VISITING Death Row
by Carol Strick
. . . hidden from public gaze, with citizens enjoying a sense
of security in thinking they are being protected from the lawless, by modern,
civilized methods, the terrible dreadful prison regime grinds on, an endless
contest between caged animals.
--Dr. Carl Menninger, The Crime of Punishment
All of the above and worse, the state's power to arbitrarily end one's life,
exists here. I am in the visiting room on death row. I am sick in my heart.
Fear is always present. People on the row look unnaturally older than they
actually are. Every normal facet of life is denied here; and worse: "I
can kill you."
Visiting begins at 9:00 a.m. By 8, visitors are taking numbers for their
turn to go inside. At 8:30 the process begins; driver's license and a check
in the file to be sure you're on the approved visiting list. You're given
a pass. With that paper and your license you pass through 2 steel double
doors, electronically operated. A pat search, an electronic screening booth,
then more electronically operated doors. I am outside again in the midst
of the compound. A guard opens the door to a 70-foot-long cage. I walk through
it, passing a building that was the oldest prison in the state of Florida.
It is now toxic and empty. I get to the end of the cage; a door magically
opens: "Shazam"! I am Mary Marvel. I will bring it down!
I enter the building in front of me. I show my pass and license again. A
door to the visiting room is opened. A guard tells me which of the 33 tables
is the one at which I will spend the day.
It's 9:00 a.m. We can sit here till 3:00 p.m. The person I came to see approaches
the table. His wrists are sore. The cuffs were too tight while he was walking
here. I give him a big hug. "Hold me, sister. Let me know that I am
still a human being."
We go to the canteen. We can buy corporate snacks, junk food in infinite
variety. No fresh fruit. The juice is usually sold out.
He is hungry. The chicken last night was only half-cooked again, blood oozing
from it, it was uneatable. He orders 2 sandwiches, 2 drinks and 2 desserts.
We sit down and talk about the case. Best not to talk inside; too many snitches.
Some people are playing scrabble, or cards, most are talking. Around noon
the pacing begins. Men with their wives and girl friends pace back and forth
the length of the long room. Couples on a double date, a veneer of a date
in this sham of justice.
The visitors are disproportionately White as are the prisoners they are
visiting. The row is disproportionately Black. It is expensive to visit
this out-of-the-way part of northern Florida.
I am in a Nazi compound. Three S.S. officers sit in the front of the room.
Constant surveillance, constant power, constant fear is in the air. I watch
them with loathing. Sieg Heil!
There is rarely any laughter in this room and an occasional joke is muffled.
It took two strip searches for the prisoners to get here. There will be
two more when they leave. What is the purpose of this deranged harassment?
A chaplain passes by. He has this bullshit holiday smile. He hides behind
God as part of the glue that binds this house of horrors. He knows that
people are beaten and tortured here. He allows it to continue. He is guilty.
This visit is so essential. It is the only relief from a 24/7 lockdown [24
hours a day, 7 days a week]. Four hours a week in the yard pass as recreation.
During holidays, rec time is cut in half. Only 2 hours a week out of the
cell, a 2-hour game of roundball.
"When will you be back, Sister? When will you be back, Sister?"
It's almost 3:00 p.m. "When will you be back, Sister?"
I manage to smile and hide my tears. The visiting is over. The visitors
exchange glances. "This cannot continue."
Once again I am walking through the 70-foot cage. I am searching for the
sign: "Arbeit Macht Frei." I am Mary Marvel. Shazam! I will bring
it down!
NCX Feb/Mar 1996