~ A Tale From Jail ~ Several years ago I was arrested for a type of civil disobedience on my part. Ever since then, I have wanted to write out my experience and over the last few weeks have encapsulated my venture. The incarceration was handled by the Clayton, NM, jail, a small city with a population of 2000. This jail had bunks for 12 males, but usually held 16-20 with the extras sleeping with mats on the floor. There were a couple cells for women, with a hallway separating male/female cells. Most of the men seemed pretty amicable, some very friendly, others keeping to themselves. One gent, who I’ll call “Chief”, was the ringleader of the bunch, and was by far the most vocal. Chief was about 5ft-10, fairly stocky, and spoke with a slight hispanic accent. He was jailed for some kind of probation violation, and at age 45, had spent some time in prison on a couple different occasions. Chief was perpetually at war with the guards in some manner. Not getting his pain medication soon enough was one reason, not liking the way he was treated by the guards was always high on the list. One particular day he was throwing a tantrum and launched some food at a guard’s hand as she pushed it through the opening to the room. This could have been a crime levied against him if the guard had been interested in filing charges. Since my cell was closest to the entrance, Id observed the altercation. When Chief turned around and noticed that I had seen this event, he threatened me, if I were to say anything, had it later become an issue. “Wannabee” was one of the other outspoken fellows in the unit. I call him Wannabee, as most of his language and mannerisms suggested he wanted to be known as a gang member. He’d likely been in a gang, (though I can hardly imagine a gang in a town of 2000 people). Either way, his behavior presented him as more of a cartoon character in my eyes, which was quite amusing to me. This because, coming from my perspective as one who primarily interacts with the folk in my fairly conservative community, or working with the general public as a carpenter/contractor, his “character” was like something from a different planet. ~ The Smokefest ~ The first few days went pretty well, as Id kept to myself. After this initial bit of quietness though, an event came about which put me in serious disrepute with my cellmates. While it was illegal to be taking place, every few hours a guard would come around and hand out cigarettes to everyone, and the place would be thick with smoke, and I, the only non smoker, would retreat to the back of the jail in order to avoid the thick miasma. At some point I had jokingly told a friend (over the phone), that I might soon die of smoke inhalation. Not long afterwards, the jail had been notified of this circumstance. The next time the guard brought out the cigs, he’d mentioned to the inmates about my aversion to the toxin, suggesting they not smoke around me (like that was going to help a lot). Once the men had found this out, they became incensed about the possibility of losing their illegal habit, and their ire was easy to witness. ~ The Girl ~ The next event came along after a week’s time in the barred asylum. During the daytime, one of the men was outside on garbage detail, and discussed plans for an activity with a female inmate, who was also on garbage detail. The rumors went around through the day, that at 10 pm the girl would play her part in an event. Lo and behold, as the time came around, a half dozen men left their cells (which they were not supposed to do after nine) and headed to the front of the jail, in what is a type of foyer or open area that might have been 12 ft x 12 ft. This would put them at the closest point they could be to the female, who, being across the hall, was probably 15 feet away from them. Unfortunately for me, this also put them right next to my cell and bunk. As if on que, the man who’d made arrangements with the girl began coaxing her along to give the others a thrill (she was not visible to anyone). I won’t go into any detail, other than to say the plan was for her to masturbate, or at the least, pretend the act. Before long, the men were in a frenzy. Chief was the most worked up, spewing a vitriol of language that would nauseate most individuals. While the girl’s vocal gestures only lasted for half an hour or so, this incident of the men’s involvement went on unabated for 5 hours. Despite plugging my ears, being as close as I was, there was no way to avoid listening to the broadcast. I dont imagine any of the other men were sleeping either. It was now 3 am, and I contemplated some of the other events that had taken place during the day. A man who I’ll call “Christian”, had spent a couple hours going to each inmate, asking them the question; “if you died today, would you go to heaven?”. Not surprisingly, most of them gave Christian the affirmative, that indeed, they were “saved”, with the others, he entreated them to make the surrender. ~ The Interruption ~ As the episode continued into the morning hours, a guard had come around and chastised the men for being out of their cells. They fought back with her verbally, citing many reasons why they were not in their bunks, including the need to access toilets (though there were none in the foyer). She went on her way, and they did not retreat, but prepared for more of their game. As the guard closed the door behind her, I reflected that it was the inmate Christian who had arranged for the girl to play her part in this charade. Before these men went back to verbalizing the unspeakable acts they would do to the female if given the opportunity, I felt compelled to ask them a question. Gentlemen, I said softly, waiting a few moments to get their attention, some of you men call yourself Christians; do you think Jesus would behave as you are tonight?”. As you might envision, this comment took them by complete surprise, and not a sound could be heard for quite some time. Christian, never said a word. Chief, the most outspoken in regards to the actress, never uttered a word, but after a bit, Wannabee, walked into my cell and stood directly over me. My bunk was just about chest level to his 5 ft. 6, slim frame. While the bars in each cell are supposed to be closed and locked each night, due to a large, new prison being built in the same town, maintenance on the city jail had pretty much been done away with as a way of saving money. Toilets were often not working, so the cells were not in proper lock-down at night, giving the men access to the necessary hardware. This gave Wannabee an opportunity to stand over me, seething in furry. I dont recall his exact words to me, but my reply was that I had asked the men a very basic question, particularly in the light of their Christian profession. As this man stood over me, I could feel the intensity of his anger as he wanted to punch me. Even though my body was mildly shaking due to this conflict, I could have cared less about getting whacked, and just laid there in submission to the God who prompted me to speak up, After 5 minutes or so, Wannabee was coaxed to leave my cell and the men went back to continue in their escapades. I was fairly happy however, that despite their best efforts, the men could never get things going again, and they finally gave up their antics around 5 am. ~ The Call to Church ~ The following day was Sunday, and the local pastor came around for church service. He also brought along with him DVDs of such wholesome films as the “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” and others of like genre. All of the men attended the program in the foyer. After a brief sermon, the pastor asked if anyone had questions he could answer for them. While I was not one of his attendees and had remained in my bunk (with only the bars separating us), Id asked the holy-man how a person could know whether they were a Christian or not. After a few moments of silence, he said he did not know the answer. I was extremely surprised by his response, and felt inclined to cite the principle, that a tree is known by its fruit, and therefore, a Christian would display the fruits of Jesus, i.e., he would act as Christ would. Neither the preacher, nor any of the other men said a word. The service ended and the men went about the various activities they do in jail. Some read, some played cards, a few joined in kicking the “hacky-sack”, others read or rested. The next day we were informed that a plumber was due to arrive to repair the toilets, as only one from the six cells were working. The plan was to have all 16 inmates be locked into one relatively small cell, while the plumber did his necessary repairs. We were shuttled into the rear cell, and I was positioned on the top bunk on the right side of the room. The men went about with their talk and games and everything seemed pretty normal. All of the sudden however, their was a loud banging sound which seemed to originate just under my bunk, and at the same time a man started hollering. At first I didn’t pay any attention to the uproar, since these incidences of screaming are fairly normal in jail, but then I began to realize the commotion was being directed at me. ~ Gang Warfare ~ Out of the corner of my eye I could see that Wannabee was going off on a tirade, and I was the target. It was his ideal situation for him to rile the gang against me. 16 of us were locked into one cell, and since I’d fallen into ill favor from all the men on the cigarette issue, was despised and threatened by Chief once already, this was Wannabee’s decisive moment with the masses in his favor. I’d concluded he had come over and swung his fist into the underside of my bunk, and now had moved back a bit while he barked out his displeasure towards me. The fellow hollered at me a few times, of which I at first ignored. Eventually he said something, prompting me to give him an answer of some kind. He screamed back, you look at me when youre talking to me”. Inside my heart I marveled at this man, who was attempting to teach me respect, by being extremely disrespectful towards me. I remember him asking if I thought I was better than everyone else. I told the man that I was nothing more than a worm, probably worse than everyone. I’d began to realize this event was a continuation of the masturbation scenario, so I re-stated I had simply asked the men a question. I also told Wannabee, I had found it necessary to do and say the things that are given me to do. He chirped back that he too will be doing what he is going to have to do (meaning he was going to get violent with me). I told him that I wouldn’t try to stop him in any manner. In my life I had never been in a fist-fight, except a minor scuffle while delivering papers as a wee lad. I’d always thought fighting was somewhat of a childish endeavor with no real point. Being small in stature probably leant to my conclusions. My dad was an insane, violent man. Despite his many acts of brutality, I could never bring myself to strike him back. In some manner, a form of respect was built into me, which prevented me from hitting him, or anyone else after this minor clash in my early years. Over time, I had also tapped into a means to de-escalate tense situations, primarily by not escalating them as the circumstance presented itself. However it came about, this situation dissolved itself without anything happening, other than some threats from Wannabee and Chief. Within the hour we all returned to our proper cells. ~ Food ~ My first three days in jail I did not eat anything, as I was mostly in contemplation of various principles at play in my life that had brought me to jail in the first place. After the third day, my wife (at that time) brought some oranges which were delivered by the guards. The primary food factor for me had to do with nutrition. I don’t feel as a fanatic or legalist about the matter, but for the previous 30 years I had been fairly conscious of my dietary intake, had been a vegetarian, and wanted to treat my body with respect. Even if I was in jail, I’d felt my life should be no different, particularly since I was in jail for conscientious reasons. While I don’t mind an occasional sweet, or snack food, I’d primarily lived on decent food after my awakening on this issue. As I contemplated what was being brought as food to the inmates, I’d knew that this type of intake was not something I was inclined to consume. I’d informed that guards that if they wanted to keep me alive in jail, they would have to feed me something besides “Wonder Bread” and meat. Prior to being incarcerated, I’d made arrangements with my wife, about bringing wholesome food to the jail once a week or so, if my incarceration should come about, and had passed this information on the the jail system. As the jail staff began to realize how many meals I was skipping, they began to comply to my request for good food, albeit at a cost. If I were to get one orange delivered to me, the provider (wife or friend) would also have to bring an item for every other inmate in the jail. So for me to eat an orange at a meal, I had to supplement the prison food system with 16 to 20 oranges per meal. While I wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, I enjoyed the real food. ~ Sleepytime ~ Chief, along with many others, often stayed up until 3 or 4 in the morning, then sleeping till 2 pm. It was with interest that at night, I heard him regularly complain about his problem of not being able to go to sleep at 9 or 10 as most did. He always chalked it up to a sleep disorder. A couple of times I’d discoursed with him at the possibility of aid for his sleep condition, with the thought that if he could skip sleeping during the day for a while, his body would adjust and he would find himself getting tired and sleepy at a normal hour. He never really caught on to this idea. As with many jails, this one was kept much colder than they should have been. While it may save a few bucks in heating costs, the real reason holding cells are kept cold, is it causes the men to be a bit more subdued. It is also a form of torture, affecting various individuals differently, according to their metabolisms. This, along with the practice of never turning out the lights at night, (creating sleep deprivation) works against the inmates in a great manner. Often during the day, when Chief was trying to sleep, he would complain of being cold. On a couple of occasions, I’d taken my blanket and laid it over him so he could warm up. Prior to my incarceration, I’d specifically worn insulated undergarments to court, just in case I was locked up. These LJs, provided me the extra warmth I needed, and allowed me to go without a blanket at times, assisting me in being able to loan mine to Chief. On another occasion involving Chief, (after the 16 men in one cell event) my lunch food had a peanut butter/jelly on whole wheat bread sandwich (these items had been brought to the jail staff by my wife, and were stored in the jail’s kitchen). After the news was spread around to the inmates of my sandwich, Chief began to throw a fit, claiming that he wanted a PBJ on WW sandwich as well. As I sat in my cell listening to his tirade, I pondered for a bit, assuming if he were in his own kitchen at home, whole wheat bread would likely not even be in his cupboards. Despite this conclusion, before ever taking a bite of my meal, I went over to his cell and offered him my sandwich. He refused my contribution, but I did not hear a complaint from him again about sandwiches. As my time in jail carried on, the various men lightened up. One day as I passed Chief by, hed said he would not let anyone hurt me. I acknowledged his act of guardianship, but knew in my heart that it was the Father above who was my protector, and told him so. Even Wannabee had gotten passed his distain of me. We had several amicable conversations, and he had occasionally offered his fresh fruit (provided by my friends), so that I could eat real food vs the lifeless items on their trays, as I was regularly skipping meals. ~ Departure ~ After a few weeks my time in jail had come to an end. The mood had changed dramatically from my first few days of the men’s disgust, imagining they might lose their smoking privileges because of me. When it was time for my departure, most everyone shook my hand and wished me the best of luck, saying that I really didn’t belong in jail. I’ve spent much time contemplating the immorality and illegality of our modern penal systems, along with the entire legal and judicial hierarchy which supports it. Human nature, in and of itself is corrupt and abusive. Given power, it is impossible for demonstrations of this corruption to not be applied on its citizens. Soon enough however, the Judge who rules over the earth with set the record straight, showing who are the real criminals and setting the captives free.
Posted on: Sun, 12 Oct 2014 14:44:04 +0000
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