Mongoose Distro

I have been held in an empty cell and without any property or working lights since June 30, 2023. 

The initial pretext for this abuse here at Virginia’s Sussex 1 State Prison (S1SP) was that I was under investigation and my belongings were to be searched by the prison’s investigators. A ‘search’ was performed and completed on July 7, 2023 (consisting of the admitted search of my confidential legal documents outside my presence which was illegal).

On July 5, 2023 I sent out a statement about this abuse and the denial of my legal property which I need to meet impending court deadlines and to prepare for a scheduled federal trial. In response complaints were made by the public to officials. After this on July 11, I was confronted by the solitary confinement unit manager E. Green who informed me that the prison’s warden Kevin McCoy states he was having my personal belongings held “because a lot of people have been calling” about my mistreatment. This after Green had stated six days before, on July 5, in reply to a written complaint I’d filed that I would receive my legal property.

This was an admission that my things are being held as illegal retaliation for the public exercising their Constitutional rights to question, be informed about, and peacefully protest against disagreeable government practices.

So here we have 3 illegal actions compounded by officials whose role is supposed to be ‘law enforcement’: namely, unlawful conditions of solitary confinement, an unlawful search, and unlawful retaliation. Also a demonstrated effort by a prison warden to operate and commit abuses in secrecy and to suppress the public from knowing what their government is up to—a typical autocratic fascist mindset that runs counter to basic democratic principles. And it is fitting. Particularly where this warden, Kevin McCoy, originated as a guard from Red Onion State Prison (ROSP) —a Virginia prison that gained almost instant national notoriety for racism and abuse of its predominantly Black prisoner population by a totally white staff from the moment it opened in 1998.(1)

ROSP was one of two still unneeded supermax prisons (the other being Wallens Ridge State Prison) constructed in the mountains of remote racially segregated Wise County, Virginia, where all manner of overt racist abuses have been freely inflicted out of the public eye ever since.

McCoy and a series of other seasoned abusers from these Wise County prisons have been migrating to predominantly Black-staffed prisons like Sussex 1State Prison (S1SP) across the state and appointed as wardens and regional heads, where, like the old Apartheid system of South Afrika, a statewide racist regime has been entrenched, with Blacks as the rank and file abusers working under racist white administrators. This while all newly constructed Virginia prisons, like Red Onion and Wallens Ridge, are strategically located in remote racially segregated regions of the state, often in sundown towns.

This is the ethic that informs the present administration of S1SP, and the conditions of abuse I am enduring. Which only comes full circle to revive the sorts of abuses I endured, exposed and resisted for decades in Virginia’s prisons until Virginia officials had me transferred out of state in 2012 to suffer similar abuses and even efforts to have me killed in other states; only to be returned nearly a decade later when no other states would take me, to then endure Virginia officials’ efforts to kill me by deliberately leaving me with untreated prostate cancer for over a year and a half.

Of course I am not deterred and neither should you be. Public complaints should not only continue but increase. 

Please share this message far and wide and make your opposition to the blatant conditions of torturous abuse of solitary confinement I am facing known to these officials.

Dare to Struggle Dare to Win!

All Power to the People!

___________

Endnote:

1. See, RED ONION STATE PRISON: SUPERMAXIMUM SECURITY CONFINEMENT IN VIRGINIA, Human Rights Watch (1999), www.hrw.org

Make your voice heard. Be sure to use Rashid’s legal name—Kevin Johnson— and his prison # 1007485

Contact: 

Sussex1State Prison Warden Kevin McCoy (804) 834-9967

Harold W Clarke.  (804) 887-8080  harold.clarke@vadoc.virginia.gov

David N. Robinson (276) 524-3685  david.n.robinson@vadoc.virginia.gov 

To write to Rashid:

Kevin Johnson #1007485
Sussex 1
24414 Musselwhite Dr.
Waverly, VA 23891

Starting July 17, 2023 general mail from the public to Texas prisoners will have to be sent to their new digital mail processing center.

From there it will be read, scanned and digitally sent to the prisoners Securus tablet within three business days. There is no limit on the amount of mail that can be sent to prisoners through this route. Any sender that wishes to have their own photos, greeting cards and mail sent back to them must include a self addressed stamped envelope that covers the cost of items being returned. It is unknown how companies, that sell photos or require that prisoners fill out a brochure, or sign a contract, are supposed to send mail.

The Powledge unit, Polunsky unit, Bill Clements unit, Coffield unit, Plane unit, Garza West unit, Allred unit, Halbert unit, Robertson unit and East Texas ISF are the first units this rule effect. With other units being added to the list in the weeks to come.

Units that don’t have Securus tablets will allow prisoners to receive an unlimited amount of black and white copies of photos, letters, and greeting cards from the public. Legal mail, Media mail, books and magazine subscriptions must still be sent directly to the unit.

Just as disability, social security and veterans checks should be. Any general mail sent directly to the unit in effect will be returned to the sender.

If you have friends or loved ones at the above mentioned units, starting July 17, 2023 please send snail mail to this address:

Texas Dept Of Criminal Justice
Full name\TDCJ#
Unit name
P.O. Box 660400
Dallas, Tx 75266-0400

THE CAUSE AND EFFECT

“While no single effort can completely stop the transmission of dangerous contraband, we feel that every measure we can take to improve health and safety in our facilities is worth adopting”- TDCJ spokesman

After the 2020 pandemic temporarily shut down all visitors from seeing their loved ones in person-even if behind plexiglass – the flow of contraband in prison, such as cellphones and methamphetamines didn’t slow down a bit.

Despite TDCJ claiming that prisoner visitation was the main contributing factor, they seem to shun dialog that blames staff. In an effort to further finger the public as being responsible for contraband being smuggled in prison, they have followed suit of other state prisons and made it illegal for the public to send correspondence directly to Texas prisoners.

Not only does this place another barrier between prisoners being able to touch see and smell things handled by their friends and families. It further places a wedge between the lack of trust TDCJ has in citizens, and the amount of indifference it shows towards unrestricted staff corruption and increasing amounts of violence from its own actions.

Not only will this new rule have no effect on contraband being smuggled into prison, it increases the amount of bribes being offered to staff, raises the price of drugs and other contraband smuggled in through more expensive routes. While making the environments more dangerous, territorial and violently protective of money hungry staff that will take bribes from anyone with money.

It is obvious that TDCJ has no interest in actually stemming the flow of contraband finding its way into prisons, or else they’d use easy methods such as allowing their drug and cellphone sniffing dogs to smell each staffer as they enter the prison, or sniff around the mail before it is placed in the mail room.

While these methods are effective, in fact they are too effective and will slack the justification they use to further separate the amount of contact prisoners have with their communities, which is both therapeutic and rehabilitative. Look at data a year from now and see how violence and drug smuggling has increased.

Jason Renard Walker 1532092
Powledge unit
P.O. Box 660400

David M. Strunk #102504
Arkansas Valley Correctional Facility
12750 Highway 96 @ Lane 13
Ordway CO 81034

Send NO photos or stamps to this address! Send photos and money to JPay.com.

To see his profile: go to “www.WriteAPrisoner.com”
To send him an email: “www.JPay.com”

DATE: Tuesday, 02-14-2023

1. Woke up at 10:30 am, sick as hell, took zinc tablets and drank a vitamin-C mix. Checked balance “$” on phone, went back to bed.
2. Woke up again at 11:15 ‘cause cops are counting.
3. Can’t sleep. Cellie’s negative comments about my farts, my nose-blows, my blanket falling down, etc. I decide to ignore. I’m on top bunk!
4. Checked shower temp. It’s good, but’s 12:30 and I’m sure they’ll call chow while I’m in it. Tup towel up for after.
5. Putting on boots and coat. Having first coffee of the day and reading self-help book. It’s 1:20 pm.
6. Ran to lunch without Lee so I could eat fast and make it back to unit early to shower. Got in shower, was only in shower 15 minutes when Robert starts bitching I’m in “too long”. But I know the water will go from hot to ice cold, to lukewarm. That means I have to endure the ice-cold part, for it to get to lukewarm for the next guy. Robert notices it and thanks me.
7. Endured Bobby bitch, bitch, bitching about all of nonsense about me from 2 to 2:30. 0590 – Glue Stick. Order One! 2-14-23 The above was written by Lee. Lee has an Elmer’s Glue Stick, and I went to his cell to use t to glue a stamp that lost it’s sticky on an envelope. Lee is mad at mee because I snuck up behind him and yelled, “BOO!” I did this because he told me yesterday I can’t sneak up on him. Well he got startled, then mad, then SUPER-mad. Said he would punch me next time. I got the point but he did not seem to think so and stayed mad about it.
8. There followed a 10-minute-long “Lee Lecture”. The difference between Bitching Bobby and Lecturing Lee is Lecturing Lee has the goal of giving actual advice with an aim towards self-improvement for me, so I listen. Bitching Bobby is like, just, every little thing I do is “wrong” somehow, and “thank God he likes me” or I’d be “beat up by now.” So the only way to get Bobby to stop bitching is to get up on my bunk and be absolutely silent with the lights off, and sometimes even that doesn’t work because if I’m up there too long for his liking, it’s: “GET A JOB!” Anyways, I didn’t really need the Glue Stick, it was just an excuse to go up to Lee’s to get away from Bobby. Stayed up there until 3 pm, then went to clean my cell and fold my clothes. Then tried to use the phone, then back to Lee’s, then it’s count-time. It’s 4:30, waiting for count to clear. Spent count-time reading 10 pages of a “self-help book” that I forgot to do earlier, as per instructions from Chad. Goal for the day: read the rest of this stack of old newspapers I acquired.
9. The rest of the day went relatively well. I went to dinner, ate their garbage, came back and hung out with Lee until 7 pm when I left to go to programs. Chaplain’s Office doing a showing of the “Chosen” video. Best depiction of Jesus I ever saw in a movie. Played by an actual Jew this time, this “Jesus” character gets it right and is able to convey the way He most likely acted during His time here. This video makes you fell like you were there with Him during His time with the Twelve, without sinking into the cheeziness of preaching down at you.

When it was over, I switched to the Catholic side of Visitation (we have no chapel, we do church in Visitation Room) and watched their movie about post-Nazi Poland, it was good. I know the guy, and he let me have the coffee grounds after the service. He triple-over-fills the machine to make syrup-thick batches, so there’s plenty of oil left in the grounds for a second run in our cell coffeemaker. So I bring it in, and cellie Bobby accuses of “stealing from the church.” Man! This guy is just wholesale asshole, unable to be thankful for anything I do. I think it is best to just to ignore him. But I didn’t let it ruin my night, I just got up on my bunk and read the paper and then wrote this. Will do tomorrow’s entry tomorrow.

DATE: Wednesday, 02-15-2023

1. Work up at 8 am, to use bathroom, happy to know we finally get canteen today since we didn’t last week. I’m out of literally everything. Went back to sleep and dreamed I was in a normal residential neighborhood but got snowed in. Woke up again just now for 11 am count and found out we are NOT getting canteen today because of the snow. I’m not happy. Going back to bed.
2. 10:30 pm. This day was a waste. The high point was scoring a PB&J sandwich and splitting it with Lee.

DATE: Thursday, 02-16-2023

1. It’s 3 pm and I haven’t had time to write anything yet. But the day has been a total success so far.

Got out of bed 10 am to Bobby bitching as usual. Went down to check if the Lt. was here, and he wasn’t. Prayed. Did my morning poop and did my “self-help book” reading at the same time. Canteen had not yet arrived and people were getting antsy. Milled around the dayhall until 11 am lock-down.

Lock-down over at noon, then canteen gets passed out. I don’t like standing in long lines, so I got scissors and cut articles out of old newspapers. When the line got down to three or five people, I went and got canteen.

Was enjoying my first real cup of coffee (Folger’s) when they called lunch chow. Went and sold my chicken to this old Mexican I know for a token (worth $0.50). On my way out, I see Lt. Tyler is one of the cops checking our coats for smuggled chickens. I just happened to have my $70 money-order for “www.writeaprisoner.com” in my pocket, so I was able to give it to him there on the spot. I’d been chasing him down for two days to do my money-order, and finally I find him – not in his office but doing a rookie grunt-job checking for chickens outside chow hall! And mission accomplished: I knew if I didn’t get that money order turned in, I’d end up spending the money on canteen. Who needs canteen when you can get pretty girls in Europe to write you instead?

Then at 1:30 I went to Chaplain’s Office until 2:30. Now it’s 3:15, I’m back, and now I’m finally unbagging my canteen order.

2. I stayed busy all day. Paid off my debts, collected on others, squared away my stuff at the house (cell). Can’t complain.

But then, it’s Bobby bitching again: for the second time today, I can’t quietly be up on my top bunk write my out-going letters because he needs “cell time”. But the thing is, he’s in here all day every day. He’s either sleeping and I have to be super-quite, or else he’s drawing artwork (and I have to be super-quiet). He never leaves! He’s gone in the mornings and tells me that my “cell time”. Well, I sleep until 10:30 am so how does that work? No, it’s just his schedule, his way, all the time – and if I want to do my own thing, I’m “being selfish”. I’m sick of it! So I only got 2 of the 4 letters done that I wanted to mail out this evening.

It is now almost 11 pm and I’m going to bed.

I think it’s important to note something that happened yesterday: the snow cancelled our 7 pm Spanish Church in Visitation, so I went instead to Virgil’s Bible Study in the laundry room on the pod. At a certain point in the service, “Aquilla” did a laying-on-of-hands prayer for me. I’ve seen a laying-on-of-hands prayer work at County Jail in 2018, so I tried to go with it and not resist, and let it happen. I hope it works.

My cellie Bobby just now cranked out THE worst fart I’ve smelled since I can remember. It smells like death. I’m going to try to go to bed now.

DATE: Friday, 02-17-2023

1. Got up at 9 am. The cop came over the loudspeaker and called me to tech office. I swear, every time they do that I think I’m in trouble. So I go, and it’s just the Sgt who wants to let me know the Lt is here if I still need to talk to him. I did not.

But then I’m up, so I did morning routine of coffee and vitamins. And then: BOBBY. Bitch, bitch, bitch! First ting in the morning! So he tells me: “So, now you’re gonna hide your coffee again!?” And I say, “It’s right there on the desk where it always is, Bobby.” So he says, “I’m gonna go find a pot of coffee for the machine.” So he leaves. I already know he won’t find a pot of coffee because he’s broke and burning his bridges lately, but he gave me a little Debbie cake, so I decided to give him some coffee. So, I write on a napkin: “Don’t put my good Folger’s Instant in the machine, just put it in hot water. And: LEAVE ME ALONE!” Because, he’s already started bitching first thing in the morning, and I just don’t want to hear it today.

So he comes back, and – he can’t just be thankful for the coffee, he has to bitch. And bitch, and bitch! He claims he was “Just kidding” about accusing me of hiding the coffee – that’s something I’ve noticed lately, he will say something fucked up, and then later play it off like he was “just kidding” and “it’s not my fault you don’t get my sense of humor” – then he launches into this rant about how he’s “not stupid” and “I don’t need directions on how to use Folger’s.” I tell him I wrote that so he doesn’t think I gave him ground coffee and try to make a pot. But that’s not a good enough explanation – it’s just ten minutes of me “insinuating he’s stupid” and how “fucked up” I truly am. Followed by another ten minutes of how I never give him “cell time”. He’s ALWAYS HERE. So when does not have “cell time”? Then it’s his “get a job” lecture, followed by another ten minutes of: “I’m not going to ‘leave you alone’ as you say in your note – I’m going to keep aggravating you until you change!” Then he ends it with: “You’re lucky I like you or you’d be beat up by now,” his standard ending to his 20-minute bitch fests.

I can’t stand it anymore. I absolutely can’t stand this guy. But unfortunately, he still isn’t as bad as the last four cellies I had, like that creepy “Jerry” guy who’s a psychotically paranoid 14-year-old-girl-molester, or anyone before him. So I just keep putting up with Bobby, because, if I move, the cops might give me yet another psycho nut-job again.

So that’s how my whole morning went. It’s 11:45 now, count clear and I’m gonna go do my day.

2. It’s 9:30 pm now. I’m going to bed. I got only one of my two goals met today: I told myself to (A) circle books I want in a catalog, and (B) write a letter to a Bible volunteer guy. I did only (A). I ate too much food today, it made me tired. I got Bobby to stop bitching at me by simply not being in the cell at all today, which is what he wants. He wants the cell all to himself, so his plan is to drive me out with constant bitching. His plan is working.

DATE: Saturday, 02-18-2023

1. Slept until noon today (except, I wake up once per hour, on the hour, to pee – I have instituted Lee’s idea of a “pee jar”, but when I told him I did his idea, he said he was “just kidding” and called me “disgusting”.) (I have a bad bladder – I have to climb up and down that top bunk, I mean literally 7 or 8 times per night, I never get to sleep all the way through the night.)

Bobby was behaving himself all morning. Not one negative word. Encouraged me to go to lunch (I didn’t want to – I don’t like bologna, I wanted a shower without people here to “sweat” me about how long I’m in there). He even gave me a giant cookie he got from lunch. So I reached for my coffee jar to get us both some coffee. I noticed the level was suspiciously low.

He was quiet all day until 2 pm – I was on top bunk getting paperwork together to go to Lee’s and write letters. The paperwork, you know, made a “crinkling” sound like paper does, like when you read a newspaper. And that’s “too loud” for him. So he yells: “ARE YOU GOING TO DO THAT ALL DAY OR WHAT!?” I said “no, I’m leaving.” Then he tells me I’m “selfish” and “it’s all about me.” I said, “Yeah, and you’re perfect, aren’t ya?” He said, “No”. I left. So I go to Lee’s and tell them, and Big Head (Lee’s cellie) said: “Next time say to him: ‘This is my house too, bitch!’” And I can’t tell if he’s being serious or trying to “put cables on it” or what. But I’m not “being selfish”. Bobby manipulates.

2. So the day went, and around 2:30 pm I told Bobby what I thought of him. I left Lee’s to go to my cell to get some papers, and I said, “You’re a manipulator”.

I won’t write what happened next, because that falls into the category of snitching if the wrong person finds this. In fact, I don’t even know how to write around the subject…needless to say, there’s “an elephant in the room” and we can go on pretending we don’t see the elephant, or we can do something about it. But I don’t know what to do. It’s now 11 pm and I’m going to bed, good riddance to this day.

DATE: Sunday, 02-19-2023

I waited too long to do any proper journaling today. I am furious about my cellie setaling a bunch of my coffee. Lee said I can keep my coffee in his cell, and I plan to tomorrow. I have decided I can’t live with Bobby anymore. He’s got problems. I’m going to move no matter what it takes. I’ve already set a plan in motion. I’ve decided not to write the plan here in case Bobby is nosing into my journal while I’m gone. I don’t trust him at all. But I talked to Chad about it and he said he’s not “telling me to” do the plan, but also not telling me not to do it. Well you know, a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse, as they say. At least I have a plan.

DATE: Monday, 02-20-2023

1. It’s noon. Had dreams about water. Bobby hasn’t spoken a word to me. Good. Going to get out of bed now and go make coffee.

Couldn’t sleep last night. Woke up at 3:30 am with a burning hunger. Ate a brownie. Couldn’t sleep. Sort of fell asleep for a few minutes. Then breakfast. Skipped it because it’s too early for prison. Burning hunger again. Ate an orange. Fell asleep around 9 am and dreamed about water, water in bathtubs, water on a lake, being in a boat. I would be deprived of life’s simple pleasures: I’d bum a cigarette from someone (a Marlboro 100) and wake up as I try to light it. I’d drink a wine cooler on the boat and same thing – I’d notice the label says “Alcohol Free – 0.05%”. get pissed and wake up. Well fuck it, now I’m up.

2. It’s 9:30 pm. I’m going to bed. I had a very long day. I’m getting up at breakfast tomorrow (allegedly) to go eat with Daniel. Then I’m going to talk to Lt. So tomorrow is going to be an even longer day and it hasn’t got here yet. Prison sucks. And by the way, I made a noose and tested it. I think it just isn’t long enough. But we all know I don’t have the balls to go through with it anyways. Plus I put in for Law Library: let’s see what Chad is talking about with this organization he says helps convicts with over-long sentences. Maybe there’s hope……

DATE: Tuesday, 02-21-2023

1. It’s 11:15 am. I have been up since 7:30 breakfast. Scrambled eggs and hashbrown burritos. I went with Daniel. Lt was standing yard where our Unit 6 sidewalk connects to the main one. We approached him together and both told him we want me to move into Daniel’s cell. Daniel needs it as much as me – I think Daniel gets too deep in his head and magnifies his troubles when he doesn’t have someone to talk to like me (by “like me” I mean someone who won’t “put cables on” his bad ideas and spin him around wilk a wingnut for their own entertainment and agenda, like these guys in here like to do).

To my astonishment, Lt said “yes” without a moment’s hesitation. I blinked. I said, “….Really!??” And he said, “Yeah, really.” I said, “See you back at the Unit,” and went to breakfast with Daniel. We were both happy.

Now I’m not so sure. After breakfast he was in his office, and I said, “I’ll start packing”. He said, “No, wait. I still have to get you your key and get you in the computer. And I have to get with the Move Sgt.” Meaning Sgt “S”. People like Chad and a few others here think he has no feelings one way or another, but I know “S” hates me. He’s good at acting professional and pretending not to care one way or another to other people, but the truth is he hates me. So if “S” has resistance to me moving, the Lt will agree and squash the move. My current cellie Bobby has told me – and I 100% agree with him – that they keep giving me cellmates they already know won’t work out well for me because they want me to get beat up or beat someone up or something bad happen, so they “Ad. Seg. (solitary confinement)” me. Literally all the other convicts who happen to know my pas cellies (Jerry, “Michelle”, etc.) agree with this assumption. “They want to set you up for failure, Strunk” they say. Bobby said that about himself!

So now it’s 11:45 am and I’m still not moved. The Lt isn’t here all day. Did I get lied to?

2. It is now 11 pm. It has been an extremely long day.

I did, in fact, get moved. With Daniel “B”, like I wanted. Then, the first hour I was here I already screwed things up.

I’m not even going to way what I did – but it’s once again me being stupid. So now I have to go fix it tomorrow. At Least he gave me a chance to fix it. It involves the fact that I said the wrong thing to the wrong person, and now “B” is mad and said he won’t e my friend unless I go “clean it up.” So tomorrow I have to go clean it up. At least I can. So tomorrow I have to go clean it up. At least I can go clean it up. I think it could be worse. But it could also be better, if I could just stop doing stupid things.

DATE: Saturday, 02-25-2023

1. It’s 3:30, I’m at Lee’s cell. He’s the only real friend I have in this unit.

Things have gotten so bad with me and Dan “B” that I can’t live here anymore. I don’t mean just in this cell, I mean I think I have to move out of the pod/Unit altogether. I’ve only been in this cell four days and already Daniel has told me he wants absolutely nothing to do with me at all and not to even speak to him anymore. He’s doing a bunch of passive-aggressive stuff to drive me out of the cell, like playing black music real loud because he knows I don’t like it. Throwing snot-blow tissues and dirty Q-tips in the floor, leaving the door open all day (because he knows it makes me paranoid), and the list goes on. On purpose.

It’s got to where I just simply cannot handle it anymore. My plan was, go to church tonight (only because Paul “P” told me to last night at the Messianic meeting, when this current trouble first start brewing), then tomorrow pack up my stuff and cut the fuck out of myself with a razor. I talked to Lee, and he said no cutting myself with a razor. So instead, I changed my plan: pack up my stuff and just go tell the cops I’m suicidal; without doing anything. They will take me to Ad. Seg. and put me in is called the “bam-bam suit”, naked, and it’s super uncomfortable and cold, but I don’t feel like I have a choice. “B” told me he’s been known to do things like stick his finger in his butthole then stick it in a guy’s food and coffee, plan shanks inside a guy’s stuff secretly before a shake-down, and even poison a guy, if he doesn’t like them. He obviously doesn’t like me. I don’t feel safe.

So I’ve been at Lee’s cell since about 2 pm. When it turned 4 pm, I went back to “my” cell and here I am. When I was at Lee’s, he told me a bunch of stuff to try to help me. Advice and so on. I won’t see him after Sunday night, so I’m going to try to hang out with him as much as possible.

2. The cops just knocked on our door for count – “B” woke up and turned up the music extra loud. He’s not going to stop. He’s just going to keep on doing worse and worse things to drive me out. It’s now 4:25 pm, I missed lunch and I’m going to miss dinner, too. Can’t write anymore.

DATE: Friday, 03-03-2023

My problems with “B” are over. In fact they were over the very next day after the above previous entry, On Sunday, February 26. We talk it out, and, come to find out, “” thought I was passive-aggressively doing irritating things on purpose to piss him off. Basically he thought I was, you know, “gaslighting” him. When I explained to him I’m just forgetful and don’t do anything to piss him off on purpose, things smoothed out. He is turning out to be the best cellie I ever had.

Then the next day on Monday, February 27, at I’d say 6:30 am, a guy committed suicide, ten feet away from my cell door. I should begin by saying I NEVER get up that early – I made a point to get up early that day because I needed to mail our a package. I was on my top bunk getting ready to hop down when I heard: “NO, NO, NO, NOOOO! STOP! STOOOP!” being yelled outside my door by a bunch of guys. Then I heard “THUD!” I thought it was a fight and one guy body-slammed another guy, so I jumped down to see it. That’s when I saw a body.

The guy was still breathing – I could see his chest going up and down. A Couple of CO’s were around him, yelling “CAN YOU HEAR ME!?” at his face. I tell you, if I’m injured and semi-conscious, the last thing I want is a bunch of cops screaming at me! Then I saw the guy shudder with a jerk and stop breathing. He died. Come to find out, he jumped from the third tier.

Something happened to me after that. I saw a lot of guys crying. I also met guys like my cellie, who had the opposite reaction: they had doe enough years in enough prisons that they had seen it many times before and had no sympathy or feelings for the guy. “Fuck ‘em” they said. But I had a very strange reaction: I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. In fact, I got quiet…I saw Chad and thought: “I don’t want to talk to him about it.” And it’s like I got QUIET inside. That is all.

DATE: Wednesday, 05-30-2023

I had planned to finish this yesterday – but yesterday was Memorial Day, and there was a lot going on. The prison has a “music room” in the gum with generic versions of well-known music equipment – for example, there’s a “Stratocaster” electric guitar but it’s not a Fender, plugged into a Marshall amp-stack except it’s not a Marshall or even a tube amp, it’s a Peavey solid-state. And so on. So they set it all up outside under a canopy on the big lawn, and there’s a prison band of musicians about my age. That means they are in their late 40’s/early 50’s, so they are solid “Gen – X”, and that’s a good thing because they grew up listening to Nirvana and Pearl Jam and Soundgarden, the “grunge” stuff before all the music went to ship in the late 2000’s/early 2010’s with the ubiquitousness of computer-assisted music. So they play music that was on the radio in the 1990’s – they could play well but not sing, so they jammed out and made the generic equipment sound good but the singer would go flat on high otes. We all got sunburns while eating sno-cones. I spent an hour listening to an old man tell me his story about how he got the shit beat out of him (literally – he had to get in the shower and change his pants after the beating) by a younger, stronger man who was his cellmate. The man had already been bullying him for a week before the beating, and the story ended with the bully claiming to be a “Christian”, and when the older man went to church, sporting a black eye, the bully would approach him and “ask forgiveness for his sin.” The older man would refuse, and the younger man would get upset and find other occasions to meet him and ask for forgiveness again. He said it basically turned into a church-assisted stalking situation. He told me his refusal to forgive him was based on the fact that he knows a predator when he meets one, and the guy was “seeking forgiveness” not because he was actually sorry, but because it releases him spiritually and karmatically from the beating, he can walk away vindicated. He said it’s the same as a habitual wife-beater, who beats his wif and then wants to hear her say “I still love you” after so he can continue the cycle and beat her again next week. It’s a power thing, an ego-feeding thing.

When I say I “had planned to finish this yesterday, I mean this prison diary. I began it in mid-February on the advice of a friend, who told me journaling would help me be more centered. But then at the end of February when that man committed suicide – landing about ten feet away from my cell door after jumping from the third floor, as I was fixing my morning coffee – that sort of put a stop to my wanting to write in a diary. Something about watching that man die – and there wasn’t anything peaceful about it, he was moaning with pain and gasping for air for almost ten minutes, before a final spasm went through his body and I saw him stop breathing and his eyes zero out. The eyes are the worst part, when you see the light go out…the glassy, empty fisheyes of death…

It just made me go quiet inside and I stopped writing. William S. Burroughs once remarked, and I don’t know if this was in “Naked Lunch” or something else he wrote, about how in the Deep South in the old days before the Civil Rights upheavals of the 1960’s back when lynchings were commonplace, the next few days after a public lynching, these small towns would “take on a dreamy effect” and the people would…I know what he meant when he wrote about it, but I can’t re-describe it. It’s like “the elephant in the room” that every is painfully aware of but won’t talk about. Shortly after that I got a new cellmate, a narcissistic child-molester who journals, and I started to think less of journaling, so I quit. At least for now.

A NATION OF SHEEP, BEGETS A GOVERNMENT OF WOLVES, – Author unknown 

Donald J Trump did irreversible, damage to the few basic so-called “democratic rights” poor folk, the voiceless, women, the marginalized, and people of color THOUGHT THEY ENJOYED IN AMERICA. 

Not so fast, the TRUMP CHRISTIAN RIGHT WING EXTREMIST SUPREME COURT has evaporated that illusion by today’s 2 major decisions ending affirmative action in college admissions and ruling Pres. Biden acted illegally by cancelling student loan debts, in a line of cases decided this term. 

More of their institutionalized tyranny to come when they return from their vacation off their billionaire yachts, financed by their oligarchical bosses who rule this country on behalf of finance capital and imperialism. So much for those who think AmeriKKKa is the land of milk and honey and equal justice for all. Seems like U.S. society is returning back to the NEW JIM CROW, of WHITE PRIVILEGE, and burying true history with WHITE LIES, myths and shameful hypocrisy, and use of law as their favorite weapon of tyranny. 

l would hate to see a major, significant PRISONERS’ RIGHTS CASE to reach the docket of this court, as we might return to the pro slavery, pro colonial HANDS OFF DOCTRINE of the 1800’s where the court held that as convicted persons prisoners were actual slaves of the states, where the U.S govt would not interfere, no matter the atrocities committed against us. 

Institutionalized racism corruption and cronyism is running rampant in Texas state politics dominated by the fascist Republican party, who takes their MARCHING ORDERS FROM NEO FASXCIST TRUMP!!! Texass’ chief law enforcement pig Ken Paxton, TeX, Attorney General faces impeachment in the Texas Senate n Sept. 5, 2023!!! 

Seems like oppressed people will have no other way from freedom from the KNEE ON THEIR NECK, BUT THROUGH SOCIAL ANARCHY AND REVOLUTION.

In solidarity Xinachtli 

CHICANO POLITICAL PRISONER 

McConnell control unit neocolonial military prison,

Occupied America, Beeville, Texas, USAGE

Comrades:

This is Rashid. I need all possible SUSTAINED and immediate support. Here is a statement of my situation.

OFFICIALS DEVISE TO STOP MY CANCER TREATMENT AND BLOCK MY COURT ACCESS (2023)

By Kevin “Rashid” Johnson

I have  been going out daily since early April 2023 for radiation treatment at the Medical College of Virginia – a total of 40 treatments – which is ongoing. On 6-29-23 upon returning to the prison from the hospital I was thrown in solitary confinement without explanation, where I remain, without any property including all my legal property.

 I was put in cells without working lights, where I remain.

 After constant complaints all I’m being told is I am under investigation, but not by prison investigators. I spoke with a prison investigator, a Lieutenant Spencer, on July 1 when she delivered me legal mail, asking about my status and access to my legal property. She informed me, while her body camera was recording, that I am under investigation by other state prison investigators and the prison was not withholding my legal property. She said any supervisor could get my property for me which was in the property department.

Despite this everyone refuses to deliver my belongings and I have been kept in an empty cell ever since. This despite that the VDOC is under court orders to not interfere with my access to and use of my legal property and I have numerous court deadlines and a pending federal civil trial in one of my lawsuits.

On 6-30-23 officials refused to allow me to attend my cancer treatment. My numerous written emergency complaints about this went unanswered and unprocessed.

On 7-3-23 after days in an empty cell without my things I declined to go for my treatment that one day to try and call the courts to explain and seek intervention. Officials including the warden and assistant warden refused me a legal call and are now refusing all my future cancer treatments.

The entire claim to have me under investigation is facially invalid and illegal. As any legal authority recognizes, law enforcement officials must perform investigations consistent with the search and seizure provisions of the 4th Amendment. And any “unlawful search or seizures” renders any evidence gathered therefrom illegal. Both the seizures and searches of me and my property have been unlawful from the outset. My belongings, my legal property in particular was taken and searched outside my presence, which is illegal. Prison officials may only open our legal mail and search our legal property in our presence. That is constitutional law. Here in Virginia we may only be removed from General population and put in solitary if written notice is given within 24 hours. I received no such notice.

People to contact:

CLARKE, HAROLD  W(804) 887-8080 HAROLD.CLARKE@VADOC.VIRGINIA.GOV DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS, CENTRAL ADMINISTRATION (DOC/CA, 701)

ROBINSON, DAVID N (276) 524-3685 DAVID.N.ROBINSON@VADOC.VIRGINIA.GOV  WALLENS RIDGE STATE PRISON (WRSP, 735)

CABELL, BETH E(804) 834-1327.  BETH.CABELL@VADOC.VIRGINIA.GOV   CORRECTIONS – DIVISION OF INSTITUTIONS (DOC/DI, 756)

*SMITH, RUTH H(434) 767-5543. Email- RUTH.SMITH@VADOC.VIRGINIA.GOV , NOTTOWAY CORRECTIONAL CENTER (NCC, 745)

HERRICK, STEPHEN M

(804) 887-8118

In the year 2022 alone, the Offices of Inspectors General (OIG) reported that approximately 19 prisoners died while serving time at the Mark Stiles maximum security unit in Beaumont Texas.

The cause of death for 5 of the deceased was listed as murder, suicides,methamphetamine overdose and unknown. The other 14 were supposed natural causes,most notably via coronary artery disease and cardiac arrest.

Nelson Adjimiro Collazo (cardiac arrest), Lewis Lyles (cardiac arrest) and Brian Gilley (accidental death) all died in a four day span ranging August 27 2022-August 30 2022, while Larry Lynn Kennamore, Roby Lee Barber and Larry Lee Barker were all listed as natural causes spanning January 16 2022-January 26 2022. 

Most notably,the Stiles unit is broadly known throughout TDCJ as a perpetual hotbed for contraband, such as cellphones and methamphetamines, despite past raids by outside law enforcement agencies, current cellphone detectors and the firing of dozens of staff. And the amount of money to be made is so great that it is common for a staffer to put a hit out on a prisoner who poses a threat to their operation,as was the case with the murder of Murjan Abdi, according to a past resident. 

Prisoners I spoke to that were previously housed on Stiles unit as recent as January 2023 all mention that a black female staffer known as Lieutenant Lewis was either responsible for the murder of Abdi, or known to provide oversight to the introduction of methamphetamines in the units 12 building(AdSeg). 

Not only was she listed as dirty, it is said she’d have certain prisoners moved to 12 building from the general population for the purpose of being attacked by inmates living in AdSeg, who’d be illegally allowed out of their solitary cell by a guard in on the hit. To circumvent scrutiny,documentation would suggest the prisoner was moved to 12 building to await a new housing assignment or pre hearing detention (PHD) under a false disciplinary case. 

As far back as 2008 the Stiles unit has been a brothel for staff misconduct ranging from prostitution to gang recruitment. From my experience investigating prisoner deaths, I’ve learned that TDCJ uses several tactics that are designed to mislead or downplay the amount of prisoners that die and their cause of death. 

In 2018 Tracy Johnson, brother of murdered prisoner Kenneth W Johnson, paid me a visit while I was at the Michael unit. He mentioned that he and his family were initially told that Kenneth died of natural causes. After learning that he’d been strangled they pressed for the results of the autopsy. It was through this experience I learned that every prisoner’s death is listed as natural until the OIG concludes their investigation. And if a prisoner is pronounced dead at the hospital,instead of the prison,TDCJ doesn’t have to document the death on their annual in custody death database.

But scrutiny will show that they might have granted the prisoner a compassionate release and he died thereafter. This leaves room for errors such as a typist forgetting to update a death from natural to murder or otherwise. And liable wardens allowing a prisoner to be pronounced dead at the hospital instead of the prison. As long as life saving measures are still being instigated a paramedic could inadvertently play into the scheme. 

And the word “in custody deaths” are documented to mean just that. Deaths occurring in TDCJ,not at the hospital or in an ambulance. 

The George Beto unit in Tennessee Colony Texas is just as bad as the Stiles unit. In the year 2022 the OIG reported that at least 8 prisoners died while living at the unit. With 4 of the deaths occurring between March 3 2022-March 23 2022 and two happening the same day.

One of the two prisoners that died March 11 2022 was Damien Bryant,who burned to death in his cell, after it somehow caught on fire.

It’s not surprising that TDCJ mentioned that his supposed suicidal tendencies may have been a contributing factor. Yet the custodial death record lists it as happening from natural causes. Two of the eight deaths were listed as suicides by hanging and a third, Charles Anthony Rider’s, was determined as “unknown”. 

From my most recent overnight layover stay at Beto unit I learned that inmates run the prison. Most head counts and mail delivery is done by inmates without guard supervision.Just as feeding times in transient cellblocks and security checks. The lethal mix of staff shortages,negligence and corruption is what has drawn the long run culture of this unit. At will cell doors can be opened by the inmate lackeys who use their broom to reach in the unoccupied door control booth and roll the desired door.

Or cells are prerigged unbeknownst to the occupant, in the event they need to be dealt with. The infestation of contraband and the amount of money being made from it has mandated silencing any naysayers and covering up dirty work if possible. Even in the event TDCJ guards are caught red handed smuggling in contraband,the reward far outweighs the punishment prompting them to continue operating from home after losing their job. 

KTBS, a Shreveport Louisiana news station reported that former Telford unit guards,Candra Gray and KiJona Wells were arrested December 15 2022 following a smuggling scheme. In 2021 Gray was allowed to resign, following an investigation into her romantic involvement with an inmate. In 2022 she paid Wells to smuggle in contraband to the inmate she’d been involved with,who in turn would send money earned from the contraband back to Gray. In the midst of the arrest,Wells was found to be in possession of child pornography. 

On March 2 2022 Jolienne Salinas, a former Texas federal prison guard, received six months for her role in smuggling methamphetamines to an inmate she was having sex with. Her concern wasn’t the time she received but whether the judge would grant her request to continue communicating with the inmate. 

KCBD, a Lubbock Texas news station reported that: On October 6 2022 Gilma Parades, a former Smith unit guard was caught attempting to smuggle in 21 ounces of liquid fentanyl and 17.5 ounces of liquid PCP. After staff searched the guard’s car,another 30.5 ounces of PCP and 5 ounces of fentanyl was found. All it takes is 25mL(milliliters) to saturate one sheet of paper and at $1200 a sheet you can see why guards go through such measures to protect their operation at any and all costs. In total,this is enough drugs to overdose every prisoner and staff at the Smith unit several times over. 

This is why it is important that the public become aware that prisoner deaths in TDCJ don’t always occur in the manner reflected by documentation, some are instigated by the side hustle. With the stakes this high I have been experiencing a collective guard/inmate effort to silence me. Unlike most others there’s no interest to cover it up,only get the job done.Then it’s back to business as usual. 

Jason Renard Walker 1532092 
Powledge unit 
1400 FM 3452 
Palestine Tx 75803 

Sources 

USA v Salinas 2:21-cr 00739(S.D.TeX) 

Khaled Rahman, Newsweek: Another Inmate Burns To Death In Prison Cell In Texas

KTBS, Shreveport: One more former Telford correctional officer arrested in inmate bribery scheme

KCBD, Lubbock: Prison guard arrested, caught trying to bring PCP, fentanyl into unit

So Now I’m On Probation?
Except from Chapter 5 of Growing Up In Prison

I was worried actually. Anxiously I agonized away the long weekend, waiting for Monday to arrive. For what? Monday could not possibly be any different.

Monday could possibly be a bit different. The Counselor had come to see me, greeting me with a big smile. ” I wanted to speak with you about going to school ” she said sweetly. ” What about school? ” I asked suspiciously. I thought I already messed that up for the year.

The Counselor paused for a full second before answering, expression unreadable. ” How would you feel about starting today? ” she offered finally. I shrugged. “Why not? But what’s the point? Can I still graduate? ” The Counselor smiled wider. ” Of course you can, Seth! Oh, and one more thing, ” she added. ” You’ll have a meeting with your Probation Officer afterwards.

That caught me off guard. ” What? I’m on probation now? ” I asked stupidly. ” A. Meeting. With. Your. Probation Officer.” the Counselor repeated herself deliberately, through gritted teeth. She must have thought I was pretty slow. I resisted the urge to repeat myself through her own method, mocking her. After all, unlike some people, I was working on not being a sarcastic jerk. So instead I acknowledged what she said. ” Oh… A. Meeting. With. My. Probation Officer. I guess I’m on probation now! ” The Counselor scowled and stormed away. Oh, well. At least I tried.

I was collected for school, which turned out to be nothing like the real thing. Part of a class, our place was to sit still and face forward in neat little rows and listen while the Teacher read from a textbook or presented things on a projector, and then passed out worksheets for us to fill out with information regurgitated from memory. Actually, at is pretty much exactly like the real thing. It was different only in that our class consisted of twelve boys and we were prevented in asking any questions unless prompted by the Teacher to do so.

Prevented by the Officer posted in the classroom with us, who also stopped us for socializing or working on personal projects even once our work was complete. Which was most of the time, actually, as the work appeared to be about a third grade level and everyone was several years beyond that, at least. Instead, when we finished one worksheet we were just given another, then another. Even real school wasn’t this bad.

I spent the day being shuffled from one class to another. When it was all finally over I was approached by an older woman outside my pod. ” Hi Seth! I’m your a Probation Officer! ” She mentioned something like a name, which was misleading. Only people had names. A Probation Officer is still an Officer. ” Hello. Am I on probation now? ” I asked bluntly, wondering what the hell she wanted.

The Probation Officer wanted me to answer a handful of questions about myself. She would be crosschecking my answers with my mom. That last was said with an accusing look in her eyes. Also, the Probation Officer would be coming back with a at certification test.

The following day I went to school again. It was hard to believe that I was expected to learn anything at all. It was like they were just going through the motions so that some agency could file some paperwork proving that we were being educated. For whatever reason.

I was becoming frustrated with how easy the curriculum completing one worksheet after another for hours on end. My peers must have felt it too, because periodically they would act out and be punished with a Behavioural Time Out, or BTO, facing the wall with their hands behind their back. Or else they would just shut down entirely and would be escorted away to a 23:59, or a day in the cell. Failure to complete work wasn’t ” Refusing “, which was a formal term for resisting an escort. Wish someone could have told me that.

When it was finally over the Probation Officer met up with me again, intercepting me outside the Pod. She had gotten my mother’s permission for me to take the certification test, the results of which would determine whether or not I would be tried as an adult. It was ironic that while I couldn’t consent to the test that would determine my level of maturity, I would nevertheless be bound by the results.

The Probation Officer kept telling me how I would probably pass and how great that would be for me. Since I assumed that whatever the Officers thought was good for me was probably horrible for me, I resolved to fail on purpose. I either chose the most immature sounding answers or else answered at random. A lot of the questions seemed political in nature, so I split my answers with progressive and conservative causes at about equal rates. I was hoping to throw off the results. It didn’t work.

” Congratulations! You’re so mature! ” the Probation Officer enthused, having returned after dashing off to consult with her answer key. I couldn’t see why. Probably, the answer key was just a prop and she was operating on pure discretion. ” Why is that a good thing? ” I asked glumly. ” Well, now you will probably go to County Jail, and be around people your own level, ” she offered. I wasn’t buying it.

” So I get to be around grown men? ” I countered. ” Right! ” the Probation Officer exclaimed, glad I was seeing her side of things. ” But that sounds awful. What if I get hurt? ” She paused. ” Well… ” I wasn’t done. ” Plus, I was capped at 40 years before. Now I can get a whole life sentence. How is that better? ” The Probation Officer snapped, ” Well, just accept it! You are getting certified! ” I snapped back ” That’s stupid! I lied on you stupid test anyway, marking random answers! “

“ Now she was mad, her face bright red. ” Stay in your place! You’re a child, I’m an adult! So respect me! I’m your Probation Officer! ” Clearly, she was upset, so I tried to diffuse the situation. ” Apparently I’m an adult now, too, so you respect me now. Anyway, I’m not on probation, so go harass someone who gives a fuck. The Probation Officer quivered with rage, then snarled. ” You’re such a little smart-ass! ” and stomped away. Whatever, she was going to fuck me regardless. At least it couldn’t get any worse.

It got worse.

Meeting Mother Rosa
Another Excerpt from Chapter 2 of Growing Up In Prison

A very small, brown and decrepit looking creature came to see me. Shuffling slowly into my cell, she instinctively positioned herself squarely in the doorway, dashing any hope of a quick escape. I estimated her age in the centennial range. This was going to be painful. I braced myself for impact.

Mother Rosa came in swinging. ” You’re so beautiful! ” she drawled. Then, without missing a beat, gasped ” Hail the holy mother! ” I was at a loss for words.

” Umm… yeah? ” I offered weakly, as Mother Rosa sized me up, obviously expecting an answer of some sort. Apparently satisfied, she spewed forth a sermon of epic proportions on the holy mother mary, jesus, the saints and the rest of the squad. Slipping from parable to parable, past to present, and sprinkled with undeveloped references to past experiences, her message lacked focus or cohesion.

Occasionally pausing with expectation in her eyes, I’d utter ” Umm… yeah ” often enough to keep her Eminence sated. All eternity manifested in those ten minutes of agony – pure psychological torture. My mind turned itself off in an act of calculated triage, leaving only my auditory system under assault. Perhaps sensing that my conscious mind was escaping her grasp, Mother Rosa compensated by increasing the sound volume of her speech and gesticulating wildly with her hands. Soon my eyes fuzzed out and I had a rather surreal, out of body experience, as though I were watching the two of us from above.

Mother Rosa began to creep closer, and I had the irrational fear that she would attempt to hug me. Please, no! My limbic system went into overload as my fight or flight instincts kicked in. Fortunately, she just wanted to fob off a handful of pamphlets and a postcard sized icon of the virgin mary, signaling the end of our session. Every time I accepted one and smiled, hoping to placate her, it only renewed her vigor, leading to ever more pamphlets and materials. Eventually I must have accepted one or three of every item she had in that bottomless pit of a purse, because she sighed that she hadn’t brought such and such items. I sighed, too. With relief.

” My name is Miss Rosaline, ” she scoffed sternly, eyeing the slump in my shoulders that accompanied my sigh. ” Thank you, Miss Rosaline. ” I offered up meekly. ” They call me Mother Rosa! ” she insisted in an admonishing tone. ” Yes, Mother Rosa. Thank you. ” I corrected. ” Bless you child, ” Mother Rosa whimpered, placing a withered, clawed hand on my forehead before beginning to chant fervently in what I hoped was Latin. Her eyes slid in and out of focus as she fingered the beads of her rosary. Finally, she turned and shuffled slowly away, to press her case the next cell over. Poor bastard. I melted into the concrete of my bed. Mother Rosa was an experience I wasn’t keen to repeat.

Tony waited a while before collecting me for our first chess match of the day, perhaps sensing that I needed time to recover my senses. He was rather excited that things had gone so well. Apparently not every teenager was so patient with the old priestess as I had been. Shocking, I know. I wish I had crass insensitivity to use as a shield against Mother Rosa’s senile onslaught. How much easier would things have been if I just told her to fuck off? Of course, I would have felt guilty afterwards, and then Tony probably would be disappointed in me, too.

As though in sync with my thoughts, whatever kid Mother Rosa was currently pestering exploded in a stream of expletives, screaming the wannabe Mother Teresa figure out of his cell. Brave fellow. Protective of his spiritual advisor, Tony rushed to her defense. ” I kept asking her to leave! ” he shouted at Tony. ” But you didn’t have to cuss her out! ” Tony shouted back. Their shouting match centered around variations of those two themes.

Eventually things would down, with Tony writing a case on Mother Rosa’s victim as she settled on some poor soul yet another cell over…

Seth Yates 1776898
Ferguson Unit
12120 Savage Dr.
Midway, TX 75852

June 9, 2023

Dear Friends,

In less than a month I’ll be released – to homelessness. I’m writing to thank you for all your help, and to beg for your continued aid. My defense committee has been unable to find me housing due to the strain of survival and the trauma of Tortuguita’s assassination.

My requests, for release to halfway house and/or transfer to my partner’s address outside Florida, have been denied. I’m held in isolation with no access to email or regular phone calls. I’ll be in danger on the street in Tallahassee and I could be attacked or sent back to prison just for sleeping outside.

Please help me find a place to live before I’m released on 7/5/23. I need a room, efficiency, or trailer, with sober people, who don’t have large dogs, or a criminal record, to comply with the probation officer’s requirements. The homeless shelter in Tallahassee is always full, and the college town economy sees mass unemployment and homelessness every summer and winter break.

Please help me stay out of prison. Please help me find housing and work in Tallahassee. I’m cut off from my defense committee and can only reach my lawyer, Lizzie Valejo, in rare scheduled legal calls, which are often cancelled arbitrarily. Here’s how you can help:

-share this message

-fundraise/send money

-send housing options and job offers

-secure housing for me (we have a little over $3000 raised for my release)

-connect with movement groups in Tallahassee and raise awareness of my situation

-contact my defense committee and help them search for work and housing

-contact anyone you know in Tallahassee who can provide housing or work and advocate for me, ideally ideologically sympathetic friends, and send me an address

-contact my lawyer, Lizzie Valejo, at 850-942-8818, to contact me, ask how to send money, or offer housing and work

Thanks for all you’ve done so far, and thank you for helping me so I can help others!

Until all are free,

Dan

Contact Dan’s support crew on Instagram at @freedanbaker

Greetings of Love and Solidarity,

Alot has taken place in my life in the last year. I got married to a beautiful and smart trans woman. In March I had surgery for a hernia repair, which I had been trying to do for the past three years. I’m still experiencing complications from the surgery.

I started a project that bought up the debts that queer prisoners had accrued for the purchase of drugs and food products. This was somewhat controversial on the inside and outside. We are all responsible for our own lives, but no human or anarchist principle dictates that we refuse to help others whose own decisions have brought trouble upon their heads, unless we believe that in trying to help them, we are perpetrating greater harm. Denying queer prisoners who are drug abusers humane aid multiplies their miseries without bringing them one inch closer to recovery and safety. The more we dehumanize and vilify drug abusers, the more it is impossible to put in place the kind of interventions that will help them.

Also, I hired one attorney, fired him and hired a new one. Hopefully I’ll be out there with you all this year. I’ve been taking part in the Solitary Gardens Project, which grows plenty of food. This world wants to crush those of us that desire a different way of life into oblivion. Their surveillance technology, jails, prisons and war machines are all to cause despair. We must not let despair gain a hold on our psyche or we lose.

I’m finding inspiration in the Atlanta forest defenders. The actions in Atlanta of the police are to bring about our despair. The Atlanta forest defenders have shown us the way forward.

Despair paralyzes us into inaction. Prisons are the site of chattel slavery in this day and age in the U.S. So, I take inspiration from the work and actions of those of you out there fighting, refusing to let despair paralyze them into inaction. I’m trying to live anarchy as best I can, even in this hellhole. If not now, when? If not here, where?

The war goes on wherever we find ourselves on bourgeois dominated soul.

Stop Cop City!

Michael Kimble 138017
William Donaldson Correctional
100 Warrior Lane
Bessemer, AL 35023