San Quentin News

Written By Incarcerated - Advancing Social Justice

Eddie Mixon’s Struggle To Survive His Risks

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As Coronavirus deaths escalate in California’s prisons, advocates say medical parole could help stem the pandemic.

With a third of the population at San Quentin State Prison infected, the chronically ill and the elderly are scared that without intervention they could be next. [Note: This article was written in June. By mid-July, half the population of SQ was infected, by mid-August, more than 20 had died.]

Two more San Quentin State Prison inmates died of what appears to be complications related to COVID-19 over the weekend, according to the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR), heightening fears that the prison’s outbreak is spinning out of control. Scott Thomas Erskine, 57, and Manuel Machado Alvarez, 59, are the 23rd and 24th COVID-19-related deaths of incarcerated people in California’s prison system. San Quentin alone currently has 1,379 people who have tested positive for COVID-19— over a third of the prison’s population.

“I’m scared as hell because of coronavirus,” said Willie Mixon, who is a 70-year-old African-American incarcerated at San Quentin. “Who do you think would be the first person knocked off? Not a moment goes by that I don’t think about that.”

Mixon uses a wheelchair and is currently on dialysis for his kidney failure. For treatment, he has a stent placed in his left arm. Three days a week he must go through two to three hours of blood transfusions to stay alive.

“When I first started the dialysis, it wasn’t so bad. After it, I could get up and talk,” Mixon said. “Now it feels like someone’s pushing on my chest, like I’m taking off in a jet. I lose my voice and I’m tired. I can’t explain the tiredness—it’s draining. I get fuzzy.”

A variety of factors make incarcerated people like Mixon high-risk during a deadly pandemic. Prisons are notoriously overcrowded (in some cases with beds placed just three feet apart) which can make maintaining the recommended six feet of distancing next to impossible. An estimated 40 percent of incarcerated Americans report having a chronic condition, many of which (including chronic kidney disease) make them high-risk for developing severe complications from COVID-19. The availability of face masks and other protective gear has been extremely limited, resulting in the American Civil Liberties Union of Southern California to file a statewide lawsuit in May.

In response, a mix of prosecutors, doctors, and prisoner rights advocates have called for immediate or expedited release of people like Mixon who have serious chronic health conditions. This move, they argue, could save lives by reducing overcrowding and getting the most vulnerable into safer conditions. It’s a prospect that makes Mixon perk up.  

“What can I do, except stay home, babysit my grandkids and get them to teach me how to use the computer?” Mixon said of the prospect of an early release. “My daughter would be able to take my social security and take care of me.”

In California, CDCR announced in June that those convicted of nonviolent offenses who had less than 180 days on their sentence were eligible for supervised release and at the end of March, 3,500 people were let out on parole a few days or weeks early. 

Mixon is serving a life sentence for drug possession under California’s Three Strikes Law. Violent offenses, dating back to 1978, disqualify him from early release from previously passed Three Strikes reform measures.

“Seeing Mixon struggle is hard. But he always bounces back and never complains,” said Ron Ehde, who works for the Inmate Disability Assistant Program (IDAP) and has been incarcerated 23 years. He’s doing a 50-year-to-life sentence under California’s Three Strike Law for second-degree robbery. “Since I’ve been assisting him, he’s become like ‘family.'”

In 2014, California expanded medical parole in an attempt to reduce prison crowding. This allows medical staff to assess medically incapacitated prisoners for how much help they require with things like mobility in bed, using the bathroom, and eating. If they’re not deemed to pose an “unreasonable risk to public safety,” this could potentially make them eligible for medical parole.

While prison medical officials should assess everyone who may be eligible, a prison’s family or other advocate can request that they’re evaluated for medical parole. If a parolee’s condition improves or if they’re deemed a threat to public safety, their parole can be revoked.

No prison official has discussed the possibility of medical parole with Mixon.

Despite what many advocates say is a common-sense response to a growing crisis, the use of medical parole during the pandemic has been limited.

“Expanded Medical Parole might not be as productive an avenue for releases as it should be,” said Keith Wattley, the Founding Executive Director of Uncommon Law which provides health and legal counseling to incarcerated people. “It requires medical staff at a prison to issue a report finding a person to be totally medically incapacitated, after which a referral is made to the parole board, which might schedule a hearing months later to consider whether the incapacitated person could safely be transferred to a skilled nursing facility in the community. This process is slow and depends on prison medical staff, parole board staff, and community facilities.”

Some local jails have been proactive, including Alabama’s Mobile Metro Jail, which in April released almost a third of those incarcerated, some because they had underlying medical issues.  About 100 people were released from Boulder County Jail in Colorado, including some of those who had pre-existing medical conditions.

In comparison to local jails, prisons like San Quentin “are releasing almost no one,” according to the Prison Policy Initiative, a nonprofit that researches mass incarceration, for medical issues or otherwise. 

In Louisiana, which has the highest incarceration rate in the country, a review panel was created to review up to 1,100 people for temporary release but that panel was suspended in June after less than 600 cases were reviewed. Just 63 people were released.

Like many incarcerated people, Mixon’s medical issues have plagued him for years and have gotten worse during his time at San Quentin. People often age prematurely when in detention, experiencing health problems associated with much older individuals.

Mixon noticed serious swelling below his knees around 2018. He sought medical attention but didn’t get any answers about what was wrong.

“Then one day everything from my knees down blew up, like elephant feet. A couple weeks later, while using the toilet, I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t wipe or anything. I fell on the floor and couldn’t get up.”

Mixon said he was so weak that he couldn’t yell loud enough to call for help. He tapped on the cell wall to get the attention of his neighbor, who called, “Man down!”

A correctional officer arrived and asked him to step out of the cell, but Mixon couldn’t get to his feet. The CO radioed for assistance before coming inside the cell to turn on the light. Mixon told the COs that he didn’t feel bad, but couldn’t stand. Three COs tried to pick him up, but couldn’t get a good grip—his body was too bloated. They pulled him out by his arms and legs.

“I couldn’t even raise my head to see what was going on,” Mixon said. “They put me in a wheelchair and took me to TTA [San Quentin triage].”

Mixon desperately wanted to see himself and kept asking for a mirror. When he got one, seeing his swollen body brought him to tears.

He was taken to Marin General Hospital (outside of San Quentin) and treated for kidney failure before he was returned to San Quentin’s hospital for continued treatment.

“At first, I was still big and couldn’t move on my own. The nurses had to come every few hours to turn me over,” Mixon said. 

The initial recovery took about two months during which he experienced mental and physical fatigue and weight loss as a result of the dialysis.

“When I got back to North Block, I was very small. The biggest thing on me was my head,” Mixon said. 

“It’s crazy that this is what it has come to: We’re keeping people in prison until they are so medically disabled that they can’t even take care of themselves. And even then we’re using a months-long, resource heavy process just to transfer their care to a facility in the community,” said Wattley. “This is a miserable substitute for the Governor and prison leadership releasing the thousands necessary to keep people safe.”

Mixon is scheduled to appear before the parole board next year but has struggled to do the preparation his parole commissioners have asked of him. 

“Everything went downhill because of the high-potent psych meds. I haven’t adjusted to them.  They mess me up. Plus, I’m in and out of the hospital,” said Mixon.

Mixon’s memories of his family and the hope of spending time with them again is part of what keeps him going. He smiles when he recalls the day his daughter was born.

“When I complained to my mother that I wanted a boy, she told me ‘Jesus blessed you with what you need.'”

COVID-19 Took Away This Father’s One Chance a Year to See His Kids

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This was going to be the year that Dion DeMerrill would fully explain to his sons why he is in prison. The virus lockdown made that unlikely.

DeMerrill looks forward every year to this one chance to see his kids, when he and other incarcerated men and women link up with their kids, thanks to the Get On The Bus program.

Get on the Bus brings children and their caregivers from throughout the state of California to visit their mothers and fathers in prison.

But the COVID-19 pandemic forced all programs in state prisons to be suspended, including the Get on The Bus program that allowed him to visit with his kids.

He’s a father of three — an 18-year-old daughter, D’oni, who is in college, and two boys, 13-year-old Dion Jr. and 9-year-old Dr’Lon.

With numerous parents serving time in California prisons, their children are in the homes of relatives or subject to foster care.

According to research by the family reunification organization, Get on the Bus (GOTB), the negative outcomes of children with incarcerated parents include decreased mental health, behavioral and educational challenges, as well as higher rates of being incarcerated themselves.

“Before, when they asked when I was coming home, I told them I was in Texas,” DeMerrill said. “But my oldest son kept asking questions, so I told him what happened. A few weeks before Get on the Bus last year, my youngest son was told I am in prison. He still doesn’t know why. This year, I wanted to tell him the whole story.”

DeMerrill, 43, became an incarcerated parent when he was sentenced in 2013 to 16 years in state prison for involuntary manslaughter.

“The crime happened because of a lack of communications and respect,” said DeMerrill, who had never been in trouble with the law before. “I just happened to be in the middle of something.”

DeMerrill, the fourth child of five — and the only boy — added, “I was raised by my mother — a single parent. I grew up in West Oakland, California. My mother did her best with us. It was hard to raise a boy alone. She did not do just a good job, but a great job.”

When he was 21, DeMerrill moved out on his own, but kept in close contact with his mother and sisters.

“When this accident happened, they all came together to help me,” he said. “They are still supportive to me. If I need anything, they are right there for me. We were taught to always help each other when in need.”

DeMerrill came to San Quentin State Prison in 2017. 

Talking to his kids on the phone helps him get by, he said. He also likes to relax by playing board games, exercising, watching the news and writing letters. 

Since arriving at San Quentin, he’s been attending self-help groups. He’s graduated from the violence prevention programs No More Tears and Non-Violent Communications and is currently enrolled in the Guiding Rage Into Power (GRIP) program. 

Two years ago, another prisoner told DeMerrill about GOTB. 

“I filled out the application because my daughter just turned 18, so she was able to bring my two boys,” DeMerrill said. 

An annual event, Get on the Bus offers free transportation for the children and their caregivers to the prison, provides travel bags for the children, comfort bags for the caregivers, a photo of each child with his or her parent, and meals for the day (breakfast, snacks on the bus, a special lunch at the prison with their parent and dinner on the way home), all at no cost to the children’s family. On the bus trip home, following a four-hour visit, each child receives a teddy bear with a letter from their parent and post-event counseling.

“At that time, I hadn’t touched my kids since December 2013 and I hadn’t seen them since December 2014. I was only able to call them once a week. 

“Last year was full of tears,” he recounted. “When my kids saw me, they stared at me because they hadn’t seen me in so long. My youngest son was in Pampers when I came to prison and I missed his second birthday.” During the visit, they played board games and he gave his sons “horsey back rides.” 

“I was too old for that,” DeMerrill said. “I thanked the lady who was responsible for bringing my kids.”

His daughter, D’oni, said last year was about “holding, touching, and hugging our dad — that’s the main thing.” Her brothers agreed.

DeMerril said he had wanted to use this year’s GOTB visit to teach his sons about prison — “that this is a place where you never want to come” — but the pandemic has kept them apart.

For D’oni too, this hit hard. She said the program is important because it’s the only time she and her brothers get to see their father.

She said she “hates COVID-19 because so many lives are being taken and everybody can’t go outside like how it used to be. I cope with it by spending quality time with my family.” But her dad is just too far. 

“It’s too expensive for a plane ticket,” D’oni said. “So we rely on the Get on the Bus to see him. My favorite memory was being able to hug him, so being able to see him in 2019 was one of the best days of the whole year. I miss our trips together. They used to be so fun.”

DeMerrill’s 13-year-old, Dion Jr., said that COVID-19 is “kind of scary, because it’s deadly and we can’t go to school.” Like his sister, he said it’s hard to miss out on the only opportunity to see his dad. Getting the chance to spend time and play games with him were his best memories from last year. 

Dr’lon said he’s coping with COVID-19 by playing video games with his older brother. He also said his favorite memories from 2019 were being with his dad on their Father’s Day visit. 

“He always makes me laugh,” Dr’lon said. “I miss him playing with me.”

AT SAN QUENTIN, OVERCROWDING LAID THE GROUNDWORK FOR AN EXPLOSIVE COVID-19 OUTBREAK

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All but nine of California’s 35 prisons house more people than the facility was designed to hold. 

The following article by Juan Haines, Senior Editor of the San Quentin News and Elizabeth Weill-Greenberg is reprinted by the permission of The Appeal, which produces original journalism on how policy, politics, and the legal system impact America’s most vulnerable people.

The conditions for the novel coronavirus to spread rapidly have long been in place at San Quentin State Prison. Like much of California’s prison system, it has been dangerously overcrowded.

As of May 30, no prisoners at San Quentin had tested positive for COVID-19. That day, 121 people were transferred there from a facility with a deadly outbreak. On May 31, California’s department of corrections reported the first confirmed case of a prisoner with COVID-19 at the prison—and within weeks, hundreds were infected. 

San Quentin Prison Industry Authority chair factory transforms into an alternative care site

As of July 20, there have been 2,089 confirmed cases of COVID-19 among prisoners at San Quentin, according to the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR). About 1,100 people have recovered.

Thirteen people incarcerated at the prison have died from complications arising from COVID-19, according to the CDCR; six were serving a death sentence. Last year, Governor Gavin Newsom imposed a moratorium on executions and ordered the execution chamber closed. California has not carried out an execution since 2006. 

So far this year, 11 death row prisoners have died, compared with nine for the entirety of 2019. Two died in February of natural causes, according to the CDCR. 

The cause of death for the remaining nine is pending, according to CDCR’s website. Of those nine, three people were found unresponsive in their single cells—on March 28, June 24, and July 1. The remaining six died between July 3 and July 20 of apparent complications from COVID-19, according to the CDCR; all six were hospitalized at the time of their death.

Some who test positive for COVID-19 or have been exposed to someone who tests positive are isolated in administrative segregation housing units, according to the CDCR. Administrative segregation is generally considered to be a euphemism for solitary confinement.

“Those being placed into segregated housing due to COVID-19 are not being moved for punitive reasons, they are moved in order to prevent further spread of the COVID-19 virus in the affected unit,” reads the CDCR website. “Patients on isolation are screened twice a day by health care staff.”

When asked for the number of people in administrative segregation because of COVID-19, CDCR spokesperson Jeffrey Callison, emailed The Appeal, “We don’t share numbers in quarantine or isolation.”

As early as March, public health experts warned of an impending crisis facing the state’s overcrowded prisons. (The Justice Collaborative organized a letter by public health experts to urge the governor to release individuals who are over 60 or medically vulnerable, and identified as low-risk or have five years or less left on their sentences. The Appeal is an editorially independent project of The Justice Collaborative.) 

“The crowded conditions make it difficult, if not impossible, for the prison system to spread people out,” said Don Specter, executive director of the Prison Law Office. “They’re living in a place which makes contagion very probable.”

The Prison Law Office, along with other attorneys, filed an emergency motion in March, asking the federal district court to order the CDCR to release to parole or post-release community supervision prisoners within a year of their parole date who were either serving time for a nonviolent offense or identified as low risk by the CDCR’s risk assessment tool. Even before the pandemic, some prisons had too few on-site medical beds to meet patients’ needs, the attorneys wrote. A pandemic, they cautioned, would be catastrophic. The court denied their motion. 

Throughout the pandemic, the prisons have remained overcrowded even though the department of corrections has reduced the state prison population by about 10,000 people since March. All but nine of California’s 35 prisons house more people than they were designed to hold. For the prisons to operate at about 100 percent capacity, the population would have to be reduced by more than 16,000 people. Without mass releases, few options remain to keep prisoners safe. 

To stem transmissions, San Quentin’s population must be reduced by 50 percent, according to a report released in June by the University of California, Berkeley School of Public Health and Amend, a prison reform organization. As of July 15, the prison housed 3,362 people, at about 109 percent of its capacity. At the beginning of this month, David Sears, an infectious disease specialist and professor at the University of California-San Francisco, spoke to state legislators as a representative of Amend.

“California prisons are already over 100 percent capacity,” he testified. “We must depopulate all of our prisons immediately if we are to have any hope of avoiding what has happened at San Quentin at California’s other facilities.”

After public outcry about the rising infection and death rates, the state’s department of corrections announced on July 10 that up to an estimated 8,000 prisoners could be eligible for release by the end of August. As part of this effort, the CDCR will grant a positive programming credit to prisoners, which would reduce a sentence by 12 weeks. Those who committed a “serious rules violation” between March 1 and July 5 of this year are not eligible for the credit. Serious rules violations include murder, rape, and assault, as well as possession of a cellphone and “gang activity,” according to the CDCR’s announcement. 

The department also plans to release prisoners based on a number of criteria, such as type of offense, medical vulnerabilities, and time left to serve. 

For those incarcerated at prisons with “large populations of high-risk patients,” people will be considered for release if they have a year or less to serve, are not serving time for a violent crime, have no current or prior sentence that requires them to register as a sex offender, and are not at a high risk of violence, according to the department. 

Prisoners who are 30 and over and meet these criteria are “immediately eligible for release,” according to the CDCR. Those who are 29 and younger, will be reviewed case by case. These groups will be screened on a rolling basis until the department “determines such releases are no longer necessary.”

People who are identified as “high-risk medical,” such as those who are over 65 and have chronic conditions, are eligible for release, as long as they are not serving a life without the possibility of parole or death sentence, and are not identified as “high-risk sex offenders,” according to the CDCR. 

The department is also “reviewing potential release protocols for incarcerated persons who are in hospice or pregnant,” according to the department’s announcement. “Everybody will be reviewed based on both their current health risk and risk to public safety.” CDCR spokesperson Dana Simas confirmed to The Appeal that the review will include those sentenced to death or life without the possibility of parole. 

The department will be “expediting the release” of those who are still incarcerated despite being approved for parole by the Board of Parole Hearings and the governor. As of July 15, there were 436 people who were incarcerated after having received a grant of parole, according to the CDCR. 

The department of corrections’ announcement featured a number of statements from local advocacy groups, praising the release plan. “We applaud the Governor for working on two crucial fronts: getting the most vulnerable people out of harm’s way and stemming the spread of COVID-19 inside prisons and neighboring communities,” said Anne Irwin, director of Smart Justice California. 

But other experts condemned it as dangerously inadequate. 

The type of crime should not disqualify people for release, as there is no correlation between offense and risk to public safety, said Hadar Aviram, a professor at the University of California Hastings College of the Law. “It’s too little, it’s too late, it’s too reactive, and it’s too restrictive,” she said of the CDCR’s plan.

Those who are over 50 should be prioritized for release, as research shows people typically age out of committing crime, she said. More than 30,000 people age 50 and older were incarcerated as of December 31, 2017, the most recently available CDCR data. According to the same report, almost half of the state’s prisoners—over 60,000—were identified as low-risk to reoffend. 

“I’m seeing the pattern of trying to carve out of the prison population,” Aviram said, “these slivers of people that they think are going to be non-controversial and hoping that if they have this sliver and this sliver and this sliver, overall the numbers are going to add up. The numbers are not going to add up. The number is 8,000. It’s not enough.”

Adnan Khan, executive director of Restore Justice, agrees that the plan fails to protect the people incarcerated inside the state’s prisons. The day before the plan was announced, he stood outside San Quentin at a press conference with the Stop San Quentin Outbreak coalition. 

Adnan Khan speaking at the press conference

“This is not a COVID response. COVID responses are urgent and they’re much more drastic,” he said. “This is more of a political response to the pressure versus a COVID response for health.”

In 2003, Khan, then 18 years old and homeless, committed a robbery with an accomplice. He had agreed to grab the victim’s marijuana, believing that no weapons were going to be used. But during the crime the getaway driver stabbed the victim, killing him.  

Under the felony murder rule, Khan was held responsible for the murder, and sentenced to 25 years to life. Last year, he went before Judge Laurel Brady who resentenced Khan, then 34, to three years, thanks to a change in California’s felony murder statute. 

“In a matter of three minutes I went from being a violent, crazy criminal offender, whatever those derogatory terms are,” said Khan. “Three minutes later, I’m not even on parole or probation. I’m safe for society.”

Khan was incarcerated at San Quentin for four years. At least two people he served time with their died from COVID-19, he said.

“I’m doing this interview with a heavy heart and really frustrated,” he said. “It’s like, who’s next? Which one of our friends is next?”

The crisis facing California prisoners has been years in the making. Between 1980 and 2006, the state’s prison population increased by 514 percent, according to the Brennan Center for Justice, in part because of harsh sentencing laws. In 1994, California enacted the three strikes law, which mandated at least a 25 to life sentence for any third felony. 

As the prison population increased, conditions inside deteriorated. 

In 1990, a class action lawsuit, Coleman v. Brown, alleged that prisoners with severe mental illness were denied adequate mental healthcare. The federal court agreed and appointed a special master to monitor reforms. In 2007, he reported that the declining quality of care was due to overcrowding. 

Then in 2001, the Prison Law Office filed a class action suit, Plata v. Brown, alleging that prisoners with serious medical issues were also denied adequate care. About four years later, the court appointed a receiver to oversee changes to the medical system. In 2008, he reported that overcrowding was contributing to dangerously inadequate medical care and the spread of infectious diseases. 

The cases were consolidated before a three-judge panel and, in 2009, the panel ordered the state to reduce its prison population to 137.5 percent of design capacity within two years. Individual prisons could go beyond that, as long as other prisons balanced them out. 

“Until the problem of overcrowding is overcome it will be impossible to provide constitutionally compliant care to California’s prison population,” the judges wrote. 

The state appealed and, in 2011, the U.S. Supreme Court agreed that overcrowding in California’s prison system violated the Eighth Amendment’s prohibition on cruel and unusual punishment. “Prisoners are crammed into spaces neither designed nor intended to house inmates,” wrote Justice Anthony Kennedy for the majority. “As many as 200 prisoners may live in a gymnasium, monitored by as few as two or three correctional officers.”

Prisoners at San Quentin have had to struggle with the ominous threat of infection in an increasingly distressing environment. They can only shower every three days, unless they’ve been identified as critical workers who are permitted to shower after their shift, according to a page on the CDCR website that details actions the department is taking to address the outbreak at San Quentin. 

On July 14, the CDCR suspended phone calls in shared spaces, according to CDCR spokesperson Callison. When asked if there is any phone access that is not in communal spaces, Callison emailed The Appeal that there is not. “If it is a legal call, requested by the attorney or the court, it is facilitated in a counselor’s office on a non-recorded phone,” he wrote. 

The CDCR has also attempted to stem transmission by increasing social distancing among prisoners. As the outbreak at San Quentin became one of the largest in the country, tents to house prisoners went up on the baseball field outside.

In the spring, the gym was turned into housing, according to the CDCR. In Amend’s report, the authors warned that “there is little to no ventilation” inside the San Quentin gym. The conditions, they wrote, were creating a “high-risk for a catastrophic super spreader event.”

On April 11, North Block had just finished serving breakfast to the more than 750 prisoners there. “I need seven volunteers to work in the gym,” a correctional officer asked over the block’s public address system. 

The day before, a flatbed truck drove up to the gym. The truck’s sideboards were topped with battleship-gray 3-inch twin-size mattresses that most California prisoners sleep on.

Six prisoners went to the gym to set up 112 cots, in two rows of four with 30 inches between beds on the sides, and 12 inches head to head. Six feet separated 14 pods of eight beds, each. Several men continued the work over the next two days. For their labor, the set-up crew earned extra lunches and cleaning supplies.

Before the pandemic, the gym’s morning hours were filled with prisoners taking rehabilitative classes. At night, they watched TV, and played basketball, table tennis, card games, role-playing games, and chess. There were guitars and keyboards, haircuts being given, and guys sitting at stainless steel tables studying parole plans—what to do on the other side of the wall.

Those sleeping in the gym said they did not feel they could keep an adequate distance from one another. De’Jon Tamani Joy said when he and other prisoners got to the gym, they were promised there would be partitions between the beds.

“No partitions have been made available, nor seem to be coming,” Joy said. “The environment I’ve been housed in has created stress and anxiety.”

Curtis Thiessen agreed there should be partitions. “I don’t feel safe here because of the living conditions,” he said. “I believe we’re too close together.”

Fearing he would contract the virus, Ronald Shanko said he didn’t want to move to the gym but feared a disciplinary report if he refused. “We’re jammed in like sardines in a can,” he said. 

NEWS BRIEFS: All Over the U.S.

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Alabama — Since September 2019, the state’s parole board denied 92% of people who sought release from prison, according to a report by ACLU, Smart Justice. In 2018, the report found 4,239 people were released on parole — 2,291 were released in 2019.

Virginia — Two bills designed to prevent corrections officials from strip-searching anyone under 18 and stop the practice of banning visitors who refuse a strip search passed the state Senate unanimously last January, The Virginian-Pilot reports. The legislation comes after a series of stories revealed that corrections officials had strip-searched an 8-year-old girl, several women during their periods and an 83-year-old man, among others.

Colorado — A vote last January has cleared the way for the state to repeal its death penalty, The Intelligencer Feed reports. Colorado is one of four states where the death penalty is currently under an official moratorium issued by a governor.

New York  — The Manhattan District Attorney’s Conviction Integrity Program agreed to toss out Rafael Ruiz’s 1987 conviction for sexually assaulting a woman in East Harlem, ABC7NY reports. On April 29, 2009, he walked out of Orleans Correctional Facility. Newly tested DNA evidence did not place him at the crime scene or as the assailant. Ruiz had been eligible for parole since August 28, 1992, but every time he appeared, he refused to admit his guilt to a crime he did not commit.

New Mexico  —  Private health care provider, Corizon Health is refusing to comply with a court order to release settlements it made with prisoners who sued the company alleging poor care, reports the Santa Fe New Mexican.

Baltimore — Corrections officials plan to convert the Brockbridge Correctional Facility into a “comprehensive prerelease, reentry, and workforce development facility” for both men and women, The Washington Post reports. Corrections leaders say it will offer programs to get people on the right track as they leave prison, with a focus on job training, education and family mediation.

Arizona —The Ninth Circuit refused to reverse a contempt order against the Arizona Department of Corrections for failing to improve its prison healthcare. Corizon Health failed to improve the system’s inadequate staffing, substandard care and indifference to prisoners with severe mental health problems at 10 state-run prisons system, Courthouse News Service reports.

Ohio — Gov. Mike DeWine announced last January that the state would delay four executions originally set for this year as the state searches for a solution to problems with its lethal injection execution methods, Scene & Heard reports.

Idaho — State corrections officials announced a $28 million per year contract with CoreCivic to house 1,000-plus prisoners in Colorado due to a shortage of Idaho prison beds, reports the Post Register.

Connecticut  —  Department of Corrections use of prolonged solitary confinement could inflict psychological torture on inmates, a United Nations human rights expert said in February. “These practices trigger and exacerbate psychological suffering, in particular in inmates who may have experienced previous trauma or have mental health conditions or psychosocial disabilities,” the expert said. “The severe and often irreparable psychological and physical consequences of solitary confinement and social exclusion are well documented and can range from progressively severe forms of anxiety, stress and depression to cognitive impairment and suicidal tendencies.”

Florida — The State Senate on Feb. 26 endorsed a measure granting more discretion to judges when handing down sentences in drug-related convictions, the Washington Examiner reports.

Youth Coaches Told Why They Are So Important

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A team of prisoners met with youth coaches from the San Francisco Bay Area in San Quentin’s Protestant Chapel on Feb. 28. They talked about young people’s understanding of masculinity and the role coaches play in their lives.

Coaching4Life aims to show coaches how to maximize the impact they have on young athletes.

“We believe that youth coaches are the most influential people in their lives,” said Coaching4Life facilitator Brandon Terrell. “You may think that it’s the job of the parents, but 20 million kids are growing up without a father. I’m one of them.” He added, “Sports are in the perfect position to show young boys how to serve others and be committed to a cause bigger than themselves.”

Terrell went on to say that 92% of high school dropouts didn’t play sports, while 95% of Fortune 500 executives played high school sports and gave credit to their sports experience for their successes in life.

Coaching4Life was a one-day workshop that discussed how the definition of “man” changed since childhood, the wide range of teachings that coaches impart on youth, how to teach masculinity and “The Man Box.” The workshop also focused on defining success.

“I loved growing up in The Man Box,” Ronald Carter said. “I got picked first.”

Carter talked about the respect he gained by putting on the “tough guy” persona and how being called the wrong name, like sissy or chump, was serious business.

“If you call me one of those names, I’d go off. I’d want to fight,” Carter said. “Those names take us out of the box.”

Carter went on to talk about how maturity shifted his perspective about masculinity. Today, he says, he’s on a mission to help younger athletes.

“Show me the man you honor, and I’ll show you the man you want to be,” Carter said.

The workshop participants formed small groups to discuss each topic.

Some participants defined success as “being able to ask for help without being ashamed or to say that I love my family.” Others, “setting goals and seeing them through,” “being a positive influence,” “being happy and in a healthy relationship,” and understanding that “coaches are teachers and kids are sponges,” as well as, “coaches are authority figures that young athletes look up to.”

Kevin Sample, one of the facilitators, talked about the time coaches spend with young athletes.

“Each day my mother got 10 minutes with me, that same day my coach got four hours,” Sample said. “So, having coaches that teach life skills is important.”

Sample talked about how young kids pay attention to athletes and model the behavior they see.

He then challenged the audience to connect with the children in order “to change the world,” adding, “Our biggest problem is that we hide our brokenness from children.”

What is success? he asked. “Remember that children just don’t know— help our kids, heal their brokenness.”

The Coaching4Life facilitators have 266 years combined incarceration experience—the youngest, Juan Navarro, 33 years old, has been incarcerated for nine years.

“Nothing like this is happening in any other prison,” said Dwight Kennedy. “The volunteers could be doing something different, but they choose to come and do this.”

Bay Area Teachers Gain New Insights

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On an early Wednesday morning, a green bus with silver trim rolled into California’s oldest prison. Prisoners filed out to begin serving time. Later that same day at the same institution, educators and school supervisors from outside the prison arrived to talk to incarcerated students and their inside-the-wall teachers.

The March 4 Teacher’s Forum hosted interested San Francisco Bay Area educators in San Quentin State Prison’s Protestant Chapel. Could these educators learn something from the experience of incarcerated men that would help them stop students on the outside from dropping out of school and winding up in prison?

The participants followed the Restorative Justice Circle process.

“The circle process is a place for community sharing, listening to understand, not to respond,” said Tommy “Shakur” Ross. “Circles are for a story sharing process.”

The prisoners spoke about why they dropped out of school. Their stories highlighted childhood trauma, sexual abuse, the death of a parent, drug dependent parents, substance abuse, gang membership and gang violence.

The prisoners talked about their home life, about growing up without mentors or adult supervision, as well as about their relationships with their schools and teachers. They talked about the trouble they got into, the consequences of being labeled as troublemakers, and the school’s use of detention or being sent out of the classroom. These experiences, they said, led to confusion and missed opportunities for teaching and learning.

The solutions, they said, could come from restorative justice and culturally responsive ideas.

“Listening to a student with a low learning self-esteem is a plus,” said De’Angelo Prince, 20, about what could have kept him in school. “Schools on the outside need to do more listening and trying to understand a student to figure out where they need help at—meet them where they’re at. If we do that people would graduate and go to college.”

Prince is a student in San Quentin’s adult education program. He also participates in several self-help programs offered at the prison, including a writing workshop geared toward serving at-risk youth, a program that focuses on younger prisoners and the violence prevention program No More Tears.

William Feather teaches high school in Mendocino County Jail.

“I was never told that I could get a good education in a safe place,” Feather said. “Sometimes homes are a hard environment. There has to be a buy-in; the question is how do we grab the kids?”

Feather then told the “Two Wolves” Native American folklore.

Everyone has two hungry wolves that live inside him or her. One fights and is disruptive to the world, while the other is calm and understanding.

“The one that wins is the one that we feed,” Feather said.

J. Pertilli, principal for Helms Middle School in San Pablo. said that her school conducts listening circles with eight students at a time to find out what they need and what shuts them down.

Pertilli said that hearing similar stories from her students and the prisoners validates “to do whatever it takes, not to remove a student from class. You have to have compassion to teach.” Referring to the prisoners, she added, “These guys reminded me [that] what I’m doing is valued.”

Zach Whelan, executive director of Project Avary, serves children of incarcerated parents.

“The thing that sits with me is that there is a need for more welcoming,” Whelan said. “A lot of guys shared that in schools they felt unwelcomed, which led to something else.” He added, “Showing up in whatever space we’re at does not cost a lot of money. It’s an attitude.”

One school administrator talked about the school’s inability to tackle some social problems and how those social problems show up as behavioral problems by the time the student gets into middle school.

“One day the kid is happy, the next they shut down,” said Oscar Espinosa, after talking about a childhood trauma. He alerted the teachers that they should pay attention to sudden changes in the demeanor of students.

Robert Russell, 54, is a teacher’s aide in San Quentin’s adult education program.

He said he explains the value of education to incarcerated students “in a way they can understand. It’s amazing how much of an impact that has on men.”

“Being seen and heard and having someone to talk to is important,” Russell said as he brushed back his greying brown hair and told his story.

Emerald Kemp-Aikens, a 25 year-old African American, listened to Russell talk about growing up in a home full of outlaws and family members going in and out of prison. Russell said school was far from his mind as he ran the streets with a childhood friend. Fifteen years later, he said, they met up in prison.

Aikens perked up and said, “I remember one day coming home and seeing a curtain in the kitchen. I pulled it back and saw this man that I’ve never seen before. He was cooking crack, so I left and went to a friend’s house to play ball. It was 15 years later that I saw the same friend in prison. I wasn’t thinking about school or anything like that. I only was thinking [about] having fun and doing what I want to do. There weren’t any consequences, because my mom was more like a friend than a mother—she pretty much let me do what I wanted to do.”

Aikens is currently in the education department studying for his GED, as well as computer literacy and yoga. He also is a member of the San Quentin Warriors basketball team.

“The programs take a lot of stress off me,” Aikens said, adding, “When I’m dribbling the ball, I’m in a whole other place.”

He said that he’s looking forward to getting out of prison by year’s end and is “determined to make it in the world” with a lot of support from his extended family.

William Tolbert, who was a student in the education department, said, “I didn’t learn to read until I came to prison on this jolt at age 37. If the teachers can take anything from this—it’s ‘communication.’”  Tolbert is currently enrolled in the prison’s college program.

Peer educator Freddie Cole commented, “This is so important for people on the streets to hear, so that we don’t spend billions on prisons and instead spend more in schools.”

Mary Roberts, of San Francisco Unified School District, said, “I believe in my heart…that oppression is caused by not giving people the resources they need. That’s prevalent in schools.”

Whelan closed out the forum by saying, “In America today, we need to begin our days like this, with a check in and a check out, so that we can prevent the roadblocks to learning.”

San Quentin News Editor-in-Chief Marcus “Wali” Henderson added, “Teachers on the outside, you’re on the ground floor. The world needs to hear our voices, because kids are ending up here.” Referring to the prisoners, he said, “The men in blue are in a place where we can share and not be judged.”

America stagnated by “compounding moral debts”

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Two essays that appeared in The Atlantic magazine set up Ta-Nehisi Coates as a voice for African-Americans. He wrote The Case for Reparations in 2014 and in 2015, he produced Letter to My Son.

In The Case for Reparations Coates cites, “Two hundred fifty years of slavery. Ninety years of Jim Crow. Sixty years of separate but equal. Thirty-five years of racist housing policy.”

Coates argues, “Until we reckon with our compounding moral debts, America will never be whole.” In the article, Coates uses the in-depth history of Clyde Ross, a real person, to support the case for reparations.

In Letter to My Son, excerpted before publication of Between the World and Me, Coates tells his 15-year-old,

“Here is what I would like for you to know: In America, it is traditional to destroy the black body—it is heritage.” The father cites his own life and compelling evidence to say that African-Americans live under a deliberately inflicted state of violence.

Since the publication of those works, there has been little movement to push for the US to consider its “moral debt” to the descendants of slaves. Since 2015, police have killed hundreds of African-Americans either wrongly or mistakenly, yet no laws were broken in doing so.

Coates’ latest focus on African-Americans combines all of his historical knowledge in, The Water Dancer (2019), a novel full of magical realism.

The historical fiction is set during the oppressive time of US slavery. The protagonist, Hiram, struggles against what it means to have a father and brother who are white, yet his darkened skin enslaves him. In the midst of subjugation, he has his eyes on a slave woman that his White uncle owns.

Coates uses his scholarly knowledge about the Underground Railroad, fugitive slave laws and the abolitionists as fodder to set up various dramas that his characters must navigate. In doing so, Coates created a world different from reality, while at the same time a believable world based on American history.

The following narration describes the feelings involved in Hiram’s enslavement. He fo- cuses most acutely on the sepa- ration from his family, another parallel to incarceration.

To sell a child right from under his mother, you must know that mother only in the thinnest way possible. To strip a man down, condemn him to be beaten, flayed alive, then anointed with salt water, you cannot feel him the way you feel your own. You cannot see yourself in him, lest your hand be stayed, and your hand must never be stayed, because the moment it is, the Tasked will see that you see them, and thus see yourself.

The following passage points to Hiram’s acceptance of the conditions that created his stark reality as well as his detachment from humanity: Slavery is everyday longing, is being born into a world of forbidden victuals and tantalizing untouchables—the land around you, the clothes you hem, the biscuits you bake.

Coates is able to capture Hiram’s docility and hopelessness that comes with slavery, which also is a condition shared with the incarcerated and rehabilitated: So many of us who went, went with dignity and respect. And it occurred to me how absurd it was to cling to morality when surrounded by people who had none.

Coates uses Hiram’s memory to recall events in great detail as a literary device to drive the novel’s plot, which translates to “freedom by any means

necessary.”
The Water Dancer is the product of Coates’ thinking in all of his works—that African Americans are integrated to all of US history, not just segregated segments that seem irrelevant today.

The story is a remarkably poignant exploration of oppression that has happened and can’t be changed. In The Water Dancer, Coates explores the possibility of what can be changed by using historical fiction and magical realism as a guide.

Prison Truth: The Story of the San Quentin News

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Veteran journalist Ted Koppel got it right when he said William J. Drummond proves to be the right person to tell the tale of San Quentin News (SQN). Drummond’s credibility as the storyteller comes from his long and eventful career as a journalist, UC Berkeley journalism professor and his once or twice a week venture inside the SQN newsroom office for more than eight years to mentor incarcerated journalists.

Prison Truth: The Story of the San Quentin News, (2020) is a detailed account of the journey that led to SQN becoming a first-rate prisoner produced newspaper. The newspaper was reborn in 2008 after a 20-year hiatus. Maverick warden Robert Ayers, Jr. wanted to break down the rumor mill and give prisoners trustworthy information about life at the Q.

Since then, SQN has been honored with an award for “extraordinary journalism” by the Society of Professional Journalists and written about by at least five major newspapers.

Drummond began his own relationship with SQN in mid- 2012 by holding a college class in the newsroom. Since then more than 80 of his students have helped incarcerated journalists develop and structure their stories before handing them over to the more than half- dozen advisers. At SQN, the advisers, who are professional journalists, do the final editing and proofing and have done so since its 2008 resurgence.

Drummond has witnessed the monthly paper go to press in spite of major limitations:

no internet access, slow access to outside sources, no smart phones and a literal wall that keeps the staffers away from the community. Drummond notes, “What is lacking in convenience is made up for with grit and determination.”

Much of the grit and determination came from SQN’s third editor in chief, the late Arnulfo Timoteo Garcia, who frequently spoke about how Federal Judge Thelton Hender- son impacted him. After Henderson had visited San Quentin in the summer of 2010, he urged Garcia to invite as many people as possible to come inside San Quentin to see the rehabilitative efforts of the prisoners.

Garcia followed that advice by inviting judges, district attorneys, county sheriffs, state and federal lawmakers to at- tend and participate in San Quentin forums— we’ve now had more than two dozen of them—where prisoners talk about their incarceration experience, rehabilitative efforts and reentry plans.

The forums, modeled after restorative justice circles, give the outside public safety officials an authentic and intimate view of prisons and its occupants.

As a direct result of the forums, San Francisco district attorneys created a Formerly Incarcerated Advisory Board. Newly elected District Attorney Chesa Boudin said that he intends to keep the board.

Prison Truth examines the advantages of having stories told by people directly affected by incarceration. The resulting news narratives are from the vantage point of embedded re- porters.

One of the newspaper’s original mandates is to scrutinize programs designed for rehabilitation.

“Accountability interviews,” ones in which incarcerated people talk about what they did to land in prison, appear regularly. The stories not only teach by example, they reveal the resilience of the human spirit. For prisoners who are committed to rehabilitation, the articles serve as guides.

Prison officials recognize these benefits so it’s not surprising that the newspaper and its staff writers have gained the support of an assortment of public safety officials.

Drummond asks, “Are the inmate staff’s efforts journal- ism? The question he poses is bold, because traditionally, journalism has been viewed as impartial and objective with- out an advocacy role. So, if it isn’t traditional journalism, is what we are doing worth it? He concludes in the affirmative: “I believe journalism is an effective tool for rehabilitating people in prison…Journalism places an additional burden on writers: What they write must be accurate, true, and above all fair.”

I can attest to Drummond’s claim. I have learned that when incarcerated people read stories about redemption, recovery and returning to the community, they are inspired to do the same.

I have heard free people talk about the ways that articles in SQN have changed their own incarcerated loved ones. I’ve also heard free people talk about how heartening it is, for the first time, to read positive words about their sons, fathers, brothers, husbands and boyfriends.

I have witnessed children reunite with parents and incarcerated men drop gangs, dope and bad behavior after taking advantage of available programs to reunite with their families. So, is what we do good journalism?

Prison Truth gives readers the chance to answer this question.

Prison University Project’s Annual Open Mic

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The Friday after Christmas, two former San Quentin residents returned to a jam-packed Catholic Chapel to mingle with old friends and perform at the Prison University Project’s (PUP) Annual Open Mic.

“Be encouraged to write your own reality in the sense that if you want freedom and liberation, you have to find it in the confines that you have and let that open the gates for you,” Antwan “Banks” Williams said after returning to San Quentin 64 days after getting out.

Williams was joined by Eric “Maserati-E” Abercrombie, who got out of prison about a month before Williams did, said, “Everything I do going forward, I do it for you. The change in my life affects you. We will spread this like wild fires. We’re changing the culture from in here.”

Antwan “Banks” Williams

First Watch Producer Jesse Rose hosted the event. The program opened with Gregory “White Eagle” Coates on wood flute, Timothy Young on classical guitar, Courtney Rein on violin and accompanied by Mark Kinney on keyboard.

Brian Asey and Dre’Quinn Johnson showed a short film they produced, Teaching & Learning PUP Style. PUP students talked about the impact that an educational opportunity gave them. Teachers talked about the power of education.

Eric “Maserati-E” Anbercrombie

Poetry, spoken word and personal essays dominated the event and the comedy routines got lots of laughs.

James Jenkins’ routine on passing gas rolled the audience the most.

“Don’t go in the cell with James,” he said about the ru- mors about himself. “He’ll gas you out.”

Raphael “Nephew” Bankston rapped about life from an incarcerated person’s perspective with Tim Young strumming his guitar as accompaniment.

It’s kind of hard to see what we see, but the sun you see is the sun I see.

I see oppression and empathy being abused.

Stu Ross read an excerpt from his novel, Going Bad Doesn’t Make Men Less Attractive.

When the barefooted Ronell “Roach” Draper took the stage, he said, “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Maybe this doesn’t make sense, but I understand that’s a barbed wire fence.”

(Back) Eric “Maserati-E” Anbercrombie, Philippi “Kels” Kelly, Antwan “Banks” Williams, Thanh Tran, (front) Aaron Taylor and George Mesro El-Cole

Nevertheless, the audience seemed to enjoy the humorous performance as there was generous laughter and applause as he walked off the stage.

Harold Banks read a poem, From Grape to Raisin. It’s interestingly about shifting narrative, beginning from the perspective of a child, then a mother and then a father. The poem is about the source of happiness and love and the cycle of life.

Standing with his back to the audience, Timothy “T- Bone” Hicks read “I am a Human Being.” He said that it was inspired by PUP teachers who were determined to get the students out of their cells for class.

Philippi “Kels” Kelly and Steve “Rhashiyd” Zinnamon performed a hip-hop rap that spoke truth to power from “unlikely” characters.

Raphael “Nephew” Bankston

Andrew Grazzeny read a personal essay about his years of incarceration.

“I sleep because it is too painful to live. The sunrises and forces one more day. I find myself caught in life, like in a rip tide. I never learned to stop struggling.”

Isaiah Love read Carrots, Coffee & Eggs, an inspirational poem about self-confidence, reaching one’s potential and living one’s dreams. “It’s what I fall back on when I too in- spire to build to create,” Love said.

Wade read My Penal Reality, which described his experience in Pelican Bay Prison.

He wrote the piece more than 12 years ago as a “pretty angry” person, but “calm came over me,” he said.

Brandon Terrell gave a mo- tivational and self-confidence performance, Believe.

“If you believe deeply that there is no failure, then your belief would come true,” Terrell told the audience. He walked up and down the chapel aisle, encouraging the audience to believe in themselves and that everyone should believe in their destiny, believe that they would be successful and get out of prison.

Will Bondurant San Quentin PUP teacher Alex Naeve

Aaron “Showtime” Taylor performed a comedy routine that left the audience rolling in laughter as he played guitar and sang parody about being on a halal diet and eating “state bologna sandwiches.”

Andrew Wadsworth read a poem, 16 Bars, as Aaron Taylor accompanied him on guitar.

A spoken word piece, 16 Bars, addressed Wadsworth’s turbulent life that began going bad at 16 years old. He talked about becoming a dope dealer, running the streets and living a negative life. The narrative shifts to understanding what it means to be accountable for one’s actions and realizing that the meaning of life is love, not hustling, stealing and violating other people’s rights.

Steve “Rashiyd” Zinnamon AKA “RawLMNO” performming a hip-hop rap

Anthony “Habib” Watkins read Fatherless Child. The poem was about understand- ing the power of education and literacy as well as living honor- ably and respectfully.

Richard Lathan read two poems. The first addressed the way people communicate through their actions:

Is there a way to speak with- out opening your mouth?

A young woman, who lost her life, inspired the second poem.

Gerry Sanchez Muratalla and Berny Marroquin entertained the audience with Spanish music. Muratalla’s guitar brought hand clapping and whooping with some people dancing in the aisle and a standing ovation.

Gerry Sanchez Muratalla and Berny Marroquin

Deavon Torrence read a poem, You Made It. It was about being successful and overcoming obstacles of discrimination in a racist criminal justice system.

• Raiveon “Ray Ray” Wooden read a poem about finding self-confidence while being persecuted.

• Derry “Brotha Dee” Brown’s Dancing to Praise God had the audience standing and clapping.

• George Mesro El-Cole read a fantasy piece that was extremely descriptive.

• Thanh Tran performed a hip-hop piece about moving forward in life.

Semester ends with a Christmas celebration

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On the Friday before Christmas, Silent Night played as San Quentin students, their tutors and guests made their way into a classroom filled with the holiday spirit. It was to celebrate the year’s educational successes.

Six red stockings draped the classroom’s whiteboard. Below it, Santa’s tiny sled rode a golden tinsel as if it were snow. In front of the white board, two tiny Christ- mas trees sat on a table with gifts all around them.

“The End of the Semester Celebration at Christmas may mean something different to each of us,” James Metters said. “But, coming together is something we all can do.”

Metters is one of the peer- to-peer tutors in the Academic Peer Education Program (APEP). About eight years ago, the program began to support incarcerated students pursuing a GED. Also, at the event were peer educators, Rodney Baylis, Terry Hall, Raiveon “Ray-Ray” Wooden, Derry “Brotha-D” Brown and Floyd Collins.

“I’ve never been here on a Friday night,” said Diane Kahn, one of APEP’s outside facilitators. “I get more inspiration from the work you men do inside San Quentin than from people on the outside.”

The classroom was set up with its chairs placed in a semi-circle, like a flat amphi- theater with the head of the class as the stage.

The tutors and guests joined to perform Dad Ruins the Christmas Spirit.

The skit was a spinoff from The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. It’s a story about parents struggling to let their children know Santa Claus’s real identity. The skit honored parents as Santa Claus and paid tribute to the season of giving.

Metters, Brown, and Wooden played their parts while APEP volunteers Eugenia Maluf and Joanna Cornejo played supporting roles.

After the skit, Metters and Karen Yoder, another APEP volunteer, led everyone in Christmas carols, with Joy to the World getting the most gusto.

Then a Spanish band played Christmas songs, including I Want to Wish You a Merry Christmas in English and Spanish.

“I’m humbled to be here and to work with some wonderful people,” said Collins, who explained that working with ESL (English as a Second Language) allowed him to build a bond. “I speak to the guys in broken Spanish.

“I want to bring joy, even though it’s not easy to do here.”

After caroling, the students, tutors and guests played board games, mingled and talked about future educational opportunities.

“This started off as an end of the year celebration about the students and teachers get- ting together,” Baylis said. “But, after all was done, it was really about the true meaning of Christmas when we’re so far away from family. That’s why we’ve done it for the last seven years.”

The following San Francisco Bay area volunteers came to the celebration in support of the APEP tutors and students: Tammy Cabading, Joanna Cornejo, Rich Donick, Diane Kahn, Eugenia Maluf, Connie Merron, Madison Niesyn and Karen Yoder.

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