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Hospitality to the Imprisoned ˜ 137
are damaged, destroyed, or confiscated. You are told repeatedly that you do not
merit owning anything of value, that you are a useless piece of crap. Get used to
it. You will be treated this way the entire time you are incarcerated.
In a flurry of activity you are given an ill-fitting set of underwear from a
communal clothes bin and an equally ill-fitting uniform. When everyone is
dressed, you are divided into small groups and escorted to your respective cell
blocks.
When you arrive at your cell block you receive bed linen and are assigned
to a cell. Most people are placed in a two-man cell. As you are locked into your
cell, you nervously introduce yourself to your new cell mate. You are highly apprehensive
about how you will be received and about what attitude this new person
thrust into your life will have.
In your cell, if it is a small one, there will be one bunk and a mattress on
the floor. If you are in the cell first, you grab the bunk. But if you are a late arrival,
you are placed on the floor. By the head of the bunk is a sink and a toilet.
The front of the cell is open, with only a wall of bars. There is no privacy. You
had better get used to using the toilet and to showering with numerous sets of
eyes on you.
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As the weeks turn into months, then years, you learn more about life in
prison and adapt yourself accordingly. Many people will speak about their legal
cases, and you come to one blinding realization: Justice is a mockery and an illusion
in this country.
You will meet people who are in prison for all sorts of crimes. A number of
these people are in prison for drugs. Many will have life sentences. Yet, while you
speak to them about their downfall brought on by selling drugs, word will pass
around of a guard who will bring in any type or amount of drug, for the right
price. You will soon learn that there are more drugs available in prison than in
the free world.
At any given moment, you are subject to a shakedown. This is a cell search
and/or the humiliating strip search. But it is appropriately named. Often a guard
will come to your cell and inform you that he is conducting a cell search. Looking
into your locker box and seeing that you have purchased a few food items
from the inmate store, he will say, “Give me a Coke and honey bun, and I won’t
search your cell again for a week.” If you consent and give up the Coke and
honey bun, you will be left alone. But he’ll be back. If you refuse to give in to
these rapacious demands, you will have to submit to the strip search. The guard
will go through your property with a fine-tooth comb, often damaging stuff as
he conducts his search. It’s your call as to which indignity you’d prefer to suffer.
While in prison you may seek to turn your life around and to better your-