San Quentin News

Written By Inmates - Advancing Social Justice

WALL CITY Edición Español: Una política que ha roto sueños

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Jennie, Luis y Ojeda y su mamá Lourdes Ortiz
Jennie, Luis y Ojeda y su mamá Lourdes Ortiz

Luis Ojeda de 23 años, se encuentra en la Prisión de San Quentin cumpliendo una

condena de seis años por asalto agravado. Después de cumplir su sentencia, Ojeda será deportado a la Ciudad de México. Su hermana Jennie, de 21 años, reside, estudia y trabaja en San José. Ella no ha tenido problemas con la ley, pero teme ser deportada.

“Quería ser abogado para ayudar a mis padres, pero la regué y perdí la oportunidad que DACA me ofreció. Me siento avergonzado por haber cometido un crimen”, dice Luis. “Desperdicie la oportunidad que se me otorgó en este país. También me siento mal de que nos estén usando (DACA presos) como excusa para no renovar el DACA. Pienso que no es justo”.

Jennie Ojeda
Jennie Ojeda

En el año 2012, el ex-presidente Barack Obama creó el programa DACA (Accion Diferida para los Llegados en la Infancia) para proteger de la deportación a los

niños que entraron a los Estados Unidos antes de cumplir los 16 años de edad.

Los hermanos Ojeda están entre los 800.000 inmigrantes indocumentados que fueron traídos por sus padres a los Estados Unidos a muy temprana edad, y que solicitaron la protección de DACA. Este grupo de inmigrantes son ahora son conocidos como soñadores.

A principios de su administración el Presidente Donald Trump anunció su intención de terminar con DACA . Desde entonces, los soñadores enfrentan un futuro incierto.

Sí las amenazas de terminar con el programa se materializan, Jennie enfrentará una eminente deportación. “Me siento preocupada”, dice Jennie.

“Tengo esperanza que el Congreso haga algo respecto al DACA”

“Si no hacen nada al respecto, no solo mi familia será afectada, sino también mucha gente. Destruirán nuestros sueños, no podremos seguir asistiendo a la escuela y tampoco podremos seguir trabajando legalmente”.

Jennie, Luis and Hugo Ojeda
Jennie, Luis and Hugo Ojeda

Por haber cometido un delito y recibir una condena, Luis ya no tendrá beneficios migratorios al terminar su condena.

De acuerdo al artículo de Will Racke The Number Behaind The Dreamers, publicado por el Daily Caller “desde la implementación de DACA en el 2012, un total de 2,139 (cerca del 0.3%) soñadores han perdido su estatus migratorio por un comportamiento criminal”.

Luis se convirtió en soñador a los 18 años, pero perdió el estatus cuando cometió su delito.

A pesar de estar en prisión, Luis expresa que se benefició del DACA. Su futuro, dice, se basaba en el sueño americano.

“Antes de la creación de DACA, cuando tenía la edad de 11 años, me estresaba pensando que la migra (ICE) me iba agarrar y separarme de mi familia. A los 18 años obtuve DACA y esto me ayudo a obtener mi licencia de manejar y un permiso de trabajo, con el cual obtuve un trabajo como cocinero en un restaurante y continué con mi educación”, dice Luis.

Luis admite sus errores y acepta el castigo impuesto por sus malas decisiones. Sin embargo, las amenazas de Trump afectan emocionalmente a soñadores como Jennie.

Jennie recuerda como DACA cambió su vida. El programa le permitió trabajar legalmente en los Estados Unidos. Actualmente trabaja como secretaria en una compañía de plomería durante el día y por la noche asiste al Colegio De Anza. Una de sus metas es llegar a ser arqueóloga y antropóloga.
“Me gusta aprender acerca de las personas que vivieron aquí hace mucho tiempo, del significado de las religiones, sus diferentes puntos de vista y las civilizaciones antiguas”, dice. “Si llegara a ser una antropóloga podría explorar el mundo”.

Un reporte de American Action Forum encontró que los soñadores contribuyen a la economía estadounidense de diferentes maneras.

“Estimamos que el trabajador promedio con estatus de DACA contribuye con unos $109 mil dólares anuales a la economía. Si todos los beneficiarios de DACA fueran removidos del país, el Producto Interno Bruto del país decrecería por alrededor de $42 mil millones de dólares”, indica el reporte de AFF.

En un estudio llamado National UnDACAmented Research Project, Roberto G. Gonzales, investigador de

Harvard, encuestó a 2,000 portadores de DACA. Gonzales descubrió que el 22% de soñadores tienen una licenciatura, comparado con un 32% de la población total de los Estados Unidos que cuentan con licenciatura.

“Antes de la creación de DACA, cuando tenía la edad de 11 años, me estresaba pensando que la migra (ICE) me iba agarrar y separarme de mi familia”

Si DACA es cancelado definitivamente la mayoría de los soñadores tendrán que hacer cambios drásticos en su vida. Algunos no tendrán otra alternativa que regresar a vivir en las sombras – en constante temor a la deportación. Para otros, significaría regresar a sus países de origen de los cuales huyeron y conocen muy poco.

“Estoy muy asustada y me da tristeza cuando miro las noticias – parece que están jugando con nuestras emociones, no nos toman en serio. ¿Cómo podremos tener un futuro? Me da mucha tristeza, me preocupo y me causa estrés”, dice Jennie. “(Sin embargo) tengo esperanza que el Congreso haga algo respecto al DACA”.

Wall City Volume 2 Issue 2: THE WOMEN’S ISSUE

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The Women’s Issue, Summer 2019.

Editor-in-Chief Marcus Henderson

Staff Writer Kate McQueen

Staff Writer Molly Kittle

Art Director Jonathan Chiu

SQ PIO Lt. Sam Robinson

Warden’s Office Raphaele Casale

CDCR Information Officer Bill Sessa

Adviser William Drummond

Adviser Sarah Horowitz

Adviser Doug Levy

Adviser Dan Fost

Adviser Alastair Boone

Adviser Alissa Greenberg

Wall City Volume 2 Issue 2: The Women’s Issue

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These pages are written by women, about women. Here’s why.

How powerful is a voice when no one will hear the cries? “Everyone has a voice, but not

everybody has a platform,” said Tracy Brumfield. Brumfield is the founder of RISE Up News. She is one of the formerly incarcerated women featured in our “Over the Wall” section.

Her statement made me imagine someone alone in the woods surrounded by mountain-high trees. The person starts to scream at the top of their lungs, look- ing for a way out, but no one hears them. Not a soul understands the desperation of being separated from the rest of the world and not knowing if they will live or die in this dangerous environment.

All people know is that you strayed off the path. Only a few people wonder how you got lost. You start to wonder your- self how you got lost.

The woods are an unforgiving place. Some have come out the other side battered and abused but primed to help the world. Others stumble out more damaged and disconnected than be- fore. Some never make it out at all.

Women’s voices are growing loud around the world with the #NeverthelessshePersisted, RESIST and #MeToo movements. There is a segment of women who have suffered the same hardships as the women who start- ed these movements, but their voices are rarely heard. The men of San Quentin News are honored to give the pages of the third issue of Wall City to these incarcerated and formerly incarcerated women so we can hear their stories.

Charisse Shumate is one of the women whose stories can be found in these pages. Shumate helped change California’s prison healthcare system. She was the lead plaintiff in Shumate v. Wilson, the first ever class action lawsuit filed by women prisoners in California. Formerly incarcerated firefighter Amika Mota is also in these pages. She details some of the pain, struggles and joys she navigated in prison while she fought fires. We also hear the voices of the young women housed in Ventura Youth Correction Facility. They give us insight into the trials of reckoning with their

actions and growing up in an institution. In our legal section, Sara Kruzan shares her story of surviving violence only to be re-traumatized as she went in front of the parole board. Kruzan has become a parole success story—she now works as an advocate, preparing others for a positive parole hearing.
Some of these stories would not have come to fruition without the help of the California Institution for Women and the Department of Juvenile Justice Administrations. We thank them for getting the word out to the women within their institutions and facilitating getting us the stories. We could always be critical of the administration, but in fairness, they are juggling safety and security concerns with rehabilitation efforts. Once we understand that we are all an integral part of this system of incarceration, we can build the bridges that truly heal our society. This system tests everybody’s humanity—whether you are a prisoner or an administrator.

We also thank the California Coalition of Women Prisoners for their contribution to this project. It’s their continued work both inside and outside of prison that brings awareness to women’s issues. I thank all the contributors and advisers for making this issue possible. All your words and stories have challenged the flawed male belief system I grew up with of being self-centered, domineering and uncaring. Thank you for giving me insight into your trials and strengths. Let me say, I hear you.

Wall City Volume 2 Issue 2: Fighting Fire While Doing Time

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Women battle to continue fighting fires after their releases

Female firefighters on the front lines of California wildfires
Female firefighters on the front lines of California wildfires photo by David McNew/ AFP/Getty Images

Many people are surprised to learn that nearly 10 percent of the incarcerated firefighters serving at California’s 44 “fire camps” are women. Just like men, the women firefighters get the same training as Cal Fire’s other seasonal firefighters- one week in the classroom, another week in the field, and additional training on an ongoing basis. And, just like the incarcerated men who become firefighters, they can’t get jobs as firefighters once they return to their communities.

“There’s a lot of hard work that goes into it. It’s exhausting, but you just keep on going because there is a job to do,” said one of the women firefighters. ‘I have a whole new appreciation for the tools and the work that Firefighters do,” she told the San Diego Union-Tribune.

Inmate firefighters navigate difficult terrain building fire breaks in vulnerable wildlands. Photo by Peter Bohler/Redux.
Inmate firefighters navigate difficult terrain building fire breaks in vulnerable wildlands. Photo by Peter Bohler/Redux.

For Amita Mota, the reality of regulations that prevent many formerly incarcerated individuals from getting professional firefighter jobs hit hard. After rising to the rank of engineer, the top fire service rank in her unit, Mota returned to her community several years ago. There, she found only closed doors.

The state legislature recently considered legislation that would open opportunities for rehabilitated women and men to become firefighters. Cal Fire has also started a program for formerly incarcerated firefighters to join its professional ranks, but most municipal firefighter jobs are closed to anyone with a felony record — no matter what their training and performance as inmate-firefighters demonstrates.

Rainbow Crew firefighter cutting a fire line to stop a small fire near Hemet. Photo by Peter Bohler/Redux.
Rainbow Crew firefighter cutting a fire line to stop a small fire near Hemet. Photo by Peter Bohler/Redux.

The obstacle is that most cities require full-time firefighters to be cross-trained as both firefighters and emergency medical technicians, and individuals with felony records are barred from getting licensed as EMTs in many California counties.

“It never matched up for me, because we were able to do this from prison but not from the street,” said Mota in an interview with Wall City. “We were a fierce crew. We responded to structure fires, vehicle accidents, performed CPR, everything.”

The same is true throughout the United States, even though many communities

struggle to recruit and retain firefighters. This is in part why communities like the Central California city Madera rely on inmate fire crews as part of mutual aid pacts. Inmate crews also provide a significant amount of Cal Fire’s seasonal staffing.

Amita Mota (center) with her fellow firefighters
Amita Mota (center) with her fellow firefighters

In California, there are about 4,000 inmate firefighters, forming around 220 fire crews at 44 conservation camps in 27 counties. They are operated by the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) along with the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection (CalFire) and the Los Angeles County Fire Department. The camps are minimum security facilities, most of them located in rural areas where woodland fires are most likely. Three of the camps—Malibu, Puerta La Cruz and Rainbow—are for women.

The inmate firefighters are trained to the same standards as many urban fire- fighters. In fact, Mota’s five-woman crew handled all kinds of emergency calls, including many in Madera.
“We would respond to calls in the community. People knew if they saw a fire truck with all women, it was prob- ably us ‘fire girls,’” said Mota. “It felt good. I was doing good and helping the community, and everyone we worked with inside and outside of the prison recognized that.”
But not when it comes to hiring these people when they are released. Criminal justice reform advocates also raise questions about whether inmate fire- fighters are compensated appropriately or whether the CDCR firefighting pro- gram is another form of forced labor. In a recent New York Times article, Angela Hanks, director of the Center for Post- secondary and Economic Success at the Center for Law and Social Policy in Washington, said that inmate firefighters should be paid “a fair wage,” especially because it is such a dangerous job. At least six inmates have died while fire- fighting since 1983.

Shawna Lynn Jones, 22, a Los Angeles County Jail inmate firefighter died in 2016 while on duty. Jones’ name was added to the National Fallen Firefighters Memorial on the National Fire Academy grounds in Emmitsburg, Maryland.

“Shawna had a passion for sawyer work on the fire line and wanted to pur- sue this job in the fire service,” said the National Fallen Firefighters Foundation website. “Shawna gave her life so that others may live.”

Female inmate firefighters from Malibu Camp at the Detwiler fire in Mariposa County in 2017. Photo by Peter Bohler/Redux.
Female inmate firefighters from Malibu Camp at the Detwiler fire in Mariposa County in 2017. Photo by Peter Bohler/Redux.

Two other California inmate firefighters lost their lives in 2017. Despite the risks and career limits, Mota and other women say the experience is rewarding.

“I came into prison knowing I would be here for years, and this was something to work towards.” She was accepted into prison firefighting in 2012 after she served enough time on her 10-year sentence to qualify for minimum security.

Inmate firefighters are paid an aver- age of $2 per day, plus an additional $1

per hour that they are working on an active fire. Most inmate firefighters earn two additional days off their sentence for each day they serve as a firefighter, according to the CDCR.

Mota says the pay amounted to about 53 cents an hour, or weekly paychecks around $60. While this may seem better than nothing to some people, Mota explained that the pay was at times not enough.

“We had to buy deodorant, tampons, shampoo, and other basic things you need to live.” In addition, CDCR withholds 50 percent of an inmate’s pay if an inmate owes court-imposed restitution. “When you become incarcerated, it puts a financial burden on you and your family with tons of fees to pay back,” Mota said.

According to Mota, everyone around her supported her, and those who “intimately knew the firehouse did not agree with the amount they were paid.”

However, she did not let the pay — or status of being incarcerated — stop her. Affirmation by prison staff and others helped motivate her and her crew.

“They knew we were hard workers, we had integrity. We gave it our all. We had the respect of the correctional officers and fire captains and chiefs.”

Building up that confidence took time and a lot of work.

“Those calls were very intense,” she said, noting that her crew’s first car crash had three people who had to be extricated — and all three died.

“We could train all day long, but you’re never really prepared for what it is like to arrive at a scene like that. What you walk away with is something you won’t find in a book or in training,” she said.

Mota is not alone with frustration over the restrictions that prevent her and other formerly incarcerated individuals from getting jobs in California cities. She sees it as a contradiction that prevents people like her serve their communities constructively.

“They used to tell me all the time that if it was their daughter or their family in trouble, that they would want me on scene,” she said.

By Elena Mateus with Doug Levy

WALL CITY, VOLUME 2, ISSUE 2: The Women of San Quentin

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By Molly Kittle

San Quentin currently holds over 4,000 men, but the prison held both women and men from 1856 until 1933. The prison was ahead of its time in having a dedicated Women’s Department, also known as the Women’s Ward. The female prisoners, including a 13-year- old girl, were housed in the old San Quentin hospital building. A state hearing document recorded that guards shared women’s quarters and operated a bar on the prison grounds. There was at least one case of a woman becoming pregnant.

It wasn’t until the 1870s that New York State began separating women from men, in order to avoid common issues of a mixed population, such as sexual abuse. SQ was privately operated until the state took over the prison on June 1, 1855. This is when prisoners built a wall around the prison using prison-made bricks. Although SQ is a male- only facility today, women continue to have an impact on the institution; they serve critical roles in administration, as Correctional Officers (COs), in the upper ranks of leader- ship and as volunteers.

In the seven and a half decades when women were held at SQ, the United States experienced dramatic change. From the Gold Rush to the Great Depression, from the Civil War to World War I, from Abolition to Prohibition, our nation’s history provides context and a deeper understanding of the women who were incarcerated at SQ. Why did some women find themselves behind bars while those on the outside experienced new freedoms? This era included women winning the right to vote, serve in the military and hold elected office.

Then and now, social, financial, racial, safety (trauma/abuse) and mental health
factors play a role in incarceration. Abuse and financial dependence stand out in reports
as reminders of a woman’s place at the time. In the law rosters are infractions such as
bigamy, abortion, forgery, embezzlement, violating the Harrison Act of 1914 (an early
anti-drug law that sought to combat opium addiction through licensing and taxation) and more serious crimes, including murder.

Genevieve Smith

• 1885 – Prison matron position cre- ated to supervise 15 female pris- oners, paid $50 per month plus board.

• 1888 – Prisoner Mary Von almost • kills Matron Mary Kane.

• 1909-14 – Genevieve Smith is matron, earning $840 per month. Her husband Richard was a guard, • earning $780.

Mary Von

1887 – Fatally shoots her lover and admits shooting another man two years earlier.

1888 – Attacks prison matron, nearly killing her.

  • 1890 – Described as ‘holy terror’ by press.
  • 1911 – Paroles after 25 years.
  • 1912 – Falls ill and returns to San Quentin for medical care.
  • 1913 – Dies at SQ at age 72.

Emma LeDoux

• First woman sentenced to death in the state. She was granted a new trial on appeal, changed her plea to guilty in exchange for a life sentence in 1910.

• 1920 – Earned parole.
• 1921 – Broke conditions of parole and readmitted to San Quentin. • 1925 – Earned parole.
• 1931 – Broke parole conditions, back in SQ.

1933 – Transferred to newly opened CIW.

• 1941 – Died at 69, of ovarian cancer, still incarcerated at CIW.

WALL CITY, VOLUME 2, ISSUE 2: Women of Wall City

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Alastair Boone is the editor of Berkeley-based homeless advocacy newspaper, Street Spirit. “This issue feels personal to me. It grapples with issues such as girlhood and giving birth. Hearing about these experiences within prison helped deepen my under- standing of what it means to be incarcerated in America.”

Alissa Greenberg is freelance journalist for The Atlantic, The Washington Post, and Pacific Standard among others. “It’s been a privilege to help Wall City amplify all prison voices. Even more so for this issue and the voices of incarcerated women who face enormous challenges.”

Sarah Horowitz has been volunteering as Wall City’s design adviser since 2016. “Magazines are a sublime and powerful medium for communication,” she says. “I’m a big fan, and it’s a pleasure to hear and see each individual voice in this issue.”

Molly Kittle’s mission is to connect people to their voice, their purpose, and to each other. She is the creator and host of STORY, a series of events that connect people in creative, authentic and brave ways. She is committed to upholding the crucial role of stories in our lives.

Kate McQueen is a creative nonfiction enthusiast who believes style can enhance texts on any subject. She teaches and writes on literary and journalistic history. “What makes Wall City great is its ability to make space for voices and stories that often go unheard.”

Sara Kruzan is
a Parole Success Advocate at UnCommon Law in Oakland, California. As a formerly incarcerated person, she works in a team preparing people for parole hearings.

Lilliana Paratore is a Staff Attorney and Equal Justice Works Fellow at UnCommon Law. She advocates for people before the parole hearings, with a focus on survivors of gender-based violence.

Tina Curiel-Allen is a Xicana/Boricua writer and activist. She is the co-founder of Beyond the Stats, a UC Davis student organization of formerly incarcerated and system impacted students and staff.

Jane Dorotik is currently incarcerated at CIW and is a highly experienced, trained nurse and longtime prisoner rights advocate. She has been doing this work on the inside for almost 20 years.

Elena Mateus is a student at UC Berkeley and a news producer for KALX radio. She aspires to use new forms of storytelling to advance advocacy and facilitate the administration of justice.

Myesha Newell

Andrea Melgoza

Jevonie Rogers

Sophia Cristo

Four young women from the Ventura Youth Correctional Facility in Camarillo, California, write about their traumatic past and hope for the future. They give readers a multifaceted look into their world as they navigate their feelings and actions, while going through the juvenile system.

WALL CITY, VOLUME 2, ISSUE 2: Fire Inside

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The publication advocating for women in California prisons for more than 25 years.

“Now please don’t give up. When times get rough, hold your head up… It is not a ‘me’ thing. It’s a ‘we’ thing, and together with the dream team and the help of CCWP (California Coalition for Women Prisoners) there is a light at the end of the tunnel.” —Charisse Shumate, Founding member, CCWP
California Coalition for Women Prisoners (CCWP) was founded in 1995 to offer grassroots sup- port to a class action lawsuit that women prisoners had initiated against the state of California demanding basic, humane standards of healthcare. CCWP members inside and outside began to strategize about how to break through the in- visibility of women and transgender prisoners. Filing the lawsuit was a critical first step, but women in prison recognized that they also needed an advocacy and activist arm, and so CCWP was born.

The class action suit filed in 1995 reached a settlement in 1997, but health- care challenges have continued. Today in 2019, compassionate and medical releas- es are rare and difficult to obtain. There has been a crisis in suicides and suicide attempts in California prisons. There has been challenges for gender nonconforming, gay and transgender people leading to a strengthened #MeToo Movement in prisons. A class action lawsuit was filed in 2017 to combat these issues.

Right from the start, transgender (trans) and gender nonconforming (gnc) people were involved in building CCWP and our work both inside the women’s prisons, and outside. The first four-page issue of CCWP’s newsletter, The Fire In- side, was printed in June 1996 (now it is 16 pages). As the only continuously published newsletter written by and for women prisoners in the United States, The Fire Inside has been on the front lines of exploring and contesting the multifaceted ways in which gender dis- crimination constructs the entire prison system. Many of the subjects it has opened up have subsequently been further investigated, documented and analyzed by advocates, academics, policy makers and authors across the U.S. Fire Inside has provided a forum for people in Calif. women’s prisons to debate, discuss and strategize about the key issues they are facing.

CCWP continues to address issues identified by members on both sides of the prison walls, working together through The Fire Inside and through campaigns, demonstrations at the prison gates and legislative work. These issues include: incarcerated survivors of domestic violence, mothers and children, the criminalization of youth, death row, lesbianism, solitary confinement, racism, immigrant prisoners, Native American prisoners and trans and gnc people; and healthcare, including the suicide crisis. Because the prisons exist in a glob- al and community-wide context, we have also engaged in the dialogue about the abuse at Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq and the Palestinian occupied territories, the ravaging impact of Hurricane Ka- trina that led to the prosecution of young Black men in Jena, Louisiana. The prosecution and incarceration of four young Black lesbians in New York, and the Black Lives Matter and #MeToo movements. These are issues that affect us all, and have deeply impacted people in California women’s prisons. Our 2014 story project, “A Living Chance: Storytelling to End Life Without Parole” [alivingchance.com] has evolved into a powerful statewide campaign to Drop Life Without the Chance Of Parole (LWOP)!, working towards the commutation of all 5,200+ people serving Life Without Of the Possibility of Parole sentences in California and ultimately to remove it from the state’s penal code.

CCWP’s name also stands for “Caring Collectively for Women Prisoners.” We would be remiss if we did not name the women—some living and some dead— in the founding and the growth of our organization: Charisse Shumate, Sherri Chapman, Judi Ricci, Brenda Otto, Beverley Chopper Henry, Linda Fields, Mary Shields, Joanne Walker, Patty Contreras and Andrea Mims, amongst many others.

Those incarcerated in the state’s women’s prisons number 5,700 of the total 126,000+ California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation incarcerates. It is a significant and powerful part of our population. Recently commuted from an LWOP sentence in January 2018 and released in November 2018, CCWP member Kelly Savage writes:

“When standing on the tight wire of hope it’s hard to know which direction to lean. If you put yourself in a position of all-in, the spirit tends to suffer when the red tape of the system begins to slow- ly chip away at those hard won strug- gles. Every win is worth celebrating. Ev- ery win gets us closer to freedom. Don’t doubt that! It may be hard to keep fight- ing, given feelings about letting down our loved ones or facing the endless time. Whatever the feelings may be con- sider the alternative and start network- ing with others and know there are many people out here fighting for and with you.”

CCWP continues to stand with and fight for the civil and human rights of all those incarcerated in women’s prisons.

WALL CITY, VOLUME 2, ISSUE 2:An antidote to grief and pain

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What can compassion do? Squelch rumors, train volunteers, and provide support at the California Institution for Women

In 2015, women at the California Institution for Women (CIW) in Corona were traumatized by a sudden and unexpected death of a women in the Housing Unit who was very dear to all of us. The California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) housing, medical and responding staff all handled this death efficiently and sensitively. The Program Office called me, a program leader in our newly begun Compassionate Companions Program (CCP), to be present when the roommate of the recently deceased woman was informed. All of the community rallied to help those who reacted most strongly to this death. What became even more critical was to immediately squelch the rumor mill that the roommate did not inform staff quickly enough, or even that the room- mate was responsible for the death of her friend. A rumor partially inflated when staff followed procedure in placing the roommate in handcuffs while escorting her to medical for a routine evaluation. This poor roommate was traumatized by finding her friend unconscious.

I gathered all the CCP members in Unit A and asked them to help squelch this bogus and dangerous rumor, soliciting support from our housing staff. The CCP members were fantastic and within 24 hours the whole rumor mill had been put to rest. Each CCP member gave examples of how they squelched the rumors—in the medication line, dining hall, everywhere. This was a huge step in creating a culture of caring, empathy and cooperation at CIW.

To some, the concept of prisons and compassion seem opposed. Prisons are not easy places to live. There is so much internal struggling for power and dominance among prisoners, staff and protocols. But if ever a system needed more compassion, it would be the prison system where nothing, almost nothing, is given kindness or consideration.

The creation of Compassionate Companions Program here at CIW seemed initially to be a far-fetched, altruistic illusion in 2014. But with a little vision on the part of some administrators, a Compassionate Companions Pro- gram was begun. The purpose of CCP as authorized by then-Warden Hughes is to provide clearly defined support and compassion for fellow prisoners who are experiencing any serious illness, grief, loss or other catastrophic—emotional experience. Trained CCP volunteers maintain vigil for prisoners at end of life so they do not have to cross that thresh- old alone. The intention is to uphold their dignity and ease their suffering. The CCP does not provide crisis counseling nor does it replace nursing or medical care, but it does offer listening, companionship, letter-writing, and a broad range of support and friendship within the constraints of CIW regulations.

The Compassionate Companions Program is a nationwide program that provides training to community members—outside of prison as well as inside. Our initial volunteer group of 35 people at CIW received significant hours of training in palliative care, suicide and bullying prevention, and relation- ship/consensus building. Over the past few years, we have been able to train a series of new volunteers to continue the work. With clearance from administrative staff, CCP volunteers are able to visit with people at the end of life, those who have chronic illnesses or disabilities and are living in long-term care units, and throughout all of our housing units to help work to create a supportive community.

At the request of Mental Health Ser- vices, CCP members were asked to assist a woman who had recently received a terminal diagnosis. We went to see her after clearing our visit with housing staff and were able to provide support for her in several ways. We accompanied her to regularly scheduled medical visits and assisted in getting her immediate com- fort and needs met. She was having difficulty walking and needed a wheelchair, but prison bureaucracy was moving very slowly. She got a wheelchair that very day with CCP volunteers advocating for this basic necessity. The patient needed an increase in her weekly allotment of Depends. Once nurse was made aware of her dilemma, she got two more boxes that day and they promised to keep her supplied. We also reviewed her wishes for this last stage of her treatment.

She wanted to remain in her housing unit for the time being, and this was practical although not popular among staff. We supported this wish, and she was able to stay in her unit. We provided emotional support for her anxiety about her future.

She also asked for assistance in expediting her petition for compassionate release which her oncologist had written, but not in correct CDCR format. We accompanied her to a visit with the Chief Medical Officer who would make the final decision. Her release was approved and processed within a few days. These are classic examples of the ability of our Compassionate Companions Program group to sup- port one another and to bring a culture of change in a system that is generally insensitive, steeped in dominance and unaware of individual needs. We look forward to continuing to train new volunteers as needed and keeping this positive program going at CIW.

WALL CITY, VOLUME 2, ISSUE 2: Change Agents

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By Erika Mutchler, MSW

One counselor and four young prisoners from the Ventura Youth Correctional Facility in Camarillo, California, write about their traumatic pasts and hope for the future.

Entering the juvenile justice system as a counselor, so many perceptions and ideals came crashing down almost immediately. The outside perception of females in prison rarely holds a positive value. The public often sees incarcerated females as the most gruesome population of criminals. They must have mental health issues. They must have something wrong with their brains. They are emotional and resistant. Truth be told, these young women are incarcerated because of some- thing they have done. They have hurt someone. They were sentenced to the Division of Juvenile Justice (DJJ) as a result of a criminal act committed. There are victims and survivors in the community directly affected by these young women. While these young women have committed an act of violence that ultimately led them to incarceration, that does not change the way we interact with them. Their time within the Division of Juvenile Justice aims to focus on rehabilitation by refocusing their underlying belief system and outlook on the world. The truth is that women are the backbone of our nation. The females we encounter on a daily basis in the juvenile justice system have dispelled so many preconceived notions. These young women are strong. These young women are bold. They are relational, open-minded, and receptive. Most importantly, these young women are resilient. Several young women have been transparent and shared their stories with you in this special section.

These young women may not have the upbringing of the majority, but they often fantasize about a life where they are respected, taken care of, loved, and appreciated. They want to feel human. They want to be heard. This ideology has changed the way that staff in the Division of Juvenile Justice interacts with female youth. It is important that the females incarcerated at Ventura Youth Correctional Facility feel empowered. This is done by offering gender-specific curricula in a safe, therapeutic environment where the females are encouraged to improve and practice social-cognitive skills and job skills.

Working with incarcerated females, staff serve as change agents who assist these young women in not only finding but using the voices they have been given. Women currently have many opportunities to exercise their voices throughout our nation. We celebrate Women’s History Month each year with a luncheon and guest speakers, including previously incarcerated women.

Last year during national crime victims’ rights week, the young women spearheaded an institution-wide fund- raiser and donated more than $1,600 to the California Partnership to End Domestic Violence. They were then able to participate in a focus group in which some of their ideas were taken back to the community and used for preventative strategies.

The perception of incarcerated women does not compare to the reality of what is seen on a daily basis. These young women have experienced trauma that can be re-triggered if not handled delicately. It is the purpose and passion of a staff working with incarcerated young women to redirect their paths to ones of success, competency, resiliency and triumph. We strive to interrupt the pipeline from juvenile justice to adult incarceration. We humanize, empathize, and teach. The truth is that a staff member can learn just as much from an incarcerated youth. These young women teach us to be non-judgmental, empathetic, open-minded, resilient and continuously evolving. With focus and hard work, even the darkest situation can be a lesson learned, because nevertheless, she persisted.

Erika Mutchler, MSW is a casework specialist with the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation Division of Juvenile Justice’s Female Treatment Program.

WALL CITY, VOLUME 2, ISSUE 2: I WILL BE A LAWYER ONE DAY

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By Sophia Cristo

Many people believe it’s a cruel world; i happen to agree. not only is it different, it’s more cruel behind four slabs of brick and an endless outline of barbed wire. It’s like walking into your worst nightmare, but you can’t wake up. I was trapped in my nightmare for eight years, when something stirred me awake.

I’ve always believed in God and went to church as a child, but when others mentioned a personal relationship with God, I always wondered what that meant. Well, let me backtrack a little bit for you. But before I do, let me ask a question. What were you doing when you were 14 years old? Starting high school? Cheerleading? Joining the football team? Well, at 14, I was wrapping my mind around spending the rest of my life in prison. I had barely lived any life at all, and now I was told this was it? When I was younger, life wasn’t great, nor did I have any parental guidance. When I was 13, I was in a toxic relationship with an older guy. I soon found myself in jail: confused, scared, and feeling more alone than ever.

I hadn’t had a chance to start wondering about anything in life, such as my goals and dreams, and now my life appeared over before it had even started. All my hopes and dreams were shattered. How could I possibly accept never going home? Never being with my family again? Never graduating high school, going to prom or making memories with friends? Never falling in love, being a mother, or having a home of my own? One day dying sur- rounded by strangers in a dark, cold prison instead of my own home sur- rounded by those who loved me? How could I accept all this when I didn’t understand any- thing that was happening to me or around me? A thousand terrifying, heart- breaking thoughts raced through my head, along with never ending unanswered questions of why.

No one imagines they’ll end up in jail. There’s no possible way to mentally or emotionally prepare for the turmoil you will face; however, your spirituality can get you through it all. As humans, we have survival instincts, and one of those includes adapting to our surroundings.

We get used to being without our loved ones, sleeping on what most would never call a bed, having someone lock us in a cell, getting used to someone monitoring and controlling every move we make. Even though we know our freedom is just on the other side of that brick wall, so close yet so far, a feeling of helplessness that once engulfed us has become a secondary feeling that we’ve grown to accept, ignore, or suppress. We don’t choose, nor do we like this numb feeling; it just happens. It’s a way of surviving and getting through the struggle of heartache. I’ve watched my loved one’s lives pass by, while my life has felt as if it’s been on pause. Friends grew up, relatives got married, there were new additions to my family, and sadly a few I lost that I didn’t get to say goodbye to. One of the worst parts of being incarcerated is people can actually compare it to death. In the beginning, every- one’s crying and missing you, wishing it didn’t happen, wanting to just spend time with you again, reminiscing about the last moment they spent with you. They grieve in a way, but after a while, just like us, they get used to it. Our absence becomes normal, our name is no longer familiar, our face missing from pictures. It’s a survival instinct for them as well, because those who love us are doing this time with us.

Being around strangers, especially girls, 24/7 is pretty trying, especially when you’re young. We’re odd, emotional and hard-to-understand creatures. We put up with each other’s attitudes and struggle with wondering who we can confide in. But we remind ourselves to stay strong during the hard times, especially when missing our loved ones.

One day, I decided to go to a creative writing class called “Inside Out Writ- ers” at the Juvenile Hall. I discovered my talent and love of poetry and creative writing. It eased a lot of emotional anxiety and pain and allowed me to see things differently.

I still have faults. I continue to deal with heartache, but the best part is I have God to turn to. I decided to make the best out of my situation and take advantage of every opportunity so I could better myself. I finished high school two years early. I held onto my faith, took job prep classes and even learned new life skills.


While awaiting sentencing, I heard about Proposition 57. I paid it no mind because I thought it wouldn’t apply to me. I started praying fervently, asking God to make away for me to go home in less than five years.

God answered my prayers. I went to court expecting to be sentenced as an adult, but then my lawyer and the judge started talking about Prop 57 and how it applied to my case. I won my transfer hearing and was sentenced as a juvenile. Now I’m at a Youth Correctional facility, and I will be home in less than two years.

My nightmare lasted eight years.


It was a long fight. Yes, I may have spent my youth incarcerated, but honestly I believe it made me a better per- son. I don’t think I’d be the amazing, strong person I am today, had I not been through this. I’m going to college and learning how to do computer coding and programming, which I would like to do when I am released.

I wanted to share my story to let people know: yes it’s hard in here, and we face a lot of challenges, but we overcome them. We’re not the labels that society places on us. We are unbreakable, resilient people that have a lot to share with this world if given the chance. I have a very bright future to look forward to because I’m not hold- ing onto my past. I will be a lawyer one day. I will actually be able to relate to my clients with all that they are facing. Considering what I’ve faced, I’ll be more motivated to fight for them. I refuse to wear the label society tried to give me, especially when it was the wrong one.

If you look closely and carefully, you’ll notice that out of TRAGEDY comes TRIUMPH. My name is Sophia Cristo, and I hope my story impacted you and your outlook on life in the most positive way.

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