81.-phone-resistance.pdf
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PHONE

RESISTANCE

Sefear Ness


Could you live without your cell phone? How would you
function? Most people in the free world couldn't imag-
ine life without it. Prisoners don't have that privi-
lege. Cell phones are prohibited in Pennsylvania State
Prison. But for those Locked away, there are few things
more precious than the phone. It's mounted on the wall,
costs a dollar for 15 minutes, and is limited to 20
numbers that must be pre-approved by the prison. De-
spite its limitations, it's our lifeline to the free
world. We live our lives through it. Some get married
on it, others divorced. Parents raise children. Chil-
dren care for parents. We laugh, scream, and cry
through the receiver. In prison, a phone is much more
than a phone.

The mission of the Pennsylvania Department of Correc-
tions (PA DOC) is to "reduce criminal behavior by pro-
viding individualized treatment and education to of-
fenders, resulting in successful community reintegra-
tion through accountability and positive change." The
emptiness of their words is crushed by the hypocrisy of
their actions. Studies show that one of the most effec-
tive means of decreasing recidivism is a strong support
system and building connections in the community. While
the PA DOC seems to support this in speech, their poli-
cy often reflects differently.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, in direct opposition to
the mission of "successful community reintegration,"
the administration at SCI Fayette decided to limit in-
carcerated people to one 15 minute phone call per day.
This essay is how a rainbow coalition of prisoners at
Fayette fought the phone restriction policy. And how,
despite the mountain of opposition, we won.
When the pandemic first started and prison officials re-
stricted our movement, abolished the chow hall, can-
celed programming and confined us to our cells, we
openly speculated that the prison would use this med-
ical emergency to their advantage and continue these
restrictions as a means of control.

As incarcerated people, our communication with the
outside world mostly depended on phone calls and
video visits. We struggled to maintain relationships with
our loved ones on a limit of four 15 minute phone calls
each day.

The administration at Fayette asked us to comply with
COVID precautions to make the transition easy. Most of
us were worried about catching the virus, so we com-
plied. At that point violence among prisoners was al-
most non-existent. As time passed they told us to take
the vaccine to open the prison back up. We were tired
of being locked down so most of us complied with that
too. Then they offered the booster. We took that too. Af-
ter all that, the prison administration repaid us by im-
plementing a new policy limiting us to just one 15
minute phone call per day.
News of the phone restriction first came from a video
recording posted on a television channel the prison
hosts. An administrator announced the new policy ina
condescending tone. He claimed that he previously
warned us that if we couldn't work out the phone situa-
tion ourselves that they would do it for us. He said they
were still getting complaints. Now they were taking it
into their own hands.

The policy was to implement a phone sign up sheet.
Each prisoner would be limited to sign up for one 15
minute slot during their recreational time each day. If
there was time left, discretion would be left to the block
sergeant to allow further use of the phone. There was no
guarantee we could make more than one call.

But it was the administration that created the stressful
phone environment in the first place. They split the
block into cohorts, only allowing a limited amount of
time for everyone to get on the phone. There were too
many people, not enough phones, and not enough time.
Instead of extending our time out, or adding more
phones to the block, they decided to punish us for a sit-
uation they created.

| was heated. My comrades were furious. Everyone that
used the phone, which is almost every prisoner, hated
the idea of the upcoming restriction. We had already
done the best we could to make the phone situation as
safe as possible. We created our own phone lines. | was
on three different blocks during the lockdown. On each
block the lines would be long, and sometimes we
couldn't get on at the exact time that we wanted, but
everyone eventually had time to get on the phone more
than once. To us, the administration was flexing their
power. But what, if anything, could be done? Would we
take this sitting down? Or would the people finally say
enough is enough and stand up to fight?

Prison twitter was ablaze with speculation. A group of
us understood that a revolution needs organizers. We
had the anger of the people. Now we just needed to
channel it. But we had to work fast. The administration
announced that the restrictions would be implemented
in about a week. First stage: planning.
The planning began with a small group of us housed to-
gether on the same block. We came from various social
groups in the prison: Muslim, Christian, Black national-
ist, white, and "gang" affiliated. Using our networks we
checked the pulse of the people. Not a single person
wanted the restriction. Most were ready to take a stand.
There was a hurdle to overcome, however. Even
amongst those ready, many expressed doubt of whether
other people would ride or if they fold when the pres-
sure came.

Our group quickly developed a plan of action. The pub-
lic action itself was pretty straightforward: We would
boycott the phone list and refuse to sign. We anticipat-
ed that the prison may counter by preventing us from
using the phone so we decided we would boycott the
phone altogether. If the restriction continued we would
then increase our resistance with a food boycott and
send our trays back to the kitchen.

Most social groups have a leader or leaders that they
look to for guidance. Some are explicitly labeled a
leader, others act in that capacity without the title. Re-
gardless, to be as effective as possible we targeted
leaders of the various groups throughout the prison.
Once we got them active in the resistance, they influ-
enced others.
Spreading our message as a group to those with influ-
ence over large numbers of people allowed us to share
some of the risk. Now there was an army of organizers.
That made it much more difficult for the administration
to identify the initial organizers. And even if they did by
sending us to solitary confinement it wouldn't neutralize
the resistance. It's not that we were leaderless. Instead,
our leaders were embedded with the people, taking di-
rection from the people, and directly accountable to
them. This is called building a hydra. When you chop a
dragon's head off, it dies. A hydra has multiple heads
and when you chop one off, two more grow in its place.
A debate occurred over whether we should write a
pamphlet to distribute. The writing would be a reminder
to the people of all the things the prison had taken from
us over the years, their plans for the phone restriction,
and our plan to fight back with help from outside ac-
complices. It would serve as an encouragement to
stand up to our oppressors. Some people felt that a
pamphlet would make it back to the administration. If
that happened, they argued, someone may go to the
hole. Others felt like the administration was going to
hear about our plans through their informants anyway.
Besides, this group said, we want the administration to
feel the pressure; we want them to know we don't plan
on taking this lightly. Everyone understood that, pam-
phlet or not, some of us may end up in the hole. In the
end it was decided to go forward with distributing it to
select organizers who would show it to other people,
but take it back when they were done reading it.
Some of us had been developing friendships with free
world abolitionists. We knew that if we wanted to pull
this off we would need people attacking from the out-
side in as well. Our outside accomplices were delegated
two tasks. First, a phone campaign would be developed
on social media. An inside comrade wrote a short de-
scription of the restriction and asked anyone concerned
to call the prison and complain. And of course we were
advising all incarcerated people to contact their families
and inform them of the phone restriction. This would let
the administration know we were not alone inside. We
relayed this information over a video visit. At the time
video visits were less than the phone. And because we
were on a time crunch, we couldn't use snail mail. If you
have the time, the safest method is snail mail and hav-
ing a person who is not under surveillance mail it out.
Second, our outside accomplices set up a smart com-
munications account, perhaps multiple accounts, to
communicate with prisoners throughout the prison. A
prisoner managed to get a list of the names and num-
bers of incarcerated people throughout the compound.
Over 100 prisoners located on different blocks received
a message about the upcoming phone restriction and
our planned resistance to it. There were some security
concerns about taking this step. We didn't want the
administration to think they were responsible for orga-
nizing on their block. However we determined that since
COVID restrictions might prevent some people being in-
formed, the benefits outweighed the risk. We advised
that they send a message back saying that they would
not be able to participate in the phone boycott because
it was against the rules and to block the sender. That
way they would be able to use that as evidence if they
ever received a misconduct. War is deception. This
method was only used by necessity and should be
avoided if you can.
They made an announcement, "If you want to use the
phone tomorrow, sign the sheet in the dayroom." Every-
one's eyes darted around the block. Who would make
the first move? A few comrades and | walked over to
the table. There was a memo next to the sign up ex-
plaining the policy. We sat near the table and kept
watch.

The people were hype about the unity we were witness-
ing. At one point someone walked over to the desk and
signed the list. Before he had a chance to walk away a
comrade approached him and explained that we
weren't signing the list, that we were protesting the poli-
cy. How is it, he explained, that the mission of the DOC
is supposed to be rehabilitation and making prisoners
productive members of society, but they do nothing to
actually make that happen? Studies show that building
community support is one of the most important factors
to reduce recidivism, yet the administration wants to
block our connection to the street. Ain't that fucked up?
We were tired of them oppressing us. This time we were
standing up. The person agreed and immediately
scratched his name off the list.
Out of everyone on the block, there was one person
who refused to join the resistance. He was a known
bootlicker and suspected informant. His block worker
job made him feel like he ran the block with the COs. He
found more joy in conversing with them than us. It
wasn't a surprise that he continued to sign the list.
Some suggested we get him out the way. But the situa-
tion didn't really call for that. We advised the people to
abandon him. He didn't have any influence so it was
safer to just leave him.

Not every block participated in the boycott. For exam-
ple, one block with low participation houses the majority
of workers in the Correction Industries (Cl) shop. They
are the highest paid positions in the prison, averaging
$150 a month. These are mostly older men who have
come to cherish the money. Many of them are white.
This privilege affects their unity with other prisoners.
Many of them confine themselves to the block, never
going to the yard where prisoners congregate. What's
more concerning is that most of them are buddy-buddy
with the COs and staff. It's almost as if they relate more
to the administration than the people they are locked up
with. This dynamic deserves a more substantial analy-
sis, but at the very least | can say that the administration
uses their job as leverage over them. They resemble the
petty bourgeois in the free world. Rarely do any of them
support collective liberation. They sold their revolution-
ary impulse for some soups and cookies.

Our outside accomplices continued to call the adminis-
tration. | don't know what response they received. For
us, it was enough that the prison knew we were sup-
ported, that they couldn't hide behind their veil of se-
crecy as they normally do. Some outside organizers
might see social media posts asking them to call prison
administrators and think it isn't important: what can my
call do? They are wrong. Inside organizing is strength-
ened by outside support.
On the second day, they came around with the phone
list at night again. Only one person signed the list. You
know who. The next day the phones ran as normal. The
third night was the last time they tried the list. After that
there was never a list again. We were surprised no one
got locked up. They didn't lock us down either. Perhaps
the administration couldn't identify the organizers.
Maybe our outside accomplices kept them in check. It
could be that their superiors at central office told them
to stand down. It's hard to say for sure.
Our war was not decided in an epic battle. There were
no victory celebrations. The administration announced
no defeat. Instead they let the phone restriction quietly
fade away. But we know what happened. We came to-
gether; We organized; We fought the phone restriction;
We won. Despite everyone that said it would never
work, we won.

Incarcerated people are not only separated from the free
world, we are separated from each other. Prison erects
both physical and interpersonal walls. More modern
prisons favor smaller blocks and smaller yards to keep
social interaction to a minimum. If the heart of organiz-
ing is relationship building, then how do you organize if
you don't have the opportunity to socialize? Incarcerat-
ed people must be creative in overcoming these barri-
ers. Prison prescribed-programming can become sub-
versive bases. The law library, school rooms, and reli-
gious spaces can become gatherings for organizing.
With more time and opportunity we could have utilized
these "legitimate" prison spaces to spread word about
the phone boycott.
When you find yourself in these spaces, step out of your
comfort zone and extend yourself to meet new people.
Instead of leading with a statement, throw a question
out there. It could be as simple as, "Hey did you hear
about such and such news? What do you think about
that? Starting conversations for the phone resistance
was usually as easy as, "Hey did you hear about the
upcoming phone restriction? What do you think about
that?" Even people that didn't use the phone often hat-
ed the idea of the administration taking more from us.
Why? Because they keep taking shit from us and "no
one stands up." Anticipate that response. Why is this
time different?

Before the phone resistance we spent a lot of time
building study groups, connecting incarcerated people
with outside activists and increasing our political educa-
tion collectively. These groups were integral to our resis-
tance. If there are no study groups where you're at, start
one right now. Grab a book, take it to the dayroom and
start a conversation. It can be as simple as that.

The administration's plan to restrict the phone backfired
in ways they couldn't have imagined. Instead of isolat-
ing us from the free world, they brought us together.
And when we come together collectively, we win.
About the author

Safear Ness is a formerly incarcerated abolitionist, re-
cently released from Pennsylvania State Prison. His lin-
eage is traced through Indigenous peoples (Apache
Chiricahua), Spanish colonizers, and white settlers. He
still organizes against the PIC with incarcerated com-
rades, Study and Struggle, and In The Belly. His writing
has appeared in Jewish Currents, Utopix, and the Asian
American Writers Workshop. These days he is reviving
In The Mix, a prisoner podcast he helped create while
incarcerated.

Follow him on Twitter and Instagram: @Safear215

Follow In The Mix: Prisoner Podcast @|nthemix2021
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