The Abuse of Authority – San Quentin Adjustment Center
by
Steve Champion(Adisa Kamara)
 
On 21st March, 2007, an incident occurred inside the Adjustment Center.  A prison guard was allegedly assaulted by an inmate.  Never ones to miss an opportunity for retributive and repressive punishment, San Quentin prison officials exaggerated the nature of this threat posed to guards and declared a State of Emergency.  It was as if Homeland Security had upgraded the Terror Alert.  A memorandum was swiftly issued to every prisoner stating, hyperbolically, that an inmate attempted to murder a guard.
 
After a series of invasive cell searches and mandatory interviews, (some inmates, already cuffed and shackled, were physically forced to the interview room) prison officials were still not satisfied.  Consquently, they meted out collective punishment to everyone in the Adjustment Center, as follows : Every prisoner is now forced to wear leg shackles and shower shoes (or go barefoot wherever he goes) whether to the shower, the visiting room, the legal law library, or the hospital and the exercise yard.  We are allowed to carry our shoes and put them on once we arrive at the yard.  Some consolation!
 
The yard policy was changed sharply, as well.  In the past, when the yard was recalled, inmates were escorted inside AC, strip searched, and then escorted to their assigned cells.  Now, each inmate is strip searched on the yard, in plain view of everyone, before being returned to his cell.  According to California code of Regulations Title 15, Section 3287 (4)(B), “Whenever possible, unclothed body inspections of inmates shall be conducted in an area where [they] can be conducted in safety and allow the inmate to preserve some measure of dignity and respect.”  These regulations recognise the fact that prisoners are entitled to some modicum of dignity, respect and privacy.  But basic human rights are immaterial to prison officials who view prisoners as the scum of the earth.
 
On April 4, 2007, when yard was recalled at 11:30am, I and two other inmates (Ward and B) refused to be strip searched on the yard.  We were immediately confronted by a bevy of guards demanding to know why we refused.  One at a time, each of us, (caged in walk alone yard cages) explained that we were not refusing to come off the yard or cuff up, we were only refusing to be strip searched on the yard.
 
As the Guantanamo Bay-like cages slowly emptied around us, prisoners hobbled pas us in ankle-pinching leg restraints, nodding to us in solidarity – the equivalent of a clenched fist salute.
 
A sergeant, obviously unfamiliar with AC protocol and/or badly misinformed, tried to convince us that strip searching in open view had always been the policy.  A little later, Lieutenant S, flanked by a small army of guards, asked us what the the problem was.  Again, each of us explained our position, just as we had before.  But as if he had not heard us, S retorted, “You refusing to come off the yard?”
 
I shook my head in disbelief.  The Lieutenant didn’t want to understand.  He told us if we were refusing to come off the yard, he would be justified in using force of some kind.  He could use pepper spray, blast us with water cannon or stun gun, taser us, order a platoon of guards to suit up and forcibly remove us, or command the guard on the gun rail to shoot us.  But we were not refusing to come off the yard.  At this impasse, the Lieutenant told us he would give us “a cooling off period” and went to consult with his superiors.
 
Two and a half hours later, around 2:00 pm, we could hear the guards outside AC yelling to the guard operating the bar box, which opens and closes cell doors, to open cell 61, 63 and 66.  This meant that they were entering our cells and punishing us by removing our personal property.
 
We continued to stand our ground and pass the time discussing current events, bracing ourselves for the worst.  Eventually, a squadron of guards headed by Associate Warden D and Captain F arrived.  D asked Ward, “What’s the problem?” Ward once again explained that he refused to strip out on the yard, quoting verbatim the relevant portion of the California Code regulations, Title 15 (3287) (4)(B).  Apparently taken aback, D adjusted his jacket and replied, “The Warden is our Title 15” The Captain then asked B what the problem was, and B repeated what Ward had just said.  It was clear to us at this point in that these San Quentin officials were not interested in our reasons or prison policy.  We had explained ourselves to guards, the sergeant, the Lieutenant, the Captain and the Associate Warden.
 
Finally, Captain F, morphing into John Wayne, barked that we were coming off the yard.  At this point, I turned to the guard holding the video camera and said bluntly, “I’m not refusing to cuff up but I’m not stripping out on the yard.”  The Captain then ordered me to “Cuff up” and a guard slid a flattened cardboard box between a slit opening in the fence of my cage.  I placed the cardboard on the pavement next to the sink and toilet combo.  Then I walked over to the small port to get cuffed, before returning, to kneel on the cardboard (to cushion my knees against the concrete.)  Several guards entered the walk-alone cage to shackle my ankles.  Shackled, I stood up and guards escorted me toward the fence.
 
At this point, the scene switched to something right out of Abu Ghraib.  The Captain ordered a guard holding a large pair of scissors to cut off my state-issue boxes.  The guard obeyed and shred my underwear until they were hanging around my ankles.
 
At that moment, I felt something ancient, something powerful, as if my ancestors were channeling through me, imploring me to stay firm – as if I had been through this before.
 
Another guard scanned my entire body with a metal detector.  I was then marched nude and shackled inside the Adjustment Center and placed in a middle sallyport on the first floor.  Shortly thereafter, inmates B and Ward were brought in shackled, nude and held in separate holding ports on the first floor.  All the while, prison personnel entered and exited the building, peering at us as if we were a small group of captured baboons.
 
Twenty five minutes or so passed this way,before each of us was escorted to the  third floor and paraded down the tier naked, like slaves on display, into our now empty cells.  We were officially placed on property control, which means : no personal property, no purchased food items and no canteen for 90 days.
 
On April 10, the three of us received Rules Violation Reports. The specific violation: wilfully obstructing a peace officer.  On April 12, I attended an Institutional Classificiation Committee (ICC) meeting, where my 90-day property control status was reaffirmed.  All the same people who had violated my human rights – the Lieutenant, the Captain, the Associate Warden – were present.  ICC was chaired by Deputy Warden L.  He informed me that if I were to repeat my ‘Performance’ I would be taken off the yard for a minimum period of 90 days and my case referred to the Director for review.
 
Steve Champion
San Quentin State Prison
San Quentin, CA 94974

Illusions of Control
 
We are in control,
or we delude ourselves
of  this daily.
 
We cannot control the rising
and setting of the sun nor
the tides of oceans or the
movements of stars.
 
We can’t control the weeping
of children yearning for their
Mother’s breast; so how can we
control the longing of the human
heart dying to be fulfilled?
 
Every attempt bleeds of failure
while eating away vestiges of our souls.
 
I knew a man who once rejected love.
He fought it, suppressed it, ignored it
and even wished it away.
He claimed victory in his denial.
“I am in control” he declared
It was his daily mantra.
But like a tsunami,
love grew stronger, building momentum
Until one day
it overran him
    Like a volcano
         Consuming
             Everything
                 in its path.
 
Steve Champion (Adisa Kamara)

My Brother is Gone - by Steve Champion

I want the world to know
I walked, lived and blossomed
during the time of his presence.
My emotions are too raw,
my senses too frayed
to tell them,
tell anyone...
for 20 brass knuckled years
we struggled together,
forging a bond
cemented by our
faith, love, and brotherhood.

Our way was not always as smooth
as a well manicured lawn;
We blazed the path as warriors,
knowing in the end
the highest form of bravery
is laying down the sword.

My brother is gone.
No longer will I gaze upon his glistening
mahogany colored skin,
look into his gentle eyes, or
grip his Hulk-shaped hands.
No longer wil we greet
with a brotherly hug,
or bump fists.
No longer will I
hear his soft-spoken voice,
see his warm smile,
or bask in his charisma.
No longer will I
see his boyish grin,
his smooth gait.
No longer will we
laugh together,
or I poke fun at his modesty
in the face of a compliment.
No longer will we
catch each other's eyes
from across the yard,
acknowledging our whereabouts.
No longer will I
probe his razor sharp mind,
or excite his curiosity.

My brother was murdered
At San Quentin Prison,
December 13, 2005, 12:36am.
My brother is gone.

I curse those who rejoiced
upon hearing the news of his death,
now that they are spared from
the muscle of his mind.

Though my heart aches,
and my rage festers,
no revenge of bullets, blades or bloodshed
will bring my brother back.
My brother is gone.

I watched him shed the shackles
of his wild image,
become reborn
in a new spirit.
I named him Ajamu,
"He who fights for what he wants"
He fought agains all odds,
against all the naysayers who
sought to pigeon-hole and fossilise
him in his lowest state.
He rose about it to build
a peaceful legacy
that will be talked about
for years to come.

As the energy emptied from his body
and his life was no more -
I yearned to bury him in the African way -
bathe him in lavender
sprinkle myrrh over his body
light a candle
as I wrap him in silk
sing freedom songs.
You are free my brother.
Free
from the perils of a country
that daggers black pride,
emasculates black strength,
and kills black hope.

I wanted to
chant healing mantras for him
to take him on his final journey,
weigh his heart on the scales of Maat,
ensure his passage through the underworld,
where Ausar will welcome him.

My brother is gone.
I will not weep
as others will weep;
I will not break
as others will break;
I will not mourn him
as others will mourn him;
I will not celebrate him.
He has left me plenty,
but taken a part of me with him.
I shall honor him as I honor
every freedom fighter;
I will love him in death
as I loved him in life.

We shall meet again,
my brother,
as we planned,
at the crossroads.

Steve Champion (Adisa Kamara)
San Quentin Death Row

Tribute to Stanley Tookie Williams


Our friend and colleague Stanley Tookie Williams, was executed at San Quentin State prison on December 13th 2005.


What I want to talk about is a subject that was important to my brother. A subject that he, Ajani and I discussed at length, and that is redemption, which was instrumental and deeply linked to his transformation.


As a former gang member, Tookie understood that gang members who grew up in the ghetto, the slums and impoverished neighbourhoods across America were conditioned to be desensitized as a survival mechanism and as a way to cope with the daily conflicts and crisis that permeated their lives. As a result of being desensitized, the conscience becomes supressed and numb in order to not feel because feelings can be antithetical to gang life.


Tookie became aware of his important connection because for him, the reawakening of his conscience was the first step to his redemption. In his book, Blue rage, Black redemption, he stated “The path of education and introspection enabled me to reason and to develop a conscience that rejects criminality, drugs and senseless violence. Redemption allowed me to acknowledge and atone for my past indiscretions. Vowed never to repeat and create new ones and to extend an olive branch to youth and adults who desire peace”.


You see, Tookie learned to connect to his conscience, which allowed him to develop his capacity for empathy, the ability to see himself in others and therefore, connect and reacquaint himself to his own humanity. Of course, there were a convoy of naysayers and doubting Thomases who opposed and questioned Tookie’s redemption and transformation but he expected and anticipated this when he wrote “no one can give redemption to me,  no one can intercede on my behalf, I have to earn it myself.”


Tookie’s statement clearly conveys a philosophy of self-responsibility that self-improvement and self-transformation has to come from within the individual because that is the only way it is authentic. Tookie wanted everyone to know, especially gang members that the circumference of your life did not have to be defined by being in a gang and that you didn’t have to stay stuck there.


He believed that redemption, and rightfully so, was tailor made for those labelled as social outcasts and the wretched of the earth. He used to say “if redemption wasn’t made for people with our experiences, then for whom?”


He saw himself as proof, as a prime example of someone who has sunk to the bottom of the well but found a way to swim to the surface and rise spiritually, emotionally, intellectually and mindfully aware. He had hoped the work he undertook would play a role in inspiring his kinsmen to do better and be better because he himself believed without practice, there can be no improvement.


He wanted to show that even living under the spectre of death he could not cancel his determination, his vision, his purpose and his mission. Redemption, to Tookie, wasn’t an abstract concept and it went way beyond philosophical rhetoric. He whole heartedly embraced ideas he believed in, but was open minded enough not to be attached to them if new facts submerged that challenged those ideas. He drew heavily from the strength and wisdom from ancestors like, Harriet Tubman , Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X, Ella Baker, Fred Hampton and many other historical figures who he respected and was proud of, because of their commitment to the struggle, in which, he was following and in the same noble tradition.


From a prison cell, Tookie was able to touch the lives of people around the globe, whether they personally knew him or not because of the result of the things he accomplished or said that resonated with people. It is for this reason he will forever be an important archetype in our consciousness and a brother I will never forget.

Steve Champion (Adisa Kamara)
San Quentin Death Row

I believe a warrior is a champion of courage, and courage to me is the ability to confront and overcome fear, even when you are frightened.


A warrior understands negative energy can be fatal if you hold on to it. That is why a warrior must hold on to nothing.


The ego is an enemy to the warrior. The warrior knows that anytime the ego is forced to lead, get involved in decision making it taints and impairs the judgement because the ego can’t get out of its own way .A true warrior is aware he will incur difficulties and experience adversities because it comes with the territory. It is a test of his resolve and spirit.


How he or she responds to a crisis determines the level of strength and depth of their character. The moment a warrior begins to internalise problems will be the moment he loses his edge and sharpness. His responsibility in any crisis is to remain calm, stay focused ,centred, disciplined and be at one pointed mind because these qualities are what will carry him through the fire. 


A true warrior is one who struggles and fights for what he believes in and he knows in the course and heat of any battle, casualties are inevitable. He accepts the possibility of his own death and those like him, as a natural result of war of struggle. He understands that being a warrior means making sacrifices and requires sturdy legs, a strong heart and strong mind to carry a heavy load.


I believe every human being has an inner warrior within them. This inner warriorism is played out in small ways, barely noticeable in everyday walks of life. It doesn’t necessarily begin with an individual performing some bold act or taking on a great feat. But it is the person who wakes up every day, who has the warrior's spirit to be present even when they are knocked down. A person who is true to him or herself even when it is unpopular. The person who faces the daily challenges of life even when there are set backs, that’s a warrior. 


A warrior is a fighter, a warrior doesn’t seek accolades or applause for what he was born to do. He understands his mission and the final analysis what counts.  His deeds and actions will speak for themselves and what he did to further the cause. He acts and moves without fanfare because he understands his role.


There is a Zen proverb that says “the obstacle is the path."  A warrior knows this because his journey entails overcoming and managing obstacles throughout his life.  So when a warrior departs this world he doesn’t seek to be elevated to sainthood or. 


The greatest tribute paid to a warrior is to honour his memory, follow his example and learn from both his successes and mistakes because in the end what a warrior hopes is to make a difference .

Steve Champion (Adisa Kamara)
San Quentin Death Row

We live in a time of change because that is the nature of life. That is the nature of history. The rev Dr, Martin King jr says “There is nothing as tragic as sleeping through a revolution.” Ask yourself have you ever slept through a revolution or moment of change? If so, why?


Then ask yourself have you ever had a gut feeling? A reoccurring thought or intuition that you wanted your life to go in a different direction? That you needed to do something different or better? That you are tired of going nowhere. Well this gut feeling, reoccurring thought, or intuition is what my brother Ajani Kamara calls a personal moment in change. He explains that it is a moment in which you can make a conscience choice to change whatever aspect of your life you want but to do this you have to create a spark of initiative. You have to grab at what you want like a pit bull. If you don’t it won’t happen for you.


You see, people fail to seize their moment of change because of trepidation, old habits, attachment external pressure and a lack of belief in themselves.  Not believing in yourself is a deathblow to self-confidence because confidence is what gives you the courage to believe and trust in your inner resources (your mind ,your body, and your spirit). The desire to want something better for yourself has to be stronger than your attitude of self-defeat and all your excuses. Simply saying “I don’t care” or “I don’t give a damn” is nothing more than complacency and complacency is an impediment to growth, development, creativity, innovation, and initiative.  In fact it is nothing more than giving up. A moment of change acts as an internal compass that points what’s going to elevate you. It can create a profound shift in your prospective, your attitude, your conciseness and in your spirit.


To take advantage of your moment of change when you recognise it, you need to be present, focused, determined and resolved and you need to be driven in your quest.


Being consistent and persistent builds the attitude to succeed. A moment of change can come as quick as the speed of light or it can move slow at a snail’s pace but it will come and when it does its decision time.


What will you do? Will you be ready? Will you recoil? Will you capitulate? Or will you move forward and seize the moment.

Steve Champion (Adisa Kamara)
Death Row San Quentin

Transported to another time
 
I’m seated on the auction block of the courtroom.
Curious spectators wait to witness a legal lynching.
The court stenographer chronicles every spoken word,
History will not forget this day.
Waist chains gird my wrists and waists.
Lay shackles fastened to my ankles,
I’m transported to another time when men hunted men, cruelly enslaving them.
Not as prisoners of war but for profits.
I am a commodity reduced to invisibility,
where batteries of neuro psychologists and psychiatrists
are paid thousands of dollars not to testify about my humanity,
but about my saneness, my fitness to be tried,
to be executed.
Every morning the sun rises I chant an African battle hymn.
Every evening the sun sets I chant a freedom song.
I am stronger today than I was yesterday but not as strong as I will be tomorrow.
Victory is mine.
County jail buses are vessels containing black, brown and white bodies.
I am transported to another time where slave ships have morphed into slave buses.
Where slave fort is the new prison fort.
Where a whip, a rope, a chain utilized to punish, brutalize and control
are updated to tasers, pepper sprays and stun guns.
Commanded by men and women who wear green, the color of money, the color of greed.
I’m transported to another time when I’m poked and  prodded.
Flanked by armed guards. Misdirected and directed to kneel, to be still.
And when the shackles come unclamped,  I am not free to walk out of a prison, but into a cage, another fort where I sleep until I am transported to the plantation ,
again.
 
Steve Champion (Adisa Kamara)