22.-women-in-prison.pdf
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WOMEN IN PRISON:
How It Is Wir Us

ASSATA SHAKUR
PUBLISHED IN THE BLACK SCHOLAR, APRIL 1978
We sit in the butt pen. We are all black. All restless. And we are all feezing,
When we ask, the matron tells us that the heating system cannot be adjusted. All of
us, with the exception of a woman, tall and gaunt, who looks naked and ravished,
have refused the bologna sandwiches. The rest of us sit drinking bitter, syrupy tea
The tall, fortyish woman, with sloping shoulders, moves her head back and forth to
the beat of @ private tune while she takes small, tentative bites out a bologna
sandwich. Someone asks her what she's in for. Matter of factly, she says, "They say I
killed some nigga. But how could I have when I'm buried down in South Carolina”?
Everybody's face gets busy exchanging looks. A short, stout young woman wearing
men’s pants and men’s shoes says, "Buried in South Carolina?” "Yeah,” says the tall
woman. "South Carolina, that's where I'm buried. You don't know that? You don't
know shit, do you? This ain't me. This ain't me.” She kept repeating, "This ain't me
ntl she had eaten all the bologna sandwiches. Then she brushed off the crumbs and
withdrew, head moving again, back into that world where only she could hear her
private tune.





Lucille comes to my tier to ask me how much time a "C" felony convietion carries. I
know, but i cannot say the words, I tell her i will look it up and bring the sentence
charts for her to sce. I know that she has just been convicted of manslaughter in the
second degree. I also know that she can be sentenced up to fifteen years. I knew from
what she had told me before that the District Attorney was willing to plea bargain:
Five years probation in exchange for a guilty plea to a lesser charge.

Her lawyer felt that she had a case: specifically, medical records which would prove
that she had suffered repeated physical injuries as the result of beatings by the
deceased and, as a result of those beatings, on the night of her arrest her arm was
‘mutilated (she must still wear a brace on it) and one of her ears was partially severed
in addition to other substantial injuries Her lawyer felt that her testimony, when she
took the stand in her own defense, would establish the fact that not only had she been
repeatedly beaten by the deceased, but that on the night in question he told her he
would kill her, viciously beat her and mauled her with a knife. But there is no self
defense in the state of New York.

The District Attorney made a big deal of the fact that she drank. And the jury,
affected by tv. racism, "law and order", petrified by crime and unimpressed with
Lucille as a "responsible citizen," convicted her. And i was the one who had to tell
her that she was facing fifteen years in prison while we both silently wondered what
would happen to the four teenage children that she had raised almost single-
handedly.

Spikey has short time, and itis evident, the day before she is to be released, that she
does not want to go home. She comes to the Bing (Administrative Segregation)
because she has received an infraction for fighting, Sitting in front of her cage and
talking to her i realize thatthe fight was a desperate, last ditch effort in hope that the
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prison would take away her "good days.” She is in her late thirties. Her hands are
swollen. Enormous. There are huge, open sores on her legs. She has about ten teeth
left. And her entire body is searred and ashen. She has been on drugs about twenty
years. Her veins have collapsed. She has fibrosis epilepsy and edema, She has not
seen her three children in about eight years. She is ashamed to contact home because
she robbed and abused her mother so many times.



When we talk it is around the Christmas holidays and she tells me about her bad
luck. She tells me that she has spent the last four Christmases in jail and tells me how
happy she is to be going home. But i know that she has no where to go and that the
only "friends" she has in the world are here in jail. She tells me that the only regret
she has about leaving is that she won't be singing in the choir at Christmas. As i talk
to her i wonder if she will be back. I tell her good bye and wish her luck. Six days
later, through the prison grapevine, i hear that she is back. Just in time for the
Christmas show.

We are at sick call. We are waiting on wooden benches in a beige and orange room to
see the doctor. Two young women who look only mildly battered by life sit wearing
pastel dresses and pointy-toed state shoes. (Wearing "state" is often a sign that the
‘wearer probably cannot afford to buy sneakers in commissary.) The two are talking
about how well they were doing on the street. Eavesdropping, i find out that they
both have fine "old men” that love the mess out of them. I find out that their men
dress fly and wear some baad clothes and so do they. One has 40 pairs of shoes while
the other has 100 skirts. One has 2 suede and 5 leather coats, The other has 7 suedes
and 3 leathers. One has 3 mink coats, a silver fox and a leopard. The other has 2
rinks, a fox jacket, a floor length fox and a chinchilla. One has 4 diamond rings and
the other has 5. One lives in a duplex with a sunken tub and a sunken living room
with a water fall. The other describes a mansion with a revolving living room. I'm
relieved when my name is called. I had been sitting there feeling very, very sad.

There are no criminals here at Riker's Island Correctional Institution for Women,
(New York), only victims. Most of the women (over 95%) are black and Puerto
Rican. Many were abused children. Most have been abused by men and all have
been abused by "the system."

There are no big time gangsters here, no premeditated mass murderers, no
godmothers. There are no big time dope dealers, no kidnappers, no Watergate
women. There are virtually no women here charged with white collar crimes like
embezzling or fraud, Most of the women have drug related cases. Many are charged
as accessories to crimes committed by men. The major crimes that women here are
charged with are prostitution, pick-pocketing, shop lifting, robbery and drugs.
Women who have prostitution cases or who are doing "fine" time make up a
substantial part of the short term population. The women see stealing or hustling as

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necessary for the survival of themselves or their children because jobs are scarce and
welfare is impossible to live on. One thing is clear: amerikan capitalism is in no way
threatened by the women in prison on Riker's Island,

One gets the impression, when first coming to Riker’s Island that the architects
conceived of it as a prison modelled after a juvenile center, In the areas where
visitors usually pass there is plenty of glass and plenty of plants and flowers. The cell
blocks consist of two long corridors with cells on each side connected by a watch
room where the guards are stationed, called a bubble. Each corridor has a day room
with a ty., tables, multi-colored chairs, a stove that doesn't work and a reftigerator.
There's a utility room with a sink and a washer and dryer that do not work,

Instead of bars the cells have doors which are painted bright, optimistic colors with
slim glass observation panels. The doors are controlled electronically by the guards
in the bubble. The cells are called rooms by everybody. They are furnished with a
cot, a closet, a desk, a chair, a plastic upholstered headboard that opens for storage, a
small book case, a mirror, a sink and a toilet. The prison distributes brightly colored
bedspreads and throw rugs for a homey effect. There is a school area, a gym, a
carpeted auditorium, two inmate cafeterias and outside recreation areas that are used
during the summer months only.



The guards have successfully convinced most of the women that Rikers Island is a
country club. They say that it is a playhouse compared to some other prisons
(specially male): a statement whose partial veracity is not predicated upon the
humanity of correction officials at Riker’s Island, but, rather, by contrast to the
unbelievably barbaric conditions of other prisons. Many women are convinced that
they are, somehow, "getting over." Some go so far as to reason that because they are
not doing hard time, they are'nt really in prison.





This image is further reinforced the pseudo-motherly attitude many of the guards; a
deception which all too often successfully reverts women children. The guards call
the women inmates by their first names. The women address the guards either as
Officer, Mis -- or by nicknames, (Teddy Bear, Spanky, Aunt Louise, Squeeze, Sarge,
Black Beauty, Nutty Mahogany, ete). Frequently, when a woman retums to Riker’s
she will make the rounds, gleefully embracing her favorite guard: the prodigal
daughter returns.



If two women are having a debate about any given topic the argument will often be
resolved by “asking the officer.” The guards are forever telling the women to "grow
up.” t0 "act like ladies," to "behave" and to be "good girls." If an inmate is breaking
some minor rule like coming to say "hi" to her friend on another floor or locking in a
few minutes late, a guard will say, jokingly, "don't let me have to come down there
and beat your butt." It is not unusuai to hear a guard tell a woman, "what you need is

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good spanking.” The tone is often motherly, “didn't I tell you, young lady, 102"; or,
"you know better than that"; or, "that’s a good girl.” And the women respond
accordingly. Some guards and inmates "play" together. One officer's favorite "game"
is taking off her belt and chasing her "girls" down the hall with it, smacking them on
the butt.

But beneath the motherly veneer, the reality of guard life is ever present. Most of the
guards are black, usually from working class, upward bound, civil service oriented
backgrounds. They identify with the middle class, have middle class values and are
extremely materialistic. They are not the most intelligent women in the world and
many are extremely limited.

Most are aware that there is no justice in the amerikan judicial system and that blacks
and Puerto Ricans are discriminated against in every facet of amerikan life. But, at
the same time, they are convinced that the system is somehow "lenient." To them, the
‘women in prison are “losers” who don't have enough sense to stay out of jail. Most
believe in the boot strap theory - anybody can "make it" if they try hard enough.
They congratulate themselves on their great accomplishments. In contrast to
themselves they see the inmate as ignorant, uncultured, self-destructive, weak-
minded and stupid. They ignore the fact that their dubious accomplishments are not
based on superior intelligence or effort, but only on chance and a civil service list.



Many guards hate and feel trapped by their jobs. The guard is exposed to a certam
amount of abuse from co-workers, from the brass as well as from inmates, ass
kissing, robotizing and mandatory overtime. (It is common practice for guards to
work a double shift at least once a week.) But no matter how much they hate the
military structure, the infighting, the ugliness of their tasks, they are very aware of
how close they are to the welfare lines. If they were not working as guards most
‘would be underpaid or unemployed. Many would miss the feeling of superiority and
power as much as they would miss the money, especially the cruel, sadistic ones.

The guards are usually defensive about their jobs and indicate by their behavior that
they are not at all free from guilt. They repeatedly, compulsively say, as if to
convince themselves, "This is a job just like any other job.” The more they say it the
more preposterous it seems.



The major topic of conversation here is drugs. Eighty percent of inmates have used
drugs when they were in the street. Getting high is usually the first thing a woman
says she's going to do when she gets out. In prison, as on the streets, an escapist
culture prevails. At least 50 percent of the prison population take some form of
psychotropic drug. Elaborate schemes to obtain contraband drugs are always in the
works,

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Days are spent in pleasant distractions: soap operas, prison love affairs, card playing
and game playing. A tiny minority are seriously involved in academic pursuits or the
learning of skills. An even smaller minority attempt to study available law books.
There are no jail house lawyers and most of the women lack knowledge of even the
most rudimentary legal procedures. When asked what happened in court, or, what
their lawyers said, they either don't know or don't remember. Feeling totally helpless
and totally railroaded a woman will curse out her lawyer or the judge with little
knowledge of what is being done or of what should be done. Most plead guilty,
whether they are guilty or not. The few who do go to trial usually have lawyers
appointed by the state and usually are convicted.

Here, the word lesbian seldom, if ever, is mentioned. Most, if not all, of the
homosexual relationships here involve role playing. The majority of relationships are
either asexual or semi-sexual. The absence of sexual consummation is only partially
explained by prison prohibition against any kind of sexual behavior. Basically the
women are not looking for sex. They are looking for love, for concem and
companionship. For relief from the overwhelming sense of isolation and solitude that
pervades each of us.

Women who are “aggressive” or who play the masculine roles are referred to as
butches, bulldaggers or stud broads. They are always in demand because they are
always in the minority. Women who are "passive," or who play feminine roles are
referred to as fems. The butch-fem relationships are often oppressive, resembling the
most oppressive, exploitative aspect of a sexist society. It is typical to hear butches
threatening fems with physical violence and it is not uncommon for butches to
actually beat their "women." Some butches consider themselves pimps and go with
the women who have the most commissary, the most contraband or the best outside
connections. They feel they are a class above ordinary women which entitles them to
“respect.” They dictate to fems what they are to do and many insist the fems wash,
iron, sew and clean their cells for them. A butch will refer to another butch as "man."
A butch who is well liked is known as “one of the fellas” by her peers.







Once in prison changes in roles are common, Many women who are strictly
heterosexual in the street become butch in prison. "Fems” often create butches by
convincing an inmate that she would make a “cute butch." About 80 percent of the
prison population engage in some form of homosexual relationship, Almost all
follow negative, stereotypic male! female role models.

There is no connection between the women's movement and lesbianism, Most of the
women at Riker’s Island have no idea what feminism is, let alone lesbianism.
Feminism, the women’s liberation movement and the gay liberation movement are
worlds away from women at Riker’.

The black liberation struggle is equally removed from the lives of women at Riker's,
While they verbalize acute recognition that amerika is a racist country where the

7
poor are treated like dirt they, nevertheless, feel responsible for the filth of their lives,
The air at Riker’s is permeated with self-hatred. Many women bear marks on theit
arms, legs and wrists from suicide attempts or self-mutilation. They speak about
themselves in self-deprecating terms. They consider themselves failures.

While most women contend that whitey is responsible for their oppression they do
not examine the cause or source of that oppression. There is no sense of class
struggle. They have no sense of communism, no definition of it, but they consider it
a bad thing. They do not want to destroy Rockefella. They want to be like him
Nicky Bares, a major dope seller, is discussed with reverence. When he was
convicted practically everyone was sad. Many gave speeches about how kind, smart
and generous he was; no one spoke about the sale of drugs to our children,



Politicians are considered liars and crooks. The police are hated. Yet, during cop and
robber movies, some cheer loudly for the cops. One woman pasted photographs of
Farrah Fawcett Majors all over her cell because she "is a baad police bitch.” Kojak
and Barretta get their share of admiration,

A striking difference between women and men prisoners at Riker's Island is the
absence of revolutionary rhetoric among the women. We have no study groups. We
have no revolutionary literature around. There are no groups of militants attempting
to "get their heads together.” The women at Rikers seem vaguely aware of what a
revolution is but generally regard it as an impossible dream, Not at all practical

While men in prison struggle to maintain their manhood there is no comparable
struggle by women to preserve their womanhood. One frequently hears women say,
"Put a bunch of bitches together and you've got nothin but trouble"; and, "Women
don't stick together, that’s why we don't have nothin." Men prisoners constantly refer
to each other as brother. Women prisoners rarely refer to each other as sister. Instead,
"bitch" and "whore" are the common terms of reference. Women, however, are much
kinder to each other than men, and any form of violence other than a fist fight is
virtually unknown. Rape, murder and stabbings at the women’s prison are non-
existent,

For many, prison is not that much different from the street. Iti, for some, a place to
rest and recuperate. For the prostitute prison is a vacation from turning tricks in the
rain and snow. A vacation from brutal pimps. Prison for the addict is a place to get
clean, get medical work done and gain weight. Often, when the habit becomes too
expensive, the addict gets herself busted, (usually subconsciously) so she can get
back in shape, leave with a clean system ready to start all over again, One woman
claims that for a month or two every year she either goes jail orto the erazy house t0
get away from her husband,

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For many the cells are not much different from the tenements, the shooting galleries
and the welfare hotels they live in on the street. Sick call is no different from the
clinic or the hospital emergency room. The fights are the same except they are less
dangerous. The police are the same, The poverty is the same. The alienation is the
same, The racism is the same. The sexism is the same. The drugs are the same and
the system is the same. Riker’s is just another institution. In childhood school was
their prison, or youth houses or reform schools or children shelters or foster homes or
‘mental hospitals or drug programs and they see all institutions as indifferent to their
needs, yet necessary to their survival





The women at Riker's Island come there from places like Harlem, Brownsville,
Bedford-Stuyvesant, South Bronx and South Jamaica. They come from places where
dreams have been abandoned like the buildings. Where there is no more sense of
community. Where neighborhoods are transient. Where isolated people run from one
fire trap to another. The cities have removed us from our strengths, from our roots,
from our traditions. They have taken away our gardens and our sweet potato pies and
given us McDonald's. They have become our prisons, locking us into the futility and
decay of pissy hallways that lead nowhere. They have alienated us from each other
and made us fear each other. They have given us dope and television as a culture.





There are no politicians to trust. No roads to follow. No popular progressive culture
to relate to. There are no new deals, no more promises of golden streets and no place
else to migrate. My sisters in the streets, ike my sisters at Rikers Island, see no way
out. "Where can I go, said a woman on the day she was going home. "If there's
nothing to believe in,” she said, "I can't do nothin except try to find cloud nine.”





What of our Past? What of our History? What of our Future?

| can imagine the pain and the strength of my great great grandmothers who were
slaves and my great great grandmothers who were Cherokee Indians trapped on
reservations. I remembered my great grandmother who walked every where rather
than sit in the back of the bus. I think about North Carolina and my home town and i
remember the women of my grandmother's generation: strong, fierce women who
could stop you with a look out the corners of their eyes. Women who walked with
majesty; who could wring a chicken’s neck and scale a fish. Who could pick cotton,
plant a garden and sew without a pattern, Women who boiled clothes white in big
black cauldrons and who hummed work songs and lullabys. Women who visited the
elderly, made soup for the sick and shortnin bread for the babies.

Women who delivered babies, searched for healing roots and brewed medicines,
Women who darned sox and chopped wood and layed bricks. Women who could
swim rivers and shoot the head off a snake. Women who took passionate
responsibility for their children and for their neighbors’ children too.

9
The women in my grandmother's generation made giving an art form. "Here, gal,
take this pot of collards to Sister Sue"; "Take this bag of pecans to school for the
teacher"; "Stay here while I go tend Mister Johnson's leg." Every child in the
neighborhood ate in their kitchens. They called each other sister because of feeling
rather than as the result of a movement. They supported each other through the lean

times, sharing the litte they had.

The women of my grandmother's generation in my home town trained their
daughters for womanhood. They taught them to give respect and to demand respect,
They taught their daughters how to chum butter; how to use elbow grease. They
taught their daughters to respect the strength of their bodies, to lift boulders and how
to kill a hog; what to do for colic, how to break a fever and how to make a poultice,
patchwork quilts, plait hair and how to hum and sing. They taught their daughters to
take care, to take change and to take responsibility. They would not tolerate a "lazy
heifer" or a "gal with her head in the clouds.” Their daughters had to learn how to get
their lessons, how to survive, how to be strong. The women of my grandmother's
generation were the glue that held family and the community together. They were the
backbone of the church. And of the school. They regarded outside institutions with
dislike and distrust. They were determined that their children should survive and they
‘were committed to a better future.



1 think about my sisters in the movement. I remember the days when, draped in
African garb, we rejected our foremothers and ourselves as castrators, We did
penance for robbing the brother of his manhood, as if we were the oppressor. I
remember the days of the Panther Party when we were "moderately liberated.” When
wwe were allowed to wear pants and expected to pick up the gun, The days when we
gave doe-eyed looks to our leaders. The days when we worked like dogs and
struggled desperately for the respect which they struggled desperately not to give us.
I remember the black history classes that didn't mention women and the posters of
our "leaders" where women were conspicuously absent. We visited our sisters who
bore the complete responsibility ofthe children while the Brotha was doing his thing.
Or had moved on to bigger and better things.

Most of us rejected the white women's movement. Miss ann was still Miss ann to us
whether she bumed her bras or not. We could not muster sympathy for the fact that
she was trapped in her mansion and oppressed by her husband, We were, and still
are, in a much more terrible jail. We knew that our experiences as black women were
completely different from those of our sisters in the white women's movement. And
we had no desire to sit in some consciousness raising group with white women and
bare our souls.

‘Women can never be free in a country that is not free. We can never be liberated in a
country where the institutions that control our lives are oppressive. We can never be
free while our men are oppressed. Or while the amerikan government and amerikan
capitalism remain intact.

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But itis imperative to our strugele that we build a strong black women's movement.
It is imperative that we, as black women, talk about the experiences that shaped us;
that we assess our strengths and weaknesses and define our own history. It is
imperative that we discuss positive ways to teach and socialize our children.

The poison and pollution of capitalist cities is choking us. We need the strong
medicine of our foremothers to make us well again. We need their medicines to give
us strength to fight and the drive to win. Under the guidance of Harriet Tubman and
Fannie Lou Hamer and all of our foremothers, let us rebuild a sense of community
Let us rebuild the culture of giving and carry on the tradition of fierce determination
to move on closer to freedom,

Assata Shakur has been living in Cuba since 1986, after escaping from prison where
she was serving a life sentence imposed in a highly disputed trial. Shakur was a
Black Panther then a Black Liberation Army (BLA) leader in the early '70s, so she
was a target of the FBI's COINTELPRO operation. Shakur was captured in a shoot-
out resulting from resistance to yet another "driving while black” police action in
1973 on the New Jersey State Turnpike. This time a State Trooper was killed. Zayd
‘Shakur, traveling in the car with Shakur, was also killed.

The third person in the car, Sundiata Acoli, is still serving time over 30 years later
‘and has recently’ been denied parole for another 20 years. According to one of
Acoli's attorneys, Joan P. Gibbs, "Assata, at the time of her arrest, was ‘wanted’ on
‘federal and state charges in New York, all of which juries subsequently found her not
‘guilty of or were dismissed.” As was later proved through medical forensics, Shakur
‘was wounded at the time of her capture by a cowardly shot from the rear, while she
hhad her hands up. She was given a paraffin test, which failed to reveal any
gunpowder residue, meaning it would have been hard for her to have fired a gun.
While recovering from her wounds, she was tortured at the hands of the State Police
Nazis (no hyperbole here, they were WWII Nazis brought to America). She was
‘convieted by an all white jury in 1977 and sentenced to life in prison. Before her
daring escape from prison in 1979, Assata Shakur served a total of six years behind
bars where she would also give birth to her daughter Kakuya.



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‘The Boston Anarchist Black Cross functions as the defensive arm of
local anarchist struggles. We work to forge an organized support network
for local activists in need and for folks behind bars, We seek the total
abolition of prisons and work on projects in support of this cause.

Boston ABC
PO Box 230182
Boston, MA 02123
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