, and mildly planning the future. sometimes i feel a little sad after the letters, wanting more; but it is more a product of the separation than the content of the letters (although they can be less substantive than my hopes). i try to also critique myself and my offerings, my side of these conversations and subsequently am learning about myself and growing around this type of communication.
lunch is similar to breakfast except i often get a veggie burger and some kind of veggies (like hella over steamed broccoli) and iceberg lettuce salad. it is usually served within a half hour of them letting us out after 11 a.m. count. this is also the time they let the “SHU” inmates out. SHU is Special Housing Unit, and they are housed here in B Pod for disciplinary reasons. they only get 2 to 4 hours out of their cells everyday. one fella got off today and was moved, so now we only have 2 SHU guys. one of the SHU guys i have trouble being around. he’s always been nice to me and i’ve treated him with respect, but the way he talks and the content of most of his conversations is really hard for me to handle. it is just an exaggerated version of most other people, as almost everyone in here has made some disparaging, degrading or objectifying thing about women or a woman. this guy is just louder and more authoritative. i’ve taken to using my headphones for the two hours he’s out and it feels a little shitty to just pretend it’s not happening, sometimes really shitty, but it’s how i get by and it has been nice to listen to music again (i tend to listen to 89.3, 93.7, 94.4 and 97.1~as well as other random things – i don’t tolerate commercials). i think about the sexism and gender violence a lot, but am at a loss as to know what to do. it is hard. i feel really isolated in here and really judgmental of myself. what if these folks were talking to one of my friends? or N when she grows up? what would sali do? how do i do justice to her?
between 2 pm and 7 pm, excluding 4 pm count and dinner, i am usually doing one of three things: reading and writing, stretching and working out; and/or playing cards with folks. i’m keeping my body alive, trying to use it everyday in multiple ways. it passes time and helps me feel good. i play cribbage and spades mostly, and dominoes every once in a while. the dominoes and cribbage board are made out of shower sandals (flip-flops) and are pretty creatively made. games are fun, sometimes less so, but they pass the time. i tend to play whenever someone asks for just that reason, i figure i can finish writing or continue reading whenever. and it is good for me to hangout wit folks here, to get into this physical reality can help pass the time and make it easier, it’s really just the balance between in and out that helps, being able to travel. i mostly play with B, and N, sometimes G and others. we chat and shoot the shit, shit-talk when playing, it’s pretty innocent and i refuse to participate if they talk about women. generally it isn’t the topic of our conversation, that is to say it just slides in, in the guise of phrases and comments. overall i haven’t really talked too much with anyone, maybe S and B, and i think N thinks i’m cool, or weird. i’m pretty different than everyone, but then aren’t we all from each other? i try to find similarities without forgetting the differences.
dinner is usually sometime around 5:30 pm and is always the same (plus or minus the mistakes of the kitchen). it comes in a brown bad. i get four slices of gluten-free bread, two PBs, two jellies, a bag of carrots, a piece of fruit and a “Nutrical” and a pack of four cookies. the PB comes in a two forms: a plastic tube thing or a small plastic round saucer thing. the jelly is always a grape jelly rectangle, the kind you’d find at a hotel or something. the carrots are all expired. the fruit is an apple, pear or orange. the apples are small, slightly underripe red delicious, while the pears and oranges are usually pretty good. i can’t eat four slices of gluten-free bread so i just use two. often times i’ll end up with two to six packs of carrots. i felt better about eating them before i realized they’re all expired. there’s just something about being forced to eat old food in here that doesn’t feel good to me. after dinner the SHU guys get another time out of their cell and folks play games and/or watch TV. some make phone calls. i pretty much do the same thing as i do throughout the day. movies come on anytime from 6:30 to 8 pm and i’ll check to see what the are. i watch one or two a week if they’re good or i just want to knock off a few more hours. i look forward to 9 pm (well 9:30ish) because that is when i usually call K. it’s really good to have someone to talk to everyday, even for 15 minutes. sometimes we’ll talk/i’ll call a couple times in a row if there are good things to talk about. and then at 10 pm we have to lock-in for the night. the lights, many of them at least, go out at 10:30 and i try to go to sleep. i try hard not to sleep during the days. often i’ll get in bed and close my eyes before lights out so when the majority go out the leftover yellow one feels less bright (it lasts for a bit, until my eyes acclimate or i open them and then it’s just a light on). i’ll read a little at night. maybe a Mary Oliver poem. and i like to lay and think of my friends, my mom and my brother, N, to think of them out there. maybe we’ll meet in our dreams?! and i tend to have ideas right before i go to bed, when the bigness and ugliness of this building feels smaller, when i’m high on my horse from talking to K. and i get excited about mail in the morning. and eventually i fall asleep (sometimes i roll/fold/bunch up one of my two blankets and cuddle it).
some things i left out are recreation (everyday but Thursday and Friday), alternating volleyball and basketball. i go every now and then. i’ve played volleyball twice which was pretty fun, and other times i just walk. it’s the only time i get to hangout with folks from C-Pod (we have rec together), and it’s nice to physically play games with them. rec is in a big gym-ish room (basketball court sized) that is one floor down (but two stories tall), and only a few people from custody go. two guards sit and watch us and it kind of sucks for that reason. 23 laps around it is about a mile. i go arbitrarily. sometimes i don’t go if i’m writing a letter or playing cards. the movies are what different guards put on, whatever they bring in. there are only two tray meals on the weekends (though once S and i got bag dinners!)
folks visit once a week for 20 minutes. it’s really nice just to look at my friends. even on the stupid screen. i can’t fucking believe they don’t let you be in the same room, it’s inhume, cruel and unusual punishment. it also helps breakup the week and if i look at my time through visits, i only have seven and maybe that last Sunday to go! the visits are often awkward, what to say? up to three people can come at a time, but only one can use the phone at a time so there is trading off and timing and sometimes saying the same thing two or three times. it is interesting being on the inside after having visited D and D. i know how sometimes i kind of felt bad afterwards. now it is hard to just see your friend, your loved one, for 20 minutes, in such an awful place, only to leave like it was the fucking movies.
library is on Tuesdays, but you only get 5 minutes to be there and choose books. i already have all the books i can read, at least for a while, so i don’t know if i’ll be going. maybe just to do something. they don’t have that great of a selection. a lot of crime, or ‘true crime’, and mystery, as well as science fiction. it is a small room, not much bigger than a big bedroom or a good living room.
every other day is jumpsuit exchange, and white laundry (socks, boxers, shirts and towels) is Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday evenings. Once a week we get to change our blue shorts and our sheets and every other week our blankets. we put in canteen orders on Monday by noon and get the order Saturday. i don’t order much because it is all fucking junk food and personal hygiene stuff. i have enough soap and toothpaste and i don’t want to eat crack food. i usually get a few bags of pretzels and a handful of peanut bags (they’re small, like airline peanuts). i got some sugar-free lemonade mix and this time i ordered some hot chocolate mix. i am not eating sugar besides fruit, dates and the jelly, but i thought some hot chocolate might be nice to have around. i am trying hard not to eat when bored or lonely or sad and especially not sugar. so far so good. i think i’m the better for it. i get envelopes and bought a bunch of batteries for the radio, so i am pretty set as far as canteen goes.
all the doors are electronically opened (well most), and they make this vverrhrrh sounds that is sort of nice (because the door is opening) but also redundant. the Correctional Officers (CO’s) mostly talk to us through the intercom. they are behind a large wall of mostly one-way see through glass. we can see their silhouettes. we have to ask them to change the channel of our TV (some previous issues with the remote i suspect) and folks ask them for a bunch of different things, or just questions. they have band aids and tylenol and that type of shit. there is also a hair buzzer thing we recently got to use (i almost got a mohawk). i typically don’t say much to the CO’s and try to treat them with indifference. some people are nice to them, some fuck with them in funny ways. some inmates go to them to have them deal with issues or problems they have with other inmates and that sucks. most COs are whatever. not too mean, not exactly nice. some definitely play good cop, hey buddy blah blah blah. they definitely watch us. they have also searched my room twice (without doing others even once) and come in to check specific things sometimes as well. i don’t know if i’m being targeted or if it is unlucky random shit. you’re not allowed to have food from your meals, only canteen items, in your cell. and one CO is always talking about fire hazards, not too much paper, and that was the reason they gave me for only having four books.
i hope this helps y’all understand my day to day life. please ask any questions you may have.
yours,
jesse james
p.s. i think i said it before, but B-Pod is the medically restricted pod. one guy has an artificial knee, another a pacemaker. only two of us have funny diets. i guess maybe some others are here for interpersonal reasons, needing space or whatever.
October 13th
I just saw a performance of Shakespeare’s Othello by “Ten Thousand Things Theater Company.” It was really intense. For some reason I feel like crying. I don’t really know why. Maybe just because it was such an emotional space, the play at least. But it is more that that. It is these people coming in performing and being able to leave. They are the first non-guard or probation people I have seen or been in the same room with since sentencing. It’s fucked. I want to leave. I want to go home. To play and perform and talk with my friends. I’m crying quietly in my cell. My ear ringing. my tears falling on my arm. It was so crazy to watch the actors perform scenes of jealousy, of violence, mistrust and slander of women in this jail. So hard to hear people laugh or giggle, or see them smile. So hard to be there without you. The play was beautiful, it made me feel. I grew more and more uncomfortable as Iago’s plot grew, and deepened. The insecurity, the lack of compassion or honesty, the hate making me sick in the context of this place. For it is impossible to ignore, it does exist and the world really is that sad and hurt. Desdemona’s innocent pleas and questions, like so many defendants’, falling on ears deaf from power, manipulation, anger. This place is one part, one scene in a long ugly and evil play that there is no simple break from, or foreseeable end to. Maybe it is just having someone, or people in this situation, bring their whole-selves and express themselves in this place so devoid of emotion, maybe that is what has stirred me so. I am this way, I jumped when Othello yelled, I cringed when he struck Desdemona, I am one who wishes to, and attempts to be open. And though a part of me hurts, I am thankful for it.
I wonder what it was like for the actors, as they stood in the middle of four sides of convicts. Surrounded. I wonder what they saw in our faces. I wonder what they brought in and left with. Assumptions. Experiences. I wonder what the other inmates said to them. Most exclaimed their appreciation as they left. I lingered, not quite wanting to leave but not knowing what to say, knowing that count-time was rapidly approaching. I thought of how I feel after playing shows, my desire to not just be “the band”, to have interactions. maybe that’s part of why I’m writing. To express some thoughts and feelings stemming from what these folks just did.
I wonder how it was different for the men and the women actors. How they felt judged. Objectified? How the female-bodied folks felt when members of the audience laughed or exclaimed in the same way during scenes of relationship stress/violence. Do they talk to each other afterward?
I feel a little more collected. A friend just asked if I want to play cards and I said “not right now.” It isn’t every day that the monotony of this routine is broken so. I’m not quite ready to go back to it. I am thankful for everyone who put time and energy into making that play happen. I am very glad I went. It only reaffirms a desire that has been more of a seed of an idea I have had for the last week. And that is when I move home and re-establish myself, to work on some sort of program for inmates, potentially an anti-sexism workshop, but maybe something artistic as well.
well. here i am. with love, from within this cell,
jesse james
To The Ill-Advised and Digitally Distant of A Matter of Consequence (And Little People Dressed Up In Words)
Having spent the past 13 months respectfully adhering to court orders and patiently navigating Ramsey County’s criminal justice system, I find myself, now serving a 120 day sentence, ready to speak out.
I have politely endure this past year of court dates and conditional release, simply requesting my right to a jury trial and enacting my right to remain silent. Now having come out the other side, nearly free of the Ramsey County Courthouse, I must call into question this idea of justice so readily proclaimed by county prosecutor Richard Dusterhoff, handed out by Judge Paulette Flynn and hidden behind by citizens across the board.
In the name of Justice Dick Dusterhoff argued for this four month incarceration, mainly citing my singular prior conviction and the horrific efforts of the RNC Welcoming Committee. In the name of Justice, Flynn ignored the probation department’s recommendation of a 60 day sentence, as well as the dozens of letters received from all over the country asking for leniency and offering alternatives to jail, and granted the prosecution’s request.
I have not hidden my previous conviction and under oath testified to the degree it has changed my life. It is something I have accepted responsibility for and learned from, and yet Dusterhoff spoke of it as if it happened yesterday, not three years ago, and completely disregarded all testimony during trial. His repeated efforts to link my case to the Welcoming Committee were clearly ungrounded and an obvious attempt to aid the state’s case against the RNC 8. It is worth stating here, as it was in trial, I had and have no connection to the RNC Welcoming Committee.
In front of the judge I attested to the hardships of the past year’s proceedings. I described how being on conditional release here in Minnesota, when I am from California, brought intense isolation and difficulty into my life. I suffered a harsh winter of distance, separation and contemplation, struggling to meet basic needs living away from home. It is my belief that we all grow through hardship, and that how we grow defines who we are as people. I have felt how hard it is to be away from my friends, family, and home, from my four year old friends Autumn whom I have helped raise since she was six months old. All I want is to be able to return to my life and retake my place in hers.
In the past year I struggle to figure out how to live in this exile. At sentencing, Dusterhoff remarked that I was not forced away from home by anything but my actions. I understand and accept my choice to fight my charges and that that instigated the elongated trial process, but I refuse to accept that I am responsible for being forced to live here. I was not given the option of living at home and returning for court dates and Dusterhoff would have everyone ignore this fact.
Despite this I turned this difficult situation into an opportunity, and ended up volunteering the majority of my time. I helped other arrestees through the Community RNC Arrestee Support Structure. I gave my time distributing organic produce to Minneapolis neighborhoods with Sister’s Camelot, teaching classes with the Experimental College of the Twin Cities, and volunteered weekly at Second Foundation School. I chose not to wait to be a positive member of a community, to live how I want to live, until I was back in Santa Cruz, but sought out beneficial activities here in the Twin Cities. Judge Flynn received letters attesting to this and the hardship my absence back home has created, and heard testimony of this from me and others during trial. There could be no doubt that incarcerating me would negatively impact many lives here and in California.
I must ask, how is Justice served by my incarceration? The crime I have been found guilty of is breaking an expensive window. Would it not make sense to allow me to return home to the job I have waiting for me so I can begin to pay restitution? Why make the Ramsey County taxpayers pay to keep me here when many people want and need me in California? If I had not just spent the past year in isolation I could understand an argument for jail time, or if I was convicted of a personal, non-property related crime and was deemed a public threat. I simply fail to see who benefits from this situation. Is Justice not what is best for the greatest amount of people? No one wrote Judge Flynn asking for me to be put away. Dusterhoff’s eager attempts to connect me to the RNC Welcoming Committee only serves to highlight political motivations behind my prosecution. It seems that in today’s political climate, breaking windows is one step away from terrorism. Is justice served when politics outweighs the clear sentiment of hundreds of people?
Incarceration is but one option judges have to choose from, and has been found in Federal Court to not in and of itself constitute proper punishment. Judge Flynn is know for her bias, called by many a “hanging” judge. She has proven to consistently dole out harsh and elongated sentences and stiff bail; in my case early on she voiced her opinion of me calling me “the window breaker” before any evidence had even been argued.
Dick Dusterhoff’s overzealous prosecution is not unusual, as one takes their job so seriously often forgets the reason their job exists in the first place, who they are working for. Is Dusterhoff acting on behalf of the citizens of Ramsey County? Or Susan Gaertner’s political career? Or is he simply a hard working man who has lost his compassion and concern for life outside the courtroom?
I will serve my time, apply for appeal, and I will continue to live in ways which have been proven to be meaningful to me and many others. I wonder if Flynn were to be facing some difficult situation across the country in which her character was called into question, would she have an overflowing room of people to stand with her? I will miss the friends I have made in the Twin Cities and will never forget this chapter of my life.
Here in the Ramsey County Correctional Facility I am surrounded by people whose lives have be redefined by punishment. Potentially healthy and vibrant people being caged, fed depressing food, treated arbitrarily and with disrespect, left to wait as their life’s momentum runs out and they lose much of what they had. This system of incarceration is about avoidance if anything: keeping problems separated without solutions. Without criminals populating these jails, there would be no need for the jails and then there would be nothing to hold over the heads of people, confining them to them to the comfortable ruts our society produces. A majority of people are in here for probation violations, and all of us are simultaneously costing tax payers’ money and justifying the state expenditures on law enforcement rather than housing or education. This system of courts and jails is just stupid and wasting our lives.
I ask for nothing. I am making no demands. These are simply thoughts that felt pertinent to share. I had no faith in this judicial system before this charge, and I have only been given more justification this past 13 months. If we say nothing our silence will be taken as complicity. But I do not wish to only have a voice, but a life. This is how I live: acknowledging that which should not be and creating a way of life that is healthy for me an others and wholly incongruent with this suffering.
Dear friends,
i am sitting, standing, laying in a security unit cell. i have been here for hours, since arriving at the workhouse and having a temperature of 99.7 degrees. clearly concerned more for their health than mine they made me wear a mask and have left me in this cell without soap or a blanket (i can’t was my hands after poopin and its just a bit chilly). and i haven’t even gotten into the vegan business. all in all i am okay though. the worst thing for me right now is think about what i said to flynn. i feel inclined to apologize to all of you. for at least i, upon reflection, feel shitty about it. i feel like i tricked myself and tried to actually appeal to the judge…i should have been speaking to you all not judge flynn. now i just sit and try not to think about it. maybe it is worse because it is like making yourself vulnerable in front of your enemy, but i also believe that vulnerability is a strength. i just wish i had spoken in a way that let you all leave knowing i’d be okay and that whatever dusterscoff or flynn said i’m still me. i love you all and appreciate your support so much. already i have heard numerous stories of people being screwed by the state, my bunkee last night describe these shitty jail condition as a tactic, specifically at the LEC to make people plea. i have yet to make a canteen order so i only have the papers they’ve given me. i go between laying down half-sleeping, doing pushups, situps and stretching and writing. i look forward to letters and books. i am a bit nervous about how long it has taken them to book me because i really want my friends to be able to visit before going back to california. arggh. i miss everything. my breakfast was a handful of cheerios and some apple-cinnamon cake thing. eating so poorly is going to be hard. if anything they should have fruit on canteen, or at least some healthy snacks. it’s all shit. this place. shift. ——>tonight (sat. 19th) i got my first vegan meal, it was an iceberg salad with bits of carrot and cabbage and some baby tomatoes and sliced cucumber with italian dressing, two pickles and a box of soy dream soymilk. a part of me jumped at the sight of salad (though i generally do not consider iceberg lettuce a green). yesterday when taking my 98.3 degree temp the nurse filled out a special diet form. so far so good on that front.
thank you all so much. i can’t say it enough. i feel so supported and lucky. i hope to be as much of an inspiration and support as you all have been for me. “they may well put [us] in prison, but they won’t ever touch [our] hearts”
Sunday, September 20th. i had a hard time falling asleep last night. and then i dreamed my half-brother somehow found/created this being that started off as a fly but when killed would multiply. it would bite me and it was said if you were bitten 5 times you’d die. so i started running, i think c/n were with me. we tried hiding in a house but they got in. so we just kept moving, the creatures following. somehow we ended up at some snowy mountain ski place where folks were getting ready for a competition. we weren’t supposed to be there but thought the creatures, which now were strange dog-rodent things (and there were only a couple compared to hundreds) wouldn’t like the cold. there was a hill folks were going down which led to a ramp and a pool (that wasn’t cold) we ended up in the pool hiding and the creatures were down in there with us. then a bunch of folks dove down past us and the creatures got confused. it was around this point that i was awoken by a guard and given the package with all the post-court notes and the couple zines. it was early, but i felt good. the beginning of correspondence! friends! after another twenty minutes breakfast came and i got vegan food again. grits, two pears, two donut things, two peanut butta and jelly sandwiches and a little soymilk. today’s okay so far. hopefully i’ll be let out of my cell. yesterday i wasn’t let out. no phone. no shower. i think i should be moved soon. i haven’t had a fever or anything. i turned in a canteen order for paper and envelopes, once they get here i’ll be writing up a storm.
it was really good to hear people’s thoughts about the sentencing. i’m still trying to get it out of my head. sometimes i close my eyes and there i am standing in for of judge flynn making better arguments, standing up for myself. D’s advice to K was good: the best things to write are stories (and/or your thoughts and feelings) and good questions that will take time to answer. if anyone wants a quick free call send me a # and we’ll get to talk for a minute. [literally!-ed.] just don’t sign up with IC solutions. what a rip-off! it’s weird when talking to the nurses they ask if i’m tired or lost my appetite, if i feel okay, and i’m like uh, i’m in jail. i sleep or rest most of the day because there’s nothing to do, the food sucks and makes me feel gross. obviously i just need to leave here.
Monday September 21st. this morning after breakfast i was transferred. it was strange to be walking the halls and amongst other inmates after having been in solitary for three days. my nervousness mixed with curiosity and an appreciation of change. first upstairs to a large dorm then quickly back downstairs to custody. i assume this is where i’ll be for the next two months. i have learned that where i was, security, is the hole and that where i am now is being used as a new “hole”. most of the folks here have been punished for different things. two guys were put in here for allegedly helping the recent escape. if you haven’t heard about it look it up…the two guys i just mentioned are cousins, S and T, and they have a three person cribbage board made on a slipper with hair comb prongs for markers. everyone here in A block has been pretty nice so far. folks joke around and talk shit but also help each other out. S used to work kitchen and would hook up this guy L when he was in the hole. S is irish/white and L is black. so far race is present, folks are clearly aware of racial dynamics, but amongst the inmates i haven’t seen it be bad yet. definitely female-bodied folks are a topic that come up a lot and i don’t engage in those conversations. being anti-misogynistic, feminist, anti-patriarchal will be a challenge, something to work on, i sure have time for it. there is a TV but you have to have headphones to listen to it, so it is relatively quiet; something i cherish. my new cell has a chair and a table and a little shelf and i feel comfortable writing. shit, if i’ve already spent three days in the hole, i can handle this…i hope to meet some of D’s friends. D shared a lot of his experience with me and i think it’s helped a little. this is a lot less racially violent that the jail in Santa Clara, CA and that in and of itself makes it easier for me. there they had racial groups, gangs if you wish, with reps and everything. white guys would come up and ask if i was a “wood” and it was a little awkward when i said ‘no’ or ‘i don’t know what you’re talking about.’ the CO’s (correctional officers)…so far haven’t given me any shit. some have even tried to do things for me. (how nice of you to give me something to read while i’m in solitary). my new cell doesn’t have a real window. it’s the sort of slender opaque kind they have at the LEC, that you can’t see out of but lets light in.
i just realized that i may be the last RNC arrestee to do time here. that’s a nice thought. i hope you all support elliot as he progresses in his case. he has clearly asked for help and deserves it. maybe someone can help him by making a flyer for him, with him, detailing his story and his charges. i think he could also do more mainstream media, if there was enough pressure i think his case might get dropped. at least make sure he feels supported and doesn’t make any ill-informed decisions.
it’s hard i still have thoughts like “maybe they’ll just let me go.” i haven’t settled into any routine yet, it now (it’s evening) seems probable i’ll be moved again. i’m a level 1 (the lightest security) and i’m not supposed to be around these level 3 guys. T and S already moved. so far there’s just no stability or consistency. i sure miss everyone, and good fruit, smoothies, tea, the wind, people that love the smell of people. one thing i do to pass bits of time is whistle with my pen cap. it really only makes one not but it’s something, and feels playful.
i read ‘at daggers drawn’ for something like the third time and highlighted parts that i plan on writing about once i get paper. i started reading this book “North Star Country” by Meredith LeSueur about the northern Midwest from settlement to the 1940’s but the way she writes about America, especially in light of the indigenous peoples of this continent, is hard to get through. i suppose it is period accurate though. and maybe that is just as hard to digest as folks still thinking those ways, or at least celebrating that disgusting history. a quote from the early 1800’s by Harriet Martineau: “There is the strongest hope of a nation that is capable of being possessed of an idea.” how well put, and executed. this country founded on an idea that in and of itself is racist, colonialist, capitalist and perhaps worst of all self ignorant. it also speaks to the difference between living by ideals or by practice. one can justify any horrific practice with an admirable ideal, but if one lives with healthy admirable practices, only outsiders can call them tainted ideals.
i am going to try and spend as little money as possible so as to not support the extortion of the canteen system, to keep our money out of the courts, and to be humble and make do with what many others must.
it’s funny how fast things change. i just got moved again, third time today. i’m back in a big dorm, this time with only sixteen people. i don’t have space of my own and don’t know if i’ll find room (feel comfortable) doing pushups, situps and squats like i have been. there’s one long table that i guess i’ll have to carve out some room on. i have the top bunk too. overall i was a lot happier, as far as physical layout, in the custody pod. i think, well i know it’ll be fine wherever i am, and just need to settle in, but i am going to try and get transferred back to a cell.
Tuesday September 22nd. okay. maybe i’ve moved for the last time. i’m back in ‘custody’ but not the high level security pod. i have a windowed cell of my own and overall the dorm is pretty quiet. and i just had my first visit! sure it was awkward, but it helps me to have been on the other side of things. visits will always be weird. just seeing you makes my day/week better. and afterward folks found my window! it’s so nice now to look out and envision my friends standing out there. six days down, however many more to go. fuck em. i love you. –jesse.
okay. i figure we can play games. here are some ink-pinks i came up with. you could even put them on the website and folks could post answers and riddles for me.
squeeze-toupee. fat-mark. actpart-booklet. turkey-cloth. law-ass. note-scare. ghoul-mail. lady-scam. makeout-platform. hair-fall. rigid-incline. improved-vowel. dude-movie. bandanna-sex. bounce-write.
Sunday, September 22nd. some nice man here in cell block B just gave me a real toothbrush, a cup, the envelope this is sent in and a bunch of computer paper, so now i can really write! i’m still getting to know people’s names…let alone who they are. but if i finally get to stay put i’m sure we’ll get to know each other. a man named J who was my bunkee last night seemed real sweet and is trying to pass the GED. i was going to offer to tutor him, but i was transferred. an interesting thing about J, a tall black man, was that he admitted to robbing a man before the fact wasn’t what struck me but more the way he said it, almost detached and curious. like he is/was still trying to understand what it means. i was planning on asking him what it was like, but here i am. i doubt if i will see him, let alone talk with him again. —criminals— what the hell does that even mean? that folks got caught. that’s what everyone has done something they could go to jail for. it’s just so stupid. there we go again, living stupidly under the guise of ideals. everything is just too big. life, well our human lives are so out of scale. we need to find a way of living where we are, with who are around, that is locally healthy but continentally, perhaps even globally conscious. although i think the global spectrum is just beyond our instinctive selves. i believe that somewhere in us we are connected and aware of life across the planet, but that part is an ancient subconscious part, and our waking selves, our egos evolved to participate in a localized community (including non-human life).
i wonder if jasper thinks about santa cruz while in minneapolis, and if so, how. i guess i wonder what thinks at anytime, or most days, he always seems to be thinking about something. i know he seems sad, he is, but just give him love and he’ll be okay. he’s strong.
thank you!
jesse james
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March 23, 2009
What does it take to justify taking someone away from their friends and family? justice? We have been told that our country is based on “freedom and justice for all” our whole lives. And yet where are we? Our lives are so constricted that we have to forsake compassion for survival. In a time when people are being forced to occupy buildings illegally because homes are owned by banks, not the families within them, when youth and people of color are still being targeted and killed by the police, when thousands of workers are being stolen from their families, locked away for indiscriminate amounts of time without proper medical attention or basic rights because they are “illegal”, when community organizers are being charged with terrorism while someone who drives into a Planned Parenthood with intent to disrupt, damage and injure is only charged with aggravated assault, it is clear that our culture’s approach to “justice” is simply unhealthy.
We are told we are “innocent until proven guilty” but are kept in jails, or released on strict conditions until the State makes its case against us. I cannot help but feel sorrow when I talk about all of this. I want to believe: in fairness, in freedom, in people, both strangers and friends alike. I want to believe in us, our ability to create a beautiful life. but there are things that I cannot ignore.
I have been in the Twin Cities for six months now. Six months. I had planned on being here for one week, but following my arrest in September I have been forced to stay here until my case is closed. I have been found guilty of no crime, yet I have been away from my home for so long, away from my three year old friend Autumn whom I have helped raise. How do I compensate for missing these months of her life? I can not get them back, and I can only try to explain to her that I would be with her if I could.
I was conditionally released from the Ramsey County Law Enforcement Center after five days in jail on $2,500 bail. The prosecution asked for $10,000 and the judge offered $7,500 or $2,500 with conditions. A bond was not available because I do not live in Minnesota, nor do I have any immediate family in the area, and my financial means are very modest. Some friends gathered their money together and I accepted their conditions: I was to check-in weekly with “Project Remand”, and could not leave the metropolitan area without permission. I have been given a place to stay with friends here, as well as the warm clothes needed to survive this, my first, freezing winter, and all things considered have been getting by. But not a day, not a single day in the last six months have I not thought about the West Coast, my friends and my family. The struggle inside of me to accept that I can not be with them, the distance and sadness has made this one of the hardest times of my life. And I have done nothing wrong. I am not even accused of hurting anyone, yet my life has been irrevocably altered.
Throughout this I have thought about those whose lives are wrapped up in this Criminal “Justice” System and my heart skips. It goes out to the families whose parents never come home at night, or whose unarmed son is shot to death in public by the police, it goes out to the woman who begged the judge to release the temporary restraining order on her husband so he could come home and help her take care of their two kids only to be turned down because the case was still pending. My heart has broken in these past six months. But I choose to let it be broken open so that I can feel what is happening in this world.
I can not change most of what I see and hear. I can not make “correctional facilities” humane or healthy. I can not stop immigration or deportation. I can not stop people being labeled as terrorists because they opened a community center. But I can treat people with respect and communicate honestly.
I would be with you right now if I were from a wealthier family. I would have paid bail in full, hired a private attorney from the start and gotten on with my case and my life. But instead I am here in Minnesota, waiting. I am on “trial call”, a system in which I am put on a list and wait until it is my turn to go to trial. When my time comes I get a call from my lawyer and have two hours to show up in court. Some folks have been on call for over a year. It is just not okay to put someone through that. The pressure of waiting for trial is really intense, there is a lot of anxiety. I can not hold down a steady job because I may have to leave at any time. So I volunteer my time, and work when I can get it and I support others going through this with me.
I have recently hired a private attorney without the immediate means to pay her. She seems really great and treats me with care and compassion. She already has pro-bono cases and will accept whatever payments I can make. Together I have faith that we can win in trial. I am not supposed to discuss the specifics of my case but I will say that I am not in as bad of a shape as some. One RNC arrestee has been given additional charges as he fights his case, four felonies to be exact, and was recently threatened with more if he didn’t take the plea agreement offered to him. The judge in my case is Paulette Flynn, notorious for her high bail amounts and long jail sentences. She recently sentenced my friend to sixty days for a crime that a different judge gave another RNC arrestee only probation and a fine.
I know that you too can not individually change any of this. And that you too probably have dreams and wishes and pains that you would like to affect. It is my hope that we can share this with each other, in a way that is enabling and inspiring. I suppose that is what this is about: sharing our lives in an inspiring way. Support.
You can help me by contributing towards my legal costs, which has the dual effect of easing some of my mental and emotional weight through the lightening of my financial load, and contributing to the healthy relationship between me and my lawyer. Simply by reading or listening to this you are engaging in support through communication. Please talk about what what I have said has brought up for you and share it with those around. There are things we can not ignore, and there is so much we have to gain.
Though I have been isolated and intimidated, I am not giving up. I maintain my innocence and will fight for it, just as I hope you would. Though I am being punished without being convicted of a crime, I am not punishing myself and am working to ease the troubles of others I meet. Though the State would have me be an outlaw and outcast, I meet people face to face and treat them as I would my brother. Who we are is defined by how we act and react to the world, just as the world is defined by how we act. I chose one of health and compassion.
Thank you.
Sincerely yours,
Jesse James Forrey
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that’s really beautiful, jesse!
Jesse, I don’t know you but I’d like to thank you for writing this.
I appreciate your words and wish you the best as you and your loved ones endure this. I am going through a similar struggle as one of the so called “AETA4.” Despite the weakness of the government’s case against me, I was remanded in a half-way house for nearly a month. For over five weeks since my release from the halfway house, I have been on 24/7 electronic monitoring, unable to even step outside my house. Despite no history of violence, the U.S. attorney argues that I am a “danger to the community.” Despite having little money and no history of international travel, she argues and the judge accepts that I am a “flight risk.”
The support from so many has really helped me prepare for the long struggle ahead as I await trial (could and probably will be 12-18 months!)
Stay strong,
Joseph
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