Valentine's Day SURPRISE! Men join Women in Hunger strike: Arpaio's prisoners demand food justice.

( Solidarity Action outside Estrella Jail: circa 2012)

This is really remarkable, what's been taking place at the county jail - 

the prisoners are organizing and being heard!!!

Here's my initial blog post about the hunger strikers at Estrella Jail. If anyone has any updates, hit me here: Peggy Plews arizonaprisonwatch@gmail.com or 480-580-6807.
 
Where the hell is the County Health Department and all the right-to-lifers who love Sheriff Joe? A woman lost her unborn child to this man's rotten food - that's what this is about. Rocks, hair, spit, mold, and disease that gets ignored by medical staff - that's what people get in their hot meals, and why they're protesting. Check it all out below:

ESTRELLA HUNGER STRIKE UPDATE 

(email from a friend of prisoner Rebekah Mellon's on SAT AM 02/15)

 
 
 "The Ladies in Cell Block C100 continued on with their Hunger strike until Thursday night. They told me they weren't even feeling all that hungry. They were sad that they took Rebekah away and were very grateful to have someone to just listen and believe them about the food. The ladies were just fighting for safe food because their are a lot of people in there who can not afford canteen so they have to eat the jail food and when it's moldy and makes you sick that is not right.

Rebekah is still in solitary confinement and she ended up accepting her food Wednesday Night. The Guards just through her food in her cell through a slot... She says it's so quiet and completely closed off from everything. 23 hours of dark quiet isolation from everyone. All because she took a stand and said I refuse to eat moldy food. Rebekah even spoke to ----- who told her that over the weekend the carrots missed there rotation causing contamination of all the food on the plate because the carrots were touching the other food on the plate. So they had a reason for their Hunger Strike, rotten carrots. No one should be forced to eat unsafe food.

So when I spoke again to the ladies in C100 cell block they were just so happy to hear that someone really believed them. That's all they wanted was someone to look past what they have done and say they are in fact Human Beings and they deserve the right to have food that is not rotten and moldy.

So the last I heard is Rebekah is still in solitary confinement. That was Friday Morning around 8 am. The other inmates I last spoke to Thursday Night and that was when I found out they were still going strong with the Hunger Strike and I told them If they felt the food was safe they should accept it so maybe Rebekah could get placed back with them again. They miss Rebekah and like I said they just wanted safe food to eat and someone to listen about the deplorable conditions of Sheriff Joe."

-------------------

Then I found that this was posted to AZCentral on Friday, Valentine's Day: HOORAY!!! Execpt for this part, at the end of this article: 

"Arpaio said Friday that he now has another idea for what to do with the rejected food — he will give it to the inmates in the veterans wing."

What's the deal with giving the rejected, spoiled food to the Veterans, Sheriff Joe? I think it's time you retire.

In any case, keep it up everyone! You have people out here behind you - friends and family, spread the word!

Male inmates join food strike at county jails

By Megan Cassidy  
The Arizona Republic-12 News, Breaking News Team 

Fri Feb 14, 2014 9:59 PM
 

Some male inmates at a Maricopa County jail are joining in a food strike initiated by their female counterparts earlier this week.

Sheriff Joe Arpaio announced Wednesday that nine women at Estrella Jail were refusing to eat dinner, and he attributed the fast to a new all-vegetarian menu. Officials on Friday said women are still protesting the food.

Then, on Thursday evening, a reported 90 men from the Durango Jail on Gibson Lane protested their evening meal.

Of the 90 who didn’t eat dinner, Arpaio said, 89 did accept brunch, which included a peanut-butter sandwich. The same trend was reported in the women’s facility, as well.

One Durango inmate who joined the protest said the menwant better quality food.

An inmate who identified himself as Mathew Hardy said that he and various inmates have been to several other jails in Arizona and that they’ve never encountered such bad food.

“My dogs eat better food than what we’re fed here,” Hardy said. “We’re not asking for great food, just better than we get.”

Hardy said there have been isolated incidents of rocks in food and a clump of hair found in a peanut-butter packet.

Hardy said that he plans to continue the strike and that a higher quality or quantity of food would make him eat again. The inmates are restricted to two meals a day.

Hardy denied that he took his early meal on Friday and said that he knows of at least a few others who didn’t.

After Hardy’s interview, jail officials reconfirmed that only one man refused his brunch packet.

That man identified himself as Prentis Bey, although jail officials say his last name is James.

Bey said the motivation for his hunger strike was in solidarity with the women: “If a woman does it, I’m gonna do it. That’s what men are supposed to do.”

Bey said he was unaware that he was the lone inmate who didn’t accept the brunch.

Arpaio said that the hot meal of the day consists of soy, oil, a vegetable, potatoes, cookies, bread and powdered milk and that the daily intake is 2,600 calories.

Arpaio said Friday that he now has another idea for what to do with the rejected food — he will give it to the inmates in the veterans wing.

 

Women's health in prison: Breast Cancer Behind Bars

The following article was just published on Truthout by Vikki Law, author of "Resistance Behind Bars: The struggles of incarcerated women," and editor of Tenacious, a national zine written by and for women in prison.

In light of some of the distressed correspondence I've been receiving lately from women at Perryville prison complaining of serious medical neglect, I'll be making a point of researching and posting more on women's health in prison here in coming weeks.

In the meantime, for a first-person account on women's health care in Arizona state prisons, see Sue Ellen Allen's book "The slumber party from hell."

Thank you for this, Vikki. Can't wait for this state to finally be sued. What they've done to our people is criminal.

----from Truthout---

Breast Cancer Behind Bars: How a Prison Sentence Can Become a Death Sentence

Wednesday 25 January 2012

by: Victoria Law, Truthout

  .

Imagine finding a lump in your breast. Imagine that your efforts to schedule a medical check-up are stymied and you have to wait weeks, if not months, for that initial exam. In the meantime, the lump continues to grow. Imagine that, when you finally do see a doctor, you are told that you have breast cancer. When you walk out of the office, you are locked into your prison cell with no more information or sympathy than when you walked in. This is the daily reality for women in prison

In 2006, a Department of Justice (DOJ) study found that women in prison are at significantly greater risk for cancer than their male counterparts. Out of every 10,000 incarcerated women, 831 had cancer, compared to 108 per 10,000 men. Of those, 91 of every 10,000 women behind bars reported having had or currently having breast cancer. Given that 114,979 women were behind bars at the end of 2009, this would mean that over 1,000 women have had or currently have breast cancer. 

Despite these numbers, prevention, screening, diagnosis, care, pain alleviation and rehabilitation for breast cancer remain virtually nonexistent in prisons. In 1998, a study at an unnamed Southern prison found that, although many were at high risk because of family histories, women were not provided with a clinical breast exam, information or basic education on self-examination upon admittance. Seventy percent of women who should have had mammograms under standard medical procedure had never been tested. [Williams, Roma D, Terry D. Mahoney, and R. M. Williams, Jr, "Breast Cancer Detection Among Women Prisoners in the Southern United States," Family & Community Health 21.3 (1998): 32.]  Even women who enter prison already diagnosed with cancer must fight to receive lifesaving medical care.

Fifty-two-year-old Margaret DeLuca had already been diagnosed with stage 3A breast cancer and undergone a left-breast mastectomy before arriving at Clinton Correctional Facility in New Jersey. "She knew exactly what she needed, but was unable to get it," stated Bonnie Kerness, a human rights advocate and coordinator of the American Friends Service Committee's (AFSC) Prison Watch Project, who helped DeLuca fight for proper medical care. Their advocacy resulted in incremental improvements in DeLuca's medical care but did not change the prison's health care system. [Interview with Bonnie Kerness, December 28, 2011]

Like DeLuca, 57-year-old Sue Ellen Allen entered Arizona's Estrella Jail with a diagnosis of breast cancer (hers was Stage 3B). She had also undergone six sessions of chemotherapy and was awaiting a mastectomy. Two and a half months later, she was awoken at midnight, then handcuffed, shackled and transported to another jail. At 9 AM, she was moved to the hospital for the mastectomy.

"I am locked in a room alone, freezing. I ask for a blanket. No, they snarl. Why is everyone so nasty?" she recounted. "I haven't eaten in twenty hours, I haven't slept, I'm freezing and facing surgery alone." After the mastectomy, Allen should have begun chemotherapy, but the jail delayed it to avoid shouldering the costs. Allen did not receive chemotherapy until she was transferred to the Perryville prison three months later.

The chemotherapy made Allen sick.

"On my way back to my yard, I collapse, vomiting. A guard comes and asks if I can walk the three blocks to medical. There are no wheelchairs." Allen collapsed and vomited twice while walking to the medical unit. Staff watched her, but the only acknowledgment she received about her condition was when a sergeant asked, "What's the issue, Allen?" 

Allen made it to the medical unit, where she continued to vomit into a wastebasket. The prison's doctor was not available to administer the shot that would stop Allen's vomiting. Allen continued to vomit for an hour. "Even the nurse is frustrated. She says there is no other emergency. He's doing paperwork." When the doctor arrived an hour later, Allen recounts, he was obviously irritated. "He acts like I'm faking and reluctantly administers the shot. Eventually, I am sent back to my room alone. I am dismissed."

Allen underwent three more chemo treatments. "Despite the rigid schedule, never is the medication ready on time, nor is the newly discovered chemo diet ready. I have to spend my sickest days walking to Medical, begging for what I'm missing. When I'm supposed to be healing, I'm worn out battling for proper treatment."

Allen is one of the more fortunate; she survived the ordeal. When 36-year-old Christina found a lump in her breast in April 2002, Perryville's medical staff ignored her concerns. By the time she was taken to the hospital in September, the lump had grown so large that the hospital skipped the chemotherapy and performed an immediate mastectomy. By then, however, the cancer had already spread to her other breast. Christina died the next year, three months after being released from prison. "If her cancer had been diagnosed and treated when she discovered her lump, maybe she'd still be alive," Allen wrote.

While breast cancer survivors and advocates outside prison would be horrified at these obstacles and delays, Allen received relatively prompt treatment under what passes as current standards for prison health care. Sherrie Chapman, a woman incarcerated in California, waited much longer.

In 1985, Chapman, who had a family history of breast cancer, found a lump in her right breast. She alerted the prison's doctor, who dismissed her concerns. Chapman persisted in demanding that the lump be further examined. In 1994, when the lumps were visibly protruding from her right breast, she finally received a mammogram. The radiologist at the outside hospital found "extremely dense breast parenchyma" and recommended a follow-up mammogram within one year. Chapman was unable to convince the prison's medical department that she needed the follow-up mammogram until late 1994. This time, the radiologist recommended immediate follow-up tests. The prison's doctor, however, refused to order a biopsy, ultrasound or fine needle aspiration. The prison labeled her a "drug seeker" for her repeated requests for something stronger than Motrin for the pain in her breast.

In 1995, Chapman was examined by a different prison doctor, who immediately ordered a biopsy. By that time, the cancer had spread to both breasts and metastasized in her neck, forcing her to undergo two mastectomies. Post surgery, guards signed her out against medical advice to return her to the prison. Staff ignored chemotherapy appointments. In addition, her uterus began to hemorrhage. Medical staff allowed her to bleed for 18 months before performing a hysterectomy. In 2000 and 2001, Chapman discovered other growths in her neck and shoulder areas. The prison doctor's response? "You've just got swollen glands. Don't worry; they're not cancerous." 

Chapman appeared before the parole board in June 2002. The board rejected her and admonished her to use the self-help available in the prison, ignoring the fact that, by then, she was too ill to participate in groups that required regular attendance. She died on December 12, 2002, at the age of 45, under the custody of the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR), with a prison guard posted in her room.

Women have not quietly accepted this gross medical neglect and failure. They have attempted to advocate for themselves and draw attention to the issue. In California, Chapman testified before the legislature about the dangerous medical care in the state's women's prisons. She also filed a lawsuit against the CDCR and the prison doctor for ignoring her initial complaints about painful breast lumps. Chapman won and was awarded a $350,000 settlement. Her efforts also led to several magazine articles exploring the failures of the prison health care system to address the needs of those battling cancer. [See: "A Cancer Grows," in The Nation, and A. Clay Thompson, "Cancer in the Cells," San Francisco Bay Guardian February 24, 1999 (not available online)]

Breast cancer survivors imprisoned in other states have had less success in finding advocates and attorneys to help them push for change. Allen wrote letters to numerous lawyers, all of whom declined to file suit. "Most firms don't have the resources to fight the state," she noted.

Allen did not allow the lack of legal support to deter her from trying to change the culture of prison indifference and isolation. Recognizing that each woman battled both breast cancer and the prison's life-threatening and indifferent medical care, Allen began a cancer support group. The process of starting such a group would be simple enough on the outside, but behind bars, nothing is ever straightforward. "It took me a year of begging," Allen recounted, "but I finally got permission." The group, which quickly grew to include 14 other women, met once a month with an outside volunteer from the American Cancer Society.

Allen remembered that women were initially reluctant to attend: "They didn't expect anyone to help them or care. They didn't know how to talk about their fears." The support group provided them with a space to talk - and to vent. "There is no place in prison to vent," said Allen. The volunteer also brought information about cancer, enabling the women to understand the protocols and procedures of cancer treatment and to know what questions to ask. Given that women are told nearly nothing about their illnesses, treatments and recuperation, such information is invaluable. [Interview with Sue Ellen Allen, December 27, 2011]

Looking back, she notes that, with the exception of Christina, all of the support group members were white. Although white women are more likely to get breast cancer (125 per every 100,000), African-American women are not far behind, with 116 per 100,000 diagnosed. Latinas, who make up the largest proportion of Arizona's women's prison population, have a rate of 91 per 100,000. Given these statistics, Allen wonders how many women of color remain undiagnosed.

Although Allen was unable to find an attorney or legal group to help file suit against the Arizona Department of Corrections, other prisoners' attempts to change the prison's medical care system over the years finally sparked outside action. In October 2011, Prison Law Office, a legal advocacy group for prisoners nationwide, sent a letter to Arizona Corrections Director Charles Ryan. The letter listed dozens of specific allegations of deliberate indifference to prisoners' health needs and asked Ryan to agree to a court injunction to address problems as a way to avoid a lawsuit in federal court. On November 17, 2011, Arizona's Department of Corrections signed an agreement to investigate the medical claims. Prison Law Office and the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) of Arizona agreed to delay any lawsuit for three months.

In New Jersey, DeLuca reached out to the AFSC to help her advocate for the care she needed. "It was a partnership between inside and out, which is often the most effective way to obtain change," Kerness remembered. Although their efforts did not improve the overall quality of prison medical care, it did have a ripple effect within the circle of women around DeLuca. Through her example, other women became aware of the power of advocacy and their ability to help outside supporters advocate on their behalf. [Interview with Bonnie Kerness, December 28, 2011] Sadly, many women battling breast cancer and other serious medical issues lack outside support. Breast cancer survivors and advocates need to recognize that, for women with breast cancer and other life-threatening illnesses, a prison sentence may mean a sentence to death by neglect. Then they need to speak out and take action to help women inside successfully fight for their lives.

The Fire Inside: California Coalition for Women Prisoners

These folks have done a lot of good through the years and serve as a resource for many across the nation...

---from Alternet, by Angola 3 News----

15 Years of Giving Voice to Women and Transgender Prisoners in California

By Angola 3 News, AlterNet

Posted on October 10, 2011, Printed on October 10, 2011

On Sept. 26, the statewide prisoner hunger strike resumed after a postponement of almost two months to give the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) time to implement policy changes. The CDCR has reported that as of Sept. 28, almost 12,000 prisoners were striking and public support is needed in order for the strike to be most effective. An update posted October 7 at the “Prisoner Hunger Strike Solidarity” website stated that “medical conditions are also worsening for strikers throughout the state. We’ve received reports that after 12 days of no food, prisoners are once again losing severe weight and fainting. One hunger striker at Pelican Bay was denied his medication and consequently suffered from a heart attack and is now is an outside hospital in Oregon.”

The current hunger strike demonstrates once again that injustice fuels resistance, and California has a rich history of prisoners, former prisoners, and their supporters taking a stand. Among these freedom fighters is the California Coalition for Women Prisoners (CCWP), self-publishers of a newsletter entitled The Fire Inside (archived here). CCWP will be celebrating its 15th year anniversary on October 14, with an event in San Francisco featuring longtime anti-prison activist and former political prisoner Angela Davis along with other speakers and performers.

Our previous coverage of the statewide hunger strike focused on the issue of solitary confinement, as well as statewide grassroots organizing against California’s prison system. In this interview with three members of CCWP, we examine the treatment of women and transgender prisoners in California and discuss how CCWP is fighting back.

Diana Block is a founding member of CCWP and has been working on The Fire Inside newsletter since it was started. She is a mother and the author of a memoir entitled Arm the Spirit – A Woman’s Journey Underground and Back (AK Press, 2009).

Pam Fadem is a long time member of CCWP and has worked on the Fire Inside for over 10 years. She is a mom, a health educator and a disability rights activist as well. Pam had her own experience with the criminal injustice system when she refused to cooperate with a federal grand jury targeting the Puerto Rican Independence Movement.

Deirdre Wilson is a former prisoner, a program coordinator for CCWP and a mother. She began to work with Free Battered Women/CCWP shortly after she got out of prison because “the whole FBW/CCWP community made me feel honored for surviving my experiences and accepted me just as I was­a rare feeling for people released from prison!”

Angola 3 News: When and how was CCWP first started?

California Coalition for Women Prisoners: First, we want to thank Angola 3 News for this opportunity to discuss the California Coalition for Women Prisoners (CCWP) and The Fire Inside newsletter. This 15th Anniversary of The Fire Inside gives us a chance to reflect on where things were 15 years ago and all the many struggles that CCWP has been a part of since 1995.

Some of the founding members of CCWP are still involved with the organization, but many have gone on to other work and different parts of the country. Far too many prisoners and former prisoners have made their transition and are not around to remind us of our roots.

Luckily, The Fire Inside itself offers first-hand documentation of this history which is invaluable for building our movement forward through the next fifteen years and beyond.

CCWP was started by prisoners, former prisoners and advocates on the outside in 1995 when a lawsuit, Shumate v. Wilson, was brought by a team of legal organizations to challenge the cruel, inhumane, and unconstitutional medical care that women prisoners were enduring. The prisoner plaintiffs in the lawsuit recognized that they couldn’t expect that legal challenges alone would improve their conditions of confinement. They wanted to ignite a grassroots movement to challenge not only health care conditions but the entire prison system. CCWP was born from this vision and from the beginning it included members on both sides of the walls.

Soon after CCWP was started, prisoners decided that they wanted to put out a newsletter in collaboration with members outside. As founding member Charisse Shumate put it in the very first issue of the newsletter: “I, Charisse Shumate, wish I could be there with you because as you grow in numbers, for us behind the walls of CCWF, the big cover up is going on inside . . . Is it because they have forgot we are human? If walls could talk, we would not have to beg help.” (FI #1, June 1996).

From that first issue, published in June 1996, The Fire Inside has allowed the “walls to talk,” making visible the lives of tens of thousands of women and trans prisoners who have been literally disappeared from society.


(Video documentary by Freedom Archives and CCWP entitled, Charisse Shumate –
Fighting for Our Lives, can be viewed online here .)

A3N: What is published in The Fire Inside? How is it used as an organizing tool?

CCWP: For us, the newsletter has always been more than a printed set of words and some photos. When Dana, a former prisoner, suggested the name “The Fire Inside,” it clicked with all of us immediately because it signified that this newsletter could be a means of nurturing the fire of creativity and resistance on both sides of the walls.

As we say in the editorial for our special 15th Anniversary Commemorative issue: “Spirit and character shaped in resistance to systematic dehumanization give rise to profound expressions of humanity. The lessons are deeper than the news of particular issue or events…As long as we have a voice and can hear the voice of another, we can transform our conditions. It is not only those on the inside who suffer. It is not only those on the outside who provide the inspiration.” (FI #45, fall 2011)

The Fire Inside (FI) has always dealt with news, issues, events and the many dimensions of activism and resistance inside the women’s prisons. FI has been on the front lines of exploring and contesting the multifaceted ways in which gender oppression constructs the entire prison system. Many of the subjects it has opened up have subsequently been further investigated, documented and analyzed by advocates, academics, policymakers and authors across the United States.

Health care, motherhood and parenting, lesbianism and transgender experience, immigrant prisoners, racism, parole, spirituality, the school-to-prison pipeline, decarceration strategies and resistance are among the many topics that FI has explored over the years. Since Fall 2001, a portion of each newsletter has been translated into Spanish, since many prisoners do not speak or read English. FI has also engaged in dialogue about the torture at Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq, the ravaging impact of Hurricane Katrina, the racist legacy leading to the prosecution of the Jena 6 (young black men in Jena, Louisiana), and the racist prosecution and incarceration of the New Jersey 4, four young black lesbians in New York State.

FI has provided an opportunity for people who might not think of themselves as “writers” to see their own words and thoughts in print, whether as a full article, an interview, or a collage of many short statements woven together. These conversations have provided direction for CCWP’s activist program that addresses the range of problems identified in the pages of FI. The newsletter’s purpose is not just to describe existing conditions but to support an action program which will transform them.

A3N: What are some of the key projects that CCWP is involved in today and what role do current and former prisoners themselves play in CCWP?

CCWP: Our programs are all developed through the guidance and collaboration of the prisoners and former prisoners with whom we work. Since the overwhelming majority of women in prison are women of color, we prioritize the input of people from these communities – inside and outside of prison. Our current projects fall into four main categories:

(1) We monitor and challenge the abusive conditions inside the women’s prisons, including grossly inadequate health care, sexual abuse, and economic exploitation. We are actively supporting the Supreme Court ruling that requires California to reduce its prison population by 44,000 over the next three years. With regular input from prisoners, we are closely monitoring the state’s realignment process, which is shifting prisoners from state to county institutions in order to reduce overcrowding.

Unless realignment means the actual release of prisoners AND providing those returning to the community with the livelihood, shelter, trauma recovery services and peer support they need to succeed, it is just a matter of channeling prisoners from one inhumane facility to another.

(2) We fight for the release of women and transgender prisoners from life sentences as directed by law. We advocate for changes in the dysfunctional parole system in order to insure that all of those eligible for parole are actually released. We put a focus on the campaigns for release and change of the laws regarding survivors of intimate partner battering and those convicted as juveniles.

Recently we have expanded our work with young lifers - women and trans prisoners who are sentenced to life terms, or life without parole, when they were juveniles, an increasing trend in California. The U.S. is the only country in the world that sentences juveniles to life without parole and California has 270 juveniles in this category, the largest number in the country. We are working closely with a group of young lifers at the Central California Women’s Facility to educate the public about this issue and pass legislation that will change this policy. Currently, SB9, which is pending legislative approval, is a small step in this direction.

(3) We support women and transgender prisoners in their process of re-entering the community so they are able to survive, grow and become fully involved in the struggle for civil and human rights. It is extremely difficult for women and trans people coming out of prison after many years to sustain their survival and also become involved with social change activities unless they receive support and become part of a community that is dedicated to safety and to making change.

CCWP is developing new methods of offering peer support for sustainable re-entry and community involvement through our PAR program (Peer Advocates for Reentry). Through this program, we pair up women and trans people coming out of prison with former prisoners who have been out for a while to share their experiences, help navigate the system and encourage people to become involved with challenging the prison system.

(4) We organize against prison expansion and advocate for prison population reduction. As part of the CURB alliance, we develop campaigns that shift budget priorities away from incarceration and towards education and other forms of community investment. Unless we can reverse the tide of prison expansion in California and achieve a shift in public consciousness toward health and justice instead of destruction and death, we will not be able to achieve our other long term goals.

The CDCR has a history of trying to coopt activists working for women prisoners into supporting so-called “gender responsive” programs which actually feed into the expansion of the PIC. We are committed to insuring that any positive changes for women and trans prisoners do not lead to more prison beds or buildings.

A3N: Why do you think the number of women prisoners has increased so sharply as of late? How, if at all, has the mainstream media presented the rising incarceration rate?

CCWP: The growth surge for women prisoners began in the 1980’s and has continued steadily ever since. The population of women in prison has grown by about 800% since 1980. A large part of the increase has to do with the drug war and the way sentencing for drug-related offenses accelerated during the eighties. Approximately one third of all women in prison are now there due to drug-related offenses. Many women are serving long sentences for participation in incidents they were coerced into by men they were involved with.

The rising incarceration rate for women has had a devastating impact on children, families and the fabric of community life, especially in communities-of-color. From a structural perspective, undermining community fabric is part of the state’s strategy to destroy the capacity of communities to effectively resist.

When women prisoners are discussed by the corporate media, the focus is usually on sensational cases which involve violence and sex. The majority of offenses which land women in prison are ignored along with such chronic, crucial problems as health care, aging, and family relations. Legal and economic factors which have led to the dramatic increases in the women’s incarceration rate are rarely discussed. Still, it is important to recognize that women-centered advocacy organizations have forced the media to pay more attention to women prisoners over the past ten years, overcoming some of their invisibility.

A3N: What is different about conditions for female prisoners in California and throughout the US, as opposed to their male counterparts?

CCWP: We want to be careful in how we discuss the differences in conditions between men and women’s prisons. There are real differences, but our goal isn’t to make the conditions in women’s prisons “as good” as the ones in men’s prisons. Rather, our goal is to decrease the incarceration of all women, transgender and men prisoners and to improve conditions of confinement as much as is possible given the repressive nature of the PIC.

Prisons are organized to reinforce gendered forms of behavior based on a strict male/female dichotomy. So in women’s prisons this means that passivity, femininity, and obedience are consistently stressed in order to control the prisoners. There is rampant sexual abuse of large numbers of women by male officers and the trading of sexual favors for privileges. Since 80% of the women in prison have experienced abuse either as children or adults, the continuation of abusive treatment in prison is especially damaging. Women who exhibit so-called “male” behavior and transgender prisoners who identify as male or are transitioning from female to male are targeted for abuse and punishment by correctional officers. This is also true for prisoners who have transitioned from male to female.

Approximately 70% of people in women’s prisons are mothers and the majority were the primary caretakers of their children before they went to prison. This means that custody and parenting issues are extremely important for most women prisoners in a different way than they are for men. Many women are pregnant when they come to prison. Adequate healthcare during and after their pregnancy is a key issue which men do not have to face. Women face other specific health care issues over the course of their confinement as do trans prisoners. Women are also less likely to be supported by their former spouse or partner once they come to prison, leading to greater isolation.

Recently, in response to the US Supreme Court ruling mandating a reduction in the prison population, a plan has been floated to dramatically reduce the women’s prison population and possibly close a women’s prison. Of course, in and of themselves these are very positive steps which CCWP has been advocating for over the years.

However, it is important for us to insure that such plans are implemented in a way that will allow them to work. Unless women receive support and services when they are released, there is little chance that they will succeed in the current brutal economic environment with the types of stigmas and restrictions that all prisoners face.

We also need to insure that the remaining women prisoners are not subjected to more overcrowding and further reduction in basic necessities, as has been occurring over the past couple of years. And we need to counter any media formula which exceptionalizes women prisoners while it demonizes male prisoners. We need to be clear, mass incarceration is a racist, unjust and dysfunctional system for men as well as women.

A3N: What are some of the challenges to building public support for women prisoners? How do you address these challenges?
CCWP: Women prisoners have historically been invisible to the public. Over the past decade, largely as a result of demands from women prisoner organizations, this has become less true. However, the prototypical image of the violent, gang-involved, black or brown male prisoner is still the one the public is inundated with. It is the one that drives public discourse about prisoners and prisons.

CCWP’s main strategy has always been to create opportunities for prisoners, former prisoners and their family members to give voice to their own experiences and their own humanity. This is key in countering both invisibility and the demonization of prisoners.

A3N: Andrea Smith, co-founder of INCITE! Women of Color Against Violence argues that “the criminalization approach proffered in the mainstream anti-violence movement doesn’t work. And, also, this criminalization approach obfuscates the role of the state in perpetrating gender violence.” Similarly, in our previous interview, author/activist Victoria Law presented a variety of reasons why activists need to work outside of the criminal "justice" system. What do you think of Smith and Law's arguments? What is the best way to reduce and prevent violence against women both inside and outside prisons?

CCWP: We strongly agree with Smith and Law’s perspectives. Our work with incarcerated survivors of domestic violence has been rooted in exposing the role of the state in perpetrating gender violence. We have shown how domestic and state violence are part of a continuum of patriarchal, gendered violence through our campaigns to free incarcerated survivors starting with Theresa Cruz (see Fire Inside Issue #5 & #15). Not only are women consistently imprisoned for self-defense against violence, but once they are incarcerated they are required to accept guilt and show remorse for these acts in order to be released.

Violence reduction and prevention is a very complicated issue. Developing community based alternatives to the state is a necessary but protracted process. Such alternatives need to be rooted in consciousness raising and public education to expose how a violence-steeped patriarchal state promotes violence on all levels of the society.

It is absurd to look to this type of state to remedy problems with violence. Instead we need to work together to create healthy communities and new transformative structures that uproot the multi-dimensional causes of violence.

A3N: In what ways did CCWP and women prisoners participate in the recent statewide hunger strike in California prisoners? [Editor’s note: This interview was conducted before the strike restarted on September 26.]

CCWP: We have been an active part of the Prisoner Hunger Strike Solidarity Coalition from the beginning. Our members have visited prisoners on strike at Pelican Bay, fasted in solidarity with the prisoners, attended rallies, the legislative hearing in Sacramento, and have mailed in information to prisoners.

People in the women’s prisons told us that they had not known about the strike until they received information from us. Once they knew about it, some women fasted for a period of time. We have an article about the strike in the commemorative issue of our newsletter.

To us, the hunger strike exemplifies the leadership that prisoners can take in organizing against the most torturous of conditions and the ways in which prisoners can overcome their divisions to act together.

It shines a spotlight on the way in which the state is increasingly using prolonged solitary confinement as a means of pressuring prisoners to inform against each other. It also exposes how the issue of “gang affiliation” is being used to silence vocal and active prisoners and keep prisoners from organizing in any way.

A3N: How can our readers best support CCWP and subscribe to The Fire Inside?

CCWP: If you are in the Bay Area, consider volunteering with CCWP. We are a volunteer-based organization with only a couple of paid staff members, so we are always in need of committed volunteers. In these challenging economic times, financial support is also critical. You can donate online or send a check to: California Coalition for Women Prisoners, 1540 Market St., Suite 490, San Francisco, CA 94102.

You can also join our Women’s News email list, which is a low volume list-serve which covers issues and articles concerning women and transgender prisoners. You can subscribe to The Fire Inside through our website or by sending us a check for $25 (to the address in the previous paragraph). And if you are in the area, please join us at our Fire Inside celebration on Friday, October 14th, 2011 (Silent Arts & Crafts Auction of donations by local artists begins at 6:30 pm; Program at 7 pm; $20 donation, no one turned away for lack of funds; At The Women’s Building, 3543 18th St. @ Valencia, San Francisco, near 16th St. BART station, Wheelchair accessible; Childcare available - please call 415-255-7036 x314 by Monday, Oct. 10.)

Thank you again for the opportunity to share information about our vision and our work.

Angola 3 News is a project of the International Coalition to Free the Angola 3. Our website is www.angola3news.com where we provide the latest news about the Angola 3.

© 2011 Independent Media Institute. All rights reserved.
View this story online at: http://www.alternet.org/story/152675/

Perryville prisoner escapes.

Please be careful and don't hurt anyone out here, Dyan...

-------------------

Prison inmate escapes from work crew in Tolleson

by Lisa Kennell on Sep. 30, 2011, under Arizona Republic News

An inmate escaped from a work crew in Tolleson just after 11 a.m. Friday, the Arizona Department of Corrections said.

Dyan Castorena, 40, was working at Manheim Auto Auction at 201 N. 83rd Ave. in Tolleson when she took a car from the auction, authorities said. She was last seen driving west on Van Buren Street in a silver Toyota Camry.

Castorena was sentenced to 18 months for theft and had been serving that time in Perryville Arizona State Prison Complex since July, according to records.

Perryville and Lewis prison complexes have dispatched Department of Corrections teams to apprehend Castorena.

To Be Free: Nina, Marilyn, and Perryville Women's Resistance.

One of the best professors I've ever had, documentary producer HLT Quan, turned me on to Nina Simone during my course with her on Social Movements at Arizona State University a few years ago. Dr. Quan probably doesn't realize it, but she has a lot to do with me embracing prison abolition. I ended up dropping out of school to take all this on, in fact...

Anyway, this tune is to honor the women of Arizona's Perryville prison in Goodyear who have been resisting coercion and abuse of late, and fighting back by speaking out. That not only goes for those prisoners assigned to the Martori Farms work crew, but those who are contesting the poor medical care, writing letters to legislators about conditions, helping other women file grievances, and resisting in a host of other ways - some much more subtle, like teaching another woman to read.

Now, the prisoners can't watch this video, but imagine that just for a few minutes you can commandeer a guard station and the prison communications system. Lock yourselves in, pop open all the cells, crank out a soulful tune, and dance...that would almost be worth the price one would undoubtedly have to pay, once they broke in and took you down for it.

That's just a fantasy to enjoy, women, not advice.

I often play Nina in remembrance of poet and former political prisoner Marilyn Buck - known as "the only white member of the Black Revolutionary Army". She was sentenced to 80 years for armed car robberies she carried out to fund liberation movements, as well as for the 1979 escape of Assata Shakur from a New Jersey prison. Marilyn and her comrades (see the Resistance Conspiracy) were also prosecuted for the 1983 bombing of the U.S. Senate building.

During her incarceration, Marilyn was known for her continued outspoken criticism of the US government and the prison industrial complex and her advocacy on behalf of other prisoners in addition to her art and poetry. Branded as one of the most infamous women "terrorists" of the 20th century, even after 15 years in federal custody Marilyn was considered such a threat that she was thrown into the hole and forbidden to even contact her attorney for two weeks after the attacks of 911, while they investigated any possible connection she had to them.

Because of that - and the officer and guards killed in the Brinks robberies - I never would have expected the feds to release her on parole. Never. What a blessing that they did. Marilyn developed an extremely aggressive cancer and was paroled on compassionate grounds last summer, two weeks before she died. She was always more free, however - even in prison - than most Americans who go through their lives as sheep.

Take some time to check out Marilyn's work...start with the Wild Poppies CD at Freedom Archives. Here's the title piece...

Wild Poppies

Marilyn Buck

[This poem is read on the CD by Marilyn Buck. ]

I remember red poppies, wild behind the school house
I didn’t want to be there, but I loved to watch the poppies

I used to sit in the window of my room, sketching charcoal trees
what happened to those magnolia trees, to that girl?

I went off to college, escaped my father’s thunderstorms
Berkeley. Rebellion. Exhilaration!

the Vietnam war, Black Power, Che took me to Chicago
midnight lights under Wacker Dr. Uptown. South Side. Slapped
by self-determination for taking Freedom Wall photos
without asking

on to California, driving at 3:00 in the morning in the mountains,
I got it: what self-determination means
A daunting task for a young white woman, I was humbled

practice is concrete … harder than crystal-dream concepts

San Francisco, on the front steps at Fulton St.
smoking reefer, drinking “bitterdog” with Black Panthers and white
hippie radicals, talking about when the revolution comes

the revolution did not come. Fred Bennett was missing
we learned he’d been found: ashes, bones, a wedding ring
but later there was Assata’s freedom smile

then I was captured, locked into a cell of sewer water
spirit deflated. I survived, carried on, glad to be
like a weed, a wild red poppy,
rooted in life

And this was one of Marilyn's last published essays, printed by Critical Resistance's paper, "The Abolitionist" (W2010):

Alternatives While Waiting: Self-Reliance
by Marilyn Buck

A community’s people, with their creative energy and labour, are the greatest resource it has, but an increasing number, mostly young, are MIA, in graves or prisons, into which so many rush obliviously when they act out Hollywood-constructed desires, images, and stereotypes to “make it” in the midst of still-white supremacist and hierarchical America. Far too many have embraced the 30 years of culturally-contrived amnesia that has mis-educated them to believe in the very system that exiles them to the cages. Valuable human beings – community residents, who could have and should have been the teachers, nurses, doctors, mechanics, public servants, and builders of their communities are disappeared.

Among the disappeared and exiled, many haven’t been formally educated or taught to read well, having dropped out or been driven out of the faltering California school systems, weakened both by funding and a general disregard for and animosity towards the children of the working and underemployed classes, particularly when Black, Latino, or Asian. There are a few, if any, educational or rehabilitation-geared programs within prisons. On a recent KPFA radio program, a freed elder pointed out that many of California’s prisons are on lock-down at any given time, meaning that the few programs that do exist, however reluctantly and apathetically, do not function much of the time.

In the prison charnel houses, forgetfulness or oblivion settles like quicklime on the spirit, intelligence and bodies of exiled and illegalized young people. A sense of responsibility to the community is replaced with rage, and beneath any posturing, despair, self-mutilation, and suicide.

Alternatives? To re-imagine communities with the resources to educate children, to provide work with sufficient income, to get drugs and the weapons of collective suicide out, to make the streets safe again for children, elders and the young women and men. This is similar to the 10-point program the old Black Panther Party called for, a program that in slightly different manifestations is still understood world-wide as necessary for community and nations’ health and well-being for peace and justice.

It’s never too later to learn, to get educated or develop the social or political conscience necessary to challenge the systematic social genocide of our communities. No one has to stay lost; no one is not subject to change. The question is: will you change yourself, have a hand in your destiny and development, or will you accept the changes forced at you by the prison systems’ dog-eat-dog programming that wants you to become a gladiator and a puppet?

There are many who are looking for ways to break such a decimating cycle. Meanwhile, what? The prisoner’s alternative is not to wait for alternatives and social change from the outside, but to begin a process of reconstruction on the inside.

To be a builder, or to be a demolisher, those are the choices. It’s easy to demolish, to destroy. You can be a one-man or a 100-man wrecking crew, but to build you have to become a bricklayer, willing to dig foundations, willing to take care of your neighbourhood and work with others. It means being humble and giving back because when you left you took a whole lot of human and community potential with you. It means learning what you need to know. Find a teacher, no matter whether they wear your colours, are your colour, or are low on the ladder of that peculiar prison concept of “respect.” (Prison culture doesn’t really give any prisoner true respect, or better-said, dignity; the man is still pulling the strings.) If you can’t earn a skill you want where you are (like being a doctor or an environmental engineer), learn all you can about the world. Learn about other societies; learn about communities’ fight for self-reliance and self-determination. Learn Spanish, or English, or Chinese. Or history. The more you study about the world, the better able you will be to see where you are and can go in the world. Choose to be on the side of the people who are not the greedy rulers and bosses.

Of course it’s easier to succumb to the haters who want to decimate your community, and to hang with those who participate in the suicide of their own communities through ignorance and individualism. Reignite your creativity and imagination that you may have put aside when you were 14 or that was discouraged in school. There is enough war from without, end the wars from within. Nothing can be build during a civil war, and certainly nothing can be defended from the war from without, without skills, knowledge and dignity of connection to and love for your community. Become a warrior for reconstruction.

Set a premium on education. No one can ever take it from you. Ultimately, knowledge and skills are more valuable than gold and SUVs, or anything you may have possessed for a few brief moments in life, before prison became your home with its prolonged lesson in absence.

Wal Mart, Women's Resistance, and Martori Farms

I've posted here and there already about Martori Farms and the news I was receiving from Perryville prisoners regarding the work conditions, but Vikki Law managed to unpack it, put it all into the larger context of women's resistance, and make sense of the women's complaints in a way I hadn't quite been able to. So, for those of you interested in the Martori Farms prison labor situation here in Aguila, Arizona, this is the best summary we have of it. If you're interested in doing some organizing around these issues, please contact Vikki Law, as she's picking up the slack on this while I'm out with family matters. Vikki compiles the zine Tenacious for women prisoners, and can be reached at: Victoria Law PO Box 20388 Tompkins Square Station New York, NY 10009 or e-mail: vikkimL@yahoo.com She's on-line at her blog: Resistance Behind Bars, and you can order her book about women's resistance to the prison industrial complex through PM Press. Thanks again for this, Vikki...and to Truth-out for putting it up there. ------------------------ Martori Farms: Abusive Conditions at a Key Wal-Mart Supplier Friday 24 June 2011 by: Victoria Law Truthout | News Analysis (Photo: Walmart / Flickr) In 1954, an 18-year-old black woman named Eleanor Rush was incarcerated at the state women's prison. She was placed in solitary confinement for six days. On the seventh day, Rush was not fed for over 16 hours. After 16 hours, she began yelling that she was hungry and wanted food. In response, the guards bound and gagged her, dislocating her neck in the process. Half an hour later, Rush was dead. The next morning, when the other women in the prison gathered in the yard, another woman in the solitary confinement unit yelled the news about Rush's death from her window. The women in the yard surrounded the staff members supervising their activities and demanded answers about Rush's death. When they didn't get them, the women - both the black and the white women - rioted. The riot lasted three and a half hours, not stopping until Raleigh, North Carolina, police and guards from the men's Central Prison arrived. The women's riot brought outside attention to Rush's death. As a result: The State Bureau of Investigation ordered a probe into Rush's death rather than believing the prison's explanation that Rush had dislocated her own neck and committed suicide. Until that point, nothing in the prison rules explicitly prohibited the use of improvised gags. After the riot and probe, the State Prisons director explicitly banned the use of gags and iron claws (metal handcuffs that can squeeze tightly). The prison administration was required to pay $3,000 to Rush's mother. At that time, $3,000 was more than half the yearly salary of the prison warden. The prison warden, who had allowed Rush to be bound and gagged, was replaced by Elizabeth McCubbin, the executive director of the Family and Children's Service Agency. Her hiring indicated a shift from a punitive model toward a more social service/social work orientation. The women themselves testified that they had rioted to ensure that Rush's death was not dismissed and that the circumstances would not be repeated. Fifty-five years after Rush was killed in solitary confinement, Marcia Powell, a mentally ill 48-year-old woman incarcerated at the Perryville Unit in Arizona, died. The Arizona Department of Corrections (ADC) has more than 600 of these outdoor cages where prisoners are placed to confine or restrict their movement or to hold them while awaiting medical appointments, work, education, or treatment programs. On May 20, 2009, the temperature was 107 degrees. Powell was placed in an unshaded cage in the prison yard. Although prison policy states that "water shall be continuously available" to caged prisoners and that they should be in the cage for "no more than two consecutive hours," guards continually denied her water and kept her in the cage for four hours. Powell collapsed of heat stroke, was sent to West Valley Hospital where ADC Director Charles Ryan took her off life support hours later. The ensuing media attention over Powell's death caused the ADC to temporarily suspend using these cages. Once the media attention faded, the ADC lifted the suspension.(1) Abuses at Perryville have continued. The ADC has sent its prisoners to work for private agricultural businesses for almost 20 years.(2) The farm pays its imprisoned laborers two dollars per hour, not including the travel time to and from the farm. Women on the Perryville Unit are assigned to Martori Farms, an Arizona farm corporation that supplies fresh fruits and vegetables to vendors across the United States (Martori is the exclusive supplier to Wal-Mart's 2,470 Supercenter and Neighborhood Market stores).(3) According to one woman who worked on the farm crews: They wake us up between 2:30 and three AM and KICK US OUT of our housing unit by 3:30AM. We get fed at four AM. Our work supervisors show up between 5AM and 8AM. Then it's an hour to a one and a half hour drive to the job site. Then we work eight hours regardless of conditions .... We work in the fields hoeing weeds and thinning plants ... Currently we are forced to work in the blazing sun for eight hours. We run out of water several times a day. We ran out of sunscreen several times a week. They don't check medical backgrounds or ages before they pull women for these jobs. Many of us cannot do it! If we stop working and sit on the bus or even just take an unauthorized break we get a MAJOR ticket which takes away our "good time"!!! We are told we get "two" 15 min breaks and a half hour lunch like a normal job but it's more like 10 minutes and 20 minutes. They constantly yell at us we are too slow and to speed up because we are costing $150 an acre in labor and that's not acceptable. The place is infested with spiders of all types, scorpions, snakes and blood suckers. And bees because they harvest them. On my crew alone, there are four women with bee allergies, but they don't care!! There are NO epinephrine pens on site to SAVE them if stung. There's no anti venom available for snake bites and they want us to use Windex (yes glass cleaner) for scorpion stings!! INSANITY!!! They are denying us medical care here.(4) Although Martori Farms contracts with the local fire departments to provide medical attention for injuries on the farm, farm supervisors do not always allow women to stop work when they need medical care. When "N" complained of chest pains, the farm representative refused to allow her to stop working. The next day, an hour after returning to work, she began experiencing chest pains. The farm representative told her, "Come on, the big bosses are here. You'll be in trouble if you stop. It's not break time. Work, work, work." "N" complied, working while in pain, until the break. She resumed working for another half hour before she experienced even more severe pains: "I have a steady deep dull pain with sharp stabbing pains periodically ... Then all of a sudden, I can't even lift the hoe in the air. My arms are no longer strong enough. By now, the chest pains are so bad it's knocking the wind out of me. I'm straight seeing stars. I tell our substitute boss officer Sanders I can't do it no more. I'm having really bad chest pains. I can't even lift the hoe anymore." The man accused her of faking these pains, but allowed her to stop working. While the woman was receiving medical attention, another farm representative stated, "Oh, so now they're gonna start faking fucking heart attacks to not work. Great."(5) In addition, the prison has sent women to work on the farms regardless of their medical conditions. "N" was sent to West Valley Hospital where an emergency room doctor ordered that she be exempt from the farm work crew and any other physical exertion for three to four days. However, when "N" was returned to the prison, the nurse told her that they could not honor the doctor's order and ordered her back to work. Another woman concurs. "There was one woman that is on oxygen, in a wheelchair, has an IV line and cancer that they sent to the gate to work on the farm ... The captain asked if she could stand. She said yes. His reply was if you can stand, you can farm. She told him no and was issued a disciplinary ticket."(6) The women have not accepted these abuses quietly. They have launched complaints to prison administrators: "Women have made their complaints on inmate letters and verbally to the lieutenant, sergeant, captains, deputy warden, counselors, supervisors and the major. Their solution was to give us an extra sack lunch and agree to feed us breakfast Saturday mornings. UGH!! Really ... food is not what we were asking for. Though being fed on Saturdays is nice. Yah! They were not feeding us Saturdays because that's a day Kitchen opens late because they give brunch on weekends. No lunch, so we were getting screwed! But as of this past Saturday they said they would feed us before work! Let's see how long it lasts." Women have also stood up to unfair demands from the bosses at the farm. One woman recounted: On Wednesday I go to work ... it's the second day in a row we are doing weeds. [I'm] up to my chest trying to weed to save a minimal amount of watermelon plants. Needless to say, the work was excessively hard - to put it mildly. So I must confess the day before I was "on one," so to speak. My haunted mind was lost in the past and so I was just trucking through the weeds, plowing them down, not even connecting with my physical exertion and pain. So the next day I was completely exhausted and physically broke down!! I was in so much pain because the day before I did like double the work everyone else did. So anyways, the M Farm representative was pushing me so hard trying to get me to produce the same results as the day before ... [He] has everyone at minimum teamed up helping each other plow through these weeds. Well everyone but me that is. I repeatedly asked him to give me a partner. I kept telling him that I was in pain. I also went as far as to tell him that I don't think I can do this anymore, to PLEASE give me a partner also. His response was "No. You're strong. You can do it by yourself." I told him not true; I over-exerted myself yesterday because I was going through some things. Now I'm hurt and need help.... He thought my pleas were funny. I hated to degrade myself and plea so I stopped and continued. After "N" had finished her assigned row, the farm representative demanded that she finish weeding two other rows that had been abandoned. When she again requested a weeding partner, stating that she was in pain, the representative replied, "When you get to the end, I'll think about it." By this time, all the girls are finishing their rows because they're all teamed up with 2 or three girls per row. Except me. So there are only two whole rows left on the field by now and he already placed six girls per row. That's twelve women on two rows. And I can't even get one helper. That's RIDICULOUS ... I tell him "Mariano all joking aside, all the others are finishing. Can I please get a helper?" He tells me "Seriously, no joking. When you get to the end, I'll think about it." At that point I'm pretty upset and broke down. I looked at him and said "Is that right?" I paused staring at him waiting for him to stop his male chauvinist domination games or whatever he's playing. When he didn't say anything, but just stared. I told him, "Fine Mariano I'm done. I can't do this anymore. I'm hurt and struggling through this. After what happened to me before I would think you would provide me help when I need it. Since you won't look out for my health and well-being, I will. Someone has to. I'm done for today. I'm going to sit on the bus." The supervisor demanded that she return to work, threatening to call the prison to have disciplinary tickets written up. She refused. At this point I'm so angry that this jerk would make me lose everything because I'm not submissive and I don't obey him like the women back in Mexico do that I admit I blew up and acted unprofessional. I told him "Mariano, Fuck you and your tickets. Go write them if you want. In fact I'll write them for you to make sure you get the facts straight."... At this point the two women who were on the bus got all riled up and were yelling, "That's not fair. She's your best worker and you're going to punish her with tickets!!!" "She's hurt I heard her asking for help all day!" "We've been sitting on the bus for over an hour and we're not getting tickets, why is she the only one getting a ticket?"(7) Not only did "N" stand up for herself, but the other women defended her actions at the risk of being ticketed as well. Their combined efforts ensured that "N" was not issued a ticket in retaliation for standing up for herself. Women have also alerted outside advocates and activists about these inhumane conditions, again at great risk to themselves. If not for their courage in speaking out, the outside world would remain unaware of the exploitation and abuse on the farm. While the women both endure and challenge these abuses, those outside prison gates remain largely unaware of their struggles. Those involved in social justice organizing need to recognize that prisons and prison injustices are exacerbations of the same social issues in the outside world and recognize that these struggles intersect. Safe from the retaliation of prison authorities, outside organizers and activists can and should raise their voices and take action to help the women inside challenge and ultimately stop these abuses. Footnotes: 1. As of April 15, 2010, these cages (or "temporary holding enclosures") remain in use. Arizona Department of Corrections, Department Order Manual, Department Order 704: Inmate Regulations. 2. Nicole Hill, "With Fewer Migrant Workers, Farmers Turn to Prison Labor," Christian Science Monitor, August 22, 2007. Reprinted here. 3. Press release, "16-Year Relationship Between Wal-Mart and Arizona Business Grows, Thrives," September 7, 2007. The 2470 figure is as of August 1, 2007. 4. Letter from "N," dated April 24, 2011. 5. Letter from "N," dated April 24, 2011 6. Letter from "H," dated May 22, 2011. 7. Letter from "N," dated May 7, 2011.

Perryville: Resistance Behind Bars

I originally put the following article about Vikki Law's work up awhile ago. In it she discusses both women's resistance in prison and the vision of prison abolition. I thought it was worth putting up again in light of the resistance we saw last week at Perryville.


Families: get this word in to the women of Perryville - Rock On! Some of you have my address - use it or share it, and we'll do whatever we can to support you in there.

Ricardo Levins Morales
------------------------------------

Women's Resistance Behind Bars

Beyond Attica: The Untold Story of Women's Resistance Behind Bars

By Hans Bennett
Alternet
July 21, 2009

As the incarceration rate of U.S. women skyrockets, an important book shines new light on the struggles of women prisoners.

"When I was 15, my friends started going to jail," says Victoria Law, a native New Yorker.

"Chinatown's gangs were recruiting in the high schools in Queens and, faced with the choice of stultifying days learning nothing in overcrowded classrooms or easy money, many of my friends had dropped out to join a gang."

"One by one," Law recalls, "they landed in Rikers Island, an entire island in New York City devoted to pretrial detainment for those who can not afford bail."

Law shares this and other recollections in her new book, Resistance Behind Bars: The Struggles of Incarcerated Women (PM Press). At 16, she herself decided to join a gang, but was arrested for the armed robbery that she committed for her initiation into the gang. "Because it was my first arrest -- and probably because 16-year-old Chinese girls who get straight As in school did not seem particularly menacing -- I was eventually let off with probation," she writes.

Before her release from jail, Law was held in the "Tombs" awaiting arraignment. While the adult women she met there had all been arrested for prostitution, she also met three teenagers arrested for unarmed assault. "Two of the girls were black lesbian lovers. In a scenario that would be repeated 13 years later in the case of the New Jersey Four, they had been out with friends when they encountered a cab driver who had tried to grab one of them. Her friends intervened, the cab driver called the police and the girls were arrested for assault." Law notes that "both of my cellmates were subsequently sent to Rikers Island."

These early experiences, coupled with her later discovery of radical politics, pushed Law "to think about who goes to prison and why." She got involved in several projects to support prisoners, which included helping to start Books Through Bars in New York City, sending free books to prisoners. In college, she "began researching current prisoner organizing and resistance," and upon discovering almost zero documentation of resistance from women prisoners, she began her own documentation and directly contacted women prisoners who were resisting. A college paper became a widely distributed pamphlet, and at the request of several women prisoners she'd corresponded with, Law helped to publish their writings in a zine called Tenacious: Art and Writings from Women in Prison. Law writes that the zine and pamphlet "heightened awareness not only about incarcerated women's issues, but also women's actions to challenge and change the injustices they faced on a daily basis."

"This book is the result of seven and a half years of reading, writing, listening, and supporting women in prison," Law says about Resistance Behind Bars, noting that each chapter in her book "focuses on an issue that women themselves have identified as important." The chapters include topics as diverse as health care, the relationship between mothers and daughters, sexual abuse, education, and resistance among women in immigration detention. Resistance Behind Bars paints a picture of women prisoners resisting a deeply flawed prison system, which Law hopes will help to empower both the women held in cages and those on the outside working to support them.

Who Goes To Prison?

Since 1970, the U.S. prison population has skyrocketed, from 300,000 to over 2.3 million. According to the U.S. Justice Department, this staggering increase has not resulted from a rise in crime. In fact, since 1993, the prison population has increased by over one million, but during this same period, both property offenses and serious violent crime have been steadily declining. The New York Times recently cited a 2008 report by the International Center for Prison Studies at King's College London documenting that the U.S. has more prisoners than any other country. Furthermore, with 751 out of 100,000 people, and one out of every 100 adults in prison or jail, the U.S. also has the highest incarceration rate in the world. With only five percent of the world's population, the U.S. has almost a quarter of the world's prisoners.

While women comprise only nine percent of the U.S. prison population, their numbers have been increasing at a faster rate than men. As Law documents, "between 1990 and 2000, the number of women in prison rose 108 percent, from 44,065 to 93,234. (The male prison population grew 77 percent during that same time period.) By the end of 2006, 112,498 women were behind bars."

Like with male incarceration rates, women behind bars are disproportionately low-income and people of color. Law writes that "only 40 percent of all incarcerated women had been employed full-time before incarceration. Of those, most had held low-paying jobs: a study of women under supervision (prison, jail, parole or probation) found that two-thirds had never held a job that paid more than $6.50 per hour. Approximately 37 percent earned less than $600 per month."

A 2007 Bureau of Justice study documented that 358 of every 100,000 Black women, 152 of every 100,000 Latinas, and 94 of every 100,000 white women are incarcerated. Explaining this racial discrepancy, Law argues that inner-city Black and Latino neighborhoods are disproportionately targeted by law enforcement. She cites a 2005 U.S. Department of Justice study which concluded that Blacks and Latinos are "three times as likely as whites to be searched, arrested, threatened or subdued with force when stopped by the police."
The so-called "War on Drugs" has played a key role in the growth of the U.S. prison population.

Law writes about the impact of New York State's Rockefeller Drug Laws passed in 1973, "which required a sentence of 15 years to life for anyone convicted of selling two ounces or possessing four ounces of a narcotic, regardless of circumstances or prior history. That year, only 400 women were imprisoned in New York State. As of January 1, 2001, there were 3,133. Over 50 percent had been convicted of a drug offense and 20 percent were convicted solely of possession. Other states passed similar laws, causing the number of women imprisoned nationwide for drug offenses to rise 888 percent from 1986 to 1996."

Distinguishing women prisoners from their male counterparts, Law cites a Bureau of Justice study which "found that women were three times more likely than men to have been physically or sexually abused prior to incarceration."

Women Prisoners Don't Resist?

The central thesis of Resistance Behind Bars is truly profound. In clear, non-academic language, Law argues that recent scholarship documenting and radically criticizing the increased incarceration rates and mistreatment of women prisoners "largely ignores what the women themselves do to change or protest these circumstances, thus reinforcing the belief that incarcerated women do not organize." Alongside academia, Law also harshly criticizes radical prison activists, arguing that "just as the civil rights movement of the 1960s and 1970s downplayed the role of women in favor of highlighting male spokesmen and leaders, the prisoners' rights movement has focused and continues to focus on men to speak for the masses."

Law gives honorable mention to two books that documented women's resistance at Bedford Hills Correctional Facility in New York State: Juanita Diaz-Cotto's Gender, Ethnicity, and the State (1996) and the collectively written Breaking the Walls of Silence: AIDS and Women in a New York State Maximum Security Prison (1998). Since these two books "no other book-length work has focused on incarcerated women's activism and resistance," writes Law. As a result, Law argues that women prisoners "lack a commonly known history of resistance. While male prisoners can draw on the examples of George Jackson, the Attica uprising and other well-publicized cases of prisoner activism, incarcerated women remain unaware of precedents relevant to them."

Epitomizing the scholarship that Law criticizes, author Virginia High Brislin wrote that "women inmates themselves have called very little attention to their situations," and "are hardly ever involved in violent encounters with officials (i.e. riots), nor do they initiate litigation as often as do males in prison."

To challenge Brislin's assertion, Law gives numerous examples of women rioting and initiating litigation, including the "August Rebellion" in 1974 at Bedford Hills Correctional Facility in New York State. On July 2, 1974, prisoner Carol Crooks won a lawsuit against prison authorities, with the court "issuing a preliminary injunction, prohibiting the prison from placing women in segregation without 24-hour notice and a hearing of these charges," writes Law. In response, "five male guards beat Crooks and placed her in segregation. Her fellow prisoners protested by holding seven staff members hostage for two and a half hours. However, 'the August Rebellion' is virtually unknown today despite that fact that male state troopers and (male) guards from men's prisons were called to suppress the uprising, resulting in 25 women being injured and 24 women being transferred to Matteawan Complex for the Criminally Insane without the required commitment hearings."

Law also criticizes author Karlene Faith, who acknowledges that women resist, but who wrote that in the 1970s, women prisoners "were not as politicized as the men [prisoners], and they did not engage in the kinds of protest actions that aroused media attention." To challenge Faith's argument, Law cites several rebellions that received significant media attention, including one that the New York Times wrote two stories about. As Law recounts, "in 1975, women at the North Carolina Correctional Center for Women held a sit-down demonstration to demand better medical care, improved counseling services, and the closing of the prison laundry. When prison guards attempted to end the protest by herding the women into the gymnasium and beating them, the women fought back, using volleyball net poles, chunks of concrete and hoe handles to drive the guards out of the prison. Over 100 guards from other prisons were summoned to quell the rebellion."

In light of the many such stories documented in Resistance Behind Bars, Law argues that "instead of claiming that women in prison did not engage in riots and protest actions that captured media attention, scholars and researchers should examine why these acts of organizing fail to attract the same critical and scholarly attention as that given to similar male actions."

Resisting With Media-Activism

In the chapter "Grievances, Lawsuits, and the Power of the Media," Law observes that "gaining media attention often gains quicker results than filing lawsuits." Among the many organizing victories that were significantly aided by media attention, in 1999, Nightline focused on conditions at California's Valley State Prison for Women. Law explains that "after prisoner after prisoner told Nightline anchor Ted Koppel about being given a pelvic exam as 'part of the treatment' for any ailment, including stomach problems or diabetes, Koppel asked the prison's chief medical officer Dr. Anthony DiDomenico, for an explanation."

DiDomenico was apparently so confident that he would not be held accountable for his misconduct, that he answered Koppel by saying "I've heard inmates tell me they would deliberately like to be examined. It's the only male contact they get." After this interview was aired, DiDomenico was reassigned to a desk job, and as of 2001 he had been criminally indicted, along with a second doctor.

Demonstrating the power of this media coverage, Law notes that the "prisoner advocacy organization Legal Services for Prisoners with Children had been reporting the prisoners' complaints about medical staff's sexual misconduct to the CDC for four years with no result."

Along with agitating for coverage in the mainstream media, women prisoners have also created their own media projects. The chapter titled "Breaking The Silence: Incarcerated Women's Media" documents many important projects. Law explains that these projects are necessary because women prisoners' "voices and stories still remain unheard by both mainstream and activist-oriented media. Articles about both prison conditions and prisoners often portray the male prisoner experience, ignoring the different issues facing women in prison." Therefore, "women's acts of writing -- and publishing -- often serve a dual purpose: they challenge existing stereotypes and distortions of prisoners and prison life, framing and correcting prevailing (mis) perceptions. They also boost women's sense of self-worth and agency in a system designed to not only isolate and alienate its prisoners but also erase all traces of individuality."

Some activist-oriented publications have been receptive and have published prisoners' writings.
From 1999 until its final issue in 2002, the radical feminist magazine Sojourner: A Women's Forum featured a section on women prisoner issues which included writings from the prisoners themselves. Law writes that this section, entitled "Inside/Outside" covered many topics, including "working conditions in women's facilities, the dehumanizing treatment of children visiting their mothers, and prisoner suicides.

Law spotlights many different projects. From 2002 to 2006, Perceptions was a monthly newspaper published by and for the women at the Edna Mahan Correctional Facility for Women in New Jersey. Because of censorship from prison warden Charlotte Blackwell, Perceptions was forced to limit its criticism of the prison, but the women published what they could. For example, in one issue, women wrote about how they would run the prison differently if they were in charge. Law notes that "their fantasies revealed the absence of programming for older women and those in the maximum custody unit, emergency counseling and therapeutic interventions and opportunities for mother-child interactions. It also drew attention to the facility's overcrowding and increased potentials for violence and conflict among prisoners."

Tenacious, the zine published by Law, was initiated by women prisoners who sought the help of friends outside the prison to actually publish and distribute it. "Free from the need to seek administrative approval, incarcerated women wrote about the difficulties of parenting from prison, dangerously inadequate health care, sexual assault by prison staff and the scarcity of educational and vocational opportunities, especially in comparison to their male counterparts. Although circulation remained small, the women's stories provoked public response," writes Law.

"Prison officials do whatever they can to strip prisoners of their dignity and self-worth," stated Barrilee Bannister, one of the founders of Tenacious. "Writing is my way to escape the confines of prison and the debilitating ailments of prison life. It's me putting on boxing gloves and stepping into the rink of freedom of speech and opinion."

Arguing For Prison Abolition

When Victoria Law was first introduced to radical politics, shortly after her own stint behind bars, she "discovered groups and literature espousing prison abolition."

"These analyses -- coupled with what I had seen firsthand -- made sense, steering me to work towards the dismantling, rather than the reform, of the prison system." Law's subsequent research has only served to affirm her belief in the need for abolition. She states clearly that "this book should not be mistaken for a call for more humane or 'gender responsive' prisons."

Some readers may view Law's prison abolitionist politics as being abstract or overly theoretical.

However, to support her abolitionist viewpoint, she makes the practical argument that prisons simply don't work to reduce crime or increase public safety. She writes that "incarceration has not decreased crime; instead, 'tough on crime' policies have led to the criminalization … of more activities, leading to higher rates of arrest, prosecution and incarceration while shifting money and resources away from other public entities, such as education, housing, health care, drug treatment, and other societal supports. The growing popularity of abolitionist thought can be seen in the expansion of organizations such as Critical Resistance, an organization fighting to end the need for a prison-industrial complex, and the formation of groups working to address issues of crime and victimization without relying on the police or prisons."

Towards the end of Resistance Behind Bars, Law quotes Angela Y. Davis, who is a leading activist intellectual of the prison abolitionist movement. In her recent book Are Prisons Obsolete?, Davis writes that "a major challenge of this movement is to do the work that will create more human, habitable environments for people in prison without bolstering the permanence of the prison system. How, then, do we accomplish this balancing act of passionately attending to the needs of prisoners -- calling for less violent conditions, an end to sexual assault, improved physical and mental health care, greater access to drug programs, better educational work opportunities, unionization of prison labor, more connections with families and communities, shorter or alternative sentencing -- and at the same time call for alternatives to sentencing altogether, no more prison construction, and abolitionist strategies that question the place of the prison in our future?"

As if answering Davis' question, Law concludes that while striving for prison abolition "we need to also reach in, make contact with those who have been isolated by prison walls and societal indifference and listen to those who are speaking out, like many of the women who have shared their stories within this book. Because abolishing prisons will not happen tomorrow, next week or even next year, we need to break through these barriers, communicate, work with and support women who are in resistance today."