NEWS FROM THE GULAGS
by Carol Strick EXCERPTS FROM LETTERS
From Florida, The Sunshine/Gloom State
Devil's Island North: Florida State Prison: "Hi Sis, right now the heat in this cage is so intense I have to get up and pace the cage every 15 minutes or so to keep from dozing off. Too much heat zaps the strength and numbs the senses."
"Beatings by guards are increasing. They almost beat Giallard to death while he was cuffed. We are wondering if the administration isn't trying to provoke a riot and then blame us for rioting!"
Dachau: Santa Rosa Correctional Institution: "We are locked down. It's got to be 120° in this cage. The gestapo appears scared. They're pushing us too far. I am soaking in sweat. Have a T-shirt under my hand to keep from drenching this paper that I'm writing on. It's too hot to lay down. This is what they like for us to be-locked down. But you should have seen me yesterday. 100+° and they made us mow with the manual push mowers, not the ones with motors. All day instead of one half day. We took the 14 mowers out and 8 of them broke! Half of my squad is over 50 or have medical restrictions. The young, able-bodied, docile prisoners are given 15-minute houseman jobs. Under the pretext of a potential riot, they locked up 50 guys they consider "instigators"!
"I haven't been able to read a newspaper or magazine in 69 days in this Florida hell hole. That's how long I've been on disciplinary confinement now. The gestapo was livid with my complaints against the guards beating prisoners in handcuffs. They gave me 105 days to modify my thinking and attitude."
"We visited our son in Miami a couple of weeks ago. He was in detention. Someone who wanted his job made up a story that an escape plan was being hatched which involved an orderly with short brown hair (a description of my son!). 'He doesn't jog like normal people, he sprints'! My daughter wondered if he was going to 'sprint' down I-95"! Two days before we arrived, my son's visiting privileges were restored. It was godawful to see him; dressed in an orange jumpsuit and extremely pale. He was only allowed out one hour a day, except weekends; and then not at all. He was handcuffed and led to the shower three times a week. They don't like him because he's writing about life inside. . . . 'Did you know that it is against International Law to transport prisoners in chains?'"
"There's a 'tier' drug program here. It's federally funded. The DOC gets well paid for each enrollee: $40, 000! The prison is eager to keep it full. The coordinator of this 'brainwash' program told me that recommended participation is the 'official' reason I was sent here. The real reason was for pressing for an investigation of two guards who threatened me in the prison from which I was transferred. Since I am refusing to participate in the program, I'll be stuck picking grass with my fingers."
"The warden here was transferred from Florida State Prison. A prisoner was beaten to death by a guard under his supervision. The guards are very mean to the children here. Yes, the children. There are many of them here. They're kept segregated but I see them marched to the chowhall. The guards are 2 or 3 times the size of the kids. One guard at lunch wrenched a boy's arm behind his back and dragged him about 20 feet. [Dickens revisited!!] You can be sure that no incident report was filed on that bully's use of force. Other boys were forced to stand at the chowhall with their noses on the exterior wall. At p.m. rec, the bully guards had a boy on his knees with his hands behind his back and head turned to the ground. These incidents of abuse were observed in one day!"
From New York, : The Empire State
"Prison is becoming more repressive. It's getting more and more difficult to get materials, find space to work, and get the work out. The administration(s) are doing more nowadays to not-so-subtly encourage men to watch more TV, lift weights, fight for the imagined turf areas in the yard, and generally allow themselves to fester here as opposed to involving themselves in regenerative activities. The kids are coming in younger and younger with more and more decades to serve. The business side of prison seems to be booming and quite probably things are going to get much worse before they get better. There's a level of fear and frustration and tension here that's higher than it's been in years and even the guards seem to sense that there's something really bad coming."
International Wackenhut
To understand how far Wackenhut's tentacles reach , one need only survey the following list of international offices for Wackenhut operations:
Australia
Argentina
Belize
Bolivia
Brazil
Cameroon
Canada,
Toronto (2 offices)
Alberta (3 offices)
Central African Republic
Chile (4 offices)
China
Colombia (12 offices)
Costa Rica
Cyprus
Czech Republic
Dominican Republic
Ecuador
El Salvador
France
Gambia
Germany
Ghana
Greece
Guatemala
Honduras
Hong Kong
India
Ivory Coast
Japan
Jordan
Mexico
Morocco
Mozambique
Pakistan
Panama
Paraguay
Peru
Puerto Rico
Russia
Saudi Arabia
Sierra Leone
Thailand
Trinidad-Tabago
United Kingdom
Uruguay
Venezuela
The FBI, the Nazi Doctor, and Me
Break it down now, the lies and deceptions,
unveil the illusions, and shaded perceptions.
Burn away the bullshit cliches.
rip away, until you can see the truth's bright rays
almost burning out your brain.
Think! Damn it! learn what you know today
for it will distill to truth, tomorrow's lies!
from "The Soft Charge"
-© by Jason Schock,
Saginaw Regional C.F.,
Freeland, Michigan
Once upon a time, in February 1997, three FBI agents came to my house in South Florida. I was not totally surprised by their presence. I had all kinds of problems with the phone; S.S.I. was bombarding me with letters for one reason or another; and I didn't need to be Einstein to know that this column was not popular with certain people! Frightening by their reputation, individually these FBI agents were ordinary citizens. What distinguishes these henchmen for the old guard and corporate elites from the rest of us is that they are brainwashed to believe that threats and sinister plots against well-meaning critics are a service for the State.
The agents consisted of a guy in charge-a middle aged white man-and two underlings, a younger white man and a black woman. The guy in charge showed me a photocopy of a letter and asked me if I wrote it. I recognized it immediately as one I had written to Tom Martin, a captive in Tomoka prison. Tomoka, in Daytona Beach, Florida, is noted for its conversion of aged postal vehicles into "gadabouts" which sell well in Latin America.
I replied that I had written the letter (which denigrated the prison system). The inquisitor asked me why I had written such a letter. I answered that prisoners needed hope; they had to be reassured that they are victims in an unfair economic and social order.
Referring to the prisoners as "victims" caused the two underlings to stare at me as though I had uttered a profound blasphemy.
The guy in charge explained that it was their job to take care of the prisoners' problems!
The visit was short. The guy in charge realized that he would not change my mind and ended the visit by accusing me, with total disgust, of being an idealist (as though that, in itself, was a crime).
After that incident, something terrible happened. Six weeks later I had an appointment with my doctor at a local university hospital. I had been a patient there for the past few years. A systemic infection, resulting from a serious case of P.I.D. (pelvic inflammatory disease) had been plaguing me since 1989-91. The doctor in Florida had been treating me with strong antibiotics for the past year and a half. Watching the infection slowly worsen, he decided that a more aggressive treatment was necessary. He took a pelvic punch biopsy to see if the university lab could come up with a treatment plan. If not, he would treat this like cancer. Something had to be done-toxic cells were hardening.
The biopsy had been out for six weeks when I went to the hospital to hear about the treatment plan. It was early April. I signed in and waited anxiously for the doctor. He examined me and said that the inflammation was worsening. Then, this usually gregarious man became suddenly solemn, saying,. "I can't begin any treatment until you see a psychiatrist."
"A psychiatrist?" I asked. "Do you seriously expect psychiatry to cure P.I.D.?"
"Yes, it's possible," answered the doctor.
"What about T.B.?" I asked, knowing full well that kings died of T.B. before the invention of INH (Isoniazid).
"Psychiatry can cure T.B." said the doctor.
"Oh my God," I thought to myself. "I can't believe this. What will I do? Any outside doctor will ask for the records from here. I'll never get treated!"
Sure enough. That is what happened. Irreparable damage resulted from the absence of cleosin and other drugs that were my lifeline.
Then a strange thing happened 11 months later. I received a note from the doctor's office telling me to come in for a check up. I was certain that the doctor had come to his senses and realized that I desperately needed treatment. I signed in and waited for him. It never dawned on me that an unassuming receptionist had inadvertently and mistakenly sent me a notice to come in for an appointment.
The doctor entered with a nurse. He asked me if I had seen a psychiatrist yet. I told him that I hadn't.
"In that case, I can't treat you."
The nurse looked at him like he was crazy. "Hey, what's going on?" she asked. "You're not treating her? She has the worst infection in the whole clinic."
I got dressed to leave and went into the hall. The nurse came over to me and said, "You can't leave yet. I am calling the patients' representative."
"I have never seen anything like this in my life," added the nurse. "He didn't even suggest another doctor. He simply didn't want to treat you."
The patients' representative arrived in ten minutes. She asked me what happened. I explained that I received a notice to come in and wasn't treated. She gave me her card and asked me to phone her the next day. When I did, she asked me if I had any idea why the doctor wouldn't treat me. I told her about the prisoners, my column, and the recent visit from the FBI. The woman was as furious as the nurse.
Perhaps the nurses (many of whom have friends and family inside) complained to the head of the hospital, or maybe they had a confrontation with the doctor. In any case, a month later, I received a form letter from the doctor in the mail:
"Dear patient, I have resigned and am leaving the state of Florida."
A Place for Parolees
There is a wonderful house at 2308 2nd Avenue in New York City, 10035. It is a safe haven for 38 parolees. The house is the fulfillment of the dream of Rev. Ramon Cabrera. He was a prisoner with a 40-year sentence. By a twist of fate, he found himself with an early parole! He got out, married his sweetheart, Mercedes, and settled down in a small apartment. In a short time, eight parolees were sleeping on their floor! It became essential to find a larger place to live. The "homeless" in prison cannot get out without approved housing.
Cabrera found an abandoned building on 2nd Avenue and 118th Street. Gloria Olmo, a student in one of his Bible study classes was able to help him out financially. He bought tools and supplies and got to work. The abandoned house and two adjoining garbage-infested lots were cleared and renovated.
The prisoners who paroled at last had a place to go. A food program to help the hungry in the neighborhood was established. Plans to expand housing facilities for another 96 prisoners drew the attention of "Mi Casa Es Su Casa."
One terrible day in December, the city of New York decided to auction the two lots. Despite calls from local community leaders to stop the action, the lots were in jeopardy. Six other lots that were scheduled to be sold at the same time were eventually taken off the block.
The auction had strange results. The highest bidder offered $180,000 for both lots. When it came time to secure his bid, the bidder could not come up with the $20,000 deposit. The next highest bidder offered $110,000. Inexplicably, the auctioneer bypassed him for the third highest bidder, who offered $105,000. No sooner had the paper work been done than the man who now owned the lots phoned Cabrera and offered them to him for $160,000! It is unclear as to whether these shenanigans were even legal.
This ministry needs help. The dream of Ramon Cabrera to provide comfortable housing for parolees must continue, flourish, and sprout in every city in America!
Please contact Rev. Ramon Cabrera with suggestions or help of any kind at
United Christian Prison Ministry
2308 2nd Avenue, New York, NY 10035
(212) 534-1256