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Voices of Peace
Peg Morton's Letters from Prison: Counts & 'Shackles' and Bits & Pieces of My Life
And introducing prisoners Lisa's and Mary's poems
By Peg Morton
Posted on May 29, 2004 |
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Federal Prison Camp Dublin
Margaret M. Morton
Reg. No. 92102-020
5675 8th St. Camp Parks
Dublin, CA. 94568
May 17, Counts and 'Shackles'
I have enclosed a poem by Lisa Faulkner Barnes, my companion SOA Prisoner of Conscience. In it, she refers to periodic “counts.” Officers come through our units to count us, to make sure we are all there. In federal prisons throughout the country, there is always a 4:00 pm standout count. We stand, silently, in lines in the units where we sleep. There are also counts in the night. Here, at Federal Prison Camp Dublin, 2 officers come through with flashlights at about 12 midnight, 3:00 am and 5:00 a.m. They shine the flashlights on each of us. On weekends, there is also a stand-up count by our beds at 10:00 a.m.
WITH SHACKLES OFF
By Leisa Faulkner Barnes
Prisoner #92089?020
May 6, 2004, 4:55 am (between counts), Prison Camp Dublin
Shackled Up
We stand together
Shackled Up
We fall in line.
One by One
They take our babies
One by One
They eat the night
Army boots
Announce the count time
Flashlights
Wake us from our dream
With Shackles off
We'11 raise our hands up
With Shackles off
We’ll raze the streets.
Mary, Mary
Made us stronger
Mary gave us back the night.
AND ORIGINAL SONG by MARY, MARY
Take the shackles off my feet
so I can dance
I wanna praise you
I just wanna praise you
Break the shackles off
so I can raise my hands
I'm gonna praise you
I'm gonna praise you
Federal Prison Camp Dublin
Margaret M. Morton Reg. No. 92102-020 5675
8th St. Camp Parks Dublin, CA. 94568
May 23, Bits and Pieces of my Daily Life
It is Sunday. The multi-purpose room is a place I can sit in comfortable chairs, to contemplate, to write. The plastic chairs in our living areas curve out, my back stiffens and hurts. I end up writing in my bed. But now I am comfortably, quietly here. It will fill up in about an hour for a movie, and down the hall in the chapel, there will be a Catholic mass. I'll go to the Protestant service at 2:30. Chaplain Hoch, Lutheran, is refreshingly progressive.
Wherever you are, whatever you are doing throughout the day in the Camp, a loud-speaker bellows out. "Ms. Yvonne G., report to visiting!" "Evelyn S. and Darla T., report to the officers' station!" etc.
In my last personal letter, I reported being assigned to landscaping – Well, I'm out of that, blessedly. It was much too much for me. It took some maneuvering and assertiveness on my part, plus the advocacy of some others, to get me through the bureaucratic hoops. So I've been back as bathroom orderly in my unit. That takes about 1 and a half hours each day, and then I am free for walking, yoga, writing, sleeping. I feel much better, no longer in a state of lingering exhaustion.
Visitors have been coming to see me on weekends – Lisa Zee, our family friend in Berkeley, Claire Nelson and Rev. Eric Meter from the Livermore Unitarian Church, Josh Warren-White, my beloved great nephew from Oakland, and, earlier, Dorothy Anderson. (Al was turned away – because he put a ? on "citizenship."? Three people have been turned, or almost turned away, because their names, while on my list, had not been sent to the Visitor Center (Gordie Albie & Eric Meter). I was never even called out to see them. When Claire Nelson appeared, I had been inadvertently called out. She also was not on the Visiting Center list. I spoke up, was permitted to fetch my list, they copied it. She visited. I was steamy, and complained, finally. This happens to others, also.
The visits are fatiguing. After 4 hours, I simply crash. But they are good for me. People ask me questions, and words and passion pour out. Most of the time, I live my daily life. Experiences are buried, waiting for an opportunity to surface.
Last week, women seemed to be trooping in each day. Since Leisa and I arrived, we have gone from about 15 to 36. Others point out that county jails and federal holding centers, meant only to house people for short periods, are full of people, waiting for delayed trials and waiting for space to open up in the prisons. So this unit, a condemned space, is filling up.
What feels to me like excessive punishment happens day by day. One woman reported 20 minutes late returning from a furlough (a permitted weekend at home). She was put in the SHU (solitary confinement) for 5 days. A group of my unit-mates went downstairs to wait until our unit was called to go to supper. The Camp Manager found them there, said they were supposed to be upstairs. They were made to get up early on Saturday morning and spend an hour cleaning and landscaping. Sometimes I think we are being treated like naughty children – and in ways in which we would not want to treat our children. Resentment bubbles up inside me as two condescending men come to inspect our unit for cleanliness – dust on the fire hydrant, a book under a pillow, a sheet folded on top of a bed, something set on top of a cabinet. They remove the t.v. for the entire building for a week.
But/and – there are guards who do their best to relate to us in a dignified, friendly way. And there are friendships to bolster my morale, moments of solitude.
So – until next week " ¡Adiós!"
Peg
Copyright 2004 by Peg Morton
Visit more of Peg's Prison Writings and SOA articles at West By Northwest.org
Peg Morton's Letters from Prison: Toni's Story and
Peg Morton's Letters from Prison: Work, Babies and Conditions and
A Cross and a Fence: The question is "How do we live our beliefs?" A Quaker grandmother has an answer and follow the links.
© Copyright 2000-2004 by West By Northwest.org
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