Forty some days have come and gone since I’ve been placed in segregation behind the uprising that brought the Tecumseh prison to its knees, if only for a moment.
Not hardly a significant amount of time when I think of the Albert Woodfoxes, or Ocsar Lopez Riveras… The George Jacksons, the Mumia Abu Jamals, or any of the thousands of men, women, and children whose names, like their voices, are unknown yet were placed in a concrete box against their will.
As I write these words, a voice reminds me that any amount of time spent in a cell designed to break the mind, body, and soul is significant. But how can I explain this to the people who need to understand it the most?
The corporations that profit from from the two million plus slave laborers known commonly as criminals would want you to think of me as a number, an object, something less than human. Or better yet… not at all. They will go to great lengths to make you believe that it’s okay to treat people in horrific ways.
Educate yourself on the fastest growing industry in America; Prisons. Do it now before you find yourself in one fighting for a education.