[Ppnews] Voices from Solitary: “A Sort of Solitary Psychosis”

[Political Prisoner News]

  Voices from Solitary: “A Sort of Solitary Psychosis”

July 22, 2012
http://solitarywatch.com/2012/07/22/voices-from-solitary-a-sort-of-solitary-psychosis/ 
<http://solitarywatch.com/tag/utah-state-prison/>
by Voices from Solitary 
<http://solitarywatch.com/author/voicesfromsolitary/>

/The following comes from an inmate at Utah State Prison, Draper’s Uinta 
1 facility. Uinta 1 serves as Utah’s death row, long-term supermax, as 
well as the Draper institution’s disciplinary segregation unit. The 
writer wrote over a period of days detailing a particularly violent few 
days in his unit requiring multiple cell extractions following several 
inmates covering their windows and flooding their cells. –Sal Rodriguez/

*Saturday*

*3:00 PM*

It’s around 3:00 PM Saturday here. Last night my neighbor flooded his 
cell by flushing his toilet a lot with socks in toilet so it flooded the 
whole section, except my cell (I plugged it off with plastic and towel). 
Then another neighbor slipped in his cell on water, hit head on sink, 
had seizure, and was extracted, then returned to cell. I notice that a 
lot of these guys have seizures. I don’t think this is a faked issue. 
You can tell a true seizure by just listening to their head bounce off 
the cement floor.

*8:30 PM*

Cells 1, 2, 3, 4 have all proceeded tonight (8:30PM–it’s almost 10:30pm) 
to pull all their sprinklers, cover all their windows, and flood cells 
by running sink and flushing toilets repeatedly. The damn sprinklers 
emitted no water for some reason. This means if there was truly a fire 
the captive would burn to death. They are going to fight the SWAT teams. 
So pepper spray/blood/maybe death is on the roster tonight. Water’s 
barely seeping into my “house” but it’s plugged off pretty good. I don’t 
mean to sound like a sportscaster. This shit’s not cool one bit. People 
die fucking around doing this shit.

A sort of solitary psychosis, no person can stop these guys.

Guess they are now shitting and pissing into the water. We now wait for 
SWAT. Pretty soon they’ll become hip to the skip and shut off the water. 
I’m going to fill juice bags with water to drink! Almost forgot.

*10:35 PM*

SWAT called cell 1 and 3 “unresponsive.” Could be hanging from the 
sprinkler. Cells 2 and 4 aren’t going through with it. Negotiator didn’t 
work. Just sprayed a grip of pepper spray…Cops are scared to go in! They 
sprayed each cell five or six times then they both cuffed up. Both 
alive. It’s over for today–or not.

*Sunday*

*5:00 AM*

The cops put them back in the cells at 5:00 AM on “strip cell” and now 
cell 3 is going to pull his sprinkler again. The cells were soaked when 
they put them back in them. They are complaining of not being able to 
see from pepper spray. They were “put on a wall”–handcuffed behind back 
this whole time 8:45 to 5:00 AM. Both had to just piss on themselves. 
I’m tired from just watching, not as young as I used to be, and those 
dudes got three/four days of strip cell to look forward to. Hateful shit.

One of them had a seizure when “put on the wall.” They’ve refused him 
medical attention for this. The cops haven’t fed them today. This is 
what I mean by subtle abuse. The “blowers” (big fans) are on in section. 
This trips temperature a good ten degrees. They do this to make these 
two on strip cell suffer. The blowers are off all other times.

Cells 2 and 4 are preparing to battle here Wednesday.

*Hours later*

It’s been decided. I wouldn’t say we do these things for attention. It’s 
more “getting back at them the only way possible.” And the cops have to 
scrub our shit, squeegee the water up. Actually work.

*8:30  PM*

Cell 4 is unresponsive. Windows covered. Guards are talking of using 
“C.S.” gas, which is a grenade. We had the Sgt. admit that he cannot be 
the man in charge of extraction because he used too much O.C. gas on the 
two yesterday.

*9:30 PM*

The true SWAT tream came in on cell 4. Last night it was just staff in 
bio-hazard suits. They deployed the gas grenade. I can’t breathe or see 
right now. Whole section, all cells, are smoked up. There’s a big fan 
blowing the shit, supposedly out of our section. But it’s just blowing 
it around and its coming in the cells.

*3:00 AM*

Fans still blowing. Smokes still burning face, eyes, throat. Seems like 
we’re in for a long smokey couple days. The CS gas is so strong it 
leaves black smudges on the cell door frames. Got a pain in my left lung 
or heart. The smells lingering here in my cell but can’t pinpoint 
exactly where its coming from.

*Wednesday*

*4:45 PM*

Cell 3 is “unresponsive” again. Cell windows covered. Cells flooded. 
Sprinklers pulled. SWAT team has been called again. Negotiators 
negotiating. Its a standoff. They took Cell 3 to medical center after 
standoff  to remove staples. I’m going to try and mail this to you. I’m 
tired.

Welcome to my world.

*8:30 PM*

Cell 2 covered window. Officers brought a stick (stick used to push 
mattresses away from door) and opened cuff port to see into the cell to 
make sure he isn’t dying. SWAT called and we just barely got rid of the 
CS gas from earlier.

Cell 3 has been moved to Section 4, which has cameras in the cells. Now 
we wait.

They CS’d him (Cell 2) and he had a seizure…Its pretty bad in here…

*Later*

You know, I didn’t realize…Now that I’ve read it all back to myself I 
see…this shit isn’t cool. What is it thats caused me to become used to 
all this? I remember as a boy growing up wanting to be cool with a burly 
Raiders jacket and tattoos with a cool bowl cut. I wanted to emulate an 
older kid named Steve. Now Steve is dead. He hung himself with a string 
in his trailer closet in my hometown with a power extension cord.

It’s now 1:00 AM Thursday.

I made a list once of all those I’ve known and grown up with and most 
have died horribly and they never went through this type of hell. My 
family considers me crazy. So do my captors. So do my fellow captives. 
So do I at times but I must be crazy to make it. Strong crazy not weak 
crazy. I’ll turn thirty in four months. Can you see the isolation I’m 
drowning in?

I remember as a boy I loved to play in the stream behind our house. 
Chase “water-skeeters.” Pile rocks and dam up the river to play in. Lie 
on the grass. Build little huts out of old discarded wood. Play spin the 
bottle with the neighbor girls. Drink homemade root beer and eat 
homemade ice cream with my grandma.

I’ve never killed anyone, and I won’t. I’ve never hurt a soul and I will 
not. I slipped my handcuffs while drunk and got caught with two grams of 
dope and now I’m here. Punished…

-- 
Freedom Archives 522 Valencia Street San Francisco, CA 94110 415 
863-9977 www.freedomarchives.org
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