San Quentin News

Written By Incarcerated - Advancing Social Justice

When New Year Arrives For Native Americans

by

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Advocates in Oakland push to end LWOP

by

Participants gather after the event for a photo

California has an estimated 5,000 people serving life without parole (LWOP), and their plight is almost never discussed—especially the way the sentence affects female prisoners.

A campaign to drop California’s use of LWOP received a public airing late last year. Kelly Savage, Tammy Cooper-Garvin, Brandi Taliano and Susan Bustamante shared their pain and the trauma of serving a LWOP sentence with a packed audience.

The Oakland event marked the first time the women were able to participate in a town hall meeting similar to one that first created public awareness of their situation. Then-Governor Jerry Brown commuted the women sentences.

Their stories and those of others still imprisoned are described in an audio storytelling project titled “A Living Chance,” released through the California Coalition for Women Prisoners (CCWP).

“The event was eye-opening; people really don’t know what LWOP is,” said Laverne Shoemaker, another panelist, whose sentence was commuted. “Once I was in a group of 23 San Francisco police officers, I had to explain and I mean really break it down to them what an LWOP sentence is and what a life sentence is.”

In criminal cases involving “special circumstances” a person may be sentenced to life without the possibility of parole instead of condemned to death in the penalty phase of a trial. The sentence is not restricted only to the person who pulls the trigger, but also to anyone else who was a participant in the crime as well, under California’s “felony murder rule.”

The advocates are fighting to have LWOP eliminated from the state’s penal code. They argue that it is worse than the death penalty, because it is really a living death sentence.

“I was praying that I wasn’t going to get the death penalty,” shared Taliano. “I was praying for LWOP, ironically—it seemed like the lesser of the two. Then I go to [prison]… and my counselor says, ‘do you understand that you’re going to die in prison?’ And it hit me. It literally hit me.”

Shoemaker said she was distressed to discover that many law enforcement officers have no idea what LWOP means, “I was frustrated and couldn’t understand it, because they really did not know. I had to ask them are you guys freaking kidding me? Am I being punked? They were really, like, shocked and flabbergasted.

Drop LWOP group addressing the audience about the struggles and problems they are facing

“I could see the confusion—they were perplexed and had mixed emotions that they could potentially be a part of giving someone ‘the other death penalty,’” added Shoemaker.

“We also needed to bring awareness to intimate partner battering,” Tammy Cooper-Garvin, told SQ News. “When I tell my story it makes me feel better and I pray that I am helping someone.

“There are many layers to my story and I get emotional when I tell my story, because I can still feel that little girl who wanted to be loved.

“I don’t regret coming to prison,” added Cooper-Garvin. “I needed to be incarcerated for that period of time to work on myself, and to show society that I was a changed woman who valued, and respected others, and also valued myself. Taliano and Cooper-Garvin both joined the Long Termer’s Organization, while incarcerated, a group of like-minded people serving LWOP supporting each other. They credit the program for helping turned their lives around.

“Prison taught me how to be a better person, it showed me how to deal with life,” said Cooper-Garvin. “I went to many self-help groups. I wanted to know what was different from me and my siblings. I knew I wanted to change, so I surrounded myself around positive lifers.

“I also knew I was a LWOP and that I had to make a life for myself. I didn’t have a good life in the world but with change I could have a life in prison, so I took full advantage of what CDCR had to offer,” added Cooper-Garvin.

With a second chance at life, the women are taking their stories and plight to Sacramento, lobbying for policy changes legislator by legislator. With support of other reform organizations such as CCWP, All of Us or None, Legal Services for Children and many others, the women are giving their time, energy and resources to change the narrative for all incarcerated and those finishing their sentences and returning home.

“We’re working on things like getting fair wages for all the incarcerated,” said Shoemaker. “We’re also trying to get the gate money raised to $1,000 (currently the funds upon release are limited to $200, unchanged for decades). We’re fighting for things that will make your conditions better in there and make your transition easier in the free world,” added Shoemaker.

CCWP hosted the “Drop the LWOP” event. Adrienne Skye Roberts moderated the affair and has work tirelessly to bring the “A Living Chance” campaign to Californians and legislators through the audio stories, portraits and postcards of the women who are still serving the LWOP sentence.

The newly released women thought they were supposed to die in prison. They felt they were held in bondage and captive to their shame and guilt, but have made that transition for success.

“If I could achieve my freedom anyone can,” said Cooper-Garvin. “It was hard work for me and it will be hard work for you also, but the pay-off is truly worth it.

“We may think people are closed minded about giving us a chance and it is just the opposite— they welcome us with our past because many see the good in us,” she concluded.

Adrienne Roberts examines portraits of female LWOPS

What role does society play in the development of felons?

by

Entrance to Pasrchman State Penitentiary in Mississippi

Be it California or Mississippi, when news of suicides, murders or riots reaches any prison population the feeling is always the same: “damn”—if it’s spoken or not. Especially if you’ve been through it or witnessed these things.

Society might think “there goes those violent monsters acting up again.” What is rarely discussed is that we are a product of the society. Most of us incarcerated and are Americans, and America is filled with double standards (we’ll get to that later) and most of the time breeds intolerance.

Black people and others are still suffering under racism, and we don’t have to go back to slavery to see this. Black people can’t BBQ, sell water or lose cigarettes without the police being called. A Black man was even arrested for eating a sandwich at a San Francisco BART transit station platform. We can’t even sit in our own homes without being shot and killed.

Have we ever talked about collective trauma? It’s not just individuals who suffer. It’s whole communities. Our immigrant community is being detained, and kids are/have been separated from their parents—OK, more trauma. Our President even ordered the assassination of a Iranian general using violence in the name of stopping violence.

Have we been raised to be intolerant against any and everyone who is not like us (on both sides)? Has violence been shown as a way to solve our problems? Is this learned behavior?

We witnessed our President say that he could shoot someone on Fifth Avenue in broad daylight and not get charged. Damn! That’s a criminal threat, or what we incarcerated call a “terrorist threat,” and people in here are doing three to five years, if not a life sentence, for a statement such as that.

During President Trump’s House impeachment trial started by the Democrats—more separation—Trump was alleged to have attempted to strong arm, bribe or leverage—or whatever a good word choice would be (quid pro quo)—to get the Ukrainian president to investigate his rival, excuse me, his possible political opponent, for his own advantage.

Once again, there are hundreds of thousands of people serving long sentences for attempting to do a crime. But what really was most interesting to those incarcerated was how the Republicans, Trump’s “homies” (supporters), kept touting that all the evidence against him was just hearsay. Wait, wait, wait—how many people are sitting in U.S. prisons and jails convicted on hearsay evidence? And I haven’t yet mentioned the venomous call to reveal the name of the whistleblower. Trump’s supporters came just short of calling the confidential informant a “snitch.”

When the smoke cleared Trump was impeached in the House (by his rivals) on “Abuse of Power” and “Obstruction of Justice.”

But, he was acquitted by the majority Republican Senate. Imagine that! a jury of one’s peers. I think most people incarcerated would have loved to have their friends, supporters or homies on their juries. It wouldn’t be hard to guess the outcome.

Now let’s talk about prison violence and reform. When people are sentenced to 800 plus years, what is expected? They have officially written their lives off and wonder what they have to live for or if they will ever see the streets again. Add to that, they are incarcerated in harsh and questionable conditions.

Colonel Allen Allensworth, founder of a town in central California

by

Colonel Allen Allensworth

After slavery African Americans took their skills and begin to build thriving cities. Blacks in California were no different.

In 1908, African Americans in California built a flourishing town called Allensworth, an accomplishment seldom taught or discussed. Colonel Allen Allensworth, founded the community in a rural area in Tulare County 30 miles north of Bakersfield.

The town served as a depot station on the Santa Fe Railroad line from Los Angeles to San Francisco. The soil was fertile and the water seemingly abundant, according to history.net.com.

Within a year, 35 families were residing in the town and by 1912 the population grew to 100. Alwortha Hall was the first baby born in the town. The settlement had two general stores, a post office and comfortable homes. A school was built that also served as the center for the towns social and political activities. The public library held more than a 1,000 book.

Between 1912-1915 Allensworth generated nearly $5,000 monthly from their business ventures. Their voting registration records listed an array of occupations from colonists, farmers, storekeepers, carpenters, nurses and more.

Allensworths grain ware- houses, cattle pens and large poultry farms served the needs of the community and the railroad post. It had a 10- room hotel at 75 cents per night that included a restaurant. A cement manufacturing enterprise, plaster and carpen- try shops. The town also produced sugar beets. These successes was a way to prove to the White establishment that Black people were capable of self-determination and self-respect, said the article.

Allensworth became a member of the county school district and a voting precinct that elected Oscar Overr the first African-American justice of the peace in post-Mexican California.

The town consisted of 900 acres. It provided youth ser- vices such as: the Owl Club, the campfire Girls, the Girls Glee Club, and the Children’s Saving Association. The Glee Club became internationally known singing at various little White towns throughout the nation.

Colonel Allensworth lobbied the California State Legislature for an education- al institution for the town similar to Booker T. Washington’s Tuskegee Institute in Alabama. Allensworth envisioned a training and technical school for black youths in California and the Southwest. The town was on its way to becoming one of the greatest Black cities in the U.S. if not the world. But the school bill fail due to op- position from other Blacks in Los Angeles and San Francisco, who believed that a Tuskegee-like institution would reinforce educational and residential segregation.

The town began to face several more crises that led to its eventual decline. The Santa Fe Railroad never supported the Black community through hiring for the rail line, according to the article. The company built another line to neighboring Alpaugh allowing most rail traffic to bypass Allensworth. The railroad company also refused to change the rail line name from Solito/Solita to Allensworth. These act deprived the town of the lucrative carrying trade.

The death of Colonel Allensworth sealed the fate of the town. In 1914, Colonel Allensworth was ran over by two White youths on a speeding motorcycle. He died the next morning. Without.

His spiritual guidance and leadership, the community disintegrated. By 1920, the lure of jobs in Oakland further decimated the town’s population. But the colonel’s dream did not die. In 1976, the state had acquired the land and the Department of Parks and Recreation developed a state historic site.

While Allensworth existed less than 20 years it provided an opportunity for Black men and women to transcend race-based limits and thus control their own destinies.

N.W.A helped set the stage for modern hip hop music

by

Ice Cube,

N.W.A – Rap Group (1987-95)
The N.W.A rap group was at first criticized as a misogynistic hip hop crew that glorified drugs and crime. But the Compton-based rap group bought the political and social issues of California’s Black youth to the mainstream and coined the term “ gangsta rap.”

Their explicit lyrics were occasionally offensive, but their music spot-lighted California’s gang crisis, illegal drug trade and police abuses from a street perspective.

The group spawned hip hop icons, such as Easy-E, Ice Cube, Dr. Dre, Mc Ren and many others. In 1988, the group released Straight Outta Compton with the highly controversial song F@#k tha Police, which brought attention to police brutality and racial profiling.

The song sparked howls of protest from law enforcement agencies. Some police agencies refused to provide security for the group’s concerts. Milt Ahlerich, an assistant director of the FBI, sent a letter to Ruthless Records, the company co- founded by Easy-E through Priority Records, warning the rappers that “advocating violence and assault is wrong and we in the law enforcement community take exception to such action.”

However, the FBI’s letter only helped draw more publicity to the group. The letter has a place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, according to Wikipedia.

Straight Outta Compton became one of the first albums to have the Parental Advisory label that read, “WARNING: Moderate impact coarse language and/or themes.”

Dr. Dre,

The group was banned from many mainstream radio stations. In spite of that, the al- bum went double platinum and the group has sold more than 10 million units in the United States alone.

The songs Express Yourself and Gangsta Gangsta were also big hits, portraying the anger and worldview of the innercity youth.

But it was the group’s first songs, Boyz-n-the-Hood and 8 Ball, that explained to the world how the Black and Brown communities had to navigate California’s 1980s gang culture. The song Dope- man captured the inner city drug epidemic and war on drugs, with lyrics like “You sold crack to my sister and now she sick.”

Those songs were released in 1987 on N.W.A and the Posse—the group’s first compilation album. The album reached number 39 on Billboard Magazine’s Top R&B/Hip-Hop Albums chart.

Eazy-E is credited for assembling N.W.A and co-found- ed Ruthless Records, with Jerry Heller. N.W.A originally consisted of Eazy-E, Dr. Dre and producer Arabian Prince. Ice Cube came later from the rap group C.I.A. and DJ Yella joined as well. Yella and Dre were both former members of the World Class Wreckin’ Cru, a working group of DJs and producers. The two provided the high production values for Ruthless Records.

In 1991, the group’s final studio album together, Efil4zaggin (Niggaz4Life spelled back- wards), made its debut at number one on the Billboard 200 sales charts, becoming the first hardcore rap album to do so.

Soon afterward the group disbanded, due to financial disputes. Ice Cube filed a lawsuit against band manager Jerry Heller to gain a larger share of the profits for Straight Outta Compton, arguing that he (Ice Cube) had written most of the lyrics for the project. The case was settled out of court.

Ice Cube went solo and dropped AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted (1990) and Death Certificate (1991), which featured the scathing diss record No Vaseline, a response to N.W.A’s 100 Miles and Runnin, a diss record towards Ice Cube. Both of Ice Cube’s albums went certified platinum. His lyrics highlighted harsh socio-political commentary and storytelling and he was accused of being anti-White and anti-Semitic. It featured songs like Black Korea and My Skin Is My Sin.

Arabian Prince, MC Ren, Ice Cube, Easy ‘E’, DJ Yella and Dr. Dre.

Ice Cube transitioned into acting and business ventures. He starred in Boyz n the Hood (1991), and he wrote and starred in the Friday film series. Also, he was featured in Barbershop. He founded Lynch Mob Records and was part of the rap group Westside Connection. Currently, he has founded Big3, a three-on-three basketball league featuring re- tired NBA players.

Ice Cube’s contributions pushed the boundaries of lyrical content for mainstream music and film. He still is listed among the best rappers of all time.

Dr. Dre also become a platinum-selling solo artist in his own right, releasing The Chronic (1992) album under Death Row Records and Dr. Dre Presents the Aftermath and 2001 in 1999 under his own record label. He is credited for popularizing the West Coast G-funk music era. (Michael Harris, co-founder of Death Row Records, is a former editor in chief of San Quentin News.)

Dr. Dre left Death Row Records and founded After-math Entertainment and Beats Electronics. He has produced albums for and overseen the careers of many rappers such as 2Pac, Eminem, The D.O.C., Snoop Dogg, 50 Cent, The Game, Kendrick Lamar and Anderson Paak.

He is regarded as one of the top music producers. He has won six Grammy awards, including Producer of the Year, non-classical. He is ranked number 56 on the “100 Greatest Artists of All Time” list by Rolling Stone. In 2018, he was ranked the third richest figure in hip hop, with a net worth of $820 million.

Dr.Dre has also appeared in the films Set It Off, The Wash and Training Day.

Eazy-E was known as the “Godfather of Gangsta Rap.” In 1995, he died from AIDS. However, he helped set the stage for rappers owning their own record labels. He built Ruthless Records, with acts such as N.W.A, Bone Thugs in Harmony, J.J. Fad and singer Michel’le.

MC Ren released several gold and platinum-selling al- bums,includingKizzMyBlack Azz and Shock of the Hour. Ren and Eazy-E resolved their estrangement shortly before Eazy-E’s death in 1995 after two years of not talking to each other.

The other group members finally reconciled to do more music together in the later years.

In 2015, the N.W.A biopic Straight Outta Compton was released by Universal. The film grossed more than $200 mil- lion worldwide and received positive reviews.

N.W.A ranks number 83 on the “100 Greatest Artists of All Time” list by Rolling Stone. In 2016, the group was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Not bad for some kids out of Compton and South Central Los Angeles.

Highlighting an early Californian abolitionist

by

Mary Ellen Pleasant

The Southern States are the usual focus of discussions about African American freedom struggles before the Civil War. But California had its own prewar struggle against racism and slavery.

Unlike Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks or Harriet Tubman, Californian Mary Ellen Pleasant’s name is rarely discussed. But Pleasant has been hailed as the mother of the abolitionist movement in California during the Gold-Rush era, according to Gold Chains: The Hidden History of Slavery in California, a web-based series created by the ACLU of Northern California.

Pleasant was a self-made millionaire and civil rights leader. Like many others, Pleasant and her husband moved to San Francisco seeking to make a fortune during the Gold Rush.

Pleasant began working as a cook and she would reportedly eavesdrop on wealthy customers’ conversations in the hopes of over- hearing valuable bits of information about financial transactions.

What she learned helped her make a substantial fortune. She built a strong, diverse portfolio that included real estate, railroads, restaurants, and boarding houses. She was known as a wise investor and became one of the richest women in the city, according to the ACLU report.

Abolitionist John Brown’s raid on Harpers Ferry in Virginia might have been partly financed by her, according to some historians. The unsuccessful 1859 raid was led by both Black slaves and White abolitionists.

Pleasant also supported and gave shelter to fugitive slave Archy Lee, who was on the run from his slave owner.

Lee, a young Black man, brought to California from Mississippi by slave owner Charles Stovall, became a legal celebrity of his day. Lee escaped his slave master and waged a successful legal battle for his freedom that went all the way to the federal courts.

In the fall of 1857, Stovall, the slave master, arrived in Sacramento with Archy Lee and opened a school. Stovall hired Lee out as a laborer and pocketed his wages. California was technically a “free” state, but the law allowed visiting slaveholders to enter with slaves so long as they did not settle permanently.

“Lee fled when he learned Stovall was planning to return to the South,” reported the article. Lee hid at the Hackett House, a Sacramento hotel owned by two African American men who were local abolitionist leaders.

Lee was hunted down and Stovall had him arrested. The African American community rallied and held church fundraisers and collected thousands of dollars to pay for Leeʼs legal defense.

Edwin Crocker, the prominent civil rights lawyer, argued that Stovall had violated California’s law because he had established residency and was not just passing through.

Stovall claimed Lee was “property,” worth $1,500, and insisted California authorities had to obey the federal fugitive slave law and return Lee to him. The judge ruled against the slave master and in favor of Leeʼs freedom

But the pro-slavery California Supreme Court over- ruled the decision. Lee was immediately re-arrested. Peter Burnett, one of the justices at the time, went on to became California’s governor. The article said Burnett had on at least one occasion tried to ban Blacks from the state.

The court ruling said that although Stovall had broken the law, the Supreme Court justices were making an exception for him due to his inexperience and poor health. Lee was ordered sent back to Mississippi.

The court decision sparked widespread outrage. The Black community and their white anti-slavery allies went on high alert, because they expected slave master Stovall would try to smuggle Lee out of town by boat before an appeal could be filed. The anti-slavery group began patrolling the San Francisco harbor.

Stovall was in the process of sneaking Lee aboard a ship when the police arrested them both, according to the report. One of Lee’s supporters had managed to get a court order from a sympathetic judge and stopped the kidnapping, just in time.

Lee was eventually set free when a federal judge overturned the California Supreme Court ruling to keep him enslaved. Lee went on to join an expedition of African Americans leaving California to resettle in British Columbia.

Pleasant’s own wealth could not shield her from racism. In 1866, a conductor barred Pleasant from boarding a streetcar in San Francisco because she was Black. She sued and the case went all the way to the California Supreme Court.

The court ruled that segregation on streetcars in California was illegal. However, the damages awarded Pleas- ant in a lower court were re- versed by the Supreme Court.

Pleasant dedicated her entire life to fighting racism and supporting the advancement of Black people. Even as a young adult she had worked on the Underground Rail- road, assisting enslaved people to escape the South.

Red Hoop drumming group brings sounds of life to SQ Pow Wow

by

Participants surrounding the Red Hoop drummers celebrated the unity of the human family

The Nevada Red Hoop drumming group brought the sounds of life to San Quentin’s Native American Group Annual Fall Pow Wow. The thumping sounds of traditional drumming filled the prison’s visiting room, blending with the scent of sage, circle dancing and chanting from the outside spiritual elders.

The pulsating drumbeats simulate the rhythm of a heartbeat, which represents the sign of life, be it from man or animal, according some Native traditions.

Heredia, Polanco, Sr. delivering the opening prayer at the ceremony

“The drum is alive — just as any human being is,” said Martin Montgomery, one of the Red Hoop drummers. “An animal gave its life for this drum – and the wood to produce the heartbeat sound.

“The drums and our traditional songs have the ability to change emotions and they have made their way to us today,” added Montgomery.

The Nov. 15, sacred event celebrated the unity of the human family and its connections through the heart.

The Red Hoop group consists of more than 20 drummers, but only three were able to make the trip, due to rescheduling of the ceremony. The group consisted of Montgomery, Ivan Julianto and Brandon Heredia, the son of the Native American Group’s chaplain.

The trio chanted each song energetically as they uniformly pounded the large drum. The more than 75 incarcerated participants and volunteers swayed and stepped dance throughout the event in ceremonial circles symbolizing the infinity of life.

The dancing and singing is part of the spiritual healing led by the sacred instrument.

Gregory “White Eagle” Coates and Straight Dancer regalia

“The elders and drummers coming in helps us learn more about our ways as a people,” said Dennis “Wolf” Gilbert, incarcerated participant. “They show us that we are not hated but loved and not forgotten.

“It keeps us on the Red Road (spiritual road.) I want to raise my grandson in our ways,” Gilbert added.

Montgomery can relate to this statement. His father was incarcerated in a Nevada prison.

“Your family needs you. And that’s spoken from a kid who grow up while his father was incarcerated,” said Montgomery. “My father shared a lot of stories about how the system changed him. He wanted to give us an alternative and he taught us the drums – learning our culture help save us,” added Montgomery.

Native American Adviser Hector Frank Heredia smudging the visiting room in preparation fo the ceremony

Montgomery credits his father for starting Red Hoops. The group name comes from his grandfather who found a horse, back in the day, with a red hoop around its eye. The horse used to do tricks such as: dancing and bowing.

The grandfather thought it was from a circus or something. So he began asking the people in the surrounding area whose horse it was. No one seem to claim it.

“Being here is like coming full circle,” said Montgomery. “It makes you feel grateful. What my father learned in prison he passed on to us, now I’m sharing it with these men.”

The drum is one of the major parts of Native life. The songs and drum rhythms are passed down through the grandparents or elders. Most of the Native drummers are versatile in Southern and Northern tribal drum rhythms. The drums are used for tribal marriages, prayers and calling people together.

After the opening purification ceremony, where the participants wipe themselves with the smoke from the burning sage, the guests mixed with the Native group to perform the ritual Grand Opening Dance.

Everyone left the visiting room; the men formed one line and women made another one. The two groups danced and stepped their way back into the room to create two circles around the drums.

“The women dance closer to the drums, because they are our hearts,” said Gregory “White Eagle” Coates, San Quentin resident and Sun Dancer. “The men are on the outer rings, because they are the protectors.”

Montgomery paused the drumming and ask some guests to come up and form two rows of seven people. He asked each person to make a rhythm with their bodies; some made sound with their mouths, snap fingers, clapped hands and beat sounds on their bodies.

Then Montgomery had everyone do his or her sound in unison creating an ensemble of music.

“We are all relatives. We all represent that rhythm of the heartbeat, and that was shown in the music we created together,” said Montgomery. “If we can see each other as human beings the world would be a better place.”

The spiritual ceremony ended with traditional food and strong loving words from visiting elder Lee Polanco, Sr. 81, who was a former San Quentin corrections officer and chaplain.

“I seen two of my sons go to prison, and that hurts as a parent. I buried a lot of people, so doing this prayer work is not a game for me,” said Polanco. “I come here because I love these guys, be it the men-in-blue or green.

“I will tell the guys in blue don’t ever give up – it’s never to late learn. I hope you get out and never come back,” he concluded.

Being more conscious to our readers in the New Year

by

Happy New Year! Yeah, another year down and a decade gone. For those who have been incarcerated since the 1980s and ’90s, we have officially moved into what we call the Buck Rogers dates (named after the late ’70s TV show). This term was coined to show how far off someone’s release date was back then, so good luck in this decade.

As times changes and new generations are born, languages, terminologies and definitions can also go through a metamorphosis. Now we are in a time of criminal justice reform, a time where self-identification for some people and organizations has also taken a shift.

It’s a time where using pronouns such as they/them for gender nonconforming (GNC) people has gained traction. In short, words have power; they can either build someone up or tear them down.

San Quentin News wants to put our readers on notice that we will start being conscious of not using the word inmate(s). We are not taking away this word as an option for our contributors or our journalists.

But, we are in the process of creating acceptable word options such as the incarcerated, incarcerated people, inside participants, etc. For those who have returned home, terms such as returning resident, formerly incarcerated person or system-impacted will be used.

We do understand the power of the media and word choices, where we are addressed as inmates, offenders or convicts. It’s about humanizing the incarcerated people; we are not monsters, our crimes or any other negative label.

None of these different word choices takes away having accountability for the harm that has been caused to victims/survivors or the community as a whole. This does not include the truly innocent of crimes, because we know these people exist as well.

Using words that generalize people and other negative epithets can create societal stigmas that can hinder rehabilitation or a successful reentry. This doesn’t help public safety.

I know and understand that some incarcerated people don’t care what they are called one way or the other. Everyone’s opinion is valid, but as a news agency we are aware of the debates going on regarding what incarcerated people should be called in the media, as well as how to address individuals.

Prison reform advocates and organizations and some government officials are adopting new guidelines to stay away from language such as felon, or ex-con, etc., to help remove barriers for returning residents. We who are incarcerated need to know that there are people fighting to show the rest of the world our humanity, especially those who have returned back to society. We applaud and support their efforts. In our role as journalists, we share in the efforts to also support and inform our readership in a healthy way for their human transformations—most of the times we get this right, and sometimes we can make mistakes.

But overall, we want the best for everyone, especially those who seek redemption in these dark places called prisons.

Changing what we call ourselves may take some time to have some psychological affect, but we must put forth our effort.

Well, when it comes to celebrating New Year’s Day, some people make resolutions. I guess I recommend focusing on choices and changes. One has the choice to change one’s life for the better or stay in the same place mentally, emotionally and even physically. The choice is yours.

So for you young people, who have just started doing your time or are involved in some questionable activities, take notice. When we were sentenced we were given what we called Buck Rogers dates. For your generation you have Terminator, the movie set in the 2040s. Understand this: that’s just 20 years from now.

If you think you can’t get or serve that type of time, just ask any OG, who has served two decades or more. It’s a reality.

Lastly, we as a news agency not using the word inmate(s) may seem trivial. But the alternative is supporting thing-ify-ing (objectifying) us as incarcerated people.

In self-help groups, we learn not to do the same thing. When you thing-ify (objectify) someone you take away their identity as a person who has feelings, emotions and families, where it’s easy to cause them harm. What about us? Don’t we have the ability to change or have remorse? Our are we not people?

Its just food for thought.

Once again, Happy New Year!

Advocates launch #MeTooBehindBars for those incarcerated

by

Crowd of participants bringing awareness to #MeTooBehindBars

Sexual violence and transphobia in prisons are still taboo topics of discussion, even in the midst of some prison reform efforts nationwide.

But a group of victims/survivors and advocates launched the #MeTooBehindBars campaign that aims to influence the #MeToo movement and to include the voices of those incarcerated who have or are suffering from sexual harassment or sexual abuse.

This new campaign has found its way to the steps of the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) office in Sacramento. An Oct. 30 protest was held to raise the awareness of transgender, gender nonconforming (GNC) and queer people’s plight within the state prison system, according to the Young Women’s Freedom Center and California Coalition for Women Prisoners (CCWP) advocacy groups.

Nghia from Survived & Punished speaking at the event

Advocates arrived in front of the building in vans. The participants arranged themselves in a circle and laid out the words “Me Too” on the ground and lined them with flowers. Many of the speakers shared their stories of being sexually assaulted behind bars, as each spoke from the building steps.

“There is so much violence against trans women inside. The culture is to blame women for the violence,” said Attorney Jen Orthwein, who represents transgender women in California’s men prisons, to SQ News.

“Many of the women I’ve worked with are gone. There was Allie, who was sliced in her neck and placed in solitary confinement. Her cellmate was constantly harassing her, and she begged to be moved.

Sister Warriors advocate letting her voice be heard

“Another one of my clients was beaten by cellmates and correctional officers, then…a noose was left in her cell. She was denied surgery and committed suicide the next day,” added Orthwein.

In a call and response cry of “Me Too,” “behind bars” activists walked in a circle chanting and holding protest signs.

“I was harassed and sexually harassed because I was GNC,” said Stacy Rojas, who is formerly incarcerated and spoke at the rally. “People thought they could make me want to be a woman or show me that I am.

Participant holding up sign to free Kinzie Noordman

“From the very beginning of me stepping foot in jail and having them telling me to put on a dress—it’s all in the way they say it, the way they tell me to turn around and spread it. [They would] laugh at me. They would tell me that they would make me like it.

“There was so much sexual violence because of me being masculine presenting and being GNC,” Rojas added.

Rojas understands the importance of speaking out and bringing awareness to the #MeTooBehindBars movement.

“It’s not just my story, believe me. I have friends who would not speak out at first. They’re embarrassed and ashamed,” said Rojas. “Now they’re standing up next to me screaming it out. It’s not that we’re happy, but we’re not going to…keep secret(s) anymore. I want them [people in authority] to understand that sexual assault happens, period.

“[It] runs so deep—trans women are looked at in a f@#ked up way,” reflects Rojas. “Toxic patriarchal men look at them and are upset that they believe in their heads that they are men and can’t believe that they want to be a woman.

“They can’t understand what trans is at all,” said Rojas.

Young Women Freedom Center’s Amita Mota and Stacy Rojas at the event

Victims of sexual assault in prisons are encouraged to report incidents to their state’s correctional internal affairs department—this includes if someone has been threatened with sexual assault or has experienced retaliation for reporting an incident, according to PREA posters within U.S. prisons.

In 2003, the Prison Rape Elimination Act (PREA) was signed into law. The goal was to create a zero tolerance policy around rape in prison. To date, San Quentin, along with most state or federal prisons in the nation, has PREA posters on the walls in all areas of the institution.

The “Shine the Light on Sexual Abuse” posters provide telephone numbers and addresses for reporting incidents. The phone numbers accept collect calls from incarcerated people.

SQ News has received mixed responses about PREA’s effectiveness. Some people reported that it worked and others said they experienced some form of retaliation or no action was taken for their claims.

There have been various lawsuits filed against correctional departments nationwide, including CDCR. Also there are ongoing investigations into abuse claims by correctional departments, according to some court filing records.

Changing a culture of violence toward the LGBTQ community within prisons is one of the main priorities of the protestors.

YWFC member speaking

“When you hear about sexual assault in the workplace, everyone is freaking out about it and saying that this has to stop. People are appalled while they are watching [it on] the news,” said Rojas. “But there’s thousands of people who can’t complain at all.

“You’re stuck in a place where nobody worries about you. There are thousands of people going through this and it’s kept a secret.”

Madeleine Gregory, a student at UC Berkeley, contributed to this article.

A governor's commutation gives Laverne Shoemaker a second chance

by

Laverne outside CCWF women’s prison

Laverne Shoemaker overcame what some prison reform activists call “a living death sentence.”

Shoemaker was serving life without the possibility of parole (LWOP) until her sentence was commuted by then-Gov. Jerry Brown. After 26 years, Laverne (Dej) DeJohnette Shoemaker walked free in June.

“I am a ‘DROP LWOP’ advocate. I will not ever stop advocating for LWOPs and lifers. LWOP is a ‘Death

by Incarceration sentence,’” said Shoemaker. “When you are given that sentence, what they are saying is, you are irrelevant, you’re irredeemable, you’re beyond redemption. And that’s just not true.

“Look at me. I have 19 arrests, 16 convictions, three prior prison terms and the fourth was the life crime of murder. Sure it took over 10 years, but I did change. Now I’m a taxpaying citizen. We are all capable of transformation,” she added.

Shoemaker did not sit on her heels when she walked free. She began working with the California Coalition For Women’s Prisoners (CCWP), where she was named the first Charisse Shumate Fellow.

The Shumate fellowship highlights the life and legacy of Shumate, who suffered from sickle-cell anemia. She died in prison. Her supporters say her death was due to negligence on the part of the California prison system. Shumate was one of the founding members of CCWP. She was a lead plaintiff in the 1995 lawsuit that challenged California’s women’s prisons health care system. She also helped start The Fire Inside, the organization’s newsletter.

“I was blessed to live with this woman as a roommate. I was fortunate enough to see her in her high highs and her low lows,” said Shoemaker in correspondence with SQ News. “I saw her in action and witnessed her determination to make a change. She was famous for saying ‘It’s not a me thing; it’s a we thing.”

Shoemaker was resigned to living out her life in prison. But she credits Shumate for being one of the inspirations who helped to educate her about the need to stand up for the rights of everyone inside.

Laverne eager to get her ID

“In the beginning I did what most did. I jumped right into the criminal elements inside. I got involved with the prison politics. I racked up many 115’s (disciplinary write-ups) and SHU (administrative segregation) terms,” said Shoemaker. “I had seen people change and grow. But I had two dilemmas: one, I didn’t think change was possible for someone like me, and two, I didn’t know ‘why’ I should change.”

Shoemaker’s change came when she started being honest with herself and addressing all her childhood traumas.

“I began to see a human with value and worth under all the tarnish,” said Shoemaker. “The LWOP was not a factor. In all actuality, receiving the LWOP sentence saved my life. The truth is I was a very dysfunctional, unstable substance abuser.

“I was very dangerous and an extremely violent individual. But after a few SHU terms I changed my thought process. I went from I don’t care if I live or die and I’m a piece of sh#*t anyway to…..It doesn’t really matter ‘where’ I die, in the free world or prison, I’m still going to die,” she continued.

What began to matter to Shoemaker was what type of person she was going to be and what her quality of life would be like.

“My motto became, ‘When shall I live if not now?’” she said. “I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d ever get out. So every group, program, workshop facilitating, curriculum I created was for me and my community. Not for anyone else.

“I definitely learned who I was and who I am today. I’ve grown and learned the impact that we have on our victims and communities,” said Shoemaker. “I learned that by taking a life I have committed the most serious crime of humanity.

“I’ve learned that changing my behavior is the only acceptable atonement. Living today and every day for your victims is not just words you tell the BPH (Board of Parole Hearings).

That is what you have to you live by,” she added.

Shoemaker shared her re-entry experiences and goals for her fellowship.

“What I see is that we (lifers) are impatient and want to hit the ground running. We think we have the formula that we know it all,” she said. “I get it—we have sat decades and planned what we wanna do. But the hard truth and the reality is this is a different world.

“I began to see a human with value and worth under all the tarnish,”

“We need to take it one day at a time. The adjustment period is tough. We are new to the free world. The technology alone is mind-blowing. Some days I feel like a refugee. I guess the hardest part of being out is missing being back inside.

“Most will read this and think I’m crazy. But it’s true while inside you spend all your time thinking about freedom, but when you’re out here you spend a considerable amount of time thinking about back inside,” she added.

Shoemaker knows and understands her responsibilities. She is in the process of creating a curriculum for the LWOPs.

“I will spend my last breath advocating for the LWOPs,” she said. “We are always left behind, overlooked, or at the bottom of every list—that is, if we even make the list at all.

“Yet we (LWOPs) are the pillars of the prison communities, we are the glue that holds the yards together.”

Her plans and goals for the fellowship are to honor her friend Shumate and not stop or back down.

“Charisse didn’t just com- plain or just file a grievance—no she went up against a system. And she got that system to listen. She made a difference,” she said. “She left some pretty big shoes to fill but I think collectively together we all can fill them. I promise to do her name justice!”

Translate »