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?