Wal Mart, Women's Resistance, and Martori Farms

I've posted here and there already about Martori Farms and the news I was receiving from Perryville prisoners regarding the work conditions, but Vikki Law managed to unpack it, put it all into the larger context of women's resistance, and make sense of the women's complaints in a way I hadn't quite been able to. So, for those of you interested in the Martori Farms prison labor situation here in Aguila, Arizona, this is the best summary we have of it. If you're interested in doing some organizing around these issues, please contact Vikki Law, as she's picking up the slack on this while I'm out with family matters. Vikki compiles the zine Tenacious for women prisoners, and can be reached at: Victoria Law PO Box 20388 Tompkins Square Station New York, NY 10009 or e-mail: vikkimL@yahoo.com She's on-line at her blog: Resistance Behind Bars, and you can order her book about women's resistance to the prison industrial complex through PM Press. Thanks again for this, Vikki...and to Truth-out for putting it up there. ------------------------ Martori Farms: Abusive Conditions at a Key Wal-Mart Supplier Friday 24 June 2011 by: Victoria Law Truthout | News Analysis (Photo: Walmart / Flickr) In 1954, an 18-year-old black woman named Eleanor Rush was incarcerated at the state women's prison. She was placed in solitary confinement for six days. On the seventh day, Rush was not fed for over 16 hours. After 16 hours, she began yelling that she was hungry and wanted food. In response, the guards bound and gagged her, dislocating her neck in the process. Half an hour later, Rush was dead. The next morning, when the other women in the prison gathered in the yard, another woman in the solitary confinement unit yelled the news about Rush's death from her window. The women in the yard surrounded the staff members supervising their activities and demanded answers about Rush's death. When they didn't get them, the women - both the black and the white women - rioted. The riot lasted three and a half hours, not stopping until Raleigh, North Carolina, police and guards from the men's Central Prison arrived. The women's riot brought outside attention to Rush's death. As a result: The State Bureau of Investigation ordered a probe into Rush's death rather than believing the prison's explanation that Rush had dislocated her own neck and committed suicide. Until that point, nothing in the prison rules explicitly prohibited the use of improvised gags. After the riot and probe, the State Prisons director explicitly banned the use of gags and iron claws (metal handcuffs that can squeeze tightly). The prison administration was required to pay $3,000 to Rush's mother. At that time, $3,000 was more than half the yearly salary of the prison warden. The prison warden, who had allowed Rush to be bound and gagged, was replaced by Elizabeth McCubbin, the executive director of the Family and Children's Service Agency. Her hiring indicated a shift from a punitive model toward a more social service/social work orientation. The women themselves testified that they had rioted to ensure that Rush's death was not dismissed and that the circumstances would not be repeated. Fifty-five years after Rush was killed in solitary confinement, Marcia Powell, a mentally ill 48-year-old woman incarcerated at the Perryville Unit in Arizona, died. The Arizona Department of Corrections (ADC) has more than 600 of these outdoor cages where prisoners are placed to confine or restrict their movement or to hold them while awaiting medical appointments, work, education, or treatment programs. On May 20, 2009, the temperature was 107 degrees. Powell was placed in an unshaded cage in the prison yard. Although prison policy states that "water shall be continuously available" to caged prisoners and that they should be in the cage for "no more than two consecutive hours," guards continually denied her water and kept her in the cage for four hours. Powell collapsed of heat stroke, was sent to West Valley Hospital where ADC Director Charles Ryan took her off life support hours later. The ensuing media attention over Powell's death caused the ADC to temporarily suspend using these cages. Once the media attention faded, the ADC lifted the suspension.(1) Abuses at Perryville have continued. The ADC has sent its prisoners to work for private agricultural businesses for almost 20 years.(2) The farm pays its imprisoned laborers two dollars per hour, not including the travel time to and from the farm. Women on the Perryville Unit are assigned to Martori Farms, an Arizona farm corporation that supplies fresh fruits and vegetables to vendors across the United States (Martori is the exclusive supplier to Wal-Mart's 2,470 Supercenter and Neighborhood Market stores).(3) According to one woman who worked on the farm crews: They wake us up between 2:30 and three AM and KICK US OUT of our housing unit by 3:30AM. We get fed at four AM. Our work supervisors show up between 5AM and 8AM. Then it's an hour to a one and a half hour drive to the job site. Then we work eight hours regardless of conditions .... We work in the fields hoeing weeds and thinning plants ... Currently we are forced to work in the blazing sun for eight hours. We run out of water several times a day. We ran out of sunscreen several times a week. They don't check medical backgrounds or ages before they pull women for these jobs. Many of us cannot do it! If we stop working and sit on the bus or even just take an unauthorized break we get a MAJOR ticket which takes away our "good time"!!! We are told we get "two" 15 min breaks and a half hour lunch like a normal job but it's more like 10 minutes and 20 minutes. They constantly yell at us we are too slow and to speed up because we are costing $150 an acre in labor and that's not acceptable. The place is infested with spiders of all types, scorpions, snakes and blood suckers. And bees because they harvest them. On my crew alone, there are four women with bee allergies, but they don't care!! There are NO epinephrine pens on site to SAVE them if stung. There's no anti venom available for snake bites and they want us to use Windex (yes glass cleaner) for scorpion stings!! INSANITY!!! They are denying us medical care here.(4) Although Martori Farms contracts with the local fire departments to provide medical attention for injuries on the farm, farm supervisors do not always allow women to stop work when they need medical care. When "N" complained of chest pains, the farm representative refused to allow her to stop working. The next day, an hour after returning to work, she began experiencing chest pains. The farm representative told her, "Come on, the big bosses are here. You'll be in trouble if you stop. It's not break time. Work, work, work." "N" complied, working while in pain, until the break. She resumed working for another half hour before she experienced even more severe pains: "I have a steady deep dull pain with sharp stabbing pains periodically ... Then all of a sudden, I can't even lift the hoe in the air. My arms are no longer strong enough. By now, the chest pains are so bad it's knocking the wind out of me. I'm straight seeing stars. I tell our substitute boss officer Sanders I can't do it no more. I'm having really bad chest pains. I can't even lift the hoe anymore." The man accused her of faking these pains, but allowed her to stop working. While the woman was receiving medical attention, another farm representative stated, "Oh, so now they're gonna start faking fucking heart attacks to not work. Great."(5) In addition, the prison has sent women to work on the farms regardless of their medical conditions. "N" was sent to West Valley Hospital where an emergency room doctor ordered that she be exempt from the farm work crew and any other physical exertion for three to four days. However, when "N" was returned to the prison, the nurse told her that they could not honor the doctor's order and ordered her back to work. Another woman concurs. "There was one woman that is on oxygen, in a wheelchair, has an IV line and cancer that they sent to the gate to work on the farm ... The captain asked if she could stand. She said yes. His reply was if you can stand, you can farm. She told him no and was issued a disciplinary ticket."(6) The women have not accepted these abuses quietly. They have launched complaints to prison administrators: "Women have made their complaints on inmate letters and verbally to the lieutenant, sergeant, captains, deputy warden, counselors, supervisors and the major. Their solution was to give us an extra sack lunch and agree to feed us breakfast Saturday mornings. UGH!! Really ... food is not what we were asking for. Though being fed on Saturdays is nice. Yah! They were not feeding us Saturdays because that's a day Kitchen opens late because they give brunch on weekends. No lunch, so we were getting screwed! But as of this past Saturday they said they would feed us before work! Let's see how long it lasts." Women have also stood up to unfair demands from the bosses at the farm. One woman recounted: On Wednesday I go to work ... it's the second day in a row we are doing weeds. [I'm] up to my chest trying to weed to save a minimal amount of watermelon plants. Needless to say, the work was excessively hard - to put it mildly. So I must confess the day before I was "on one," so to speak. My haunted mind was lost in the past and so I was just trucking through the weeds, plowing them down, not even connecting with my physical exertion and pain. So the next day I was completely exhausted and physically broke down!! I was in so much pain because the day before I did like double the work everyone else did. So anyways, the M Farm representative was pushing me so hard trying to get me to produce the same results as the day before ... [He] has everyone at minimum teamed up helping each other plow through these weeds. Well everyone but me that is. I repeatedly asked him to give me a partner. I kept telling him that I was in pain. I also went as far as to tell him that I don't think I can do this anymore, to PLEASE give me a partner also. His response was "No. You're strong. You can do it by yourself." I told him not true; I over-exerted myself yesterday because I was going through some things. Now I'm hurt and need help.... He thought my pleas were funny. I hated to degrade myself and plea so I stopped and continued. After "N" had finished her assigned row, the farm representative demanded that she finish weeding two other rows that had been abandoned. When she again requested a weeding partner, stating that she was in pain, the representative replied, "When you get to the end, I'll think about it." By this time, all the girls are finishing their rows because they're all teamed up with 2 or three girls per row. Except me. So there are only two whole rows left on the field by now and he already placed six girls per row. That's twelve women on two rows. And I can't even get one helper. That's RIDICULOUS ... I tell him "Mariano all joking aside, all the others are finishing. Can I please get a helper?" He tells me "Seriously, no joking. When you get to the end, I'll think about it." At that point I'm pretty upset and broke down. I looked at him and said "Is that right?" I paused staring at him waiting for him to stop his male chauvinist domination games or whatever he's playing. When he didn't say anything, but just stared. I told him, "Fine Mariano I'm done. I can't do this anymore. I'm hurt and struggling through this. After what happened to me before I would think you would provide me help when I need it. Since you won't look out for my health and well-being, I will. Someone has to. I'm done for today. I'm going to sit on the bus." The supervisor demanded that she return to work, threatening to call the prison to have disciplinary tickets written up. She refused. At this point I'm so angry that this jerk would make me lose everything because I'm not submissive and I don't obey him like the women back in Mexico do that I admit I blew up and acted unprofessional. I told him "Mariano, Fuck you and your tickets. Go write them if you want. In fact I'll write them for you to make sure you get the facts straight."... At this point the two women who were on the bus got all riled up and were yelling, "That's not fair. She's your best worker and you're going to punish her with tickets!!!" "She's hurt I heard her asking for help all day!" "We've been sitting on the bus for over an hour and we're not getting tickets, why is she the only one getting a ticket?"(7) Not only did "N" stand up for herself, but the other women defended her actions at the risk of being ticketed as well. Their combined efforts ensured that "N" was not issued a ticket in retaliation for standing up for herself. Women have also alerted outside advocates and activists about these inhumane conditions, again at great risk to themselves. If not for their courage in speaking out, the outside world would remain unaware of the exploitation and abuse on the farm. While the women both endure and challenge these abuses, those outside prison gates remain largely unaware of their struggles. Those involved in social justice organizing need to recognize that prisons and prison injustices are exacerbations of the same social issues in the outside world and recognize that these struggles intersect. Safe from the retaliation of prison authorities, outside organizers and activists can and should raise their voices and take action to help the women inside challenge and ultimately stop these abuses. Footnotes: 1. As of April 15, 2010, these cages (or "temporary holding enclosures") remain in use. Arizona Department of Corrections, Department Order Manual, Department Order 704: Inmate Regulations. 2. Nicole Hill, "With Fewer Migrant Workers, Farmers Turn to Prison Labor," Christian Science Monitor, August 22, 2007. Reprinted here. 3. Press release, "16-Year Relationship Between Wal-Mart and Arizona Business Grows, Thrives," September 7, 2007. The 2470 figure is as of August 1, 2007. 4. Letter from "N," dated April 24, 2011. 5. Letter from "N," dated April 24, 2011 6. Letter from "H," dated May 22, 2011. 7. Letter from "N," dated May 7, 2011.

Nor Meekly Serve Her Time...

Hey All,


This may be my last blog post for awhile. I've been pretty ill these past few months, and this last round of antibiotics doesn't seem to be doing much. I may be in the hospital and inaccessible for a few days, if this fever doesn't break tomorrow. I'll still be following up with the individual case work I've started - or will get help doing so - and will post prisoner SOS calls and updates as I'm able to, but I won't be keeping up too well with politics and private prisons, and certainly won't be going to any protests for awhile. I need to gain a few pounds before I go chalking up the town again, too. My hope is to at least prepare a statement for the House Committee on Sentencing meeting, which is on for February 24. If I can do that much, I should be back up and blogging as well.


Friends of Marcia Powell can still log into that site under their own Gmail accounts, by the way - try to keep things looking alive, there, and post updates about our Anarchist/Indigenous bloc comrades. Think of something cool to do for state prisoners for Valentine's Day, too...


Speaking of - Free Marcia Powell was apparently confiscated in the mail room as contraband at Perryville Prison recently. Don't know what blog post it was - my friend just told me that she mailed something in there, and got a letter back from her friend saying they only gave her the envelope. I found that kind of amusing at first - I just dropped below a hundred pounds this weekend, can't keep up with the daily news anymore, and the most fortified institution in the state actually considers me a threat.  

I suppose I should take it as a compliment, but now I'm kind of annoyed, instead. I hope I don't have trouble corresponding with prisoners myself - there are a few I just need to express support to - just to give them comfort - not get them all riled up...I wouldn't necessarily include everything in a letter that I put in my blogs, anyway. In any event, I won't be sneaking in - they'll see me coming. I don't think I have anything to hide. I guess they do, though...

Maybe it's not even me - maybe it's really the "us" that's the threat - the idea of solidarity between women on the inside, and those of us on the outside. We just might even constitute a "gang" - we're all pretty scary, with our chalk and signs. Seriously: this could be a dangerous new alliance forming: Sex Workers, anarchists, union members, food-not-bombers, angry prison moms and wives, families of the wrongfully convicted, people who were recently incarcerated, advocates for prisoners with Hep C, and a few free madwomen like me...we could really cause a ruckus if we can get in one place at the same time.


I'm thinking that Perryville Prison on May 20, 2010, would be a good place and time. We could have our first annual memorial service for those who have died in the custody of the state (jails, prisons, hospitals, etc) on the anniversary of Marcia Powell's death. I think we should ask the governor to issue a proclamation and have a ceremony, like she does to honor other crime victims. In fact, instead of freaking out the ADC by showing up at Perryville, we might work on trying to get a memorial plaque placed at Wes Bolin Plaza. Everyone else has one there - even the state's K-9s killed in the line of duty...including those left out too long in the sun. 

If they don't give us a spot at Bolin Plaza, then maybe we should just take one that day. I have a nice corner already picked out, facing the Capitol, opposite the crime victims' memorial. 

Just something to think about.


We should definitely connect and begin organizing before the Liver Life Walk on March 20 (see post below). I'll try to put together something at my place when I'm not quite so delerious.


It seems fitting to sign off for now with the following article by Vikki Law, remembering Marcia Powell. I thought I posted this already, but I guess I just held onto it closely for awhile because I thought it was so cool. I was pretty blown away to see the company we keep - humbled. It takes a lot more courage and creativity than I think I have to resist from the inside - self-restraint, too. In high school they just threw me out for my mouth (well, and a few other things). In prison they keep you longer. I'd spend my entire sentence in the hole for being too quick to clench my fist or pull out my fighting voice. It'd sure be hard to help anyone from there.

Anyway, I think it's pretty awesome that Vikki's been watching what's going on here with the women in Arizona's prison, and lending her support (and zines!) to our efforts. We've learned a lot from the women whose voices she's helped to amplify, and from her critical analyses of women's resistance in prison. She's been a steady source of encouragement, too, when I've wondered what the hell I'm doing out here and why. This isn't the "career" move most women my age are making (I think my family is finally getting worried about me). 

I actually think I want to write a musical about all this - something like Rent (Linda and I just saw her kid play Roger - he was awesome), only with the music and poetry and history of women's resistance that's already at our disposal...just not all of it has already been told.

Maybe it'll be about women organizing to help a fellow prisoner get lifesaving treatment that's not on the state formulary, or trying to win her compassionate release - something that will address the major issues we've been coming across calling for criminal code revision and sentencing reform, the shredding of the PLRA, and the ouster of legislators like Kavanaugh (Mr. Private Prison) and Pearce (no further comment). Some of those stories are related below.

Wouldn't it be something if Ryan let us in to collaborate with Perryville prisoners on this kind of thing?


Yeah. No chance in hell. I think I might just ask anyway. If he says no, we'll just work it into the script somehow. He makes a pretty good bad guy, I think. He can be the predictable faceless monster of prison bureaucracy, if he chooses to be. Or he can put Dora to shame, and do something remarkable for an old white male cop: help empower poor women. Let them use their voice.


How's that for a challenge? C'mon, Ryan. You must see the potential in this - it's not all bad for you. On some level, even Karyn Klausner has to be tempted to go for that. You guys aren't hiding state secrets anymore. We already know how evil the ADC is...maybe this could help you redeem yourselves.


That, and helping me help Mr. Tripati, could get you on the right track, anyway.


Just thinking aloud, now...my fever's peaking again.  I actually almost went to the ER this weekend, but think I can slide by without them now. Dancing to Bob Marley every morning and Nina in the afternoon seems to help, but so does getting more sleep - my schedule's kind of out of whack, now. I think this is a sign I need to crash for a few days straight.

Save your cards and well-wishes for Mississippi - please help keep the pressure on there, and come up with some other creative ways to work with them. Follow-up with the Kidney Foundation and other patients' rights groups.

Email may take me a couple of weeks to sort through - I've been kind of incapacitated for a week already, so if you need me, call. 480-580-6807.


Back with you all sometime soon. Enjoy the read.

----------------

Nor Meekly Serve Her Time: Riots and Resistance in Women's Prisons

Victoria Law

New Politics (mayfirst.org) Vol:XII-4

Winter 2010: 48

IN 1974, WOMEN IMPRISONED at New York's maximum-security prison at Bedford Hills staged what is known as the August Rebellion. Prisoner organizer Carol Crooks had filed a lawsuit challenging the prison's practice of placing women in segregation without a hearing or 24-hour notice of charges. In July, a court had ruled in her favor. In August, guards retaliated by brutally beating Crooks and placing her in segregation without a hearing. The women protested, fighting off guards, taking over several sections of the prison, and holding seven staff members hostage for two and a half hours.

Male state troopers and (male) guards from men's prisons were brought in to suppress the uprising, resulting in twenty-five women being injured. In the aftermath, twenty-four women were transferred to the Matteawan Complex for the Criminally Insane.

      Three years earlier, male prisoners in Attica, New York, captured headlines nationwide when they took over the prison for four days demanding better living and working conditions. The governor ordered the National Guard to retake the prison; 54 people (prisoners and guards) were killed. The rebellion catapulted prison issues into public awareness, becoming the symbol of prisoner organizing. In contrast, the August Rebellion is virtually forgotten today, leading to the widespread belief that women prisoners do not organize or resist.

      Women prisoners have always resisted. When imprisoned in male penitentiaries and work camps, they refused to obey the rules. When states began housing them in separate facilities, they protested substandard conditions, sometimes violently. In 1835, New York State opened its first prison for women. The environment was so terrible that the women rioted, attacking and tearing the clothes off the prison matron and physically chasing away other officials with wooden food tubs.[1]

      A century later, women continued to protest horrifying prison conditions: In 1975, women imprisoned in North Carolina held a sit-down demonstration demanding better medical care, improved counseling services, and the closing of the prison laundry. When prison guards attempted to end the protest by herding them into the gymnasium and beating them, the women fought back. Using volleyball net poles, chunks of concrete, and hoe handles, they drove the guards out of the prison. Their rebellion was quashed only after the state called in over one hundred guards from other prisons.[2]

      Some instances of resistance remain little known outside the prison. Former political prisoner Rita "Bo" Brown recounts that women imprisoned in Nevada took action against the prison's psychiatrist who had been pushing psychotropic medication, even to women who did not need it. One woman died as a result. Her death unleashed the women's anger. The next time the psychiatrist visited the prison, the women threw chairs, tables, and anything they could lift, driving him not only off-premises but also off the job. Not only was the psychiatrist replaced (with the prison's first woman psychiatrist who did not share her predecessor's enthusiasm for drugging patients), but so were the prison's doctor, warden, assistant warden, and other higher-ups in the prison administration.

      The women's action did not make the news. Brown learned of it only after arriving at the prison itself two months later. Former political prisoner Laura Whitehorn also recounted tales of resistance that, were she not outside telling them, would have remained buried behind prison walls. When she first arrived at the Baltimore City Jail in 1985, she quickly learned that she would have to fight for her rights, even those she was entitled to under jail regulations, state law, and the constitution. "As a white middle-class woman, I really hate waiting on lines. I didn't want to. But I had to learn the difference between making that an issue, which no one else there thought was the big issue, and fighting for things that were really important to people. And taking leadership from the women who knew better than I did what was important to resist."

      She recounted that, like many other jails and prisons, the food was almost inedible. "We had been hoping that at Thanksgiving, we would get a piece of turkey, something that was decent," she recounted. "Come Thanksgiving, they [the guards and administration] hand out these, I don't know, they were dinosaur legs! You could break a window with them. And, in this prison, when you come in and you had dentures, they would take your teeth away. So most of the women didn't have teeth. I couldn't eat them with my big choppers and other women couldn't either. We were all furious. We marched out and we threw them all in the garbage and walked out. That was the first little bit of resistance around this issue.

      "So me, with my 'We're going to make a revolution here,' I started talking to my friends. And I said, 'At Christmas, let's do a hunger strike,' or 'Let's throw the trays back at them' or something. And people were like, 'No, we don't want to do that.' And what they came up with, which was much better, was that we should not go to dinner that day. Just not go, and that we should organize the community people that came in, which were a nun, a teacher, a chaplain, and the decent guards to bring food and make a Christmas party. And so we got that. And the whole time I'm thinking 'Oh yeah, this is really revolutionary, a Christmas party.' Well, it was. Because it was saying 'Fuck you. You don't want to give us our rights but we're going to take them in this small way.' It was the most wonderful thing. It was really great."[3]

MORE RECENTLY, WOMEN INCARCERATED in Arizona attempted to protest and draw public attention to the use of cages in Arizona prisons. The only coverage was a short article in the Arizona Republic.[4] The incident might have been forgotten had blogger Peggy Plews not taken on the issue, reprinting the article on her blog, reaching out to other prisoner rights advocates, organizing protest actions, and demanding accountability from Arizona prison and elected officials.[5] Arizona has more than 600 outdoor cages where prisoners are placed to confine or restrict their movement or to hold them while awaiting medical appointments, work, education, or treatment programs.[6] On May 20, 2009, Marcia Powell, a mentally ill 48-year-old incarcerated in Perryville, died after being left in an unshaded cage for nearly four hours in 107 degree heat. Two and a half weeks later, three women at the same prison simultaneously set fire to their mattresses in an attempt to draw outside attention to these conditions.[7]

      Women have also resisted in less visibly dramatic ways. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 allows male guards to work in female prisons. Many states do not restrict guards' access to the women, often leading to sexual harassment, abuse, and assault. However, incarcerated women have resisted staff sexual abuse, both individually and collectively. One woman, incarcerated in Ohio during the early 1990s, recounted that a male officer constantly harassed her cellmate. "He'd make nasty insinuations about her breasts and what he would like to do to them and how he would like to do it and what he'd do to her."[8] The guard threatened to place cocaine among their possessions if she or her friends reported his behavior. His threat worked; the women kept quiet about his harassment. One night, he assaulted his victim. Her cellmate and another prisoner heard her screams and found her with semen on her face. Despite their fears, the three filed a complaint with prison officials and later testified before a grand jury, leading to the officer's arrest and conviction. Their actions encouraged other women to resist male guards' abuse of power.

      "It was a funny thing after that happened," the woman stated. "A lot of the nastiness and that vulgarness . . . was seeming to cease a little bit and to ease up a little bit, because they began to get nervous. And more women stood up, and two other officers were escorted off because the women found enough courage to stand up."[9]

      Laura Whitehorn has a similar story from her incarceration at the federal prison in Lexington, Kentucky.
There was this one guard. We called him "John Wayne." . . . He would pat-search us. They're not supposed to put their hands on our breasts or in between our legs, they're supposed to just go around the area. But he grabbed my breasts and squeezed them and so I rammed my elbow into whatever [body part] was nearest behind me. And he tried to lock me up. I was taken to the lieutenant's office.

One of the other dykes on the compound, who was a good friend, saw me. I said, "John Wayne just grabbed my breasts." She brought two others and they all stood outside the lieutenant's office, which is off-limits, and said, "We demand that this be taken seriously." And so they didn't lock me up . . .We then grieved it . . . And we lost. They said he had acted professionally. But the lieutenant . . . took two of us aside and said, "We want you to know that they're making John Wayne watch the training videos over and over again. And they didn't have him at the checkpoint where the most people go through."[10]

      Although the women's actions did not remove "John Wayne" from the prison, it did warn him that his behavior would no longer go unchecked and removed him from working in areas where he could do the most harm.

      Women have also organized collectively to limit male guards' access and abuse. In 1996, 500 women who had been sexually assaulted by guards while incarcerated in Michigan filed Neal v. MDOC. In July 2009, the suit was settled. Male guards were prohibited from entering areas in which women would be partially or fully undressed (i.e., sleeping, shower, and toilet areas). The settlement also provided for a $100 million settlement for the women who had been assaulted and payment of all legal fees.[11]

      Another issue that women have organized around is education. Access to education is particularly important given that women in prison come from the groups least likely to finish high school or attend college: women in poverty, disproportionately African-American and Latina.[12]

      In 1973, Michigan was one of several states that provided basic education programs in male but not female prisons.[13] In 1977, women imprisoned in Michigan's Huron Valley State Prison filed Glover v. Johnson, a class-action suit claiming that prison officials violated incarcerated women's rights under the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment by denying them access to the vocational and educational programs that were available to their male counterparts. When asked what prompted her to file the suit, lead plaintiff Mary Glover stated, "I wanted to go to college." Both she and her husband had been sentenced to prison. Her husband had the opportunity to enroll in both college and vocational programming. Glover, who was sent to the women's prison, did not.[14]

      In 1979, the court ruled in their favor and ordered the state to establish a general education program for women that was the equivalent to the one offered to men.[15]

      The court also ordered that the prison offer a course on legal skills to the women "because skilled women inmates are needed to provide access to the courts." In the court's opinion, although the prison law library met constitutional standards, women still lacked the access to the courts guaranteed by the Fourteenth Amendment's due process clause. Male prisoners had a tradition of jailhouse lawyering and thus had developed expertise in utilizing legal resources, but "the women do not have a history of self-help in the legal field; the evidence tends to show that until recently they have had little access to adequate resources."[16] Some of these women, including Mary Glover, took these courses and then went on to file other suits against MDOC (including Neal v. MDOC).

      Women have also organized to defend their access to educational programs. In 1972, radical feminists formed the Santa Cruz Women's Prison Project (SCWPP), the first program to ever offer university courses in a women's prison. In contrast to the prison's existing vocational programs, such as hairdressing, sewing, and office work, the SCWPP offered courses that challenged students to analyze the social issues affecting their lives, such as Women and the Law, Drug Use in U.S. Culture, and an Ethnic Studies course which focused on the historical and sociological perspective on women of color in the United States.[17]

      The project also connected women inside with current events and foreign political struggles. After learning about the experiences of women in Vietnam, women at CIW wrote letters of solidarity to women political prisoners in Vietnam. The letters were not only delivered to the women imprisoned in South Vietnam but also published as a pamphlet entitled From Women in Prison Here to Women of Vietnam: We Are Sisters.

      In 1972, when one of the SCWPP founders was temporarily banned from the prison and the program suspended, students organized a work strike and a sit-in before the warden's office.[18] When the project was barred again in 1973, the students circulated petitions, held work strikes, and met with the administration to protest the project's removal.

      During one of the periods in which the project was banned, a woman who had been at the prison for years observed:

I witnessed something I would have believed [three years ago] was impossible. We had an [illegal] meeting where Black and White were united, under one common cause. There were women there who in the past would never have spoken to each other but here they were standing together, agreeing, touching shoulders. The tone of the meeting was not loud or wild. It was a confident approach to bringing back the workshops. It is something we all want. It was beautiful. We elected a six-woman committee to speak for the group. We are not afraid.[19]

The opportunity to critically examine issues affecting their lives and to challenge prevailing stereotypes built bridges between prisoners who had previously believed they had nothing in common. And, when this opportunity was threatened, these women already had the groundwork to set aside their differences and unite to pressure the prison to reinstate the program.

      Even today, access to education has a tremendous impact on women behind bars, many of whom enter prison with low self-esteem, self-worth, and self confidence after years of physical and/or sexual abuse.[20] Marcia Bunney, incarcerated in California, recounted, "Difficult experiences at school during my childhood and adolescence had left me with memories of loathing conventional education and everything connected with it." The abuse that she had suffered in previous relationships had implanted the idea that she was not smart enough to attend college: "I was skeptical of the idea of returning to school, certain that college was beyond my ability, ready to give up before I had given myself a chance to start."[21]

      However, without the continual discouragement of abusive lovers and with the encouragement of her fellow prisoners and her prison work supervisor, Bunney overcame her doubts and fears about education, earning an associates degree. That was not her only lesson: "Beyond the specific components of the curriculum, I learned many valuable lessons, the greatest of which was that I was capable. After a lifetime of seeing myself as a failure and as inferior, this represented a complete reversal, one that admittedly required effort to accept and absorb."[22]

      How is education linked to resistance? Women with more education are often sought by their peers. Broomhall observed that less literate women rely on others to write their requests to staff members. "They are simply incapable of clear expression," she noted.[23] Dawn, a woman incarcerated in Texas, concurred: "Frequently, I will hear women ask someone to help them write a grievance." She also noted that when a woman writes a grievance about a condition affecting all or most of the women on her unit, others will copy her complaint. "They believe that there is some right or wrong way to fill these [grievance forms] out and that somehow they are not qualified to write on this 'official form,'" she noted. "It's very daunting to some of them."[24]

      Education has also led women to challenge systemic abuses: both the writing skills and the self-confidence that Marcia Bunney gained during her college classes led her to learn to use the prison grievance system to dispute prison injustices. Prison officials transferred her to the Central California Women's Facility where she took advantage of her job as a library assistant and taught herself law. She joined the National Lawyers' Guild, becoming one of five prisoner representatives of the National Steering Committee of the Guild's Prison Law Project. She also initiated contact with an attorney known to be interested in litigating to change prison conditions: "Soon I was organizing the active acquisition of information to support claims of systematically inferior medical care, including the names and particulars of prisoners willing to come forward to be interviewed." In addition, Bunney began educating herself about civil litigation, again drawing on the skills she learned through her college classes: "My strong composition skills were an asset, and I grew adept at drafting clear, concise declarations as a means of documenting the serious medical problems of many women, including several who proceeded to file individual actions for damage."[25]

      During the 1970s, outside activists and organizers recognized that the injustices occurring on the inside were exaggerated mirrors of those on the outside and often worked in solidarity with people in prison to challenge and change prison conditions. Today, although many on the left are alarmed about the trend of mass incarceration, few are making the personal connections with people inside resisting and organizing. Why aren't we connecting the struggles for social justice outside with those on the inside?

      Incarcerated women and their advocates have suggestions on how activists and organizers on the outside can support their resistance behind bars:

• Make contact with women in prison. As a woman incarcerated in Florida put it, "Visits, phone calls, and letter writing are essential. Only with a firm foundation, a strong foundation, can we together be able to build a greater movement."
• Speak out or write about prison issues, especially when they intersect with issues that are considered "non-prison" issues.
• Raise awareness in other creative ways. Activists infuriated by Marcia Powell's death have been placing "Free Marcia Powell" signs in well-trafficked areas, spreading the word not only about her death but also systemic prison atrocities.
• Send literature and news from the outside.
• Participate in support organizations that include the participation and leadership of currently and/or formerly incarcerated women.
• Peer education groups need up-to-date information on health issues and treatments! They also need outside people who are willing to provide services not available (but much needed) within the prison.
• For those connected to universities or other educational institutions: look into setting up a women's studies course or other program within a women's prison that helps articulate and challenge the dominant ways of thinking and the power structure. 

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1. Nicole Hahn Rafter, Partial Justice: Women, Prisons and Social Control, 2nd ed. (New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 1990), 17-18.
2. The New York Times, "Women Inmates Battle Guards in North Carolina," June 17, 1975, 18.
3. Laura Whitehorn, "Women on the Margins: Incarceration and Resistance in the Current Era." Left Forum, Pace University, April 19, 2009.
4. Megan Boehnke, "Three Perryville Inmates Set Mattresses on Fire in Goodyear," Arizona Republic, June 7, 2009.
5. In an open letter to the director of the Arizona Department of Corrections, Charles Ryan, Plews asked: "What has the department done to the women who set their mattresses on fire in organized protest? It is my understanding that they are in administrative segregation now (commonly referred to as being put into the hole), and may only receive legal assistance if charged in criminal court; they are on their own defending themselves in internal disciplinary proceedings, even though the outcome could seriously affect the kind and length of time they end up doing in the long run."
6. Arizona Department of Corrections, Chapter 700: Operational Security. Department Order 704: Inmate Regulations. 704.09: Temporary Holding Enclosures. (accessed July 7, 2009).
7. Peggy Plews, "Smoke Signals in the Desert," Prison Abolitionist, June 7, 2009 (accessed July 7, 2009).
8. Patricia Gagne, Battered Women's Justice: The Movement for Clemency and the Politics of Self-Defense (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1998), 185.
9. Gagne, 185.
10. Whitehorn. "Women on the Margins."
11. For more on the settlement, see here.
12. Michelle Fine, Kathy Boudin, Iris Bowen, Judith Clark, Donna Hylton, Migdalia Martinez, "Missy," Rosemarie Roberts, Pamela Smart, Maria Torre and Debora Upegui, Changing Minds: The Impact of College in a Maximum Security Prison, 2001.
13. R.R. Arditi, F. Goldberg, Hartle and Phelps, "The Sexual Segregation of American Prisons," Yale Law Journal 82 (1973): 1242.
14. Mary Glover, telephone interview with author, October 12, 2008.
15. Glover v Johnson, 478 F. Supp. 1075 (E.D.Mich. 1979).
16. Ibid.
17. Karlene Faith, "The Santa Cruz Women's Prison Project, 1972-1976," in Schooling in a "Total Institution": Critical Perspectives on Prison Education, ed. Howard S. Davidson. (Westport, CT: Bergin and Garvey, 1995), 177-8, 180-181.
18. SCWPP founder Karlene Faith had ended a letter to a prisoner with the word "Venceremos" (literally "we will conquer"), a colloquialism that many activists used to indicate overcoming all obstacles to freedom. However, the guard who read her letter assumed that Faith was connected with a group called "Venceremos," which had claimed credit for an escape from a neighboring men's prison. Faith -- and the program -- was allowed to return to the prison only after a thorough investigation of her background (Faith, "Women's Prison Project,"182-3).
19. Faith, "Women's Prison Project,"185. Faith does not go into detail about what had caused that particular break in the program or what the women had resolved to do in that instance.
20. Caroline Wolf Harlow, Prior Abuse Reported by Inmates and Probationers, special report for the U.S. Department of Justice, April 1999, 1.
21. Marcia Bunney, "One Life in Prison: Perception, Reflection and Empowerment," in Harsh Punishment: International Experiences of Women's Imprisonment, ed. Sandy Cook and Susanne Davies (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1999), 24.
22. Ibid., 26.
23. Jerrye Broomhall, letter to author, January 30, 2008.
24. Dawn Reiser, letter to author, February 11, 2008.
25. Bunney, "One Life in Prison," 28-29.

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Author Bio:

Victoria Law is a writer, photographer, and mother. She is a co-founder of Books Through Bars -- New York City, an organization that sends free radical literature and books to prisoners nationwide, and editor of the 'zine Tenacious: Writings from Women in Prison. Her latest book, Resistance Behind Bars: The Struggles of Incarcerated Women, is the result of 8 years of listening to, writing, and supporting incarcerated women nationwide.
http://newpolitics.mayfirst.org/fromthearchives?nid=174

Tenacious: Call for Art, Poetry, Prose by Women in Prison

Below is the call for submissions to Tenacious , an awesome zine of art and written work by women in prison. The most recent copy (#19) has the story of Marcia Powell's death in it, as told by another prisoner from her yard. Please, friends and family, let the women inside know that we want and need to hear from them - Tenacious is a great way to be heard, and is well worth listening to.  

This next issue coming up will be for Mother's Day. Every woman inside is a mom or a daughter; those relationships are hardly untouched by incarceration. They may have already put great stuff into writing in their letters home - see if there's something you think they should develop or submit as is. The absence of a woman’s mother or child can be as powerful as the presence of one – everyone’s story is valued, whatever their perspective.


Many women use pseudonyms to avoid harassment from prison officials if they have anything critical or controversial to say; they should use discretion if they have any concerns about retaliation, because no one can assure their safety. Vikki Law, who gathers the material and edits the zine, seems to exercise pretty good judgment about that stuff, too.

Some incarcerated women who started by publishing in zines and newsletters have become more widely known and published since then – never having set out to “be” writers or artists or poets in the first place: their mode of expression was formed, in part, by their incarceration as a means of resistance. Marilyn Buck, a U.S. political prisoner and poet, is one who comes to mind who has written about that. Here's the Freedom Archives' link to audio clips from Marilyn's Wild Poppies collection, a tribute CD on which her poetry is read by former political prisoners from around the world. (Browse Freedom Archives sometime - there's great liberation movement stuff there).


Tenacious sells for $2-3 a copy; I think that supports publication and mailing it free to women in prison. Vikki is up on what’s going in here, and offered it as an awareness-raiser and a means to raise our own funds for one woman’s resistance in particular. She sent us electronic copies of numbers 18 (out of stock on the publisher's website right now) and 19 (just out and not on the website yet). I'll be printing up copies and hanging out with all my other abolitionist literature on ASU-Tempe's Hayden Lawn during most lunch hours the first two weeks of the semester (classes begin January 19 - I may hit the campus the previous day, if there are any MLK Day activities going on there.) 

This is me, by the way, if you're looking for me. Arpaio's posse already has my mug shot from Copwatch, so there's no harm putting this out there. Peace.



I'm also trying to stock up on copies of Vikki's book, "Resistance Behind Bars", so folks can browse and nab one from me pretty easily if they want. If the College Anarchists end up tabling around the fountain by the Memorial Union, I'll try to convince them to let me share some of their space there instead. They're an awesome group of people - very thoughtful and politically astute. And anarchists on the whole are most prisoners' best friends.


I have an earnest agenda behind all this, other than my own compa's liberty. We need immediate and sustained attention on the resistance of women at Perryville prison, for their own well-being. Today. We also need to look in on the women in our county jails – not just Arpaio’s. That means creating a less shameful environment that’s inclusive of prisoners’ and their families' voices, getting community members and groups doing more outreach to incarcerated women and their children (the Girl Scouts are even on top of it, folks - no good reason everyone else isn't), and alerting our local and national media that we want to know what’s going on in there. Who are we locking up in Arizona, anyway? Why so many women all of a sudden? At what costs – economic and social? Under what conditions? What happens to their kids?


We need more people to be able to articulate the challenges faced by women in prison, and to recognize and support their resistance to oppression, abuse, and neglect. We try to render them invisible in society, but women in prison have both voice and power. We need to pay attention to actions like those described below by Renee, and the three women who set their mattresses on fire last June. What happened to them? Does anyone know?


That doesn’t mean we should just be looking for hunger strikes and riots among women, though – grievances and lawsuits have been very effective tools of change for women in prison, and need more visibility; some things can be expedited with more public pressure - like Marcia's Law. Charisse Schumate is an example of a woman who resisted by using the legal system and community organizing; she and her fellow prisoners made a difference. That's a story worth printing up and sending to women inside, too.



Women like Renee and those in Tenacious are resisting, too, simply by telling their stories. Even if they aren't exposing state secrets, they are countering the myths and lies out there about them. hey are resisting the dehumanization of criminalization and incarceration. They are bringing home what it means to be a woman in prison in America. The act of making things public, making them visible, takes a great deal of courage - we must read them, respond to what they're saying, and keep asking for more.


This is pretty critical material for Arizonans to grasp right now, so I’m going to do whatever I can to get it into the hands of as many people who might care as possible – from anarchists and ASU students to hospice care providers and groups representing trauma and rape survivors. Listen to these women, and if you have any kind of access help them get their stories out. They need us all to stop and pay attention.

Here's the call for submissions to Tenacious:

---------------------

Call for submissions

Tenacious is looking for articles, poetry and art form women in prison. We strongly believe that everyone has a story to tell, something to share and are in need of someone who will listen and offer some kind of support and/or understanding. It is important to us that women (both in and out of prison) find the  power of their voice. We encourage women to share with us and others in the hopes of educating those in society and empowering other women to take a stand for their rights and the rights of others. Use the power of your voice in a positive way—to educate.

Subjects we are looking for include:

ü      Prison programs (how they do or don’t work)

ü      Mothers educating their children while on the inside

ü      Holding prison officials accountable for their actions or inactions

ü      Observations and applications on prison life

ü      Women prisoners uniting to make a difference

ü      Informing society about prison issues

ü      Sexual discrimination or sexual preference discrimination in your prison

ü      Medical breakthroughs or neglect

ü      HIV, Hep C and other diseases common in prison

ü      Helping your fellow prisoners

ü      Literacy and education

ü      Your job (or lack of a job)

AS YOU CAN SEE BY THE COVER, WE ESPECIALLY NEED ART!!!  Art should be reproducible in black-and-white.

We do not publish individual cases, charges or court experiences. We do not publish religious materials. We also cannot act as liaisons between those in different facilities.

Send submissions to:

V. Law, PO Box 20388,

New York, NY 10009

Tenacious is free to women in prison.

Men in prison: please send 2 stamps to cover the cost of postage.

Those not in prison: your $2 will support sending free issues to incarcerated women across the United States.

The next issue will be a Mother’s Day themed issue, acknowledging that over 80% of women in prison are mothers.

Deadline: April 1, 2010

Women's Resistance at Perryville Prison

(Just revised this a little. Back later.)

This comes from Jon's Jail Journal - the post for January 3, 2010. I'm giving you the lead and linking you back there for the rest, because if you haven't checked out his blog, you need to now. It's a blogspot for bloggers from jails and prisons - with a special focus on our own Tent City and Joe Arpaio. I also have copies of the zine "Tenacious", with art and writings compiled by Vikki Law from women in prison, which has Renee's story about Marcia's death in it. Contact me if interested.

I know Director Ryan will be seeing this post soon enough, and hunting down the blogger who wrote it. I hope she's able to maintain contact with the people she's in touch with, so we all know she's not experiencing any kind of retaliation. The sounds of the new DW is troubling. I would expect Director Ryan would want to make a point of assuring that Renee isn't harassed or punished for expressing herself on the issue - perhaps if his office was more directly involved in what prisoners had to say instead of trying to have them silenced, they wouldn't be finding out what's going on there from blogs. He should actually follow this up as an anonymous complaint, one likely shared by many too fearful to say anything. Leave Renee alone.

Get word inside that we hear them, and to keep writing - but be low key (not like me). Women's resistance is worth making the extra effort to pay attention to. We need to figure out how to support them, which starts with letting them know we're here, listening. They just need to be mindful that everyone else is listening, too. Hopefully, the visibility of blogging will protect them. But we can't promise anything; prison is not a safe place to be when you complain about it.


Hang in there, sisters.
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Changes at Perryville Women’s Prison (Part 1 by Lifer Renee)

Renee – As a teenager, Renee received a 60-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. 15 years into her sentence, she’s writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.

After Marcia Powell died because of the guards, so much has happened. I went a round or two with depression. Her death was a slap in the face of what the reality of my life is. All of us who reside in this prison felt it. It was hard to deal with, but life goes on.

Her death has changed the dynamics of life here drastically. There are now larger “rec enclosures” no longer to be referred to as cages. In the guards’ inner circles, they are referred to as “play pens.” There are mister systems and shade structures.

There is a new administration: DW [Deputy Warden], ADW [Assistant Deputy Warden], and captain. The DW is out of control. If you have an opinion, something to say and it goes against what he says, you’ll find yourself moved to the hole in the blink of an eye. This has happened to several women. They also move you into the kitchen with 56 other women if you ask for a room change because you do not get along with your roommate, and this is escalating the fighting....

Back to Jon's for the rest. It's kind of big.

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Thanks, Shaun, for being there to amplify the voices of so many prisoners. And thanks, Renee, for taking the chance to get word out about what's going on these days. Keep writing.