Greetings & Good Hello! It has been and continues to be an interesting day today. My court transcripts, which arrived to the facility over 48 hours ago, have not been delivered yet. My attorney has not made himself known, but he could still show up for a video call – after today though, I’ll probably not hear from him until court. I have not heard anything from Thailand, which monitors the court here and lets me know if my court date changes – since I can not rely on my attorney to do that. I did learn that the earthquake my block-mates reported in Thailand was actually in Taiwan – you know, Asia and shit, ya feel me.
But most interesting was the discussion of a block hunger-strike.
I was walking up and down the stairs to get my daily exercise in. This is a privilege by the way – there is no requirement to allow us to do anything but sit for 24 hours a day – part of the whole “innocent until proven guilty” part of U.S. law. So while I was exercising my privilege of walking up and down a flight of metal stairs I heard someone call out my name – which is oddly disorienting, given all the echoes of the cinderblock walls. It was Honcho or Nacho – I can’t quite tell – I call him Honcho, and his cellie – two guys I get good books from. They were having a pow-wow with Remo about some sort of hunger strike – Honcho + cellie are bottom-tier, so were locked in their cell, speaking through the trap, while Remo and I were crouched on the outside – being out during top-tier rec time.
The basic complaints were the same as always – we don’t get cleaning supplies, tons of crap sucks, the financial history on our trust accounts is fucked up, the grievance process is broken, the mail doesn’t work, no razors or haircuts, no law library because there are no tablets, no notary services, no books, etc.
The thing that was interesting was the discussion of getting organized. I said I was in, but I counseled that it would take a while to get organized – we needed to make contact with people on the outside first. Until we had connected with people on the outside, we would just be shut down – we could be too easily ignored. Then I sent a message asking a friend for some addresses and went back to building up a sweat before I showered.
Wasn’t long into my second round of steps when I noticed Spider and his cellie, who I will call Hector, standing out of their bottom tier cell raising voices. Now, Spider is Mexican according to the tattoo on his arm, and he and Remo have some sort of gang turf war going. I think they are in the same gang, so it is like a squabble between officers. Spider is puffed up and both, for lack of a better word, are “posturing”. It is very much like watching cats or dogs tangle – body posture. Neither one is looking the other directly in the eye, because that is a challenge – both are “flexing” in a floppy sort of way, but Spider more-so. I wander over to join the fun, but I have trouble following the conversation. I can’t make out southern talk very well as it is, it sounds like people have marbles in their mouths.
A guy I’ll call Hakim is here too. He’s a fine stallion of a black man – all muscled up from time on the yard. He has a Muslim aspect – kufi cap, beard, and bright lively young eyes. He is, in a sense, presiding over the pre-conflict between Spider and Remo which somehow seems right since he is about as massive as both together. Spider just seems to be hating on what Remo was saying – and it somehow has come down to matters of respect, but then, as I said, I can’t quite track the details.
As the temperature flirts closer to physical conflict and my brief entreaty to inmate unity is discarded, I return to the stairs to watch – best to be exercising my exercise privilege if fisticuffs ensure. That’s when Hector makes his presence known.
Hector is the tallest – he’s solid, probably Mexican. I would say he is built like an oak but that is overused and conveys something too strong. Perhaps, “a respectable walnut” – very solid two meters, typically very quiet but suddenly, and uncharacteristically passionate. He tells us, in pretty clear terms, that we are full of shit – based on his experience. He tells us about Pitt county, where he had to do six months – where everyone did six months – on 24/7 lockdown, without even showers – because the jail was short on staff. He tells us about how they organized writing grievances, 48 inmates all wrote grievances together – and the result was that they all got charged with inciting a riot.
After everything calmed down I went over to Spider and Hector’s trap to follow up on that. Hector is reading my copy of “A People’s History” how Howard Zinn and I wanted to tell him about the Attica riots. I also wanted to confirm the details of his events – confirm that he was in federal custody. I never got perfect confirmation of that, but it does sound like the path to resistance is distinctly futile. Pretty much, the jail or prison can get away with anything – and any effort to change or resist will result in more punishment. This is what innocent until proven guilty means. Laws and rights make for fun fiction. As my cellmate used to say, now you know what it feels like being black.
Eric Charles Welton
Prisoner #94911
Columbus County Detention Center
April 4, 2024