As prison jobs go, for awhile there I had a great one: English as a Second Language (ESL) Teacher and Tutor. I came up with the gig myself, partially just to break down some of the ethnic barriers in this place, and my co-teaching buddy and I gradually developed a curriculum that our supervisor described as the best ESL program he'd seen in his two decades with the Bureau of Prisons. In most so-called educational courses in prison, people skip class a lot, but we had a waiting list trying to get into our program, all Spanish-speaking guys hoping to learn English and better themselves. We worked hard at it -- a secondary benefit was me boning up on my Spanish along the way -- and we felt appreciated. Anglos to our toes, we were accepted by the Latino prisoners, earning Spanish nicknames and status as honorary members of the family. Eventually, we were teaching several classes a day, all without any outside instructors. Friends on the outside sent us used Spanish-English dictionaries, some easy-reading novels, a couple fill-in-the-blank school books, but the rest was all us.
And then....
Out of the blue, you guessed it, we got canned. No explanation, no justification, just canned. When our supervisor spoke to the head of Education about the work we were doing, about how we were the best possible instructors for these courses, she replied, "They're just inmates. We have 1200 others. Pick two and stick them in the job, it won't make a difference." Plug and play. After all, none of us are individuals with any skills or education that might help another guy get a leg up when he finally goes home. Interchangeable parts. That's all we are to her. I'd write more, but the whole thing brings me down.
Monday, September 24, 2018
Monday, September 10, 2018
Creeping Naziism
So the other day all World War II and Holocaust videos disappeared from the library. A friend here says he saw them being shredded -- yes, shredded -- in an industrial strength shredder. After verifying that yes they were destroyed, the rumor spread that a staff member had it done, because he's a Holocaust denier. When pushed on this issue, staff admitted that yes, that's exactly what happened. But it gets weirder. Turns out there was one guy -- now in the hole -- who had been enjoying himself farrrrr (sic) too much while watching a Nazi Concentration Camp clip. I'm at a loss what to make of this. He was punished, so why then destroy all the videos?
Meanwhile, there's this new guy on the yard who has proclaimed himself an "Aryan." He's wearing all the appropriate ink, knows a secret handshake of some kind, and he's all about hate speech, which he transparently masks under the umbrella of "White Pride." He wanders about trying to recruit other like-minded fine Aryan specimens. Here's one of his history lessons: Did you know that the Aryan race (whatever that is) sprang up in the Caucasus Mountains, a mighty race of white, blue-eyed, super-intelligent men, who then spread in all directions, bringing civilization and enlightenment to the world? All of history's great achievements, whether in ancient Greece, China, India, Africa, wherever, were the work of Aryans. Unfortunately, some of these godlike humans mixed with other mongrel races (his words - not mine, please!) and civilization fell into decay. Oh, but wait, a miracle! Some pure-blooded Aryans survived, righteous and strong, in...where? You guessed it: Germany, the land of Teutonic perfection. Blah blah blah, he rattled on about Nazi's, Jews, etc., you can imagine the rest.
But these knuckleheads he was ranting to, they were eating it up, just loved it! He then charged them with never, under any circumstances, associating with prisoners who might be Jews, gays, or mixed-breeds. He allowed that at times one might be forced to interact with such filth, but one must never, ever allow oneself to befriend a mongrel. By the looks of this assembled rabble, I wanted to add that apparently you can't talk to anyone with more than three teeth and ten functioning brain cells either. I'm telling you, this was the biggest collection of Hollywood-quality extras for a redneck horror film that you could find. Like the zombies from The Walking Dead had stumbled onto the set of The Beverly Hillbillies.
Frankly, no one is particularly worried about this new guy and his recruits. The most they can do here at Prison-Lite is stir up rumors and provide droll entertainment with their ridiculous hate speech. They occupy their time listing all the people they hate and why, but they never do anything about it. Sad, really, but it has given me an insight into how cult leaders do their work. You get some losers to buy into this image of being downtrodden but superior beings with a holy mission of some sort, in this case to cleanse all America of those of us they call mongrels. Not all that different from some of the nuttiness we read about happening outside of these walls, actually.
But up close, a few of us with discerning minds have noticed a few things:
(1) Not a one of these self-professed Aryans is blond-haired or blue-eyed.
(2) Their complete and utter obsession with "hating" gay people makes one wonder, do they perhaps protest too much?
(3) They seem to hate each other, too. In fact, the only thing they ever do together is rant about all the people they hate, just one big HateFest.
I'll leave you with this anecdote. King Aryan, with his prominent swastika tattoos, approached an older Jewish prisoner on the Yard. They spoke for a couple minutes before Hater-Boy slunk away. Turns out the little Nazi needed a lawyer, so he went to the Jewish guy, who in fact was a lawyer on the outside and has helped many of us with writs and other legal proceedings over the years. The lawyer asked, "If you hate Jews so much, why would you come to me for help?" To which he replied "Well, I know Jews are good for something." He was all puffed up, trying to bully the older man. But then the lawyer told him this: "You think I don't know you? You think I'm scared of you? Go get one of your Aryan buddies to write this thing! Get out of my face!" Told good and well and with tail between his legs, King Aryan shuffled off not just red-necked, but also now red-faced.
Meanwhile, there's this new guy on the yard who has proclaimed himself an "Aryan." He's wearing all the appropriate ink, knows a secret handshake of some kind, and he's all about hate speech, which he transparently masks under the umbrella of "White Pride." He wanders about trying to recruit other like-minded fine Aryan specimens. Here's one of his history lessons: Did you know that the Aryan race (whatever that is) sprang up in the Caucasus Mountains, a mighty race of white, blue-eyed, super-intelligent men, who then spread in all directions, bringing civilization and enlightenment to the world? All of history's great achievements, whether in ancient Greece, China, India, Africa, wherever, were the work of Aryans. Unfortunately, some of these godlike humans mixed with other mongrel races (his words - not mine, please!) and civilization fell into decay. Oh, but wait, a miracle! Some pure-blooded Aryans survived, righteous and strong, in...where? You guessed it: Germany, the land of Teutonic perfection. Blah blah blah, he rattled on about Nazi's, Jews, etc., you can imagine the rest.
But these knuckleheads he was ranting to, they were eating it up, just loved it! He then charged them with never, under any circumstances, associating with prisoners who might be Jews, gays, or mixed-breeds. He allowed that at times one might be forced to interact with such filth, but one must never, ever allow oneself to befriend a mongrel. By the looks of this assembled rabble, I wanted to add that apparently you can't talk to anyone with more than three teeth and ten functioning brain cells either. I'm telling you, this was the biggest collection of Hollywood-quality extras for a redneck horror film that you could find. Like the zombies from The Walking Dead had stumbled onto the set of The Beverly Hillbillies.
Frankly, no one is particularly worried about this new guy and his recruits. The most they can do here at Prison-Lite is stir up rumors and provide droll entertainment with their ridiculous hate speech. They occupy their time listing all the people they hate and why, but they never do anything about it. Sad, really, but it has given me an insight into how cult leaders do their work. You get some losers to buy into this image of being downtrodden but superior beings with a holy mission of some sort, in this case to cleanse all America of those of us they call mongrels. Not all that different from some of the nuttiness we read about happening outside of these walls, actually.
But up close, a few of us with discerning minds have noticed a few things:
(1) Not a one of these self-professed Aryans is blond-haired or blue-eyed.
(2) Their complete and utter obsession with "hating" gay people makes one wonder, do they perhaps protest too much?
(3) They seem to hate each other, too. In fact, the only thing they ever do together is rant about all the people they hate, just one big HateFest.
I'll leave you with this anecdote. King Aryan, with his prominent swastika tattoos, approached an older Jewish prisoner on the Yard. They spoke for a couple minutes before Hater-Boy slunk away. Turns out the little Nazi needed a lawyer, so he went to the Jewish guy, who in fact was a lawyer on the outside and has helped many of us with writs and other legal proceedings over the years. The lawyer asked, "If you hate Jews so much, why would you come to me for help?" To which he replied "Well, I know Jews are good for something." He was all puffed up, trying to bully the older man. But then the lawyer told him this: "You think I don't know you? You think I'm scared of you? Go get one of your Aryan buddies to write this thing! Get out of my face!" Told good and well and with tail between his legs, King Aryan shuffled off not just red-necked, but also now red-faced.
Tuesday, September 4, 2018
Good Fences Make Lousy Exercise Yards
One good way to relieve boredom and release stress while cooped up in prison is to exercise. Slow pitch softball during the Summer is a favorite pastime. We even have informal leagues for top athletes, strivers, and now -- thanks to my buddy and me -- a duffers clinic that takes all comers. My buddy and I thought it would be fun to teach some drills and batting practice to our Bad News Bears crew, and so far that's been the case. Well, until....
A quick note on the Yard layout. There's a perimeter fence with a motion detector, and a truck on a hill overlooking everything. If the sensor goes off, the guard in the truck can scan the scene to see if someone might be attempting an escape (as long as I've been here no one has ever tried). It is not uncommon, as you might imagine, for a player to hit the ball to or even over the fence. Which sends a dynamic duo of guards hell bent for leather down the hill, screaming at us to stop in our tracks! When this happens, we all look around, confused. Apparently, the ball hitting the fence registers a full out assault on the perimeter, but instead of responding from the truck with a "Yeah, I have eyes on, just guys playing softball," the guards call out security officers. And what follows is straight out of Abbot & Costello.
Q: What are you doing?
A: Playing softball.
Q: Why is the ball hitting the fence?
A: Because it doesn't fit through the openings in the chain link?
Q: Could be a drone dropping contraband, someone escaping, maybe an assault.
A: (No response - that was not a question.)
Q: Oh, you have nothing to say to that?
A: No.
Q: Stop right now or you are going to get a shot.
A: For hitting the softball too far?
Q: YES!
Screw that. The next morning we played soccer. So yes, the goal is about 15-20 feet from the sensor-laden fence. You can see where this is going. We were ordered not to play if we were going to miss shots and cause the ball to strike the fence. Only play if you never miss a shot - guard's orders!
A quick note on the Yard layout. There's a perimeter fence with a motion detector, and a truck on a hill overlooking everything. If the sensor goes off, the guard in the truck can scan the scene to see if someone might be attempting an escape (as long as I've been here no one has ever tried). It is not uncommon, as you might imagine, for a player to hit the ball to or even over the fence. Which sends a dynamic duo of guards hell bent for leather down the hill, screaming at us to stop in our tracks! When this happens, we all look around, confused. Apparently, the ball hitting the fence registers a full out assault on the perimeter, but instead of responding from the truck with a "Yeah, I have eyes on, just guys playing softball," the guards call out security officers. And what follows is straight out of Abbot & Costello.
Q: What are you doing?
A: Playing softball.
Q: Why is the ball hitting the fence?
A: Because it doesn't fit through the openings in the chain link?
Q: Could be a drone dropping contraband, someone escaping, maybe an assault.
A: (No response - that was not a question.)
Q: Oh, you have nothing to say to that?
A: No.
Q: Stop right now or you are going to get a shot.
A: For hitting the softball too far?
Q: YES!
Screw that. The next morning we played soccer. So yes, the goal is about 15-20 feet from the sensor-laden fence. You can see where this is going. We were ordered not to play if we were going to miss shots and cause the ball to strike the fence. Only play if you never miss a shot - guard's orders!
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