March 30, 2009
It’s Day 1 of another lockdown at McConnell Unit. This seems to be one of Texas’ favorite themes: LOCKDOWN. For those that don’t know, Texas likes to enforce a bi-annual lockdown so that the inmates can be shook down. These shakedowns can last upwards to a month and during this time there’s no hot meals, showers only on Monday/Wednesday/Friday and there’s no commissary or recreation. Everything is suspended and we’re confined to our cells for all 24 hours. This is Texas tradition!
But, no soon as they “lock things down”, I unlock something else. I have actually learned to adapt to lockdowns. I say adapt and not “become accustomed to”, because it’s certain things in life you never get accustomed to and oppression and violation of humanity are some of those things. However, the same way a creature will adapt to survive a harsh circumstance, so do we.
My experiences on death row have thoroughly prepared me for such condition; there we are confined to a cell 22 hours a day. There we had to learn to use our time wisely or surely decay in the steel coffins we had been assigned to. It was either self-teach or self-destruct. So, when this day started I knew what I had to do.
Since I’ve been let out into General Population I have barely had time for myself. Day by day I wonder to myself if I’m going to make it out here. Yes- the benefits are nice…but at what cost (to the mind and soul)?!? The benefits come with grand sacrifices, those sacrifices being the things we have to endure; those things often being the idiocy of officers and inmates and of course the belligerent attitudes of officers that like to take out their miserable lives on you. Sometimes it seems like it’s a competition to prove who can make you feel like a piece of shit the most. So, finding a way to deal with these things is not easy. The System puts privileges like a carrot on a stick, but use the same stick to beat you in the face at the same time. This is the reality of the prison system. These guards are the reality of the sickness weaved into this country’s bloodstream. This is my reality.
As I was saying…I barely have time for myself. I TRULY miss the days of hours of reading, writing, plotting, organizing. For some of us, this is the air we breathe. I find myself between a rock and a hard place. When I was on Close Custody here I found myself wanting out pretty badly. But, I cannot deny the joys and benefits of what I was able to accomplish in that setting. Through my reading and writing I endure, through my ideas touching the minds of comrades in society, I exist! It’s a morbid and cruel irony. Where will I find myself in the midst of these swinging pendulums?
Working for 12 hours on 4 day intervals leaves me with very little energy to do much of anything else. I often find myself craving to get my hands on some revolutionary material or hold conscious discussions with people. But, this morning, on day 1 of lockdown, it took me no time for me to slip tight back into my struggle slippers. As I used to do (from death row to close custody) when I woke up, I sat down in the quiet space of my cell and opened up the pages of Socialist Worker newspaper and found myself at the home that I have sorely missed. It didn’t take much time at all for my creative juices to begin flowing once again. As I read the lines of struggle, the news of the Third World, the voices of the people, that rested fire began to kindle once again. It was never out (and never will be), but rather yet it simmers like old coals in the pit!
I realize that I was born to struggle. I also realize that I will forever be a fish out of water in General Population. I am like an alien here. I don’t fit in. That’s just the bottom line of it and deep inside it eats away at me. While I would love to give in to the fighter inside of me, I realize that I have other obligations of equal proportion. That is giving my family some time to enjoy these new privileges as they’ve gone through pains unimaginable for the last 12 years. One, mainly, being unable to physically touch me. So, this is something that binds me to the sacrifice of remaining “still” for the time being.
This reminds me of a time when I was talking to a friend of mine in visit on death row and she asked me- “You really like being on level 2 and 3, don’t you?” I replied flatly- “Yes!” She asked why and I told her- though I’m strung up on level 2 and 3 there’s a freedom to this. There is no longer the chains binding us to complacency through commissary, radios, etc…We had transcended that through fighting for the beliefs in our soul. We didn’t need radios, we had camaraderie! We created our own political shows. And down in the dungeon we played by OUR OWN rules. They played on our terms for once, because regardless of gas, food loaf or bodily harm we weren’t bound to anything. We were elevated! And for a rare few of us…THAT’S WHO WE ARE!
And I never lose connection to that. That is a fuel that allows me to push forward amongst this decay.
I realize I have a challenge on my hands. I had a challenge on my hands on death row. I had a challenge on my hands in Close Custody. And I have a challenge on my hands now. My TRIBULATION tattoo on my back forever burns its mark into my spine. It’s the same burn that made Jesus carry his cross through the streets. The same burn that made George Jackson put his life on the line in prison. It’s a purpose–not a burden—that some of us have to carry.
As I’ve said before- I cannot guarantee from this point on that we will be struggle-free, that I’ll be G2. We walk through perilous paths here. And outside of snares and pitfalls set before us we still make mistakes.
Nevertheless, it’s Day 1 of another lockdown and my mind is stirring. This is when I’m at my best and I like to give you a peak of that best. We’ll see what surprises await us during yet another lockdown. But for now, I share this piece with you that came to mind. I’m sure others will follow. Until then…
