Police, prison and abolition

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kidoftheblackhole
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Re: Police, prison and abolition

Post by kidoftheblackhole » Fri Jan 19, 2018 9:17 pm

blindpig wrote:
Fri Jan 19, 2018 3:19 pm
kidoftheblackhole wrote:
Tue Jan 16, 2018 9:19 am
There is a rally in the capital today where Angela Davis is speaking. I'm making the drive. My old stomping grounds where I went to school at FSU.
How did it go? Some folks got arrested?
I don't think any arrests. I thought it was going to be a rally on a lawn in the capitol area with Angela Davis speaking. Turns out it was a gathering in the open lobby to the Corrections building with people yelling inside at all of the cowering/gawking/glowering Corrections employees (including door security people since each entrance had a posted guard..not sure if that is all the time or only for this occasion but there is no public access apart from handicapped as required by law). I believe there was supposed to be a subsequent outside rally at the steps of the building with reporters from local newspapers but I never saw that before I had to leave. A few people had banners and some signs had been planted in the ground. Angela Davis apparently spoke later that evening in an auditorium at Florida State, which we were not able to attend.

In general it was a bunch kids with bullhorns making some noise and shaking the cops' tree a bit. Shouting chanting, singing, etc -- nothing wrong with rattling those cages (and there was more than a little invective too, naturally).

A group from Gainesville came up although I don't know any of them personally. There is also the Gainesville GMB of the IWW (General Membership Branch which anyone can join since there is no local -- I was a member for a while but its too long of a drive for me to do and they had some real butthead members).

One of the pictures you posted above is them rallying at FCI Coleman which is very close to where I live.

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blindpig
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Re: Police, prison and abolition

Post by blindpig » Sat Jan 20, 2018 3:33 pm

kidoftheblackhole wrote:
Fri Jan 19, 2018 9:17 pm
blindpig wrote:
Fri Jan 19, 2018 3:19 pm
kidoftheblackhole wrote:
Tue Jan 16, 2018 9:19 am
There is a rally in the capital today where Angela Davis is speaking. I'm making the drive. My old stomping grounds where I went to school at FSU.
How did it go? Some folks got arrested?
I don't think any arrests. I thought it was going to be a rally on a lawn in the capitol area with Angela Davis speaking. Turns out it was a gathering in the open lobby to the Corrections building with people yelling inside at all of the cowering/gawking/glowering Corrections employees (including door security people since each entrance had a posted guard..not sure if that is all the time or only for this occasion but there is no public access apart from handicapped as required by law). I believe there was supposed to be a subsequent outside rally at the steps of the building with reporters from local newspapers but I never saw that before I had to leave. A few people had banners and some signs had been planted in the ground. Angela Davis apparently spoke later that evening in an auditorium at Florida State, which we were not able to attend.

In general it was a bunch kids with bullhorns making some noise and shaking the cops' tree a bit. Shouting chanting, singing, etc -- nothing wrong with rattling those cages (and there was more than a little invective too, naturally).

A group from Gainesville came up although I don't know any of them personally. There is also the Gainesville GMB of the IWW (General Membership Branch which anyone can join since there is no local -- I was a member for a while but its too long of a drive for me to do and they had some real butthead members).

One of the pictures you posted above is them rallying at FCI Coleman which is very close to where I live.
Funny how things like that get confused. I hitched down to DC once thinking I was going to see Al Kooper and Jefferson Airplane playing at Lafayette Park for free. Turned out it was Alice Cooper and Hot Tuna.
"There is great chaos under heaven; the situation is excellent."

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blindpig
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Re: Police, prison and abolition

Post by blindpig » Sat Jan 20, 2018 3:35 pm

Update on Operation PUSH in the Florida Department of Corrections (1/19/18)

It’s been a hard silence for the past 5 days since Operation PUSH launched a statewide prisoner strike in the FL Department of Corrections prison system (FDOC or FDC) coinciding with Martin Luther King Day.

Information from prisoners is coming in at a much slower pace than people on the outside had anticipated, but reports are slowly and steadily making their way through the walls, despite many obstacles.

Thus far, we've heard from prisoners that there has been active participation or repression of some sort in the following prisons: Santa Rosa, Jackson, Gulf, Hamilton, Avon Park, Franklin, Holmes, Everglades, Reception and Medical Center at Lake Butler, Liberty, Lowell, Columbia, Florida State Prison, Suwannee, Calhoun, and Martin. (The list is growing by the day.)

Strike Repression
A common theme among report backs is the attempt by the DOC to sever communication in order to create the perception of inactivity and break the spirits of those participating in the strike. Key contacts inside have reported being threatened by administration with harsher retaliation if correspondence with advocacy groups such as Fight Toxic Prisons and Incarcerated Workers Organizing Committee continues.

According to prisoner reports, some facilities have shut off state phone service as of Tuesday, January 16. A Security Threat Group (STG) investigator employed at a prison in the panhandle confirmed that multiple prisons across the state were placed on lockdown in preparation for the strike. Shakedowns have occurred where independent means of communication were confiscated and their alleged owners/users were thrown in solitary confinement.

We've heard reports that widespread investigations are occurring for anyone who has received or sent mail to organizations offering support on the outside and certain individuals are being labelled a “security threat” for doing so which can result in heightened custody levels, which means a loss of privileges, and continued harassment by the STG unit. One prisoner was told, “As long as you communicate with these people you’re always going to be labelled a security threat and you’re always going to be put under investigation.”

Given the past two years of prisoner organizing in Florida, it’s understandable that there is an expectation to hear of something distinct on the inside marking the start of the strike.

Prisoner Resistance in Florida
The movement on the inside of Florida’s prison system has become known for its moments of upheaval and crackdown, such as the unexpected uprising at Holmes CI on Sept 7, 2016, two days prior to the national wave of prisoner-led actions commemorating the Attica anniversary... followed by uprisings at 10 other facilities which had little-to-no previous connection to outside support.

In most of those cases, the publicity about September 2016 surrounded a violent state repression that turned entire prison dorm units into battle zones. But what was gathered in prisoner correspondence months later was that most of the resistance began as quiet acts of non-cooperation among small groups.

The following year, surrounding a prisoner rights march in DC on Aug 19, the state extremely overreacted by placing all of its 97,000 prisoners on simultaneous lockdown, putting FL on the map once again.

Operation PUSH: A New Phase in the Struggle for Prison Abolition
Thus far, Operation PUSH has been something different. It has shown lessons learned on both sides of this war. (Yes, a war, still being fought ultimately between the people who want to continue slavery and the ones who want to end it.)

Operation PUSH did not call for rebellions in the prisons, which are relatively frequent occurrences in Florida, and though they are bold and courageous acts, they have not been as effective in the communication of clear, specific demands as PUSH has presented.

Operation PUSH repeatedly called for the slow and steady process of economic impact through non-participation. In response to this, the DOC appears to be using a different approach of low-intensity, psychological warfare rather than blunt force.

In the absence of news reports about brutal repression and destructive responses, and as a result of reduced communication access, we are left to wonder about details of what's actually going on inside. Much of this may have to wait for firsthand accounts to surface via postal mail.

It should come as no surprise that the DOC can't be trusted to report strikes occurring in Florida state prisons, just as they have been lying, or to borrow from a PUSH prisoner, "using wordplay," around the rip-off of their canteen prices. They have been working for weeks to eliminate the chance of the strike's success. Claiming that it never existed is another tactic for trying to stop it. Never trust the oppressors to adequately report the facts.

Beyond this, organizers have conducted public records requests indicating that the DOC has been monitoring dozens of organizations for months in an effort to undermine inside/outside alliances.

Clearly the DOC views our organizing as more than a minor inconvenience.

One drawback of having the build-up of public support grow for weeks on the outside is that it provided ample notification and time for the DOC to bribe, threaten and gather scab labor. Prisoners who aren't engaged with the movement are able to replace participants in Operation PUSH and conduct the major operations needed to keep the slave camps running (food, cleaning, etc.)

This repression has made it hard to quantify participation, and word of the widespread support and solidarity actions are only now beginning to trickle in through news reports and letter writing events occurring all over the country.

Because Florida DOC practices such harsh retaliation against the people in its care and control, groups on the outside decided to deliver the prisoners’ demands.

Starting as early as New Year’s Eve, Operation PUSH solidarity protests across Florida have included demonstrations at the Gainesville Work Camp prison, a Miami parole office and The Lake Butler Reception/Medical Center prison, with hundreds of participants being seen and heard directly by thousands of prisoners and DOC employees at this facility.

On January 16, a 5-hour takeover of the DOC lobby in Tallahassee occurred, demanding a meeting with DOC Secretary Julie Jones, which resulted in protestors being forcefully evicted from the building and an arrest in which a protestor is facing a bogus felony charge related to a small amount of damaged property. The response to this protest by FDOC was similar to what we have come to expect: repression and deception. After attacking protestors in their lobby, they released a statement saying they were “battered” by PUSH supporters.

Despite the repression and lies, support for Operation PUSH is massively intensifying the public pressure on the DOC and that is an undeniable early victory of the movement five days into it and there are almost 150 organizations who have expressed explicit support nationwide, contributing social media support, solidarity actions, letter-writing events and fundraising. There have been over 40 stories in the news, including major national and international outlets.

What's next?
Over the coming weeks, organizers on the outside with IWOC and FTP will be gathering correspondence from the inside and releasing periodical updates, coupled with individualized support campaigns, as we have been doing over the past 2 years.

Several hundred strike support yard signs were printed for statewide distribution and a new phone zap campaign has been released.

The DOC is pretending to ignore Operation PUSH by issuing meaningless statements and attempting to confuse people over canteen prices (citing the cost of a single soup, when prisoners' statement referred to cost for a case.) Make no mistake. They are far from ignoring the strikers, and it is far from over.

January 15 in Florida was a major step in building up the movement to end prison slavery that is brewing on a national scale. It has sown seeds for the months ahead. Prisoners in Texas have already called for renewing the celebration of the Juneteenth abolitionist holiday and spreading it into prisons worldwide. We are considering Operation PUSH as important and necessary groundwork for making that successful.

In the meantime, keep in touch via Support Prisoners And Real Change, Incarcerated Workers Organizing Committee, and Fight Toxic Prisoners.

https://incarceratedworkers.org/news/up ... ions-11918
"There is great chaos under heaven; the situation is excellent."

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blindpig
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Re: Police, prison and abolition

Post by blindpig » Sat Jan 20, 2018 5:16 pm

Execution-style massacre of 4 SC prison inmates was ‘gross negligence,’ lawsuits say
BY JOHN MONK

jmonk@thestate.com

January 16, 2018 06:27 PM

Updated January 18, 2018 07:37 AM

COLUMBIA, SC
Four prisoners slain last April in an execution-style killing died because of horrible under-staffing and poor mental health care at a high-security S.C. prison, according to lawsuits filed Tuesday by relatives of two of the inmates.

“It was just a powder keg, a place where they had some of the worst of the worst,” said Carter Elliott, the Georgetown attorney who filed the lawsuits along with attorneys John O’Leary of Columbia and Gerald Malloy of Darlington, a Democratic state senator.

The lawsuits — filed by relatives of two of the four slain prisoners, Jason Kelley and Jimmy Lee Hamm — allege numerous instances of “gross negligence” by prison officials that made conditions ripe for one of the most violent incidents in S.C. prison history.

During a three-hour period after breakfast on April 7, two inmates incarcerated for murder – Denver Simmons and Jacob Philip – lured four of their fellow inmates into a prison cell and, then, strangled them with a broom handle and stomped on their bodies, breaking bones, the lawsuits say.


The lawsuits highlight anew ongoing issues of rising violence, chronic under-staffing and inadequate mental health care in S.C. prisons, which house roughly 20,000 inmates, most incarcerated for violent crimes.

Earlier this month, The State newspaper reported that 12 inmates were slain in South Carolina’s 21 prisons in 2017, double the number of killings in 2016 and four times the number in 2015.

Assaults on prison staffers also have increased.

Prison officials had no comment Tuesday on the lawsuits, filed in state court in Richland County. They said they had not received copies of the suits and, in any case, don’t comment on pending litigation.

Among the allegations:

▪ Prison officials should have known the two alleged killers, Simmons and Philip, were bent on murder because they had told prison staffers. Both men, serving life sentences for multiple murders, “had voiced on several occasions” to prison security and medical staff “their intentions to kill other inmates so they could receive the death penalty,” the suits say.

▪ Instead of being locked up, Simmons and Philip were given “wardkeeper status,” allowing them freedom of movement and access to mops and brooms, tools they used in two of the killings. An extension cord was used in two other killings, the lawsuits say. “All the victims were stabbed, stepped on and their throats were crushed with a broomstick,” the lawsuits say.

▪ One inmate was lured to his death with the promise of getting to eat cookies if he entered Simmons’ cell.

▪ Guards didn’t discover the killings, which took place over three hours, until told about them by the two suspects. “After the murders were completed, Mr. Philip and Mr. Simmons eventually walked up to the operations desk where Mr. Simmons told staff to ‘check my room,’ ” the suits say.

▪ Although the unit the killings took place was for mentally ill prisoners, the mental health care given inmates was negligently substandard, the lawsuits say.

Inmates are not the most sympathetic people in the world, attorney Elliott said Tuesday. But, he added, “We all could have family members, or people we know, who are incarcerated. They deserve humane treatment, and the prisons have a duty to provide that.”

South Carolina’s prison system is understaffed, officials have acknowledged.

In recent years, prison officials have worked to get more money to increase the pay of prison guards and other staffers to make hiring more prison workers easier. But the prison system still has 652 vacancies for front-line correctional officers.

Simmons and Philip subsequently confessed to the killings, adding their motive was to get the death penalty, the lawsuits allege. The 5th Circuit Solicitor’s Office has made no decision on whether to seek the death penalty at their trials.

Image

http://www.thestate.com/news/local/crim ... 95644.html

We see that the 'authorities' are only concerned when their overseers are threatened, and then only because they are getting hard to replace as only the really desperate and the depraved would take a gig like that. I also suspect that the claim that most of the 20K humans in the 'System' are violent to be very suspect. I've known quite a few who have 'gone away' and very few of those for criminal violence. The only admitted murderer that I've known 'walked'.(He's dead now)

South Carolina has historically been the most violent state in the nation and this is bound up with slavery which necessitates utterly ruthless violence to preserve the ruling class's position, they are a vicious lot. This was the last state to outlaw dueling, very much a ruling class 'sport'. 'Ruling ideas', like shit, roll downhill. Arguments might be made for Texas, another slave state, but it should be recalled that Texas was founded by petty booj wanna-be planters of whom many left SC cause they couldn't compete against the big boys for good land.
"There is great chaos under heaven; the situation is excellent."

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kidoftheblackhole
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Re: Police, prison and abolition

Post by kidoftheblackhole » Sat Jan 20, 2018 8:25 pm

blindpig wrote:
Sat Jan 20, 2018 3:33 pm
kidoftheblackhole wrote:
Fri Jan 19, 2018 9:17 pm
blindpig wrote:
Fri Jan 19, 2018 3:19 pm


How did it go? Some folks got arrested?
I don't think any arrests. I thought it was going to be a rally on a lawn in the capitol area with Angela Davis speaking. Turns out it was a gathering in the open lobby to the Corrections building with people yelling inside at all of the cowering/gawking/glowering Corrections employees (including door security people since each entrance had a posted guard..not sure if that is all the time or only for this occasion but there is no public access apart from handicapped as required by law). I believe there was supposed to be a subsequent outside rally at the steps of the building with reporters from local newspapers but I never saw that before I had to leave. A few people had banners and some signs had been planted in the ground. Angela Davis apparently spoke later that evening in an auditorium at Florida State, which we were not able to attend.

In general it was a bunch kids with bullhorns making some noise and shaking the cops' tree a bit. Shouting chanting, singing, etc -- nothing wrong with rattling those cages (and there was more than a little invective too, naturally).

A group from Gainesville came up although I don't know any of them personally. There is also the Gainesville GMB of the IWW (General Membership Branch which anyone can join since there is no local -- I was a member for a while but its too long of a drive for me to do and they had some real butthead members).

One of the pictures you posted above is them rallying at FCI Coleman which is very close to where I live.
Funny how things like that get confused. I hitched down to DC once thinking I was going to see Al Kooper and Jefferson Airplane playing at Lafayette Park for free. Turned out it was Alice Cooper and Hot Tuna.
I drove to a conference in Indianapolis once only to find out it was in Columbus, Ohio. Luckily not that far away.

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blindpig
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Re: Police, prison and abolition

Post by blindpig » Tue Jan 23, 2018 5:34 pm

Make history in 2018, not excuses: Whose side are you on?
November 30, 2017
Part V: Campaign to Redistribute the Pain 2018
by Bennu Hannibal Ra-Sun, formerly known as Melvin Ray, Free Alabama Movement

Image
“Times Are Changing” – Art: Arkee Chaney, A71362, P.O. Box 1327, Galesburg IL 61401

Greetings of love, dedication and resiliency to all Freedom Fighters and fearless frontline generals, soldiers and warriors who dare to struggle and sacrifice for liberty, freedom and equality from behind these walls, fences and cages of genocide and oppression. As we continue to raise awareness and lift up our voices so that we may be heard on the issues of systemic racism and economic exploitation in the criminal justice system, as well as prison slavery and police killings and brutality, we continue to see an evil and determined enemy dig in its heels in the name of White Supremacy.

In October 2017, it was reported that the Trump administration is seeking more immigration jails and detention facilities to house more immigrants that they plan to arrest. Prior to this, in September 2017, President Trump gave a speech in Huntsville, Alabama, to deliver his latest “rally the troops” speech to a captivated and applauding audience with a clear message to White America that Black people in this country must be kept in our “place” or suffer the consequences.

It was not by coincidence that Trump chose Alabama, the Heart of Dixie, to deliver his racist and misogynistic statement. A footnote on Alabama history is in order here.

On May 21, 1901, at the Constitutional Convention of 1901 of the State of Alabama, we find the following statements in the official minutes of the proceedings from convention president-elect John B. Knox:

“And what is it that we want to do? Why it is, within the limits imposed by the federal Constitution, to establish white supremacy in this state.”

Mr. Knox further states:

“But if we would have white supremacy, we must establish it by law – not by force or fraud.”

President Trump’s choice of Alabama to make his “son of a bitch” speech coincides with the comments made by our Sister Jemele Hill of ESPN, as we can all now see that birds of the same feather flock together. Trump’s statement expressed a clear ideology of white supremacy: When a Black mother gives birth to a Black child who she would raise up to be a man who speaks out against racism and oppression, then, in the eyes of white supremacist ideology, that mother is a bitch. And, according to this ideology, these sons of bitches should be fired or, worse, fired on.

Colin Kaepernick, a man of bi-racial origin, raised by a white family, and deeply rooted in Black and human consciousness, made a stand by taking a knee. President Trump took a fall by trying to stand in the same space as a man.

As vanguards of the current Prisoners’ Human Rights Movement, we, too, are charged with taking a stand. The Campaign to Redistribute the Pain in 2018 is a call to action for those serious about freedom, justice and economic equality. Just like Colin, we have chosen a non-violent action, in exercise of our First Amendment right to free speech, to expose neo-slavery and inhumane practices throughout the prisons and entire criminal justice system.

We already know what lies ahead; we see that Colin has been white-balled by the NFL. Many of us have experienced repression for our efforts thus far, also. We know what happened to Brother Hugo Pinell. We see the torment of men like Kevin “Rashid” Johnson, Jalil Muntaqim, Malik Washington, Mafundi Lake, Russell Maroon Shoatz/s, Mumia Abu Jamal and so many more.

As vanguards of the current Prisoners’ Human Rights Movement, we, too, are charged with taking a stand. The Campaign to Redistribute the Pain in 2018 is a call to action for those serious about freedom, justice and economic equality.
For those of us down here in the Deep South in the Free Alabama Movement, things have been no different. Over four years in, and not a single person from any other race, ethnicity or nationality, EXCEPT Black men, has spent a single day – not one – in a solitary confinement cell for exercising rights supposedly secured by the U.S. Constitution. White supremacy is established in the law, just like they said it would be.

But this only tells half of the story …

The ADOC has resorted to using the solitary confinement units at the four maximum security units to stifle the spread of the movement: St. Clair CF [Correctional Facility], W.E. Donaldson CF, Holman CF and Limestone CF. Of the 12 wardens at these four prisons – each facility has three – 11 are Black and only one is white. Also, Donaldson was selected as the “breaking” plantation, where, within the last approximately 24 months, over 80 men have been transferred to this prison and were subsequently beaten, sexually assaulted, and confined to solitary. Fewer than 12 officers carried out almost all of these attacks, and most of these officers were Black: Snelson, Edmonson, Gunn, Gadson, Binder, Phillips, Speak, Turnbull, and Cunningham.

Prior to being transferred to Limestone on Aug. 2, 2017, I had spent the preceding two years at Donaldson, most of it in solitary confinement. When I was let out briefly in 2016, I learned that one of the Black wardens (Angela Miree) and one of the Black captains (Baldwin) had solicited a “hit” on me in July 2016. After their hit was thwarted, the next month I was placed back into solitary confinement.

Immediately above the heads of these Black administrations are two Black regional coordinators, Cheryl Price and Gwendolyn Mosley, who, in turn, have a Black supervisor in Associate Commissioner Grantt Culliver. Incidentally, it is at this level where the decisions are made as to who gets sent to the new statewide SHU at Limestone or the “breaking” plantation at Donaldson CF.

Just to give you an idea of how these Black professionals are making decisions on who is subjected to the “nigger boxes” (as they were called on the slave plantations), here are some figures. In August 2017, the population at Donaldson CF was approximately 1,800, including 1,418 Black, 356 White and five Mexican prisoners; numbers are approximate.

Over 87 percent of all men in segregation at Donaldson are Black. The statewide lockup unit at Limestone is 90 percent Black. St. Clair and Holman seg units are over 83 percent Black. Extreme oppression has always been reserved for Black people in the South – and no less elsewhere.

Of the several beatings that took place at Donaldson prison, one stands about above the rest. When the transfer from Holman took place after the warden (Carter Davenport) was stabbed, five men were sent to Donaldson. One by one as they exited the van they were led into a room in handcuffs, belly chains and shackles, where they were all then beaten one by one. Three or four of them were sexually assaulted. Every one of them identified Officer Justin Gunn (Black) as the leader of the assault.

This incident was so savage that it drew Associate Commissioner Culliver and Regional Coordinator Price to the prison. Yet, nothing was done. Subsequent to this, Officer Gunn beat, sexually assaulted and hospitalized Quintavius Clark. He has since assaulted Brandon (“Bird”), and kicked a man in the mouth while handcuffed, in addition to getting knocked out in a fistfight. When I left the prison in August 2017, he was assigned to tower duty due to his latest assault.

These attacks are being carried out by Black correctional officers and then covered up by Black administrators. The very flag that symbolized oppression for Black people is the exact same flag that these officers salute and pledge allegiance to, which is the same flag that John B. Knox said gives them the power “to establish white supremacy in this state.”

One by one as they exited the van they were led into a room in handcuffs, belly chains and shackles, where they were all then beaten one by one. Three or four of them were sexually assaulted. Every one of them identified Officer Justin Gunn (Black) as the leader of the assault.
Imagine that, the same niggers that couldn’t get a job with the ADOC 50 years ago until Martin, Malcolm, Elijah, BPP and others stood up to Jim Crow are now leading the charge to suppress a non-violent movement against, as Michelle Alexander calls it, “The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration.”

We’ve seen it all before, though. Right?! Didn’t we see Black folks denounce MLK in Alabama? When Ferguson erupted, didn’t the state send for Al and Jesse? When that didn’t work, they called in “their” clergy and preachers.

In Alabama, they had ol’ Chaplain Browder bringing chicken and watermelon. Hell, Ferguson went so far as to install a coon police chief. With all the Black professionals in ADOC in Montgomery, can’t we anticipate what’s coming next in their efforts to stop our movement? Mississippi’s Black DOC commissioner just went to prison for human trafficking of Black bodies.

Our Elder Richard “Mafundi” Lake used to always express to us the importance of studying our history in our struggle. Baba Mafundi used to say, “Black people can find the answers to all of our problems by studying Black History.”

Then he would say, “See, you got to organize the people.” That precept, ORGANIZE, is one of the pillars of civilization that our Ancestors left to us. They organized! every facet of their life. Indeed, the process of life itself, and all things in the universe, is organized. And if we are to achieve our goal within this movement, then we, too, must organize – because the opposition, as I pointed out in Part IV of this series, is already organized.

We have 51 states before us. Each state has its own sovereign authority. But in order to create a United States, all 51 states agreed to give up some of their rights for the benefit of the whole body. This is how the federal government was created. The fed has limited authority over federal issues, and the states retained authority over all remaining issues specific to each state.

For example, each state has its own state tax rates, while every citizen has to pay the same federal tax rate based on income. But there are not 51 different currencies. Instead, there is only one U.S. dollar that all 51 states use. This is so because all 51 states agreed to allow the federal government to establish a single currency (see Article 1, Section 8, U.S. Constitution). This structure is pretty much how our National Prisoners’ Rights Movement will have to be organized.

Each of us in our individual states has certain issues that are specific to our individual state that we will need to pursue on a state-by-state basis. These issues will have to be decided by the people in those states. This is the sovereign characteristic of our structure.

At the same time, though, we will need to form and consolidate a national body to create national plans, coordinate nationwide events, and maximize our impact on a national scale concerning those issues that we all share in common.

To date, we have already conducted one nationwide direct action campaign – the Sept. 9, 2016, 45th Anniversary Attica Rebellion Non-Violent Demonstration. Our outside supporters also just conducted the August 2017 Millions for Prisoners Human Rights March. These efforts, though successful, illustrate why it is important for us to organize these energized bodies.

Anyone familiar with college basketball probably associates the term “one-and-done” with the Kentucky Wildcats. They have plenty of talent, all of the potential, but very little to show for it. We can’t forget a movement based on “one-and-done” either. This is where a national organizational structure comes in. As of right now, I am aware of two proposed constructs, although I have not seen any specific details as to how either would be constructed or operated. One appears to be the Millions for Prisoners Human Rights Coalition, and the other appears to be Prison Lives Matter.

Image
“Dehumanization 1619 to 2017” – Art: Arkee Chaney, A71362, P.O. Box 1327, Galesburg IL 61401

From my perspective, the names that we choose are far less important than making sure that we implement the proper type of structure that creates BOTH inside organizations and outside organizations. As far as how that would look and need to be organized, picture a triangle: At the top is the national organizing body, and the other two points represent outside organizations, such as the Millions for Prisoners Human Rights Coalition –Michigan, and those inside, such as the Free Michigan Movement.

STEP 1. The first step in this process would be creating a steering committee to help draw up an outline for establishing a board of directors. These members would be tasked with soliciting candidates to fill a nine (or so) member board composed of six individuals who are incarcerated and three who are in society. Once the nominees are in, an election would be held to select a Board of Executives and Directors.

STEP 2. Establish charters for inside and outside organizations. For example, the incarcerated men and women in Michigan would establish their Free Michigan Movement charter, which would serve as an umbrella for all factions operating inside MDOC.

All of the outside organizations operating in Michigan who are committed to supporting the directives of the FMM would then organize under the outside support charter, Millions for Prisoners Human Rights Coalition – Michigan.

STEP 3. Next, of course, would be the drafting of the bylaws. Within these documents would be an outline of the specific functions, purposes and duties, etc., of everyone associated with the national organization. Only national policies will be coordinated on this level, such as:

Nationwide hunger strikes
Nationwide boycott campaigns and storefront protests of companies like McDonalds, Starbucks etc., that profit from prison labor. We would select only one company at a time and organize nationwide demonstrations.
Nationwide protests at prisons, DOC headquarters, state capitals etc.
Nationwide workstrike dates
Nationwide boycotts of collect phone calls, canteens, incentive packages, visitations etc. in the mold of the Campaign to Redistribute the Pain 2018.
Nationwide 13th Amendment awareness rallies, marches etc.
Nationwide social media events, including “Twitter-storms,” panel discussions etc.
Obviously, this is just a proposal. I am sure there are others out there with ideas on how we should proceed too. We need to bring these ideas together to form a plan of action.

Additionally, there are many organizations in society out there that are kicking up dust but don’t have a platform for connecting to our struggle behind these walls. In fact, many of them are fighting issues that they may not even realize are connected to the 13th Amendment and slavery. Those of us on the inside have to build those bridges through our outside support networks that will connect our people together.

To establish that point:

I recently read up on the events concerning the police killing of Anthony Lamar Smith in St. Louis, Missouri. What stood out the most was how the activists there have completely changed their strategy to now target the economic structure of the city as opposed to just marching and protests. They targeted the malls, entertainment centers, restaurants and even a concert venue. All of their target areas were forced to close. This impacted the pockets of city finances, supporters of murderous police etc., and helped to “Redistribute the Pain.”

As one activist said, “Last time in Ferguson, we were very emotional and just protestors, but we are now activists.” We have to be activists also behind these walls before our pain will be felt.

Ultimately, though, as powerful as their demonstration was, they left plenty of money on the table. Under the organizational structure that I am proposing, those of us on the inside could have been added to that force on the outside. Here’s how:

In Alabama, we just received the winter food package list from Access SecurePak. Where is the company headquartered? 10880 Linpage Place, St. Louis, MO 63132. Most likely, this same company has contracts throughout Missouri’s DOC and probably even city or county jails. A boycott of this business that supports and finances mass incarceration and prison slavery most definitely should have been included. Additionally, and at the same time, work strikes should have been organized at the jails and prisons.

Missouri is no different from Alabama, California, Texas, South Carolina, Georgia, or any other state. Prison labor is active and a revenue generator on all layers of the economy in Missouri. In fact, the very streets, roads, and sidewalks that the activists were moving on are probably cleaned in some part by prison slave labor. Some of the stores may even have products made in a prison. Most definitely, the police cruisers that are dispatched to the scenes where our activists are congregated are maintained and repaired by people in jail or prison.

Millions of dollars in labor costs, lost production and lost sales can be effectively mounted onto the backs of cities in an instant, if only we can connect our movement together.

Under the organizational structure that I am proposing here, this unification would merge seamlessly, and the fit would be perfect because we are already aligned strategically on the use of direct action economic activity. For example, the outside organization, Millions for Prisoners Human Rights Coalition – Missouri would be the eyes and ears on the ground that would be informed when a trial like Mr. Smith’s was taking place.

They would join forces with other outside activists and groups, letting them know of our presence on the inside, say, Free Missouri Movement. Throughout the process of trial, planning and coordination would take place, starting at the local city and county jails then moving to the prisons. Then, when the unlawful verdict is reached, the plan of action would go into effect – boycotts and work strikes on the inside, with boycotts on the outside.

Millions of dollars in labor costs, lost production and lost sales can be effectively mounted onto the backs of cities in an instant, if only we can connect our movement together.
This, of course, would be an example of an individual state charter exercising autonomy in a local issue. These plans would also be relayed up to the national board, who would then send advisories out to all other branches nationwide in the event that other branches wanted to join in the same capacity.

It could be a hunger strike, a boycott in the mold of the Campaign to Redistribute the Pain 2018, a work strike or whatever. (Them brothers up in Michigan at Marquette, Kinross, Cotton and Chippewa appear to be ready at the drop of a dime.) The main thing is, we have to get organized, then get connected to the broader struggle in society.

Plain and simple, we have to get connected because police killings and social justice are each a part of prison slavery and mass incarceration. How? What if Mike Brown had lived? Where would he be today? In prison! When Sandra Bland asserted her rights as a human being, where did she end up dying? In jail!

If Anthony Lamar Smith had lived, what would have happened? I’ll tell you what: He would have been arrested, charged with drug possession and distribution, and taken to jail. Walter Scott was running from the slave catcher because he didn’t want to be returned where? Jail!

Mike Brown, of course, would have probably been charged with assault, attempted murder, jaywalking and who knows what else. Since the bail bond system was so thoroughly exposed after his death, we know that his bail would have been near $500,000. And, we already know that the grand jury would have believed Officer Wilson, so Mike Brown would have been indicted. According to Michelle Alexander’s book, “The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness,” Mike Brown would have pled guilty, just like 95 percent of all defendants do.

Thus, Mike Brown would be in the county jail, waiting to go to MDOC, where he would become Brown, M, D819642, B/M. Life.

Plain and simple, we have to get connected because police killings and social justice are each a part of prison slavery and mass incarceration.
If Sandra Bland had lived, her situation would be even worse. In recent years, rapes, sodomy and sexual violence have been reported in women’s prisons from Alabama, Florida, California and Mississippi, just to name a few. In January 2014, the U.S. Department of Justice concluded an investigation by finding that the women at Julia Tutwiler Prison have been raped, sexually abused and more for a period of almost 20 consecutive years – up to 2014 when the investigative report was issued. And it continues …

A more glaring fact missing from these reports is that many of these women gave birth to children, while other women had abortions. Some of these women were forced to have abortions, while other women who refused abortions, by sometimes married officers, had their fetuses beaten from their bodies. I was once given an eyewitness account by a woman formerly incarcerated at Tutwiler, who recounted seeing a mentally ill young woman beaten until she miscarried by an officer who had been raping her.

There are many Sandra Blands who lived. Yet, where are their protests? Do their Black Lives Matter while they are still alive, or must they die first? What about the children who were born to these prison slave plantation rapes? First and foremost, the Department of Justice report did not even tell us how many children were born – but the ADOC knows how many deliveries were made.

Where are these children whose mothers have life sentences with no family members capable of receiving such child, and the father is a correctional officer, married with a family, and no incentive to tell his wife and family that he has a child at work on a slave plantation? Haven’t we experienced this narrative already? Don’t these Black Lives Matter, too?

When we, FAM’s blogtalk radio show The People’s Platform and Sign of the Times with Queen T, hosted the Scott Sisters from Mississippi upon their release from Mississippi’s slave yards, they told us of women who had given birth to as many as four to five children while incarcerated for over 20 years. In society, we see report after report of women being raped by police officers. Aren’t these issues combined? Then we aren’t the movements combined? If you are wondering why not, #MeToo.

There are over 219,000 Sandra Blands incarcerated today, with the number growing each day. Many of them will be raped, sexually assaulted, impregnated and give birth to a Mike Brown Jr. or Sandra Bland Jr. real soon.

We cannot only accept Black Lives Matter as a slogan. The burden lies with us behind these walls to organize our movement in a way that forces society to recognize our humanity and bear witness to our sacrifices. Our Black Lives Matter only when our Black Lives Matter to us, first.

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“Imprisoning Mothers” – Art: Arkee Chaney, A71362, P.O. Box 1327, Galesburg IL 61401

The year 2018 is important for many reasons. In retrospect, the Campaign to Redistribute the Pain 2018 is a call to sacrifice. One can look at a canteen list and quickly see that the offering of snacks, candy, potato chips etc. are the menu for a child. We have to sacrifice cookies, “wraps” and “spreads” if we want to sit at a table and eat as men and women.

We can’t allow our mothers, wives, fathers, brothers, lovers and friends to continue to feed the pig and fall further into their own mode of institutionalization. Some of our loved ones feel guilt or partly responsible for our incarceration, and too many of us play on those feelings for a green dot, money on the books etc.

We are now at a time when we must advance beyond the one-and-done concept of struggle. Since we are enslaved and incarcerated every day, we must also struggle every day. Malcolm X said that if we aren’t willing to die for our freedom then we may as well remove the word from our vocabulary. At a bare minimum, the base of our sacrifice should be a bi-monthly boycott of chips and soups, phone calls and visits.

On Dec. 6, 1865, the USA decreed in the 13th Amendment that we are slaves and property of the government. On Dec. 6, 2017, we have to implement the next phase in our plan to dismantle the institution of slavery by starting the process of defunding it. Slavery is already morally bankrupt. Now we must financially bankrupt it.

In closing, I want to parlay off the words of our Warrior Queen Sister Dr. Ava Muhammad of the Nation of Islam, who has lectured on the financial industry of mass incarceration and prison slavery. In boycotting, we have to redirect our finances towards a plan that will give us financial independence. Through social media platforms, we now have the power to create our own revenue streams. Behind these walls, we have craftsmen, writers, poets, artists and many other talents.

With a national organization, we can create our own online storefront where we can sell our own products, which will allow us to finance our own movement. Then, during the bi-monthly boycotts of the Campaign to Redistribute the Pain 2018, we can send a portion of the funds that we withhold from the prison industry as donations to our national organization.

On Dec. 6, 1865, the USA decreed in the 13th Amendment that we are slaves and property of the government. On Dec. 6, 2017, we have to implement the next phase in our plan to dismantle the institution of slavery by starting the process of defunding it. Slavery is already morally bankrupt. Now we must financially bankrupt it.
Looking back on history as Elder Mafundi has told us to, Ancestor Marcus Garvey has already shown us what we can do when we pool our resources. We have to build our own independent power base because ain’t no one coming to save us. We must self save.

In February 2018, April 2018, June 2018, August 2018, October 2018 and December 2018, we must work towards building our national entity, while also refining local coalitions and networks. We can never defeat an opponent that we fund with all of our financial resources and labor, especially when we don’t have anything close to our own entity that we fund to help us wage our fight.

Without that organized body, we are just fussing and calling it fighting. Until we organize, we are nothing more than just disgruntled employees – the thousands of men that our great Ancestor Harriet Tubman said she could have freed if only we knew that we were slaves …

Bennu Hannibal Ra Sun

Free Alabama Movement

Note: I do not know Colin Kaepernick personally. The info that I wrote about his personal history was gleaned from info that I have read. Any inaccuracies should be attributed to me, not Bay View. My apologies in advance for any mistakes, for it is never my intent to ever mislead the people.

Send our brother some love and light: Melvin Ray, 163343, Limestone CF D-70, 28779 Nick Davis Rd., Harvest AL 35749.

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Re: Police, prison and abolition

Post by blindpig » Tue Jan 23, 2018 6:03 pm

Record number of inmates died in Florida prisons last year. And they died younger than past years.

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Dade Correctional Institution at 19000 SW 377th St. had more inmate deaths in 2017 than any other prison in the state except for one, Santa Rosa. [Patrick Farrell | Miami Herald Staff]

By Sarah Blaskey, Miami Herald Published: January 21, 2018Updated: January 21, 2018 at 09:52 PM

More inmates died in Florida prisons last year than in any other year on record, leaving the state scrambling to identify causes and find solutions.

The tally, 428 inmate deaths in 2017, was released late Friday by the Florida Department of Corrections and showed a 20 percent increase over previous years.

The inmates who died were, on average, younger than in previous years.

"A 20 percent spike in prison deaths is of course alarming, as is the fact that it’s younger inmates that are dying, rather than people who have been in there for decades," said Howard Simon, executive director of the Florida American Civil Liberties Union. "But I don’t want to jump to any conclusions. Many of these are under investigations. And there’s multiple causes."

Those who died in 2017 averaged 56.3 years of age. Since 2012, the average age of death in the prison system has swung between 57.1 and 58.2 years old.

The Florida prison system has long been considered one of the most dangerous by almost any metric, including inmate-on-inmate violence, use-of-force by staff and problems with delivery of health care. But there is no easy answer as to why the number of deaths spiked so drastically from one year to the next. The Department of Corrections has begun an internal investigation. The causes of death are nearly all pending further investigation.

Department Secretary Julie Jones gave an initial statement: "As our population evolves and mirrors that of society at large, we’ve observed that an increase in inmate deaths aligns with the increase in inmates presenting with complex substance use disorders and behavioral health issues, as well as a rise in the elderly inmate population."

Dade Correctional Institution ranked second most deadly last year among prisons that don’t serve as hospitals, with 12 deaths recorded inside its walls. The year before that, it ranked number one.

State Rep. David Richardson, D-Miami Beach, has been active around Florida prison issues for years and is looking into the recent jump. He said mental health patients at Dade — one of a handful of institutions that cater to inmates with psychological issues — could contribute to the institution’s high mortality numbers. Between 2010 and 2016, the Corrections Department reported a 51 percent increase in inmates with mental illnesses.

It is the same ward that infamously saw an inmate with severe schizophrenia die under bizarre circumstances in 2012. Darren Rainey was placed in a hot shower for nearly two hours after soiling himself. He collapsed and the hot water — controlled from the outside — stripped the skin from much of his body like bark. One inmate witness said Rainey was taunted by staff as he begged for mercy, although the state attorney’s office declined to file charges.

The Florida prison population is getting older and inmates are serving longer sentences, thanks in part to the elimination of parole. Unlike previous years where the average age of death tended to increase slightly, apparently mirroring that aging population, in 2017 it dropped, meaning that can’t be the only reason.

The youngest to die in 2017 was a 22-year-old.

Why are younger people now dying in Florida prisons? The Department of Corrections points to an increase in overdoses on synthetic drugs like K2 as a possible contributing factor.

K2, also known as "spice," is a mash-up of industrial chemicals — in this case, whatever prisoners can get their hands on, including roach spray or gasoline — sprayed on dried plant matter and then smoked. It’s often chosen by inmates over marijuana because it does not show up on routine urine tests performed in the prison. Unlike marijuana, K2 has been known to cause combativeness, delusions and psychosis, and in some cases can lead to lethal overdoses.

Inmate Gaines Hill Jr. was found unresponsive by his cellmate at Columbia Correctional Institution Annex on May 18, 2017. He was slumped over on his bunk and cold to the touch, according to the written record of the Florida Department of Law Enforcement investigation into the case. He was transferred to Shands Lake Shore Hospital in Lake City, where he was declared dead. The cause: an overdose on K2.

"Anything can get in," said Ron McAndrew, a former Florida warden who now works as a prison consultant. "K2 has become the new enemy."

Addiction and overdoses continue to rise across Florida, according to a November 2017 report by the FDLE. And prisons are not immune to issues outside their walls. Simon from the ACLU said that Florida prisons are full of addicts and drug offenders, due to Florida’s mandatory sentencing laws.

Santa Rosa Correctional Institutions, known as one of the state’s most violent prisons, took over as leader with 13 deaths in 2017, up from seven the year before. Other top spots went to Charlotte Correctional, Martin and Columbia, likewise considered among the state’s most violent institutions. In the case of Charlotte and Columbia, the average age of death dropped several years. (Zephyrhills was also a leader but is known for housing elderly and infirm inmate populations.)

Charlotte Correctional, in particular, has been in the spotlight in recent years for a spate strange deaths. Perhaps most infamously, inmate Matthew Walker was killed by officers after they roused him in the middle of the night as part of routine cell checks that a grand jury said were clearly intended to "harass and aggravate" inmates. The grand jury declined to indict the officers for lack of sufficient evidence, however, when other officers refused to testify.

On Oct. 3, 2017, 25-year-old Brodrick Campbell, in minimum security for involvement in a burglary, died at Charlotte, making him the sixth of eight inmates to die at the institution last year. His fiancee, Dieunide Amady, said that the autopsy called Campbell’s death a suicide, but she didn’t believe it. She said she had seen him two days earlier, on a weekly Sunday visit she made with their four children, and his mother and sister.

"He spent a lot of time with the kids. Playing with them. Joking with them. Our visits were always fun," Amady said. She said Campbell talked constantly about coming home. "He was nowhere near suicidal at all. He was a very positive thinker." The FDLE investigation into Campbell’s death is ongoing.


More Information
.By the numbers

Deadly year in Florida prisons

In 2017, 428 inmates died in the Florida prison system, up from 356 the previous year. Average age was 56.3* These prisons had the most deaths.

1. Santa Rosa Correctional: 13

2. Dade Correctional: 12

3. Zephyrhills, Martin, Columbia (tie): 9

4. Charlotte: 8

5. Tomoka, Blackwater (tie): 7

Source: Florida Department of Corrections, mortality database

*Eight deaths weren’t included in this tally because the inmates’ ages were unknown

NOTE: List does not include prisons that double as hospitals.

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Re: Police, prison and abolition

Post by blindpig » Thu Jan 25, 2018 2:51 pm

Principles of less eligibility: The human cost of prison labor PART I
By Twin Cities Daily Planet | January 8, 2018

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Zeke Caliguri is one of thousands of inmates working for pennies on the dollar in Minnesota's public prison system. Illustration by Mackenzie Owens.
Jesse, an inmate whose name has been changed for his safety, began his incarceration in 2006 initially working as a baker for 25 cents an hour in St. Cloud. He later got a job pressing license plates for 50 cents an hour. During yet another job in prison folding and packaging balloons, Jesse noticed the balloons were being transported and sold by Anagram. While getting paid pennies on the dollar, his labor was being exploited for corporate profit. He said he came to understand that the entire prison labor system as “silent violence”. Reflecting on getting his first paycheck, Jesse says, “ain’t been robbed till I went to prison.”

While the products and services that inmates render are valuable to the state for its revenue, the inmates themselves are devalued. As inmates, they have been convicted of a crime (although whether convictions are justly given is up for debate) and sentenced to prison.

But once they are converted from civilians to inmates, by law, they do not possess the very labor done by their own hands.

Throughout the last year, Alisha Volante, a prison rights activist, began organizing with Ezekiel “Zeke” Caligiuri and 50 other inmates and their families around prison conditions and wages through her former employer Voices for Racial Justice. Like Jesse, Zeke has worked countless jobs at numerous facilities during the last 19 years of his 22-year sentence he’s currently serving. Volante’s continued advocacy and support, now done independently, draws attention to the injustices these inmates face.

For Volante, any fight for fair wages is lacking if the conversation excludes prison laborers. She noted that one of the reasons why this happens is the ingrained bias against anyone labeled “criminal.”

“If we don’t talk about inmate laborers as part of our discussions of poverty and exploitation, we lose sight of the structure,” Volante said.

Public systems of labor, rooted in slavery

The origin of the industrialized public prison industry – both nationally and in Minnesota – can trace its lineage through slavery and into the very foundation of the United States. The 13th amendment legalized the leasing of convict labor and many other labor schemes to maintain systems of control over Black men and women in the years after the Civil War.

Convict leasing schemes emerged as a focal point during the Reconstruction Era in the South. Newly freed slaves were absorbed into a workforce that resembled slavery. Often, convicted of petty crimes such as vagrancy, they were leased to private companies for the entirety of their sentence. These companies were responsible for housing, feeding and clothing inmates. The postwar rebuilding of Atlanta was aided tremendously by the 300,000 bricks convict laborers produced for Chattachooche Brick. Inmates were regularly starved and beaten. Those who died over the course of this work were incinerated, erasing any evidence. By 1898 in Alabama convict leasing accounted for 73 percent of state revenues. Convict leasing was outlawed nationwide by 1941 with most states outlawing it outright much earlier. Instead of leasing convicts, labor programs transitioned to behind prison walls by the late 20th century.

Inside prisons, starting in the 1870s in Richmond, Virginia, convict labor was central to the local barrel manufacture industry. Prior to being imprisoned en masse, enslaved Black men fabricated these barrels on plantations. These men had their lives and skills transferred from the whip of the slavemaster to the confinement and control of the state prison. Since Minnesota’s founding as a state in 1858, prison laborers played an invisible, yet central role in the development of Minnesota as a regional economic hub. In the early years, inmates manufactured twine and agricultural implements.

Nationally, several lawsuits have been filed intending to challenge the use of prison labor. In particular, cases have tried to apply the Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA) in defense of prison laborers. FLSA was part of sweeping legislation in 1938, designed to guard against the unfettered labor abuses of the pre-Depression era. Notably, the bill banned child labor. FLSA set national minimum wage standards and workplace protections for private industry and government workers. A 1994 Minnesota District Court case, McMASTER v. STATE OF MINN, ruled that since prison work is a condition of incarceration, convict laborers are not workers. Therefore inmates are not entitled to federal and state labor protections. In 1999, when Zeke was first incarcerated, the federal minimum wage for civilians was $5.15 per hour. Zeke’s starting wage in Minnesota prisons was 25 cents per hour.

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Minnesota prison shop assembly area circa 1956. Photo courtesy of the Minnesota Historical Society,

The Minnesota Line of farm equipment, made by prison laborers, would take over as the predominant industry until the mid-1980s, ending officially in 2006. Having left industrial production the Minnesota prison labor industry transitioned to manual, highly repetitive work, leaving most inmates with few marketable skills. Without such skills, upon release these formerly incarcerated workers were funneled into low wage labor or unemployment. Simultaneously, incarceration and recidivism rates for Black men increased.

In the prison system, tasks that are manual “unskilled” labor frequently lead to unsafe work conditions. When a workforce – like one made up of inmates – is viewed as an expendable commodity, that workforce’s well-being can be taken for granted with no legal grounds for recourse. In May 2014 the Stillwater Prison welding shop was shut down for a week because of test results revealing that the number of chemicals in the air exceeded safe exposure limits. A November 2015 inmate interview conducted by members of the Minnesota chapter of the Incarcerated Workers Organizing Committee with an inmate named Sean, whose name has been changed for his safety, proved to be revealing. The inmate labored as a welder and described ongoing poor air quality attributed to a lack of ventilation despite promises to remedy airflow. He found himself ”always blowing a bloody nose.” According to the federal Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA), hexavalent chromium can be released through fumes emanating “from welding stainless steel or nonferrous chromium alloys.” Possible side effects include a burning sensation in the respiratory system, nosebleeds and damage to the eye and skin and even lung cancer.

Poor working conditions for inmates are not confined to welding. Prison facilities and the MINNCOR facility in Roseville fulfills balloon packaging contracts for Anagram. Former inmate Elijah Combs described the space as resembling a sweatshop with low light, no windows and poor ventilation that led to smells that resembled a gymnasium. Combs shared a sentiment that many incarcerated workers have, saying that he enjoyed having a job and, “appreciated the wages, but saw the exploitation.”

Lack of rehab and ‘tough on crime’ policies give prisons more laborers

University of Minnesota Professor Michelle Phelps is a scholar on the sociology of punishment and an affiliate faculty member with the Robina Institute of Criminal Law and Criminal Justice. Phelps noted that nationwide, the 1990s meant mass restrictions for inmates, for example, limiting access to academic programs. Phelps said data indicates that “if we invested a lot more on higher education inside and outside we would have a different pattern of recidivism.” Noted professors and scholars on prisons Bruce Western and Betty Petti furthermore argued: “Most of the growth in incarceration rates is concentrated at the very bottom, among young men with very low levels of education.”

Phelps pointed out that the “principle of less eligibility” explains why it’s politically justifiable to have reduced access to prison programming. The principle, which is rooted in Victorian-era English law, noted that a prison laborer should not live and work in better conditions than a poor person living freely. Accordingly, the mass restrictions in Minnesota prisons throughout the 1990s mirrored the austerity happening outside prison walls.

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In practice, Phelps explained, “Because it’s so hard for middle-class Americans to go to college, there is resistance for financial incentives for college access programs [within prisons].” Specifically, the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act of 1994, signed into law by President Bill Clinton, withdrew Pell Grant eligibility from people in prison. Without this funding source, universities across the country reduced their presence in prisons. Thus, education within the prison system today is largely focused on soft-skill training programs for labor-intensive projects that aren’t highly skilled nor high-paying.

Zeke’s interest in writing had always been a part of his life. His talent only grew through a college education program that his mother, Pam Caliguri, set up for him after the Department of Corrections (DOC) reduced college-level coursework. For Zeke, the writing process helped him appreciate how to come to terms with the destruction and harm he has caused.

Zeke has been in custody in Minnesota prisons since 1999. At 22 years old he pled guilty to second-degree murder. In the late evening of Sept. 26, 1999, Tony Burgess age 21, Zeke and Waleed M. Hasan, age 23, met together with the intention of robbing homes. Edwin Isaacson, 50, was their second target. He was a small time pot dealer known to both Zeke and Burgess. Burgess struck him in the head five times with a rifle butt. All three left Isaacson tied up, bleeding and injured as the robbing spree extended to a third home. A friend found Isaacson incapacitated and immediately called the police. As police approached all three assailants fled. Initially, only Zeke was caught. Burgess was eventually convicted of first-degree murder, Hasan was convicted of second-degree murder along with Zeke.

“I was never proud of what I did,” Zeke said of his crime. “[Writing] helped to see myself as a human being to understand what I had done. I was too young then to understand.”

By his own admission, Zeke is no longer a young man. He is disarming and pensive especially when reflecting on the violent nature of his crime. Clinical in his knowledge and assessment of the prison system, his slight frame can’t disguise his now permanent slouch. Zeke’s father died while he was in custody and it was now up to Pam to play the dual role of advocate and emotional support.

Through the writing program, Zeke was able to produce award-winning writing which culminated in his critically-acclaimed book, “This Is Where I Am: A Memoir.” The book’s launch party was held at the Loft Literary Center in downtown Minneapolis on Oct. 24, 2016. At least two people close to Zeke have told him that DOC Commissioner Tom Roy said he brings copies of Zeke’s memoir to conferences as evidence of the possibility of rehabilitation in prison. Pam said she believed Zeke’s rehabilitation was a process he did completely on his own, especially through his writing – not through anything that DOC provided for him.

Before being sent to Goodhue County Jail, Zeke got a job mentoring other inmates on their writing. At the time, he was excited to have an opportunity to support others in finding their voice the way he had. Zeke lost all that after he was transferred.

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In 2015, the Minnesota Legislature’s Prison Population Task Force studied the correlation between harshening sentencing guidelines and increases to the number of beds the state needed in its prison system. Graphic courtesy of the Minnesota Sentencing Guidelines Commission.

The 1990s saw a sharp increase in the incarcerated population owed to “tough on crime” approaches – both at the state and federal levels. Punitive measures focused on drug use and sales with disproportionate and highly racialized minimum sentencing laws. In 2015, the Minnesota Legislature’s Prison Population Task Force studied the correlation between harshening sentencing guidelines and increases to the number of beds the state needed in its prison system. From 1992 to 2015, the changes to sentencing guidelines that led to the biggest increases in prison beds were drug or DWI related. Who filled those beds? As the Council on Crime and Justice reported, more than twice as many African American males are arrested for drug laws than white males.

Punitive sentences impacted communities of color disproportionately as the prison populations swelled. According to the Prison Policy Initiative, a Massachusetts-based nonprofit researching mass criminalization, in Minnesota in the early 1990s the incarcerated population was roughly 70 percent white, while the general population outside of prison was 94 percent white. By 2001, whites were 49.4 percent of the prison population in a state with an 88 percent white population. By contrast, Native Americans only made up 1.4 percent of the total state population, but 6.8 percent of Minnesota’s prison population in 2001. That same year, Blacks made up 3.7 percent of the total state population, but 36.4 percent of Minnesota’s prison population. These statistics reflect persistent and systemic racial inequity. At the time, Minnesota had the highest racial disparity in its prison population in the country, where a Black man was nearly 27 times more likely to be in prison than a white man.

Current data indicates that nationally Minnesota has the fourth highest disparity between Black and white inmates. Within Minnesota, Native Americans have the highest rate of incarceration. The impact has been devastating for these communities. Harvard professor, and a leading scholar on U.S. incarceration, Dr. Bruce Westen argues, “Mass imprisonment has erased many of the gains to African American citizenship hard won by the civil rights movement.”

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Graphic courtesy of the Prison Policy Initiative.

‘Equalizing’ wages

Writing in the Stillwater Prison’s winning newspaper Prison Mirror, investigative journalist and inmate Matt Gretz showed that by the late 1980s the typical inmate could make $2 an hour compared to the U.S. minimum wage of $3.35 an hour. The low wages of the current system were codified under 1993’s Unified Pay Plan, DOC’s internal policy that determines general compensation for adult offenders. In many instances, hourly pay was slashed from $1.50 to 40 cents after the plan was put in place.

DOC officials argued that the Unified Pay Plan had been misunderstood. In an interview with DOC Deputy Commissioner Ron Solheid and District Supervisor Terry Byrne, Solheid explained that prior to the Unified Pay Plan:
“Everybody was all over the map with how much they were paying them. And so it was like, well, if I can get this job, then I can make more money in Faribault than at Lino Lakes. The kitchens were finding they were having trouble attracting inmates into the program… The pay scale was only 25 to 50 cents an hour, or whatever it was, so they were not getting folks that were interested or motivated in working. So, at that time they said we have to have a coordinated system so it’s fair and equitable to everybody. If you are doing a kitchen job at one facility or another it’s all the same and it’s not so tilted one way or the other because then you have no one working in food service.”
After he was asked a direct question about wages declining precipitously, Solheid argued, “I wouldn’t say that it so much dropped it more equalized.”

At the end of the decade, starting pay further declined from 40 cents to 25 cents. Solheid further defended pay gouging, arguing:
“Ultimately, the individuals on our work crews in most cases are saving money. Because if you are working 40 hours a week at a buck and a half an hour you are getting what, $60 a week? Food, clothing, shelter, medical care are all provided. Transportation to and from the job is all provided. They aren’t buying tools, equipment, safety clothing. That’s all paid for by the program. So that’s kind of that balancing, how do we make this self-sustaining and self-supporting. It’s not using taxpayer dollars, it’s using dollars from, in a sense, the cities or whatever you know but they are getting a lot of value back.”
However, inmates do pay into some of the services Solheid described, leading to substantially lower take-home or net pay. The categories for which DOC deducts pay include court-ordered restitution, cost of confinement, facility obligations and unpaid medical co-payments, federal and state filing fees, court-ordered fines and disciplinary restitution.

According to MINNCOR internal data from July –September 2016, 77 percent of wages were deducted, approximately half of which went to “cost of confinement.” These reductions mean that inmates are legally obligated to pay for their time served and the conditions that set up their own exploitation.

Defenders of inmate labor programs often emphasize restitution as a good reason to have men work since it is money, “paid by the offender/resident to compensate for the victim’s losses.” However, the lion share of earnings goes to “cost of confinement,” essentially room and board.

For one unnamed inmate, working 39 hours a week for 50 cents an hour, he made $19.50 but only took home $9.74. More than half his pay went to MINNCOR deductions. The remaining $9.74 was barely enough to cover grooming and hygiene products purchased through the canteen, also owned by MINNCOR.

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Pay stub of one anonymous Minnesota prison inmate. Photo by the contributor.

Currently, the top of the inmate pay scale can even get to $2 per hour, but those jobs are limited. If inmates are moved among facilities or start a new job, they lose that pay rate and resume work at the bottom of the scale. Increasing the wage scale of all inmates is not a possibility according to Solheid:

“For the programs that we have whether it’s MINNCOR, the Bridge Program, they have to be self-sustaining, self-supportive. So when we send a crew out to work in one of these cities or counties doing that work, we have to charge them for the employee who is out there as well as all the tools, the equipment and everything and that has to pay for itself. If we had to try to charge higher wages to pay the participants higher wages I don’t know that we would have much of a market.”

In addition to the numerous levies and deductions to inmates’ pay, 10 percent is deducted from money they receive from outside the prison system.

Minnesota inmates who are lucky enough to work on products or services sold via interstate commerce are paid more competitive wages at or above the federal civilian minimum wage, due to federal law. However, up to 80 percent of their wages can still be deducted for room and board, dramatically reducing net pay due to the Federal Prison Industry Enhancement Certificate Program. According to the program’s statistical reports for the quarter ending March 31, 2017, interstate commerce workers in Minnesota prisons have 74 percent of wages devoted to deductions, two-thirds of which are room and board.

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In March 1996, a MINNCOR worker strike erupted in Minnesota. More than 150 striking workers protested lowered wages and demanded increases. Since then, not much has changed. On Sept. 9, 2016, in response to the 25th anniversary of the Attica Prison uprising, a coordinated prison strike emerged nationally through the Free Alabama Movement and the Incarcerated Workers Organizing Committee. The 2016 strike originated in Alabama and Texas, with reports identifying national expansion. Reflecting on such protests, Solheid said:
“I think, it’s unfortunate in that I think a lot of folks feel that the prison labor is slave labor or what have you. Frankly, all of these programs, work release, all the work crews, it’s voluntary. You aren’t compelled… you don’t have to participate if you don’t want to. I think most of the folks that do participate in it get a lot out of it. I think also even with the MINNCOR jobs, our prison industries, they get a lot of good skills.”
In response, Volante argued that inmates have narrow choices. Many are drawn to work crews because they are furnished with street clothing. For MINNCOR, the sanctioned outfits are designed to hide them in plain sight, obscuring the expansive presence of prison labor in the day-to-day life of the public. Volante reminds us that these outfits give inmates the sense they are human beings, in contrast to their marked prison clothing.

“They just want to feel like a human being again. They want to present a person that will elicit respect. It is hard to do that when you have an elastic waistband,” Volante said.

Zeke agreed with Volante’s assessment. “You have to play the game,” he said. “If you don’t work, not only are you not making money but you are potentially stuck in your cell 20 to 22 hours a day.” He pointed out that those that didn’t work were negatively referred to as “Unauthorized Idle.”

Advocating for the invisible

Maintaining an awareness of invisible prison laborers helps to show and clarify how the most vulnerable in our society are rarely heard and considered. Pam did her best to make sure that Zeke was never invisible; Zeke had an outlet to talk about both what was happening in prison and how he would rehabilitate. But most inmates don’t have that sort of opportunity or advocacy.

Pam is well known among prison administrators and staff. She has written countless letters, made endless calls and attended most hearings at the state Capitol when DOC officials interact with the legislature. In the winter of 2003, Zeke needed a new set of glasses but his prescription was expired. The first challenge was seeing an optometrist since there are none on site. It took several weeks for Zeke to get an updated prescription. Afterward, for 12 weeks Pam attempted to track down a company that would ship glasses to incarcerated men. When Zeke finally received the new glasses from his mom he was told they would be destroyed because their value exceeded the threshold for mailed items.

Pam drove directly to Stillwater Prison. Maneuvering through a panicked clerical worker she barged into the warden’s office sitting in a chair declaring, “They will have to pick this chair up and drag me out of here!” Her impromptu civil disobedience proved effective as she got home and received a call from Zeke surprised that he had received his glasses.

Pam mentioned that after the ordeal, a prison employee told her, “You have got to stop being his mother, these men have to fight their own battles” to which Pam responded, “Don’t you ever tell me to not be his mother.”

Most inmates don’t have a force like Pam at their disposal. “Once you are in for awhile it’s hard to hold onto your friendships and have people advocating for you. Most folks don’t have these resources. A lot of folks have nothing,” Volante said. Volante organizes exclusively by phone and email which she knows is closely monitored, minimizing the opportunity for the inmates she works with to be honest about their experiences on the inside. Fear of retaliation is a common anxiety among the inmates that Volante works with. Pam’s consistent advocacy was also a source of concern, as she had been fearful of the attention she was drawing to Zeke.

The stress and the stakes of this work is the kind that can take its toll. Pam had been missing calls and meetings, so one day in late summer Volante went to her apartment to check on the older woman’s condition. On Saturday, Aug. 23, Volante found Pam’s body, lifeless, in her bathroom. The shock of Pam’s sudden death was a major blow to family, advocates and those close to Zeke. With no living relatives, Zeke must now depend on the kindness and solidarity of the relationships he has built over the years and the infrastructure of support that Pam created for her only child.

Inmates like Zeke are made invisible with little recognition of the persistence of their labor all over Minnesota. What Pam, Zeke and Volante had come to terms with is that the DOC has a monopoly over the bodies of incarcerated men, what their wages are and what they can purchase. This monopoly is wielded to fulfill state law requiring MINNCOR to be financially self-sustaining. In turn, the drive for revenue and the invisibility of the incarcerated conceal the reality that some of the biggest entities in the state.

https://www.tcdailyplanet.net/principle ... or-part-i/

this is very good journalism. Ya won't see this sort of thing from the 'Big Boys'.
"There is great chaos under heaven; the situation is excellent."

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Re: Police, prison and abolition

Post by blindpig » Thu Jan 25, 2018 6:26 pm

The Prison Factory - Fault Lines

Al Jazeera English
Published on Apr 5, 2017

The US state of Alabama has the fifth highest incarceration rate in the world. Its prison system has become so dangerously overcrowded that in 2016, for the first time, the US Justice Department launched a federal civil rights investigation into the entire state's prison conditions.

Meanwhile, prisoners have been taking matters into their own hands. In September 2016, inmates at Holman Prison went on strike to protest what they call cruel and unusual forms of punishment - including labour, for little to no pay. Inmates used smuggled cell phones to spread the word about the strike, which took hold in about two dozen states.

How did a group of prisoners calling themselves the Free Alabama Movement organise the single-largest prison strike in US history? Fault Lines' Josh Rushing traveled to Alabama to find out more about them - discovering two of the group's leaders are now in solitary confinement. Despite their isolation, through letters and videos they are still finding ways to get their message to the world.

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Re: Police, prison and abolition

Post by blindpig » Fri Jan 26, 2018 6:44 pm

Haitian Detainees are Captive Capital for Private Prison Corporation
Jemima Pierre 24 Jan 2018

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Haitian Detainees are Captive Capital for Private Prison Corporation
“When they cannot make more money out of us, then they deport us quickly.”

My first trip to the GEO Group’s Adelanto Detention Center, the privately-run prison facility located deep inland in Southern California’s San Bernardino County, was to meet with a Haitian asylum seeker, Mr. Clement.[1] Mr. Clement had entered the U.S. from Mexico and had been in detention for nine months. Earlier that summer, he participated in a hunger strike that brought together Central American and Haitian asylum seekers demanding better treatment in Adelanto. It was through this strike that he and some of the other detained Haitian men had garnered some attention. And through a series of legal and activist connections—connections stretching from local immigration rights organizers through Florida, Haiti, and back to Los Angeles—I heard of Mr. Clement and faced, for the first time, the travesty of detention for Haitian immigrants and asylum seekers in Southern California.

Haitian immigrants and asylum seekers are a growing population within detention centers all over the U.S. Southwest. Numbers vary, but there are estimates of thousands of noncriminal Haitians incarcerated, with the largest population in Otay Mesa, Arizona. Haitian migration to these parts is relatively new, beginning with a trickle arriving early 2016 to thousands today. (Mr. Clement said that there were about thirty to fifty other Haitian men, as well as a small number of Africans, detained in his jail block. He was not sure of the numbers held in other blocks, or of how many Haitian women are being held in the women’s wing of Adelanto.) This migration is also unusual. It reflects a new pattern for Haitian migrants, who originally traveled the direct route over the Caribbean Sea to the eastern U.S., and settled in metropolitan centers such as Miami and New York, cities with large Caribbean and African immigrant populations. This new pattern of migration means a more than 7,000-mile trek over land from Brazil through South and Central America, into Mexico and, finally, crossing one of the borders into the U.S. Southwest.

“This migration reflects a new pattern for Haitian migrants.”

Mr. Clement’s journey to the U.S. was not an easy one. But his story is similar to that of other Haitian migrants in Southern California. He left Haiti for the Dominican Republic and later traveled to Brazil. He was in Brazil for eight months, working odd jobs, barely surviving. Life in Brazil was precarious for Mr. Clement as it was for other Haitian men and women. Brazil, already known for its long history of anti-Black racism, was almost unbearable for Haitians, who are perceived as “too” Black, and often suffered racist violence.[2] Many Haitians have decided to leave Brazil, risking their lives to make the treacherous trek to the United States where they have family. Similarly, from Brazil, Mr. Clement traveled by land through Peru, Ecuador, Columbia, Panama, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, Guatemala, and Mexico. The journey took more than three months, interrupted by arrests (for example, Nicaraguan officials arrested Haitians on site and jailed them for days) and a lack of funds. Occasionally, Haitian migrants would claim to be from an African country in order not to be harassed by officials in some Central American states. Mr. Clement spoke of the difficulty of the journey through Central America including having friends and fellow travelers die in the Columbian forests, drowning as they crossed rivers, or being robbed by local bandits. He said Honduras[3] provided something of a reprieve—a small community in Choluteca became one of the first groups to treat the Haitian travelers as family. Tijuana was the only other place in his travels where Mr. Clement felt he was treated with kindness.

“Brazil was almost unbearable for Haitians, who are perceived as ‘too’ Black,”

He said Honduras provided something of a reprieve—a small community in Choluteca became one of the first groups to treat the Haitian travelers as family. Tijuana was the only other place in his travels where Mr. Clement felt he was treated with kindness.

Mr. Clement spent more than a month in Tijuana, waiting for an appointment date from the Mexican government to cross the border into the U.S.[4] When Mr. Clement finally approached the San Ysidro border crossing he was immediately arrested. He was surprised to find that his initial immigration interview was conducted by a Haitian-American border patrol officer—in Haitian Creole (kreyòl ayisyen). The officer was intimidating, Mr. Clement said. He repeatedly accused Mr. Clement of being a Haitian gang member who was running away from rivals, a claim Mr. Clement denied. After Mr. Clement was processed he was sent to a small holding cell. The cell was not meant for more than three or four people but was packed with at least thirty individuals. The holding cell had no window or bed. Most people slept sitting up while some slept on mats. The prisoners could not shower or brush their teeth. They didn’t know how long migrants were held there, but Mr. Clement believed that it was around five days. (Other Haitian migrants confirmed these facts.) After those five days, they were moved to actual jail cells in another prison—in San Diego (whose name he and the others do not know). After three days there, the migrants and asylum seekers were put in prison jumpsuits, shackled with chains at the waist, wrists, and ankles, and placed on a bus for the more than six-hour drive to the Adelanto Detention Center.

Mr. Clement and his colleagues discussed their treatment in the U.S.—from border guards to prison guards—as condescending and inhumane and they all stated that they were not expecting to be treated like criminals the moment they crossed the border. They described the humiliation of not being able to use the toilet on the long bus trip to Adelanto. Some people urinated on themselves while others asked their fellow prisoners to unzip their pants to remove their penises so they could urinate where they sat.

“The lights in the cells were never turned off and the detention center was always freezing cold.”

The men described their months-long stay at Adelanto as torture. The men recounted being kept indoors most of the time, and allowed outdoors once a week but only for a very short period. They were not allowed to sleep more than a few hours at a time. For example, when guards ordered the inmates into their small rooms at 11 p.m., they had to wake up at 1 a.m. for a “head count.” After ordering everyone back to their rooms, the guards woke them up again at 4 or 5 a.m. for breakfast. The lights in the cells were never turned off—which, according to one former Haitian detainee, affected those on the top bunks even more—and the detention center was always freezing cold. In addition, some of the Haitians complained of guards using racial slurs against them, calling them “fucking blacks” and “Haitian trash.”

At Adelanto, Haitians have had larger bond amounts (ranging anywhere from $15,000 to $50,000) placed on them to secure their release than immigrant prisoners elsewhere in the U.S. And until recently, very few Haitians have been able to bond out of Adelanto and few have won their asylum cases. A colleague who currently conducts research at Adelanto suggested that the denial rate for Haitian asylum cases there was almost 100%. At the same time, despite the denial rates, the asylum seekers are forced to serve extended periods in detention before their deportation. Mr. Clement spoke of Adelanto as “sucking us dry.”

I know that this prison is private business, and that this body [he gestures to his chest] is worth $140 per day for Adelanto. So they hold us for as long as they can. They give us high bonds that we cannot pay. They change our asylum hearing dates. They even force those who do not want asylum to claim asylum so they can keep them longer. When they cannot make more money out of us, then they deport us quickly.

“Some of the Haitians complained of guards calling them ‘fucking blacks’ and ‘Haitian trash.’”

Indeed, reporter Kate Morrissey argued that as of November 2016, “detaining Haitians… in immigration holding facilities is costing American taxpayers an estimated $379,380 per day.”[5] That number is greater now. Mr. Clement and some of his friends describe a number of African immigrants and asylum seekers who, having been detained for months without hope, attempted suicide.

Compared to those coming from Central America and Mexico, the detention of Haitian migrants and asylum seekers in the U.S. Southwest is relatively recent.[6] When Haitian migrants first began in appear at the U.S.-Mexico border in small groups in early 2016,[7] they were allowed into the U.S. through what is called a “humanitarian parole,” given a three-year temporary pass and released to family members. However, by late September 2016, and as the numbers of immigrants and asylum seekers increased exponentially, the Obama administration’s Department of Homeland Security put new arrivals in “expedited removal proceedings,” which means that they could be—and were—detained in prisons, especially if they have asylum claims.

How did so many Haitian people end up at the U.S.-Mexico border and, ultimately, at the Adelanto Detention Center and other facilities throughout the U.S. Southwest? In the increasing coverage given to this recent wave of Haitian migrants, the story seems simple: Haitians traveled to Brazil under humanitarian visas after the 2010 earthquake, and later were recruited to Brazil as a cheap labor source while the country prepared to host the 2014 World Cup and the 2016 Summer Olympics. Since then, Brazil has been beset by severe economic retrenchment, forcing many Haitians to leave for the U.S.

Yet there is much more to this. Migrants leave Haiti for economic reasons, but also because of gang-related persecution, political instability, domestic abuse, and extreme homophobia.[8] The country has also suffered from a long history of foreign military interventions, including ten interventions by the U.S. since the end of the nineteenth century. The U.S. also occupied Haiti twice in the twentieth century, the longest being the nineteen-year military occupation from 1915-1934. Most recently, Haiti has been under a militarized foreign occupation since February 2004, when the U.S., Canada, and France sponsored a coup d’état to oust its popularly elected president, Jean Bertrand Aristide.[9] The coup d’état led to a short military occupation by U.S. forces, which was later sanctioned by the United Nations Security Council when they approved a “peacekeeping” mission in Haiti.[10] The military wing of the mission was headed by Brazil for more than a decade.[11] The occupation of Haiti has also added to the country’s political instability, undermining Haitian democracy and self-determination and challenging sovereignty. It has also led to massive suffering: Fall 2010, not long after the earthquake January of that year that killed hundreds of thousands of people, Nepalese troops brought cholera to Haiti. It induced an epidemic that has sickened more than a million Haitians and killed between 10,000 and 30,000.[12] Accountability has not been forthcoming. The UN has refused to admit its culpability and the Haitian people have had no avenue for redress.

“Haiti has been under a militarized foreign occupation since February 2004, when the U.S., Canada, and France sponsored a coup d’état.”

When we met, Mr. Clement was preparing to present his asylum claim before a U.S. immigration court housed not far from the ICE offices within the Adelanto facility. Immigration proceedings in detention centers are considered “administrative” matters and are less formal than regular court proceedings. The usual rules of evidence do not apply and the presiding judges have substantial leeway in their interpretation of testimony and the assessment of asylum claims. Meanwhile, as U.S. immigration policy dictates, he can only receive legal representation at his own expense; Mr. Clement was forced to represent himself.

Yet despite such terrible circumstances, Mr. Clement is one of the fortunate ones. With the help of a bond fund [13] established for the Adelanto hunger strikers by a local organization, volunteers were able to bond him out of the detention center just before his deportation hearing. A regular immigration judge on the outside—rather than within Adelanto—will now hear his asylum case, and Mr. Clement will now have a more normal set of legal set of proceedings. At the same time, he is stuck within the U.S. criminal justice system. He was bonded out on a $17,000 bond with two ankle bracelets (shackles produced by a subsidiary of the GEO Group)—one for ICE, and one for the bond company. The bond company that collateralized his release requires former detainees to pay a $480 “activation fee” for the ankle monitor, and $420 per month service fee for as long as it takes for his case to be resolved. Yet, as an asylum seeker awaiting trial, Mr. Clement is not allowed to seek employment to cover this non-refundable fee, the ankle monitor fee, or his day-to-day living expenses.

Mr. Clement may be out of detention, but he is certainly not free.

This article previously appeared in Boom California .

Notes

With gratitude to Peter James Hudson for his brilliant and generous feedback.

[1] All names of asylum seekers are pseudonyms.

[2] “Haitian Immigrants Victims of Xenophobic Attacks in Brazil,” TeleSur, 9 August 2015, https://www.telesurtv.net/english/news/ ... -0002.html ; “‘It’s not because I’m black, is it?’—As Haitian immigrants head to the south of Brazil, racist tendencies arise as descendants of European immigrants turn their noses up,” Black Women of Brazil, 29 May 2015, https://blackwomenofbrazil.co/2015/05/2 ... -noses-up/ .

[3] Although, with pressure from the United States, Honduras has begun arresting Haitian migrants traveling through the country (http://www.hougansydney.com/whats-happe ... n-honduras ).

[4] It turns out that the Mexican government does not allow all who want to cross the border to the U.S. Instead, it passes out appointment dates to cross. Most of these dates require the Haitian (and other migrants) to spend at least two weeks in Baja California.

[5] Kate Morrissey, “ Detaining Haitians awaiting deportation to hurricane-ravaged homeland is not inexpensive,” San Diego Union Tribune, 11 November 2016, http://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/new ... story.html .

[6] Of course, the U.S. has a long history of detaining Haitian asylum seekers and migrants. Two of the more notorious detention centers are Krome Detention Center (http://thepublicarchive.com/?p=3362 ) and the U.S. naval base at Guantanamo Bay (http://gitmomemory.org/timeline/haitians-and-gtmo/ ) before it gained more notoriety as a maximum-security prison for purported suspects of the U.S. “War on Terror.” Both of these detention centers have reputations for the cruel treatment of Haitian immigrants.

[7] Daniel González, “Migrants amassed at U.S.-Mexico border unsure what’s next,” azcentral,13 December 2016, http://www.azcentral.com/story/news/pol ... /94688238/ .

[8] There are also new impediments to social life, including the recent Haitian government’s new anti-LGBT posture (http://www.haitilibre.com/en/news-21838 ... orals.html ).

[9] Jemima Pierre, “Haiti: The Second Occupation,” The Black Scholar, 14 August 2015, http://www.theblackscholar.org/haiti-th ... ccupation/ ; Anthony Fenton and Dru Oja Jay, “Ottawa’s “Secret Memo”: Canada’s Role in Haiti’s February 2004 Coup d’Etat,” Global Research, 26 February 2013, https://www.globalresearch.ca/declassif ... -coup/2225 ; “When Canada plotted to overthrow Haiti’s government,” 24 January 2014, https://yvesengler.com/tag/ottawa-initiative/ .

[10] According to Dady Chery, Haiti’s UN mission is the only UN Chapter 7 force in a country that is not at war. Chapter 7 of the UN Charter gives the UN Security Council the power to “determine the existence of any threat to the peace” and take military and nonmilitary action to “restore international peace and security.” Participating countries have boasted about Haiti being a place where they could test their police methods and military equipment for urban warfare on an unsuspecting population” (“10 Reasons Why UN Occupation of Haiti Must End,” Haïti Liberté, 19 April 2017, https://haitiliberte.com/10-reasons-why ... -must-end/ ).

[11] Jemima Pierre, “Brazil’s Haitian Training Ground,” Black Agenda Report, 4 May 2011, https://blackagendareport.com/content/b ... ing-ground.

[12] Gina Athena Ulysse, “30 Thousand Haitian Lives Lost to U.N. Cholera,” HuffPost, 6 June 2016, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/gina-athe ... 99692.html .

[13] https://cluela.nationbuilder.com/Adelanto .

https://blackagendareport.com/haitian-d ... orporation
"There is great chaos under heaven; the situation is excellent."

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