The Round-Up

The Round-Up

     Imagine this... You're laying in your bed, sound asleep at 3 in The morning when, without warning, you're awoken by the sound of boots marching into the building. In the stillness of the night, it's a deafening sound, and as you struggle to fully awaken, your eyes are assaulted by the overhead lights coming on full strength. As they do, your mind struggles to comprehend what you're seeing. It looks like a scene out if a horror movie. Storm troopers in full riot gear, carrying block guns and huge canisters of pepper spray screaming and yelling at everyone. "Get the fuck down, motherducker!" Get down, you think. We were all asleep in our bunks, how much lower can we get? 

     As the thought plays through your thoughts like a the water flowing through a brook, you find out, with a stunningly harsh neutrality, just how much lower you're supposed to get. Rough hands grab you by your shoulders and hair, slamming you to the ground where a knee is brutally jammed onto the back of your neck. A moment later, you feel the full weight of one trooper on your neck, and another on the small if your back. Your hands are manhandled behind your back and ziptied together before you can say "ouch!" Despite having been too foggy to put up a fight, and now having your hands tied behind your back like an animal about to be slaughtered, your attackers are screaming and shouting at you to stop struggling. Struggling, you think. I can't even move!

     For what it's worth, you're not alone. As you look around, you realize that everyone in the form is facedown, wearing nothing but some zip ties and a pair of underwear. After half an hour or so of this, the storm troopers finally stop high giving each other and bragging long enough to begin sorting everybody by race or suspected affiliations. You're led away, hands beginning to swell from the tightness of your restraints, but your pleas fall in deaf ears. You're led to a dark corridor, where you begin to wonder just what's going to happen next. Will this be a beat-down? Or worse?

     This may seem extreme, but to us, this is actually normal. We go to sleep every night, wondering if this will be the night we're drug from our beds at gunpoint. We live in a constant state of fear and anxiety, which only increases the tension in an already tense environment.

     Take a moment to read the letter written about just such an incident. When you're done, send me a friend request on Facebook under John Imprisoned Smith and find  what you can do. Follow me on Twitter @F0Q_CDCR

     By the way, for those who don't know, the donate now buttons are to help raise money for my release. After almost 20 years, I'm being set free, homeless, and in the middle of a pandemic, instead of being released to a loving home and a waiting job, they're forcing me to a county where I know nobody and have no resources. Times are tough, so if you can't donate, could you at least share my site?

Gladiator School

     I just learned about someone on Facebook who goes by the name "Gladiator School." According to the page, this sorry sack of shit works as a prison guard for the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) and maintains a separate blog here with me. Now I'll be perfectly honest, I've yet to read this the blog, but then, I don't really need to. I picked up everything I needed to know about his (or her) site from the first couple of pictures. More importantly, I LIVED through the CDCR's Gladiator School, so I know what I'm talking about here, and why the use of this name by a CDCR officer is so offensive.

     For those who didn't already know, the term "Gladiator School," when used in the CDCR or by a member if the CCPOA, it refers to the modern day incarnation of the Roman Colosseum's Gladiator Warriors. Slaves who fought for the pleasure of their owners, their rulers, even as a paid spectator sport. Well, that's exactly what happened in CDCR's Gladiator Schools. But don't take my word for it, read some news articles for yourself. Just know that they only covered part of it.

     The guards who worked the SHU in Corcoran (and other CDCR prisons), used to stage fights with their captive population, fights which they'd wager money on the outcome. You'd literally be in your own cell, minding your own business, and the door would suddenly rack open. As it did, somebody would rush in and start wailing on you for no reason at all. After enough time had passed to determine a clear Victor, the gunner would chamber a round and shoot both of you with a block, followed by guard's rushing in to separate you and return your attacker to him is cell.

     Sometimes, you weren't the attacked. Sometimes you were the attacker. Again, your door would open, and seeing that no  other doors had opened, you automatically knew what time it was. You were expected to rush the cell that opened next, and don't even think about refusing. First you'd be shot with the block gun, then, the doors to a couple of other cells, usually guys used for this very purpose, would open and they'd kick the crap out of you. If you really pissed them off, the guards would come in and stomp you a few times, too. You'd be given a week to heal, and then the beatings would start anew, until you finally gave in.

     Fights weren't the only things that happened, either. Most will die before admitting it, but rapes were commonplace. If you were lucky, and many weren't, they only used their dicks. Others didn't care quite so well, having all manner of foreign objected rammed into them. It was always reserved for people convicted of sex offenses, gay people or people who, even after the beatings, continued to try to assert their rights. Remember, to the CCPOA, you have no rights. You are, and always will be, an inmate. Nothing but a piece of shit to them. This picture, uploaded by the slimeball operating the Gladiator School website perfectly illustrates their attitude towards us. The top portion represents their attitude towards our attempts to assert our rights, the bottom portion is what they'd mock the rape victims with after they'd been violated.

     These are the sadistic monsters who watch over us every day, and yet, we still go out if our way to protect them. Not just by wearing masks during a pandemic, but by actually saving their lives. Just take a look at the most recent example from the other day. Still think we deserve to be here?

     You Might want to pay attention to these two particular posts. The first is open brags about people in prison dying. The second are open threats to take our lives as we're released.

Revenge is a Dish Best Served With a Tootsie Roll...

Revenge is a Dish Best Served

With a Tootsie Roll

     Life behind bars isn't always filled with misery. Trust me, give us enough time and we'll find something to laugh about. Tonight's entry is one of those moments which make me laugh everytime I think about it...

     So, by now you understand that we have very little control over our lives. Every aspect is rigidly controlled by the guards who watch over us, and "with absolute power comes absolute corruption." We had a female guard working our unit who took this to the extreme. It was bad enough that she'd tear our cells up, even reading our personal letters and legal work before coming out to question us in depth in front of everyone, but she had to step it up a notch. She'd see us in a card game or talking, and she'd come right up to us and just stand there, listening. She'd never actually contribute to the conversation, just stand or sit with us glaring away until.soneone said something she objected to, at which point she'd make a federal case out of it. We'd usually walk away, but it never really seemed to bother her. She'd just tag along or screw with someone else.

     One day, I had an epiphany, a way to get her to stop screwing with us. I chopped up some jalapeno peppers and boiled them in some water, damn near choking myself to death in the process. When I finished, I poured it all over the metal bench. Then we sat down around that spot and waited...

     It didn't take long. As soon as she seen us laughing and joking, she came running over to disrupt our fun. When she sat down, she immediately knew she'd been had. The look on her face said it all. Her eyes got wide with surprise, and for just a moment, she looked as she was about to bolt, but at the last possible second, she regained some semblance of her composure and remained seated. At that point, it became a waiting game. We all sat there, in perfect silence. It took a monstrous effort on our parts to keep a straight face, but with the exveption of a few muffled snickers, we managed to do so, but she wasn't as fortunate.

     It took some time for the watery mixtute to work its way up, but eventually capillary action had her panties drenched, and once it reached her more sensitive areas, she began to feel the burn, literally.

     Suddenly, she jumped up screaming. "You stupid motherfuckers," she yelled. "Youte going to pay for this, every last one of you!" She was hysterical, and we were all laughing so hard we were literally on the ground, in tears. She ran into the office, desperately trying not to scratch herself, but it was no use. A moment later the guards were all running in, trying to figure out why she'd pressed her panic button. By that time, she was in the bathroom, door shut, cursing like a sailors on shore leave. Nobody was fighting, we were all laughing our asses off, so they just stood there yelling and screaming "get the fuck down, on your stomach, motherfucker!" Yeah, sure asshole, we're already on the ground doubled over in laughter, but whatever.

     The sergeant came in and turned the alarm off before demanding to know what happened. I explained that if spilled my extra spicy soup onto the bench and she'd sat in it. He didn't get the confusion, until she started screaming about her pussy burning. At that point, I completely lost it. I shouted out "ghonnerea," and started laughing so hard I actually started to piss myself. Tears were rolling down my eyes, a piss spot was on my crotch, and I'd laughed so hard I thought I'd given myself a hernia, but I wasn't alone. As I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked up in expectation for my beating, I realized they were laughing to. They were trying to hide it, she was, after all, their colleague, but they were laughing nonetheless.

     With the confusion finally sorted put, she left to take a shower and change her clothes, and as you might imagine, when she returned, she did so with revenge on her mind, and having made a couple of horse trades to work a double, so we were in for a rough night.

     Originally, she'd planned on hitting everyone's cell who'd been sitting there, but the sergeant explained that I'd quickly admitted to "spilling" something on the bench, so instead of searching everyone's cells, she spent almost 3 hours in my cell. To say it was a disaster would have been an understatement. The bitch had ripped up all of my letters, all of my pictures and dumped them into a pile in the middle of the floor. Then she'd proceeded to open every canteen item I had and dumped it on top of that before stomping all over it and dumping water all over everything. There were cookie crumbs and crushed chips everywhere. Oatmeal was on the floor, the walks, even the ceiling, but this bitch had picked the wrong one. I knew how to get even, as she was about to find out.

     I grabbed some Prell from someone and carefully laud a fine layer on the linoleum tiles in front of the office door. Then I soaked a couple of wads of toilet paper with water and threw it on the ceiling, where it would gradually let drops of water fall to the ground, mixing with the Prell. Once that was done, I asked some of the guys for the extra large Tootsie Rolls and chewed them until they were moist and pliable. When they were, I added some corn to the mixture and kept chewing until it was thoroughly mixed. Finally, after cleaning the floor, I put it in the corner, found a seat and sat down to wait for the fireworks.

     It didn't take long. As expected, she went straight to the hot room to dispose of the items she'd deemed to be contraband, and as soon as she got to the door, she seen what I can only describe as a huge turd. Oh my God! That woman screamed my name so loud that heard her 2 counties over! "Get the fuck over here, you suck fuck! I know it was you!" She was yelling and screaming, and everyone was posted at their door trying to see or hear. L

     I calmly walked over, as innocent as could be. "Yes ma'am? What seems to be the problem?"

     "You know EXACTLY what the problem is, you sick fuck! You SHIT IN THE FUCKING CORNER!"

     "You mean that?" I asked, innocently pointing at the pile of dung in the corner.

     "Yes, that! Clean it up, and you can bet you've got a write-up coming, too!"

     I leaned over, picked up the handmade turd and curiously sniffed it. I hadn't planned it, but her look of disgust pushed me over the edge and I popped into my mouth and started chewing with a huge, satisfied smile on my face. She promptly puked on the floor, all over the place, before running back to the office, dropping my "contraband" all over the place. I calmly picked up my belongings and returned to my cell to begin the process of repairing the damage.

     As you might imagine, the guards all came rushing back in, demanding to know what was going on. Naturally, I denied everything. "Me? Eating shit? I can honestly say I did no such thing." The guards all knew me, and they knew I was no liar, and technically, I hadn't lied. I hadn't eaten any shit. I'd taken a lot of shit from her over that past year, but I hadn't eaten any.

     I was locked in my cell while they tried to figure out what to do. After a few minutes, they left, the entire time, the soaking wet wads of toilet paper slowly dripping onto the floor. Half an hour later, she comes out for count and walked right into a puddle of water that had now mixed with shampoo. When she did, she went down, hard. Her radio went flying one way and her keys the other. You could literally hear the air leaving her lungs as she bounced, but she wasn't hurt, just pissed. She hit the button, and for the 3rd time thst day, the officers were running to her rescue, but when they got there, she was all alone. Everybody else was locked up.

     She began to rant and rave, like she'd lost her mind. Naturally, she blamed me, and naturally, she was right, but I was in my cell, where I'd been since they left, and water hadn't been there when thet'd left. They didn't even bother coming to talk to me, which infuriated her even further. They actually argued right there at the office door before she finally burst into tears and ran out of the building. Her shift was pretty much over anyway. All she needed to do was her count, so one of the nicer officers offered to complete her count for her. When he got to my cell, he stopped and asked me if I had anything to say for myself. I simply moved away from the window and pointed to my letters and pictures buried under several hundred dollars of ruined canteen, momentos I'd never be able to replace. "Do I really need to say anything," I ssked. The look on his face said it all. He turned around and walked away without another word.

     If I haven't been clear enough, the woman involved was pure evil. Her behavior in my cell wasn't anything new. If you did anything to piss her off, if she even thought you'd done something, this is how she responded. She just happened to push one time to many, and I don't believe in hitting women, even if they do deserve it.

He Really Had To Go...

He Really Had To Go...

     The California Men's Colony (CMC), likes to kick everyone out of the building, once a week, for a minimum of 2 hours, so they can conduct "cell inspections." Now" if you're having thoughts of some sort of Army type inspection, then you're right on track. This is exactly the kind of thing they like to do, albeit with a twist. When I was there, our lunatic of a Captain and Lieutenant demanded that we strip our bunks, fold up our linen and then roll our mattress up. Why? I have no idea. I truly believe it was done solely to harass us, something they did well. Either way, they'd spend the next 2 to 4 hours in our houses, "inspecting" them, rain or shine.

     I remember one day, they took much longer to search. Oops, did I say search? I meant "inspect." Well, one of the guys had to use the bathroom, really bad, but understandably, he didn't want to use the filthy toilet in the middle of the yard shared by 1,200 others and not stocked with toilet paper. So, he asked to enter the building, so he could use a bathroom in the dayroom, but was denied by a guard who was in a particularly sadistic mood. He begged, he pleaded, and after waiting for an hour, begged and pleaded some more. When he was still denied, he became upset, pulled down his pants and crapped right there on the sidewalk, right in front of the dumbfounded guard. It was absolutely hilarious! Nasty? By today's standards, sure, but when you gotta go, you gotta go, and go he did. The guard wisely waited for him to pull his pants up and then pushed his panic alarm and rushed him away to the hole where word is they beat the crap out of him.

     For those who don't know, these donate now buttons link to my Go Fund Me account, which was created because the CDCR decided, at the last possible second, to force me to parole as homeless instead of to a county where I had a place to stay and a job waiting for me. Every dollar counts, so if you could, please consider donating.

Mass Search

Mass Search

     It was early in the morning, before 6, and suddenly, I heard the guard unrack the doors. This wasn't the usual unrack, where it allowed you to open or close your own cell, this was the override unrack, forcing everyone's doors open, whether they wanted them open or not. It brought back violent memories from the SHU, when guards would unrack doors so guys could fight for their amusement, or rush into someone's cell to rape them, again, for the amusement of the guards. My heart immediately began to beat faster, because I knew that something was up. I just didn't know what. A moment later, the guard's screaming confirmed my suspicions. "Get your asses up," he shouted. "We've got a gas leak! Everybody out of the fucking building, now!"

     I could hear him coming down the tier, stopping at each door to bang his nightstick on it, whether they were already moving or not. "What the fuck! I told you to get the fuck out, Dumbass! There's a fucking gas leak!"

     In less then 2 minutes, he had everybody out of the building. A few minutes after that, he was going into each cell, shutting windows. In hindsight, that should have been a dead giveaway, but this was new to all of us, so none of had put two and two together. All I could do was walk around, internally squeezing my asscheeks together in an attempt to keep from exploding. You see, I'm as regular as clockwork. Every morning at precisely this time, I'd drop my pants, sit on the toilet and feed the Warden, a polite way of saying I had to take a shit.

     Now, you might be asking yourself why I didn't just use the bathroom, and it's a legitimate question. After all, there's a toilet outside for anyone to use, but if you've ever seen a prison bathroom, you'd understand. They make gas stations look spotless, and being the only toilet on the yard for 1,200 people, this one wasn't just filthy, it was horrendous. Not only that, it was practically in the middle of the yard, where everybody could see you doing your business, and if that wasn't bad enough, they refused to stock it with toilet paper. Long story short, there was no way in Hell I was going to crap on a filthy pot in front of God and everyone, let alone get up without wiping my ass. Not. Gonna. Happen.

     So there I am, in extreme discomfort bordering on pain trying in vain to keep a missile in the tube. An hour or so later, I hear an officer get on the intercom and start shouting at everyone. At the same time, every single prison guard and staff member come running onto the yard, screaming and yelling at us. They're all holding their batons in one hand and cans of pepper spray in the other. Suddenly, the gate separating the yard from the Central Plaza opened up, and a bunch of additional guards, in full riot gear, rushed onto the yard. All the guards were screaming and yelling, "get down, get the fuck down! On your stomachs, just like you like it! Facedown, you little bitch!"

     I looked around, trying to figure out what I'd missed, but I could see nothing. Nobody was fighting and everyone looked just as confused as me. We lay there for an hour. Everytime we tried to speak to one another, or ask a question, we were told to "shut the fuck up! You're a God damned inmate, you don't need to know shit!"

     I needed to use the bathroom, bad, but this clearly wasnt going to happen. They wouldn't even let guys take a leak, they certainly weren't going to let me feed the Warden. After an hour or so, I noticed a commotion at the gate. There was about a dozen police officers from various agencies, none of which appeared to be CDCR, and each had a canine with him. Drug sniffing, cell phone sniffing lackies intent on pleasing their owners in the hopes of licking their boots.

     As the dogs came traipsing across the yard with their Masters, I could feel my missile preparing to launch. The pressure from laying facedown wasn't helping any, and as the dog passed by me, he stopped to sniff me for a moment, then squatted right next to me and took a shit. And we're not talking about a lot, either, we're talking about a steaming  pile of liquid crap. The fucked had diarrhea and he'd decided to let loose right next to me.

     For the next hour, we lay there as the dogs went through our cells. During that time, they still refused to allow us to use the bathroom. Finally, one of the guys couldn't handle it anymore. He turned over onto his side, whipped it out and started pissing into the grass. The female standing by him was highly offended, so she sprayed him with pepper spray, fully in the crotch. As she stood there emptying her can all over his groin, other officers ran up and joined in the fray. By the time they'd finished, he was a strange orange color from the spray, and damn bear the entire yard was choking from the fumes. As soon as they took him away, with his pants down around his ankles, they started allowing us to use the bathroom, yet I wisely chose to hold it.

     Another hour passed, and they finally started calling individuals to teturn to their cells. Before going back into the building, however, we first had to strip asshole naked in front of the entire yard and let them search us for contraband. "Lift your sack, bend over and spread your cheeks, wider, wider, you you little faggot! You act like you never spread your cheeks before, you fucking fruit! Yeah, you little bitch, just like that. Why you staring at my nightstick? Cause it's black? I bet you like nigger dicks, don't you, you little fuck!" After awhile, their insults began to run together into one, long rant. I was just happy to get to my cell, and the first thing I did when closing my door was feed the Warden.

     By the way, in case you were wondering, I learned later that the buildings didn't have gas. Hindsight...

Hangman's Noose...

     There's been a lot of talk in the news about racism lately, and about a noose found in Bubba Wallace's NASCAR garage, so I thought I'd share a story about an incident that happened years ago, when I was at the California Men's Colony (CMC), in San Luis Obispo, California. For reasons I still don't understand, the guard working in the gun tower thought it would be a good idea to hang a noose out the window to his gun tower. Think about that for a moment. He's in a ultra secure tower with only one way in, and one way out. He has a clear line of fire 360° around him, and he's fully "booted and suited." Riot shotguns, AR-15s, blockguns, pepper spray canisters in all sizes, and he's hanging a noose from the window in broad daylight, for all to see. Was he out of his mind? Was he about to snap and start shooting everybody on the yard? Because only a man who'd lost all touch with reality would do something like that.

     As you can imagine, his behavior caused quite the stir. We went to our Sergeant and demanded action. There we were, unarmed and in the middle of the prison yard, unarmed men of all races and walks of life, coming together and demanding change, while a lunatic armed to the teeth used this as an excuse to shoulder his weapon. Still, we refused to budge. I never did count the number of men surrounding our Sergeant that day, but suffice to say, he was heavily outnumbered. I was never more proud of my fellow man than I was that day, and after promises that it would be dealt with forthwith, we followed his request, request, not order (there truly is strength in numbers), to disperse. Moments later, the guard pulled the noose back into the window and glared at us with pure hatred. "Hate all you want," I thought, "but we win this round."

     I thought he'd be disciplined, or at least removed from the tower, but if memory serves me correct, we seen nothing of the sort. What we did see, however, were threats from the administration, about how we'd better not contact the media or file a grievance. I chose to do one better. * contacted Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, but neither ever bothered to respond. I wrote again and again, but never heard anything back. I believe my intended recipients simply didn't care enough about us to become involved because we were in prison, and because they knew they'd never be able to get the kind of media attention it seems to take to get their attention. Either way, I never felt so alone when week after week passed without a response.

The Forgotten

The Forgotten Men of San Quentin

     We've spoken at great length of the difficulties facing our incarcerated loved ones. We've spoken of everything from their conditions of confinement to the COVID 19 pandemic raging through our prisons, but if our rush to help our loved ones, we've neglected a critical group. That would be those in reception, people who are in conditions worse than the SHU. (Security Housing Unit.) I'd like to take this opportunity to address this ovesight, to let you know just how bad things really are.

     When you're processed into San Quentin, it's with nothing. You have no books, no TV, no radio, nothing. Just a bunkmate in a cell so tiny you can barely turn around. Not only are the cells tiny, they're beyond filthy, with a small of urine in the concrete that will never go away, no matter hard you scrub. And the noise of men shouting from the first tier to the 5th, it's overpowering. In fact, it's so loud that the courts declared it cruel and unusual punishment, and ordered prison officials to pass out earplugs.

     If you thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, then you're in for a surprise. The guards working in reception are a special kind of sadistic, and why not? Most of the men there aren't aware of their rights, and those who are have no way to exercise them. The men are kept locked in literal cages 23 hours a day, and that was before the pandemic. No phone calls, no visits, just an occasional letter, if they're lucky. With the pandemic, they've probably lost hot meals, one of the only times they were allowed out. And don't get me started on the lack of ventilation. At least here, I can order must a personal fan, but if you're in reception, there are no such provisions. Your only option is to pour some water onto the filthy floor and lay there in your boxers, allowing the concrete to absorb some of your excess heat. With each tier you climb, the temperature noticeably climbs, with many cells exceeding 90° in the summer.

     In reception, all you can do is suffer and pray for a transfer. Of course, right now, transfers are supposed to be on hold, even though some prisons continue to report new arrivals from somewhere. So when you discuss the issues we face in prison, don't forget about the men who quite literally can't speak out for themselves because of their isolation.

The Truth Behind the Memo

THE TRUTH BEHIND THE MEMO

     A lot of us, myself included, took the above memo at face value, and why wouldn't we? Secretary Diaz wrote it in clear, easy to understand language, leaving no room for doubt that everyone would receive 12 weeks of credit to be applied towards their sentence, except for those serving an LWOP or condemned to die, and those who gave received a serious rules infraction between March 1st and July 5th. He explained his reasoning, acknowledging our many sacrifices and the need to create space in CDCR to allow for adequate social distancing. Unfortunately, he failed to promptly implement his plan, resulting in an as yet to be determined number of additional infections and deaths. To make matters worse, not only did he fail to act with haste, a mistake he repeatedly makes, I've just been learned that this memo was yet another false hope in a long line of false hopes, as those who could benefit the most, those within 5 months of being released, won't see a day of this due to claims that the alleged victims need to be provided with a minimum of 60 days notice.

     Let me be clear, I respect the need to notify victim's of crime, especially when the victim lied their ass off under oath to secure a conviction but these laws were passed during the days of telegrams and snail mail, when the Pony Express was still in operation. We have near instantaneous communication now, through magical devices known as telephones and computers. In fact, we've come so far that people actually carry them in their pockets and refer to them as "digital leashes," because of the fact that these make them available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. So why the need to postpone our delay for 60 days? Plus the week it took to act from the time Diaz signed the memo, plus the 4 and a half months it took Diaz to recognize our inability to earn time off our sentence during a pandemic?

     The truth of the matter is that this is a bullshit excuse, plain and simple. These notification requirements don't apply when section 8658 of the Government Code is applied, due to the gravity of the situation. We are facing the largest public health crisis of our lifetime, and it's time for everyone to do their part. To do this, we need to convince CDCR to stop playing games. The best way to do this us to FLOOD the individual prisons with phone calls, emails and letters demanding that the promises made in Diaz's email be carried out without delay. We need to follow this up by reaching out to Diaz himself, to the CDCR Ombudsmen and even your local representatives. Finally, contact your local news station and DENAND better coverage. It is you who has the power, you just need to learn how to use it.

     If you're interested in assisting someone who's incarcerated, then send them a copy of Diaz's memo and a memo authored by the California Attorney General. A copy if this memo can be found here. It is incredibly illuminating.

UPDATE

     A 5-page document was just posted on our belletin board. As you can see, it attempts to outline the expedited release procedures that Secretary Ralph Diaz plans to implement to protect the captives in the hellhole known as the CDCR. If you read it closely, you'll discover that the issue of victim notification was indeed addressed by CDCR, and it confirms what I argued above. According to these documents, "if the release is happening in less than the natural timelines, the Institution's Classification & Parole Representative will make the notification in the most expeditious fashion, which is usually a phone call." (Pg. 4) So tell me, if this is the case, then why are the employees in the individual facilities' Case Records Department taking it upon themselves to deny credits to otherwise eligible individuals? This is yet another example of how absolute immunity encourages absolute stupidity, even at the expense of someone's life.

POSTED:

Just When You Thought It Couldn't

Possibly Get Any Worse

     I've been doing some digging. Turns out that it's not just the people who were close to going home that got screwed out of their full 12 weeks. I just learned that #CDCR refused to issue these credits, in whole or in part, to anyone who, in CDCR's opinion, would end up having to do less time than the minimum amount required by statute. In other words, this means two things. First, if you dud everything right, if you received no rule infractions and participated in your rehabilitative programs, thus earning the maximum amount of credits, you're ineligible for these. Second, this completely defeats the intent of both his reasons for giving the #12WeeksCredit in the first time (compensation for what we've had to endure because if their incompetence), and the Government Code section under which, but to mention, why, it was issued, which was because our deaths were imminent if forced to remain a captive of the overcrowded #CDCR.

This is the phone list for every prison in California.  

Litigation

Phone numbers and fax numbers for every prison in CA 

Litigation Coordinators and Fax Numbers

Avenal State Prison (ASP) – (559) 386-6074 fax (559) 386-2337

Calipatria State Prison (CAL) – (760) 348-7000 ext 5164 fax (760)348-6064

California City Correctional Facility (CAC) – (760) 246-7600 ext 7521 fax (760) 246-7051

California Correctional Center (CCC) – (530) 257-2181 ext 4623 fax (530)252-3028

California Correctional Institution (CCI) – (661) 822-4402 ext 3047 fax (661)823-5023

Central California Women’s Facility (CCWF) – (559) 665-6025 fax (559)665-6020

California State Prison, Centinela (CEN) – (760) 337-7647 fax (760)337-7650

California Institution for Men (CIM) – (909) 606-7063 fax (909)606-7093

California Institution for Women (CIW) – (909) 597-1771 ext 5398 fax (909)606-4960

California Health Care Facility (CHCF) – (209) 467-2568 fax (909)467-2676

California Men’s Colony (CMC) – (805) 547-7947 fax (805)547-7791

California Medical Facility (CMF) – (707) 449-6510 fax (707)469-6006

California State Prison, Corcoran (CSP-COR) – (559) 992-6174 fax (559)992-7372

California Rehabilitation Center (CRC) – (951) 273-2918 fax (951)273-2359

Correctional Training Facility (CTF) – (831) 678-5826 fax (831)678-5866

Chuckawalla Valley State Prison (CVSP) – (760) 922-5300 ext 5267 fax (760)922-6855

Deuel Vocational Institution (DVI) – (209) 835-4141 ext 6228 fax (209)830-3922

Folsom State Prison (FSP) – (916) 351-3038 fax (916)351-3086

High Desert State Prison (HDSP) – (530) 251-5072 fax (530)251-5031

Ironwood State Prison (ISP) – (760) 921-3000 ext 551 8 fax (760)921-4307

Kern Valley State Prison (KVSP) – (661) 721-6306 fax (661)720-4949

CA. State Prison, Los Angeles (LAC) -(661) 729-2000 ext 5562 fax (661)729-6994

Mule Creek State Prison (MCSP) – (209) 274-5247 fax (209)274-5018

North Kern State Prison (NKSP) – (661) 721-3188 fax (661)721-6205

Pelican Bay State Prison (PBSP) – (707) 465-9075 fax (707)465-9099

Pleasant Valley State Prison (PVSP) – (559) 935-4985 fax (559)935-4928

Richard J. Donovan Correctional Facility (RJD) – (619) 661-7862 fax (619) 671-7566

California State Prison, Sacramento (SAC) – (916) 294-3011 fax (916) 294-3072

Substance Abuse Treatment Facility (SATF) – (559) 992-7206 fax (559)992-7191

Sierra Conservation Center (SCC) – (209) 984-5291 ext 5365 fax (209) 984-8570

California State Prison, Solano (SOL) – (707) 454-3263 fax (707) 454-3429

San Quentin State Prison (SQ) – (415) 455-5007 fax (415) 454-6288

Salinas Valley State Prison (SVSP) – (831) 678-5573 fax (831) 678-5544

Valley State Prison for Women (VSPW) – (559) 665-6100 ext 5582 fax (559) 665-8919

Wasco State Prison-Reception Center (WSP) – (661) 758-7029 fax (661) 758-7093

Suicidal Thoughts

Suicidal Thoughts...

     I've struggled for weeks now, trying to figure out a way to convey the horrors of what's happening in CDCR without violating any unwritten rules, or worse, without worrying my readers anymore then they already are. After giving the matter a great deal of thought, I've decided that some stories simply need to be told. Consider yourself warned.

     One of my Twitter followers just asked me to pray for a friend of theirs. Turns out that she has a son in prison. When he returned to his cell, he discovered that his cellmate had hung himself. In response, he himself was placed on suicide watch, which is Standard Operating Procedure (SOP). Sadly, I suspect that this won't be the last time we hear of someone in a prison resorting to suicide as a means of coping with the COVID 19 crisis, and for good reason. If you thought prisons were difficult before, you haven't seen anything, yet. We were always separated off from society, but at least we had regular contact with the outside world. Many of us received visits from family and friends and attorneys and legal organizations frequently visited the prison to ensure our rights weren't openly being violated. All of that has come to a screeching halt, however, due to the COVID 19 pandemic. Family visits have been completely stopped, as have regular visits with family and friends, tours have been stopped and even our own attorneys have been asked not to attempt to visit with us if it's not an emergency, leaving our only means of contact with the outside world being snail mail and the occasional, 15-minute phone call, neither of which are conducive to carrying on a meaningful relationship.

     Losing our contact with the outside world was bad enough, but it's what's going on in here that really has us worried. None of us are experts in medicine, but we all follow the news regularly, which means we've all picked up an understanding of how the virus spreads. Clearly, our medical staff hasn't been following these same broadcasts. If they had, things would have been very different. Things like masks and additional soap would have been offered from the first day. Guards and staff would have been tested on a regular basis, but instead, they refused to even implement my most basic suggestion to take the temperatures of prison personnel as they came to work. We continue to be crammed in here like sardines in a can, and the rumors continue to fly like dust in the wind. One day we're hearing that we're going to see another mass transfer, the next, it's canceled, only to be renewed a few days later. It makes it impossible to make any plans for the future, like attending a program or taking a college course, because you don't know if you'll even be here. Not that it really matters, we're pretty much in a state of lockdown right now, anyway.

     Prisons have always been difficult, but getting a visit, no matter how infrequent, at least gave us something to look forward to. As you might imagine, our morale, low to begin with, has dropped significantly. People around us continue to become infected, continue to be taken to outside medical facilities, and continue to die, and we continue to feel as if neither the Governor nor CDCR is taking things seriously. Guards continue to work around us without wearing their masks, a we're still so overcrowded that we can't practice social distancing and everyone continues to drag their feet when it comes to releasing us early. Each day that passes without a mass release is another day that someone else gets infected, and another day that yet somebody else dies of COVID 19. If I were CDCR, I'd be terrified at the thought of having a prison system filled with people who were all infected and believed they no longer had anything to lose, or live for.

Go Fund Me...

     After serving almost 20 years behind bars (for a crime I didn't commit) I'm finally about to be released during the height of a COVID 19 pandemic. Unfortunately, instead of allowing me to parole to a county.in which I have friends and resources, the CDCR demands that I travel to a county where I know no one, except the person who falsely accused me. I'll be penniless, homeless and hungry, but I'll be free. It's my hope that I can convince my readers to donate to my cause, not just so I can get on my feet upon my release, but also so that I can continue to be the voice for those who will be left behind. The situation in here is critical. People are dying on a regular basis from criminal negligence and incompetence, and that story, and so many more, desperately need to be told. If you'd like to help, please visit my Go Fund Me page and make a donation. No amount is to small.

Resources

     I've seen a lot of requests for information on how people on the outside can help their loved ones on the inside. They want to be put into contact with people and organizations who can help their loved ones. They want to know if and how they can make a difference, so I'm dedicating this page to answering those questions. If you know of a resource I haven't listed, feel free to add it in the comments section below and I'll update it. Don't forget to check back frequently, as I'll update it everytime I learn something new.

# of Infections in CDCR Population
Number of #COVID19 infections among the captives of the #CDCR.

# of Infections in CDCR Employees
Number of #CDCD employees testing positive of #COVID19.

# of Infections/Deaths in Prisons BrokenDown by State
In-Depth look at the number of infections in State and Federal prisons.

CDCR Infections At-a-Glance
Brief recap of the number of infections in #CDCR.

CDCR Expedited Release Plan (6/30/2020)
Latest #COVID19 Expedited Release Plan.

CDCR Press Releases
Latest press releases from #CDCR.

CDCR COVID 19 Updates
Programming changes brought about by #COVID19.

Federal Bonding Program
Information on how to get the Federal Government to bond you, making you hireable despite a felony record.

Habeas Corpus Template (COVID 19 Emergency Relief)
Written for LA County Jail, but contains an excellent argument for why administrative remedies not required. Also a lot of COVID 19 research.

Medical Audits for #CDCR
Prepared by the Office of the Inspector General (#OIG), and available free of charge.

Open Letter to Gavin Newsom
Letter written to Gavin Newsom about #COVID19 in #CDCR.

Prisoner Support Guide for the Coronavirus Crisis
Tips and tricks for avoiding #COVID19 in institutional settings.

Reentry Programs
List of programs that assist people leaving prison transition to life in the free world.

Senate Standing Committee on Public Safety
Among other things,  has the power to hold hearing regarding CDCR's handling of the #COVID19 crisis.

Senator Nancy Skinner (D)
Head of the Senate Committee on Publuc Safety.

Senator Skinner's Staff Contacts
Assistants to Senator Skinner.

Sentence Review Assistance
Organization which may be able to provide sentencing review assistance.

Transitional Housing Programs
Places that provide housing to those released from #CDCR on parole.

Work Opportunity Tax Credits (WOTC)
Incentives, in the form of tax credits, for employers to hire people with felony convictions.

PTSD

     If you know of someone who's been incarcerated for any length of time, then chances are, when (s)he gets out, they're going to be suffering from something known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD, and why wouldn't they? Prisons are war zones, especially right now. You don't know who you can trust, people are often stabbed or shot right next to you, and you've got to watch your back every second of the day. The stress eats away at you, and the fact that, as men, we're looked at as being weak for showing emotion (especially in here), only makes things worse. So, when your loved one gets out, there are some important things for you to remember.

     First, it doesn't matter how much you want to help, we're going to find it difficult to talk about the things which truly traumatized us. We'll talk about the guy who got beat down and laugh as we do, we'll even talk about a guy who came into the system like he was the toughest thing to ever hit the prison yard, only to become the littlest guy's bitch, and we'll joke about it the entire time, but we're not psychos, we're just fronting. Doing so makes it possible to  avoid dealing with the overwhelming traumas associated with doing time. The deaths, the beatdowns, the humiliation inflicted upon us by the guards, things only someone who experienced it would understand, and they understand enough to know that we don't want to talk about it.

     Second, at times we're going to get moody, irritable for no reason whatsoever. We're going to snap at you, even try to provoke an argument for no reason whatsoever. Don't take it personal. Just remember that we just went through Hell and give us some space. Don't argue with us, not because you're wrong, but because we just need some time, so give it to us. Make an excuse, offer a soft apology and leave, not because you're afraid of us, but because these are the situations in which a soft answer can douse whatever fuse is burning within.

     You're going to see us doing some really strange things as we strive to adjust. When we let you know we're going to the bathroom, it might come across as more of a request than a statement of fact. When we eat out, we're going to want to sit with our backs in the corner. This is normal, just accept it at face value, but if you're really curious, ask us about it. It might be just the opening we need to talk about what's bothering us.

     Something you might want to consider.is not approaching us from behind, or if you do, make sure we aren't surprised.at your sudden presence. I'd suggest humming a happy tune as you approach. It really does make a difference.

     There are dozens of signs that we're suffering from PTSD. Our parole officer isn't going to care, and we won't notice. You might, or you might suspect. In either case, don't be afraid to seek out a professional opinion, above all, though, don't give up on us. We don't want to come back anymore than you want to see us come back, but.the only way we're going to stay out of here is if you stand by our side.

@F0Q_CDCR

The Hostages' Demands

Dear Secretary Diaz,

     I realize it's customary for the hostage taker, and not the hostages, to make demands, but these are far from "ordinary circumstances," wouldn't you say? And besides, you've yet to issue your demands, and you've already killed 25 of us. With that said, here are a list of our demands:

1. Immediately cease and desist all transfers. CDCR/CCHCS have already demonstrated a complete inability to do so in a safe manner, and the risk of false negatives and post-test exposures are too great;
2. Immediately cease and desist all moves from one building to another. Relocating people is contradictory to the "cohort plan" outlined to Senator Nancy Skinner and reintroduces the virus into areas it was just eradicated from, or where it didn't previously exist;
3. Reinstate 3 days of free phone calls per week. You told Senator Skinner we were getting free phone calls during the COVID 19 pandemic, but that was factually incorrect. The calls had actually expired the same day you testified, and the pandemic is now out of control;
4. Issue electronic tablets that work with CDCR's WiFi and that can be used to place our calls home. The public phones are a major source of contamination. These tablets could also be used for distance learning, emails and submitting various institutional forms, making your staff accountable for our request and appeal forms, most of which are now being thrown away or unreasonably withheld;
5. Provide everyone with a one time grant if 6 months in milestone and/or RAC credits for doing their part to protect your staff from infection;
6. Immediately release EVERYONE with less than 6 months to serve, regardless as to The nature of their offense. This is the only way you're going to get any space to even.attempt social distancing; and
7. Immediately rewrite your criteria for recommending us for resentencing under Pen C §1170(d)(1) so that anyone with sentencing enhancements can be seriously considered for resentencing.

     Sincerely,

     Your favorite hostage

Dear Secretary Diaz,

 Dear Secretary Diaz,

    Here we go again... You just testified about your most recent debacle to Senator Nancy Skinner, when you transferred mote than 100 people out of the CIM, and now you're about to send them all back to the CIM? What's your plan? To reduce the prison's population by killing us off? Because, if it is, then you're doing a splendid job. Hell, you've probably killed more people then you've given early releases too, and you've barely started. If I was to write a manual of what NOT to do in a pandemic, you would have broken every single rule, plus a few I overlooked.

     I'm doing my part to protect your officers, the same people who brought it in, the same people who treat us with contempt, the same people who could care less whether I lived or died, at least give me the courtesy of pretending you care about my welfare.

     I ask you, I'm begging you, stop the transfers immediately, stop moving everyone around within the facility, don't reopen education/vocation yet, and for the love of everything that's Holy, give EVERYONE a one time award of 6 months in milestone credits. We've earned nothing less for what we've suffered in trying to protect those who consider us their enemies.

     Sincerely,

     One of your captives...

Introduction

This page is my first attempt at using this site, so I apologize in advance for my errors, of which I'm sure there will be many. As I progress, I'm sure I'll learn more, figure out new features, etc. In the meantime, please know that I'm just learning the ins and out if cell phone technology and how to circumvent signal jammers in my quest to report on conditions in the CDCR. Please bear with me. I'll get better. In the meantime, please click on the link below to get the latest COVID 19 numbers in the CDCR. Afterwards, take a moment and find someone in prison and write them a letter. Let them know they're not forgotten.

https://www.cdcr.ca.gov/covid19/population-status-tracking/