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Source: https://shadowproof.com/feed/

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<title>Shadowproof Is Shutting Down</title>
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<dc:creator><![CDATA[Shadowproof]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Thu, 14 Dec 2023 15:04:16 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Announcements]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Latest News]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[The Dissenter]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Announcement]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Shadowproof]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://shadowproof.com/?p=225139</guid>
<description><![CDATA[After eight years, we have decided that it is time to shut down Shadowproof, but that does not mean that the independent journalism that we fostered is coming entirely to an end.
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/12/14/shadowproof-is-shutting-down/">Shadowproof Is Shutting Down</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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After eight years, we have decided that it is time to shut down Shadowproof, but that does not mean that the independent journalism that we fostered is coming entirely to an end. In a span of time defined by numerous global crises and an ever-shifting online media landscape, readers like you helped us develop an oasis for incisive reporting on prisons, policing, whistleblowers, and crackdowns on political activists. So many members and donors made it possible for Shadowproof to hire over 90 freelance journalists to cover stories and perspectives that were often outside the beats of most other publications. We were able to pay journalists fairly and give them a solid platform as many major media organizations were uninterested in their work or treated them poorly in the context of layoffs and politically motivated firings.
There is so much to be proud of in the last eight years, and we can’t recount all of it here. The <a href="https://shadowproof.com/category/features/marvel-cooke-fellowship/">Marvel Cooke Fellowship</a>, overseen by co-founder Brian Nam-Sonenstein, was a remarkable success thanks to the support of Mariame Kaba and dozens of subscribers, who funded in-depth reporting from incarcerated and marginalized writers on the movement to abolish the prison industrial complex. Shadowproof further distinguished itself through regular coverage of the extradition case against WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange. Co-founder Kevin Gosztola drew from this reporting to write a book, Guilty of Journalism: The Political Case Against Julian Assange, that was <a href="https://www.project-censored.org/shop/p/guilty-of-journalism-the-political-case-against-julian-assange">published</a> in March of this year.
Countless other reporting projects – from our dogged coverage of the prison strikes of the 2010s to our on-the-ground reporting at the Democratic National Convention in 2016, early investigations into privatized prison health care, our development of model Medicare For All legislation, reporting trips to the UK to cover the Assange case – made critical interventions and contested mainstream narratives and, in some cases, mainstream silence on major events of the time. Yet in the past couple of years, we have moved away from the Shadowproof website. We propped up other media platforms, like newsletters, podcasts, and YouTube channels, that gave us more outlets for sharing our work. Kevin has produced the bulk of his journalism on Assange, whistleblowers, government secrecy, and press freedom through <a href="http://thedissenter.org">The Dissenter Newsletter</a>, which began as a project of Shadowproof.  Brian recently joined the Prison Policy Initiative (PPI) as a senior editor and researcher, where he has been publishing the bulk of his work on police and prisons. Meanwhile, the media technology space has radically changed and in some ways introduced tools that made it simpler and less cumbersome to publish work without operating a full website and organization. And so, like all good things, we have made the decision to celebrate our accomplishments and fully transition away from Shadowproof. Kevin will continue his extensive coverage of Assange through <a href="https://thedissenter.org">The Dissenter Newsletter</a>, and if you are not yet a subscriber, we strongly encourage you to sign up. He is also developing a YouTube channel to accompany his written journalism. He is still on Twitter (<a href="https://twitter.com/kgosztola">@kgosztola</a>), and he has updated a Substack account <a href="https://gosztola.substack.com/">here</a> to make it easier for readers to follow postings that appear on several platforms.
Brian plans to continue his collaborations with incarcerated writers and his work covering the abolition movement, including through the <a href="https://beyond-prisons.com/">Beyond Prisons podcast</a>. You can follow him on Twitter (<a href="https://twitter.com/bsonenstein">@bsonenstein</a>) for updates on such projects in the coming months.
Beginning today, Shadowproof memberships will transition to supporting The Dissenter newsletter. Members will receive an email with more information, but if need help making changes to your subscription, please contact Brian at <a href="mailto:brian@shadowproof.com">brian@shadowproof.com</a>. This change will present new challenges. Kevin Gosztola will continue his journalism at The Dissenter newsletter but without much of the supportive infrastructure that was built through Shadowproof.
<a href="http://thedissenter.org/donate">Please chip in a few dollars to help Kevin cover some of the operating expenses that he will have to shoulder. </a>
Go to <a href="http://thedissenter.org/donate">thedissenter.org/donate</a> to support his work.
Finally, we are immensely grateful to all the journalists and writers who collaborated with us. In particular, Dan Wright, Kit O’Connell, and Roqayah Chamseddine deserve special mention for working as founding Shadowproof staff members. Their talents, perspectives, and contributions were essential to starting and shaping our work over the years. We would like to thank Rania Khalek, Kim Wilson, Maya Schenwar, Jane Hamsher, and many others for their friendship and support over the years, without which none of this would have been possible. We’d also like to thank our families, whose love and encouragement have always been crucial to our ability to experiment and take risks with this work.
We would also like to thank our many freelance contributors over the years, listed below. We encourage you to seek them out, follow their work, and support them. And if you are a publisher, we highly encourage you to work with them. We are honored to have published the work of the following writers, and want to give special thanks (from most recent to earliest contributor) to:
***
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Raymond Williams
Christopher Blackwell
Emily Nonko
Jessica Phoenix Sylvia
Sierra Dickey
C. Dreams
Jovan Strong
Lawrence Jenkins
Minali Aggarwal
Brendan Maslauskas Dunn
James Jones
Caren Holmes
Luke Ottenhof
Sam Bishop
Nicole Froio
Felix Sitthivong
Vanessa Taylor
Larissa Banitt
Daniel Moritz-Rabson
James Anderson
Kit Klarenberg
Mohamed Elmaazi
Caleb Brennan
Juan Moreno Haines
Eoin Higgins
Rahsaan Thomas
Rebecca Chowdhury
Lucia Geng
Michael Sainato
Tom Secker
Tamar Sarai
Amanda Abrams
Citlali Pizarro
Ken Klippenstein
Emma Rosewood
Brian Zayatz
Will Lennon
Ella Fassler
Billie Anania
Kiran Misra
Clare Busch
Lex McMenamin
Joergen Ostensen
Jared Ware
James Potuck
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Jonathan Michels
Steven Yoder
Maddie Rose
Rainier Harris
Adam Mahoney
Reina Sultan
Jessica Buxbaum
Jonathan Ben-Menachem
Tavleen Tarrant
Halley Bondy
Katie Dancey-Downs
Devyn Springer
Ian Alexander
Adryan Corcione
Arvind Dilawar
Mike Kuhlenbeck
Will Parrish
Camille Fassett
Miles Quarles
Natascha Elena Uhlmann
Michael Arria
Jon Walker
Joanne Leon
Aaron Cynic
Will Cox
Will Pierce
Lauren Gill
Siobhan O’Leary
Ashoka Jegroo
Brandon Smith
Nick Musgrave
Larissa Banitt
Rory Fleming
Elizabeth King
Willie Burnley Jr.
Brian Saady
Brandon Jordan
Paul Gottinger
Branko Marcetic
Steve Horn
Gadeir Abbas
Zachary Senn
Ben Foldy
Desiree Kane
Laura Muth
</div>
</div>
We plan to keep the Shadowproof archive online for the foreseeable future. (If you wish to help fund that work, you can do so through <a href="https://thedissenter.org/">donations and subscriptions to the Dissenter</a>). 
Running an independent media platform is difficult and often unglamorous work, but it is essential given the media landscape which all too often feels like a rocky wasteland. We have learned so much from those we mentioned and many others, and we strongly encourage the next generation of young independent publishers to stick with journalism, even if it is a struggle. Your efforts are desperately needed in these times. We encourage independent publishers to make themselves available to mentor and support emerging publications focused on voices for liberation. This is intergenerational work, and it cannot be done in isolation or with a highly competitive and cutthroat attitude. It is critical that independent media organizations and media workers work together, are accountable to each other, and take their role in our movements seriously. They must do everything they can to pay people well, empower them in the editorial process, and help them develop their skills. We cannot afford to lose more journalists to this unforgiving media economy that has already pushed so many people out.
Thank you for believing in our work and supporting us. 
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/12/14/shadowproof-is-shutting-down/">Shadowproof Is Shutting Down</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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<title>In Washington State, Prison Closure Divides Abolitionist Community</title>
<link>https://shadowproof.com/2023/11/27/in-washington-state-prison-closure-divides-abolitionist-community/</link>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Raymond Williams]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Mon, 27 Nov 2023 16:37:47 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Featured Reporting]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Latest News]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Marvel Cooke Fellowship]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Prison Protest]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://shadowproof.com/?p=225092</guid>
<description><![CDATA[When the Washington State DOC announced it would close the Washington State Reformatory, it caused a rift between incarcerated abolitionists. 
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/11/27/in-washington-state-prison-closure-divides-abolitionist-community/">In Washington State, Prison Closure Divides Abolitionist Community</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
]]></description>
<content:encoded><![CDATA[
This article was funded by the Marvel Cooke Fellowship. <a href="https://shadowproof.com/marvel-cooke-fellowship/">Read more</a> about this reporting project and <a href="https://shadowproof.com/donate">make a contribution</a> to fund our fellowship budget.
I board the transport in an orange jumpsuit, shackled and cuffed at the waist, one of many prisoners in exodus from the Washington State Reformatory. 
The rattling of our chains fills the cabin as we find places to sit. I slide into a seat with a small window high on the wall next to me—the coveted seat with a “view.” Nervous chatter ensues as we wait to be shipped to the next prison. 
In 2021, during the pandemic, the Washington Department of Corrections (WDOC), experienced a steep decrease in prison admissions (and therefore a great loss of revenue). In response, the department announced it would close the Washington State Reformatory (WSR), the oldest unit in the Monroe Correctional Complex in Monroe, Washington. This caused a rift among incarcerated abolitionists: some saw it as a win for the movement, while others felt it was a win for the prison industrial complex.
Two years after WSR closed, the latter group feels vindicated as it appears the state created an illusion of decarceration. The lessons that can be learned from these events will prove invaluable to future generations fighting for change. Otherwise, we may be left celebrating battles while we are all losing the war.
By the time the bus gets moving, the still air and hot breath of prisoners have fogged the windows. I stand and strain against my shackles, searching for a clear corner of glass from which to catch a peek. In my effort, the leg irons bite into my ankles: a price I willingly pay to see the world. 
As we roll away from the walls and grounds of that prison, I am filled with a sense of loss. Not for that 6×9 foot cell — a cell so small I am forced to sidesaddle the toilet to take a dump — but loss for what has just been taken from me. 
The prison may have closed, but for me, shackled in the back of the transport, removed from my support networks, advocacy community, platform, and education, this did not feel like abolition. As I’ve learned, we sometimes hold different definitions of the word. But I know my chances for freedom diminish with every mile we put between us and the walls of that prison. 
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">TEAR IT ALL DOWN</h2>
Yesterday, a prisoner jokingly asked a guard walking by “What do you think about abolition?”
The guard facetiously answered, “Sure. Tear it all down.” Then walked off shaking his head in laughter. 
This trope is unfortunately prevalent in the minds of many. How telling and shocking would it have been if he instead replied, “Sure. Go ahead and build something new.” If that was his answer, even in jest, our movement would be in a better place. 
The tragedy is that some members of our movement are so narrowly focused on the idea that abolition is defined by tearing things down that the impulse to dismantle can reign without regard for a longer vision of transformation. Or, as was the case at WSR, the impulse to dismantle can even compromise existing abolitionist infrastructure. 
When a plan to shut down a prison or precinct or to release prisoners under reform schemes is presented, it is easy to jump at the opportunity for what appears to be a win. Wins are, after all, very hard to come by. Who can blame good-hearted people who wish to seize apparent opportunities for decarceration? But the reality can be more complicated. This can make us vulnerable to exploitation. Our impulse to jump at apparent victories should be tempered with caution and foresight when the win is offered too willingly by our oppressors.
When, in the summer of 2021, WDOC announced it would close WSR, abolitionists began to choose sides, both for and against the closure. 
The voice of prisoners in favor of the closure was led by a prisoner named Felix Sitthivong, who published an article in Inquest titled “<a href="https://inquest.org/divide-and-conquer/">Divide and Conquer</a>.” In the article, Sitthivong excoriated abolitionist prisoners who did not view the closure as abolition and argued that the material conditions of confinement at WSR justified the closure. Sitthivong stated he stood on the ideal that “prison closures really mean prison closures.”
The other side of the argument was led, in part, by another prisoner named Tomas Keen, who published an article in the same publication titled “<a href="https://inquest.org/a-warm-closure/">A Warm Closure</a>.” In this article, Keen exposed WDOC for couching the closure of WSR as decarceration while, in reality, this maneuver would instead increase the carceral footprint and harm communities of color. Keen argued that “WSR is, quite literally, the paradigm for restorative, community-focused facilities.”
But the lens of history has helped settle this debate. The social and political landscape that emerged in Washington prisons since WSR’s closure shines a bright light on the harm caused to abolitionist formations and reveals sinister designs by WDOC to eradicate programs, organizations, and communities working towards liberation. In order to understand why some abolitionist prisoners fought to keep a prison open, one would have to know why WSR was important to the movement. 
Built in 1910, WSR was one of the oldest prisons in the state. The walls surrounding the prison endured cycles of crumbling and repair, leaving a mosaic of partially whitewashed brick as a testament to the century of its carceral presence. It leaked, had sewage problems, and its concrete floors sagged, but WSR was a power center for prisoner-led abolition groups and liberation efforts in Washington state. No greater collective of prisoners fighting for change and freedom could be found anywhere else in Washington.
Prisoners confined to WSR benefited from their proximity to the Seattle metropolitan area and the long history of community involvement found there. WSR held onto remnants of a culture predating the era of mass incarceration, and organizations there, like <a href="http://www.blackprisonerscaucus.org/">The Black Prisoners Caucus</a> (BPC) and <a href="http://facebook.com/concernedlifersorganization">Concerned Lifer’s Organization</a> (CLO)—both born in 1972—were older than some of the bricks in the walls.
These prisoner-led organizations had taken to heart a 2014 article by Michelle Alexander, <a href="https://sojo.net/magazine/july-2014/how-dismantle-new-jim-crow">How To Dismantle the New Jim Crow</a>, and were deploying the three actionable steps she listed for change. Prisoners at WSR were actively engaged in (1) Awakening, (2) Building an Underground Railroad, and (3) Working for Abolition. 
The CLO and BPC were providing great and loyal service towards Awakening. Every Monday and Friday night, the CLO and BPC hosted members of the community, volunteers, and lawmakers to engage in robust discussions on the harms of the carceral state. Both groups held annual conventions where several hundred members of free society would come and hear prisoners <a href="https://www.facebook.com/concernedlifersorganization/videos">give speeches</a> that <a href="https://www.facebook.com/concernedlifersorganization/videos">educated the public</a> on the need for change. Annually, the CLO and BPC interacted with around a thousand free citizens each year.
Through work done at WSR, relationships were cultivated, and people in free society were able to see prisoners as members of their communities working towards common goals. This opened pathways to clemency for prisoners engaged in the work. By 2020, people in the community tied to WSR as volunteers were working in tandem with prisoners confined there to — as Alexander called for — “make a break for freedom in the era of mass incarceration.” These social structures served as an Underground Railroad, with the prison itself a kind of Harper’s Ferry. Prisoners across the state knew that if they wanted to sail toward clemency, WSR was the place where they could find a boat.
Prisoners at WSR were stringently working for abolition. This work included dismantling the <a href="https://www.crimlawpractitioner.org/post/the-foster-care-to-prison-pipeline-a-road-to-incarceration">preschool-to-prison and foster-care-to-prison pipelines</a>. CLO and BPC legislative committees worked in tandem to <a href="https://tvw.org/video/senate-human-services-reentry-rehabilitation-committee-2019021111/?eventID=2019021111">draft bills and lead legislative efforts</a> for change. The BPC and CLO created a college, <a href="http://www.universitybeyondbars.org/">University Beyond Bars</a>, where all prisoners—regardless of time structure or immigration status—<a href="https://www.fox13seattle.com/news/they-rise-to-what-you-expect-of-them-prison-program-helps-transform-lives-through-education">could pursue higher education</a>. In 2018, the BPC and CLO worked with <a href="https://www.collectivejusticenw.org/">Collective Justice</a> to create <a href="https://www.collectivejusticenw.org/ourwork">HEAL</a>, a class where prisoners worked with crime victims in restorative justice processes focused on healing from trauma.
By January 2020, prisoners at WSR had built enough momentum to organize the <a href="https://www.king5.com/article/news/local/prison-reform-rally-olympia/281-023e71a9-5615-418a-9771-0dc783f0b813">Rally To End Mass Incarceration</a>, where hundreds of protestors showed up on a cold winter night demanding change at the steps of the state capitol. We were just getting started.
In Washington State, there was no movement to end mass incarceration that had the reach and diversity of the one led by the prisoners confined at WSR. In circles at WSR, people of every race, religious affiliation, or demographic—even members of rival gangs—found common cause and solidarity in collective efforts for transformation. Here, for a time, the movement was truly beautiful. 
And then the COVID pandemic happened. Everything came to a halt. The murder of George Floyd happened, and conversations on abolition increased with the Defund The Police demand. Having lost the illusion of the moral high ground for a brief moment in time, the power of the carceral state seemed in jeopardy. As the pandemic raged into 2021, WDOC faced a financial and staffing crisis, bleeding human capital as prisoners were released under <a href="https://snohomishcountywa.gov/6065/State-v-Blake-Refunds">decriminalization laws</a>. The carceral state was weakening and looking for strategic ways to maintain the status quo in the face of sweeping change.
According to a WDOC <a href="https://doc.wa.gov/news/2021/spotlight/unit-closures.htm">News Spotlight article</a>, the department had seen a 54 percent decrease in prison admissions during the height of the pandemic from March 2020 to June 2021. The lack of human capital and a proposed budget decrease of $80 million over two years by Governor Jay Inslee made other stressors, such as concerns about overtime pay for guards, primary concerns for WDOC. Here, the state claimed to lose more staff than it could retain and that these vacancies led to increases in overtime pay. The proposed closure would allow the state to immediately reduce high levels of overtime, noting that “nearly a quarter of those hours were incurred at the Monroe Correctional Complex,” which included WSR, WDOC’s prime target for closure.
But, this proposed closure was to be a “warm closure,” meaning the prison would leave the lights on and keep a skeleton crew of guards working nearly empty units. This type of closure would allow the prison to reopen, at a later date, without having to bring the 100-year-old infrastructure up to code before repopulating the cellblocks. Two years later, WSR is now gearing up to do just that. 
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">WARM CLOSURE</h2>
Robert Alderson, one of a handful of prisoners who remained at WSR after the “warm closure,” recently transferred from there to the Washington Corrections Center. He told Shadowproof, “When I left, [WDOC was] taking bids to repaint and resurface the units. They just put new mattresses in all the cells and installed a brand new WiFi system.” 
“The closure of WSR was abolition in one respect,” said Darrell Jackson, member of the Black Prisoners Caucus and Co-Chair of <a href="https://www.blackprisonerscaucus.org/teach/">BPC TEACH</a>. “It abolished those groups. The things DOC took during the pandemic were the very things you guys had there at WSR. We didn’t have those things at the other prisons where I was at, but because you guys had them there, we were able to fight for them as well. Now they just don’t exist at all, and DOC ain’t giving them back.”
Jackson’s comments echo the fears of some incarcerated organizers as WDOC began maneuvering to “close” WSR. And this possibility was obvious to most of the people involved in liberation efforts across the state. 
Vincent “Tank” Sherrill is a champion of abolition efforts in Washington state, a longtime leader in the BPC, and one of the prisoners displaced by the closure of WSR. Tank reminisced about what prisoners had. “We created an activist and organizer university inside the Reformatory,” he said. “We were literally given the tools to dismantle the master’s house right under the master’s nose.” 
Nothing exemplifies Tank’s point more than the work now being conducted by those who benefited from the Underground Railroad at WSR. Many of those who were liberated from there are now in society, participating in and building new structures to displace the carceral state. 
<div class="wp-block-image">
<figure class="alignright size-large is-resized"><img fetchpriority="high" decoding="async" width="768" height="1024" src="https://shadowproof.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/San-Francisco-HEAL-Circle1-768x1024.jpeg" alt="Devon Adams and Matt Murphy (also formerly incarcerated at WSR) pose with other Seattle-based youth at a trauma retreat in San Francisco. (Credit: Devon Adams)" class="wp-image-225125" style="aspect-ratio:0.75;width:449px;height:auto" srcset="https://shadowproof.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/San-Francisco-HEAL-Circle1-768x1024.jpeg 768w, https://shadowproof.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/San-Francisco-HEAL-Circle1-225x300.jpeg 225w, https://shadowproof.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/San-Francisco-HEAL-Circle1-1152x1536.jpeg 1152w, https://shadowproof.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/San-Francisco-HEAL-Circle1-1536x2048.jpeg 1536w, https://shadowproof.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/San-Francisco-HEAL-Circle1-360x480.jpeg 360w, https://shadowproof.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/San-Francisco-HEAL-Circle1-1140x1520.jpeg 1140w, https://shadowproof.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/San-Francisco-HEAL-Circle1-scaled.jpeg 1920w" sizes="(max-width: 768px) 100vw, 768px" /><figcaption class="wp-element-caption">Devon Adams and Matt Murphy (also formerly incarcerated at WSR) pose with other Seattle-based youth at a trauma retreat in San Francisco. (Credit: Devon Adams & Matt Murphy)</figcaption></figure></div>
Devon Adams was released in 2021 from a 30-year year sentence. Once a leader in both the BPC and CLO, Adams currently works with <a href="https://www.collectivejusticenw.org/">Collective Justice</a>, providing trauma-informed training to youth most likely to be involved with gun violence.  
“We actually have to take these kids out of town in order to get them to relax and feel safe enough to fully engage in this process,” Adams said. A former victim and participant in street violence, he is acutely familiar with the social pressure and fear these youth face in the streets. Adams is taking what he learned from HEAL and applying it to this next generation of youth, disrupting cycles of violence that the carceral state exploits in order to keep the prison industrial complex alive.
When asked about the role prisoner-led organizations at WSR played in his life, one word jumps out from the rest: “community.” Adams told Shadowproof that the community found at WSR was like no other and that it helped him answer questions about who he could be. “When I got out, that community was intact, allowing me to continue the work we were doing inside now that I am free.” 
Eugene Youngblood, another beneficiary of the Underground Railroad, is also applying what he learned at WSR in the community since his release. Youngblood says, “Once, I was on one side of the gun, now I’m on the other side of the gun, working with families of gun victims.” Youngblood currently works through the <a href="https://freedomprojectwa.org/">Freedom Project</a> and <a href="http://dream.org">dream.org</a>, where he does court support, violence interruption, and teaches classes at the King County Juvenile Detention Center.
Youngblood told Shadowproof, “People don’t change, they heal.” He said that relationships with community members, especially the frequency and consistency of those relationships at WSR, were what made the difference. “It is impossible to replicate the involvement of the community without the actual involvement of community.” He believes this is what gave prisoners at WSR chances like those he enjoyed and that these relationships “benefited everyone except for DOC.”
Abolition-minded prisoners who stood against the closure of WSR understood that prisons are not in the business of decarceration. So, when WDOC came out with their plan to shut down the prison, many saw this as a maneuver to kill two birds with one stone: WDOC would reallocate money while eliminating opposition groups that had grown over decades at WSR—groups that existed nowhere else in the state prison system. 
Long accustomed to practicing the discipline of hope, some initially approached this with optimism. Tank told Shadowproof that when he first heard about the closure, he imagined “those of us with the training spreading the seeds of abolition, revolution, and transformation like Johnny Appleseed.” But, this vision has been stymied through actions by WDOC to limit and prevent this very thing from happening, lending evidence to the theory that the closure was about furthering oppression.
The social and political landscape inside prisons that emerged from the closure of WSR reveals a design beyond addressing fiscal concerns. Since the closure, WDOC has prevented similar groups from forming at new facilities. Meanwhile, the few bastions of transformation that once existed outside of WSR in Washington prisons — culture groups and BPC TEACH — are now under attack as well. 
Tank now laments the landscape prisoners are facing in WDOC. He said the Black Prisoner’s Caucus has recently come under attack and is “fighting for its existence.” 
Felix Sitthivong, a proponent for the closure of WSR, is now currently fighting with WDOC for the existence of <a href="https://iexaminer.org/opinion-cultural-awareness-groups-in-washington-state-prisons-under-threat/">cultural groups at Stafford Creek Corrections Center</a>. 
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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">CRACKING DOWN</h2>
At Washington Corrections Center, prisoners were able to start the Concerned Lifer’s Organization (CLO), only to have prison administrators kill the organization after two months of meetings. When Dr. Katherine Beckett—a lead sponsor for the CLO and esteemed member of the community—inquired about the matter, she was told the group was canceled because another administrator at the prison didn’t follow clerical procedure. The CLO was told that a series of paperwork and approvals would be necessary in order to meet again.
Over the next five months, CLO sponsors worked with prison administrators to restart the group. After supplying the newly required paperwork, sponsors were told the group would not be allowed going forward because sponsors could not prove the value of the organization. Meanwhile, DOC Media Relations Manager Tobby Hatley told reporters that the Washington Department of Corrections had never heard of the Concerned Lifer’s Organization—a program with a 50-year history at WSR. 
Then, in August 2023, this author <a href="https://www.seattletimes.com/opinion/restore-valuable-wa-prison-programs/">published an op-ed with the Seattle Times</a> excoriating the Washington Department of Corrections for attacking programs in the state’s prisons. The article elicited push-back from the community and engaged Secretary Strange on the issue of the Concerned Lifer’s Organization being canceled. Initially, Strange denied the claims in the article, but after CLO sponsors presented evidence to Strange, Washington Corrections Center suddenly saw the value of the organization. In September of that year, the group was reinstated.
This episode illustrates the propensity of oppressive forces to attack transformative spaces but also shows that, through community action and solidarity, wins can be secured against the carceral state. This leaves organizers like this author considering that the transformative space we had at WSR could have been saved through solidarity. 
Another transformative space to come under attack by WDOC is BPC TEACH, an education program that facilitates liberation education, providing access for prisoners to obtain college degrees. 
In the winter of 2022, WDOC leveraged Fabian’s Fund, the financier of BPC TEACH, into a Memorandum of Understanding.  This contract set restrictions and established a kill mechanism in its charter. At the time, journalists Chris Blackwell and myself reported to the <a href="https://www.heraldnet.com/opinion/comment-state-must-allow-civic-engagement-at-its-prisons/">Everett Herald</a> that this bullied them into an arrangement feeling “an awful lot like a knee above their necks, thinly veiled as a promise to let them breathe.” In May 2023, the knee dropped, and WDOC severed the ability of BPC TEACH to fund its students, leaving prisoners without the ability to continue their degrees.
Atif Rafay is an incarcerated journalist, abolitionist, and scholar. When WSR closed, he was transferred within the Monroe Correctional Complex to the Twin Rivers facility. One fence line now separates him from the ghost of WSR. Rafay told Shadowproof, “The hub of activity at WSR that made for expanding networks of opportunity and participation in the world of new ideas and movements has been smashed…” He noted that no one in the new institution he ended up in just across the fence has the opportunity to “work with free people on projects (educational, professional, or otherwise) that would permit them to develop or display the qualities that would have to be observed for them to merit employment or clemency.”
In other words, WDOC will not allow any new Devon Adams or Eugene Youngbloods to develop within these walls and fences. Rafay’s analysis of the closure was that it was “designed to make incarceration more efficient and cheap, as well as to disable the movements that were critical of mass incarceration.” His sentiment is shared by many. 
When asked if the voices who supported the closure of WSR aided WDOC in this objective, Rafay took a breath, then said, “They helped misrepresent a cost-cutting plan that smashed the networks most effective in enabling prisoners to engage in meaningful activity… and they perpetuated the confusion between genuinely transformative decarceral changes and plans that distract or deter prisoners from pursuing those changes.” 
Sitthivong, as a prominent voice for the closure, wrote, “the programming either goes where we go, no matter where we go, or it should cease to exist.” But others argue social networks and transformative structures are not shrubs. You can’t just pick them up from here and plant them there, expecting they will function. Not when oppressors own the soil. Sitthivong did not see it this way, and some felt the division he fomented drowned out more reasoned voices that were fighting against the interests of WDOC, trying to hold on to the Underground Railroad.
That these programs should “cease to exist” was the endeavor of WDOC, and abolitionists should have stood in solidarity against the interests of these oppressors. It is unclear if solidarity could have changed the outcome. But some are arguing that voices siding with WDOC undermined resistance efforts to hold on to the Underground Railroad built by prisoners at WSR. 
Shadowproof caught up with Sitthivong, who was <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2022/09/28/in-washington-state-incarcerated-organizers-build-community-with-youth-to-fight-for-releases/">a Marvel Cooke Fellow in 2022</a>, to get his perspective on the closure and its impact on abolitionist work in the state. 
“In hindsight, I wish we had stuck together and made sure it stayed closed instead of dividing us and allowing DOC to do soft closure,” Sitthivong said in an interview. “We should have demanded they actually release people instead of fighting for a structure.”
“But for me, the silver lining was we were able to go to these other facilities, highlight the other facilities that were malnourished and did not have support but were also our peers and our colleagues. An effort to keep [WSR open] was almost an effort to horde the resources rather than say, hey, systemically, 90 percent of the prisons were not being served, prisoners were left to fend for themselves. Now we have this organizing space here at a different facility. So it wasn’t a building or prison or bars; it was us. And I think a lot of people forget that.”
Sitthivong said he disagreed with the notion that the closure hurt abolitionist organizing. “The abolitionist community that I am from and represent and organize with that’s been split up are still organizing, are still fighting. I just went through retaliation for organizing. This is nothing new for people who have been in movements and struggle for generations and carry that legacy. We continue to spread the word, and wherever we touch down we provide resources and continue to empower our people and shift power from the state to our people. That’s the mission, that’s the goal.”
“Even though I have very strong stances, I love my community with all my heart,” he said. “I want to be able to humanize people’s fears and humanize people’s concerns. I don’t want to be like, “Oh, I don’t give a shit.” I don’t want to come off like that. I want to honor that and still [have the others] also honor our position. Honor that there were sacrifices made before you.”
“They had a building called the [Prisoner Activity Building or PAB] at WSR that was fought for, prisoners fought for that space to have a place to organize,” Sitthivong reflected. “And I believe personally, in my heart, that prisoners who fought for that space fought for it not to strengthen the prison but to get free. I think that some of the narrative behind keeping the prison open is that, since prisoners fought for the PAB, it would be a shame to close it down. No, I think that actually disrespects the legacy of resistance. We can’t disrespect that legacy, and we can’t drop the baton. I feel like using that space to add more bars and razor wire; it just doesn’t make any sense to me.”
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">PRISON REALISM</h2>
We will do well to remember this: the carceral state is a rational actor playing a zero-sum game, and we should analyze its actions through the lens of Realism, the very lens that informs its calculus. The carceral state does not seek actions that work towards its own demise. 
What happens when the next cost-cutting move is disguised by the carceral state as decarceration? Will members of our community, in attempts to achieve change, side with the interests of state entities like WDOC in the future? 
This author fears the answer is yes, and predicts we will see this play out in Washington State in the 2024 legislative session. 
In a 2022 interview on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=709637376819881">Inside Olympia</a>, WDOC Secretary Cheryl Strange stated that 30,000 individuals are waiting to be sentenced by the courts. Of those, 10,000 are charged with violent felonies. This will invariably mean reopening prisons like WSR, prisons that never really closed anyway. But the math does not work. Adding this many potential new prisoners would put the Washington prison population way over capacity. 
The predicted influx is, for various fiscal and logistical concerns, more than the state can manage. There is not currently enough money in the budget nor staff available to run prisons at their former capacity, let alone at a greater one. In fact, none of the staffing concerns that allegedly drove the closure of WSR were addressed, and prisons across the state now regularly shut down recreation, education, and religious programs because of a lack of staff. 
In response to this, as a blatant attempt to open up bed space for new prisoners, WDOC tried to slide a reiteration of a 2021 bill to increase good time (time taken off of prisoners’ sentences) by a third. But, they introduced the bill late in the 2023 session. This caused the bill to be delayed and postponed any hearing of the bill until the 2024 legislative session.
In 2024, when this reform is heard, the voices of prisoners who stand to benefit will rise to the top of the discussion. They will create and insist on the narrative that this reform is decarceration. Those prisoners will muster what influence they can through privilege, family, and community in order to help WDOC pass their own legislation. 
But the legislation itself will be problematic. Early versions of the bill contain language that cuts people out from the proposed relief by excluding those with mandatory minimum sentences. This exclusion will disparately impact communities of color as disproportionate numbers of BIPOC men and women are sentenced under the mandatory minimum schemes this legislation seeks to exclude. 
The result of this proposed “decarceration” plan will be to force local organizers and organizations like <a href="https://look2justice.org/">Look2Justice</a> to exert massive amounts of energy in the next legislative session to make this legislation less harmful to the community. The energy spent attempting to mitigate the harm of this proposed reform will detract from work towards transformation. 
In the end, some prisoners will go home, but no meaningful change will occur. WDOC will conservatively repossess 30 percent of those who were released within three years. No significant human capital will be lost, and the system will continue on, uninterrupted. The prisoners who do go home will do so at the cost of WDOC having a tighter grasp on the rest the carceral state will continue on with the status quo. This is not decarceration.
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">HELPING THE STATE FAIL</h2>
Mariame Kaba tells us, “Community matters. Collectivity matters. To me, that’s the whole thing. And if we can’t get along with each other, and we can’t take responsibility for what we do with each other, then what the hell are we doing?” 
The voices that spoke for the closure of WSR caused harm and assisted the carceral state in its objective to both save money and disempower abolition structures that took decades for prisoners to build at WSR. These voices carried water for the man. The voices of those who will speak for the proposed “third off” bill in Washington’s 2024 legislative session will also be carrying water for The Man. This will be done by putting energy into helping WDOC pass a bill that benefits the carceral state in the long term.
As we struggle to create abolition, it is vital for us to learn from each other, to have accountability, and to maintain—and sometimes reestablish—solidarity along the way. We are all going to get it wrong sometimes. But when we do, we have to be able to analyze that, explore how it impacted our efforts, and apply those lessons to the future. We desperately need to get on the same page, or people with power will continue to divide and distract us from achieving the transformation we so desire.
As abolitionists, we should let the carceral state fight for what is its own. Our energy could be better spent helping the state fail than helping it succeed. We should be focused on building systems of social support to replace it rather than keeping it from collapsing under the weight of its own bloated grotesqueness. When the carceral state is in crisis, it will seek remedies to further its own existence. As abolitionists, we should never align with those interests. Even when they look like wins for our movement, they are not.
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/11/27/in-washington-state-prison-closure-divides-abolitionist-community/">In Washington State, Prison Closure Divides Abolitionist Community</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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<title>From Behind Enemy Lines, Prison Journalists Report On Conditions At Their Own Risk</title>
<link>https://shadowproof.com/2023/09/19/from-behind-enemy-lines-prison-journalists-report-on-conditions-at-their-own-risk/</link>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Christopher Blackwell & Emily Nonko]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Tue, 19 Sep 2023 13:56:14 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Featured Reporting]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Latest News]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Marvel Cooke Fellowship]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Prison Protest]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Prison journalism]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://shadowproof.com/?p=225089</guid>
<description><![CDATA[Practicing journalism in prison is necessary, but incarcerated reporters face enormous risks and aggressive retaliation.
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/09/19/from-behind-enemy-lines-prison-journalists-report-on-conditions-at-their-own-risk/">From Behind Enemy Lines, Prison Journalists Report On Conditions At Their Own Risk</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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This article was funded by the Marvel Cooke Fellowship. <a href="https://shadowproof.com/marvel-cooke-fellowship/">Read more</a> about this reporting project and <a href="https://shadowproof.com/donate">make a contribution</a> to fund our fellowship budget.
Those who are brave enough to practice journalism in prison often encounter the most aggressive intimidation and retaliation from prison administrators and guards.
Closely monitored telephone calls and messages. “Lost” and delayed mail. Random transfers. Contaminated food. Withheld healthcare. Frequent cell searches, with belongings shuffled through and thrown around; papers torn up and left in the toilet. A stint in solitary confinement, that might last a month or never-ending years. Directives and rules that target you, increasing your risk for a repeat of all the punishments above.
Prisoners have endured mental, emotional and physical abuse for centuries by those entrusted to watch over them. Those who push back are often singled out and made an example. It’s less known that these punishments are often wielded to their highest degree against prison journalists in an attempt to silence their voices, halt their writing, and further criminalize them for publishing work and accepting compensation. 
Incarcerated writers fight to share the truth of their experiences in environments often shrouded in extreme secrecy. In recent years, the number of inside journalists has increased, as has the number of investigations into topics like <a href="https://www.typeinvestigations.org/investigation/2022/09/19/san-quentin-death-row-covid-quarantine/">exposing harmful covid policies</a>, <a href="https://prismreports.org/2023/07/12/heat-desperation-texas-prison/">inhumane conditions during the recent heatwave</a>, and <a href="https://theappeal.org/washington-prisons-appeals-court-efiling/">administrative tampering with legal mail</a>.
Even as more outside readers are exposed to this work, few understand the risk incarcerated journalists take to educate society on what happens behind those towering walls and razor wire fences. Writers are routinely targeted and attacked for their work countering ignorance and mythology to surface the real violent structure of the carceral system. 
Prison journalism spilled into public conversation <a href="https://nysfocus.com/2023/06/06/doccs-prison-blocks-journalism-artists-creative-work">in June</a>, when New York Focus exposed a policy passed in May effectively banning incarcerated writers and artists in the state from freely publishing their work without administrative approval. New York <a href="https://nysfocus.com/2023/06/07/doccs-prison-censorship-journalism-writing-art-directive-reversal#:~:text=A%20May%2011%20directive%20established,other%20writing%20%E2%80%94%20outside%20prison%20walls.">rescinded the ban</a> one day after the story sparked a public backlash. Those two intense days revealed that, as public support for prison journalism grows, Departments of Corrections will look for new ways to restrict and punish people who document prison life.
As members of <a href="https://www.empowermentave.org/">Empowerment Avenue</a>, a collective that supports incarcerated writers and artists in publishing and getting compensated for their work, we have witnessed this firsthand since we began working together in 2020. In that moment, the COVID-19 pandemic was tearing through the U.S. prison system and incarcerated journalists <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2021/12/10/as-covid-19-raged-incarcerated-journalists-fought-isolation-and-illness-to-expose-abusive-conditions/">exposed conditions and mistreatment</a> such as transfers of sick people and overcrowding, using solitary confinement as medical quarantine, and inadequate medical care.
We spoke with several incarcerated journalists in state prisons across the country to understand the hurdles, oppression, and retaliation they face as they struggle to be published in mainstream media. It is because of their bravery that society is able to see what happens inside prisons. Yet, they are rarely recognized and almost entirely legally unprotected for the exceptional and risky work in which they are engaged. 
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Mini fiefdoms</h2>
People often assume that prisons across the country operate more-or-less the same, with similar rules, methods of communication to the outside world, and living conditions. Nothing could be further from the truth. Corrections departments are not uniform and individual prisons operate without accountability or enforced oversight. As a result, prisons more closely resemble mini fiefdoms with distinct staff cultures and varying levels of inhumane conditions. 
Attitudes and restrictions around prison journalism vary widely as well. As the Prison Policy Initiative noted <a href="https://www.prisonpolicy.org/blog/2023/06/15/prison_journalism/">in a study published in June</a>, “While explicit bans on prison journalism are rare, a web of complex and vague policies make the practice extremely difficult and sometimes risky.” 
Juan Moreno Haines is a longtime staff writer for the San Quentin News, who now freelances and works as a senior contributing writer and editor at Solitary Watch. “At San Quentin, I have an advantage over a lot of writers because the administration, from Sacramento down, are very supportive of San Quentin News and the writing they do,” he said. 
Publications like the San Quentin News, a prison newspaper founded in 1940, can create a culture for journalism and somewhat warm a Department of Corrections to the idea of incarcerated people writing about their conditions. These papers and newsletters, produced with state oversight, have varying degrees of press freedom from the prison administration. 
But even rare exceptions to draconian censorship, like San Quentin News, face significant limitations at the hands of prison officials. Prison publications can serve as “good PR,” obfuscating rather than exposing oppressive prison conditions. And as Wilbert Rideau, the former editor of the prison newspaper The Angolite, detailed in <a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/154190/in-the-place-of-justice-by-wilbert-rideau/">his memoir</a>, the administration ultimately holds editorial control. Currently, no state-approved newspaper or newsletter encourages its writers to publish hard-hitting, investigative reporting to expose the system they’re living under. Once writers decide to produce that work, they can face a range of punishments that vary depending on the facility, staff, and state, as well as the identity of the writer.
John J. Lennon, an accomplished journalist in New York, argues that retaliation can feel like it comes completely at random. “I don’t think I see writing and publishing as a risk, and I don’t expect to be, nor am I retaliated against by my jailers all the time,” he told Shadowproof. “I don’t think it’s a top-down thing. I think a mid-level security officer will read something he doesn’t like and set something in motion.” 
Lennon is most bothered by the retaliation faced by the subjects of his reporting. In a <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/05/05/opinion/prison-reform-biden-pell-grant.html">New York Times opinion piece</a> calling President Biden to back prison reforms, he described a scene in which a guard had yelled out, so everyone in the cell block could hear, that a particular incarcerated person had a sex crime. After the piece published, he witnessed a targeted attack: 
“[He got] attacked from behind and brutally beat by another prisoner … The guard at the desk leisurely strolled over to the fight. The misbehavior reports that were subsequently written had him as the aggressor. At the hearing, he was punished more than the man who pummeled him. It was all set up, and it made me mad.” 
Sara Kielly, a trans journalist and jailhouse lawyer who is also incarcerated in New York, has experienced “a myriad of intimidation and retaliatory actions.” Some could be considered minor — like the mailroom denying her package of typing paper, which she needs to produce work — but others have been horrifying. She has been threatened with physical violence, sexual assault, and rape.
Kwaneta Harris, an incarcerated writer in Texas who has been held in solitary confinement for over seven years, faces distinct pressure in a Republican state <a href="https://www.pbs.org/newshour/politics/gop-lawmakers-pass-new-standards-to-ban-books-from-texas-schools">actively passing censorship laws</a>. Prior to the pandemic, the only media allowed at Harris’ solitary confinement unit was one hour of Fox News television per day. 
“They put me in exile,” she said of her long-term stay in solitary. At this specific prison, in a majority-white town where many correctional officers and administration are related, she faces a complex web of risks including intimidation by staff, frequent cell searches, mail and package tampering, and contaminated food. 
“The inmate janitors who pass out trays will tell me not to eat certain food because someone doesn’t like me,” she said. She’s even been <a href="https://www.thenation.com/article/society/texas-prison-talking-about-abortion/">punished for talking about abortion</a> and sexual health. 
In Washington State, Jessica Sylvia (who is now out of prison, and has <a href="https://shadowproof.com/author/jessicaphoenixsylvia/">written for this publication</a>) faced punishment for both her activism and writing related to her health needs as a trans woman. “The major, the worst thing, was that I repeatedly had my healthcare withheld for me,” she explained. “The staff knew how important that healthcare is and that interrupting it would harm me; it would be devastating.”
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Certain punishment</h2>
While no journalist faces the exact same punishment as another, there are common tactics we have seen used across a number of states: staff threats, cell searches, and frequent and random transfers to other facilities.  
“I’ve had my cell ‘searched’ and left looking as if a tornado tore through it multiple times a day or several days in a row; I’ve had my papers and family photos ripped up and/or thrown into the toilet; I’ve been transferred to segregated confinement with no access to pen or paper without cause,” Kielly said. “I’ve been given false disciplinary infractions with sanctions ranging from loss of commissary, loss of phone privileges, confinement to my cell with no programming.”
Lennon said that, “A guard will flip my cell. I’ll receive a frivolous misbehavior report. My mail will be scrutinized and delayed. I’ve had eerie messages delivered to me from sort of trustee prisoners who work for guards, and they’ll tell me to watch my back or whatever—that I pissed off the guards.”
Cell searches, used against all incarcerated people, can be devastating for a prison journalist without access to a computer. Books, research materials, drafts, and notes will disappear, and no one is held accountable, leaving prisoners to pick up the pieces. Sometimes that means having new material mailed in; other times, it means completely starting over from scratch. 
“Beyond being invasive and disruptive, it’s [the administration] invading your space, showing that they can do whatever they want to you in this personal space,” Sylvia said.  “I remember finding something destroyed in a wet sink.” 
Harris, in Texas, found that books by Black authors triggered cell searches. Now she covers them with book jackets by white authors. “I don’t keep personal things in my cell,” she adds. 
Tablets, which usually have some form of paid e-messaging app installed, provide some relief and a faster way to communicate with outside supporters. These are small tablets that leave prisoners to type out articles with the taps of their thumbs much like texting on a cell phone. There are no keyboards or mice, and they lack the ability to use basic tools like cut and paste. But every message is monitored and can be blocked or delayed for months or weeks. California prisoners recently gained access to the e-messaging system GettingOut, but restrictive word bans (including the word “piece,” often used between fellow journalists) cause messages to get stuck as “pending.”
Transfers as punishment hold extra weight for journalists. Being transferred from prison to prison, never allowed to settle in one place, leaves people unbalanced and strains their support networks. They limit their ability to develop trusted sources, and force them to spend time and energy in survival mode. It is difficult to share one’s experiences when they are struggling the hardest to survive them.
Transfers into solitary confinement are one of the most extreme ways DOC’s attempt to break spirits, stripping people from access to society and nearly any form of human contact. The mental and physical torture of solitary confinement is enough to dissuade many people from practicing journalism and breaking the rules. But some refuse to back down. “I’m in jail, inside of jail,” explains Harris, who has been in solitary for 7½ years. When it comes to retaliation, she feels, “They’ve done everything they can to me.”
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Criminalized compensation</h2>
According to the Prison Policy Initiative, “Fourteen states prohibit imprisoned people from operating or engaging in a business, including being self employed, and from receiving compensation for their work.” But forgoing compensation might not protect an incarcerated journalist, as “vague restrictions on ‘business activities’ are enough to threaten their work with media outlets.” 
Empowerment Avenue is committed to advocating for fair compensation for the creative work of incarcerated people, a population that makes pennies on the hour through prison labor. In pursuing this goal we’ve faced constant hurdles: DOC rules against payment, publications that are afraid to break any rules and are unequipped to transcend red tape and pay marginalized contributors, and deeply-held beliefs — from prison officials to editors — that incarcerated individuals do not need money or do not deserve to be compensated for their creative and journalistic work.
“I really do believe that some of these guards and prison officials show a level of jealousy. They see an incarcerated person publishing and doing well and they don’t like it,” Sylvia explained. “There exists this respectability politics and this idea that people who are incarcerated don’t deserve anything.”  
In spite of the hurdles, Empowerment Avenue has worked directly with at least 50 incarcerated writers to figure out safe methods of payment regardless of their location or circumstance, such as making arrangements with outside loved one or power of attorney. 
While we’re declining to quote any currently-incarcerated writers about the impact of being paid, we can say with confidence that earning an income while incarcerated has tremendous, often life-changing, benefits. “People are often surprised to hear that nothing is really given to people in prison but a hard place to sleep and a little bad food,” Sylvia said. 
People can take better care of themselves when they have money, buying food and hygiene products. They can support the families they have left behind, contributing to rent, bills and items for their children. They can help pay for the <a href="https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/incarcerated-people-face-heightened-costs-to-communicate-with-families">exorbitant communication costs</a> that often burden families with a loved one inside. They can pay for legal resources to get out of prison and save funds for their release. All of this allows them to support the their families and a smoother release back into society.
“For me personally, as a trans woman, it was very difficult to get a job in prison,” Sylvia said. “I have to pay for all of these things and there are people who would love to force me into sex work. I resist stereotypes and want something different for myself.” She was able to save while inside, so “that when I was released I had more than the forty dollars and a bus ticket that the state issued.” 
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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Credulous editors, prison minimizers</h2>
The challenges don’t stop once an incarcerated journalist has had their story green-lit by a publication. Like the police, Departments of Corrections typically enjoy significant narrative control and editorial capture in the mainstream media. Additionally, many news outlets’ distrust and hold significant biases against incarcerated journalists, often demanding higher and often unachievable standards of evidence than what other journalists might face. 
Incarcerated journalists understand the importance of fact checking; they go through great lengths to document and report carefully, represent their sources accurately, and collect paperwork and evidence as it’s available. But it’s rarely acknowledged that they’re up against the Department of Corrections “machine,” which has <a href="https://www.themarshallproject.org/2023/05/22/new-york-prison-corrections-officer-abuse-cover-up">mastered</a> <a href="https://spectrumnews1.com/ap-top-news/2022/10/30/records-lying-officers-unpunished-in-2018-inmate-death">the</a> <a href="https://apnews.com/article/prisons-california-united-states-sexual-abuse-only-on-ap-d321ae51fe93dfd9d6e5754383a95801">skill</a> of silencing, discrediting, lying about, and harming those who boldly stand against their draconian ways. Then there’s a mainstream media that is far from objective, <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/media/journalists-are-reexamining-their-reliance-on-a-longtime-source-the-police/2020/06/30/303c929c-b63a-11ea-a510-55bf26485c93_story.html">propping up police narratives</a> and <a href="https://www.arnoldventures.org/stories/misleading-media-coverage-can-derail-data-driven-criminal-justice-reforms">pushing “tough-on-crime” agendas</a>, <a href="https://www.npr.org/2022/11/08/1134550280/stories-about-crime-are-rife-with-misinformation-and-racism-critics-say">rife with misinformation and racism</a>. Editors and publishers within this system often approach incarcerated reporters with a level of suspicion no other journalist would face.
As a result, incarcerated journalists are pressed to prove every claim while Departments of Correction are allowed to make claims freely without ever being asked to show evidence. 
“There’s this strong distrust, this feeling that we’re all liars,” Harris said not just of DOC officials, but of outside journalists and editors who contact her. “I can prove these things. I have grievances, I have paperwork, I can send you all that. I’m telling you the truth.” 
Kielly added that, “When we do finally find an entity willing to publish our pieces, our stories are published in a manner that discredits or demeans the lives of incarcerated individuals or us as a writer.” 
Sylvia spoke of struggling to overcome these credibility issues. “People don’t feel like someone who is incarcerated can actually write a credible, truthful story and it’ll be as good as someone not incarcerated.” 
We’ve seen editors — particularly at legacy publications — pressure writers about their conviction, insert <a href="https://www.brennancenter.org/our-work/analysis-opinion/what-did-you-call-me">dehumanizing language</a> into their work, and challenge journalists about details of their reporting that surprise the outside journalists who support them, and who haven’t faced that level of scrutiny in their own reporting. 
In a more just world, the common journalistic practice to seek comments from “both sides” can make sense. But in this world, the media’s reverence for law enforcement permits severe journalistic malpractice. Credulously seeking comments, explanations, and fact checks from the Department of Corrections can easily become harmful and result in publishing lies that bolster the system the reporter attempts to expose. 
One jarring example comes from the Texas Department of Criminal Justice’s communication department, which regularly states “there are 30 females in security detention [solitary confinement] throughout the state, less than 0.02% of the overall population.”  
“There are 228 people in my unit,” explains Harris, “And every one of them is experiencing solitary confinement.” TDCJ classifies people in her unit in various ways to manipulate the data and undercount the solitary population. This means that Harris is up against a lie about the very population she is a part of. 
These DOC lies play out on the published page. <a href="https://slate.com/human-interest/2023/08/prison-experiences-female-inmate-solitary-confinment-texas.html">A story by Harris</a> details the lack of educational materials in solitary confinement. The end of her piece includes a long comment from the Texas Department of Justice on how that isn’t true. 
<a href="https://www.huffpost.com/entry/covid-19-prison-monroe-correctional-complex_n_5fff2f17c5b691806c4eb15e">This piece</a> reported by Chris (the co-author of this story) detailed a deadly breakdown of government policy during COVID-19. The editor inserted DOC responses — many of them directly refuting his reporting — throughout the published piece. The first editorial comment includes the statement: “The author stands by this account of his experience.” To any outside journalist, an editorial statement like that, preceding their reporting, would be unthinkable.
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Sharing the risks</h2>
Make no mistake: incarcerated journalists are reporting from behind enemy lines. And yet none of the reporters we surveyed felt the risks they’ve taken are fully recognized or appreciated by their peers in journalism or their readers. 
“Absolutely not,” were direct quotes from both Harris and Haines when asked about this point. 
“Incarcerated journalists are not given recognition for the risks we take in writing and breaking stories,” Kielly echoed. “Where are the Pulitzer Prize nominations for incarcerated journalists who write explosive exposés … [while breaking] stories on issues that no one else has the courage or ability to cover? Where are the awards and equitable royalties?”
“Incarcerated writers, and particularly those of us who are journalists are treated as publishable sideshows and the bastard redheaded stepchildren of the industry,” Kielly said. “We’re token pieces to publish rather than seen as hard-hitting [investigative journalists].”
Recognition, agency, leadership, and meaningful opportunities in the media industry are sorely needed. More urgently, what legal support will writers and jailhouse lawyers get if Departments of Correction ramp up their oppressive and retaliatory tactics? Will incarcerated journalists be offered the same legal protections as journalists in the free world, or will they be expected to fend for themselves? 
Unless there is a break with history, many inside journalists feel it will be the latter. We were recently disappointed to see an incarcerated writer start writing for a major publication, one with significant resources at its disposal, only to be discouraged by the editors from writing anything that would need fact checking and could put the publication at legal risk with the DOC.
“I really believe legal support would have made a difference,” Sylvia said about losing her healthcare access in the midst of her writing and organizing efforts inside. 
“I have yet to see an incarcerated journalist’s freedom of speech rights defended by a major publisher or newspaper,” Kielly said. “Not until publishers, literary agents, and entertainment/literary lawyers begin defending incarcerated journalists’ First Amendment rights as vehemently as they do free world writers will any change come to fruition.”
Legal challenges can make a difference. Haines pointed to the case of <a href="https://www.prisonactivist.org/alerts/indybay-journalist-boston-woodard-%E2%80%9C-hole%E2%80%9D-writing-prison-conditions">Boston Woodard</a>, whose legal team successfully sued the California department of corrections after they put him in solitary confinement for his journalism. “I really think he set the stage for incarcerated writers in California and to protect them from retaliation,” he says. 
Prisons have so many policy tools at their disposal to punish journalism that more legal and public support is desperately needed on all fronts. According to the Prison Policy Initiative:
<ul>
<li>46 states have censored correspondence with news media (meaning incarcerated journalist are not able to protect their sources, whom are often other prisoners, leaving them to risk everything to speak towards the injustices they experience at the hands of their oppressors); </li>
<li>14 states have a total ban on business and compensation (meaning incarcerated journalist cannot sign a contract with publishers or receive payment for their work); </li>
<li>19 states have a partial ban on business and compensation (meaning incarcerated journalist could be limited — causing a gray area — on the kind of contracts they sign or the compensation they receive); </li>
<li>and the Federal Bureau of Prisons explicitly forbids any incarcerated individual from acting as a journalist at all — a clear violation of a U.S. citizen’s First Amendment rights.</li>
</ul>
Our hope is that the public backlash that emerged against New York’s May directive is not a one-time phenomenon but a sign of greater recognition and solidarity taking hold. And more importantly, that publications and legal organizations, who have the ability to offer support, will step up and join the fight in protecting incarcerated voices from being suppressed. These questions have yet to be answered — but we know that the incarcerated journalists, their families, and grassroots organizations who support them cannot hold the line alone forever.
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Defending years of sacrifice</h2>
We asked the journalists a final question: Is the risk you take worth it?
“Is it worth it? Hell yeah!” said Lennon. “I risked my life when I was a drug dealer on the street. Everyday I could have been robbed or killed or arrested. And for what? To me, this idea of being a journalist is a higher calling. So, I mean, why not risk it all for this?”
“Oh yeah,” said Haines. “I do this because I want the public to understand that prisons aren’t a place to keep them safe — prisons are a result of failed policy, it holds all the failures of our society.” 
Incarcerated journalists are in a battle that will determine the future of the practice of journalism in prisons. At stake is whether they can continue to play a role as truth tellers of the conditions they endure every day. If the momentum of the work stalls, it could roll back what has been accomplished and years of sacrifices could have been for nothing. But lost progress will also mean years of rebuilding and continuing to fight. 
We are in a moment to finally solidify incarcerated journalists’ right to have access to their First Amendment rights and fair compensation. We are in a time where our refusal to let oppressed voices be shut down or suffer abuse for sharing the truth with society can be sustained.
“I am willing to suffer whatever crap they decide to do to me for writing, if it makes them tell the truth for once in their careers,” Kielly says. “I want people to know that this is happening,” says Harris.
Incarcerated journalists are willing to risk it all. What is society willing to risk to protect them?
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/09/19/from-behind-enemy-lines-prison-journalists-report-on-conditions-at-their-own-risk/">From Behind Enemy Lines, Prison Journalists Report On Conditions At Their Own Risk</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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<title>What’s Next In The Julian Assange Case</title>
<link>https://shadowproof.com/2023/07/21/whats-next-in-the-julian-assange-case/</link>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kevin Gosztola]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Fri, 21 Jul 2023 13:00:20 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Announcements]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Dissenter Featured]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Latest News]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[The Dissenter]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Julian Assange]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://shadowproof.com/?p=225060</guid>
<description><![CDATA[WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange and his legal team believe that Assange may be extradited to the United States before the end of summer. It is unfortunately time for us to prepare for court proceedings, and so far, you came through for us marvelously. I am so grateful to our readers
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/07/21/whats-next-in-the-julian-assange-case/">What’s Next In The Julian Assange Case</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange and his legal team believe that Assange may be extradited to the United States before the end of summer.
It is unfortunately time for us to prepare for court proceedings, and so far, you came through for us marvelously.
I am so grateful to our readers for exceeding our goal of raising $1,000 to support my coverage of Assange’s U.S. court proceedings. You raised over $3,000. Now that we have plenty to cover the costs of traveling to Alexandria, Virginia, if Assange is arraigned, let’s build on this momentum and raise our goal to support our coverage going forward.
Donate $50 to help us reach $5,000 and establish an independent journalism fund that will ensure I am at any US proceedings that are convened in 2023.
<center><script src="https://donorbox.org/widget.js" paypalExpress="true"></script><iframe src="https://donorbox.org/embed/julian-assange-coverage-fund?default_interval=o&amount=50" name="donorbox" allowpaymentrequest="allowpaymentrequest" seamless="seamless" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" height="900px" width="100%" style="max-width: 500px; min-width: 310px; max-height:none!important"></iframe></center>
We know the prestige media won’t do this case justice, so it’s important to have independent media like Shadowproof there to give it the attention it deserves.
But each reporting trip will require Shadowproof to spend money on airfare ($400 round trip), taxi or Uber/Lyft rides ($150+), and food and incidental expenses ($150+). We also may need to pay for lodging, which can run over $100 a night.
The bigger our budget, the easier it will be for us to plan our travel and coverage—including collaborating with other reporters to produce the most robust reporting on Assange’s prosecution possible. 
<a href="https://shadowproof.com/donate/assange-reporting/">Can you help me cover the costs of regularly traveling to Alexandria, Virginia, to report on the next chapter in a prosecution by the United States that puts all journalists at risk?</a>
I have reported extensively on the Assange case since 2010. This year, I published <a href="https://www.sevenstories.com/books/4493-guilty-of-journalism">Guilty of Journalism: The Political Case Against Julian Assange</a> to help the public understand the stakes of this case.
In recent years, donors like you have funded my work on this case as I provided live court updates from London and published detailed articles for subscribers of Shadowproof’s newsletter<a href="https://thedissenter.org/tag/julian-assange/"> The Dissenter</a>. 
I<a href="https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/frontline/article/the-indie-journalists-at-the-center-of-the-bradley-manning-trial/"> earned</a> recognition in 2013 from PBS FRONTLINE for my journalism on the military court-martial against Chelsea Manning.
Andrew Cockburn, DC editor for Harper’s Magazine, <a href="https://harpers.org/archive/2023/03/alternative-facts-how-the-media-failed-julian-assange/">praised</a> my reporting on Assange while critiquing the prestige media for their lack of coverage and interest in this unprecedented case.
<a href="https://shadowproof.com/donate/assange-reporting/">Can you chip in $25 and ensure I am in court to document the initial phase of US proceedings against Assange? </a>
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/07/21/whats-next-in-the-julian-assange-case/">What’s Next In The Julian Assange Case</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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<title>They Tried To Censor The ‘Sound Of Freedom’ With An Air Horn</title>
<link>https://shadowproof.com/2023/07/18/tried-to-censor-sound-of-freedom-air-horn-my-story/</link>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mason Foster]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Tue, 18 Jul 2023 23:35:25 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[The Idiocrat]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[humor]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[It's Satire]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[satire]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[this is satire]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://shadowproof.com/?p=225052</guid>
<description><![CDATA[There I was sitting in the movie theatre trying to watch “Sound of Freedom,” when I heard the sound of an air horn.
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/07/18/tried-to-censor-sound-of-freedom-air-horn-my-story/">They Tried To Censor The ‘Sound Of Freedom’ With An Air Horn</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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<content:encoded><![CDATA[
There I was sitting in the movie theatre trying to watch “Sound of Freedom,” when I heard the sound of an air horn.
Bwaam! Bom-bom-bom-bom-bwaam! 
Jim Caviezel, who plays Tim Ballard, the agent who saves the children, had just appeared. I could not believe what I heard. But there it was again.
Bwaam! Bom-bom-bom-bom-bwaam! Bwaam!
Certainly, someone in the theatre would stop this sound. Others would complain and tell the staff to figure out who or what was making that noise. 
I had read reports about theatre chains across America that were censoring this movie. So many businesses have fallen for the Biden Mafia’s wokification and antifa mobology. I thought of this suppression.
As Jim Caviezel was pretending to be a pedophile (Jim is not one, and I can tell cause I can look at someone and know), I heard the sound once more. 
Bwaam! Bom-bom-bom-bom-bwaam! Bom-bom-bom! Bwaam!
Each time it lasted a bit longer. Nobody in the theatre moved. I don’t know how they could think this was part of the movie.
Someone, perhaps a theatre manager or a shapeshifting chaos agent deputized by Hunter Biden, was behind it. I knew I was being targeted because of my recent posts on Twitter warning everyone that Kamala Harris has replaced Joe Biden with Doug, her husband, and he wears Biden’s face. (We don’t really ever see Doug and Joe together.) Normally, at this WMV theatre in Sunnydale, California, a person will check on how the movie is doing. They did not send anybody. After I jotted down some notes about the child sex club in Thailand (for a project), I went to get a manager.
What I told the front desk was that there was an infiltrator trying to drive people away from the movie. The infiltrator especially wanted anyone who was open to learning about criminal pedophile rings to leave. Anyone who was closed off to this issue would not hear the blare of the horn. 
There are all kinds of scientific studies about how you can condition people to pick up certain auditory sensations. It can be different if you are a pedophobe. Or think about women with newborns who have just eaten the placenta after their birth.
I returned to my seat. The manager stood near the exit. Just as I expected whoever was making the noise was no longer doing it. Then the manager left, and I heard it again. 
Bwaam! Bom-bom-bom-bom-bwaam! Bwaam!
Bwaam! Bom-bom-bom-bom-bwaam! Bom-bom-bom! Bwaam! 
Bwaam! Bom-bom-bom-bom-bwaam! Bwaam!
Moving row to row, I tried to identify who the person was with the air horn. The theatre was not helpful. I was asked by the manager to sit down and watch the movie. However, I already knew what would happen next in the movie. This was the part at the US embassy, my least favorite part. 
Next came the rapid-fire of air horns. Probably a dozen. I think they were rigged under the seats in the back of the theatre. On strings, they could be pulled and go off at different times. This is what we’re up against in this battle. A phantom squadron of air horns that will stop at nothing to prevent us from watching a movie about child sex predators. The moral depravity of a theatre that would sonically stalk us. Bwaamm-bom-bom-bommm! Our freedom under assault.
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/07/18/tried-to-censor-sound-of-freedom-air-horn-my-story/">They Tried To Censor The ‘Sound Of Freedom’ With An Air Horn</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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<title>Rebuilding A Life After Years In A Cage</title>
<link>https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/26/rebuilding-a-life-after-years-in-a-cage/</link>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Jessica Phoenix Sylvia]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Mon, 26 Jun 2023 13:12:31 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Featured Reporting]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Latest News]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Marvel Cooke Fellowship]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Prison Protest]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Incarceration]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Reentry]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://shadowproof.com/?p=224929</guid>
<description><![CDATA[Rebuilding a life after years in a cage is a daunting task and some of those challenges are quantified and documented. But there are many more complicated, nuanced challenges that are less popularly known and harder to turn into data.
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/26/rebuilding-a-life-after-years-in-a-cage/">Rebuilding A Life After Years In A Cage</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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<content:encoded><![CDATA[
This article was funded by the Marvel Cooke Fellowship. <a href="https://shadowproof.com/marvel-cooke-fellowship/">Read more</a> about this reporting project and <a href="https://shadowproof.com/donate">make a contribution</a> to fund our fellowship budget.
Exhausted, I grudgingly open my eyes and pat my blanket as I awkwardly search for my phone. I open Twitter to see that my account has blown up. As I search my DMs to read the comments of support, a warm calming feeling covers me. My eyes well up in tears as I read one comment in particular. “We are better with you here.” 
That is all it said. So few words – but exactly what I needed to hear. I remember the night before thinking how I probably shouldn’t post the <a href="https://twitter.com/Abolition_Jess">tweet</a> but I had no one to talk to. A person should never have to ask themselves if they would be better off dead or back in prison. Still, after less than six months out back on the streets, I felt overwhelmed and hopeless. I asked myself if I should just check out.
My name is Jessica Sylvia and I am a 47-year-old formerly incarcerated trans woman. I was released on June 20, 2022 after serving 222 months for a domestic violence-related crime involving my mother’s ex-husband. 
I consider the prison system to be nothing but state-sanctioned human trafficking. Kidnapping and caging a person does not equal accountability; it perpetuates violence. The human trafficking economy may not create safety, but it is big money. The United States spends <a href="https://www.pbs.org/newshour/economy/the-u-s-spends-billions-to-lock-people-up-but-very-little-to-help-them-once-theyre-released">$81 billion</a> every year to incarcerate people. That number does not include all of the money generated around contracts that provide “care” and “services” For example, treatment is necessary. People need to communicate with their families and buy food. All of that costs money. The total incarceration economy could actually equal hundreds of billions annually. How many people have an economic interest in maintaining incarceration?
No one is surprised to hear that post-incarceration life is difficult and it is extremely easy to get sent back to prison. According to <a href="https://harvardpolitics.com/recidivism-american-progress/">Harvard Political Review</a>, two out of three are rearrested within three years of release, and 50 percent are re-incarcerated. There are many structural reasons for that uncomfortable statistic. It is more difficult than ever for people in the U.S. to secure housing, but it’s a genuine crisis for formerly incarcerated people, who are 10 times more likely to experience <a href="https://www.prisonpolicy.org/reports/housing.html">homelessness</a>. We are all obligated to pay our bills, but there is no guarantee of work. The <a href="https://www.prisonpolicy.org/reports/outofwork.html">unemployment rate</a> for the formerly incarcerated is 27 percent – which is higher than it was for the U.S. during The Great Depression.
With challenges like that just to secure basic needs, how can we expect formerly incarcerated people to succeed? Rebuilding a life after years in a cage is a daunting task and some of those challenges are quantified and documented. But there are many more complicated, nuanced challenges that are less popularly known and harder to turn into data.
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Meeting New People</h2>
Safear was released after doing eight years in prison. Safear is active in his community and has a support system that provided him with a part-time job and a place to live as soon as he was released. 
“For the average person without a job or housing lined up, it is just too hard,” Safear tells me. “When people know you have been to prison, they usually don’t want anything to do with you. They show it in their body language. I don’t even apply for jobs or housing because chances are you will be denied. Having a record impacts you psychologically.” 
Even though Safear had an iPhone before he was incarcerated, he tells me that he struggles to keep up with technology. “Just the amount of apps I’m on is overwhelming,” Safear says. “But the hardest thing has been time management. Time stands still in prison. Out here things are moving so fast it can feel overwhelming.” I relate to what Safear is telling me. Prison time moves extremely slowly. Suddenly a person feels as if they are living in fast-forward.
Kenneth Agtuca knows that shock as well as anyone. Now 70, Ken spent 50 years incarcerated. At age 17 in 1970, Ken was the youngest person living in The Washington State Penitentiary. His story reads a little like an action movie. As a young man, Ken earned a reputation as a fearless outlaw. He was charged under the habitual criminal act for his activities while incarcerated, extending his sentence to life without parole. In 1992, he escaped and was on the run for several months. He was eventually captured in Reno, Nevada. Federal charges soon followed after he was identified in a string of bank robberies. Ken ended up in Marion—a federal prison with a bad reputation. Ken had resigned himself to the thought of living the rest of his life in prison due to both state and federal sentences. In 2015, an unexpected change in the law offered him a chance at parole.
Ken went to a work release in January 2020 and was formally paroled the following October. He moved in with family but lived a fairly independent life. “Meeting people for the first time was the hardest thing to do,” Ken tells me in a deep gravelly voice. “I was locked up for 50 years and I had to explain where I have been. I didn’t want people to know about my past. I wanted to be seen as normal. I was in four different books and wanted nothing to do with the stigma of criminalization.”
I reflect deeply on my own experience as Ken explains himself to me. Ken is a thoughtful and intelligent man. I get the sense he was as crafty as he was daring in his youth. Much older now, he carries the weight of his reputation as a curse. This is not the same man who was convicted of those crimes.
“I dodged a lot of questions and felt like I had to lie to feel normal,” he tells me. The self-censoring Ken describes is common for people who have been to prison. We understand that people will view us differently for our past. As a result, we often engage in code-switching. We feel at ease and reveal much of our lives to some people. To others, we find ways to hide the gaps or even conjure up stories of a fictional past. It is an awful feeling to know that your truth will likely frighten others and result in your abandonment.
Ken explains that he could be truthful in substance use treatment groups. There, he found a judgment-free zone where folks are grappling with addiction. Other formerly incarcerated people in those groups understand what it is like to be criminalized. Still, Ken feels uncomfortable with being viewed as a legend by some who glamorize violence and admire his outlaw antics. He wants to build a new life and meet new people who will support him in making positive decisions.
Like Ken and Safear, I was one of the fortunate people released from prison with a place to live. I have managed to get by as a self-employed community organizer, consultant, and freelance journalist. Even though I have had housing, after 18 years in prison, at times I felt like a refugee. I had no clothes and no belongings. I spent much of the first two months going to appointments and gathering the things I needed – it felt like a treasure hunt! Almost everyone I knew still lived in prison. I appeared in the world out of nowhere and was starting over from scratch.
I can remember being at the grocery store and feeling surprised by how nice people are. I was used to being treated pretty badly by guards. Every day was fun and I cherished every first-time experience. I was excited to get my life back and I really wanted to date. 
It had been many years since I had the opportunity to be alone with someone. I soon found out that dating wasn’t easy. Like Ken, I have this huge gap in my life that I have to explain. I decided to just be honest. I felt like getting the deal-breakers out of the way would be the best way to go. I dealt with the transgender issue and the prison thing the same way. I would get hundreds of hits on a dating app every day. Guys often just swipe after seeing a picture and don’t read the profile. I thought it was odd how many cops were hitting on me. I was kicked off Tinder within weeks, after several reports that I was a felon. I had no idea <a href="https://mashable.com/article/tinder-match-group-background-checks-expand">the popular app is one of many that bans convicted felons</a>.
I went months dating and trying to figure out the right time to tell people about my past. I avoided guys that I suspected were using drugs or that I thought would be trouble. The mature guys I was interested in didn’t want anything to do with me after hearing about my time in prison. It is hard enough for a trans woman where I live. Add criminalization to the situation and it feels hopeless. I started future-tripping; It’s a mind fuck.
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">The Supervision Stranglehold</h2>
I remember learning that I would have a community custody term of four years. That means I have conditions placed on me and I could be sent back to prison without breaking the law. For example, I am not allowed to have pepper spray. I am seen as a threat and not the vulnerable trans woman that I am. With anti-trans violence at record highs, living and dating in a small conservative town scares me. 
I can expect Department of Corrections (DOC) officers wearing bulletproof vests to beat on my door with flashlights every month unannounced. There can be no alcohol in the house. Something as innocent as my mother keeping a bottle of wine on the kitchen counter could get me violated and sent to jail. I panic just thinking who the hell would want to live with me for the next four years. 
I must attend domestic violence classes every week for a year and it will cost me about $2000. The crime happened nearly 20 years ago and I barely even remember it. What good is this supposed to do? My community corrections officer (CCO) tells me if I am not enrolled by the end of the month he will violate me. I get the feeling he would enjoy violating me.
I was told the chemical dependency class I completed in prison doesn’t count. Even though I completed it in prison as a condition of my sentence, DOC doesn’t honor it unless it is completed within the last six months of a sentence. Only a small percentage graduate during that small window at the end of their sentence. I graduated a year before release, so I am forced to take yet another assessment. Going to a treatment center for an assessment is a little like going to a barber and asking if they think you need a haircut; they profit from providing the service.
The millions of dollars appropriated for these prison programs are wasted on profits for what is too often euphemistically called “treatment.” The public should be aware of this. That money could actually go towards housing or education. 
Even though I have already paid thousands of dollars over the last 20 years I still owe over $15,000 in court fines due to compound interest. Thinking about all of the conditions, fines, classes, and appointments for the next four years makes me nauseous. I feel my dream of finishing my undergraduate degree slipping away. I am not sure how I will be able to work full-time and accomplish all that is expected of me. I feel as though I only exist so that others can extract value from me. I am trying my best but have just enough time, energy, and money left to survive.
Safear is on parole for the next nine years—an incredibly long period of time to be vulnerable to mostly arbitrary rearrest. He tells me that he has a 7 p.m. curfew, which can cause a person to miss out on basic life experiences, like dinner with a friend. 
Safear is also required to do counseling and says he has three different counselors. Recently, he had an issue that resulted in a dangerous “no show” when he couldn’t make a session because of work.  Safear says he left a message with his counselor but due to a mistake, they didn’t get it. The counselor reported him to the parole agent as a “no-show” for a session. 
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“Counselors, new counselors, have no idea how what they report to agents, the impact that has on a person,” Safear said. “A parole agent could do a technical violation for six months. It was a mistake of someone failing to log the message I left.” I sense the mix of fear and frustration in his voice as he continues.
“A technical violation could result in a halfway-back house where you go… it’s like a prison on the streets. You can’t go outside there and have to schedule visits. You have to schedule programming throughout the day.”
“The guidelines are so difficult that it seems like you are set up for failure,” he explained. “It’s like walking a tightrope. The pressure you feel to try to keep everything together.”
“The counseling is only open weekdays until 3 p.m. How do you take that time off from work? They say it’s your problem. I understand the reason why people being supervised sounds like a good idea. Supervision actually becomes a hindrance to succeeding.” 
I ask Safear what would help him. “Not having the pressure of going back to jail for a technical violation would help me the most.”
“What that pressure does to a person’s mental health is awful. We have to make the distinction between technical violations and actual lawbreaking behavior. The pressure is unreal,” he said. “Technical parole violations should be abolished. How could you send someone back to prison for a technical violation?”  
Kenneth Agtuca was violated and sent back to prison for having a drink at a casino on his birthday. The federal parole agent gave him 60 days of no casinos and a breathalyzer requirement for his vehicle. The state parole people were less forgiving, deciding on three years in prison. Ken is currently incarcerated at the Stafford Creek Corrections Center.
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">The Slave Catchers</h2>
Whether a person has to report to a parole agent or a community CCO (or whatever title they have), it feels like being on a leash. Every person who has to report hopes they get lucky enough to have a chill CCO. 
They have such wide discretion, and the arbitrary nature of supervision feels peculiar. A CCO may decide to impose conditions or not as a matter of how they see a situation. For that reason, the biases of a particular CCO play a big role in one’s fate. As a trans woman, I never quite know how a person will react to me. 
When I met my CCO, I could tell he was an austere and conservative man. He seemed very skeptical about my line of work and aspirations to be self-employed. He soon demanded that I provide proof of paychecks and told me I am expected to work full-time. I soon learned that he had a very low opinion of me. Maybe having 1312 tatted on my fingers along with a big A on my right hand pissed him off. 
He made several comments about my body and clothing during check-ins. On one occasion it was my pink heels he didn’t like. Another time he bra-checked me and told me I need to dress appropriately, whatever that means. I wasn’t breaking any dress codes and thought I looked just fine. It was eerily similar to the times when prison guards pulled me aside to bra-check me or examine my appearance. It is degrading and insulting.
I already have a fear of men in uniforms from years of shitty prison experiences and my trauma was triggered the first time my CCO yelled at me. The second time, I asked him why it seems like he is always chewing me out. He immediately started yelling at me that, if I wanted him to chew me out, he could do that. I commented that I am sure he is very good at that. At that moment, his boss interrupted to pull him aside. I was afraid the guy was going to lose his temper and taser me or something. I was afraid to be in a room alone with him.
The next time I saw him, he started yelling at me in his office and he kicked me out for a minute so he could regain his composure. It was really starting to scare me. I confided in my therapist about the situation. She was deeply concerned that this guy had some kind of underlying rage about me that was coming out in routine interactions. I believe that my own community organizing work inspired her and she did something very unusual. She intervened and scheduled a meeting with his boss. After that, the yelling stopped and I was never alone in a room with him again. I don’t know what I would have done without the support of that therapist. My family was also starting to get worried but didn’t know how to help me. People are often afraid of confronting people with authority and worry that doing so may make things worse.
I did a public disclosure request on my file and found some concerning things. It appeared that my classification risk level had somehow changed from low to high. My CCO documented comments that DOC should monitor me to make sure I am not taking advantage of my mother’s generosity. I read an entry that suggested I should lower my goals. One of the incidents where he yelled at me actually read that he had to calm me down, which was not what had happened. I was shocked at what I read.
Safear tells me, “The parole agent always says you have to try harder and do better. It’s like climbing a mountain with no climbing gear.” Just like my CCO, Safear’s parole officer comes to his residence randomly and unannounced. 
“I live with 2 other people and one is immunocompromised,” he said. “This parole agent goes from house to house and my roommates are terrified that he could bring a disease with him.”  
Safear tells me that his parole officer once visited him just to ask him about his activism. I get the feeling it was out of concern and not support. As prison abolitionists, Safear and I know our values conflict with the people who have power over us. Mine seemed to be intent on breaking me. I worry about Safear.
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">An Uncertain Future</h2>
I stated earlier that, within three years, two out of three are rearrested again and 50 percent are re-incarcerated. Ken was arrested and back in prison. According to those odds, either Safear or myself will be arrested in the next couple of years and there’s a strong chance one of us will be back in prison.
Over a prison phone, Kenneth Agtuca tells me, “I find myself thinking about the people that I am going to associate with and how I am going to do things. I have a life max and they can violate me without cause. There is a fear that it is looming, it is all around you. You don’t even have to be guilty. Under my guidelines, they can violate me without cause just for being under suspicion.” 
Ken doesn’t make excuses or complain about being sent back to prison. He knows that he doesn’t have any room for error and can’t let his guard down. It isn’t enough to simply obey the law now. Ken has to be squeaky clean if he has any hope of freedom. As a Native American, I know Ken has the support of his tribe. That support can carry him a long way if he can navigate the minefield laid out by the state. 
On May 18th, I arrive at the DOC office to check in with my CCO. A DOC officer approaches the mirrored window to inform me that my CCO no longer works at that office. I contain my excitement as he calls me back to his office. This guy is different; I get the sense he doesn’t hate me. I have a short conversation with him about how things are going for me. I have been checking in for nearly a year and things are pretty routine. I have never had a violation and I am doing my best to establish myself in the world. I expressed some concerns over my high violent classification and he notices some discrepancies in my file. “Hmm, I’ll check into this,” he tells me. The difference between this guy and my old CCO is amazing. I feel like he sees me as a human being.
A few hours later, I am home working on this story and I get a call. It’s the officer I spoke to earlier. He tells me that he put in some paperwork that was approved. I don’t have to check in for another 6 months. I am absolutely astonished. A sense of relief covers my entire body. I thanked him and before hanging up, he tells me, “Just remember, we’re not all bad.” I am sure he saw the 1312 blasted across my right fingers. 
I understand what he is doing. He wants to give me hope and change my attitude about the police. I appreciate him; I just think he misunderstands me. I don’t think that all police officers are bad people. I don’t want to dehumanize anyone and hope to be treated like a human being myself. I just happen to believe that policing dehumanizes us all—even the police. If anything, I’m concerned about what it will do to him.
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/26/rebuilding-a-life-after-years-in-a-cage/">Rebuilding A Life After Years In A Cage</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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<title>Protest Song Of The Week: ‘John Wayne Was a Nazi’ By Fucked Up & The Halluci Nation</title>
<link>https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/21/protest-song-of-week-john-wayne-was-a-nazi-fucked-up-halluci-nation/</link>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[CJ Baker]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Wed, 21 Jun 2023 13:38:28 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Dissenter Featured]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Latest News]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[The Dissenter]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Protest Song of the Week]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://shadowproof.com/?p=224989</guid>
<description><![CDATA[The song challenged the celebrated actor for his bigotry and role in helping to prop up an oppressive colonial system. It refers to his movies that often portrayed Wayne as a heroic cowboy fighting against the villainous Native Americans. 
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/21/protest-song-of-week-john-wayne-was-a-nazi-fucked-up-halluci-nation/">Protest Song Of The Week: ‘John Wayne Was a Nazi’ By Fucked Up & The Halluci Nation</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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Originally published at <a href="https://www.ongoinghistoryofprotestsongs.com/">Ongoing History of Protest Music</a> John Wayne slaughtered our Indian brothers Burned their villages and raped their mothers Now he has given them a white man’s lord ‘Live by this, or die by my sword!’ These are lyrics from “John Wayne Was A Nazi” a scathing tune by hardcore pioneers MDC. The single was originally released a year after Wayne’s death in 1980 when they were known as The Stains. After changing their name, it appeared on their 1982 debut album “Millions Of Dead Cops.” The song challenged the celebrated actor for his bigotry and role in helping to prop up an oppressive colonial system. It referred to his movies that often portrayed Wayne as a heroic cowboy fighting against the villainous Native Americans. Wayne’s film portrayals weren’t far off from his real-world views. For example, in a 1972 Playboy interview, Wayne <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/arts-entertainment/2019/02/20/i-believe-white-supremacy-john-waynes-notorious-playboy-interview-goes-viral-twitter/">said</a>: “I don’t feel we did wrong in taking this great country away from them, if that’s what you’re asking. Our so-called stealing of this country from them was just a matter of survival.” “There were great numbers of people who needed new land, and the Indians were selfishly trying to keep it for themselves.”
Elsewhere in the interview, Wayne also stated “I believe in white supremacy until the blacks are educated to a point of responsibility. I don’t believe in giving authority and positions of leadership and judgment to irresponsible people.” It is no wonder that the song declares, “When I see John, I’m ashamed to be white.” 
Recently, Canadian hardcore band Fucked Up and Indigenous EDM act Halluci Nation reworked the tune. Halluci Nation’s Ehren “Bear Witness” Thomas <a href="https://www.stereogum.com/2226474/fucked-up-the-halluci-nation-john-wayne-was-a-nazi-mdc-cover/music/#:~:text=In%20a%20press%20release%2C%20the,humor%20to%20it%20as%20well.">declared</a>, “The song has been with me since high school. The song and MDC have stuck with me over the years. It’s got rage to it and that message, but I love that there’s a dark humor to it as well. It really fits in with the way we make music and visuals, with the message that we try to put forward about confronting one-dimensional misrepresentations of indigenous people in the media. John Wayne becomes a stand-in for the entire colonial project.”
“For me, it’s like this: you watch The Searchers in school, and John Wayne is presented very much as an iconic North American type of figure,” added Fucked Up vocalist Damian Abraham. “As a young punk kid hearing this song for the first time, it did change the way I looked at him — it subverted it to where all of a sudden the hero is the villain, and you can see what’s going on in pop culture.” “As a young punk kid, this song was one of the first that showed the cracks in that veneer.” Exposing those cracks is an important step in tearing down oppressive colonial systems and rebuilding an equitable society. Listen to “John Wayne Was A Nazi” By Fucked Up & The Halluci Nation:
<figure class="wp-block-embed is-type-video is-provider-youtube wp-block-embed-youtube wp-embed-aspect-16-9 wp-has-aspect-ratio"><div class="wp-block-embed__wrapper">
<iframe title="The Halluci Nation X F--ked Up - John Wayne Was a Nazi (Official Audio)" width="1140" height="641" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/VdJubxEeblk?feature=oembed" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen></iframe>
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The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/21/protest-song-of-week-john-wayne-was-a-nazi-fucked-up-halluci-nation/">Protest Song Of The Week: ‘John Wayne Was a Nazi’ By Fucked Up & The Halluci Nation</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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<title>Redacted: Massachusetts Withholding Plans For New Women’s Prison</title>
<link>https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/19/redacted-massachusetts-withholding-plans-for-new-womens-prison/</link>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Sierra Dickey]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Mon, 19 Jun 2023 16:39:56 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Featured Reporting]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Latest News]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Prison Protest]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Incarcerated women]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Massachusetts Prisons]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://shadowproof.com/?p=224978</guid>
<description><![CDATA[Massachusetts is refusing to share information about plans for a new women's prison with concerned citizens through a controversial exemption to the state’s public records law.
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/19/redacted-massachusetts-withholding-plans-for-new-womens-prison/">Redacted: Massachusetts Withholding Plans For New Women’s Prison</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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When the state House and Senate passed a five-year moratorium on building any new prisons and jails last year, those who had spent years fighting against the construction of a new women’s prison thought that the Legislature was finally listening.
But, in one of his last moves in office last August, former Gov. Charlie Baker vetoed the bill. Now, under Gov. Maura Healey, the new women’s prison is back on the table. What’s more, the state agencies in charge of prisons and public construction are blocking public records requests from activists opposed to the project for meeting minutes and other planning documents.
According to activists who requested those records, the state’s Division of Capital Asset Management and Maintenance, or DCAMM, and the state Department of Correction are refusing to share information about the project’s progress with concerned citizens through a controversial exemption to the state’s public records law known as the “deliberative process exemption.” 
Organizations and people concerned about the expansion of prisons in Massachusetts have received heavily redacted copies of documents in two recent attempts at seeking public information about the project. DCAMM released bi-weekly meeting minutes dating from September to May, but most pages were completely redacted. 
“The lack of transparency and accountability is unacceptable,” said Mallory Hanora, the executive director of Families for Justice as Healing, which is leading the #NoNewWomensPrison Campaign and requested the records. 
As incarceration rates in Massachusetts <a href="https://www.wbur.org/news/2022/01/04/correction-spending-rises-incarcerated-population-declines">continue to fall</a> and alternatives to prison are organized and <a href="https://rewirenewsgroup.com/2016/04/13/mass-seeks-incarceration-alternatives-parents/">passed into law</a>, the Department of Correction continues to insist that a $50 million new women’s prison project is necessary to eventually replace MCI-Framingham, which is the oldest continuously operating prison in the United States. Organizers fighting the project are struggling to gather information in a state with some of the most opaque public records laws in the country. Massachusetts is the only state where the Legislature, courts and governor’s office all claim to be entirely exempt from disclosure laws. Healey campaigned on the promise that she would be one of the most transparent governors in state history, but <a href="https://www.bostonglobe.com/2023/02/20/metro/healey-who-once-vowed-not-claim-blanket-public-records-exemption-governor-refuses-release-call-logs-e-mails/">quickly backtracked on that once in office</a>.
Hanora and her legal counsel are in the process of appealing the redactions. The most recent release from DCAMM included the list of state employees attending the bi-weekly planning meetings. The names John Rose and Sean Foley — both listed as construction coordinators for the Department of Correction — are bad news to the project’s opponents. 
According to Massachusetts <a href="https://www.sec.state.ma.us/divisions/public-records/download/guide.pdf">public records law</a>, the deliberative process exemption that DCAMM is citing applies to “inter-agency or intra-agency memoranda or letters relating to policy positions being developed by the agency.”
“This subclause shall not apply to reasonably completed factual studies or reports on which the development of such policy positions has been or may be based,” the law reads. 
The exemption is one of 23 such exemptions in Massachusetts. It divides all governmental information into two categories: “fact” and “opinion.” Factual information — like whether a final decision has been made about the prison project — is not protected by the exemption and must be made available to the public. The exemption protects “pre-decisional” and opinion-based information — the initial recommendation of a policy-maker, for instance. 
“According to the Secretary of State’s Guide on Massachusetts Public Records Law, state agencies can withhold documents chronicling discussions related to ‘legal and policy matters,’ but they must reveal factual matters involved in the deliberative process,” said Catherine Sevcenko, who is senior counsel for the National Council for Incarcerated & Formerly Incarcerated Women and Girls, of which FJAH is a member. 
Sevcenko said that it’s unclear what the agency has redacted, but that “blacking out 90% of a document on the grounds that it reflects opinion rather than facts is concerning.” 
“Either the decision to build a new women’s prison is being taken with a scant factual basis, or the Commonwealth is withholding information that citizens are entitled to know,” Sevcenko said. “Neither is acceptable.” 
In its response to Hanora’s records request, DCAMM said that the redactions it made to the records were justified under the deliberative process exemption.
“Please note, portions of the requested records have been withheld or redacted pursuant to the Deliberative Process Exemption set out at G.L. c. 4, § 7(26)(d) (‘Exemption (d)’),” the agency wrote in its response. “This exemption applies to inter-agency or intra-agency memoranda or letters relating to policy positions being developed by the agency, in this instance, policy relating to corrections in the Commonwealth.  Policy positions being developed by the agency is ongoing and therefore exempt from mandatory disclosure at this time.”
Hanora and other activists insist that they should have access to policy regarding women’s incarceration even as it’s being developed. FJAH is made up of, and works directly with, incarcerated and formerly incarcerated women, the demographic that will be most impacted by state decisions regarding the new prison. 
THANK YOU FOR READING Shadowproof is paywall-free thanks to our supporters. If you appreciate our work, please donate or subscribe to keep us going. <a style="background: #d84141;color: #fff;text-decoration: none;font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;display: inline-block;font-size: 16px;padding: 13px 17px;-webkit-border-radius: 2px;-moz-border-radius: 2px;border-radius: 2px;box-shadow: 0 1px 0 0 #1f5a89;text-shadow: 0 1px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.3);" rel="noopener" href="https://donorbox.org/donate-to-shadowproof?default_interval=o" target="_blank">Donate</a>
Deliberative process exemptions to public information laws have garnered controversy across the nation, not just in Massachusetts. 
In 2019, for example, the Sierra Club challenged the use of a deliberative process exemption to the federal Freedom of Information Act in a case that made it all the way to the Supreme Court. In May 2021, the court’s justices <a href="https://www.scotusblog.com/2021/03/court-favors-deliberative-process-privilege-protections-over-foia-transparency-goals/">ruled in favor</a> of the exemption, saying that “facilitating agency candor in exercising its expertise in preliminary agency deliberations” can outweigh “transparency and accountability concerns.” Justice Amy Coney Barrett wrote the opinion, her first since joining the court.
The Sierra Club’s case was the first time that FOIA exemption had been addressed by the court in 20 years. Advocacy organizations like the American Civil Liberties Union, which filed an amicus brief in the case, were hopeful the court would strengthen FOIA, but its ruling further blurred the lines. According to the <a href="https://www.yalejreg.com/nc/a-draft-of-a-draft-or-a-charade-u-s-fish-wildlife-service-v-sierra-club/#_ftn3">Yale Journal of Regulation</a>, the decision “furthers government secrecy.”
Elsewhere, in Tennessee, Republican Gov. Bill Lee has drawn scrutiny for <a href="https://www.tennessean.com/story/news/politics/2023/01/05/tennessee-gov-bill-lee-cites-deliberative-process-to-withhold-records/69724789007/">using that state’s deliberative process exemption frequently</a> since 2019 to deny records to journalists and state representatives. 
The use of the exemption here in Massachusetts raises concerns about government transparency on a costly and beleaguered project. And it’s not the first time that opponents of the project have raised alarms about DCAMM and DOC <a href="https://digboston.com/mass-keeps-trying-to-build-a-new-womens-prison-outside-of-public-view/">failing to meet</a> legal obligations around communicating with the public. The project has been shrouded in secrecy since the state failed to properly advertise its first request for proposals in 2019. That initial proposal and a second were withdrawn after administrative challenges citing improper procedures were filed with the Massachusetts Attorney General Office’s Bid Unit during Healey’s tenure as attorney general.
“This is typical of the DOC,” Hanora said. “Redacting notes about the new women’s prison project is just another example of how this rogue agency avoids accountability and the rest of the executive branch lets it happen.”
Hanora said that incarcerated and formerly incarcerated women have been clear that there is “no such thing as a safe or trauma-informed prison,” despite what the DOC claims they hope to build.  “People are demanding that the state does something different and better for women than yet another prison where <a href="https://www.baystatebanner.com/2022/11/09/abuse-alleged-at-mci-framingham/">DOC’s abuse</a> and medical neglect will certainly continue,” she added.
<a href="https://theshoestring.org/2023/06/19/redacted-state-withholding-plans-for-new-womens-prison/">Published in partnership with The Shoestring</a>
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/19/redacted-massachusetts-withholding-plans-for-new-womens-prison/">Redacted: Massachusetts Withholding Plans For New Women’s Prison</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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<title>The Loving Truth-Teller That Was Daniel Ellsberg</title>
<link>https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/17/the-loving-truth-teller-that-was-daniel-ellsberg/</link>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kevin Gosztola]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Sat, 17 Jun 2023 13:58:48 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Latest News]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[The Dissenter]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Daniel Ellsberg]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://shadowproof.com/?p=224965</guid>
<description><![CDATA[The attention Dan gave to you was a sign of the love and respect that he had for those who were willing to fight for the same causes that were crucial to him.
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/17/the-loving-truth-teller-that-was-daniel-ellsberg/">The Loving Truth-Teller That Was Daniel Ellsberg</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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Daniel Ellsberg, the whistleblower and peace activist who released the Pentagon Papers that exposed the Vietnam War, has died at the age of 92. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer on February 17, and doctors gave him three to six months to live.
He was a subscriber to Shadowproof’s <a href="https://thedissenter.org">Dissenter Newsletter</a>. So it is only appropriate that I share some of my personal memories in honor of who he was and because he meant so much to so many people.
Nearly two weeks after his diagnosis, Dan messaged his friends and supporters. That message was republished by various news media outlets as it circulated. “I feel lucky and grateful that I’ve had a wonderful life far beyond the proverbial three-score years and ten,” Dan wrote. “I feel the very same way about having a few months more to enjoy life with my wife and family, and in which to continue to pursue the urgent goal of working with others to avert nuclear war in Ukraine or Taiwan (or anywhere else).” Dan mentioned that his cardiologist had given him permission to abandon his salt-free diet, and that his energy level was high. He had done “several interviews and webinars on Ukraine, nuclear weapons, and first amendment issues.” He had two more scheduled interviews. One of those interviews was with me. In fact, around the same time that Daniel learned that he had cancer, I contacted him to ask if he would help me with the launch of <a href="https://www.project-censored.org/shop/p/guilty-of-journalism-the-political-case-against-julian-assange?ref=thedissenter.org">my book</a>, Guilty of Journalism: The Political Case Against Julian Assange. He already had given me a blurb for the book. Dan graciously agreed to talk with me once again about the Assange case. He even asked for a hard copy so that he could review the book. My publisher Censored Press quickly mailed a copy to him, and we planned to record on Wednesday, March 1. That became the day that friends and supporters of Dan were notified by him that he had cancer. When it was time for us to do the interview, Dan called me. He had not had a chance to read my book yet. Dan wanted to know if he could have a couple of hours to read the book and then we would record the interview. He even asked, which chapters should I read?
I had asked Dan for an interview simply because I believed posting a conversation the same day that my book was released would help me get the attention of potential readers. I did not need him to prepare for the interview by familiarizing himself with specific sections of the book, and yet, that’s what Dan was willing to do because he was a generous person. The attention Dan gave to you was a sign of the love and respect that he had for those who were willing to fight for the same causes that were crucial to him.
Dan logged on to record, but before he would allow me to start the interview, he brought up a couple errors, which he had identified in my book.
The first error was in this paragraph from “The Abusive Grand Jury” chapter.
<blockquote class="wp-block-quote">
After Pentagon Papers whistleblower Daniel Ellsberg, who worked for the RAND Corporation, provided copies of the Pentagon Papers to media organizations, the DOJ convened two grand juries in the Boston area—one in April 1971 that did not return any indictments and another in August 1971.
</blockquote>
Dan flatly told me that a grand jury investigation in April 1971 would have been impossible. I definitely was wrong, but I later showed him a<a href="https://law.yale.edu/sites/default/files/area/center/mfia/document/ecf_no._6_-_ellsberg_declaration.pdf?ref=thedissenter.org"> declaration</a> with his name on it that came from a lawsuit to force the release of grand jury records. It mentioned an April grand jury. “Ha ha! However, Kevin, that still doesn’t make sense, even if I said it,” Dan replied. According to Dan, law school students working with historian Jill Lepore, who filed the lawsuit, must have drafted the declaration. “It’s clear to me that I at least edited it, as well as signed it,” but that did not make the April date correct. The second error was in the chapter on “Standard News-Gathering Practices”:
<blockquote class="wp-block-quote">
<blockquote class="wp-block-quote">
Thomas Kauper of the OLC advised White House Counsel John Dean that the Espionage Act would allow newspapers, and even “individual reporters,” to be prosecuted. Kauper further suggested the New York Times could be criminally charged for conspiring and encouraging the theft of the Pentagon Papers. But the US Supreme Court rejected the Nixon administration’s view and refused to issue an injunction against the Times or the Washington Post. 
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
I had written a non sequitur. The Supreme Court did not rule on how far the Nixon administration could go in pursuing journalists for publishing leaks. The Supreme Court ruling only applied to prior restraint—whether the government could stop a newspaper from reporting on the Pentagon Papers. On that question, the Supreme Court decided the answer was no.
But Dan was unaware of the advice from Kauper and was excited to learn about the Office of Legal Counsel memos<a href="https://www.reuters.com/legal/government/newly-released-memos-show-doj-weighed-prosecuting-newspapers-pentagon-papers-2022-06-08/"> reported</a> by Reuters in June 2022. “Fascinating! I have to be selective in what investigations I want to prioritize in my remaining month(s), but this will be among them!” Dan wrote. He planned to read as much as he could about the memos, and see what John Dean remembered. “Nothing could be more relevant to the Assange case!” As we talked about the two sections of my book, Dan was tired and confused. He kept asking me over and over again about these parts, even though I had acknowledged the errors. It was the first time in my interactions with Dan—aside from some hearing problems—that his age really showed. Usually, he was cognitively sharp. We both recognized that it would be best to push our recording session to Friday.
<h2 class="wp-block-heading" id="not-able-to-sleep">Not Able To Sleep</h2>
On Friday, Dan was awake until 4 or 5 a.m. While he could not sleep, he read part of my book and a<a href="https://harpers.org/archive/2023/03/alternative-facts-how-the-media-failed-julian-assange/?ref=thedissenter.org"> feature story</a> in Harper’s Magazine from Washington, D.C., editor Andrew Cockburn that detailed how the media had failed Assange. Cockburn’s feature praised my coverage of both the Assange and Chelsea Manning’s cases as examples that other journalists should have followed. Dan called the feature “sensational” and said, “We must discuss it.” We talked for two hours. Before we officially started <a href="https://thedissenter.org/in-conversation-with-daniel-ellsberg-guilty-of-journalism-book-launch/">the interview,</a> Dan went chapter-by-chapter to inform me of what he had read. “I’m kind of rundown, I’m afraid. It’s not the best day, like the other day,” Dan said. From 1:30 to 2:30 a.m., he was up reading my chapter on the Espionage Act “very carefully.” Dan asked why I omitted many of the details related to the Swedish extradition case from the book. While we discussed my reasons (the sexual allegations were not part of the U.S. case against him), Dan mentioned that he had spoken to Assange about the allegations. Assange had accepted that he behaved in an “ungentlemanly” manner with the two women. And though he did not deserve to be criminally charged, Assange recognized how his actions might lead someone to view him as a “chauvinistic pig.” “What is your personal opinion of the Russiagate allegations?” Dan had not had a chance to read the Russiagate chapter, but he was interested in my position.
After we went back and forth on Assange’s claim that he had not received the Clinton campaign emails from a “state party,” Dan commented on Trump adviser Roger Stone, who repeatedly exaggerated and fabricated claims about his communications with WikiLeaks. “[Roger] Stone was once involved in an incident [on the steps of Capitol Hill] that was supposed to incapacitate me. We won’t go into that, but on May 3, [1972]—he was a young guy then—he brought a bunch of college students to provide an uproar as cover for CIA assets, who were to incapacitate me.” Dan was in rare form during our recorded interview. The moment I started asking questions he was energized. We spoke for nearly two hours, and he never told me that I needed to end the interview. I probably could have talked with him for another half hour if I wanted. Multiple times Dan paused. A glimmer appeared in his eyes as he chimed, “Okay, I’ll tell you something I’ve never said publicly.” Then he would share an extraordinary <a href="https://thedissenter.org/when-daniel-ellsberg-gave-the-new-york-times-documents-and-didnt-print-them/">anecdote</a>. Or he would acknowledge that he was “coming to a point,” where he did not have to worry about “antagonizing” a media organization or particular media figure. So Dan would call them out. Before Dan signed off, he revealed how he had made it through the interview. He had eaten a bunch of chocolate. I told Dan I would see him later, and he gave me an odd look. We knew we would never speak to each other again.
<h2 class="wp-block-heading" id="the-joy-of-living-life-as-an-unapologetic-truth-teller">The Joy Of Living Life As An Unapologetic Truth-Teller</h2>
I first met Dan in December 2011, when Firedoglake editor-in-chief Jane Hamsher asked me to drive him to her house in Washington, DC, after a pretrial hearing at Fort Meade in Chelsea Manning’s case. He did not know anything about me, and yet I was invited by Alyona Minkovski to come to RT’s DC studio for her show. That left me no choice. I asked the RT producers if I could bring Dan and have him appear on the air with me. We appeared together, but the clip is no longer available on YouTube because all RT content was removed after Russia invaded Ukraine. Dan was courteous enough to appear with me, even though we barely knew each other.
<figure class="wp-block-image"><figcaption class="wp-element-caption">Daniel Ellsberg at the First Congregational Church in Berkeley, California, on January 31, 2013</figcaption></figure>
On January 31, 2013, I opened for Dan at the First Congregational Church in Berkeley, California. The event was sponsored by KPFA, a community radio station, and Dan spoke about his case, Manning’s case, Brown & Williamson tobacco whistleblower Jeffrey Wigand’s case, and other cases, where whistleblowers revealed crimes and misconduct.
Months later, on September 20, Dan welcomed me into his home for an interview. He showed me his library, where he kept all his private papers, and when I told him I had not seen “The Most Dangerous Man In America,” the 2009 documentary about his whistleblowing, Dan gave me a DVD copy. We walked to lunch after the interview, and Dan shared his wisdom on an array of topics. He also was interested in what I had to say from my experience covering the military trial against Chelsea Manning and wondered what life in Chicago was like under Mayor Rahm Emanuel. There were a few more times that I spoke with him. When he released his book, Doomsday Machine: Confessions of a Nuclear Planner, I made certain that I had <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2018/02/18/interview-with-daniel-ellsberg-doomsday-machine/?ref=thedissenter.org">a chance to talk</a> with him. He was part of a panel discussion that I hosted for the Assange Defense Committee in January 2021. Just prior to his cancer diagnosis, I asked if we could do a book event together in Berkeley, California. He responded, “With the greatest respect to you and [a] desire to see your book do as well as you deserve, I take it this means an in-person event, and I haven’t done those for three years, due to Covid concerns.”
At the end of our final conversation, I said something to Dan about the fact that he had an opportunity to prepare for his death and say farewell to all the people that he wanted. I believe that Dan was very fortunate because my father died from a heart attack when he was 56 years old (I was only 26 years old). Seeing Dan’s <a href="https://www.commondreams.org/opinion/daniel-ellsberg-pentagon-papers?ref=thedissenter.org">life announcement</a>, and the warm responses to it, made it easier for me to accept that one of the best human beings I have ever known had come to the end of his life. Dan was not at peace with the world around him. Wars and the threat of nuclear armageddon motivated him to do several more interviews while he could still speak with reporters. But he did feel joy and gratitude having lived his life unapologetically as a peace activist and truth-teller—someone who embodied the idea of the moral imperative.
For the rest of my life, I will cherish the fact that I was one of the first journalists who Dan spoke with on his farewell media tour and that I had the privilege of interacting and sharing his wisdom with the world for over a decade.
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/17/the-loving-truth-teller-that-was-daniel-ellsberg/">The Loving Truth-Teller That Was Daniel Ellsberg</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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<title>In The South, ‘Georgia Prisoners Speak’ Organizes Against Incarceration From The Inside</title>
<link>https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/16/in-the-south-georgia-prisoners-speak-organizes-against-incarceration-from-the-inside/</link>
<dc:creator><![CDATA[C. Dreams]]></dc:creator>
<pubDate>Fri, 16 Jun 2023 14:53:37 +0000</pubDate>
<category><![CDATA[Featured Reporting]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Latest News]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Marvel Cooke Fellowship]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Prison Protest]]></category>
<category><![CDATA[Prison Organizing]]></category>
<guid isPermaLink="false">https://shadowproof.com/?p=224909</guid>
<description><![CDATA[Inside Georgia's prisons, Georgia Prisoners Speak fights barriers to the outside and engages in abolitionist political education. 
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/16/in-the-south-georgia-prisoners-speak-organizes-against-incarceration-from-the-inside/">In The South, ‘Georgia Prisoners Speak’ Organizes Against Incarceration From The Inside</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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This article was funded by the Marvel Cooke Fellowship. <a href="https://shadowproof.com/marvel-cooke-fellowship/">Read more</a> about this reporting project and <a href="https://shadowproof.com/donate">make a contribution</a> to fund our fellowship budget.
Inside Georgia’s prisons, a prisoner-led organization called Georgia Prisoners Speak (GPS) is fighting to overcome communications barriers to the outside world and engage in abolitionist political education. 
GPS uses a variety of methods to organize and advocate for incarcerated people’s rights. This includes connecting prisoners for organized grievances efforts, educating prisoners through underground channels, and working with journalists and advocates to disseminate abolitionist thought. GPS also employs public relations tactics to challenge standard policing and correctional narratives, often using social media to counter the GDC’s version of events.
Founded in 2020 by a group of Georgia prisoners during the height of the pandemic and violent upheavals in state facilities, GPS boasts more than 300 incarcerated and affiliated “free world” members. They aim to build solidarity among incarcerated people and fight against the dehumanizing conditions within the GDC. Georgia has the <a href="https://www.statista.com/statistics/203757/number-of-prisoners-in-the-us-by-states/#:~:text=As%20of%20December%202021%2C%20there,prisoners%20in%20the%20United%20States.">fourth greatest</a> incarceration rate in the nation, and <a href="https://www.prisonpolicy.org/profiles/GA.html">according to the Prison Policy Initiative</a>, “locks up a higher percentage of its people than any democracy on earth.”
Although reform circles often treat incarcerated people as passive subjects with little agency, prisoner organizing has a <a href="https://mcnair.ucdavis.edu/sites/g/files/dgvnsk476/files/inline-files/2020%20McNair%20Journal%20XVIII%20Version%20Tiana%20Williams.pdf">long and rich history</a> that dates back to the early days of the modern prison system. Throughout modern U.S. history, incarcerated people have organized to improve their conditions and challenge the <a href="https://collectiveliberation.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/Berger_Captive_Nation_Intro_excerpt.pdf">legitimacy of the prison-industrial complex</a>. The most visible examples include the <a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Attica_Prison_riot#:~:text=Attica%2C%20New%20York%2C%20U.S.&text=Prisoners%20revolted%20to%20seek%20better,prison%2C%20taking%2042%20staff%20hostage.">Attica Prison uprising</a> of 1971, where incarcerated people rose up over what they described as being “treated like beasts.”
In Georgia, one of the most significant examples of prisoner organizing was the mid 20th century <a href="https://thesouthernvoice.com/a-prison-tougher-than-alcatraz-meet-georgias-rock-quarry/">Georgia Prison Quarry Strike</a>. In 1951, incarcerated folks at that facility organized resistance to the inhumane conditions they faced, including the use of forced labor in the prison quarries. Roughly 30 prisoners known as the Heel String Gang severed their Achilles’ tendons in protest. Just a few years later, in 1956, 31 prisoners would resist by <a href="https://www.loveblackgirls.org/post/georgia-s-fist-remains-tightly-clenched-on-history-of-slavery-and-exploitation-for-profit">breaking their own legs</a>.
The 2022 <a href="https://www.vera.org/news/what-you-need-to-know-about-the-alabama-prison-strike">prison strike</a> in neighboring Alabama saw prisoners across the state organize a coordinated protest for decarceration through pathways such as parole and medical furlough. These examples demonstrate the power and prevalence of prisoner organizing. 
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Bearing witness</h2>
GPS’ methods of organizing are varied, and they rely heavily on the use of technology to connect members and spread their message. One of the ways GPS organizes is through a weekly report, which provides updates on ongoing issues, advocacy efforts, and calls to action. This report is circulated among GPS members and their allies on the outside. GPS also uses the internet to share their message and connect with potential supporters. For example, in 2020 during the height of the pandemic, various GPS members began reaching out to the Southern Center for Human Rights and other organizations. Later in 2021, much of this information received via various reports and complaints, some of which were provided by GPS, would be <a href="https://theappeal.org/georgia-prisons-crisis-doj-federal-investigation/">used</a> by SCHR to induce the DOJ to investigate the Georgia Department of Corrections.
GPS has been particularly effective in challenging the standard policing and correctional rhetoric that often dominates discussions of prison reform. The group uses PR tactics to get their message out and to frame their issues in ways that resonate with the general public. They have been hard at work attempting to get the attention of journalists, advocates like Susan Burns and Emily Shelton, and policymakers like Josh McLaurin and Jon Ossoff, and their hope is that their message will begin to shift the conversation around criminal justice reform in Georgia.
For example, in 2019 and 2020 GPS advocates <a href="https://filtermag.org/timothy-ward-georgia-parole-board/">worked to supply Ignite Justice and They Have No Voice with critical information</a> regarding unsanitary prison conditions, understaffing, rampant violence, and uncontrolled COVID. That information was used by prison reform advocate <a href="https://www.ajc.com/news/crime/georgia-prisons-beyond-the-crisis-point/J2F3W3USTRGWDNSZZNJVVLRSIY/">Susan Burns</a>, founder of They Have No Voice, when she presented a set of demands and suggestions to prison leadership (including one that the National Guard be used to man the deadly prison system) to address the crises. Additionally, Emily Shelton, of Ignite Justice, also received this same information from GPS and would attempt to present her organization’s own set of demands and suggestions, although to no avail.
GPS has played a crucial role in supplementing the ongoing federal investigation into the Georgia Department of Corrections as well. GPS members provide weekly updates on the conditions inside the prisons, including reports of abuse, neglect, and mistreatment. They also connect prisoners with lawyers and other advocates who can help them file grievances and seek justice. GPS has been instrumental in connecting prisoners for organized grievances efforts, which have been successful in improving conditions in some facilities. For example, in 2020 a grievance campaign was initiated during the height of the pandemic that resulted in more than 120 grievances being filed in protest to sack lunches (two peanut butter sandwiches) which were given for nearly three months, three times daily. While that may not seem like a lot, GPS members say it’s quite the feat to get that many prisoners to cooperate on a single initiative.
An additional feature of GPS’ work is education. The group has created an underground network of communication which allows prisoners to educate themselves and each other about abolitionist thought and organizing strategies. GPS has become a hub for the dissemination of abolitionist ideas, such as redistributing government spending from police and prisons towards addressing the underlying harm and vulnerability, and has helped to create a generation of informed and empowered prisoners. They have found ways to get abolitionist videos and lectures to prisoners; while books and pamphlets can be sent in via numerous supporters and then passed around the system.
GPS educates prisoners through a series of  “underground railroad” channels and classrooms, For example, a computer coding course put together by GPS spokesperson BT has over 300 active subscribers and 3,000 downloads, while the prisoner rights and law group has over 200 participants. 
Finally, GPS works with <a href="https://theappeal.org/georgia-prisons-crisis-doj-federal-investigation/">journalists</a> and advocates, often anonymously or with little recognition, to supplement journalistic investigations into GDC conditions that otherwise focus exclusively in the department’s perspective. By providing additional information and perspectives, GPS is able to amplify the voices of prisoners and bring attention to the issues facing them. To illustrate, recently GPS and anonymous prison staff provided important information to this journalist in order to provide <a href="https://filtermag.org/doj-investigation-georgia-prison/">coverage of a gang war that sparked off while the U.S. Justice Department was in a GDC facility</a> investigating, highlighting the nuclear levels of violence and understaffing currently dominating Georgia’s prison system.
“We stand committed as a movement against the use of strategic indifference, which is no sound policy to quell public fear of crime nor create rehabilitative conditions,” says BT, explaining the position of his group’s demands. “We stand intolerant of inhumane treatment, which does not promote public safety and fails to affirm the human dignity of those incarcerated.” 
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Making demands</h2>
GPS has a list of ten specific demands, which it has made an effort to circulate via letters and emails to various organizations, legislators, and journalists. Considering how reasonable and humane these demands are, it seems odd that the response hasn’t been more laudable. GPS’ demands include more dignified living conditions, separation of gangs from the unaffiliated population, and the implementation of a behavior-based parole system. Moreover, they demand:
<ul>
<li>Rehabilitation and education: “focus on rehabilitation and provide genuine educational and vocational training programs to help prisoners acquire real-world job skills, prepare for reentry into society, and reduce recidivism.”</li>
<li>Quality medical care: “ensure that all inmates have access to timely, quality healthcare services, including preventative care, dental care and specialized care for chronic conditions.”</li>
<li>Fair and transparency disciplinary processes: “implement disciplinary processes that are transparent, fair and evidence based, with the goal of promoting safety and personal growth rather than punishment.”</li>
<li>Fair and transparent grievance processes: “implement a real grievance process that is transparent and fair, and without fear of retaliation by prison staff.”</li>
<li>Family and community connections: “make phone calls free; encourage and facilitate regular contact between inmates and their families, as well as provide opportunities for community engagement, in order to support reintegration and reduce recidivism.”</li>
<li>Eliminate solitary confinment: “promote the health, safety and rehabilitation of inmates through means other than torture.”</li>
</ul>
GPS’ online presence is a critical component of their advocacy work. GPS posts videos demonstrating abysmal prison conditions, gang wars, understaffing, sleeping staff, gross medical neglect, and inedible food. Additionally, they maintain an affiliation with groups like They Have No Voice, The Human and Civil Rights Coalition of Georgia, Ignite Justice, and FAIR.
BT, 58, is the primary spokesperson for GPS. To prevent retaliation by prison officials, his real name is being protected by Shadowproof, as are the identities of all incarcerated sources herein. He explained that the group’s mission is to “empower prisoners to become agents of change in their own lives and in the wider society.” He emphasized the importance of education and organizing, and he praised the work of GPS members in advocating for themselves and for other prisoners.
“We believe that prisoners should have a say in the conditions they live in. We want to empower prisoners to advocate for themselves and to be a part of the solution.”
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“The prison system is behind walls that the public can’t see beyond. And the only way that they can is if we can get the information out through whatever means. If you want to know what our work is about, it’s ‘We have to take care of ourselves,’ that’s what it’s about,” BT explained. “We can’t trust the prison system to do it for us. And that means not only informing the public of what’s going on here, but also helping ourselves to learn and improve ourselves so that when we get out, we can be better people, you know, active and productive citizens in society.”
Another GPS member we’re calling Bran, 30, shared a similar perspective. “We are fighting for our rights as human beings. We want to be treated with dignity and respect, and we want to be given the opportunity to rehabilitate and reintegrate into society.”
Advocates who work closely with GPS praised the group’s effectiveness in challenging the dominant narrative about criminal justice reform in Georgia. Emily Shelton, the co-founder of Ignite Justice, a non-profit organization that focuses on advocacy for incarcerated people and their families, said GPS “has been a critical part of the prison abolitionist movement in Georgia, providing an essential counter-narrative to the rhetoric coming out of the Georgia Department of Corrections”
Aricka Rodriguez is a prison abolition advocate and theorist who mostly works with incarcerated people and organizations in Georgia and California. She has loved ones who have been incarcerated and has also experienced the prison system firsthand. 
“GPS is an essential organization in the fight for prison reform. By amplifying the voices of prisoners, they are able to bring attention to the issues facing those inside the prison system,” explains Rodriguez. “Most people, including lawmakers, don’t really know what’s going on behind prison walls. As for advocates like me, GPS gives us real information that allows us to better serve them and challenge prison officials.”
<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Breaking through</h2>
Despite their efforts, GPS faces significant challenges and risks. One of their biggest challenges is communicating with each other and the outside world. GPS members like all prisoners have heavily monitored communications and restricted access to phones. They also lack access to the internet, making communication difficult. The organization relies on underground channels to communicate. We have decided not to disclose those methods to protect them.
Another significant challenge is the risk associated with advocating for prisoner rights. In Georgia, prisoners are prohibited from organizing under Section 5(c)(1) & (2) of the <a href="https://gdc.ga.gov/sites/default/files/all/files/pdf/GDC_Inmate_Handbook.pdf">GDC’s inmate handbook</a>, which reads, “participation in any meeting or gathering which has not been specifically authorized by the institutional staff” constitutes a substantial threat to institutional security.”
Additionally, “planning of or participation in any group demonstration, disturbance, riot, strike, refusal to work, work stoppage, or work slowdown,” is liable to result in charges. GPS members are already vulnerable and marginalized, and they face retaliation from correctional officers and prison administrators for their advocacy work. This retaliation can take many forms, including physical abuse, isolation, and other forms of punishment.
Shelton emphasized the challenges faced by GPS members, stating, “The risks associated with GPS’ work cannot be overstated. These are people who are already vulnerable and marginalized, and they are putting themselves at risk to advocate for their rights.”
In response to these challenges, GPS takes extensive precautions to protect its members’ anonymity. There’s even a group where prisoners can learn about privacy and anonymity as a key to successful resistance and organizing. 
In the meantime, GPS has its hands full. The state is still <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/02/28/georgia-prisoners-may-lose-critical-lifelines-as-prison-officials-overhaul-communications-and-target-contraband-phones/">waging a war on “contraband” cell phones</a>, with plans to <a href="https://law.georgia.gov/press-releases/2023-01-26/carr-pushes-federal-legislation-combat-contraband-cell-phones-prisons">utilize signal jammers</a> in an effort to tamp down the torrent of media exposing fatal and unsanitary prison conditions. GPS members are involved in life-or-death advocacy all while still struggling to survive one of the country’s <a href="https://filtermag.org/doj-investigation-georgia-prison/">most understaffed and violent prison systems</a>. BT says between the constant, unjustified <a href="https://filtermag.org/parole-board-denial-unaccountable/">denials of parole</a> and a determination by prison officials to remain deliberately indifferent to prison conditions, he worries about the state of prisons over the next 5 years.
“I mean, it’s definitely not going to get better,” said BT. “It just seems like rather than being concerned with providing an environment that is safe and rehabilitative, which is what prison is in political rhetoric but not practice, they’re more concerned with stopping us from being comfortable while in here and stopping us from showing the public just how bad things have gotten.”
The post <a href="https://shadowproof.com/2023/06/16/in-the-south-georgia-prisoners-speak-organizes-against-incarceration-from-the-inside/">In The South, ‘Georgia Prisoners Speak’ Organizes Against Incarceration From The Inside</a> appeared first on <a href="https://shadowproof.com">Shadowproof</a>.
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