Prison Stories

When New Year Arrives For Native Americans

May 10, 2020 by Marcus Henderson

“Rich in Culture, Rich in Tradition” read a blazing red banner at San Quentin’s annual Spring Pow Wow. The February 28 event was to celebrate the incoming Native American New Year.

“When the flowers begin to blossom it signals to us the New Year has arrived,” said Hector Heredia, SQ Native American chaplain, beaming with joy.

In North American indigenous cultures, the New Year is at the end of January or the first part of February, based on constellations and moon phases, according to a Manataka American Indian Council website article. The New Year is the time to celebrate the return of the sacred foods. According to some tribal tradition the first food that was created was the salmon and the second food was the deer.

Family, guests and prisoners filled San Quentin’s visiting room for the festivities. Indian sun, hoop and fancy dancers twirled and stomped around the visiting area to bless the event, as the scent of sage purified the air. The coronavirus scare and its associated deaths were not lost on the large crowd’s minds. The native elders chanted the “Black Wolf” song, a sacred prayer to honor the medicine men and ancestors, as the colorful tribal dancers moved around the pounding ceremonial drum.

“It’s the ceremony of life and death,” said Michael Paul Littlevoice, a visiting fancy dancer. “The drum and song is to honor our medicine people who are dwindling.”

Littlevoice said he’s from the Ponca tribe, but the “Black Wolf” chant comes from one of the oldest clans of the Choctaw tribe. Littlevoice, dressed in colorful rainbow regalia and eagle feathers, travels around the country performing the traditional buffalo and horse dances. The dances are for purification and healing as the steps are intended to banish evil.

“I don’t dance for entertainment,” said Littlevoice. “I dance for you all and your families’ healing. Dance is prayer and prayer is the key to life.”

Lee Planco, 82, a visiting elder, spoke about Native Americans’ struggles to institute religious services and to uphold Indian rights within the nation’s correctional systems. Examples are: sweat lodges, opposing grooming standards (cutting off their hair) and performing sacred rituals.

“We have to honor the ones who have fought for these things,” said Planco, who is a veteran, retired correctional officer and chaplain. “It took us seven years to get a sweat lodge in a Nevada prison. I had to tell their administration that I fought for this country and that includes the freedom of religion. They thought about it for a second and said OK,” reflected Planco.

Planco and Heredia, both military veterans, have a have a long history of Indian advocacy work. They both were a part of what they call the “Longest Walk.” In 1978, Native Americans walked from San Francisco to Washington, D.C. to protest 11 bills that were before Congress at that time. The bills would have limited rights to tribal government, hunting, and fishing. They also would have restricted access to social services by closing Native American schools and hospitals.

The 3,000-mile march started at Alcatraz Island in San Francisco. The marchers were a mixture of non-native and Native Americans. The group of more than 2,000 would stop along the route and hold “teach-ins” about native culture, beliefs, and practices in various cities and towns, according to the Global Nonviolent Action Database. The trip took five months, but after more than 12 days of demonstrations and rallies in the D.C. area, Congress rejected all 11 proposed bills.

“Don’t take for granted the things you have,” Planco said to the men in blue. “We never had jails or prisons in our ancient world. So get out and don’t come back here—get out and honor your mother.”

Gregory “White Eagle” Coates, a San Quentin resident, performed a song on his cedar flute honoring all women. Visiting Hoop dancer Eddie Medril taught the prison residents the hoop dance.

“The dance tells a story of creation and honoring your ancestors,” said Medril. “When people walk as an individual it’s easy to forget their foundations. But when you start to look back at your ancestors, you can say I come from that— and that will give you the strength of more than you.

“Then you will know that you are a part of an empire and become unstoppable,” Medril added.

The magnetic sounds of the pounding drums bought out San Quentin’s new acting Warden, Ron Broomfield. Warden Broomfield joined the festivities and shared words of encouragement and inclusiveness. He has been making the rounds at prison programs and services.

The New Year celebration ended with a feast of salmon, the sacred food, and fry bread.

“Today was awesome,” said Joe Renteria, an SQ resident. “I believe everyone should experience this. If you look for your roots, you will find peace with the ‘Great Grandfather,’ just like a lot of us lost Indians do.”

The Incarcerated Deaf Have Extra Challenges

May 10, 2020 by Timothy Hicks

A new community of deaf people has finally arrived at San Quentin Prison.

After battles in the courts and multiple fights contesting the ability of the deaf to function on non-handicapped prison yards, officials have conceded that deaf people may attend the programs that they desire, said one ex-prison official.

“I love the environment and everybody spoke to me,” said new resident Dubose Scarborough through the translation of a San Quentin resident who is fluent in sign language. Scarborough is here from Corcoran State Prison with four years left in his prison term. He wants to do the vocational programs most of all.

During a tour of the facility, nine deaf people sat in the San Quentin News office in their green vests, looking at their surroundings and asking good questions. Although the incarcerated person who was giving the tour was a skilled veteran of sign language, it was a challenge for him to keep up with the barrage of questions and answers.

“I taught sign at Lancaster prison where I was able to relay messages of change from gang members and testimony from youngsters on peer pressure and choices,” said translator Tommy Wickerd. “So doing this is a pleasure.”

American Sign Language (ASL) has been around for decades, but not in San Quentin’s level II facility.

At other prisons the deaf may be subjected to harsher treatment from other incarcerated people and/or prison staff.

“Deaf people may serve longer prison terms than their hearing counterparts because they are not able to equally access educational and rehabilitative programming,” said Prison Legal Office attorney Rita Lomio in an earlier interview.

There are almost 100 programs at San Quentin and they are available to everyone who wants to apply. However, being deaf can be a challenge when trying to get into some of them, even though the U.S. Department of Justice Analysis set regulations requiring all jails, correctional facilities and detention centers to provide services that meet the needs of deaf people so they may participate in programs in any place.

When the deaf population arrived, they wanted to know if there was a designated place for them to hang out on the yard. With the help of the officials they were given a specific place.

Other challenges deaf people may face are the numerous alarms that sound off during the day at San Quentin. When the men hear them, they must get down on the ground. Fortunately, the residents at San Quentin are being considerate of the needs of the deaf population.

Scarborough wanted to know about the newspaper and that led to a conversation about its history. New deaf resident Scott Roberson sat quietly and observed, only nodding and suggesting with gestures of his hands.

Deaf San Quentin resident Joshua Lovett is able to speak in a regular fashion and he translates for other deaf residents. He relayed a statement from the only trans female in the deaf group who prefers the pronoun she, Charles “Cristina” Toste. It is her first time in prison, but she feels welcomed in San Quentin as she is. She asked, in humorous fashion, “Are you guys enjoying watching us? And how do y’all accept trans people here?” Men on the news staff addressed the question: There are many trans individuals at the prison now and they have adapted to the community.

She then asked if it was a challenge for the non-disabled, if they found it hard to communicate with those who are deaf, and how the deaf are accommodated.

The American Disabilities Act (ADA) mandates that the deaf be treated equally to those without disabilities. An example is phone calls: during the hours of phone use, TDD and telecommunication devices must be available to deaf persons.

It’s no surprise to see that these unique individuals are happy to be inside this new prison environment. The smiles were evident.

There are currently almost 100 deaf inmates within CDCR. A majority are currently housed in the Substance Abuse Treatment Facility (SATF). According to prisoner rights advocates, housing these inmates at SATF makes it difficult to provide them with needed interpretation services.

Don Specter, Director of the Prison Law Office, wrote to Ralph M. Diaz, Secretary of CDCR, noting that housing deaf people at San Quentin will allow them to “have improved access to interpretation services; to more and varied programs, services, and activities; to community groups familiar with their needs.”

After translating for the crew, Wickerd felt exhausted. However, he was excited and looked forward to going back to his cell and communicating with his new, deaf celly. “The trippy part about having this particular deaf celly,” said Wickerd, “is that his name is Chris and he looks just like my brother, too.”

Storytellers polish their craft through the San Quentin News Journalism Guild

March 16, 2020 by Anthony Manuel Caravalho

Monica Campbell with the Spanish graduating class of 2020

The second annual San Quentin News Journalism Guild Graduation took place in the Garden Chapel on Jan. 17. Twelve graduates from November’s class combined with this current class of 11 to celebrate finishing the six-month course.

The event honored the graduates, recognized advisors and brought attention to the impact of programs like the guild on rehabilitation.

Richard “Bonaru” Richardson, SQ News’ Executive Editor and winner of the Arnulfo T. Garcia Leadership Award, spoke about the importance of the guild.

Having worked every position from print to layout to Editor-in-Chief, Richardson reflected how words began to change his life.

“At my last prison, a guy called me pessimistic, and I wanted to beat him up—even though I really didn’t know what the word meant,” said Richardson.

Inmates across the country can thank Richardson’s curiosity and intellect when he looked the word up and realized his own talent with words.

“Words mean a lot; we communicate with each other; we all have the ability to grow. Our newspaper allows people to grow—and will continue to do so,” said Richardson.

“Our graduates—know you were journalists before you picked up a pen. Remember, if no one tells your story, who will?” Richardson said. “Please use your voice; it’s the most powerful asset (weapon) you have.”

Lisa Adams, the newspaper’s development manager for two years, called her career journey from state and federal prison “empty, until I found my niche helping others.”

Adams is collaborating with Wells Fargo Bank executive Amanda Weitman to generate philanthropic donations for the news agency. “Inside and out, we give the world access to the understanding and awareness of social reform and its impact. This news agency reduces recidivism by giving hope to the incarcerated throughout the nation,” said the philanthropic executive.

Today, San Quentin News is a leading voice for incarcerated people in the country.

San Quentin News’ editor-in-chief, Marcus “Wali” Henderson, remarked upon the journalism program’s capacity to build bridges. “(SQ News and Wall City) journalists tell stories that people are afraid to tell.”

Henderson, who used to chair the Guild, then introduced keynote speaker Tracy Brumfield.

Brumfield has transformed from “a heroin addict in and out of jail and then prison” to founder of a women’s news agency called RISE.

She inspired the crowd, speaking about her addiction, “I’m beating its ass.” For the graduates she said, “The power of words—storytelling—includes talking about our journey. I found it extremely empowering to tell my journey…Write about what you know…your testimony!”

The Department of Juvenile Justice’s Ericka Mutchler celebrated the success of the incarcerated female population in California. Mutchler gave praise to Wall City’s third edition, which featured incarcerated females.

“The women featured on the back page of Wall City were my [juvenile] clients who co-wrote articles for the edition. I am pleased to announce all of them have been released with jobs,” said the counselor.

Henderson introduced former San Francisco prosecutor Marisa Rodriquez after he spoke about the social reform symposiums at San Quentin. The latest forum with the San Francisco Police Department was a “Blue on Blue forum [which] improved communication between law enforcement and incarcerated persons. It [forums] will allow us continue to build bridges that no one else can,” said Henderson.

In 2012, Rodriquez took a suggestion from her father to visit San Quentin.

“Now, I can’t shake this place,” said the former D.A. “It [the visit] was very, very moving, and I didn’t expect that. I shared the experience with my supervisor, San Francisco D.A. George Gascon.” She told Gascon there was something very special happening at San Quentin, and he needed to go in and see what was happening himself, if we are going to change justice.

Gascon’s office then collaborated with the late Arnulfo Garcia to create the first symposium. It focused on San Francisco Community Court prosecutors’ desire to investigate what drives youth to commit crimes.

The symposium was such a success, today the forums are a core of the news outlet’s brand.

Rodriquez said after Police Chief (Del Scott) brought in his team, it led to the creation of the nation’s first Formerly Incarcerated Advisory Board. The board includes San Francisco prosecutors and formerly incarcerated men and women, many of whom had life sentences before being paroled.

CDCR administrators who ensure accuracy and analysis for SQ News include), Terri Hardy, Krissi Khokhobashvili, and Ike Dodson. They received plaques of recognition and said, “No matter what happened in your past, who you are when you come out on the other side is what matters.” Henderson also praised the group of Wall City advisors in attendance. Kate McQueen, Sarah Horowitz, Doug Levy and Dan Fost represented the magazine’s advisory board of 12.

Louisiana taking steps to keep families connected

December 12, 2019 by Harry C. Goodall Jr.

A new program is helping Louisiana girls keep in touch with their incarcerated fathers.

“Not being able to see my father has been traumatizing,” said Dominque Jones, whose father has been in prison since before she was born. She organized a program that helps girls cope with the strain of life without their incarcerated dads.

“When I was 16, my paternal grandfather passed away, and that was the first time I saw my biological father outside of prison bars — shackled and chained and escorted by two correctional officers at his dad’s funeral,” Jones, 36, said in an interview with TheAdvocate.com.

The program is called Daughters Beyond Incarceration (DBI). One of its events was a Father’s Day gathering June 15 in New Orleans called a “crawfish boil” for young girls of incarcerated dads. The program relies strictly on fundraising. It currently has 30 members.

DBI was created to advocate for policy changes and removal of the barriers that make it difficult for daughters to communicate with their fathers, according to the June 16 article.

“I get frustrated and angry,” said Sun’Shyne Mathieu, 16. Father’s Day is “going to be a real tough day for me. Everybody’s going to be posting pictures with their father’s gifts and everything, and I have to send my graduation pictures and diploma in an envelope, and that’s not right,” Mathieu added.

DBI has also teamed up with Navigate Nola, which is a New Orleans based activist group, which made this occasion and photo shot possible. They displayed a photo exhibit of portraits of the members, soon to be displayed at all New Orleans Recreation Development Commission’s (NORD) programs and all NORD sites.

Jones pointed out it costs around $100 to visit her father at the Angola prison. That includes gas, money on the phone for their conversations, and feeding her two children. When you are a single mother this can be particularly stressful, according to the article.

“Could you imagine your father being transported to University Hospital or Tulane Hospital and you not know?” asked Jones on the fact that the prison has no notification responsibilities on her father’s medical treatment.

DBI is currently working with Southern Poverty Law Center advocating for prison policy changes to create a free phone call system and even become involved with schools’ PTAs, according to the article.

Another organization working to highlight some of the stresses girls with incarcerated fathers may face is Navigate Nola, founded by Danielle Wright. Wright said these daughters face anxiety, sadness and fear. These factors can contribute to the girl having problems in school. Wright said she is working to highlight these issues instead of letting the girls be subjected to school discipline.

Jones said she hopes to purchase a home for her organization where girls could have recreational activities like art, yoga and dance. This would help the girls gain a sense of normalcy, she said.

The visionary who resurrected San Quentin News

December 11, 2019 by Kevin Sawyer

Eleven years ago, former San Quentin warden Robert Ayers Jr. pulled the San Quentin News from the dust heap and revitalized the inmate-run publication more than 20 years after it had been officially suspended.

Ayers’ decision was a gamble. But it paid off to the benefit of thousands of prisoners and other readers around the world who learn about criminal justice, incarceration, rehabilitation and reentry from stories advancing social justice, written by incarcerated journalists.

“At that time, I wanted to get some quality journalism out and hopefully have other institutions do the same,” said Ayers during a recent visit to SQ News. He said as warden, he was used to doing things without a lot of oversight. So in 2008, when the News was restarted, the California Department of Corrections allowed it, as long as it stayed at San Quentin.

“I believed at the time good things were going to come of this,” said Ayers. “I saw this as a vehicle for people to know who inmates are.” He said he wanted to take the mystique out of who inmates are because “inmates are not a subset of humanity.”

In October, Ayers and his wife Peggy accepted an invitation to visit SQ News and attend one of its weekly staff meetings with some of the newspaper’s volunteer advisers. It was the first time he’d seen the newsroom since it relocated to the prison’s media center.

Ayers greets SQN Advisers Linda Xiques and Joan Lisetor

The celebrated podcast Ear Hustle was far in the future when Ayers brought SQ News back to life. Ayers said, “I didn’t have any notion of a podcast or anything else.” (The newspaper and Ear Hustle share space in the media center, but have separate staffs.) Ayers said when he revived the newspaper, he did not envision a journalism guild to teach new writers or that the SQ News would become so big.

Ayers became a correctional officer at San Quentin in 1968. Then, he said the SQ News was a four-page paper. “There was very little news.” It was a publication about news on the prison yard.

According to Ayers, rumor had it that outside influences tried to guide the content of SQ News in the turbulent 1980s. The paper was shut down in the mid-1980s, along with every other prison newspaper in the state. “The reason it was stopped is because it couldn’t be censored anymore,” he said. “That’s the truth.” California courts had sided with inmate journalists in a number of cases in which prison administrators attempted to censor content.

Ayers left San Quentin in 1986 as a lieutenant. Over the years, he’s worked at Pelican Bay State Prison, California State Prison Sacramento, and filled in as warden at California State Prison Los Angeles. When he was offered the job as warden at San Quentin, he said it took him about 30 seconds to make his decision.

Ayers returned to San Quentin in the spring of 2006. He said it was a place that he had “kinship with.” But it was known for doing things its own way. “I wanted to change that, but I also wanted to do something about the inmate population.”

Ayers: “if it can be broadcast and printed out there, why can’t it be printed in San Quentin News?”

When SQ News was publishing in the 1980s, it didn’t do much for the prison population, according to Ayers. Upon returning to the prison, he wanted to “get the staff respect back” and do something that would benefit the entire inmate population. He said he wanted to provide a means for people to build other useful skills in another venue.

Ayers said he believed the newspaper needed to be under the education department. “It was a hard sell to the principal at the time,” he said, so he went to the vocational printing instructor, John Wilkerson. “He was on it.”

One of Ayers’ key objectives was to provide good guidance. He said he wanted to build ethics. “Once you build that, a warden is not needed.” He said the advisors to the newspaper are providing role model status to the men who associate with and learn from people who are productive. He said when the men can look to people like that and form their own mind, that goes a long way because “the media is still a pillar of our society.”

Warden Ayers invited retired journalist John C. Eagan to spearhead the rebirth of the newspaper. Later, Ayer’s assistant, Lt. Rudy Luna, brought on retired journalists Steve McNamara and Joan Lisetor on board. McNamara was former owner and publisher of the Pacific Sun. Lisetor was an adviser to the newspaper in the 1980s. They all answered the call and are still volunteers with the SQ News along with dozens of others.

“This was not a small thing to take on,” said Ayers. “I’m not saying all of the resistance (to starting a newspaper in prison) was unfounded.”

When the News was being revised, Ayers said there was early dialog with the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) about what it was going to allow to be printed.

Ayers argued that the men watch television, listen to radio, subscribe to newspapers and magazines so they already had access to information. “What are they going to print that’s going to set the world on fire?” he said.

When the newspaper was revived, “We were basically ignored because they (CDCR) didn’t know we existed,” said McNamara. “Since we’ve become much more visible, we’ve reached a good accommodation.”

Ex Warden Ayers, Steve McNamara and San Quentin News staff outside the SQ media center

The role CDCR represen- tatives have with SQ News:

• Check the factual content of material sourced directly or indirectly from CDCR or relating to the California criminal justice system.
• Check for content that actually or potentially endangers the safety of prisoners, CDCR personnel, the prison system or the public.

• Content deemed questionable is flagged with observations or suggested changes. Warranted revisions are made by the newspaper staff with the guidance of its professional advisers.

The SQ News requested that review of the paper by the CDCR, before publication, to not include re-writes or calls for changes in the newspaper’s content selection, writing style, balance, identified opinions or other aspects of journalistic choice. These are the purview of the newspaper staff with the guidance of its professional advisers.

“People all fear what they don’t know,” said Ayers. “One of the fears of starting a paper is there are those who think it will be an inmate rant rag. But when it’s the truth you can’t swat that away.”

There was never a story he worried about. “As far as I’m concerned, if it can be broad- cast and printed out there, why can’t it be printed in SQ News ?” said Ayers. There was, however, a story about administrative segregation that raised concern. Some people didn’t want it called “the hole,” but he asked what sense does that make because everyone out on the yard calls it “the hole.”

Regarding humanizing the men, Ayers said he wanted the men to humanize each other. “Everybody in prison, whether it’s staff or prisoners, tend to buy into the notion that men are inmates.”

When Ayers restarted the paper, he wanted people to be proud of it and to “remain open.”

“You’re doing your job,” he said to the News staff. “I think you’re part of that” (prison reform). “My only recommendation is to be open to growth.

“I still look at it online,” said Ayers. “This is certainly not something we were doing 11 years ago, and it won’t be the same two years from today.”

The staff and advisers all thanked Ayers and applauded his “courageous decision” to restart the newspaper.

“I think a lot of running a prison can be, and usually is, a mine field,” said Ayers. “You don’t always know where those mines are hidden. You don’t want to be the one to step on one and have it blow up.” He warned that once you take that big step into the unknown, “Have clarity in your own mind.”

Former SQ Warden Robert Ayers, Peggy Ayers, and SQN Adviser Steve McNamara

Ayers stepped off, and left a legacy that he now shares with his predecessor, Clinton T. Duffy (SQ warden 1940-1952), who established SQ News in 1940. If not for Ayers, though, the News may have remained dormant for decades longer.

Editor’s Note: Today, SQ News prints 30,000 newspapers each month and distributes them to all 35 CDCR prisons, four juvenile facilities, university and public libraries, to hundreds of donors that include individuals outside of California. It publishes the quarterly magazine Wall City, the newsletter Inside SQ News and the website sanquentinnews.com. The state of California does not fund the paper. It is funded by grants from foundations and generous private donations. You can follow us on Twitter: @SanQuentinNews.

Imago Dei routs the Warriors … but our very own G. Derrick is the star

September 16, 2019 by Rahsaan Thomas

From a wheelchair on the sidelines, Leonard King got to watch veteran San Quentin Warrior Allan McIntosh put up 32 points but still fall short to Imago Dei, 119-102. King got to attend the game because Inmate Disability Assistance Program worker George Derrick, who also plays for the Warriors, used part of his day off to stop by the fourth floor of the infirmary and picked him up.

“George is a good per- son; he’s made getting out here really easy,” King said. “It’s a mental struggle losing something you had for 62 years to a fungal infection (which was compounded by having diabetes) but I get encouragement from the people around me and that has made the transition easier.” King lost his leg in April. It would be another month before he could get fitted with a prosthetic. In the meantime, with the help of Derrick, he comes to yard at 8 am on Saturdays to watch the Warriors play.

“It’s good entertainment,” King said. “There’s a lot of talent out there. Makes you think what could have been.”

Imago Dei came down the hill with six players, including sixty something year old Don Smith. On the surface, it may have looked like the Warriors had the advantage, but the least athletic player in the starting five for Imago was a legend at Grinnell College for his three point shooting ability. Steve “Raise a J” Diekmann dropped 21 points, including nailing five baskets from behind the arc. But it was former St. Mary and ABA player Teohn Conners and former New Mexico State player Jon Williams who lead Imago with 38 and 30 points respectively. Conners added a whopping 25 rebounds, 5 steals, 4 assists, and 2 blocks.

“They put up a fight,” Williams said. “We were limited but we made shots when it counted.”

In the first quarter, the teams traded baskets with Warrior Rick ‘Rick Rebound’ Joseph, a six-foot center, snatching rebounds and adding a couple of scores.

“I worked hard and it feels good,” Joseph said. “I just want to play and do my part.”

Imago broke away with the hot shooting of Williams and finished the quarter up 31-24.

After two quarters, Imago led 65-51.

Williams had 24 points in the first half.

“I’m going for 50,” Williams, who just came back from vacationing in Cabo, Mexico, said.

At half-time, both teams circled around center-court to share.

Derrick, a 6-foot-4, 38 year old from San Francisco, said, “It’s an honor to play with great players. It brings out the best in me and teaches me to deal with not getting what I want, like not getting to play today.”

Imago Center Ervin An- derson, a former ABA player, gave a short sermon about how “God is love.”

Warriors Coach Tony “Barefoot Tone” Evans added, “IDAP workers don’t have to bring people to the yard. George is expanding the program and that touched my heart.”

In the third quarter, Donte ‘Twin’ Harris came off the bench to run the point and hustled hard, attempting a Warriors comeback. Every time the Warriors got within four points, Imago pulled away again.

In the fourth quarter, up 104-91 with 3:55 points Imago sat power forward Brett “BC” Collins, who also played for St. Mary’s, and put the 5-6 Don “Donnie Fabulous” Smith in the game.

“Lay off him on offense and go at him on defense,” yelled SQ Warriors fan Ceasar ‘C-Money’ McDowell.

That plan didn’t work. Smith found himself open and nailed two short-range set shots.

Three Warriors, beside McIntosh, scored in double digits including Anthony Ammons with 23 and 10 boards, Walter Cook with 10 points, 5 assists and 2 steals and Harris with 10 points, 5 assists and 4 steals. Joseph had 9 points, 11 rebounds and 4 assists.

For Imago, all five starters scored in the double digits. Collins added 17 points, 8 re- bounds, 4 assists and a steal. Anderson added 12 points, 13 rebounds, 4 assists and 5 blocks.

The tequila and tacos Williams enjoyed in Cabo kicked in during the second half –after starting with 24 points first-half points, he added only 6 points in the second period.

“Jon ran out of gas so I had to take a couple of shots,” Diekmann said after the win with a big smile on his face.

In Remembrance

September 11, 2019 by San Quentin News Staff

Brothers George Grifall and Chris Koppe

More than 60 men of all nationalities, races and origins gathered in San Quentin’s Catholic Chapel to celebrate the lives of George Grifall and Chris Koppe. The two well-known incarcerated men passed away in San Quentin in the month of June.

“I love you, brother,” was the catchphrase for Grifall. Koppe was lovingly known as Colonel Sanders or Colonel Crispy.

After the evening meal on July 18, prisoners mingled and listened to the blues, led by the smooth drumming of Darryl Moody Schilling. As the chapel began filling up, Schilling picked up the pace with a livelier beat.

“He told me he loved me, and then I climbed in my rack,” recalled Michael “Doc” Dickman, his cellie, about the night Grifall passed away. “George told me not to wake him for the Saturday breakfast — he hates CDCR pancakes, plus we had plenty of food.”

Grifall had a “bad habit” of hanging his hand over the ledge of the bed, Dickman explained. He said that the following morning he kept bump- ing into Grifall’s hand and after a couple times, Dickman yelled for Grifall to move his hand, but he didn’t respond. Dickman became concerned.

“When I felt his hand, it was ice cold,” Dickman said. “He died in his sleep. Don’t believe the rumors out there.”

Walter Sprakea talked about meeting Grifall while incarcerated at Corcoran in 1999.

“I thought then, he was too friendly,” Walter said. “Back then, prison was harder to do time in, and you’d see him and say, ‘what’s wrong with that guy?’ He was always respectful and of course, would say, ‘I love you, brother.’”

Larry Ryzak added, “George was my friend. He was one the most loyal people I ever knew. I could still hear him, ‘I love you, brother.’ He never changed. He had good morals. He wasn’t perfect, but nobody is or we wouldn’t be standing here.”

Anthony Thomas read a poem that he wrote in honor of Grifall.

Richie Morris said that he didn’t know George well, but “his absence leaves a hole in my life. I always saw him be- ing kind.

“Now, Colonel Crispy looked like Colonel Sanders,” Morris continued. “We spend our time with people passing by us and never notice who they are. We got an opportunity here to record we stand among giants. I want you to recognize that.”

SQNews Staffer, Aaron Taylor talked about guitar lessons he got from Koppe.

“One day I see this dude in the rotunda playing the blues, who looked like Colonel Sanders bending the strings,” Taylor said. “Chris told me that he’d teach me how to play rhythm guitar,” However, Taylor said that he was slow picking up the lessons. “Chris told me he wouldn’t play with me because he said he never met a Black man who didn’t have rhythm.”

The incident, Taylor said, invigorated his willingness to learn guitar, and he practiced until Koppe later agreed to play lead guitar with him at an open mic.

In between men taking the stage to talk about their friends, Quentin Blues entertained the audience: (Dwight Krizman (Bass), Richie Morris (Guitar and Vocals), Chris Thomas (Mandolin & Vo- cals), Mark Kinney (Piano), Joe Thurson Percussion); An- drew “Boots” Hardy (Guitar and Vocal).

A recording of “Now I Can Rise”, with Koppe on lead guitar was also played.

Brian Holliday talked about his relationship with Grifall.

“Every time he saw me, he’d stop and say, ‘What’s up?’ You don’t see that in people too much,” Holliday said. “I really miss him.”

Quentin Blues closed the memorial with two songs for Koppe: “Full Tilt Boogie” and “Upward as I Fall”.

For Grifall, Quentin Blues played “Feet Don’t Fail Me Now”. Then “Boots” per- formed a song he had writ- ten the previous morning and dedicated to George.

“I dropped my pick inside my guitar and this song fell out,” Boots said. “This song is about the stories I heard about the man after he passed, the love and the handshakes.

By Juan Haines Senior Editor

Correctional Officer L. Griffin

San Quentin State Prison lost a great treasure on Aug. 23. After a lengthy battle with cancer, Correctional Officer L. Griffin passed away.

Griffin’s passing hit the men-in-blue like a boulder. Griffin had worked at San Quentin since Feb. 14, 1998.

“Once I heard about C/O Griffin’s passing, I was instantly saddened, being that we worked together for four years,” said Anthony Ammons. “One of the most important things that Griffin taught me was to always say ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome.’”

Harold Meeks added, “The wisdom and words of encouragement Griffin gave to me empowered me to keep mentoring the youth inside these prison walls. Griffin always reminded us that we can change, and it is possible.”

Griffin was well-known to younger inmates, who wore their pants too low—they’d catch hell for it. “Stop sagging your pants,” Griffin would tell the youngsters, and rightfully so. Griffin never missed an opportunity to speak candidly and directly and never worried about who listened or their opinions.

The prison staff, as well as the men-in-blue, knew Griffin for being cheerful in nature. Many say that laughter would fill the room whenever Griffin appeared— filling every corner in every inch of San Quentin.

Here are just a few of the things said about Griffin: “Griffin wasn’t just a correctional officer; Griffin was a mentor, a teacher and a pure hearted genuine soul, who always offered you the truth.”

“If you never knew what a real angel looked like then you never saw Griffin.”

“Griffin told stories filled with a wealth of knowledge but also with an abundance of joy, laughter and smiles.”

“It didn’t rain on Aug. 23, 2019; the sun shined, just like Griffin’s smile.”

Without a doubt, the atmosphere here at San Quentin will never be the same.

By Richard Richardson Executive Editor

Chicago group engages storytelling to understand violence

September 11, 2019 by San Quentin News Contributer

All those in attendance assemble for a group photo after the talk

When Sam Castro was three years old, he was shot in the arm outside his home on Chicago’s Northwest side. He remembers the chaos in the aftermath, how his mother and grandmother screamed when he walked over and told them what had happened. He also remembers that after the initial shock of the whole thing, nobody ever spoke to him about it again.

Castro, 45, said that the incident loomed large in his childhood. Seeing violence so early in his life led him on the path to crime and eventually to prison.

He shared the story as part of a facilitated conversation in April called “From Incarceration to Peacemaking,” which aimed to describe the root causes of violence. The event was hosted by Envisioning Justice, an organization devoted to encouraging Chicagoans to think about the impacts of the criminal justice system on communities around the city and imagine what reforms to the system might look like.

“The whole point of Envisioning Justice is to try and see what the arts and humanities can do to make criminal justice reform a city-wide issue, but also to really involve people who aren’t usually involved and get them to envision what a different system would look like,” said Elliot Heilman, an organizer of the event.

Castro and two other men spoke to an audience of about 15 teen- agers who were members of The Peace Exchange, a Chicago organization that educates teenagers about topics ranging from restorative justice to teen dating violence with the hope that they be- come peace lead- ers in their own communities.

Sam Castro, Frederick Seaton and Orlando Mayorga, the three formerly incarcerated panelists during the conversation. Castro and Seaton sport the neon yellow jackets that they wear when they work as violence interrupters.

Henry Cervantes, a pro- gram manager for Peace Exchange, who facilitated the talk, said that these conversations were important because they “can transform our own perceptions of the world and can change our views on reality.”

Cervantes grew up in spaces greatly impacted by violence and incarceration. “My earliest childhood memories were that of my mother and sisters and I being beaten on a daily basis, and hearing, seeing and avoiding gunshots in this community,” he said. At age 12, his younger sister took her own life as a response to the domestic violence. Cervantes was only 17 years old. “The work I’m doing now has everything to do with how I was raised,” he said.

Cervantes said conversations like this one are important because they help heal formerly incarcerated people’s wounds while also allowing others to learn from their mistakes. “You gotta share that knowledge with the people,” he said.

The feeling that the criminal justice system traps Black and Latino communities in an endless cycle of incarceration loomed large throughout the conversation. Micah Baker, 16, a student from The Peace Exchange, reflected on this after the discussion.

“The Black community and the Latino community, they end up in these correctional facilities because they don’t have the resources that White people have,” Baker remarked after the event. “They don’t have these equal opportunities, and that’s what lands them in these jails.”

During the conversation, Baker and the other teenagers also grappled with the question of prison reform versus prison abolition. Orlando Mayorga, one of the formerly incarcerated panelists, came down on the abolitionist side. “It does not take prison for a person to learn from the mistakes that they make,” he said. “I am who I am in spite of prison, not because of it.”

Mayorga, who recently graduated from college and works with people re-entering the community after incarceration, noted how difficult it is to transform neighborhoods when so much of the community is locked up.

“[Prisons] rob our neighborhood of valuable resources,” he said, adding that people who could improve neighborhoods “don’t have that opportunity because they’re spending so much time in prisons.”

Castro agreed. Once he got out of prison he said he remembered thinking, “I destroyed my community. Now, I need to rebuild it. I need to help my people because if we don’t do it, nobody will.”

Cultural differences affect the way peoples’ sexual orientations are treated

June 25, 2019 by Juan Haines

Acting with Compassion and Truth (ACT) is a first of its kind of prison program that explores how cultural differences affect the way people with diverse sexual orientations are treated. The group consists of LGBTQ people as well as heterosexual/cisgender people.

California prison officials and a journalist came to San Quentin, on April 10, to see how ACT functions.

A Hmong inmate, Lee Xiong, told a compelling story about how his culture treats gay people.

He said that if a father, traditional Hmong values, learned that his child was gay, “that child would be taken out fishing or hunting and he’d never come back.”

Xiong then revealed that his youngest brother had recently come out as gay. To gain insight to his conflict, he sought out and had a conversation with people in the San Quentin LGBTQ community. He said coming to ACT opened his awareness about his brother.

“This class literally saved my brother’s life,” Xiong said.

ACT’s outside sponsor, Billie Mizell said, Xiong’s response to his younger brother serves as an inspiration, “for all those brave enough to join [ACT]. Mizell added, “Hopefully we can soon replicate ACT in other prisons. Lee revealed a deep love of family and community by showing up for this group and he has worked as hard as anyone I’ve ever seen to acquire the tools needed to be a good brother and good ally. I have seen the ripple effect go far beyond the walls to bring healing an relationship to family and friends on the outside.”

Holly Stuckey, a transgender inmate, quietly sat across from Mizell, She listened to inmates talk about sexual identity issues.

She said she stayed away from ACT for several months, because of shyness.

“I want to start coming back regularly,” Stuckey said. “I’m a meek person. Billie does a good job and that keeps me motivated to come back.”

ACT first began four years ago as an idea presented by Mike Nelson. Before the class started, Mizell said, “I remember asking LGBTQ community what they wanted ACT to be about. I kept hearing that they want to educate the larger community about what it means to be a LGBTQ member in order to reduce the violence, build empathy and to bring both LGBTQ and women’s issues into a man’s prison.”

After some preliminary introductions, Mizell asked the group to use a couple words to describe their feelings about inviting guests that day: excited/nervous; anxious/confused; curious/ awkward; and older/wiser were just a few.

After the check in, Juan Meza and Michael Adams stood in front of a white board.

Meza referred to a ginger bread sketch with brains drawn inside the head, a heart inside the chest area, and symbols for male, female and male/female in the genital area.

Meza pointed to the heart and asked what it represents. “Romantic attraction,” said one participant. “Sexual orientation,” said another. “Right,” said Meza.

“What about this?” he asked pointing at the brain. “Gender identity,” shouted several participants.

Also on the board, LGBTQIA was written. Meza asked what the “T” referred to. “Gender,” the class responded.

“What about the ‘G?’” Meza asked. “Sexual Orientation,” several participants said.

Meza asked where to place “girl” on the ginger bread sketch. A participant called out,“That’s biology.” Another said, “That’s in your head.”

He went through all the words to show how gender is constructed by various terms.

“Terminology is important in the way we communicate,” Meza said as he drew four long lines on the board and labeled the columns, 1-Racial Slurs, 2-Derogatory Terms for Women, 3- Derogatory Terms for LGBTQ and 4-Terms to disparage the Prisoner Masculinity.

The room sat in momentary silence after the participants filled in the columns with slurs and terms. (The majority of the terms are not appropriate for publication.)

Meza then drew a line across the column to demonstrate the intersectionality of the LGBTQ community with ethnic groups as well as incarcerated people.

“When we see the intersectionality of these words, we can see how we ourselves give these words power,” Meza said. “If we didn’t use these words against women, other races and the LGBTQ community, then they’d have no power to be used against us as incarcerated people.” He added, “Sticks and stones will break your bones, but words will break your spirits.”

Eddie DeWeaver chimed in to say, “These words are precursors to violence. They demean people and are used to justify violence.”

Mizell added, “When many people hear these words, knowing that they are precursors to violence, fear comes into play. We all want to live in a place where we feel safe.”

R. “Nephew” Bankston raised his hand and told a story about getting a rules violation about 10 years ago, because he refused to let a LGBTQ inmate become his cellie.

“I’m not living with a homosexual,” Bankston said about how he felt. “We don’t do that,” he added, referring to peer pressure.

ACT participant (front middle) Nate Collins, (left) Jerry Seanphensiki, Brian Alejandro, Lee Xiong, Lam Le and Jerome Watts

Bankston said he came to prison as a teenager in 2001. He then lowered his head and said, “I know what hate looks like. It was a long struggle for me, but now I know that I have to treat people different from that. When I first came to this class, I came just to get a chrono (laudatory informational letter), but when my older brother told me to start calling him she, she taught me all those things in my past were wrong. Now, I’m not here for the chrono. I need to understand my sister.”

“It’s going to be a struggle to learn,” Bankston said. “The board didn’t tell me to come to this class. I’m doing it for me. I sent my sister a visiting form and I’m taking baby steps. It’s for me to figure out where we go from here.”

Mike Adams talked about a time while being housed in North Block that he was afraid of people like Bankston.

“Hearing that Nephew is striving to be a better person helps me heal,” Adams said.

Bankston responded, “When Mike told me that he feared me. That sat with me for a long time.” Bankston looked at Adams and said, “I’m going to do my best to treat you better.”

He added, “I didn’t know the power of words.”

The federal Prison Rape Elimination Act (PREA) makes sexual harassment or assault in prison a serious crime. Amy Miller, an Associate Director for CDCR, asked the class, if anyone ever accepted a derogatory term directed at them, or used a slur against someone else just to be accepted. Nearly all the hands in the class went up.

Miller has more than 23 years of experience in working in California corrections. She oversees CDCR’s Female Offender Programs and Services/Special Housing. The office manages and provides oversight to the state’s three female correctional facilities, Folsom State Prison, California Medical Facility, California Health Care Facility, community correctional facilities, and three conservation camps that house women wild land firefighters. It also manages special programs including policies regarding transgender inmates and the implementation of PREA.

The PREA Statewide coordinator Captain Shannon Stark noted that everybody had a choice where they sat in the classroom. She noted that in other prisons that she’d visited blacks would have sat with blacks, whites with whites and Mexicans with Mexicans. Here, she said there’s diversity.

The class ended with inmate Zakir “Egypt” Jones performing an original rap/ hop-hop song, called I know. She was the inspiration for the song came to her in a dream and an epiphany to where her life was going.

The entire class, including CDCR officials, had their heads bobbing and fingers snapping.

In a later interview, Bankston said that what he learned from the ACT class, he could take to the rest of his community.

“This shows that it’s possible. It’s a good thing to see. People need to hear your struggles. Nephew shows that it’s real,” Stark said.

“It is important to honor the original pilot group who built ACT,” Mizell said. In addition to Meza and Adams, they are Michael “Yoshi” Nelson, Lady Jae Clark, Azrall “Big Az” Ford, Todd “Silk” Williams, C.J. Smith, Mark Hensley, John Windham, Philip Melendez, and Ray Aldridge.

Florida DAs charge fentanyl dealers with murder in cases of overdose

June 24, 2019 by San Quentin News Contributer

A woman overdosed and died in jail. As a result, another faces first-degree murder charges.

On Sept. 7, 2018, 24-year- old Jeniffer Patrick was riding in a car with her 49-year-old boyfriend when they were stopped by Marion County sheriff deputies, who found drugs and syringes in the car.

Patrick was arrested and booked into the Marion County Jail in Ocola, Fla., where she was then strip-searched and placed in a holding tank with other women.

This is where she came across 22-year-old Lorraine Gardner who had been in custody since July 2 on a probation violation stemming from three drug charges for MDMA, cocaine and methamphetamine, according to The Appeal, a non-profit criminal justice news outlet.

According to the Marion County sheriff’s department, video shows Patrick handing something to Gardner, who then put it to her face. Soon after, she began to show signs of physical distress.

Later footage shows something falling out of Patrick’s pants: a small baggie containing a tan mixture. The substance was tested and was revealed to be 2.5 grams containing fentanyl.

In November, Patrick was charged with first-degree murder. The murder charges against Patrick are a part of a push to treat fatal overdoses as homicides.

In June 2017, Florida passed a fentanyl trafficking law that increased penalties for dealers, including first-degree murder charges in cases where a homicide results from a drug overdose.

Amy Berndt, the prosecutor in the case, said, “Basically, as long as we can prove that the person delivered the drug that caused the death—fentanyl, it’s first-degree murder.” She remains committed to putting Patrick in prison for the rest of her life, adding that small-time dealers are the problem.

Drug policy experts caution that these new harsher penalties will not save lives—in fact, the threat of more time in prison might increase the likelihood of a fatal overdose if family members, friends or other users hesitate to call authorities, Linsay LaSalle of the Drug Policy Alliance told The Appeal.

Simply, this acts as a deterrent to calling 911. Lawmakers stand firm stating they want to send a clear message to drug dealers in Florida. Gov. Rick Scott signed the bill and promised it would save lives.

Attorney General Pam Bondi seconded the notion that the law would protect Floridians from dangerous drug traffickers.