San Quentin News

Written By Incarcerated - Advancing Social Justice

Once facing a lifetime behind bars, some now offered a chance at freedom

by

Juveniles sentenced to die in California prisons now have the chance to go home—if they can prove they have rehabilitated.

To help them achieve that goal, two attorneys are providing workshops to help juvenile offenders prepare for the Board of Parole Hearings that will determine their fate.

“(Elizabeth) Calvin and (Heidi) Rummel are working to help those still behind bars prepare for parole hearings that they never expected to have.” That is why the pair went to Corcoran in September and were at Kern Valley State Prison a few weeks earlier, The Nation reports.

“At Corcoran they met with three separate groups of inmates throughout the day. Each inmate was given the chance to speak individually with a law student and talk informally with…two other former juveniles (sentenced to life without parole (JL-WOP).”

One of those former juvenile LWOPs in attendance was Joel Aguilar, 41, who was released in December 2015. Aguilar is one of only 14 California Juvenile LWOPs who’ve been released since Senate Bill 9 was passed in 2013.

Addressing the inmates at the workshop, Aguilar said, “I know what it is to walk around that track thinking that this is where you’re going to die. You know what? It’s over. You guys are coming home.”

Although there is reason for optimism, to be actually released from prison by the parole board is not guaranteed.

“Juvenile LWOPs are at a distinct disadvantage; most are ill prepared for both parole-board hearings and life outside,” The Nation reported.

One of the main criteria by the Board to find someone suitable for parole is a demonstration of rehabilitation by participating in programs. However this is nearly impossible for most inmates serving LWOP.

“Those of us who are LWOPs are considered the worst of the worst, hopeless and beyond redemption, which is why we are not a priority in rehabilitation since we have no parole,” said Timothy L. Bludworth, LWOP inmate at Tehachapi State Prison.

“I pray something will change.”

Despite the challenges juvenile LWOPs face in obtain- ing programs for rehabilitation, change is still possible.

“My mistakes were the constant finger-pointing and blatant refusal of any responsibility for my actions,” Bludworth said.

“I’m so sorry to my victims for the pain and harm I have caused them.”

Regardless of the positive changes Juvenile LWOPs may be able to demonstrate, some victim advocates do not want them to be paroled.

One is Jennifer Bishop-Jenkins, whose sister and brother-in-law and the couple’s unborn child were murdered.

For years, Bishop-Jenkins advocated against the death penalty. She said she was comfortable doing so because she knew her sister’s killer would never get out. When she learned he might one day be released she was shocked.

“I believe that there are a few very dangerous people in this world and that age has nothing to do with that dangerous aspect,” said Bishop-Jenkins, who is also leader of National Organization of Victims of Juvenile Murderers.

The Nation article noted, however, that according to a 2008 Human Rights Watch report, as many as 45 percent of California’s juvenile LWOPS had not killed anyone. Often they were tried as co-defendants with adult offenders and received longer sentences.

While the obstacles for a juvenile LWOP to be found suitable for parole are considerable, there are still things lifers can do to improve their chances.

At the mock hearing, Rummel posed several questions to be answered. What did you do? Why did you do it? How did you change? The questions are easy, she said, but the answers are not. “There were so many who…couldn’t let themselves believe that there was a chance they were going to go home,” Rummel said. “But (they) got to do this (and) start believing.” Currently there are about 300 juveniles serving life without parole in California.

Elizabeth Calvin is a senior advocate in the Children’s Rights Division of Human Rights Watch. Heidi Rummel is the co-director of the Post-Conviction Justice Project at the University of Southern California Gould School of Law.

Both women also helped to spearhead the vast majority of juvenile justice reform legislation in California over the past decade.

Addiction Recovery Counseling Director moves on

by

Rick Baez leaves San Quentin after 13 years

Michael Kirkpatrick, Nou Phang Thao, Edward Scott, Rick Baez, Quinten Walker and John Lam
Michael Kirkpatrick, Nou Phang Thao, Edward Scott, Rick Baez, Quinten Walker and John Lam

Recovering addicts in San Quentin said goodbye to long-time volunteer Rick Baez in the Addiction Recovery Counseling (ARC) program.

“A lot of people in society tend to think people in prison are throwaways, especially those with addiction issues, but that hasn’t been my experience work- ing here,” said Baez, 74, director of the ARC program.

“It has been my experience that men with the opportunity to make better choices do; this is what I tell people when they ask me.”

Baez has volunteered since 2006 at San Quentin.

“I’ve known Rick since 2009, when I first participated in this program,” said Terry Burton, an ARC graduate.

“When I heard that he was retiring, I had to thank him in person for his 13 years of service to the San Quentin community and for being instrumental in my own recovery.”

Baez’s work with addicts is personal; he has been in recovery from alcoholism since 1979.

“I started drinking alcohol when I was 14 years old and became an alcoholic by 19. It wasn’t until I was 35 years old that I stopped, with the help of Alcoholics Anonymous.

“I used to drink to make my problems go away, but it only prolonged the problem until it got worse and worse until I couldn’t ignore it anymore,” Baez added.

“I will forever cherish the memories that I have made in San Quentin,”

From the age of 19 to 35, Baez experienced three failed marriages and the loss of job opportunities as a result of his drinking.

During those years Baez would begin the day by drinking beer for breakfast, wine for lunch, and whiskey for dinner.

“If I wasn’t drinking, I would go into withdrawal. I would sweat, have the shakes, and I wouldn’t be able to go to work,” said Baez in an interview.

Treatment for his alcoholism came from a frequent shopper at Baez’s grocery store.

“A guy who was in recovery often came in for coffee and donuts for his AA group, and one day, he asked me if I was still on the sauce, and I said, ‘Yeah.’ Seeing him made me aware that recovery was possible. So I joined an AA group,” said Baez.

“I began with three meetings a day, got a sponsor and worked the steps, and I have been in recovery since then.”

After several years of sobriety, Baez took the advice of a close friend and started school to become an addiction counselor.

In 1982, Baez began interning at the Phoenix outpatient program in Dublin, Calif., and within three years he became the director of the program.

Baez eventually retired as director of substance abuse at John Muir Hospital in Concord in 2009.

“Since my volunteer work to oversee the ARC program in 2006, it has always been my goal and role to mentor the inmate counselors to become professionals by teaching them the necessary skills to enter the field of addiction when they get out,” said Baez.

In response, Edward Scott, 50, an addiction counselor at ARC said, “When I started this program as a trainee I didn’t get along with Rick because of my own issues of inferiority, but he has helped me overcome my fear, and today I have become better for it.

“I will always cherish the lessons that he has taught me.”

Baez isn’t paid and travels more than 100 miles to get to San Quentin and back home.

“What inspires me to get up each morning to drive through the traffic to get here is the results I see. There are guys who I have worked with that have served upwards of 40 years and got out and become successful; this is what inspires me.

“I will forever cherish the memories that I have made in San Quentin,” Baez added.

Baez will retire to Oregon with his dog Ivy.

The cost of reputation in prison: being transgender in prison

by

The purpose of earning a reputation in prison is for one reason—survival. However, the cost of survival may take extreme forms. 

“When I first came to prison in the 80s, being a transgender meant being someone’s property. We would be used to carry weapons, for sex, to wash and clean dirty workout clothes, but, in that we were also well protected, and it gave you a sense of security,” says Jarvis “Lady J” Clark, who has been incarcerated 30 years, serving a 27-year-to-life sentence for first-degree murder. 

“However, the protection we got was catch-22, because we had to belong to someone or a gang or be preyed upon.” 

Clark, who goes by the name Lady J, says she has never been forced into a relationship. 

“I always had a choice in choosing who was going to be my husband,” Lady J adds. 

Transgender males prefer the pronoun “she,” and in their relationships in prison, they often are viewed as “wives” by their “husbands.” 

Although “wives” are protected and serve a domestic role in relationships with their husbands, it is not without the danger of violence. 

“Being a wife comes with the responsibility of fighting alongside your man. If he got into a riot, you go into that riot with him,” Lady J says. 

Despite being in a relationship that provided protection, Lady J says that she has never relied upon that for security. Instead, she wanted to earn her own security based on her own reputation. 

“I knew someday I was going to get old in here, so I set out to earn a reputation early on of not being a sissy or a victim. So I fought whenever someone tried to challenge me,” Lady J says. 

Some of the challenges transgender people face challenges in prison include are: extortion for money, sex or physical abuse. 

“While I was at Calipatria, a very muscular man ran into my cell and said ‘when these doors close, I’m gonna get me some.’ When he did, I ran to the back of my cell and got my razor and turned around and told him ‘if the door closed and you’re still here, I’m gonna cut you from elbow to asshole.’ He said I was tripping and got out of my cell.” 

During her incarceration, Lady J has accumulated 22 disciplinary infractions: 10 for fights, three for riot participation. 

“Lady J is a punk but not a punk,” says Nick Lopez, inmate at San Quentin, who has known her for more than 20 years. 

“Punk” is a derogatory prison term used to describe homosexual prisoners or one who is easily bullied. 

“I’ve known him since we were at Calipatria. He had more heart than some of the guys there. One time, I saw him kick off a riot. It was crazy,” Lopez adds. 

In response, Lady J says, “The person who instigated the riot was getting beat up by the Mexicans. He started screaming out to me ‘mama prison, mama prison,’ while other Blacks were just standing there watching him getting beat up. Without a second thought I ran into the crowd and started swinging and punching, and the Blacks saw me and ran into the riot with me. 

“They really had no choice, because what would they look like if a transgender was brave enough to run into a riot and they didn’t?” 

In reflection on the cost she has paid to be respected, Lady J says, “My mother died while I was in prison. If I didn’t have the mind-set to gain a reputation, I’d probably be home by now. 

“If I had to do it all over again, I would’ve put myself in protective custody.” 

Upon entering CDCR, LGBTQ inmates are not automatically placed in protective custody. 

The formerly reputation-oriented Lady J has transformed into a person who advocates for the LGBTQ community in San Quentin. 

In 2015, Lady J co-founded a program called Acting with Compassion and Truth (ACT) in San Quentin to increase understanding and decrease violence toward LGBTQ inmates. 

“Those who attend our classes are majority heterosexual men who want to better understand who we are, and some have family members that are gay.” 

In 2018, Lady J became the first appointed LGBTQ inmate representative in CDCR. 

“The administration had seen qualities in me and believed that I would be the best fit to be a voice for the LGBTQ community here,” Lady J says. 

San Quentin is one of nine prisons in CDCR that is designated as a transgender hub. 

“I’m a mentor to the LGBTQ and the protective custody community here in San Quentin,” Lady J says. 

Lady J keeps an “open door policy” for those who frequent her cell who are not LGBTQ, but who are heterosexual men. 

“Mama J has been a mentor to me,” says Jacob Gabel, 20, a heterosexual first-term offender. “When I got here, I didn’t know anybody, and she reached out to me and helped me. 

“I’m not naïve of the perceptions of hanging out with Mama J and the transgender community here. I’m not embarrassed nor do I care what they think. I have a brother who is gay and some friends who are gay, and besides it’s the 21st century. 

“Mama J and the transgenders here respect you for who you are. They don’t peer pressure you into conformity. You can be who you are. That’s why I feel more comfortable with Lady J than anyone else,” Gabel adds. 

In response, Lady J says, “A lot of people respect me because I’m real with who I am. I never hid who I was. I have always been Lady J.” 

Lady J’s story is not one that is typical for LGBTQs in prison, but one that does highlight the general practice of earning a reputation through violence despite gender identity differences. 

—John Lam 

Since the publication of this article, Jarvis Clark is no longer on SQ’s mainline 

Prominent attorney notes First Step Act is insufficient

by

Opponents of President Trump’s new criminal justice reform say that the new law doesn’t do enough and will set a bad precedent. 

“Donald Trump claims he’s taking a step toward desperately needed criminal justice reform but he’s not,” wrote Keith Wattley in an Op-ed in The New York Times. Wattley is a prominent criminal justice advocate and attorney in California. 

At issue is the bi-partisan supported legislation known as the First Step Act, which was signed into law by President Trump on Dec. 21. 

“The First Step Act has been described by activists as groundbreaking in the fight to end mass incarceration… (but) I respectfully disagree. This is not a case in which a little reform is better than none,” Wattley adds in the Dec. 4 article. 

“It prevents those convicted of the most serious crimes from reducing their sentences, and in doing so it perpetuates the false narrative that people who commit violent crimes are fundamentally different from those who commit non-violent crimes.” 

Keith Wattley

Wattley is executive director of a non-profit called Uncommon Law. The firm provides therapeutic and legal counseling for people serving lengthy prison terms in California. 

“More than 200 of our clients have been released from life sentences, and not a single one has gone on to commit a violent crime. But this (law) tells my clients their personal transformation doesn’t matter,” said Wattley. 

“I have the greatest respect for Van Jones and his organization #cut50 who fought hard to get this legislation to pass. However, it is my goal to ask all change makers to be mindful that those who have both suffered and perpetrated the greatest harms also have the greatest capacity for transforming themselves and their communities.” 

Keith Wattley sitting with a client for a hearing

Supporters of the law say it will limit the practice of mandatory minimum sentences and allow nonviolent drug offenders with little to no criminal history to be sentenced below mandatory minimums. 

The law would also provide time-reducing credits to some people in federal prison for completing educational, vocational and therapeutic programs. However, violent offenders are excluded. 

“The reform would ensure that enhancement and the lengthy sentences they bring are only used on the most dangerous criminals and not spent instead on low level nonviolent drug dealers,” wrote Jason Pye, in an Op-ed in The Hill. Pye is the vice president of legislative affairs at FreedomWorks. 

“This kind of ‘smart on crime’ legal approach goes hand in hand with the desire of President Trump to be tough on crime, which is most effective when the right crimes are addressed with the right penalties.” 

In direct contrast, Wattley wrote. “While it is tempting to believe that we keep our communities safe by locking up people of violent crimes for as long as possible… People convicted of murder and who have been paroled on a life sentence – are actually the least likely to return to prison…their return rate is roughly 1 percent.” 

The new law will reportedly, 

– Reduce mandatory minimum sentences for up to 2,000 people annually 

– Reduce discrepancy in sentencing crack versus powdered cocaine 

– Affect 4,000 people in the federal prison system 

– Prohibits the shackling of women during childbirth 

– Inmates wont be sent to prisons over 500 miles from their home 

– End life sentences under three strikes law 

“This the first step, not the end,” said Democratic Illinois Senator Dick Durban, co-sponsor of the bill. “We still have a lot of things we still need to do.” 

Youths held in juvenile detention on the decline in US

by

The number of youths held in juvenile detention is declining in the United States. 

The total number of youths in confinement declined 58 percent over the period of 2000 to 2016, while the number of facilities holding youths in custody dropped 42 percent in the same time period, according to “Juvenile Residential Facility Census Databook,” a 2018 report from the U.S. Department of Justice.

“The decline comes in large part because of significant reduction in the number of youth in custody,” reports Dana Shoenberg and Erinn Broadus of the Pew Charitable Trusts. 

The decline is partly due to a growing body of evidence that demonstrates that confinement can be more harmful and doesn’t effectively address the issue of recidivism, according to the Pew. 

Instead, evidence has shown that other options, such as cognitive behavioral therapy, are more effective at reforming and reducing recidivism, the Pew reported.

In 2016 in Kansas, policymakers passed Senate Bill (SB) 367, a measure that prohibits the use of group homes for most youth in the juvenile justice system. SB 367 allowed the state to shift millions of dollars annually to community-based services for keeping youths in their homes instead, according to Pew.

Other states like South Dakota echoed this focus, passing SB 73 to divert resources to community-based programs and closing its only remaining juvenile facility in 2016. Now, those accused of low-level offenses no longer end up in the juvenile justice system, while youths deemed the greatest threat to public safety can be placed in “out-of-home” facilities. 

These reforms are also driven by falling crime and reductions in residential placement, Pew reports. The Council of Juvenile Correctional Administrators released a report detailing guidelines for how to close facilities responsibly, emphasizing meeting the needs of youths, families and staff by reinvesting resources and improving care. 

Homeless center helps to reduce overdoses of addicted teens

by

A homeless center for youths in San Francisco has found success reducing overdoses and helping addicted teens find sobriety through harm reduction.

“(We) now have a suboxone clinic at our syringe access site! This is a huge lifesaver, removing bureaucratic roadblocks from the paths of people who want to get off opiates,” said Mary Howe, executive director of Homeless Youth Alliance (HYA) in San Francisco.

“Now young people, who are in withdrawal, can come to HYA’s site—a place where they already feel safe—and have a consultation with our physician, who, after evaluating them, can immediately call in a prescription to be picked up at a nearby pharmacy.

“And because of the close trusting relationships we build with youth, we’re able to help them build on the momentum of getting treatment, by helping them navigate the challenges of recovery, find safe housing, get mental health counseling, and so much more.”

Suboxone is commonly prescribed by qualified physicians to help opioid addicts reduce or eliminate withdrawal symptoms, according to the California Association for Alcohol and Drug Education.

One of the program’s success stories is a former addict Audry.

“HYA was practically the only place I could go and not feel like a piece of meat or a piece of s***,” she said. (They) cared for me until I cared for myself and fought for me to fight for myself. Letters to jail, accepting phone calls, going to court dates…free snacks, ’cause you know no dollars went to food and if it wasn’t free, I didn’t eat.

“Mary and company showed me what it feels like to show up for others and myself. HYA made getting clean and giving back look desirably punk rock.

“HYA kept me alive long enough to actually build a life I don’t want to escape from.”

Audry is now sober, married and a devoted mother and music photographer working in San Francisco.

“I love Audry’s statement because it underscores what HYA’s really about. As someone with a similar history, I was able to change the direction of my life in large part because harm reduction taught me that there’s something truly subversive and rebellious about proving hate and dismissiveness wrong, and showing kids like me should be invested in, not written off,” Howe said.

HYA Outreach Counselors and therapists work on the streets in the Haight Ashbury and Castro neighborhoods, where transient youths are often found in San Francisco.

“Our counselors…help young people process and troubleshoot the daily traumas they’re dealing with: overdose, HIV and violence, to serious health conditions from having no dry socks or access to showers,” Howe said.

“These young people are dealing with the day-to-day traumas of homelessness against a backdrop that’s getting darker and scarier.

“All we can do is to continue to let them know they have a safe haven (with) us. We provide that haven, even though, almost four years after the lease termination that put us on the street, we still don’t have a drop-in-center where youth can take a shower, eat a hot meal and get a moment of respite. The loss of our space continues to deeply affect the neighborhood as a whole.”

Despite having many challenges, HYA counselors in 2017 managed to make 9,368 contacts on outreach and held 954 individual one-to-one sessions. In addition, 596 youths attended 44 creative and educational groups, according to data given by HYA.

“To continue to meet the growing need…due to lack of indoor services in this neighborhood and lack of affordable housing in San Francisco—we need your help,” Howe said.

“When you donate, you enable us to hire and retain the very best and most effective staff…your support means dry socks, healthy snacks, Narcan training (opiate overdose reversal drug), which saves hundreds of lives. In short, your support means opportunities given, lives changed, and lives saved,” Howe added.

 

To donate or for more information contact:

Tides Center/Homeless Youth Alliance
P.O. Box 170427
San Francisco, CA 94117 www.homelessyouthalliance.org

Any amount is encouraged.

    Kid CAT banquet honors the forgotten voices of youth

    by

    Kid CAT celebrated the “forgotten voices” of youth at its 2018 annual banquet.

    “Tonight’s Banquet was about bringing awareness to the youths, who think that their voices are not being heard and are afraid to express how they feel to their parents or caretakers,” said Si Dang, Kid CAT chairman.

    Kid CAT is a group of men who committed their crimes as juveniles and are serving adult sentences.

    Capturing the night’s theme of “forgotten voices” was a series of speakers, actors and musicians who dug into the topics of foster care, homelessness and restorative justice.

    Speaking about homelessness was Kid CAT member Chase Benoit, 23.

    “I became homeless at 9 years old and although it only lasted a few weeks, the impact will last forever. My dad tried his hardest to make it fun like an adventure, but even then I knew something wasn’t right,” Benoit said.

    Chase Benoit

    The last time Benoit was homeless was at the age of 19, six months before he committed his life crime. He slept in cars, on couches and in a tent.

    “We had nowhere to go. I had no one but my brother. If it weren’t for him, I probably would’ve starved to death,” Benoit said.

    “Being homeless taught me that I can get through anything. Now I want to help other homeless youth find their voice because they are not alone.”

    Addressing community efforts to help homeless youths was Stacy Sciortino, program director of the Community Assessment and Resource Center from Huckleberry House in San Francisco, which assists more than 1,000 runaway youths each year.

    Stacy Sciotino

    “A lot of these kids are misunderstood. Their traumas are often masked by acting out,” Sciortino said. “Instead of judging them, let us embrace their challenges and help them so that they won’t feel unheard.”

    Youth offender Thanh Tran, 24, spoke about his journey from foster care to prison.

    “I was placed into foster care at 2 years old because my mother was addicted to crack cocaine,” Tran said.

    Along with growing up without a family, Tran spoke about being bullied in school and neglected by his foster parents, which led him to make a decision to join a gang.

    “It is now my goal to continue to work with at-risk youths and give voice to the voiceless, so that they won’t end up here like me,” Tran adds.

    Speaking on the topic of school violence was Tommy “Shakur” Ross, 52, Kid CAT member.

    “School violence was at the root of my self-destructive ways,” Ross said. “At six years old, I was sexually molested on the way to school by a stranger.”

    After the assault, Ross stated that his life spiraled out of control.

    After a series of other traumatic assaults growing up, Ross made a decision to join a gang and committed a gang- related murder at 19 years old; this resulted in the retaliation murder of his mother and younger brother.

    “Nothing and no one made me commit my crimes…But I can’t help but to wonder, how could my school-to-prison pipeline experience be prevented?” Ross added.

    Giving the keynote address was paroled Kid CAT co-founder Neighp “Ke” Lam.

    “Three years ago, I was sit- ting in the audience wearing blue just like you. My inmate number was J-52482. I know what it’s like to be hopeless and not knowing when I will get the chance to go home. So if I can make it out, you can too.

    “I’m still doing the work, helping to pass legislation for youth offenders. Know that you are not forgotten, and we’re waiting for you out here,” Lam added.

    Capping the night of forgotten voices was Kid CAT member Jason Samuel, who spoke about having a restorative justice dialogue with his victims.

    “I was nervous and in disbelief when Tom Morgan, the police officer who I tried to kill on April 13, 1997, wanted to meet me in a victim-offender dialogue,” Samuel said.

    Speaking at the banquet on behalf of Christy Morgan, Tom’s wife, was dialogue facilitator Martina Lutz Schneider, who read a letter from Ms. Morgan.

    “I had viewed Jason as a monster for trying to kill my husband, and I was afraid of him. In May of 2018, I was able to witness a dialogue between him and my husband. Jason was humble and apologetic. He hugged Tom and cried! This was when I knew that he was not a monster but a changed man,” Ms. Morgan wrote.

    “The path of Jason’s journey gives me happiness and hope, for that I am eternally thankful.”

    Upon reflection, community guest and Project Avary volunteer Jon Deleon, said. “It was really moving and humbling to hear everyone’s story, the men were authentic and vulnerable.

    Closing out the event was Kid CAT co-founder Phang Thao, 42.

    “As Kid CATs banquet draws to a close, we all heard powerful themes which touch on children’s ‘forgotten voices’ and how these voices caused street and school violence in our communities,” Thao said.

    “As Kid CAT passes along these grains of insight, it’s you, the men in blue, outside volunteers, and guests’ responsibility to nurture the growth of children. We can all do it through intervention, prevention, and mentoring our children into responsible adults.”

    David Inocencio

    HR 6011 a bill to end children's life without parole

    by

    A Republican congressman introduced a bill to end life-without-parole and defacto life sentences for children in the federal criminal justice system.
    The bill, known as HR 6011, was introduced by congressman Bruce Westerman (R-Ark.), according to an opinion piece published on September 16 in The Hill by Marc Levin (vice president of criminal justice policy at the Texas Public Policy Foundation and its Right on Crime initiative) and Jody Kent Lavy (executive director of the Campaign for the Fair Sentencing of Youth).
    “Should it pass, HR 6011 would ensure that children sentenced in the federal system would have the opportunity to petition a judge to review their sentence after they have served 20 years in prison,” the article said.
    “The (petitioners) would then be afforded counsel at each of their review hearings—a maximum of three—where the judge would consider, among other factors, their demonstrated maturity, rehabilitation, and fitness to re-enter society.
    “In other words, this bill does not guarantee release for anyone but would ensure that children prosecuted and convicted of serious crimes in the federal system are afforded an opportunity to demonstrate whether they are deserving of a second chance.”
    In the last five years, conservative states like North Dakota, Utah and Arkansas have banned life-without-parole for children, according to the article.

    “While children must be held accountable for their actions, every parent knows that children are not the same as adults. Their understanding of risk and consequences are limited and they often have more difficulty resisting pressure from peers and adults,” the article said.
    “Every parent also knows that children have a unique capacity for positive growth and change.”
    Other co-sponsors of the bill are Karen Bass (D- Calif.), Tony Cardenas (D- Calif.) and Lynn Jenkins (R-Kansas).

    Resilience: A key factor in growth

    Alex Massart at the Matterhorn

    Chan Zuckerberg Initiative (CZI) aids programs

    Oklahoma has highest incarceration rate in U.S.

    San Quentin News & Wall City Merchandise

    America’s Prisons Need To Focus On Healing, Education and Training

    Court order gives defense lawyers a raise

    Importance of good character and integrity in prison

    by

    Photo by Eddie Herena, SQN

    Lynn Beyett and Marty Walters at the Brothers’ Keepers graduation

    Cost of reputation, Part 1

    Editor’s note: Survival in prison often depends on reputation. A good reputation confers respect and longevity. A bad reputation may result in being ostracized, extorted, assaulted or, worse, murdered. This three-part series will feature stories of survival and redemption.

    “When I first came to prison I wanted to be left alone, not to be harassed or victimized by other inmates,” said Marty Walters, 50, who has been incarcerated 30 years for first-degree murder. “So, I acted like a tough guy and made weapons because I wasn’t going to let people boss me around.”
    Two months into his prison sentence at Pelican Bay maximum security prison, he committed his first stabbing.
    “A guy sex-played me as a joke, and I thought I had to make an example out of him,” Walters said. “So I went to my cell, sharpened a knife made from a door handle to kill him, when my cellmate asked me what I was doing. He said, ‘That guy was just playing, that’s how people play in prison.’ But I didn’t believe him.

    “So I went after him and ended up with a reputation as being crazy.”

    Walters’ trajectory to prison started at the age of 17, when he started selling drugs.

    At the age of 20, Walters was arrested for manufacturing and distributing 800 pounds of meth.
    “When I sold drugs in the streets, I wanted to be the best that there was at it,” Walters said. “Having a solid reputation in the drug game begets respect, and it deterred rivals from robbing you. In order to gain a reputation to survive in the drug business and in prison, I used violence.”
    During a botched drug deal, Walters murdered a person and was sentenced to 25 years-to-life at the age of 22.
    During his incarceration, Walters received 25 disciplinary infractions, from trafficking narcotics to inmate battery. He also participated in seven riots.
    “It was never my goal to become ‘the man’ in prison, however, I got tired of be- ing in riots for stupid things people did, such as owe money for drug debts or dis- respect. I thought if I could control my own race, then these things wouldn’t happen anymore.”

    In prison, people often form alliances based on gang affiliations or by race.

    After a decade of building up a reputation using violence and volunteering to assault other inmates for his associates, Walters was selected to become a shot-caller for the Whites at Pleasant Valley State Prison.

    “One of the main reasons why I was chosen was because I didn’t use drugs,” Walters said. “This was important because most shot-callers caused riots for refusing to pay drug debts.”

    Hope for Lifers facilitators (top row) Kevin Carr, Gary Kosta, Marty Walters
    and Robert Tyler (bottom row) James Metters and Nicolas Bucci


    In prison, drug addicts are often shunned or ostracized or being a potential problem source.

    “Some of the incentives of being a shot-caller was a feeling of being respected—whatever I said was going to be obeyed,” Walters said.
    “I could deter- mine the fate of anyone who opposed me. This included having people murdered, stabbed or taken off the yard.”
    In order to maintain power, people of influence often resort to violence. However, that comes with a cost.

    I’ve spent almost nine years in solitary confinement and had numerous confidential information placed in my file,” Walters said.
    Confidential information, or “kites,” is often information given to prison officials anonymously by inmates due to fear or rivalry.
    Confidential information can be used by prison officials to deny parole, and in the past, it could be used to place an inmate into solitary confinement indefinitely.
    “I lost my compassion and humanity being a shot-caller,” Walters said. “On many occasions I had to order someone I knew or liked to be taken out for a rule violation.”

    Those who violate the prisoner code of conduct may face punishment that ranges from being placed on a work-out routine to being murdered.

    “Living this life, I created a lot of enemies, some of whom are here with me at this prison,” Walters said.

    One of them is Lynn Beyett, 66, who has been incarcerated for the past 21 years.
    “I don’t really blame Marty (Walters) for having me assaulted,” Beyett said. “The old me would’ve done the same to him if the roles were reversed.
    “Although the assault took place over a decade ago, I never fully recovered my reputation, but I am fine with that. After I promised my daughter that I would never go back to being who I used to be, I stepped away from participating in prison politics.”
    Beyett has known Walters for over three decades since they were both at Pelican Bay State Prison.
    “When I got here in 2013, I made it my priority to apologize to Lynn and, fortunately, we found a way to forgive each other, even though in the past he said he wanted revenge,” Walters said.
    In response, Beyett said, “I had to forgive Marty, because we used to be the same. For me not to forgive him meant I couldn’t forgive myself. It was difficult to do this at first, but as time’s gone by, I have gained a greater understanding and compassion for Marty and myself.
    “As for Marty, he has changed more than I could’ve possibly imagined—he has become a person with a very good heart.”

    Today, Beyett and Walters are both part of the Brothers Keepers program in San Quentin as rape and crisis counselors helping inmates in need.

    Walters also works as a drug treatment counselor helping those with addiction. In addition, he helps other inmates with legal assistance, skills he honed fighting criminal charges he had accumulated in prison.
    In spite of being decades-free from disciplinary infractions and gang affiliation, Walters’ prison history continues to be a reason for him not being found suitable for parole.
    Walters will have another chance at parole in 2019.

    Unite the People ballot initiative

    Dr. Downey overcomes hurdles

    San Quentin News & Wall City Merchandise

    Wisconsin ends harsh treatment of youth

    by

    Wisconsin prison officials have reached a legal settlement aimed at bringing sweeping criminal justice reform to its youth prisons.
    The settlement provides for “broad changes at the state’s troubled youth prison, (which) include banning guards from using pepper spray, ending solitary confinement for rule-breakers and limiting mechanical restraints and strip searches,” The Associated Press reported in June.
    Pending approval from a federal judge, the settlement would include $1 million for ACLU’s attorney fees. ACLU represented the plaintiffs against the state.
    “We hope this settlement (will) signal a larger shift in Wisconsin’s juvenile justice system toward an approach that recognizes the unique needs and vulnerabilities of youth and respects their constitutional rights,” said Timothy Muth,  ACLU attorney.
    The U.S. Department of Justice has been investigating allegations of widespread abuse of Wisconsin prisons since 2015, according to the AP.
    “In March, Wisconsin Department of Corrections reached an $18.9 million settlement with a former juvenile inmate who suffered brain damage after she tried to hang herself in her cell,” AP reported.

    The girl alleged that staff ignored signs that she was contemplating suicide and didn’t respond to her cell call light when she activated it before she attempted suicide, AP reported.

    Wisconsin’s Department of Justice Secretary Ed Wall resigned in February 2016 after the FBI took over the investigation into allegations of abuse at its prisons. The probe is still ongoing, according to AP.

    PPI’s “Correctional Control: Incarceration and Supervision by State” is the first report to aggregate data on all types of correctional control nationwide.

    CA senators bill baring juveniles from adult courts

    Formerly incarcerated author, Donna Hylton

    Translate »