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<h1 id="reader-title">Visiting Herman In The Age Of Trump</h1>
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<div id="post-26396" class="entry single-default post-26396
post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry
category-susieday tag-andrew-cuomo tag-barack-obama
tag-chelsea-manning tag-clemency tag-donald-trump
tag-herman-bell tag-leonard-peltier tag-oscar-lopez
tag-release-aging-people-in-prison">
<p><strong>BY SUSIE DAY</strong> | February 1, 2017<br>
</p>
<p>This past year was good for prison activists. Those who
advocated for high-profile political prisoners in the
federal system celebrated when President Barack Obama
commuted the sentences of Chelsea Manning and Oscar
Lopez, both now scheduled for release on May 17.
Activists who supported less-known “social” prisoners,
most serving inordinate time for what the media like to
call “nonviolent drug offenses,” rejoiced at Obama’s
unprecedented 1,715 commutations by the end of his
presidency.</p>
<p>Locally, New York State activists, having spent years
beseeching Andrew Cuomo to grant prisoners clemency,
finally saw a little light when Cuomo commuted the
75-year-to-life sentence of Judith Clark, as well as
those of six other people with felony convictions. All
told, about 1,722 actual human beings, who once
contemplated their deaths inside prison, are now free or
facing the increasing prospect of walking out alive.</p>
<p>But given that Obama also denied a record number of
petitions (14,485, including Leonard Peltier’s) and that
this country has for years held the world’s largest
prison population, there remain about 2.2 million people
behind US bars. Social prisoners and political
prisoners, disproportionately black and brown. People
like my friend Herman Bell.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>SNIDE LINES</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Eleven years ago, <a
href="http://www.gaycitynews.nyc/gcn_506/visitingherman.html">I
wrote about visiting Herman</a>, a former Black
Panther convicted of killing two police officers and
sentenced to 25 years to life. In 2006, my partner
Laura, our Canadian friend Tynan, his two-year-old
daughter Frankie, and I visited Herman at the Eastern
Correctional Facility on his 58th birthday. Herman was
then preparing to go before the New York Parole Board
for the second time.</p>
<p>I’m writing again about visiting Herman, except that
Frankie is 13 and prefers to be called Franca; and
Herman has just turned 69 and has now been denied parole
seven times.</p>
<p>Herman’s also been moved around to several other
prisons, so these days, we take a five-hour bus ride to
see him at the Great Meadow prison in Comstock. Since
this “correctional facility” allows prisoners only three
visitors, Franca couldn’t come this time. Ty, Laura, and
I go through the usual body scan and metal detection
before we’re allowed in the visiting room. We’re
assigned a bench behind a long metal table set on
painted cinder blocks, over which Herman will lean to
hug us when he gets here.</p>
<p>“Imprisonment exacts an incalculable toll on the body
and mind,” Herman once wrote. It’s “the closest descent
into Hell as one can imagine.” He ought to know.
Herman’s been caged since he was 25. Research shows
that, because of stress, bad food, and inadequate
medical care, people in prison age rapidly – so fast
that by the time they’re 50, they’re considered
“elderly.” That’s one reason why Laura, with Herman’s
encouragement, helped start an organization called
Release Aging People in Prison (RAPP).</p>
<p>Now in walks Herman, in a rumpled green uniform, much
the same “tall, sweet-smiling, quiet man” I described
over a decade ago. But he’s looking more worn and tired.
For weeks now, he’s been telling us how he expects to
lose his cell on the honor block. There are rumors that,
because of the 2015 escape of two honor-block prisoners
at Clinton prison, honor blocks in every New York state
prison may close.</p>
<p>If you’re a long-term prisoner in New York, honor
blocks are an essential means of survival, especially as
you age. To be granted the “earned housing” privilege,
you have to work long and hard, avoiding any write-ups
for misbehavior. The Comstock honor block isn’t much
different from the rest of the prison, except that it’s
blessedly quieter and has its own recreation area,
making it easier to get to the phones to call the people
allowed on your list. Without it, there’s uncontrollable
noise, a kind of psychic drowning.</p>
<p>Herman appraises the spread of junk food we’ve amassed
from the vending machines. He starts to peel the plastic
off a microwaved burrito, and we catch up on life. Laura
keeps Herman posted on RAPP meetings. Tynan mentions
Franca’s roller derby team, the Rhythm and Bruise.
Herman’s relieved he didn’t see his name on this
morning’s list of people to be moved off the honor
block. He figures he’s safe for now.</p>
<p>I buy a chocolate chip muffin, hoping it will pass for
a birthday cake; but first, some prison gossip. Rural,
intensely Caucasian Comstock – yet another prison
holding mostly African Americans and Latinos – seems to
have employed exactly one black guard, who, Herman says,
refers to himself as French Canadian. “Name of Deshawn,”
sneers Herman, “yeah, right.” The muffin is still
sitting unopened when a white guard taps Herman on the
shoulder.</p>
<p>“We’re packing up your cell,” he says. Herman can stay
at the visit or go back to see that his possessions –
which fit into a few cardboard boxes – aren’t broken or
waylaid on their way to another cellblock. Herman says
he’ll stay with us, but we insist that he go protect his
stuff.</p>
<p>People who’ve never been inside a prison usually can’t
fathom how small, bureaucratic changes like this can
prove life-threatening. And disappearing honor blocks
may not be all that’s coming down the pipeline. Governor
Cuomo, citing budgetary constraints, has proposed
cutting visiting days at maximum-security prisons to
three a week. Then there’s Cuomo’s 2017 State of the
State platform. Even after Judith Clark’s commuted
sentence, it doesn’t mention releasing other prisoners
in the “graying” population. Instead, Cuomo plans to
“create a 50-bed dormitory at Ulster Correctional
Facility to house eligible individuals aged 55 years or
older.”</p>
<p>As the Trump regime sinks its talons deeper into our
body politic, people like Herman – anybody left behind
bars – will be the first to be forgotten. Standing Rock,
refugees, healthcare: such emergencies will – rightfully
– demand our attention. Yet part of the trick of our
survival will be to connect our lives to the lives of
these people inside, grappling with their own deepening
hells.</p>
<p>Here at Comstock, Herman returns to our visit. He’s
shaken, but cracks that his new cellblock resembles
“south of the Mason-Dixon line.” Which makes us worry at
yet another level. We sing “Happy Birthday,” share
Herman’s cupcake, shoot a crap game with “dice” Ty has
improvised from scrap paper, and leave when visiting
hours end.</p>
<p>We’ll need to contact Herman’s wife. Tell her he may
not be able to call for a while.</p>
<hr>
<p><em>Susie Day is the author of <a
href="http://www.abingdonsquarepublishing.com/snidelines.htm">“Snidelines:
Talking Trash to Power,”</a> published by Abingdon
Square Publishing.</em></p>
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