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I met the following folks just as I was being released from McHenry County Jail last spring. These guys are my heroes!
Original story, Chicago Tribune:
http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-religious-visits-18-feb18,0,4235959.story
Law allows religious workers more time with jailed immigrants awaiting deportation
By Antonio Olivo Tribune reporter
February 18, 2009
Chicago-area religious persons began training volunteers Tuesday to take advantage of a new Illinois law allowing for more clergy visits to jailed immigrants awaiting deportation, an effort they say will shed more light on prison conditions faced by that population.Scheduled to go into effect in June, the Access to Religious Ministry Act will ensure detained immigrants inside state and county jails housing those caught in federal raids the same access to clergy as those imprisoned for other crimes, said state Sen. Iris Martinez (D-Chicago), who co-sponsored a bill that passed both state houses unanimously in December.
Currently, religious visits for the rotating group of about 750 illegal immigrants who await deportation in Illinois jails every day is restricted to two hours or less per month, said Sister JoAnn Persch, whose Sisters of Mercy order spearheaded the new law.Consequently, visiting clergy have often had to rush their spiritual counseling for severe depression or intense anxiety after federal arrests, with even less time to attend to complaints about mistreatment during incarceration, she said.
"One week, we saw 70 detainees in little over an hour" inside McHenry County Jail, Persch said. "We want significant time for a team of people to go in every week."So far, a team of about 30 clergy has been assembled to help with the visits, with lawmakers who championed the bill negotiating the conditions of those visits with prison authorities.
Daniel Sedlock, chief of corrections for McHenry County Jail, predicted his facility would have no problem complying with the new law, though he was uncertain what its supporters are seeking.With Bible study sessions, weekly church services and clergy allowed to meet with inmates during regular visiting hours, "we've been meeting these requirements for a long time, in my opinion, and I think we exceed them," Sedlock said.
aolivo@tribune.com
Showing posts with label SOA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label SOA. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Saturday, April 19, 2008
April 19
This morning by design or accident, the guards have done us a great favor and left off the overhead lights (which are terribly bright and usually hit you in the eye at 5 AM). This could be their way of saying “Happy Saturday” and its working, since most of us have gone back to bed.
More yelling and screaming last night – a few girls have sidled up to the airvents in their rooms and use them as Alpen horns, in which they call “Ricola!” – just like the cough drop commercial – and I finally fell asleep last night promising myself I’d accidentally drop my breakfast tray on them in the morning – oatmeal and all – but I was feeling more charitable/sluggish by then and anyway we had grits, which I do like here.
At the moment I am waiting for laundry call – sheets and pillowcases today – and reflecting on taking pleasure in simple routines. For example, I love laundry call, trading in old stuff for new. I really like uniform exchange, since by then we’ve been wearing ours for 3-4 days straight and they can stand up on their own. Underwear exchange is usually mjore of a gamble, hard to get anything that fits since they’re all so old and worn out. Sheets and towels though are alright.
I am happy to report nearly all the mail has gotten through – and I get a little slip of paper to sign when something doesn’t make it through inspection. Usually the problem is photos glued to a card, or something similar. I also heard back that my early general letters have been posted to my blog and e-mailed around. In the meantime, if I haven’t said earlier, I’ve received so many beautiful letters here I would like to try to do a book on them. I don’t know if it will work, but I’ll see.
Last night I read most of 1st Kings, I don’t know how long it's been since doing so. I’m reading it in “Free on the Inside” the Prison Fellowship Bible, which is a paraphrase edition for new Christians. It’s actually not too bad, written at about the 8th grade level, which is closer to where I think most liberal theology books should be written. 8th grade is the reading level of most of the U.S. The trouble with liberal theologians is that there is that they’re usually PhD’s writing to impress other PhD’s in order to get tenure, etc. which generally excludes most other potential readers. Meanwhile, one thing Fundamentalism does well is produce a lot of reading material with simple, down-to-earth vocabulary. I venture that it is easier for most people to be convinced by an argument when they can understand the argument. So, I think this may be one more reason liberal churches continue to decline. It is a class issue as a politics issue, and here I am afraid liberals have much to account for.
--
Saturday and Sunday have been quite good – I was excited to see Catherine and catch up on news from school and “talk seminary” for a while – a relief! - and then to see Tom and Erin this morning and share some good laughs about the kitties going to the vet, and the upcoming chili cookoff, and about a Bible study that may have gone worse than the the ones around here usually do (though in the story I heard, not due to the teacher’s ignorance – this time it was a student in histronics). And a call home and hearing my niece Gracie’s giggling questions about life in jail. (I told her it was mostly like high school –true!) The rest of the weekend I slept in and napped plenty – which in retrospect was probable an excellent idea – I’ve manage so far to avoid a violent respiratory and gastrointestinal cold that’s hit nearly everyone else. I’ve also been washing my hands like a maniac.
A woman came in for a weekend sentence, and had some kind of catatonic anxiety attack. The guards came and took her out in a wheelchair. We had some pretty obnoxious rubber-neckers, so our pod got locked down for awhile, too. Another woman came in later, probably paranoid schizophrenic I guessed from our brief chat – later vomited in her cell and the guards took her away.
Just now I had the opportunity to debate the merits of half a bag of Jolly Ranchers versus a Milky Way bar. While incarcerated, Jolly Ranchers are a trade currency (trade food with cellmates, buy erases, favors, etc.) that is easily divisible, plus they double up as cough drops. Meanwhile a Milky Way is … chocolate, good in its own right. (Snickers, my first choice, wasn’t an option in the negotiations). I received the Ranchers as a thank you for tending a girl in the next cell with a raging toothache with all my commissary acetaminophen packets. My lunch table-mate likes Ranchers for a reason I forgot to mention earlier, that is, they are excellent “ammo.” They have a connect-to-target satisfaction level roughly akin to paintball, I think.
--No TV this evening. I enjoy the quiet enough, but its not fun being blamed for things we can’t help. There’s been a mechanical problem with the electromagnetic cell doors – they read as open while in real life they’re closed – so sometimes this past week, we’ve been stuck inside our cells when the command post thinks they let us out, and other times, like now, they yell at us for having our doors open when they’re closed tighter than anything we could do to open them. Hence, the no TV as punishment. We’ve gone through this with every shift of guards, but no luck yet. You’d think that in maximum security they’d want the cell doors to work…
After 2 weeks, I’m still waiting to get to the library. We’ve only been allowed once, but it was later in the evening after medical rounds when most of the readers were already in bed. (Once you go in your cell at night, you can’t get back out). Meanwhile, we get to go to the “gym” nearly every day. I think the difference is that there’s security cameras and a window from the command post to the gym, and there’s nothing for security in the library, so they have to send a guard. So if a guard doesn’t want to go, we don’t go. Sounds like most guards don’t. I think it would make the most sense if each pod got even 1 hour a week to get new books, at a time we could count on. The library and AA are the only two truly rehabilitative programs they offer here.
--
Meanwhile in happier news, I had a wonderfully quiet night last night. I simply advised everyone that whosoever chose to scream into the air vents that night would have a lunch tray dropped on their heads because I would be too tired to know otherwise. That garnered a few shocked looks and a comment that “if the preacher’s threatening, she must mean it,” and it was quite surprisingly effective. Two girls sheepishly asked this morning if I’d slept well, and I found my culprits. All is forgiven☺
--
It seems I went through a very sluggish spell – not quite sick – and I haven’t written for several days. I also see that by the time some of these letters make it home, I will possibly be home already. The days are flying – not in all ways, but in many. I think some letters I won’t manage to reply to until after I’m out. No matter how many supplies I get, it’s still not quite enough, but that’s also a good problem to have – it means I am loved, and that gives me great hope here. So many of the women get no mail, and several have no one to write to at all.
--
Yesterday at 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning while they were distributing razors, I decided to try shaving. It’s not easy or appealing in one’s cell, but it was t-shirt exchange day later on, and I could use a dirty one to clean the floor afterwards. And I could handle the “Mountain Woman-Look” only about three weeks. So, they give you a few sample size packets of cream, which are a bit tough to tear open that early in the a.m., and a disposable razor. I discovered quickly that the water and suds flies everywhere and also unfortunately stains the stainless steel, but I guess the quality of the job was about as good as at home.
--
In the mail this morning I received two disconcerting letters, and I was surprised they got past the screeners. The first was from a Neo-Nazi/anti-Semitic/Anarchist group, many crinkled photocopied pages with swastikas and red and black ink, the other was an inmate from a prison in Texas who said he wanted a “pen pal” but his letter sounded much more like a personal ad. Both letters proclaimed that we had so much in common. Oh, Lordy, I just don’t think so, and don’t plan to respond to either of them. Since both letters contained contraband (staples, pamphlets, and letters from another inmate) my cellmates thought perhaps the guards downstairs have give up trying to screen my mail.
--
I don’t think I wrote earlier about being taken out for my Federal Bureau of Prison physical when I got here – they put me in full shackles and a matching orange prison-issue coat, and I went in the back of a heavily armored paddy wagon – this was fine albeit bumpy. The fun part came when walking through the hospital in full get-up, realizing this is quite a shock to the families and elderly women – so – I tried to smile and say, “Oh, don’t mind me!”
More yelling and screaming last night – a few girls have sidled up to the airvents in their rooms and use them as Alpen horns, in which they call “Ricola!” – just like the cough drop commercial – and I finally fell asleep last night promising myself I’d accidentally drop my breakfast tray on them in the morning – oatmeal and all – but I was feeling more charitable/sluggish by then and anyway we had grits, which I do like here.
At the moment I am waiting for laundry call – sheets and pillowcases today – and reflecting on taking pleasure in simple routines. For example, I love laundry call, trading in old stuff for new. I really like uniform exchange, since by then we’ve been wearing ours for 3-4 days straight and they can stand up on their own. Underwear exchange is usually mjore of a gamble, hard to get anything that fits since they’re all so old and worn out. Sheets and towels though are alright.
I am happy to report nearly all the mail has gotten through – and I get a little slip of paper to sign when something doesn’t make it through inspection. Usually the problem is photos glued to a card, or something similar. I also heard back that my early general letters have been posted to my blog and e-mailed around. In the meantime, if I haven’t said earlier, I’ve received so many beautiful letters here I would like to try to do a book on them. I don’t know if it will work, but I’ll see.
Last night I read most of 1st Kings, I don’t know how long it's been since doing so. I’m reading it in “Free on the Inside” the Prison Fellowship Bible, which is a paraphrase edition for new Christians. It’s actually not too bad, written at about the 8th grade level, which is closer to where I think most liberal theology books should be written. 8th grade is the reading level of most of the U.S. The trouble with liberal theologians is that there is that they’re usually PhD’s writing to impress other PhD’s in order to get tenure, etc. which generally excludes most other potential readers. Meanwhile, one thing Fundamentalism does well is produce a lot of reading material with simple, down-to-earth vocabulary. I venture that it is easier for most people to be convinced by an argument when they can understand the argument. So, I think this may be one more reason liberal churches continue to decline. It is a class issue as a politics issue, and here I am afraid liberals have much to account for.
--
Saturday and Sunday have been quite good – I was excited to see Catherine and catch up on news from school and “talk seminary” for a while – a relief! - and then to see Tom and Erin this morning and share some good laughs about the kitties going to the vet, and the upcoming chili cookoff, and about a Bible study that may have gone worse than the the ones around here usually do (though in the story I heard, not due to the teacher’s ignorance – this time it was a student in histronics). And a call home and hearing my niece Gracie’s giggling questions about life in jail. (I told her it was mostly like high school –true!) The rest of the weekend I slept in and napped plenty – which in retrospect was probable an excellent idea – I’ve manage so far to avoid a violent respiratory and gastrointestinal cold that’s hit nearly everyone else. I’ve also been washing my hands like a maniac.
A woman came in for a weekend sentence, and had some kind of catatonic anxiety attack. The guards came and took her out in a wheelchair. We had some pretty obnoxious rubber-neckers, so our pod got locked down for awhile, too. Another woman came in later, probably paranoid schizophrenic I guessed from our brief chat – later vomited in her cell and the guards took her away.
Just now I had the opportunity to debate the merits of half a bag of Jolly Ranchers versus a Milky Way bar. While incarcerated, Jolly Ranchers are a trade currency (trade food with cellmates, buy erases, favors, etc.) that is easily divisible, plus they double up as cough drops. Meanwhile a Milky Way is … chocolate, good in its own right. (Snickers, my first choice, wasn’t an option in the negotiations). I received the Ranchers as a thank you for tending a girl in the next cell with a raging toothache with all my commissary acetaminophen packets. My lunch table-mate likes Ranchers for a reason I forgot to mention earlier, that is, they are excellent “ammo.” They have a connect-to-target satisfaction level roughly akin to paintball, I think.
--No TV this evening. I enjoy the quiet enough, but its not fun being blamed for things we can’t help. There’s been a mechanical problem with the electromagnetic cell doors – they read as open while in real life they’re closed – so sometimes this past week, we’ve been stuck inside our cells when the command post thinks they let us out, and other times, like now, they yell at us for having our doors open when they’re closed tighter than anything we could do to open them. Hence, the no TV as punishment. We’ve gone through this with every shift of guards, but no luck yet. You’d think that in maximum security they’d want the cell doors to work…
After 2 weeks, I’m still waiting to get to the library. We’ve only been allowed once, but it was later in the evening after medical rounds when most of the readers were already in bed. (Once you go in your cell at night, you can’t get back out). Meanwhile, we get to go to the “gym” nearly every day. I think the difference is that there’s security cameras and a window from the command post to the gym, and there’s nothing for security in the library, so they have to send a guard. So if a guard doesn’t want to go, we don’t go. Sounds like most guards don’t. I think it would make the most sense if each pod got even 1 hour a week to get new books, at a time we could count on. The library and AA are the only two truly rehabilitative programs they offer here.
--
Meanwhile in happier news, I had a wonderfully quiet night last night. I simply advised everyone that whosoever chose to scream into the air vents that night would have a lunch tray dropped on their heads because I would be too tired to know otherwise. That garnered a few shocked looks and a comment that “if the preacher’s threatening, she must mean it,” and it was quite surprisingly effective. Two girls sheepishly asked this morning if I’d slept well, and I found my culprits. All is forgiven☺
--
It seems I went through a very sluggish spell – not quite sick – and I haven’t written for several days. I also see that by the time some of these letters make it home, I will possibly be home already. The days are flying – not in all ways, but in many. I think some letters I won’t manage to reply to until after I’m out. No matter how many supplies I get, it’s still not quite enough, but that’s also a good problem to have – it means I am loved, and that gives me great hope here. So many of the women get no mail, and several have no one to write to at all.
--
Yesterday at 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning while they were distributing razors, I decided to try shaving. It’s not easy or appealing in one’s cell, but it was t-shirt exchange day later on, and I could use a dirty one to clean the floor afterwards. And I could handle the “Mountain Woman-Look” only about three weeks. So, they give you a few sample size packets of cream, which are a bit tough to tear open that early in the a.m., and a disposable razor. I discovered quickly that the water and suds flies everywhere and also unfortunately stains the stainless steel, but I guess the quality of the job was about as good as at home.
--
In the mail this morning I received two disconcerting letters, and I was surprised they got past the screeners. The first was from a Neo-Nazi/anti-Semitic/Anarchist group, many crinkled photocopied pages with swastikas and red and black ink, the other was an inmate from a prison in Texas who said he wanted a “pen pal” but his letter sounded much more like a personal ad. Both letters proclaimed that we had so much in common. Oh, Lordy, I just don’t think so, and don’t plan to respond to either of them. Since both letters contained contraband (staples, pamphlets, and letters from another inmate) my cellmates thought perhaps the guards downstairs have give up trying to screen my mail.
--
I don’t think I wrote earlier about being taken out for my Federal Bureau of Prison physical when I got here – they put me in full shackles and a matching orange prison-issue coat, and I went in the back of a heavily armored paddy wagon – this was fine albeit bumpy. The fun part came when walking through the hospital in full get-up, realizing this is quite a shock to the families and elderly women – so – I tried to smile and say, “Oh, don’t mind me!”
Friday, April 18, 2008
Notes from My Cell, April 18
Once again it is almost too cold in the cell. I've got my shawl-blanket wrapped up tight around me. The sky outside is a dismal gray, as if caught between rain and shine. I'm almost done with the latest novel-- a newer twist on Don Giovanni-- what if he were an eighty-year-old writer in today's South Africa? What if his mother had Alzheimer's and he went to visit her in the nursing home, and he was painfully aware of losing her? What if all his loves were against the backdrop of being an anti-Apartheid white Boer during all the troubles? What would he have to say about the current Iraq war? It's a rather good read, Before I Forget, by Andre Brink. I see it was once spoken of on NPR. I am worried though what book I'll read next; I think I've run through the stack of good ones.
---
They took Suzie away in the middle of the night, poor girl, to put on the deportation plane back to Slovakia. Her whole family lives here now, and she's a young girl. Now I begin to wonder if they didn't take my Syrian friend off like that also. I'd hoped perhaps her husband had simply come in the middle of the night with bond money after all. I guess I will never know.
Off went Nadine, too, on short notice this morning- the prison bus came and picked up four women. Another bus was already through earlier this week, but I believe that one was federal prisons and this one is state prisons. Tanya got released after court today. She is also quite young and she was so gravely repentant while she was here. It all feels rather empty now.
Last night there was quite a loud fight, for some time, and it was so much wild yelling I couldn't understand any of it from my cell upstairs. Then, after nightly lockdown, a few girls with too much sugar in their systems were yelling to each other through the air vents. Not very enjoyable for the rest of us. Apparently they exhausted themselves by morning- it was pretty quiet most of the day.
There's a bad cough going around downstairs and I'm tempted not to be out in the dayroom much. Everyone is being rather germophobic too, so there is some tension, especially directed at the woman who appears to have brought in the cold.
Tonight so far, after supper, is far more subdued than last. Two girls are in lockdown for fighting. 23 hours a day--ouch. I forgot to mention I haven't been allowed a visit to the library yet. I keep asking. Otherwise, one could do worse than the Bible and the Qur'an as companions this next several days.
---
The guard just came in and put another girl on lockdown for five days. Poor girl--she made a hair tie from the top of her sock, she said it was falling off anyway--still, it's considered destruction of federal property. She has not had much luck in her time here. Meanwhile, everyone's calling the 63 year old "Old Lady," and I haven't been able to make them stop. She is recovering from her usual habit of Clonepin, Percocet, and vodka. I understand its a bad combination for driving. I hope they will finally accept her, she is sweet, and also quite lonely.
The Friday night sandwich special is about to arrive, and someone's aunt sent about 100 gallons of Koolaid mix through commissary. This is grounds for a party. Time to go.
LeAnne
---
They took Suzie away in the middle of the night, poor girl, to put on the deportation plane back to Slovakia. Her whole family lives here now, and she's a young girl. Now I begin to wonder if they didn't take my Syrian friend off like that also. I'd hoped perhaps her husband had simply come in the middle of the night with bond money after all. I guess I will never know.
Off went Nadine, too, on short notice this morning- the prison bus came and picked up four women. Another bus was already through earlier this week, but I believe that one was federal prisons and this one is state prisons. Tanya got released after court today. She is also quite young and she was so gravely repentant while she was here. It all feels rather empty now.
Last night there was quite a loud fight, for some time, and it was so much wild yelling I couldn't understand any of it from my cell upstairs. Then, after nightly lockdown, a few girls with too much sugar in their systems were yelling to each other through the air vents. Not very enjoyable for the rest of us. Apparently they exhausted themselves by morning- it was pretty quiet most of the day.
There's a bad cough going around downstairs and I'm tempted not to be out in the dayroom much. Everyone is being rather germophobic too, so there is some tension, especially directed at the woman who appears to have brought in the cold.
Tonight so far, after supper, is far more subdued than last. Two girls are in lockdown for fighting. 23 hours a day--ouch. I forgot to mention I haven't been allowed a visit to the library yet. I keep asking. Otherwise, one could do worse than the Bible and the Qur'an as companions this next several days.
---
The guard just came in and put another girl on lockdown for five days. Poor girl--she made a hair tie from the top of her sock, she said it was falling off anyway--still, it's considered destruction of federal property. She has not had much luck in her time here. Meanwhile, everyone's calling the 63 year old "Old Lady," and I haven't been able to make them stop. She is recovering from her usual habit of Clonepin, Percocet, and vodka. I understand its a bad combination for driving. I hope they will finally accept her, she is sweet, and also quite lonely.
The Friday night sandwich special is about to arrive, and someone's aunt sent about 100 gallons of Koolaid mix through commissary. This is grounds for a party. Time to go.
LeAnne
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Notes from My Cell, April 16
A reminder: a peace vigil will take place for LeAnne and peace, every Wednesday from 5:15 in the CTS Hilton Chapel. (The small chapel on the first floor.) There will be someone there for at least an hour, and the chapel will be open after that.
------------------------------------------
4/16: My hand hurts and I don't feel much like writing but my brain is busy so it might be good to do so anyway.
Today I sent off some cartoons I'd drawn about life in jail, which I'll hopefully copy onto the website eventually. The first was pictures of what we eat (beanie-weenie, beanie-without-weenie, and beanie-with-mystery-meat) plus a prison version of upside-down cake (frosting on the bottom so it doesn't stick to the stack of trays.) I also did one of all possible party costumes you could construct from prison-issue clothing and linens (a pillow case makes a good tail for a tiger, since you're already in orange and black). This las one I sent to Mom for her 60th birthday card, since she has always liked my cartoon characters. Her birthday is the 18th.
I also wrote several letters by dictation/translation for our immigrant friends here who are still without representation- so we're writing to legal aid agencies. This was a multi-national effort, since I'm rather slow on both Spanish translation and legal options for immigrants. So my Romanian [sp?] friend helped me with the legal part and both Mexican friends and I pieced the rest together. I also wrote a letter for my Korean friend whose American husband of 30 years seems to have forgotten all about her. No phone, visits, or letters in all this time, and no money for comissary to get shampoo and such. So we quit writing letters to the husband and are now getting legal help for her directly. Meanwhile, of course they threaten to deport her. What does a 63 year old woman do back in Korea when she's been gone 30 years? All her family is gone. So it is a difficult situation. Meanwhile, the husband of one of my Mexican friends found a lawyer, but the lawyer took their money and didn't work on the case. Now they have nothing to pay a new lawyer.
4/17: Comissary arrived today, and we stood on the floor with our pillow cases like eager trick or treaters. I have envelopes for me, and moe pencils. Another notepad didn't come through. I think I can make do, though, with the backs of received letters. I order as many as I can but still run out of something by the end of the week for letter-writing. In the meantime, we'll hold a party tonight with our snack goodies- one woman who his here is honoring the birthday of her fiance, who died one month ago tomorrow, from a drug overdose. So we will all contribute something- a sort of potluck.
Last night I went to "Celebrate Recovery" which is an Evangelical 12 step/8 principle program which kind of covers all the ailments and addictions at once- from alcohol and narcotics to food, anger, and workaholism- the latter being why I thought I might sign up. I did include some good, intensive life-sharing, which I think really benefitted everyone, and it also made me a little more empathetic for the Fundamentalist laywoman running the program. I do understand that religious traditions based on controland rigidity are very appealing to people who feel their lives are out of control. Many of the women here said they need it, so I am becoming more careful in how I criticize it. But I also still challenge words of intolerance- attacks on LGBTQ people and people of other faiths.
All cozy now in my cell and working on getting these letters written! Today, since the guards have not yet confiscated my "excess correspondence" as contraband (gee) I've lined up all my greeting cards on the top bunk. Church (UCHP) has sent so many cheerful floral cards, it is now like having a garden in my little cell. I'll try to get away with it as long as I can. It is helping to dispel my "mid-sentence grouchies." All the letters do help keep my spirits up, I realize this most over the weekend when there's no mail. Some of the women truly never get mail. I try to share the poetry, the pictures, etc., at breakfast mail call, and I hope to collect "out-dates" for some of the women who will be here later than me.
There is an A&E documentary on Matthew Shephard on tv now, and many of the girls are rapt with attention to the screen. This is good. There is quite a bit of homophobia here, not just from the Prison Fellowship folks but among the women. Also rampant among guards and inmates is a dislike of immigrants- where they are mostly ignored by the other women, or of the kind where immigrants as a whole are maligned but the few here are made known to be exceptions. Those of us who can, help with the letter writing, translation, and sharing comissary goods.
I found out in a letter from a classmate yesterday that there is a weekly peace vigil at the seminary while I am away. I don't know who has organized it or who's attending, but I am very touched by it. It is good to know not only that I am loved and remembered, but also that folks "outside" are working on the cause for which I've gone to jail in the first place.
We are guessing these days perhaps the food has a sedative effect- it is heavily starch and fat, and veggie/fruit servings quite scarce. But most of us are pretty subdued this week, going back to bed as soon as wwe finish eating, and tough to wake up in the morning. I imagine we're "sugar-crashing." Although the younger ones might be quite "sugared-up" for the weekend, having ordered extra comissary.
I've drawn another little picture just now, of my cell, as it might look when you walk in the door. You'll have to picture me in a blanket shawl as usual, either writing at the desk or on the bunk. The hop/swing out seat can be comfortable enough for a while, but the bed allows more space to lay out papers. [I put the picture up on the bulletin board of CTS Room 133. –David]
Please pray for my friend in court today, trying to get into rehab and get her child and cats back. Please pray for the women who are forgotten here, for the immigrants, and for those scared to be here, and the women who cry by the phones. Peace to you and I hope to see you soon.
LeAnne
------------------------------------------
4/16: My hand hurts and I don't feel much like writing but my brain is busy so it might be good to do so anyway.
Today I sent off some cartoons I'd drawn about life in jail, which I'll hopefully copy onto the website eventually. The first was pictures of what we eat (beanie-weenie, beanie-without-weenie, and beanie-with-mystery-meat) plus a prison version of upside-down cake (frosting on the bottom so it doesn't stick to the stack of trays.) I also did one of all possible party costumes you could construct from prison-issue clothing and linens (a pillow case makes a good tail for a tiger, since you're already in orange and black). This las one I sent to Mom for her 60th birthday card, since she has always liked my cartoon characters. Her birthday is the 18th.
I also wrote several letters by dictation/translation for our immigrant friends here who are still without representation- so we're writing to legal aid agencies. This was a multi-national effort, since I'm rather slow on both Spanish translation and legal options for immigrants. So my Romanian [sp?] friend helped me with the legal part and both Mexican friends and I pieced the rest together. I also wrote a letter for my Korean friend whose American husband of 30 years seems to have forgotten all about her. No phone, visits, or letters in all this time, and no money for comissary to get shampoo and such. So we quit writing letters to the husband and are now getting legal help for her directly. Meanwhile, of course they threaten to deport her. What does a 63 year old woman do back in Korea when she's been gone 30 years? All her family is gone. So it is a difficult situation. Meanwhile, the husband of one of my Mexican friends found a lawyer, but the lawyer took their money and didn't work on the case. Now they have nothing to pay a new lawyer.
4/17: Comissary arrived today, and we stood on the floor with our pillow cases like eager trick or treaters. I have envelopes for me, and moe pencils. Another notepad didn't come through. I think I can make do, though, with the backs of received letters. I order as many as I can but still run out of something by the end of the week for letter-writing. In the meantime, we'll hold a party tonight with our snack goodies- one woman who his here is honoring the birthday of her fiance, who died one month ago tomorrow, from a drug overdose. So we will all contribute something- a sort of potluck.
Last night I went to "Celebrate Recovery" which is an Evangelical 12 step/8 principle program which kind of covers all the ailments and addictions at once- from alcohol and narcotics to food, anger, and workaholism- the latter being why I thought I might sign up. I did include some good, intensive life-sharing, which I think really benefitted everyone, and it also made me a little more empathetic for the Fundamentalist laywoman running the program. I do understand that religious traditions based on controland rigidity are very appealing to people who feel their lives are out of control. Many of the women here said they need it, so I am becoming more careful in how I criticize it. But I also still challenge words of intolerance- attacks on LGBTQ people and people of other faiths.
All cozy now in my cell and working on getting these letters written! Today, since the guards have not yet confiscated my "excess correspondence" as contraband (gee) I've lined up all my greeting cards on the top bunk. Church (UCHP) has sent so many cheerful floral cards, it is now like having a garden in my little cell. I'll try to get away with it as long as I can. It is helping to dispel my "mid-sentence grouchies." All the letters do help keep my spirits up, I realize this most over the weekend when there's no mail. Some of the women truly never get mail. I try to share the poetry, the pictures, etc., at breakfast mail call, and I hope to collect "out-dates" for some of the women who will be here later than me.
There is an A&E documentary on Matthew Shephard on tv now, and many of the girls are rapt with attention to the screen. This is good. There is quite a bit of homophobia here, not just from the Prison Fellowship folks but among the women. Also rampant among guards and inmates is a dislike of immigrants- where they are mostly ignored by the other women, or of the kind where immigrants as a whole are maligned but the few here are made known to be exceptions. Those of us who can, help with the letter writing, translation, and sharing comissary goods.
I found out in a letter from a classmate yesterday that there is a weekly peace vigil at the seminary while I am away. I don't know who has organized it or who's attending, but I am very touched by it. It is good to know not only that I am loved and remembered, but also that folks "outside" are working on the cause for which I've gone to jail in the first place.
We are guessing these days perhaps the food has a sedative effect- it is heavily starch and fat, and veggie/fruit servings quite scarce. But most of us are pretty subdued this week, going back to bed as soon as wwe finish eating, and tough to wake up in the morning. I imagine we're "sugar-crashing." Although the younger ones might be quite "sugared-up" for the weekend, having ordered extra comissary.
I've drawn another little picture just now, of my cell, as it might look when you walk in the door. You'll have to picture me in a blanket shawl as usual, either writing at the desk or on the bunk. The hop/swing out seat can be comfortable enough for a while, but the bed allows more space to lay out papers. [I put the picture up on the bulletin board of CTS Room 133. –David]
Please pray for my friend in court today, trying to get into rehab and get her child and cats back. Please pray for the women who are forgotten here, for the immigrants, and for those scared to be here, and the women who cry by the phones. Peace to you and I hope to see you soon.
LeAnne
Monday, April 14, 2008
Notes from My Cell, April 14
[Letter to my friend Jay, living in San Francisco]
I miss real coffee like you wouldn’t believe. Not the caffeine really, but the whole experience- the heat, the smell, the taste…especially a good beany cup. I think I’ll like your neighborhood [I had written about the international varieties of coffee within walking distance from my new home.]
Thank you for the Bonhoeffer & the hymn texts, prayers, and liturgy--would you believe I haven’t heard music in two weeks? Meanwhile, I noticed that when I read the stanza, and found myself humming, then singing along. Meanwhile, the Fundamentalist church ladies who come in tried to sing, but it was another one of the “Jesus is my sex symbol” songs- "yes lord oh yes lord…Amen"? Eew. A few girls were smirking.
Just now I was thinking of Bonhoeffer’s imprisonment & noting the differences between then & now--such as a blaring television in the background. I suppose he & I both have the same difficulty getting visitors, & we’ve both been helped by an understanding/sympathetic guard. Of course, I know when I’m getting out of here. That is good. He got more books. Not so good. Finished a few books of his own- um, well, he was there longer? (wink) And yet I wonder, what will become of my time here? What will it mean a year from now? Or fifty?
I am looking out of my cell window at a beautiful blue sky and know spring is on the way. I’m glad to get out in May.
Monday is the day when lots of folks go home, held for the weekend. Now we are a quieter bunch. I hope my former cell mate is doing well, staying out of trouble- she is a good person at heart but caught up in a lot… I gave her my address. There are a few girls here I hope to stay connected with.
I’m documenting cases of medical negligence by the night nurse here. Details to follow… Must run! Peace to you!
Le Anne
___________
Letter dated 4/16-
Greetings Jay!
While its on my mind I thought I would write about accessibility issues here in jail.
We have a 63 year old lady who came in two days ago and has a lot of trouble with mobility (to be honest I thought she must be much older because so many women I know her age are much healthier). She has seemed quite disoriented as well. For some reason she didn’t get sent to the medical ward, which is an easier place to be, so we’ve been learning how to look out for her here.
I think that’s about the time I noticed that there are several accessibility features built into this cellblock. Half the doors on the lower level are wider doors and wider cells with larger, lower sinks and bigger beds (although there’s still a top bunk.)
Some of the stools/tables are higher & some are lower. We have an accessible shower with a ramp and one smaller, "traditional" shower. In some places there are extra grip bars. Huh! I guess the place was built in the 90’s or later, if I remember right, and perhaps it had to comply to ADA.
I hadn’t thought much before of older or more physically challenged people in jail. Sadly, most of the women in our “pod” (unit) who are older than I are here for multiple DUIs. The younger women are generally here for drug possession & related crimes.
I went to an AA meeting last night, just to check it out (I don’t know if that’s allowed-but I went anyway.) I thought it was pretty good actually. Several of the women from my pod went. I read the “Blue Book” a few years ago on retreat at a monastery, and I came across it in their library—and also found it pretty good. I’ve been thinking of getting a chapter together for seminary students, and/or perhaps clergy. I saw up close enough heavy drinking and its effects (and causes, I might add) at the Lutheran school to get pretty scared and cut back a good deal myself. Even now at CTS, when there’s a heavy drinking party I tend to avoid it. I do see that it is quite hard & risky really for a seminarian to admit to addiction & seek help. That’s why I think a specialized AA meeting would help. The students who I know are in AA & who I admire much are graduating this year. I will see if I can recruit other potential leaders who have some experience with the programs. And also look for good safe places where it could be held around the neighborhood.
Enough for now I suppose & time to help a girl write some letters in search of a better lawyer.
I miss real coffee like you wouldn’t believe. Not the caffeine really, but the whole experience- the heat, the smell, the taste…especially a good beany cup. I think I’ll like your neighborhood [I had written about the international varieties of coffee within walking distance from my new home.]
Thank you for the Bonhoeffer & the hymn texts, prayers, and liturgy--would you believe I haven’t heard music in two weeks? Meanwhile, I noticed that when I read the stanza, and found myself humming, then singing along. Meanwhile, the Fundamentalist church ladies who come in tried to sing, but it was another one of the “Jesus is my sex symbol” songs- "yes lord oh yes lord…Amen"? Eew. A few girls were smirking.
Just now I was thinking of Bonhoeffer’s imprisonment & noting the differences between then & now--such as a blaring television in the background. I suppose he & I both have the same difficulty getting visitors, & we’ve both been helped by an understanding/sympathetic guard. Of course, I know when I’m getting out of here. That is good. He got more books. Not so good. Finished a few books of his own- um, well, he was there longer? (wink) And yet I wonder, what will become of my time here? What will it mean a year from now? Or fifty?
I am looking out of my cell window at a beautiful blue sky and know spring is on the way. I’m glad to get out in May.
Monday is the day when lots of folks go home, held for the weekend. Now we are a quieter bunch. I hope my former cell mate is doing well, staying out of trouble- she is a good person at heart but caught up in a lot… I gave her my address. There are a few girls here I hope to stay connected with.
I’m documenting cases of medical negligence by the night nurse here. Details to follow… Must run! Peace to you!
Le Anne
___________
Letter dated 4/16-
Greetings Jay!
While its on my mind I thought I would write about accessibility issues here in jail.
We have a 63 year old lady who came in two days ago and has a lot of trouble with mobility (to be honest I thought she must be much older because so many women I know her age are much healthier). She has seemed quite disoriented as well. For some reason she didn’t get sent to the medical ward, which is an easier place to be, so we’ve been learning how to look out for her here.
I think that’s about the time I noticed that there are several accessibility features built into this cellblock. Half the doors on the lower level are wider doors and wider cells with larger, lower sinks and bigger beds (although there’s still a top bunk.)
Some of the stools/tables are higher & some are lower. We have an accessible shower with a ramp and one smaller, "traditional" shower. In some places there are extra grip bars. Huh! I guess the place was built in the 90’s or later, if I remember right, and perhaps it had to comply to ADA.
I hadn’t thought much before of older or more physically challenged people in jail. Sadly, most of the women in our “pod” (unit) who are older than I are here for multiple DUIs. The younger women are generally here for drug possession & related crimes.
I went to an AA meeting last night, just to check it out (I don’t know if that’s allowed-but I went anyway.) I thought it was pretty good actually. Several of the women from my pod went. I read the “Blue Book” a few years ago on retreat at a monastery, and I came across it in their library—and also found it pretty good. I’ve been thinking of getting a chapter together for seminary students, and/or perhaps clergy. I saw up close enough heavy drinking and its effects (and causes, I might add) at the Lutheran school to get pretty scared and cut back a good deal myself. Even now at CTS, when there’s a heavy drinking party I tend to avoid it. I do see that it is quite hard & risky really for a seminarian to admit to addiction & seek help. That’s why I think a specialized AA meeting would help. The students who I know are in AA & who I admire much are graduating this year. I will see if I can recruit other potential leaders who have some experience with the programs. And also look for good safe places where it could be held around the neighborhood.
Enough for now I suppose & time to help a girl write some letters in search of a better lawyer.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Notes from My Cell, April 11
[An activist couple sent me an Emma Goldman portrait/history greeting card, which I translated out loud in Spanish for our few ICE detainee friends; the card itself was so popular among the women I didn’t see it for a few days. It finally came back today – was stuck in someone’s Bible.
Most of us do go to Bible Study and “Church,” but it’s pretty clear both of these are led by horribly under-trained and fundamentalist volunteers. Except for their sweet suburban mom faces, not a lot of love or real Gospel. It’s also definitively geared toward conversion, which is what some girls are asking for – interesting to me to see who enjoys this and who doesn’t. I’ve been thinking a lot about how to capture fundamentalist persuasion and couple it with a more welcoming gospel of love and justice. For example, could you couple the style of Joel Osteen with lessons of good/just stewardship of money and your whole person, or a discussion on systems of poverty?
Today we had ‘Shakedown’ which is when they pull apart your cell and also frisk you good looking for contraband. Fortunately, I’m good to go, they only confiscated one of my pencils, which was really two golf pencils taped together.
Fortunately, I arrived some time after they ended the practice of strip AND cavity searches during shakedown, although they still strip search when you first come in. It’s also good to be aware that cameras and guards – male and female – are watching everything you do, at all hours of the day. Even when using the toilet and shower, and changing clothes. I’ve adopted a manner of modesty-plus-gutsiness, and it doesn’t buy me as much now. It helps to remember at that point, I am just a number.
I saw a cake fight tonight, which is actually round three over about as many days. Each day we do get dessert, a nice surprise, one meal is two cookies, and the other meal is cake. So, one woman was eating bits of the other’s cake while she wasn’t watching. So the ‘victim’ grabbed the rest of the cake and smooshed it in her face, like they do at obnoxious weddings. So, when the next cake dinner came around, the “thief” grabbed a handful and shoved it down the front of the other’s shirt. On round three, she returned the favor. I was laughing so hard I fell off my stool. Glad they didn’t go for the mashed potatoes, and also that they’re good friends.
I confess that I have eaten far too many of the “Nutty Bars” since they arrived in commissary on Thursday – healthy food is hard to come by. Supper is at 4:00 PM, so it’s easy to get hungry at night, and we’re not supposed to take food from dinner back to our cells. (Fortunately, the cookie I did abscond with after lunch I did eat BEFORE shakedown.)
Would you believe I actually spent the weekend napping and reading books for fun in BED? How long has it been? Probably not since I started seminary, with the exception of the Harry Potter books this summer. Usually, I have enough school reading to do that if I do have free time, I don’t want to do more, so that was a nice perk.
I actually don’t mind my cell, it does offer a certain “monastic” function that I was hoping for – just a bed and a desk and the sink/toilet. I do find it a quiet alternative to the dayroom, which has a usually loud TV and everyone playing cards; so when I feel like I’ve been social enough for the day, I head up to read, write, or nap. The next project is to read the entire Quran through, and perhaps all of Paul – the latter at the suggestion of the new chaplain (who, by comparison to the regular volunteers I think actually is pretty good) who suggested as a young pastor I might find more in Paul’s writings as a prisoner among prisoners sharing and thinking Gospel. We’ll see what happens.
4/11/08 – Every night I am here I watch girls cry, usually on the phone, usually because someone hasn’t come to bond them out. This is a pervasive strain in the unit, the issue of bond. The people who are here, for the most part, are people who can’t afford to not be here. My roommate, who finally got out today, went through a terribly painful ordeal as her family went to each member and friend, borrowing money, expecting them to make it back here before each deadline, still not enough, pawning more possessions, again not enough, dissolving into tears after being so hopeful day after day, that they’d already packed. Another girl was given rising bail - $2000 the day of court, $3,000 next, $4,000 the next – or off to prison for the next three years without a chance to go home after sentencing. Federal cases are worse, you may spend years in this building while your case is being processed, and never see the light of day past your six inch window strip. Two girls here are in this predicament. I am extremely lucky. I have a definite ‘out date.’ The chaplain I met with this week suggested I focus my Bible study on Paul, who pastured and taught even as he was a prisoner among prisoners, that this might be a good frame and function for me as a young pastor behind bars. For those of you who pray, pray this week for my young friends in the Holy Name 6, who were treated quite badly in police custody after their nonviolent protest against the war Easter Sunday. They are young, but I think they have admirable convictions. If you can, please contribute to their legal support on my behalf. Many thanks, Peace, LeAnne.
Most of us do go to Bible Study and “Church,” but it’s pretty clear both of these are led by horribly under-trained and fundamentalist volunteers. Except for their sweet suburban mom faces, not a lot of love or real Gospel. It’s also definitively geared toward conversion, which is what some girls are asking for – interesting to me to see who enjoys this and who doesn’t. I’ve been thinking a lot about how to capture fundamentalist persuasion and couple it with a more welcoming gospel of love and justice. For example, could you couple the style of Joel Osteen with lessons of good/just stewardship of money and your whole person, or a discussion on systems of poverty?
Today we had ‘Shakedown’ which is when they pull apart your cell and also frisk you good looking for contraband. Fortunately, I’m good to go, they only confiscated one of my pencils, which was really two golf pencils taped together.
Fortunately, I arrived some time after they ended the practice of strip AND cavity searches during shakedown, although they still strip search when you first come in. It’s also good to be aware that cameras and guards – male and female – are watching everything you do, at all hours of the day. Even when using the toilet and shower, and changing clothes. I’ve adopted a manner of modesty-plus-gutsiness, and it doesn’t buy me as much now. It helps to remember at that point, I am just a number.
I saw a cake fight tonight, which is actually round three over about as many days. Each day we do get dessert, a nice surprise, one meal is two cookies, and the other meal is cake. So, one woman was eating bits of the other’s cake while she wasn’t watching. So the ‘victim’ grabbed the rest of the cake and smooshed it in her face, like they do at obnoxious weddings. So, when the next cake dinner came around, the “thief” grabbed a handful and shoved it down the front of the other’s shirt. On round three, she returned the favor. I was laughing so hard I fell off my stool. Glad they didn’t go for the mashed potatoes, and also that they’re good friends.
I confess that I have eaten far too many of the “Nutty Bars” since they arrived in commissary on Thursday – healthy food is hard to come by. Supper is at 4:00 PM, so it’s easy to get hungry at night, and we’re not supposed to take food from dinner back to our cells. (Fortunately, the cookie I did abscond with after lunch I did eat BEFORE shakedown.)
Would you believe I actually spent the weekend napping and reading books for fun in BED? How long has it been? Probably not since I started seminary, with the exception of the Harry Potter books this summer. Usually, I have enough school reading to do that if I do have free time, I don’t want to do more, so that was a nice perk.
I actually don’t mind my cell, it does offer a certain “monastic” function that I was hoping for – just a bed and a desk and the sink/toilet. I do find it a quiet alternative to the dayroom, which has a usually loud TV and everyone playing cards; so when I feel like I’ve been social enough for the day, I head up to read, write, or nap. The next project is to read the entire Quran through, and perhaps all of Paul – the latter at the suggestion of the new chaplain (who, by comparison to the regular volunteers I think actually is pretty good) who suggested as a young pastor I might find more in Paul’s writings as a prisoner among prisoners sharing and thinking Gospel. We’ll see what happens.
4/11/08 – Every night I am here I watch girls cry, usually on the phone, usually because someone hasn’t come to bond them out. This is a pervasive strain in the unit, the issue of bond. The people who are here, for the most part, are people who can’t afford to not be here. My roommate, who finally got out today, went through a terribly painful ordeal as her family went to each member and friend, borrowing money, expecting them to make it back here before each deadline, still not enough, pawning more possessions, again not enough, dissolving into tears after being so hopeful day after day, that they’d already packed. Another girl was given rising bail - $2000 the day of court, $3,000 next, $4,000 the next – or off to prison for the next three years without a chance to go home after sentencing. Federal cases are worse, you may spend years in this building while your case is being processed, and never see the light of day past your six inch window strip. Two girls here are in this predicament. I am extremely lucky. I have a definite ‘out date.’ The chaplain I met with this week suggested I focus my Bible study on Paul, who pastured and taught even as he was a prisoner among prisoners, that this might be a good frame and function for me as a young pastor behind bars. For those of you who pray, pray this week for my young friends in the Holy Name 6, who were treated quite badly in police custody after their nonviolent protest against the war Easter Sunday. They are young, but I think they have admirable convictions. If you can, please contribute to their legal support on my behalf. Many thanks, Peace, LeAnne.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Notes from My Cell, April 7
We've had beans five times in four days. I'm surprised, I guess, although I know it's cheap filler. I guess fiber is beneficial too since there's very little veggie and lots of starch. If I didn't mention it earlier Bisquick is at almost every meal. Bisquick and blue berries, Bisquick with butter, or jam, or as Chicken ala King.
----
A good film is on tonight's TV and many of the girls are watching. Others are playing cards – the girls from Syria, Mexico and Korea all realized they knew rummy and spades and my translation isn't so necessary there. It's nice not to be needed (too much.) I've been reading through the stack of novels- generally skipping the romances….
---
I don't know if I've written yet about praying the Green Line, like the Rosary, stop after stop along the tracks. Sometimes it's the Metra and sometimes the #15, but mostly the Green Line, through which I see some of the hardest luck places in the city.
Anyway, I miss that ride, but I can pray the cells or even the telephone calls I can't help but overhear from my cell next to the phone. Anguished calls, or calls followed by tears, or anger another party isn't answering. Many pain-filled lives are literally at my door. I do my best to listen and comfort above my own physical difficulties, exhaustion, and sometimes a heavy locked door.
Most have children, most have partners. Some are here because of their partner's drug or crime problems. Others, of course, are here because the problems were primarily their own. All the mothers worry about being inside on a child's birthday. I write all of this because my not having any children or desire for a partner is an endless source of fascination for the other women.
---
Jail is not built for comfort. I remind myself this twelve times a day, mostly while working on loosening that back spasm. It's supposed to be cold and you're supposed to be hungry and tired. My younger friend wants to know if I've cried yet, and is amazed I haven't. She wonders where I get the calm. She's equally fascinated by my wanting to do ministry. I think she may have potential for good things.
----
It was so good to have Easter, my 30th birthday, and the farewell before coming in. Necessary spiritual support. I was reminded of this because of the lousy chapels [chaplains? editor] – where is the Gospel of telling me everything I am up to this point is garbage, and all I need is to choose the clothes of righteousness? Whatever happened to a loving God? Whatever happened to Biblical study rather than choosing "magic words" from a dozen different verses? But I suppose these suburban ladies mean well, and some of the girls really like them. As my young friend says, "You have to understand most of us have lived lives outside of Christ." But the Catholic girl says, "They teach us in there stuff I've never seen in church and their Bible isn't like any Bible I've read."
----
Nearly all the girls play cards, which I am terrible at generally, but I'm about to get better I think. It's neat that cards are the universal language.
----
A lot of my time has gone these past two days to helping the Syrian girl reach her husband or family and find out what's going on. I almost wonder if her husband isn't planning to pick her up. Or perhaps they don't know enough English to set up the phone [collect calling plan through a company that charges exorbitant rates. In GA, it was Beall's Communication, and it took both of my internet-savvy adult sons several attempts to help my husband set this up while I was in prison. ed] And I don't know enough to really help, which is frustrating.
---
A trip outside today, for a physical at the hospital nearby – mandated by the BOP [Bureau of Prisons. ed] So, into full shackles and the paddy wagon for me. This had a startling effect on the citizens of Woodstock who happened to be in the hospital at the same time. I just tried to smile and say, "don't mind me." He guards and the medics I spoke to today were also pretty surprised to hear what I was here for protesting. One was actually quite upset, possibly by another case she's familiar with – a child molester who also only received 30 days. "Why are we locking you up when this girl's whole life has been ruined?" She also apologized for the shackles, saying that if I was seen outside without them, she'd be in trouble. It was an interesting conversation, the guards, the docs, and myself. The guard and I didn't see eye to eye on immigration, but I still felt as though it was a transformative few moments.
##
----
A good film is on tonight's TV and many of the girls are watching. Others are playing cards – the girls from Syria, Mexico and Korea all realized they knew rummy and spades and my translation isn't so necessary there. It's nice not to be needed (too much.) I've been reading through the stack of novels- generally skipping the romances….
---
I don't know if I've written yet about praying the Green Line, like the Rosary, stop after stop along the tracks. Sometimes it's the Metra and sometimes the #15, but mostly the Green Line, through which I see some of the hardest luck places in the city.
Anyway, I miss that ride, but I can pray the cells or even the telephone calls I can't help but overhear from my cell next to the phone. Anguished calls, or calls followed by tears, or anger another party isn't answering. Many pain-filled lives are literally at my door. I do my best to listen and comfort above my own physical difficulties, exhaustion, and sometimes a heavy locked door.
Most have children, most have partners. Some are here because of their partner's drug or crime problems. Others, of course, are here because the problems were primarily their own. All the mothers worry about being inside on a child's birthday. I write all of this because my not having any children or desire for a partner is an endless source of fascination for the other women.
---
Jail is not built for comfort. I remind myself this twelve times a day, mostly while working on loosening that back spasm. It's supposed to be cold and you're supposed to be hungry and tired. My younger friend wants to know if I've cried yet, and is amazed I haven't. She wonders where I get the calm. She's equally fascinated by my wanting to do ministry. I think she may have potential for good things.
----
It was so good to have Easter, my 30th birthday, and the farewell before coming in. Necessary spiritual support. I was reminded of this because of the lousy chapels [chaplains? editor] – where is the Gospel of telling me everything I am up to this point is garbage, and all I need is to choose the clothes of righteousness? Whatever happened to a loving God? Whatever happened to Biblical study rather than choosing "magic words" from a dozen different verses? But I suppose these suburban ladies mean well, and some of the girls really like them. As my young friend says, "You have to understand most of us have lived lives outside of Christ." But the Catholic girl says, "They teach us in there stuff I've never seen in church and their Bible isn't like any Bible I've read."
----
Nearly all the girls play cards, which I am terrible at generally, but I'm about to get better I think. It's neat that cards are the universal language.
----
A lot of my time has gone these past two days to helping the Syrian girl reach her husband or family and find out what's going on. I almost wonder if her husband isn't planning to pick her up. Or perhaps they don't know enough English to set up the phone [collect calling plan through a company that charges exorbitant rates. In GA, it was Beall's Communication, and it took both of my internet-savvy adult sons several attempts to help my husband set this up while I was in prison. ed] And I don't know enough to really help, which is frustrating.
---
A trip outside today, for a physical at the hospital nearby – mandated by the BOP [Bureau of Prisons. ed] So, into full shackles and the paddy wagon for me. This had a startling effect on the citizens of Woodstock who happened to be in the hospital at the same time. I just tried to smile and say, "don't mind me." He guards and the medics I spoke to today were also pretty surprised to hear what I was here for protesting. One was actually quite upset, possibly by another case she's familiar with – a child molester who also only received 30 days. "Why are we locking you up when this girl's whole life has been ruined?" She also apologized for the shackles, saying that if I was seen outside without them, she'd be in trouble. It was an interesting conversation, the guards, the docs, and myself. The guard and I didn't see eye to eye on immigration, but I still felt as though it was a transformative few moments.
##
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Notes from My Cell, April 6
I wonder what I’ll be like when I get out of here. A month without real church, a month of deep muscle aches and no relief, a month of obeying orders. I do try to dignify certain moments, such as looking the guards and male prisoners in the eye when I am receiving a meal or giving the tray back, and saying thank you, rather than complaining about what we’re served.
----
I wear my pencil down too quickly when writing and have ordered more, since I can’t get up to sharpen them in the dayroom at night. It can also be frustrating only being able to switch between lockdown (cell) and dayroom (group) only every four hours during the day.
----
Life happens here so early. I’m up around 5, which is unheard of; we’re done with breakfast @ 6:30 and dayroom and floors are cleaned and showers and then we wait around an hour or two before cell inspection. Lunch at 11 & dinner @ 4, you could almost go to bed by 6pm. The days feel very long this way.
----
I am afraid to be cut off even this long. I could email from Iran & reach everyone, even check my bank account and bills. Hopefully, all will be settled just fine. I know I won’t be forgotten, it’s just anxiety. The next letter, the loss of a visit due to the schedule, and the inability to get stamps for this first week are all taking on too much importance.
---
I’ve been told prison is easier than here by some of the women who’ve been to both. Prison actually offers more freedom, they said, and the chance to go outside, the chance to work. Also they said the food is better, and you get more, and there’s coffee. I do miss coffee. We get a cup of lukewarm instant in the morning. They said commissary is also better – you can get more useful things. One lady has been to most of the prisons around for DUI. She has three kids, grown, and is the nicest “mom” you can imagine. So sweet, I feel sad for her.
---
I had really not anticipated the degree of physical pain and discomfort. After four days only of cold, small steel bench or cold, steel bed with a thin mattress, not much eases the muscle and joint pain. Not even yoga, not even walking. I probably wake up to muscle cramps as often as to night checks. I hope I adapt soon. I’ll get a few Tylenol through commissary and hope it might help, too. Otherwise, I just try to keep moving.
----
I wear my pencil down too quickly when writing and have ordered more, since I can’t get up to sharpen them in the dayroom at night. It can also be frustrating only being able to switch between lockdown (cell) and dayroom (group) only every four hours during the day.
----
Life happens here so early. I’m up around 5, which is unheard of; we’re done with breakfast @ 6:30 and dayroom and floors are cleaned and showers and then we wait around an hour or two before cell inspection. Lunch at 11 & dinner @ 4, you could almost go to bed by 6pm. The days feel very long this way.
----
I am afraid to be cut off even this long. I could email from Iran & reach everyone, even check my bank account and bills. Hopefully, all will be settled just fine. I know I won’t be forgotten, it’s just anxiety. The next letter, the loss of a visit due to the schedule, and the inability to get stamps for this first week are all taking on too much importance.
---
I’ve been told prison is easier than here by some of the women who’ve been to both. Prison actually offers more freedom, they said, and the chance to go outside, the chance to work. Also they said the food is better, and you get more, and there’s coffee. I do miss coffee. We get a cup of lukewarm instant in the morning. They said commissary is also better – you can get more useful things. One lady has been to most of the prisons around for DUI. She has three kids, grown, and is the nicest “mom” you can imagine. So sweet, I feel sad for her.
---
I had really not anticipated the degree of physical pain and discomfort. After four days only of cold, small steel bench or cold, steel bed with a thin mattress, not much eases the muscle and joint pain. Not even yoga, not even walking. I probably wake up to muscle cramps as often as to night checks. I hope I adapt soon. I’ll get a few Tylenol through commissary and hope it might help, too. Otherwise, I just try to keep moving.
Friday, April 04, 2008
On Entering Jail
Thurs-Fri [4/3, 4/4]
The send-off at Foster Ave. Beach was wonderful. A sunny morning at the lake, many friends from Voices, 8th Day Center, SOA Watch, the Catholic Worker and Global Serve, & (Erin) my sister-in-law, and DePaul students, & Don Coleman. Prayers & songs& laying on of hands then into the car for the big trip, & me finishing applications to peacemaker conferences that had arrived in the nick of time. Erin bought me lunch, then we arrived at the courthouse/jail. It's a massive, modern building, curiously close to schools and senior housing. Another good crowd greeted us in the parking lot, the McHenry County peace community as well as our caravan from Chicago. Again prayers & hands; a fortunate meeting with a woman whose husband was exonerated from death row & spent much time inside. She was my best preparation, in just a few moments. Then a march to the doors, some last photos, and we went inside.
Gus and I were separated for the search, and they brought a bag out - off come shoes and jewelry, then with apologies the female guard asked for my clergy collar. I handed it over. My money the peace groups had given went into my commissary account. Then a clothes-on frisking, including under the tongue and between the toes. Then to the showers. The guard gave me a medicine cup. "It's [Ed. note: I believe she meant to say Lindane], don't drink it. It's so you don't get lice in here." So I showered with it and dressed in the scrubs - Guantanamo orange, including the socks and prison-issue underwear: "If it's clean and fits, it's yours." Orange slippers also with thin soles.
Inside looks a little like the customs area of the airport: questions about health, then mug shots and fingerprints. I was fine about all this, and curious. In my mug shots the officer said, "You look a little too happy to be here." "Sorry," I said. "You don't have to be sorry," he said. He wondered if my sentence would put a big dent in school. I replied the professors seemed to be okay with it. Then back to the holding cell until after supper. Green mats on concrete slabs and Sunday School-like yellow painted concrete block. Windows like a fishbowl all around. I later learned that this also served as detox.
It's pretty heavily air-conditioned here and I was glad for the wool blanket they gave me. I learned in a few hours how to fold it into a cocoon that was 2 - 3 layers, but I could still hop out of it when the doors opened. Then supper at 4pm. This was the first really brusque guard I met, since I didn't know the routine, he stood outside the doors and said, "Ya wanna eat or not?" I did, got my tray, a clunky orange spoon, and a cup with koolaid powder in a packet. The water wasn't working in the cell, so I skipped that. Otherwise, I think it was chicken ala king. The lettuce and vinegar salad reminded me of public school lunch: no, really, all of it did. But I was still happy to see it, and it wasn't bad with salt and pepper. Then back to sleep, since I've pulled too many all nighters lately and the adrenaline is finally wearing off.
Then finally upstairs to the cell. I walked with an officer, a Filipina and a Guatemalan woman. We couldn't talk much, but they were deportees. They went to another "pod," then I met mine. Each "pod" is a triangle about 60' on each side, with a common room in the middle and two floors of cells along one side. Common showers and a toilet/sink are on another, and the TV is on a third. There are also board games and paperbacks under the TV. In the center are seven stainless steel picnic tables w/four little round seats each. They get quite painful to sit on after a while. We're out there most hours of the day; otherwise we're on lockdown in our cells. Inside my cell I'm by myself with a little desk and the same stool. There's a thin mat on a steel bunk, and the window is about six inches tall and five feet wide. A little light gets in, and I see we've had two sunny days now. The other benefit of the cell is that I can use a blanket as a shawl, it gets pretty cold. I am looking forward to coming out in May, when it will be warmer and sunnier outside. We also see a patch of sky inside the gym which has a large window, even if it is barred. The gym is an open floor without equipment & we got to go twice yesterday to walk laps. It was a nice change of pace.
I also meant to write that there's a stainless steel toilet/sink/water fountain in each cell, which took some getting used to. Fortunately, guards and fellow prisoners are discreet about when you're using yours, since there's always an audience or at least a large window.
The send-off at Foster Ave. Beach was wonderful. A sunny morning at the lake, many friends from Voices, 8th Day Center, SOA Watch, the Catholic Worker and Global Serve, & (Erin) my sister-in-law, and DePaul students, & Don Coleman. Prayers & songs& laying on of hands then into the car for the big trip, & me finishing applications to peacemaker conferences that had arrived in the nick of time. Erin bought me lunch, then we arrived at the courthouse/jail. It's a massive, modern building, curiously close to schools and senior housing. Another good crowd greeted us in the parking lot, the McHenry County peace community as well as our caravan from Chicago. Again prayers & hands; a fortunate meeting with a woman whose husband was exonerated from death row & spent much time inside. She was my best preparation, in just a few moments. Then a march to the doors, some last photos, and we went inside.
Gus and I were separated for the search, and they brought a bag out - off come shoes and jewelry, then with apologies the female guard asked for my clergy collar. I handed it over. My money the peace groups had given went into my commissary account. Then a clothes-on frisking, including under the tongue and between the toes. Then to the showers. The guard gave me a medicine cup. "It's [Ed. note: I believe she meant to say Lindane], don't drink it. It's so you don't get lice in here." So I showered with it and dressed in the scrubs - Guantanamo orange, including the socks and prison-issue underwear: "If it's clean and fits, it's yours." Orange slippers also with thin soles.
Inside looks a little like the customs area of the airport: questions about health, then mug shots and fingerprints. I was fine about all this, and curious. In my mug shots the officer said, "You look a little too happy to be here." "Sorry," I said. "You don't have to be sorry," he said. He wondered if my sentence would put a big dent in school. I replied the professors seemed to be okay with it. Then back to the holding cell until after supper. Green mats on concrete slabs and Sunday School-like yellow painted concrete block. Windows like a fishbowl all around. I later learned that this also served as detox.
It's pretty heavily air-conditioned here and I was glad for the wool blanket they gave me. I learned in a few hours how to fold it into a cocoon that was 2 - 3 layers, but I could still hop out of it when the doors opened. Then supper at 4pm. This was the first really brusque guard I met, since I didn't know the routine, he stood outside the doors and said, "Ya wanna eat or not?" I did, got my tray, a clunky orange spoon, and a cup with koolaid powder in a packet. The water wasn't working in the cell, so I skipped that. Otherwise, I think it was chicken ala king. The lettuce and vinegar salad reminded me of public school lunch: no, really, all of it did. But I was still happy to see it, and it wasn't bad with salt and pepper. Then back to sleep, since I've pulled too many all nighters lately and the adrenaline is finally wearing off.
Then finally upstairs to the cell. I walked with an officer, a Filipina and a Guatemalan woman. We couldn't talk much, but they were deportees. They went to another "pod," then I met mine. Each "pod" is a triangle about 60' on each side, with a common room in the middle and two floors of cells along one side. Common showers and a toilet/sink are on another, and the TV is on a third. There are also board games and paperbacks under the TV. In the center are seven stainless steel picnic tables w/four little round seats each. They get quite painful to sit on after a while. We're out there most hours of the day; otherwise we're on lockdown in our cells. Inside my cell I'm by myself with a little desk and the same stool. There's a thin mat on a steel bunk, and the window is about six inches tall and five feet wide. A little light gets in, and I see we've had two sunny days now. The other benefit of the cell is that I can use a blanket as a shawl, it gets pretty cold. I am looking forward to coming out in May, when it will be warmer and sunnier outside. We also see a patch of sky inside the gym which has a large window, even if it is barred. The gym is an open floor without equipment & we got to go twice yesterday to walk laps. It was a nice change of pace.
I also meant to write that there's a stainless steel toilet/sink/water fountain in each cell, which took some getting used to. Fortunately, guards and fellow prisoners are discreet about when you're using yours, since there's always an audience or at least a large window.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Trial Update
Greetings everyone,
I just wanted to pass along the latest press release from our trial down here in Columbus, GA. I feel pretty good about the outcome and am looking forward to returning to Chicago in a few days, and also doing additional public speaking and outreach on this issue. As soon as I'm able, I'll send along some of my other thoughts from this weekend.
peace,
Le Anne
Trial Update - SOAW 11 Sentenced to Federal Prison
Take Action!
The SOAW-11 have courageously taken their protest to close the SOA/ WHINSEC onto the grounds of Fort Benning, GA and YOU can help take the message to Washington DC! One way to support the SOAW-11 is to be a part of our legislative campaign.
Is your Representative in Congress one of our supporters?! At the bottom of the Legislative Action Index we have a complete list of all of the HR 1707 cosponsors. If your Representative is not on this list, get involved in our action campaign!
We've made it easy for you to contact your member of Congress and ask them to cosponsor HR 1707, legislation that would suspend operations at the SOA/ WHINSEC and investigate the use of torture manuals and the association of human rights abusers with the school.
- Click here to send an email to your Representative now!
The SOA Watch legislative team has also created a new resource for you to bring this important issue to the national level by making the closure of the SOA/ WHINSEC a part of the 2008 Presidential, House, and Senate elections.
- Check out our Elections Packet with bird-dogging tips, resources, and strategy on how to make the SOA/ WHINSEC a part of this year's elections.
For more information about the Legislative Campaign, contact Pam Bowman, the SOA Watch Legislative Coordinator at pbowman(at)soaw(dot)org or (202) 234-3440. 
I just wanted to pass along the latest press release from our trial down here in Columbus, GA. I feel pretty good about the outcome and am looking forward to returning to Chicago in a few days, and also doing additional public speaking and outreach on this issue. As soon as I'm able, I'll send along some of my other thoughts from this weekend.
peace,
Le Anne
Trial Update - SOAW 11 Sentenced to Federal Prison "I crossed the line at WHINSEC and prayed on the grounds to bring attention to the teaching of torture and assassination. When enough people learn the truth about this school and act to end these practices, the healing can begin."
- Diane Lopez-Hughes, one of the SOAW 11
The Eleven courageous souls that willingly put their freedom and bodies at risk to stand in witness against the SOA/WHINSEC during the November 2007 Vigil have been sentenced to federal prison on charges of "trespassing on a military base".
The trial, which began at 9:00 AM this morning in Columbus, Georgia, took place in a courthouse located just a few miles from Fort Benning, the current site of the SOA/WHINSEC. An institute known around the world for its ties to brutal dictatorships and human rights abuses, which continues to operate, unchallenged by our government but not by the people.
The SOAW 11, ranging in ages from 25 to 78 and from very diverse walks of life, testified today before magistrate G. Malon Faircloth. Ed Lewinson, a 78-year old History professor who in November crossed the line for the fourth time, was sentenced to 90 days in federal prison and a $500 fine. This is his first conviction since in previous years the government refused to prosecute due to his blindness. Tiel Rainelli, a 25 year old activist from Canton, OH who was arrested this past November after climbing over the barbed wire fence blocking the main gate of Fort Benning, announced that in spite of the courts decision to sentence her to 90 days in prison, she would return to protest at the gates of Fort Benning in November.
The SOAW 11 are:
- Joan Anderson, 65, Casper, WY - 30 days and a $500 fine
- Ozone Bhaguan, 33, Duluth, MN - 90 days and no fine
- Le Anne Clausen, 29, Chicago, IL. - 30 days and no fine
- Art Landis, 74, Perkasie, PA - 30 days and no fine
- Ed Lewinson, 78, Newark NJ - 90 days and a $500 fine
- Chris Lieberman, 54, Albuquerque, NM - 60 days and no fine
- Diane Lopez Hughes, 58, Springfield, IL - 45 days and a $500 fine
- Tiel Rainelli, 25, Canton, OH. - 90 days and a $500 fine
- Gus Roddy, 45, Chicago, IL - 30 days and a $500 fine
- Stephen Schweitzer, 45, Binghamtom, NY - 60 days and a $500 fine
- Michelle Yipé, 45, of Argonia, KS - 30 days and a $500 fine
Read more about the SOAW 11...
The SOAW-11 have courageously taken their protest to close the SOA/ WHINSEC onto the grounds of Fort Benning, GA and YOU can help take the message to Washington DC! One way to support the SOAW-11 is to be a part of our legislative campaign.
Is your Representative in Congress one of our supporters?! At the bottom of the Legislative Action Index we have a complete list of all of the HR 1707 cosponsors. If your Representative is not on this list, get involved in our action campaign!
We've made it easy for you to contact your member of Congress and ask them to cosponsor HR 1707, legislation that would suspend operations at the SOA/ WHINSEC and investigate the use of torture manuals and the association of human rights abusers with the school.
- Click here to send an email to your Representative now!
The SOA Watch legislative team has also created a new resource for you to bring this important issue to the national level by making the closure of the SOA/ WHINSEC a part of the 2008 Presidential, House, and Senate elections.
- Check out our Elections Packet with bird-dogging tips, resources, and strategy on how to make the SOA/ WHINSEC a part of this year's elections.
For more information about the Legislative Campaign, contact Pam Bowman, the SOA Watch Legislative Coordinator at pbowman(at)soaw(dot)org or (202) 234-3440.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
The Hope in Harry Potter
There's two good articles I've read about Harry Potter lately, so the topic's been on my mind. (It's amazing I have this kind of time right now to think of things, and also to write them down. I'll miss it when I'm back to the daily grind). One is TIME magazine's 'Person of the Year' profile of J.K. Rowling, a runner-up for the competition, reflecting on her work and its meaning. The other appears in 'The Lutheran' magazine, on why one pastor has no trouble with his grandchildren reading Potter.
I've been writing around the edges of a pit in my stomach that doesn't want to go back to school this coming semester, that doesn't want to do much anything except hide actually--it's a lousy time to be a leader in our student government if you ask me. Our beloved dean is headed on sabbatical, and the other powers that be seem not too interested in the life and wellbeing of students, let alone the neighborhood. In fact, there's a lot of forces that don't seem to be too concerned about the place in which we live and the wellbeing of people. One gets the sense that some would like the students to shut up and go away, in occasionally politer terms. I've been known to say out loud I'd rather take my chances in prison this spring, which is very well likely where I'll be once the SOA trial is over. In the meantime, I've dropped to part-time, and I don't hang out on campus much anymore.
Still, perhaps now is not the time to hide, behind bars or otherwise. And this is where I find great courage in reading and re-reading Potter. (I might also mention the Lord of the Rings, and the Chronicles of Narnia, epics I never thought I'd embrace before recent years). I need to hear, over and over again, that people can go wrong in the pursuit of their perceived good; to recognize it when it's happening in leaders I see, and to take warning it could happen in myself. I need to hear that there is hope in love, and there is hope even when those we love and who love us can't be there to help us. In fact, I might have still remained in seminary up to this point in good part due to reading Potter.
The thing I appreciate most about Rowling's archetypes in Potter is that they do help me to see, bad in good people and good in bad (or, rather, those who are causing harm and fear) people, and to seek to love them however I can. Yes, in my world I can identify Gilderoy Lockharts and Severus Snapes and Lucius Malfoys and any manner of Ministry officials. (I even knew a crooked dean once at another seminary who resembled in face and body and voice and personality and all other things Dolores Umbridge, as portrayed in this summer's fifth movie). I think I might even have encounters with the Dark Lord on occasion. And sometimes I don't know this until I feel the little deaths they've left behind.
But I also know Dumbledores, and Hagrids and Lupins, who love me and seek to help, and whom I love; and I have friends the likes of Hermione and Ron, Luna and house-elves even. Somehow, I am reminded I don't have to face things alone. This is different than being free to abandon the situation altogether. But also, not alone.
I think it could be egotistical to think of myself as Potter, but then, probably every child puts him or herself in Potter's shoes, or at least those children who must face trials in life and survive; those who are not sheltered from most things and are perhaps more vulnerable, but also have a few gifts to recognize and use to help themselves. I need to think of my gifts less as a curse or a source of personal pain, and more as gifts, and to practice them in order to be better and do better. I don't know. There are so many ways to go wrong when trying to use one's gifts well, to function in society, to know the good and work for it.
I hope I can work for the good, and remain good. I hope I will keep the students together, not to dissolve into factions and stir up enmity with each other, because there are so many ways that could happen. I hope not to be alone.
I've been writing around the edges of a pit in my stomach that doesn't want to go back to school this coming semester, that doesn't want to do much anything except hide actually--it's a lousy time to be a leader in our student government if you ask me. Our beloved dean is headed on sabbatical, and the other powers that be seem not too interested in the life and wellbeing of students, let alone the neighborhood. In fact, there's a lot of forces that don't seem to be too concerned about the place in which we live and the wellbeing of people. One gets the sense that some would like the students to shut up and go away, in occasionally politer terms. I've been known to say out loud I'd rather take my chances in prison this spring, which is very well likely where I'll be once the SOA trial is over. In the meantime, I've dropped to part-time, and I don't hang out on campus much anymore.
Still, perhaps now is not the time to hide, behind bars or otherwise. And this is where I find great courage in reading and re-reading Potter. (I might also mention the Lord of the Rings, and the Chronicles of Narnia, epics I never thought I'd embrace before recent years). I need to hear, over and over again, that people can go wrong in the pursuit of their perceived good; to recognize it when it's happening in leaders I see, and to take warning it could happen in myself. I need to hear that there is hope in love, and there is hope even when those we love and who love us can't be there to help us. In fact, I might have still remained in seminary up to this point in good part due to reading Potter.
The thing I appreciate most about Rowling's archetypes in Potter is that they do help me to see, bad in good people and good in bad (or, rather, those who are causing harm and fear) people, and to seek to love them however I can. Yes, in my world I can identify Gilderoy Lockharts and Severus Snapes and Lucius Malfoys and any manner of Ministry officials. (I even knew a crooked dean once at another seminary who resembled in face and body and voice and personality and all other things Dolores Umbridge, as portrayed in this summer's fifth movie). I think I might even have encounters with the Dark Lord on occasion. And sometimes I don't know this until I feel the little deaths they've left behind.
But I also know Dumbledores, and Hagrids and Lupins, who love me and seek to help, and whom I love; and I have friends the likes of Hermione and Ron, Luna and house-elves even. Somehow, I am reminded I don't have to face things alone. This is different than being free to abandon the situation altogether. But also, not alone.
I think it could be egotistical to think of myself as Potter, but then, probably every child puts him or herself in Potter's shoes, or at least those children who must face trials in life and survive; those who are not sheltered from most things and are perhaps more vulnerable, but also have a few gifts to recognize and use to help themselves. I need to think of my gifts less as a curse or a source of personal pain, and more as gifts, and to practice them in order to be better and do better. I don't know. There are so many ways to go wrong when trying to use one's gifts well, to function in society, to know the good and work for it.
I hope I can work for the good, and remain good. I hope I will keep the students together, not to dissolve into factions and stir up enmity with each other, because there are so many ways that could happen. I hope not to be alone.
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