The water here
By Brandon Astor Jones
"Penology ... has become torture and foolishness, a waste of money and a cause of crime ... a blotting out of sight and a heightening of social anxiety." — Paul Goodman
This will be the first in a series of reports taken from my personal journal, in no particular order. My purpose is to provide the reader with a clearer insight into this Georgia prison's living environment, as seen through my own eyes and experiences. It begins last December 2 at 12:56 hours:
I am in the prone position at the foot of the bunk. Looking out through the bars, about three metres in front of this cell I can see two African-American men down on their hands and knees.
One of them has been living on death row for 27 years; the other for 17. Both men have had their death sentences set aside by the courts. Two days ago we were issued new rules and regulations in which the two men are described as "housemen".
They are scraping the growing build-up of wax off the concrete floor. They are using scrapers that have seven-centimetre blades connected to wooden handles. Each handle has a hole in it through which a steel ring has been passed and then welded shut.
Attached to each scraper is about one metre of chain. At the other end of those chains there are "Master"-brand padlocks. Each lock is connected to one of two flimsy white plastic handles on "Igloo"-brand industrial 20-litre water coolers.
This is an example of the prison administration's feeble attempt to make secure some things that simply defy being secured.
I have no doubt that the weakest man in the cell block — were he moved to sufficient rage and anger — could easily snatch locks and all off those plastic coolers' handles. Imagine a violent scene from the film Braveheart, in which one of the weapons of choice is a mace (a medieval weapon that consist of a handle from which a chain is suspended with a steel ball attached to the chain's end).
The uneasy truce that exists between the two men, still on their hands and knees in front of this cell, is a tentative one at best. To say that they do not like each other would be the height of understatement. It is not hard for me to imagine one smashing the other's head in with those chains and locks — not to mention the case in which their scrapers could become knives.
Each man's continued good health is testament to their individual ability to exercise self-restraint — not the pretentious security that is supposed to be embodied in the prison administration's water coolers, chains, locks and scrapers.
That brings me to the reason I am sharing this scene with you. Those water coolers are not unfamiliar. You see, they look very much like those water coolers that are supposed to be used by prisoners and our visitors in the visiting areas. Little children often drink from them.
Alas, here they are being dragged about in the rising filth that is being scraped off the cell block floor. Then, I fear, they will very likely be put right back in the visiting areas. It is my opinion that they can never be sanitary again.
I am reminded that my great-grandson, Natori, was perpetually thirsty during his visit. When he comes back I will have to let him know that he cannot drink the water here.
[The writer is a prisoner on death row in the United States. He welcomes letters commenting on his columns (include your name and full return address on the envelope, or prison authorities may refuse to deliver it). He can be written to at: Brandon Astor Jones, EF-122216, G3-63, Georgia Diagnostic & Classification Prison, PO Box 3877, Jackson, GA 30233, USA.]