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  • After eight years, we have decided that it is time to shut down Shadowproof, but that does not mean that the independent journalism that we fostered is coming entirely to an end.

    In a span of time defined by numerous global crises and an ever-shifting online media landscape, readers like you helped us develop an oasis for incisive reporting on prisons, policing, whistleblowers, and crackdowns on political activists.

    So many members and donors made it possible for Shadowproof to hire over 90 freelance journalists to cover stories and perspectives that were often outside the beats of most other publications. We were able to pay journalists fairly and give them a solid platform as many major media organizations were uninterested in their work or treated them poorly in the context of layoffs and politically motivated firings.

    There is so much to be proud of in the last eight years, and we can’t recount all of it here. The Marvel Cooke Fellowship, overseen by co-founder Brian Nam-Sonenstein, was a remarkable success thanks to the support of Mariame Kaba and dozens of subscribers, who funded in-depth reporting from incarcerated and marginalized writers on the movement to abolish the prison industrial complex.

    Shadowproof further distinguished itself through regular coverage of the extradition case against WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange. Co-founder Kevin Gosztola drew from this reporting to write a book, Guilty of Journalism: The Political Case Against Julian Assange, that was published in March of this year. 

    Countless other reporting projects – from our dogged coverage of the prison strikes of the 2010s to our on-the-ground reporting at the Democratic National Convention in 2016, early investigations into privatized prison health care, our development of model Medicare For All legislation, reporting trips to the UK to cover the Assange case – made critical interventions and contested mainstream narratives and, in some cases, mainstream silence on major events of the time.

    Yet in the past couple of years, we have moved away from the Shadowproof website. We propped up other media platforms, like newsletters, podcasts, and YouTube channels, that gave us more outlets for sharing our work. Kevin has produced the bulk of his journalism on Assange, whistleblowers, government secrecy, and press freedom through The Dissenter Newsletter, which began as a project of Shadowproof. 

    Brian recently joined the Prison Policy Initiative (PPI) as a senior editor and researcher, where he has been publishing the bulk of his work on police and prisons. Meanwhile, the media technology space has radically changed and in some ways introduced tools that made it simpler and less cumbersome to publish work without operating a full website and organization. And so, like all good things, we have made the decision to celebrate our accomplishments and fully transition away from Shadowproof.

    Kevin will continue his extensive coverage of Assange through The Dissenter Newsletter, and if you are not yet a subscriber, we strongly encourage you to sign up. He is also developing a YouTube channel to accompany his written journalism. He is still on Twitter (@kgosztola), and he has updated a Substack account here to make it easier for readers to follow postings that appear on several platforms.

    Brian plans to continue his collaborations with incarcerated writers and his work covering the abolition movement, including through the Beyond Prisons podcast. You can follow him on Twitter (@bsonenstein) for updates on such projects in the coming months.

    Beginning today, Shadowproof memberships will transition to supporting The Dissenter newsletter. Members will receive an email with more information, but if need help making changes to your subscription, please contact Brian at brian@shadowproof.com.

    This change will present new challenges. Kevin Gosztola will continue his journalism at The Dissenter newsletter but without much of the supportive infrastructure that was built through Shadowproof.

    Please chip in a few dollars to help Kevin cover some of the operating expenses that he will have to shoulder. 

    Go to thedissenter.org/donate to support his work.

    Finally, we are immensely grateful to all the journalists and writers who collaborated with us.
    In particular, Dan Wright, Kit O’Connell, and Roqayah Chamseddine deserve special mention for working as founding Shadowproof staff members. Their talents, perspectives, and contributions were essential to starting and shaping our work over the years. We would like to thank Rania Khalek, Kim Wilson, Maya Schenwar, Jane Hamsher, and many others for their friendship and support over the years, without which none of this would have been possible. We’d also like to thank our families, whose love and encouragement have always been crucial to our ability to experiment and take risks with this work. 

    We would also like to thank our many freelance contributors over the years, listed below. We encourage you to seek them out, follow their work, and support them. And if you are a publisher, we highly encourage you to work with them.

    We are honored to have published the work of the following writers, and want to give special thanks (from most recent to earliest contributor) to:

    ***

    Raymond Williams

    Christopher Blackwell

    Emily Nonko

    Jessica Phoenix Sylvia

    Sierra Dickey

    C. Dreams

    Jovan Strong

    Lawrence Jenkins

    Minali Aggarwal

    Brendan Maslauskas Dunn

    James Jones

    Caren Holmes

    Luke Ottenhof

    Sam Bishop

    Nicole Froio

    Felix Sitthivong

    Vanessa Taylor

    Larissa Banitt

    Daniel Moritz-Rabson

    James Anderson

    Kit Klarenberg

    Mohamed Elmaazi

    Caleb Brennan

    Juan Moreno Haines

    Eoin Higgins

    Rahsaan Thomas

    Rebecca Chowdhury

    Lucia Geng

    Michael Sainato

    Tom Secker

    Tamar Sarai

    Amanda Abrams

    Citlali Pizarro

    Ken Klippenstein

    Emma Rosewood

    Brian Zayatz

    Will Lennon

    Ella Fassler

    Billie Anania

    Kiran Misra

    Clare Busch

    Lex McMenamin

    Joergen Ostensen

    Jared Ware

    James Potuck

    Jonathan Michels

    Steven Yoder

    Maddie Rose

    Rainier Harris

    Adam Mahoney

    Reina Sultan

    Jessica Buxbaum

    Jonathan Ben-Menachem

    Tavleen Tarrant

    Halley Bondy

    Katie Dancey-Downs

    Devyn Springer

    Ian Alexander

    Adryan Corcione

    Arvind Dilawar

    Mike Kuhlenbeck

    Will Parrish

    Camille Fassett

    Miles Quarles

    Natascha Elena Uhlmann

    Michael Arria

    Jon Walker

    Joanne Leon

    Aaron Cynic

    Will Cox

    Will Pierce

    Lauren Gill

    Siobhan O’Leary

    Ashoka Jegroo

    Brandon Smith

    Nick Musgrave

    Larissa Banitt

    Rory Fleming

    Elizabeth King

    Willie Burnley Jr.

    Brian Saady

    Brandon Jordan

    Paul Gottinger

    Branko Marcetic

    Steve Horn

    Gadeir Abbas

    Zachary Senn

    Ben Foldy

    Desiree Kane

    Laura Muth

    We plan to keep the Shadowproof archive online for the foreseeable future. (If you wish to help fund that work, you can do so through donations and subscriptions to the Dissenter). 

    Running an independent media platform is difficult and often unglamorous work, but it is essential given the media landscape which all too often feels like a rocky wasteland.

    We have learned so much from those we mentioned and many others, and we strongly encourage the next generation of young independent publishers to stick with journalism, even if it is a struggle. Your efforts are desperately needed in these times. We encourage independent publishers to make themselves available to mentor and support emerging publications focused on voices for liberation.

    This is intergenerational work, and it cannot be done in isolation or with a highly competitive and cutthroat attitude. It is critical that independent media organizations and media workers work together, are accountable to each other, and take their role in our movements seriously. They must do everything they can to pay people well, empower them in the editorial process, and help them develop their skills.

    We cannot afford to lose more journalists to this unforgiving media economy that has already pushed so many people out.

    Thank you for believing in our work and supporting us.

    The post Shadowproof Is Shutting Down appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • This article was funded by the Marvel Cooke Fellowship. Read more about this reporting project and make a contribution to fund our fellowship budget.

    I board the transport in an orange jumpsuit, shackled and cuffed at the waist, one of many prisoners in exodus from the Washington State Reformatory. 

    The rattling of our chains fills the cabin as we find places to sit. I slide into a seat with a small window high on the wall next to me—the coveted seat with a “view.” Nervous chatter ensues as we wait to be shipped to the next prison. 

    In 2021, during the pandemic, the Washington Department of Corrections (WDOC), experienced a steep decrease in prison admissions (and therefore a great loss of revenue). In response, the department announced it would close the Washington State Reformatory (WSR), the oldest unit in the Monroe Correctional Complex in Monroe, Washington. This caused a rift among incarcerated abolitionists: some saw it as a win for the movement, while others felt it was a win for the prison industrial complex. 

    Two years after WSR closed, the latter group feels vindicated as it appears the state created an illusion of decarceration. The lessons that can be learned from these events will prove invaluable to future generations fighting for change. Otherwise, we may be left celebrating battles while we are all losing the war.

    By the time the bus gets moving, the still air and hot breath of prisoners have fogged the windows. I stand and strain against my shackles, searching for a clear corner of glass from which to catch a peek. In my effort, the leg irons bite into my ankles: a price I willingly pay to see the world. 

    As we roll away from the walls and grounds of that prison, I am filled with a sense of loss. Not for that 6×9 foot cell — a cell so small I am forced to sidesaddle the toilet to take a dump — but loss for what has just been taken from me. 

    The prison may have closed, but for me, shackled in the back of the transport, removed from my support networks, advocacy community, platform, and education, this did not feel like abolition. As I’ve learned, we sometimes hold different definitions of the word. But I know my chances for freedom diminish with every mile we put between us and the walls of that prison. 

    TEAR IT ALL DOWN

    Yesterday, a prisoner jokingly asked a guard walking by “What do you think about abolition?”

    The guard facetiously answered, “Sure. Tear it all down.” Then walked off shaking his head in laughter. 

    This trope is unfortunately prevalent in the minds of many. How telling and shocking would it have been if he instead replied, “Sure. Go ahead and build something new.” If that was his answer, even in jest, our movement would be in a better place. 

    The tragedy is that some members of our movement are so narrowly focused on the idea that abolition is defined by tearing things down that the impulse to dismantle can reign without regard for a longer vision of transformation. Or, as was the case at WSR, the impulse to dismantle can even compromise existing abolitionist infrastructure. 

    When a plan to shut down a prison or precinct or to release prisoners under reform schemes is presented, it is easy to jump at the opportunity for what appears to be a win. Wins are, after all, very hard to come by. Who can blame good-hearted people who wish to seize apparent opportunities for decarceration? But the reality can be more complicated. This can make us vulnerable to exploitation. Our impulse to jump at apparent victories should be tempered with caution and foresight when the win is offered too willingly by our oppressors. 

    When, in the summer of 2021, WDOC announced it would close WSR, abolitionists began to choose sides, both for and against the closure. 

    The voice of prisoners in favor of the closure was led by a prisoner named Felix Sitthivong, who published an article in Inquest titled “Divide and Conquer.” In the article, Sitthivong excoriated abolitionist prisoners who did not view the closure as abolition and argued that the material conditions of confinement at WSR justified the closure. Sitthivong stated he stood on the ideal that “prison closures really mean prison closures.” 

    The other side of the argument was led, in part, by another prisoner named Tomas Keen, who published an article in the same publication titled “A Warm Closure.” In this article, Keen exposed WDOC for couching the closure of WSR as decarceration while, in reality, this maneuver would instead increase the carceral footprint and harm communities of color. Keen argued that “WSR is, quite literally, the paradigm for restorative, community-focused facilities.” 

    But the lens of history has helped settle this debate. The social and political landscape that emerged in Washington prisons since WSR’s closure shines a bright light on the harm caused to abolitionist formations and reveals sinister designs by WDOC to eradicate programs, organizations, and communities working towards liberation. In order to understand why some abolitionist prisoners fought to keep a prison open, one would have to know why WSR was important to the movement. 

    Built in 1910, WSR was one of the oldest prisons in the state. The walls surrounding the prison endured cycles of crumbling and repair, leaving a mosaic of partially whitewashed brick as a testament to the century of its carceral presence. It leaked, had sewage problems, and its concrete floors sagged, but WSR was a power center for prisoner-led abolition groups and liberation efforts in Washington state. No greater collective of prisoners fighting for change and freedom could be found anywhere else in Washington. 

    Prisoners confined to WSR benefited from their proximity to the Seattle metropolitan area and the long history of community involvement found there. WSR held onto remnants of a culture predating the era of mass incarceration, and organizations there, like The Black Prisoners Caucus (BPC) and Concerned Lifer’s Organization (CLO)—both born in 1972—were older than some of the bricks in the walls. 

    These prisoner-led organizations had taken to heart a 2014 article by Michelle Alexander, How To Dismantle the New Jim Crow, and were deploying the three actionable steps she listed for change. Prisoners at WSR were actively engaged in (1) Awakening, (2) Building an Underground Railroad, and (3) Working for Abolition. 

    The CLO and BPC were providing great and loyal service towards Awakening. Every Monday and Friday night, the CLO and BPC hosted members of the community, volunteers, and lawmakers to engage in robust discussions on the harms of the carceral state. Both groups held annual conventions where several hundred members of free society would come and hear prisoners give speeches that educated the public on the need for change. Annually, the CLO and BPC interacted with around a thousand free citizens each year. 

    Through work done at WSR, relationships were cultivated, and people in free society were able to see prisoners as members of their communities working towards common goals. This opened pathways to clemency for prisoners engaged in the work. By 2020, people in the community tied to WSR as volunteers were working in tandem with prisoners confined there to — as Alexander called for — “make a break for freedom in the era of mass incarceration.” These social structures served as an Underground Railroad, with the prison itself a kind of Harper’s Ferry. Prisoners across the state knew that if they wanted to sail toward clemency, WSR was the place where they could find a boat.

    Prisoners at WSR were stringently working for abolition. This work included dismantling the preschool-to-prison and foster-care-to-prison pipelines. CLO and BPC legislative committees worked in tandem to draft bills and lead legislative efforts for change. The BPC and CLO created a college, University Beyond Bars, where all prisoners—regardless of time structure or immigration status—could pursue higher education. In 2018, the BPC and CLO worked with Collective Justice to create HEAL, a class where prisoners worked with crime victims in restorative justice processes focused on healing from trauma. 

    By January 2020, prisoners at WSR had built enough momentum to organize the Rally To End Mass Incarceration, where hundreds of protestors showed up on a cold winter night demanding change at the steps of the state capitol. We were just getting started.

    In Washington State, there was no movement to end mass incarceration that had the reach and diversity of the one led by the prisoners confined at WSR. In circles at WSR, people of every race, religious affiliation, or demographic—even members of rival gangs—found common cause and solidarity in collective efforts for transformation. Here, for a time, the movement was truly beautiful. 

    And then the COVID pandemic happened. Everything came to a halt. The murder of George Floyd happened, and conversations on abolition increased with the Defund The Police demand. Having lost the illusion of the moral high ground for a brief moment in time, the power of the carceral state seemed in jeopardy. As the pandemic raged into 2021, WDOC faced a financial and staffing crisis, bleeding human capital as prisoners were released under decriminalization laws. The carceral state was weakening and looking for strategic ways to maintain the status quo in the face of sweeping change.

    According to a WDOC News Spotlight article, the department had seen a 54 percent decrease in prison admissions during the height of the pandemic from March 2020 to June 2021. The lack of human capital and a proposed budget decrease of $80 million over two years by Governor Jay Inslee made other stressors, such as concerns about overtime pay for guards, primary concerns for WDOC. Here, the state claimed to lose more staff than it could retain and that these vacancies led to increases in overtime pay. The proposed closure would allow the state to immediately reduce high levels of overtime, noting that “nearly a quarter of those hours were incurred at the Monroe Correctional Complex,” which included WSR, WDOC’s prime target for closure. 

    But, this proposed closure was to be a “warm closure,” meaning the prison would leave the lights on and keep a skeleton crew of guards working nearly empty units. This type of closure would allow the prison to reopen, at a later date, without having to bring the 100-year-old infrastructure up to code before repopulating the cellblocks. Two years later, WSR is now gearing up to do just that. 

    WARM CLOSURE

    Robert Alderson, one of a handful of prisoners who remained at WSR after the “warm closure,” recently transferred from there to the Washington Corrections Center. He told Shadowproof, “When I left, [WDOC was] taking bids to repaint and resurface the units. They just put new mattresses in all the cells and installed a brand new WiFi system.” 

    “The closure of WSR was abolition in one respect,” said Darrell Jackson, member of the Black Prisoners Caucus and Co-Chair of BPC TEACH. “It abolished those groups. The things DOC took during the pandemic were the very things you guys had there at WSR. We didn’t have those things at the other prisons where I was at, but because you guys had them there, we were able to fight for them as well. Now they just don’t exist at all, and DOC ain’t giving them back.” 

    Jackson’s comments echo the fears of some incarcerated organizers as WDOC began maneuvering to “close” WSR. And this possibility was obvious to most of the people involved in liberation efforts across the state. 

    Vincent “Tank” Sherrill is a champion of abolition efforts in Washington state, a longtime leader in the BPC, and one of the prisoners displaced by the closure of WSR. Tank reminisced about what prisoners had. “We created an activist and organizer university inside the Reformatory,” he said. “We were literally given the tools to dismantle the master’s house right under the master’s nose.” 

    Nothing exemplifies Tank’s point more than the work now being conducted by those who benefited from the Underground Railroad at WSR. Many of those who were liberated from there are now in society, participating in and building new structures to displace the carceral state. 

    Devon Adams and Matt Murphy (also formerly incarcerated at WSR) pose with other Seattle-based youth at a trauma retreat in San Francisco. (Credit: Devon Adams)
    Devon Adams and Matt Murphy (also formerly incarcerated at WSR) pose with other Seattle-based youth at a trauma retreat in San Francisco. (Credit: Devon Adams & Matt Murphy)

    Devon Adams was released in 2021 from a 30-year year sentence. Once a leader in both the BPC and CLO, Adams currently works with Collective Justice, providing trauma-informed training to youth most likely to be involved with gun violence.  

    “We actually have to take these kids out of town in order to get them to relax and feel safe enough to fully engage in this process,” Adams said. A former victim and participant in street violence, he is acutely familiar with the social pressure and fear these youth face in the streets. Adams is taking what he learned from HEAL and applying it to this next generation of youth, disrupting cycles of violence that the carceral state exploits in order to keep the prison industrial complex alive. 

    When asked about the role prisoner-led organizations at WSR played in his life, one word jumps out from the rest: “community.” Adams told Shadowproof that the community found at WSR was like no other and that it helped him answer questions about who he could be. “When I got out, that community was intact, allowing me to continue the work we were doing inside now that I am free.” 

    Eugene Youngblood, another beneficiary of the Underground Railroad, is also applying what he learned at WSR in the community since his release. Youngblood says, “Once, I was on one side of the gun, now I’m on the other side of the gun, working with families of gun victims.” Youngblood currently works through the Freedom Project and dream.org, where he does court support, violence interruption, and teaches classes at the King County Juvenile Detention Center.

    Youngblood told Shadowproof, “People don’t change, they heal.” He said that relationships with community members, especially the frequency and consistency of those relationships at WSR, were what made the difference. “It is impossible to replicate the involvement of the community without the actual involvement of community.” He believes this is what gave prisoners at WSR chances like those he enjoyed and that these relationships “benefited everyone except for DOC.”

    Abolition-minded prisoners who stood against the closure of WSR understood that prisons are not in the business of decarceration. So, when WDOC came out with their plan to shut down the prison, many saw this as a maneuver to kill two birds with one stone: WDOC would reallocate money while eliminating opposition groups that had grown over decades at WSR—groups that existed nowhere else in the state prison system. 

    Long accustomed to practicing the discipline of hope, some initially approached this with optimism. Tank told Shadowproof that when he first heard about the closure, he imagined “those of us with the training spreading the seeds of abolition, revolution, and transformation like Johnny Appleseed.” But, this vision has been stymied through actions by WDOC to limit and prevent this very thing from happening, lending evidence to the theory that the closure was about furthering oppression. 

    The social and political landscape inside prisons that emerged from the closure of WSR reveals a design beyond addressing fiscal concerns. Since the closure, WDOC has prevented similar groups from forming at new facilities. Meanwhile, the few bastions of transformation that once existed outside of WSR in Washington prisons — culture groups and BPC TEACH — are now under attack as well. 

    Tank now laments the landscape prisoners are facing in WDOC. He said the Black Prisoner’s Caucus has recently come under attack and is “fighting for its existence.” 

    Felix Sitthivong, a proponent for the closure of WSR, is now currently fighting with WDOC for the existence of cultural groups at Stafford Creek Corrections Center

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    CRACKING DOWN

    At Washington Corrections Center, prisoners were able to start the Concerned Lifer’s Organization (CLO), only to have prison administrators kill the organization after two months of meetings. When Dr. Katherine Beckett—a lead sponsor for the CLO and esteemed member of the community—inquired about the matter, she was told the group was canceled because another administrator at the prison didn’t follow clerical procedure. The CLO was told that a series of paperwork and approvals would be necessary in order to meet again. 

    Over the next five months, CLO sponsors worked with prison administrators to restart the group. After supplying the newly required paperwork, sponsors were told the group would not be allowed going forward because sponsors could not prove the value of the organization. Meanwhile, DOC Media Relations Manager Tobby Hatley told reporters that the Washington Department of Corrections had never heard of the Concerned Lifer’s Organization—a program with a 50-year history at WSR. 

    Then, in August 2023, this author published an op-ed with the Seattle Times excoriating the Washington Department of Corrections for attacking programs in the state’s prisons. The article elicited push-back from the community and engaged Secretary Strange on the issue of the Concerned Lifer’s Organization being canceled. Initially, Strange denied the claims in the article, but after CLO sponsors presented evidence to Strange, Washington Corrections Center suddenly saw the value of the organization. In September of that year, the group was reinstated. 

    This episode illustrates the propensity of oppressive forces to attack transformative spaces but also shows that, through community action and solidarity, wins can be secured against the carceral state. This leaves organizers like this author considering that the transformative space we had at WSR could have been saved through solidarity. 

    Another transformative space to come under attack by WDOC is BPC TEACH, an education program that facilitates liberation education, providing access for prisoners to obtain college degrees. 

    In the winter of 2022, WDOC leveraged Fabian’s Fund, the financier of BPC TEACH, into a Memorandum of Understanding.  This contract set restrictions and established a kill mechanism in its charter. At the time, journalists Chris Blackwell and myself reported to the Everett Herald that this bullied them into an arrangement feeling “an awful lot like a knee above their necks, thinly veiled as a promise to let them breathe.” In May 2023, the knee dropped, and WDOC severed the ability of BPC TEACH to fund its students, leaving prisoners without the ability to continue their degrees.

    Atif Rafay is an incarcerated journalist, abolitionist, and scholar. When WSR closed, he was transferred within the Monroe Correctional Complex to the Twin Rivers facility. One fence line now separates him from the ghost of WSR. Rafay told Shadowproof, “The hub of activity at WSR that made for expanding networks of opportunity and participation in the world of new ideas and movements has been smashed…” He noted that no one in the new institution he ended up in just across the fence has the opportunity to “work with free people on projects (educational, professional, or otherwise) that would permit them to develop or display the qualities that would have to be observed for them to merit employment or clemency.” 

    In other words, WDOC will not allow any new Devon Adams or Eugene Youngbloods to develop within these walls and fences. Rafay’s analysis of the closure was that it was “designed to make incarceration more efficient and cheap, as well as to disable the movements that were critical of mass incarceration.” His sentiment is shared by many. 

    When asked if the voices who supported the closure of WSR aided WDOC in this objective, Rafay took a breath, then said, “They helped misrepresent a cost-cutting plan that smashed the networks most effective in enabling prisoners to engage in meaningful activity… and they perpetuated the confusion between genuinely transformative decarceral changes and plans that distract or deter prisoners from pursuing those changes.” 

    Sitthivong, as a prominent voice for the closure, wrote, “the programming either goes where we go, no matter where we go, or it should cease to exist.” But others argue social networks and transformative structures are not shrubs. You can’t just pick them up from here and plant them there, expecting they will function. Not when oppressors own the soil. Sitthivong did not see it this way, and some felt the division he fomented drowned out more reasoned voices that were fighting against the interests of WDOC, trying to hold on to the Underground Railroad. 

    That these programs should “cease to exist” was the endeavor of WDOC, and abolitionists should have stood in solidarity against the interests of these oppressors. It is unclear if solidarity could have changed the outcome. But some are arguing that voices siding with WDOC undermined resistance efforts to hold on to the Underground Railroad built by prisoners at WSR. 

    Shadowproof caught up with Sitthivong, who was a Marvel Cooke Fellow in 2022, to get his perspective on the closure and its impact on abolitionist work in the state. 

    “In hindsight, I wish we had stuck together and made sure it stayed closed instead of dividing us and allowing DOC to do soft closure,” Sitthivong said in an interview. “We should have demanded they actually release people instead of fighting for a structure.”

    “But for me, the silver lining was we were able to go to these other facilities, highlight the other facilities that were malnourished and did not have support but were also our peers and our colleagues. An effort to keep [WSR open] was almost an effort to horde the resources rather than say, hey, systemically, 90 percent of the prisons were not being served, prisoners were left to fend for themselves. Now we have this organizing space here at a different facility. So it wasn’t a building or prison or bars; it was us. And I think a lot of people forget that.” 

    Sitthivong said he disagreed with the notion that the closure hurt abolitionist organizing. “The abolitionist community that I am from and represent and organize with that’s been split up are still organizing, are still fighting. I just went through retaliation for organizing. This is nothing new for people who have been in movements and struggle for generations and carry that legacy. We continue to spread the word, and wherever we touch down we provide resources and continue to empower our people and shift power from the state to our people. That’s the mission, that’s the goal.” 

    “Even though I have very strong stances, I love my community with all my heart,” he said. “I want to be able to humanize people’s fears and humanize people’s concerns. I don’t want to be like, “Oh, I don’t give a shit.” I don’t want to come off like that. I want to honor that and still [have the others] also honor our position. Honor that there were sacrifices made before you.”

    “They had a building called the [Prisoner Activity Building or PAB] at WSR that was fought for, prisoners fought for that space to have a place to organize,” Sitthivong reflected. “And I believe personally, in my heart, that prisoners who fought for that space fought for it not to strengthen the prison but to get free. I think that some of the narrative behind keeping the prison open is that, since prisoners fought for the PAB, it would be a shame to close it down. No, I think that actually disrespects the legacy of resistance. We can’t disrespect that legacy, and we can’t drop the baton. I feel like using that space to add more bars and razor wire; it just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

    PRISON REALISM

    We will do well to remember this: the carceral state is a rational actor playing a zero-sum game, and we should analyze its actions through the lens of Realism, the very lens that informs its calculus. The carceral state does not seek actions that work towards its own demise. 

    What happens when the next cost-cutting move is disguised by the carceral state as decarceration? Will members of our community, in attempts to achieve change, side with the interests of state entities like WDOC in the future? 

    This author fears the answer is yes, and predicts we will see this play out in Washington State in the 2024 legislative session. 

    In a 2022 interview on Inside Olympia, WDOC Secretary Cheryl Strange stated that 30,000 individuals are waiting to be sentenced by the courts. Of those, 10,000 are charged with violent felonies. This will invariably mean reopening prisons like WSR, prisons that never really closed anyway. But the math does not work. Adding this many potential new prisoners would put the Washington prison population way over capacity. 

    The predicted influx is, for various fiscal and logistical concerns, more than the state can manage. There is not currently enough money in the budget nor staff available to run prisons at their former capacity, let alone at a greater one. In fact, none of the staffing concerns that allegedly drove the closure of WSR were addressed, and prisons across the state now regularly shut down recreation, education, and religious programs because of a lack of staff. 

    In response to this, as a blatant attempt to open up bed space for new prisoners, WDOC tried to slide a reiteration of a 2021 bill to increase good time (time taken off of prisoners’ sentences) by a third. But, they introduced the bill late in the 2023 session. This caused the bill to be delayed and postponed any hearing of the bill until the 2024 legislative session.

    In 2024, when this reform is heard, the voices of prisoners who stand to benefit will rise to the top of the discussion. They will create and insist on the narrative that this reform is decarceration. Those prisoners will muster what influence they can through privilege, family, and community in order to help WDOC pass their own legislation. 

    But the legislation itself will be problematic. Early versions of the bill contain language that cuts people out from the proposed relief by excluding those with mandatory minimum sentences. This exclusion will disparately impact communities of color as disproportionate numbers of BIPOC men and women are sentenced under the mandatory minimum schemes this legislation seeks to exclude. 

    The result of this proposed “decarceration” plan will be to force local organizers and organizations like Look2Justice to exert massive amounts of energy in the next legislative session to make this legislation less harmful to the community. The energy spent attempting to mitigate the harm of this proposed reform will detract from work towards transformation. 

    In the end, some prisoners will go home, but no meaningful change will occur. WDOC will conservatively repossess 30 percent of those who were released within three years. No significant human capital will be lost, and the system will continue on, uninterrupted. The prisoners who do go home will do so at the cost of WDOC having a tighter grasp on the rest the carceral state will continue on with the status quo. This is not decarceration.

    HELPING THE STATE FAIL

    Mariame Kaba tells us, “Community matters. Collectivity matters. To me, that’s the whole thing. And if we can’t get along with each other, and we can’t take responsibility for what we do with each other, then what the hell are we doing?” 

    The voices that spoke for the closure of WSR caused harm and assisted the carceral state in its objective to both save money and disempower abolition structures that took decades for prisoners to build at WSR. These voices carried water for the man. The voices of those who will speak for the proposed “third off” bill in Washington’s 2024 legislative session will also be carrying water for The Man. This will be done by putting energy into helping WDOC pass a bill that benefits the carceral state in the long term. 

    As we struggle to create abolition, it is vital for us to learn from each other, to have accountability, and to maintain—and sometimes reestablish—solidarity along the way. We are all going to get it wrong sometimes. But when we do, we have to be able to analyze that, explore how it impacted our efforts, and apply those lessons to the future. We desperately need to get on the same page, or people with power will continue to divide and distract us from achieving the transformation we so desire. 

    As abolitionists, we should let the carceral state fight for what is its own. Our energy could be better spent helping the state fail than helping it succeed. We should be focused on building systems of social support to replace it rather than keeping it from collapsing under the weight of its own bloated grotesqueness. When the carceral state is in crisis, it will seek remedies to further its own existence. As abolitionists, we should never align with those interests. Even when they look like wins for our movement, they are not.

    The post In Washington State, Prison Closure Divides Abolitionist Community appeared first on Shadowproof.

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  • WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange and his legal team believe that Assange may be extradited to the United States before the end of summer.

    It is unfortunately time for us to prepare for court proceedings, and so far, you came through for us marvelously.

    I am so grateful to our readers for exceeding our goal of raising $1,000 to support my coverage of Assange’s U.S. court proceedings. You raised over $3,000.

    Now that we have plenty to cover the costs of traveling to Alexandria, Virginia, if Assange is arraigned, let’s build on this momentum and raise our goal to support our coverage going forward.

    Donate $50 to help us reach $5,000 and establish an independent journalism fund that will ensure I am at any US proceedings that are convened in 2023.

    We know the prestige media won’t do this case justice, so it’s important to have independent media like Shadowproof there to give it the attention it deserves.

    But each reporting trip will require Shadowproof to spend money on airfare ($400 round trip), taxi or Uber/Lyft rides ($150+), and food and incidental expenses ($150+). We also may need to pay for lodging, which can run over $100 a night.

    The bigger our budget, the easier it will be for us to plan our travel and coverage—including collaborating with other reporters to produce the most robust reporting on Assange’s prosecution possible. 

    Can you help me cover the costs of regularly traveling to Alexandria, Virginia, to report on the next chapter in a prosecution by the United States that puts all journalists at risk?

    I have reported extensively on the Assange case since 2010. This year, I published Guilty of Journalism: The Political Case Against Julian Assange to help the public understand the stakes of this case.

    In recent years, donors like you have funded my work on this case as I provided live court updates from London and published detailed articles for subscribers of Shadowproof’s newsletter The Dissenter

    I earned recognition in 2013 from PBS FRONTLINE for my journalism on the military court-martial against Chelsea Manning.

    Andrew Cockburn, DC editor for Harper’s Magazine, praised my reporting on Assange while critiquing the prestige media for their lack of coverage and interest in this unprecedented case.

    Can you chip in $25 and ensure I am in court to document the initial phase of US proceedings against Assange? 

    The post What’s Next In The Julian Assange Case appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • This article was funded by the Marvel Cooke Fellowship. Read more about this reporting project and make a contribution to fund our fellowship budget.

    Exhausted, I grudgingly open my eyes and pat my blanket as I awkwardly search for my phone. I open Twitter to see that my account has blown up. As I search my DMs to read the comments of support, a warm calming feeling covers me. My eyes well up in tears as I read one comment in particular. “We are better with you here.” 

    That is all it said. So few words – but exactly what I needed to hear. I remember the night before thinking how I probably shouldn’t post the tweet but I had no one to talk to. A person should never have to ask themselves if they would be better off dead or back in prison. Still, after less than six months out back on the streets, I felt overwhelmed and hopeless. I asked myself if I should just check out.

    My name is Jessica Sylvia and I am a 47-year-old formerly incarcerated trans woman. I was released on June 20, 2022 after serving 222 months for a domestic violence-related crime involving my mother’s ex-husband. 

    I consider the prison system to be nothing but state-sanctioned human trafficking. Kidnapping and caging a person does not equal accountability; it perpetuates violence. The human trafficking economy may not create safety, but it is big money. The United States spends $81 billion every year to incarcerate people. That number does not include all of the money generated around contracts that provide “care” and “services” For example, treatment is necessary. People need to communicate with their families and buy food. All of that costs money. The total incarceration economy could actually equal hundreds of billions annually. How many people have an economic interest in maintaining incarceration?

    No one is surprised to hear that post-incarceration life is difficult and it is extremely easy to get sent back to prison. According to Harvard Political Review, two out of three are rearrested within three years of release, and 50 percent are re-incarcerated. There are many structural reasons for that uncomfortable statistic. It is more difficult than ever for people in the U.S. to secure housing, but it’s a genuine crisis for formerly incarcerated people, who are 10 times more likely to experience homelessness. We are all obligated to pay our bills, but there is no guarantee of work. The unemployment rate for the formerly incarcerated is 27 percent – which is higher than it was for the U.S. during The Great Depression. 

    With challenges like that just to secure basic needs, how can we expect formerly incarcerated people to succeed? Rebuilding a life after years in a cage is a daunting task and some of those challenges are quantified and documented. But there are many more complicated, nuanced challenges that are less popularly known and harder to turn into data.

    Meeting New People

    Safear was released after doing eight years in prison. Safear is active in his community and has a support system that provided him with a part-time job and a place to live as soon as he was released. 

    “For the average person without a job or housing lined up, it is just too hard,” Safear tells me. “When people know you have been to prison, they usually don’t want anything to do with you. They show it in their body language. I don’t even apply for jobs or housing because chances are you will be denied. Having a record impacts you psychologically.” 

    Even though Safear had an iPhone before he was incarcerated, he tells me that he struggles to keep up with technology. “Just the amount of apps I’m on is overwhelming,” Safear says. “But the hardest thing has been time management. Time stands still in prison. Out here things are moving so fast it can feel overwhelming.” I relate to what Safear is telling me. Prison time moves extremely slowly. Suddenly a person feels as if they are living in fast-forward.

    Kenneth Agtuca knows that shock as well as anyone. Now 70, Ken spent 50 years incarcerated. At age 17 in 1970, Ken was the youngest person living in The Washington State Penitentiary. His story reads a little like an action movie. As a young man, Ken earned a reputation as a fearless outlaw. He was charged under the habitual criminal act for his activities while incarcerated, extending his sentence to life without parole. In 1992, he escaped and was on the run for several months. He was eventually captured in Reno, Nevada. Federal charges soon followed after he was identified in a string of bank robberies. Ken ended up in Marion—a federal prison with a bad reputation. Ken had resigned himself to the thought of living the rest of his life in prison due to both state and federal sentences. In 2015, an unexpected change in the law offered him a chance at parole.

    Ken went to a work release in January 2020 and was formally paroled the following October. He moved in with family but lived a fairly independent life. “Meeting people for the first time was the hardest thing to do,” Ken tells me in a deep gravelly voice. “I was locked up for 50 years and I had to explain where I have been. I didn’t want people to know about my past. I wanted to be seen as normal. I was in four different books and wanted nothing to do with the stigma of criminalization.”

    I reflect deeply on my own experience as Ken explains himself to me. Ken is a thoughtful and intelligent man. I get the sense he was as crafty as he was daring in his youth. Much older now, he carries the weight of his reputation as a curse. This is not the same man who was convicted of those crimes.

    “I dodged a lot of questions and felt like I had to lie to feel normal,” he tells me. The self-censoring Ken describes is common for people who have been to prison. We understand that people will view us differently for our past. As a result, we often engage in code-switching. We feel at ease and reveal much of our lives to some people. To others, we find ways to hide the gaps or even conjure up stories of a fictional past. It is an awful feeling to know that your truth will likely frighten others and result in your abandonment. 

    Ken explains that he could be truthful in substance use treatment groups. There, he found a judgment-free zone where folks are grappling with addiction. Other formerly incarcerated people in those groups understand what it is like to be criminalized. Still, Ken feels uncomfortable with being viewed as a legend by some who glamorize violence and admire his outlaw antics. He wants to build a new life and meet new people who will support him in making positive decisions.

    Like Ken and Safear, I was one of the fortunate people released from prison with a place to live. I have managed to get by as a self-employed community organizer, consultant, and freelance journalist. Even though I have had housing, after 18 years in prison, at times I felt like a refugee. I had no clothes and no belongings. I spent much of the first two months going to appointments and gathering the things I needed – it felt like a treasure hunt! Almost everyone I knew still lived in prison. I appeared in the world out of nowhere and was starting over from scratch.

    I can remember being at the grocery store and feeling surprised by how nice people are. I was used to being treated pretty badly by guards. Every day was fun and I cherished every first-time experience. I was excited to get my life back and I really wanted to date. 

    It had been many years since I had the opportunity to be alone with someone. I soon found out that dating wasn’t easy. Like Ken, I have this huge gap in my life that I have to explain. I decided to just be honest. I felt like getting the deal-breakers out of the way would be the best way to go. I dealt with the transgender issue and the prison thing the same way. I would get hundreds of hits on a dating app every day. Guys often just swipe after seeing a picture and don’t read the profile. I thought it was odd how many cops were hitting on me. I was kicked off Tinder within weeks, after several reports that I was a felon. I had no idea the popular app is one of many that bans convicted felons.

    I went months dating and trying to figure out the right time to tell people about my past. I avoided guys that I suspected were using drugs or that I thought would be trouble. The mature guys I was interested in didn’t want anything to do with me after hearing about my time in prison. It is hard enough for a trans woman where I live. Add criminalization to the situation and it feels hopeless. I started future-tripping; It’s a mind fuck.

    The Supervision Stranglehold

    I remember learning that I would have a community custody term of four years. That means I have conditions placed on me and I could be sent back to prison without breaking the law. For example, I am not allowed to have pepper spray. I am seen as a threat and not the vulnerable trans woman that I am. With anti-trans violence at record highs, living and dating in a small conservative town scares me. 

    I can expect Department of Corrections (DOC) officers wearing bulletproof vests to beat on my door with flashlights every month unannounced. There can be no alcohol in the house. Something as innocent as my mother keeping a bottle of wine on the kitchen counter could get me violated and sent to jail. I panic just thinking who the hell would want to live with me for the next four years. 

    I must attend domestic violence classes every week for a year and it will cost me about $2000. The crime happened nearly 20 years ago and I barely even remember it. What good is this supposed to do? My community corrections officer (CCO) tells me if I am not enrolled by the end of the month he will violate me. I get the feeling he would enjoy violating me.

    I was told the chemical dependency class I completed in prison doesn’t count. Even though I completed it in prison as a condition of my sentence, DOC doesn’t honor it unless it is completed within the last six months of a sentence. Only a small percentage graduate during that small window at the end of their sentence. I graduated a year before release, so I am forced to take yet another assessment. Going to a treatment center for an assessment is a little like going to a barber and asking if they think you need a haircut; they profit from providing the service.

    The millions of dollars appropriated for these prison programs are wasted on profits for what is too often euphemistically called “treatment.” The public should be aware of this. That money could actually go towards housing or education. 

    Even though I have already paid thousands of dollars over the last 20 years I still owe over $15,000 in court fines due to compound interest. Thinking about all of the conditions, fines, classes, and appointments for the next four years makes me nauseous. I feel my dream of finishing my undergraduate degree slipping away. I am not sure how I will be able to work full-time and accomplish all that is expected of me. I feel as though I only exist so that others can extract value from me. I am trying my best but have just enough time, energy, and money left to survive. 

    Safear is on parole for the next nine years—an incredibly long period of time to be vulnerable to mostly arbitrary rearrest. He tells me that he has a 7 p.m. curfew, which can cause a person to miss out on basic life experiences, like dinner with a friend. 

    Safear is also required to do counseling and says he has three different counselors. Recently, he had an issue that resulted in a dangerous “no show” when he couldn’t make a session because of work.  Safear says he left a message with his counselor but due to a mistake, they didn’t get it. The counselor reported him to the parole agent as a “no-show” for a session. 

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    “Counselors, new counselors, have no idea how what they report to agents, the impact that has on a person,” Safear said. “A parole agent could do a technical violation for six months. It was a mistake of someone failing to log the message I left.” I sense the mix of fear and frustration in his voice as he continues.

    “A technical violation could result in a halfway-back house where you go… it’s like a prison on the streets. You can’t go outside there and have to schedule visits. You have to schedule programming throughout the day.”

    “The guidelines are so difficult that it seems like you are set up for failure,” he explained. “It’s like walking a tightrope. The pressure you feel to try to keep everything together.”

    “The counseling is only open weekdays until 3 p.m. How do you take that time off from work? They say it’s your problem. I understand the reason why people being supervised sounds like a good idea. Supervision actually becomes a hindrance to succeeding.” 

    I ask Safear what would help him. “Not having the pressure of going back to jail for a technical violation would help me the most.”

    “What that pressure does to a person’s mental health is awful. We have to make the distinction between technical violations and actual lawbreaking behavior. The pressure is unreal,” he said. “Technical parole violations should be abolished. How could you send someone back to prison for a technical violation?”  

    Kenneth Agtuca was violated and sent back to prison for having a drink at a casino on his birthday. The federal parole agent gave him 60 days of no casinos and a breathalyzer requirement for his vehicle. The state parole people were less forgiving, deciding on three years in prison. Ken is currently incarcerated at the Stafford Creek Corrections Center.

    The Slave Catchers

    Whether a person has to report to a parole agent or a community CCO (or whatever title they have), it feels like being on a leash. Every person who has to report hopes they get lucky enough to have a chill CCO. 

    They have such wide discretion, and the arbitrary nature of supervision feels peculiar. A CCO may decide to impose conditions or not as a matter of how they see a situation. For that reason, the biases of a particular CCO play a big role in one’s fate. As a trans woman, I never quite know how a person will react to me. 

    When I met my CCO, I could tell he was an austere and conservative man. He seemed very skeptical about my line of work and aspirations to be self-employed. He soon demanded that I provide proof of paychecks and told me I am expected to work full-time. I soon learned that he had a very low opinion of me. Maybe having 1312 tatted on my fingers along with a big A on my right hand pissed him off. 

    He made several comments about my body and clothing during check-ins. On one occasion it was my pink heels he didn’t like. Another time he bra-checked me and told me I need to dress appropriately, whatever that means. I wasn’t breaking any dress codes and thought I looked just fine. It was eerily similar to the times when prison guards pulled me aside to bra-check me or examine my appearance. It is degrading and insulting.

    I already have a fear of men in uniforms from years of shitty prison experiences and my trauma was triggered the first time my CCO yelled at me. The second time, I asked him why it seems like he is always chewing me out. He immediately started yelling at me that, if I wanted him to chew me out, he could do that. I commented that I am sure he is very good at that. At that moment, his boss interrupted to pull him aside. I was afraid the guy was going to lose his temper and taser me or something. I was afraid to be in a room alone with him. 

    The next time I saw him, he started yelling at me in his office and he kicked me out for a minute so he could regain his composure. It was really starting to scare me. I confided in my therapist about the situation. She was deeply concerned that this guy had some kind of underlying rage about me that was coming out in routine interactions. I believe that my own community organizing work inspired her and she did something very unusual. She intervened and scheduled a meeting with his boss. After that, the yelling stopped and I was never alone in a room with him again. I don’t know what I would have done without the support of that therapist. My family was also starting to get worried but didn’t know how to help me. People are often afraid of confronting people with authority and worry that doing so may make things worse. 

    I did a public disclosure request on my file and found some concerning things. It appeared that my classification risk level had somehow changed from low to high. My CCO documented comments that DOC should monitor me to make sure I am not taking advantage of my mother’s generosity. I read an entry that suggested I should lower my goals. One of the incidents where he yelled at me actually read that he had to calm me down, which was not what had happened. I was shocked at what I read.

    Safear tells me, “The parole agent always says you have to try harder and do better. It’s like climbing a mountain with no climbing gear.” Just like my CCO, Safear’s parole officer comes to his residence randomly and unannounced. 

    “I live with 2 other people and one is immunocompromised,” he said. “This parole agent goes from house to house and my roommates are terrified that he could bring a disease with him.”  

    Safear tells me that his parole officer once visited him just to ask him about his activism. I get the feeling it was out of concern and not support. As prison abolitionists, Safear and I know our values conflict with the people who have power over us. Mine seemed to be intent on breaking me. I worry about Safear.

    An Uncertain Future

    I stated earlier that, within three years, two out of three are rearrested again and 50 percent are re-incarcerated. Ken was arrested and back in prison. According to those odds, either Safear or myself will be arrested in the next couple of years and there’s a strong chance one of us will be back in prison.

    Over a prison phone, Kenneth Agtuca tells me, “I find myself thinking about the people that I am going to associate with and how I am going to do things. I have a life max and they can violate me without cause. There is a fear that it is looming, it is all around you. You don’t even have to be guilty. Under my guidelines, they can violate me without cause just for being under suspicion.” 

    Ken doesn’t make excuses or complain about being sent back to prison. He knows that he doesn’t have any room for error and can’t let his guard down. It isn’t enough to simply obey the law now. Ken has to be squeaky clean if he has any hope of freedom. As a Native American, I know Ken has the support of his tribe. That support can carry him a long way if he can navigate the minefield laid out by the state. 

    On May 18th, I arrive at the DOC office to check in with my CCO. A DOC officer approaches the mirrored window to inform me that my CCO no longer works at that office. I contain my excitement as he calls me back to his office. This guy is different; I get the sense he doesn’t hate me. I have a short conversation with him about how things are going for me. I have been checking in for nearly a year and things are pretty routine. I have never had a violation and I am doing my best to establish myself in the world. I expressed some concerns over my high violent classification and he notices some discrepancies in my file. “Hmm, I’ll check into this,” he tells me. The difference between this guy and my old CCO is amazing. I feel like he sees me as a human being.

    A few hours later, I am home working on this story and I get a call. It’s the officer I spoke to earlier. He tells me that he put in some paperwork that was approved. I don’t have to check in for another 6 months. I am absolutely astonished. A sense of relief covers my entire body. I thanked him and before hanging up, he tells me, “Just remember, we’re not all bad.” I am sure he saw the 1312 blasted across my right fingers. 

    I understand what he is doing. He wants to give me hope and change my attitude about the police. I appreciate him; I just think he misunderstands me. I don’t think that all police officers are bad people. I don’t want to dehumanize anyone and hope to be treated like a human being myself. I just happen to believe that policing dehumanizes us all—even the police. If anything, I’m concerned about what it will do to him.

    The post Rebuilding A Life After Years In A Cage appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • Originally published at Ongoing History of Protest Music

    John Wayne slaughtered our Indian brothers
    Burned their villages and raped their mothers
    Now he has given them a white man’s lord
    ‘Live by this, or die by my sword!’


    These are lyrics from “John Wayne Was A Nazi” a scathing tune by hardcore pioneers MDC. The single was originally released a year after Wayne’s death in 1980 when they were known as The Stains. After changing their name, it appeared on their 1982 debut album “Millions Of Dead Cops.”

    The song challenged the celebrated actor for his bigotry and role in helping to prop up an oppressive colonial system. It referred to his movies that often portrayed Wayne as a heroic cowboy fighting against the villainous Native Americans.

    Wayne’s film portrayals weren’t far off from his real-world views. For example, in a 1972 Playboy interview, Wayne said: “I don’t feel we did wrong in taking this great country away from them, if that’s what you’re asking. Our so-called stealing of this country from them was just a matter of survival.”

    “There were great numbers of people who needed new land, and the Indians were selfishly trying to keep it for themselves.”

    Elsewhere in the interview, Wayne also stated “I believe in white supremacy until the blacks are educated to a point of responsibility. I don’t believe in giving authority and positions of leadership and judgment to irresponsible people.”

    It is no wonder that the song declares, “When I see John, I’m ashamed to be white.”

    Recently, Canadian hardcore band Fucked Up and Indigenous EDM act Halluci Nation reworked the tune.

    Halluci Nation’s Ehren “Bear Witness” Thomas declared, “The song has been with me since high school. The song and MDC have stuck with me over the years. It’s got rage to it and that message, but I love that there’s a dark humor to it as well. It really fits in with the way we make music and visuals, with the message that we try to put forward about confronting one-dimensional misrepresentations of indigenous people in the media. John Wayne becomes a stand-in for the entire colonial project.”

    “For me, it’s like this: you watch The Searchers in school, and John Wayne is presented very much as an iconic North American type of figure,” added Fucked Up vocalist Damian Abraham. “As a young punk kid hearing this song for the first time, it did change the way I looked at him — it subverted it to where all of a sudden the hero is the villain, and you can see what’s going on in pop culture.”

    “As a young punk kid, this song was one of the first that showed the cracks in that veneer.”

    Exposing those cracks is an important step in tearing down oppressive colonial systems and rebuilding an equitable society.

    Listen to “John Wayne Was A Nazi” By Fucked Up & The Halluci Nation:

    The post Protest Song Of The Week: ‘John Wayne Was a Nazi’ By Fucked Up & The Halluci Nation appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • When the state House and Senate passed a five-year moratorium on building any new prisons and jails last year, those who had spent years fighting against the construction of a new women’s prison thought that the Legislature was finally listening.

    But, in one of his last moves in office last August, former Gov. Charlie Baker vetoed the bill. Now, under Gov. Maura Healey, the new women’s prison is back on the table. What’s more, the state agencies in charge of prisons and public construction are blocking public records requests from activists opposed to the project for meeting minutes and other planning documents.

    According to activists who requested those records, the state’s Division of Capital Asset Management and Maintenance, or DCAMM, and the state Department of Correction are refusing to share information about the project’s progress with concerned citizens through a controversial exemption to the state’s public records law known as the “deliberative process exemption.” 

    Organizations and people concerned about the expansion of prisons in Massachusetts have received heavily redacted copies of documents in two recent attempts at seeking public information about the project. DCAMM released bi-weekly meeting minutes dating from September to May, but most pages were completely redacted. 

    “The lack of transparency and accountability is unacceptable,” said Mallory Hanora, the executive director of Families for Justice as Healing, which is leading the #NoNewWomensPrison Campaign and requested the records. 

    As incarceration rates in Massachusetts continue to fall and alternatives to prison are organized and passed into law, the Department of Correction continues to insist that a $50 million new women’s prison project is necessary to eventually replace MCI-Framingham, which is the oldest continuously operating prison in the United States. Organizers fighting the project are struggling to gather information in a state with some of the most opaque public records laws in the country. Massachusetts is the only state where the Legislature, courts and governor’s office all claim to be entirely exempt from disclosure laws. Healey campaigned on the promise that she would be one of the most transparent governors in state history, but quickly backtracked on that once in office

    Hanora and her legal counsel are in the process of appealing the redactions. The most recent release from DCAMM included the list of state employees attending the bi-weekly planning meetings. The names John Rose and Sean Foley — both listed as construction coordinators for the Department of Correction — are bad news to the project’s opponents. 

    According to Massachusetts public records law, the deliberative process exemption that DCAMM is citing applies to “inter-agency or intra-agency memoranda or letters relating to policy positions being developed by the agency.”

    “This subclause shall not apply to reasonably completed factual studies or reports on which the development of such policy positions has been or may be based,” the law reads. 

    The exemption is one of 23 such exemptions in Massachusetts. It divides all governmental information into two categories: “fact” and “opinion.” Factual information — like whether a final decision has been made about the prison project — is not protected by the exemption and must be made available to the public. The exemption protects “pre-decisional” and opinion-based information — the initial recommendation of a policy-maker, for instance. 

    “According to the Secretary of State’s Guide on Massachusetts Public Records Law, state agencies can withhold documents chronicling discussions related to ‘legal and policy matters,’ but they must reveal factual matters involved in the deliberative process,” said Catherine Sevcenko, who is senior counsel for the National Council for Incarcerated & Formerly Incarcerated Women and Girls, of which FJAH is a member. 

    Sevcenko said that it’s unclear what the agency has redacted, but that “blacking out 90% of a document on the grounds that it reflects opinion rather than facts is concerning.” 

    “Either the decision to build a new women’s prison is being taken with a scant factual basis, or the Commonwealth is withholding information that citizens are entitled to know,” Sevcenko said. “Neither is acceptable.” 

    In its response to Hanora’s records request, DCAMM said that the redactions it made to the records were justified under the deliberative process exemption.

    “Please note, portions of the requested records have been withheld or redacted pursuant to the Deliberative Process Exemption set out at G.L. c. 4, § 7(26)(d) (‘Exemption (d)’),” the agency wrote in its response. “This exemption applies to inter-agency or intra-agency memoranda or letters relating to policy positions being developed by the agency, in this instance, policy relating to corrections in the Commonwealth.  Policy positions being developed by the agency is ongoing and therefore exempt from mandatory disclosure at this time.” 

    Hanora and other activists insist that they should have access to policy regarding women’s incarceration even as it’s being developed. FJAH is made up of, and works directly with, incarcerated and formerly incarcerated women, the demographic that will be most impacted by state decisions regarding the new prison. 

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    Deliberative process exemptions to public information laws have garnered controversy across the nation, not just in Massachusetts. 

    In 2019, for example, the Sierra Club challenged the use of a deliberative process exemption to the federal Freedom of Information Act in a case that made it all the way to the Supreme Court. In May 2021, the court’s justices ruled in favor of the exemption, saying that “facilitating agency candor in exercising its expertise in preliminary agency deliberations” can outweigh “transparency and accountability concerns.” Justice Amy Coney Barrett wrote the opinion, her first since joining the court. 

    The Sierra Club’s case was the first time that FOIA exemption had been addressed by the court in 20 years. Advocacy organizations like the American Civil Liberties Union, which filed an amicus brief in the case, were hopeful the court would strengthen FOIA, but its ruling further blurred the lines. According to the Yale Journal of Regulation, the decision “furthers government secrecy.” 

    Elsewhere, in Tennessee, Republican Gov. Bill Lee has drawn scrutiny for using that state’s deliberative process exemption frequently since 2019 to deny records to journalists and state representatives. 

    The use of the exemption here in Massachusetts raises concerns about government transparency on a costly and beleaguered project. And it’s not the first time that opponents of the project have raised alarms about DCAMM and DOC failing to meet legal obligations around communicating with the public. The project has been shrouded in secrecy since the state failed to properly advertise its first request for proposals in 2019. That initial proposal and a second were withdrawn after administrative challenges citing improper procedures were filed with the Massachusetts Attorney General Office’s Bid Unit during Healey’s tenure as attorney general.

    “This is typical of the DOC,” Hanora said. “Redacting notes about the new women’s prison project is just another example of how this rogue agency avoids accountability and the rest of the executive branch lets it happen.”

    Hanora said that incarcerated and formerly incarcerated women have been clear that there is “no such thing as a safe or trauma-informed prison,” despite what the DOC claims they hope to build. 
    “People are demanding that the state does something different and better for women than yet another prison where DOC’s abuse and medical neglect will certainly continue,” she added.

    Published in partnership with The Shoestring

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  • Daniel Ellsberg, the whistleblower and peace activist who released the Pentagon Papers that exposed the Vietnam War, has died at the age of 92. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer on February 17, and doctors gave him three to six months to live.

    He was a subscriber to Shadowproof’s Dissenter Newsletter. So it is only appropriate that I share some of my personal memories in honor of who he was and because he meant so much to so many people.

    Nearly two weeks after his diagnosis, Dan messaged his friends and supporters. That message was republished by various news media outlets as it circulated.

    “I feel lucky and grateful that I’ve had a wonderful life far beyond the proverbial three-score years and ten,” Dan wrote. “I feel the very same way about having a few months more to enjoy life with my wife and family, and in which to continue to pursue the urgent goal of working with others to avert nuclear war in Ukraine or Taiwan (or anywhere else).”

    Dan mentioned that his cardiologist had given him permission to abandon his salt-free diet, and that his energy level was high. He had done “several interviews and webinars on Ukraine, nuclear weapons, and first amendment issues.” He had two more scheduled interviews.

    One of those interviews was with me. In fact, around the same time that Daniel learned that he had cancer, I contacted him to ask if he would help me with the launch of my bookGuilty of Journalism: The Political Case Against Julian Assange. He already had given me a blurb for the book.

    Dan graciously agreed to talk with me once again about the Assange case. He even asked for a hard copy so that he could review the book. My publisher Censored Press quickly mailed a copy to him, and we planned to record on Wednesday, March 1.

    That became the day that friends and supporters of Dan were notified by him that he had cancer.

    When it was time for us to do the interview, Dan called me. He had not had a chance to read my book yet. Dan wanted to know if he could have a couple of hours to read the book and then we would record the interview. He even asked, which chapters should I read?

    I had asked Dan for an interview simply because I believed posting a conversation the same day that my book was released would help me get the attention of potential readers. I did not need him to prepare for the interview by familiarizing himself with specific sections of the book, and yet, that’s what Dan was willing to do because he was a generous person.

    The attention Dan gave to you was a sign of the love and respect that he had for those who were willing to fight for the same causes that were crucial to him.

    Dan logged on to record, but before he would allow me to start the interview, he brought up a couple errors, which he had identified in my book.

    The first error was in this paragraph from “The Abusive Grand Jury” chapter.

    After Pentagon Papers whistleblower Daniel Ellsberg, who worked for the RAND Corporation, provided copies of the Pentagon Papers to media organizations, the DOJ convened two grand juries in the Boston area—one in April 1971 that did not return any indictments and another in August 1971.

    Dan flatly told me that a grand jury investigation in April 1971 would have been impossible. I definitely was wrong, but I later showed him a declaration with his name on it that came from a lawsuit to force the release of grand jury records. It mentioned an April grand jury.

    “Ha ha! However, Kevin, that still doesn’t make sense, even if I said it,” Dan replied. According to Dan, law school students working with historian Jill Lepore, who filed the lawsuit, must have drafted the declaration. “It’s clear to me that I at least edited it, as well as signed it,” but that did not make the April date correct.

    The second error was in the chapter on “Standard News-Gathering Practices”:

    Thomas Kauper of the OLC advised White House Counsel John Dean that the Espionage Act would allow newspapers, and even “individual reporters,” to be prosecuted. Kauper further suggested the New York Times could be criminally charged for conspiring and encouraging the theft of the Pentagon Papers. But the US Supreme Court rejected the Nixon administration’s view and refused to issue an injunction against the Times or the Washington Post.  

    I had written a non sequitur. The Supreme Court did not rule on how far the Nixon administration could go in pursuing journalists for publishing leaks. The Supreme Court ruling only applied to prior restraint—whether the government could stop a newspaper from reporting on the Pentagon Papers. On that question, the Supreme Court decided the answer was no.

    But Dan was unaware of the advice from Kauper and was excited to learn about the Office of Legal Counsel memos reported by Reuters in June 2022.

    “Fascinating! I have to be selective in what investigations I want to prioritize in my remaining month(s), but this will be among them!” Dan wrote. He planned to read as much as he could about the memos, and see what John Dean remembered. “Nothing could be more relevant to the Assange case!”

    As we talked about the two sections of my book, Dan was tired and confused. He kept asking me over and over again about these parts, even though I had acknowledged the errors. It was the first time in my interactions with Dan—aside from some hearing problems—that his age really showed. Usually, he was cognitively sharp. We both recognized that it would be best to push our recording session to Friday.

    Not Able To Sleep

    On Friday, Dan was awake until 4 or 5 a.m. While he could not sleep, he read part of my book and a feature story in Harper’s Magazine from Washington, D.C., editor Andrew Cockburn that detailed how the media had failed Assange. Cockburn’s feature praised my coverage of both the Assange and Chelsea Manning’s cases as examples that other journalists should have followed. Dan called the feature “sensational” and said, “We must discuss it.”

    We talked for two hours. Before we officially started the interview, Dan went chapter-by-chapter to inform me of what he had read. “I’m kind of rundown, I’m afraid. It’s not the best day, like the other day,” Dan said. From 1:30 to 2:30 a.m., he was up reading my chapter on the Espionage Act “very carefully.”

    Dan asked why I omitted many of the details related to the Swedish extradition case from the book. While we discussed my reasons (the sexual allegations were not part of the U.S. case against him), Dan mentioned that he had spoken to Assange about the allegations. Assange had accepted that he behaved in an “ungentlemanly” manner with the two women. And though he did not deserve to be criminally charged, Assange recognized how his actions might lead someone to view him as a “chauvinistic pig.”

    “What is your personal opinion of the Russiagate allegations?” Dan had not had a chance to read the Russiagate chapter, but he was interested in my position.

    After we went back and forth on Assange’s claim that he had not received the Clinton campaign emails from a “state party,” Dan commented on Trump adviser Roger Stone, who repeatedly exaggerated and fabricated claims about his communications with WikiLeaks.

    “[Roger] Stone was once involved in an incident [on the steps of Capitol Hill] that was supposed to incapacitate me. We won’t go into that, but on May 3, [1972]—he was a young guy then—he brought a bunch of college students to provide an uproar as cover for CIA assets, who were to incapacitate me.”

    Dan was in rare form during our recorded interview. The moment I started asking questions he was energized. We spoke for nearly two hours, and he never told me that I needed to end the interview. I probably could have talked with him for another half hour if I wanted.

    Multiple times Dan paused. A glimmer appeared in his eyes as he chimed, “Okay, I’ll tell you something I’ve never said publicly.” Then he would share an extraordinary anecdote. Or he would acknowledge that he was “coming to a point,” where he did not have to worry about “antagonizing” a media organization or particular media figure. So Dan would call them out.

    Before Dan signed off, he revealed how he had made it through the interview. He had eaten a bunch of chocolate. I told Dan I would see him later, and he gave me an odd look. We knew we would never speak to each other again.

    The Joy Of Living Life As An Unapologetic Truth-Teller

    I first met Dan in December 2011, when Firedoglake editor-in-chief Jane Hamsher asked me to drive him to her house in Washington, DC, after a pretrial hearing at Fort Meade in Chelsea Manning’s case. He did not know anything about me, and yet I was invited by Alyona Minkovski to come to RT’s DC studio for her show.

    That left me no choice. I asked the RT producers if I could bring Dan and have him appear on the air with me. We appeared together, but the clip is no longer available on YouTube because all RT content was removed after Russia invaded Ukraine. Dan was courteous enough to appear with me, even though we barely knew each other.

    Daniel Ellsberg at the First Congregational Church in Berkeley, California, on January 31, 2013

    On January 31, 2013, I opened for Dan at the First Congregational Church in Berkeley, California. The event was sponsored by KPFA, a community radio station, and Dan spoke about his case, Manning’s case, Brown & Williamson tobacco whistleblower Jeffrey Wigand’s case, and other cases, where whistleblowers revealed crimes and misconduct.

    Months later, on September 20, Dan welcomed me into his home for an interview. He showed me his library, where he kept all his private papers, and when I told him I had not seen “The Most Dangerous Man In America,” the 2009 documentary about his whistleblowing, Dan gave me a DVD copy.

    We walked to lunch after the interview, and Dan shared his wisdom on an array of topics. He also was interested in what I had to say from my experience covering the military trial against Chelsea Manning and wondered what life in Chicago was like under Mayor Rahm Emanuel.

    There were a few more times that I spoke with him. When he released his book, Doomsday Machine: Confessions of a Nuclear Planner, I made certain that I had a chance to talk with him. He was part of a panel discussion that I hosted for the Assange Defense Committee in January 2021.

    Just prior to his cancer diagnosis, I asked if we could do a book event together in Berkeley, California. He responded, “With the greatest respect to you and [a] desire to see your book do as well as you deserve, I take it this means an in-person event, and I haven’t done those for three years, due to Covid concerns.”

    At the end of our final conversation, I said something to Dan about the fact that he had an opportunity to prepare for his death and say farewell to all the people that he wanted. I believe that Dan was very fortunate because my father died from a heart attack when he was 56 years old (I was only 26 years old).

    Seeing Dan’s life announcement, and the warm responses to it, made it easier for me to accept that one of the best human beings I have ever known had come to the end of his life.

    Dan was not at peace with the world around him. Wars and the threat of nuclear armageddon motivated him to do several more interviews while he could still speak with reporters. But he did feel joy and gratitude having lived his life unapologetically as a peace activist and truth-teller—someone who embodied the idea of the moral imperative.

    For the rest of my life, I will cherish the fact that I was one of the first journalists who Dan spoke with on his farewell media tour and that I had the privilege of interacting and sharing his wisdom with the world for over a decade.

    The post The Loving Truth-Teller That Was Daniel Ellsberg appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • This article was funded by the Marvel Cooke Fellowship. Read more about this reporting project and make a contribution to fund our fellowship budget.

    Inside Georgia’s prisons, a prisoner-led organization called Georgia Prisoners Speak (GPS) is fighting to overcome communications barriers to the outside world and engage in abolitionist political education. 

    GPS uses a variety of methods to organize and advocate for incarcerated people’s rights. This includes connecting prisoners for organized grievances efforts, educating prisoners through underground channels, and working with journalists and advocates to disseminate abolitionist thought. GPS also employs public relations tactics to challenge standard policing and correctional narratives, often using social media to counter the GDC’s version of events.

    Founded in 2020 by a group of Georgia prisoners during the height of the pandemic and violent upheavals in state facilities, GPS boasts more than 300 incarcerated and affiliated “free world” members. They aim to build solidarity among incarcerated people and fight against the dehumanizing conditions within the GDC. Georgia has the fourth greatest incarceration rate in the nation, and according to the Prison Policy Initiative, “locks up a higher percentage of its people than any democracy on earth.”

    Although reform circles often treat incarcerated people as passive subjects with little agency, prisoner organizing has a long and rich history that dates back to the early days of the modern prison system. Throughout modern U.S. history, incarcerated people have organized to improve their conditions and challenge the legitimacy of the prison-industrial complex. The most visible examples include the Attica Prison uprising of 1971, where incarcerated people rose up over what they described as being “treated like beasts.”

    In Georgia, one of the most significant examples of prisoner organizing was the mid 20th century Georgia Prison Quarry Strike. In 1951, incarcerated folks at that facility organized resistance to the inhumane conditions they faced, including the use of forced labor in the prison quarries. Roughly 30 prisoners known as the Heel String Gang severed their Achilles’ tendons in protest. Just a few years later, in 1956, 31 prisoners would resist by breaking their own legs

    The 2022 prison strike in neighboring Alabama saw prisoners across the state organize a coordinated protest for decarceration through pathways such as parole and medical furlough. These examples demonstrate the power and prevalence of prisoner organizing. 

    Bearing witness

    GPS’ methods of organizing are varied, and they rely heavily on the use of technology to connect members and spread their message. One of the ways GPS organizes is through a weekly report, which provides updates on ongoing issues, advocacy efforts, and calls to action. This report is circulated among GPS members and their allies on the outside. GPS also uses the internet to share their message and connect with potential supporters. For example, in 2020 during the height of the pandemic, various GPS members began reaching out to the Southern Center for Human Rights and other organizations. Later in 2021, much of this information received via various reports and complaints, some of which were provided by GPS, would be used by SCHR to induce the DOJ to investigate the Georgia Department of Corrections. 

    GPS has been particularly effective in challenging the standard policing and correctional rhetoric that often dominates discussions of prison reform. The group uses PR tactics to get their message out and to frame their issues in ways that resonate with the general public. They have been hard at work attempting to get the attention of journalists, advocates like Susan Burns and Emily Shelton, and policymakers like Josh McLaurin and Jon Ossoff, and their hope is that their message will begin to shift the conversation around criminal justice reform in Georgia. 

    For example, in 2019 and 2020 GPS advocates worked to supply Ignite Justice and They Have No Voice with critical information regarding unsanitary prison conditions, understaffing, rampant violence, and uncontrolled COVID. That information was used by prison reform advocate Susan Burns, founder of They Have No Voice, when she presented a set of demands and suggestions to prison leadership (including one that the National Guard be used to man the deadly prison system) to address the crises. Additionally, Emily Shelton, of Ignite Justice, also received this same information from GPS and would attempt to present her organization’s own set of demands and suggestions, although to no avail. 

    GPS has played a crucial role in supplementing the ongoing federal investigation into the Georgia Department of Corrections as well. GPS members provide weekly updates on the conditions inside the prisons, including reports of abuse, neglect, and mistreatment. They also connect prisoners with lawyers and other advocates who can help them file grievances and seek justice. GPS has been instrumental in connecting prisoners for organized grievances efforts, which have been successful in improving conditions in some facilities. For example, in 2020 a grievance campaign was initiated during the height of the pandemic that resulted in more than 120 grievances being filed in protest to sack lunches (two peanut butter sandwiches) which were given for nearly three months, three times daily. While that may not seem like a lot, GPS members say it’s quite the feat to get that many prisoners to cooperate on a single initiative. 

    An additional feature of GPS’ work is education. The group has created an underground network of communication which allows prisoners to educate themselves and each other about abolitionist thought and organizing strategies. GPS has become a hub for the dissemination of abolitionist ideas, such as redistributing government spending from police and prisons towards addressing the underlying harm and vulnerability, and has helped to create a generation of informed and empowered prisoners. They have found ways to get abolitionist videos and lectures to prisoners; while books and pamphlets can be sent in via numerous supporters and then passed around the system. 

    GPS educates prisoners through a series of  “underground railroad” channels and classrooms, For example, a computer coding course put together by GPS spokesperson BT has over 300 active subscribers and 3,000 downloads, while the prisoner rights and law group has over 200 participants. 

    Finally, GPS works with journalists and advocates, often anonymously or with little recognition, to supplement journalistic investigations into GDC conditions that otherwise focus exclusively in the department’s perspective. By providing additional information and perspectives, GPS is able to amplify the voices of prisoners and bring attention to the issues facing them. To illustrate, recently GPS and anonymous prison staff provided important information to this journalist in order to provide coverage of a gang war that sparked off while the U.S. Justice Department was in a GDC facility investigating, highlighting the nuclear levels of violence and understaffing currently dominating Georgia’s prison system.

    “We stand committed as a movement against the use of strategic indifference, which is no sound policy to quell public fear of crime nor create rehabilitative conditions,” says BT, explaining the position of his group’s demands. “We stand intolerant of inhumane treatment, which does not promote public safety and fails to affirm the human dignity of those incarcerated.” 

    Making demands

    GPS has a list of ten specific demands, which it has made an effort to circulate via letters and emails to various organizations, legislators, and journalists. Considering how reasonable and humane these demands are, it seems odd that the response hasn’t been more laudable. GPS’ demands include more dignified living conditions, separation of gangs from the unaffiliated population, and the implementation of a behavior-based parole system. Moreover, they demand:

    • Rehabilitation and education: “focus on rehabilitation and provide genuine educational and vocational training programs to help prisoners acquire real-world job skills, prepare for reentry into society, and reduce recidivism.”
    • Quality medical care: “ensure that all inmates have access to timely, quality healthcare services, including preventative care, dental care and specialized care for chronic conditions.”
    • Fair and transparency disciplinary processes: “implement disciplinary processes that are transparent, fair and evidence based, with the goal of promoting safety and personal growth rather than punishment.”
    • Fair and transparent grievance processes: “implement a real grievance process that is transparent and fair, and without fear of retaliation by prison staff.”
    • Family and community connections: “make phone calls free; encourage and facilitate regular contact between inmates and their families, as well as provide opportunities for community engagement, in order to support reintegration and reduce recidivism.”
    • Eliminate solitary confinment: “promote the health, safety and rehabilitation of inmates through means other than torture.”

    GPS’ online presence is a critical component of their advocacy work. GPS posts videos demonstrating abysmal prison conditions, gang wars, understaffing, sleeping staff, gross medical neglect, and inedible food. Additionally, they maintain an affiliation with groups like They Have No Voice, The Human and Civil Rights Coalition of Georgia, Ignite Justice, and FAIR.

    BT, 58, is the primary spokesperson for GPS. To prevent retaliation by prison officials, his real name is being protected by Shadowproof, as are the identities of all incarcerated sources herein. He explained that the group’s mission is to “empower prisoners to become agents of change in their own lives and in the wider society.” He emphasized the importance of education and organizing, and he praised the work of GPS members in advocating for themselves and for other prisoners.

    “We believe that prisoners should have a say in the conditions they live in. We want to empower prisoners to advocate for themselves and to be a part of the solution.”

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    “The prison system is behind walls that the public can’t see beyond. And the only way that they can is if we can get the information out through whatever means. If you want to know what our work is about, it’s ‘We have to take care of ourselves,’ that’s what it’s about,” BT explained. “We can’t trust the prison system to do it for us. And that means not only informing the public of what’s going on here, but also helping ourselves to learn and improve ourselves so that when we get out, we can be better people, you know, active and productive citizens in society.”

    Another GPS member we’re calling Bran, 30, shared a similar perspective. “We are fighting for our rights as human beings. We want to be treated with dignity and respect, and we want to be given the opportunity to rehabilitate and reintegrate into society.”

    Advocates who work closely with GPS praised the group’s effectiveness in challenging the dominant narrative about criminal justice reform in Georgia. Emily Shelton, the co-founder of Ignite Justice, a non-profit organization that focuses on advocacy for incarcerated people and their families, said GPS “has been a critical part of the prison abolitionist movement in Georgia, providing an essential counter-narrative to the rhetoric coming out of the Georgia Department of Corrections”

    Aricka Rodriguez is a prison abolition advocate and theorist who mostly works with incarcerated people and organizations in Georgia and California. She has loved ones who have been incarcerated and has also experienced the prison system firsthand. 

    “GPS is an essential organization in the fight for prison reform. By amplifying the voices of prisoners, they are able to bring attention to the issues facing those inside the prison system,” explains Rodriguez. “Most people, including lawmakers, don’t really know what’s going on behind prison walls. As for advocates like me, GPS gives us real information that allows us to better serve them and challenge prison officials.”

    Breaking through

    Despite their efforts, GPS faces significant challenges and risks. One of their biggest challenges is communicating with each other and the outside world. GPS members like all prisoners have heavily monitored communications and restricted access to phones. They also lack access to the internet, making communication difficult. The organization relies on underground channels to communicate. We have decided not to disclose those methods to protect them.

    Another significant challenge is the risk associated with advocating for prisoner rights. In Georgia, prisoners are prohibited from organizing under Section 5(c)(1) & (2) of the GDC’s inmate handbook, which reads, “participation in any meeting or gathering which has not been specifically authorized by the institutional staff” constitutes a substantial threat to institutional security.” 

    Additionally, “planning of or participation in any group demonstration, disturbance, riot, strike, refusal to work, work stoppage, or work slowdown,” is liable to result in charges. GPS members are already vulnerable and marginalized, and they face retaliation from correctional officers and prison administrators for their advocacy work. This retaliation can take many forms, including physical abuse, isolation, and other forms of punishment.

    Shelton emphasized the challenges faced by GPS members, stating, “The risks associated with GPS’ work cannot be overstated. These are people who are already vulnerable and marginalized, and they are putting themselves at risk to advocate for their rights.”

    In response to these challenges, GPS takes extensive precautions to protect its members’ anonymity. There’s even a group where prisoners can learn about privacy and anonymity as a key to successful resistance and organizing. 

    In the meantime, GPS has its hands full. The state is still waging a war on “contraband” cell phones, with plans to utilize signal jammers in an effort to tamp down the torrent of media exposing fatal and unsanitary prison conditions. GPS members are involved in life-or-death advocacy all while still struggling to survive one of the country’s most understaffed and violent prison systems. BT says between the constant, unjustified denials of parole and a determination by prison officials to remain deliberately indifferent to prison conditions, he worries about the state of prisons over the next 5 years.

    “I mean, it’s definitely not going to get better,” said BT. “It just seems like rather than being concerned with providing an environment that is safe and rehabilitative, which is what prison is in political rhetoric but not practice, they’re more concerned with stopping us from being comfortable while in here and stopping us from showing the public just how bad things have gotten.”

    The post In The South, ‘Georgia Prisoners Speak’ Organizes Against Incarceration From The Inside appeared first on Shadowproof.

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  • California Governor Gavin Newsom has always been outspoken about his views against the policy of capital punishment. Once elected, he kept his promise to halt all criminal executions in the state by closing down the death chamber located at San Quentin. On March 13, 2019, the lethal injection chair was officially removed from the room before it was padlocked. With this move, he effectively shut down the infamous and controversial Death Row cell block, which has been where people convicted of heinous crimes are isolated to a single housing unit where together they await execution. 

    Since the closure of death row, Governor Newsom and his allies at the state capitol, in coordination with the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR), have begun to implement a pilot program that offers some of the formerly condemned-to-death the opportunity to receive a transfer to other high-security prisons throughout the state. At these prisons, there is a benefit of more access to educational, rehabilitative, spiritual-religious programs and resources. With the good behavior credits earned there from, these men have a roadmap to gradually work their way back into a medium security facility with more accommodations. So then even if they must spend the rest of their lives in prison, this can be viewed as an improvement from life on death row for them. 

    In the new setting, in what is commonly known as general population or GP, there is more space and freedom to roam than as seen on the segregated cell blocks like death row, where isolation is the key policy. In GP, there’s also a more diverse crowd including a broader range of criminal convictions and types, severity, and length of sentences. In direct correlation to that, there are men with different outlooks on life and plans for the future. This makes for a richer daily experience than the one of death row. The newly integrated men from the row now get to mix and mingle amongst this crowd, for better or worse. 

    I was able to interview one such man, who was convicted of many crimes, including more than a dozen murders. Steven Anthony Jones, known more commonly by his alias “Bandit,” has been living at Corcoran State Prison since 2021. The following is the interview with him that I conducted in the summer of 2022 after he adjusted to his new life in GP. 

    * * *

    JOVAN: So how long did you spend on death row? 

    STEVEN: 18 years. 

    J: When did you first arrive there? 

    S: August 19 2003. 

    J: And how many years in all has it been since you were first arrested? 

    S: It was 23 years ago. 

    J: And where are you originally from out there [in the free world]? Where is home? 

    S: You know I grew up in Watts, California, a suburb in Los Angeles, California. 

    J: Okay, obviously you were sentenced to death, as death row and your experience with it is the central theme of this interview and the article that I’m writing… Would you mind disclosing the charges of which you were convicted? And we won’t get into the details so just give me the charges, if you’re open to that?

    S:  I can say that my experiences with having a death sentence have been a wild and crazy journey with ups and downs, lows and highs. But having death hanging over my head has also been a blessing because while being on death row, I’ve met all the special amazing people I now have in my life. And because of these God-sends I’ve become a better person, a stronger person, a much wiser person. I become a much more patient person, a positive person, and most of all, a God-fearing person who wants to continue to live life. As far as my charges, I was convicted of 23 murders, 13 in California, three in Phoenix, Arizona, and six while the Los Angeles County jail awaiting trial. 

    J: Were there any executions carried out while you were there all of those years on death row? Anyone you knew personally or had built a relationship with while there? 

    S: Yeah, I was there for only Big Tookie’s* murder. I knew him from my first day there until they murdered him in 2006. 

    *Big Tookie is Stanley “Tookie” Williams, founder of the Westside Crips, the very first Crip street gang, which originated in Los Angeles.

    J: Can you tell me about any noticeable changes in his mood or attitude in the days, weeks, or months leading up to that day? Or even changes in the overall atmosphere on the cell block? 

    S: When we found out about Tookie’s murder date, the entire vibe on the cell block did quickly change. There were many different emotions floating through the block: anger, hate, rage, sadness, and even many fallen tears. And on the day of his death, the entire prison system felt the loss. Tookie was very well loved, known, and respected by all on both sides—Crips and Bloods. 

    J: Tell me how it feels for you to have escaped that very same cold reality. 

    S: As far as myself, I accepted the fact that I was going to die in prison the moment the police put me in cuffs. 

    J: What do you think about the policy, capital punishment, whether in our modern and so-called civilized society or even back in medieval or biblical times?

    S: I think the death penalty should be done away with because most people on death row have made positive changes in their lives and should be given a second chance. Plus, why is it wrong for one person to kill but right and legal for them who run the legal system to turn right around and kill just the same? Capital punishment is just wrong on every level because nobody has the right to take a life no matter what someone’s crime might have been. 

    J: Who do you credit with your good fortune, if anyone at all? 

    S: Well, it feels like I’ve been set free. Sitting in those small cells for 20 to 21 hours a day has drove convicts to suicide, and most have just lost their minds. I just wanted to get away from all the death and madness. Since being off the row, I’ve been able to have peace of mind. It’s been great. 

    The first person I credit and thank is God Almighty because without his will, nothing is possible. And the second person is my one and only true best friend and my heavens sent, Miss Celia Walker. It’s all because of her that I’m the strong and positive person that I am today. She is the reason I want to keep living life. 

    J: You know, I’ve become a man of faith while serving my time. And I have vague memories of stories I both read and listened to that gave me the sense that men on death row form a heightened degree of spirituality. Most clearly I can remember hearing that a lot of these men, who were awaiting physical death while already in physical captivity, developed a belief in reincarnation. Is any of this true and, if so, can you talk about it some? 

    S: Yes! There is a very, very strong belief and faith in God on death row. That’s where I found my faith. It’s where my friend Celia introduced me to the Bible. And once I accepted Him into my life, He gave me joy, peace, love and happiness. And I’ve seen some of the most dangerous, hardened convicts calling on God to come into their lives to take away all the hurt, anger, and pain. So yes, God’s presence as well as the devil’s are floating heavily throughout the row. You can’t forget Death Row is death’s hangout and playground. 

    J: Just a moment ago, you mentioned suicides. Have you personally encountered any? 

    S: Yep. In all the time I spent on death row, I’ve witnessed over 100 suicides. I’ve had friends and homeboys take themselves out because the pressure was just too great for them to handle. On the row, someone is found dead in their cell two to three times a month. 

    J: So how does someone maintain a functioning sense of balance in their mental health under these circumstances? 

    S: Well, speaking for myself, I’ve been in and out of the jail system all of my life. Starting at nine years old, I’ve done foster homes, juvenile hall, camps, Youth Authority, and 35 years in and out of prison. For me, functioning and maintaining my sanity comes easy. And like I said before, I accepted the fact that I had death hanging over my head, but I also knew that I would most likely die of natural causes, or at the hands of another convict before the state ever got the chance to murder me. 

    J: Do you remember when you first heard about Governor Newsom’s plans to shut down California’s death chamber? 

    S: I was watching the news when I heard that Governor Newsom stated that he was halting all executions in California. It was his very first act as new governor, first week in office. He said there were innocent people on death row and he’s not killing any innocent people on his watch. When we all saw them remove the deathbed from the chamber and drive it away on the flatbed truck, there was so much joy and happiness that day. The guys who were on the waiting list to be executed were saved and everybody knew we each had one less thing to worry and stress about. I was just happy for all those guys whose luck had run out and now had more time to live life, even if it is in the prison. So I used to always tell guys that every day above ground is a good day. 

    J: So just how is the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation going about relocating the guys from death row now? How many guys have made it off of that cell block? And where did you come to fall in the rollout? 

    S: Well, as for relocating the guys from the row goes, four years ago, California passed a law allowing San Quentin State Prison to start a voluntary pilot program for any death row convict who would like to be moved to general population and other prisons. That’s the program that I’m under at the present moment. I would say that about 250 to 300 guys have been transferred to mainline prisons so far. 

    For the rest of the guys, they were told that the remaining guys will be moved to different level 4 180-design prisons. But then those guys quickly filed a lawsuit saying that, if they were moved, their lives would be in danger or they would kill themselves. The public also filed a lawsuit saying they wanted them to remain at San Quentin because they would put family members in danger. So that was shut down and for now they will remain at San Quentin. 

    J: How did it feel when you finally did board that bus to leave San Quentin and when you stepped off of it from death row? 

    S: Well, once I boarded that bus on May 18, 2021, I was truly happy. And when I stepped off that bus and the cuffs and leg irons were removed, I realized that I didn’t have to be placed in cuffs every time I left my cell anymore. That made me smile and what I enjoy most about being off the row is being able to go outside at night, looking up and admiring the shining stars after not seeing the night sky for 18 years. It’s truly a blessing. 

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    J: Have you had any thoughts or fears about the state ending the program in the future and sending all of you guys back out to San Quentin? You know how politics go back and forth with almost every incoming administration, not to mention how public opinion can seem to boomerang unpredictably. 

    S: No, I have no thoughts of going back or them ending the program because I know it has to be put on the ballot and voted out and the only way anyone on the program can get sent back is if they killed someone. That’s the only way and that’s not what I’m about any longer. So I know I’m going to make it on this program. 

    J: So lastly, briefly share with us what are your thoughts, hopes, and/or intentions for the future? You can touch on family, romance, education, finances, freedom, or anything at all related to the future. 

    S: Well, as from my thoughts? They’re for me to always think positively and always believe in myself, and that I am worth it no matter what anyone says or has said or thinks of me. 

    And as for my intentions, they’re to continue sharing my story and testimony with the world, mainly our misguided youth in here with no clue. And through my writings, I hope to be able to help change someone’s life so they won’t go out and make the same mistakes that I made or worse. 

    As for my family, when I first started this journey, I lost all of my family as well as my children. Because back then I was on the fast track to self destruction. My mind was in a very dark and evil place. But after God sent me Celia after 14 years of loneliness, hurt, and pain, she came into my life and set me on the right path by introducing me to God and His word. I started writing and doing other positive things. And I was blessed with my children and grandchildren back in my life. So as far as my finances go, I now have family friends and my fiance who takes care of me and makes sure I have everything I need. I’ve been blessed. 

    As for romance, I’ve met a beautiful woman through a pen pal service. Within the two and a half years we’ve been corresponding we have found true love. This woman has shown me nothing but love. And as far as romance? (Smiles) Well, we get as romantic as we can through our letters, and I sent her tons of romantic poetry. 

    As for my future… Well, I know now that my future is whatever I want it to be and, as of now, I know my future is going to be wonderful, happy, and very blessed.

    * * *

    Nationally, there are 24 states that still hold on to the policy of capital punishment, with three others that have a governor-imposed moratorium on executions, even though 42% of Americans oppose the policy, according to Gallup. As of July, 2022, there were still 2,394 people awaiting execution across the states. In 2020, the average amount of time a person had between sentencing and execution was nearly 19 years. Many die on death row before the government even makes it to them.

    In the last few years, about 10 people a year were executed in the U.S. 

    According to the Death Penalty Information Center, exonerations take a long time, too: “Half of all death-row exonerations have taken more than a decade, and the length of time between conviction and exoneration has continued to grow. More than half of the exonerations since 2013 have taken 25 years or more.”

    By law, and morals, those who are sentenced to death are granted a special legal status which includes a checklist of remedies they can exhaust to challenge their death sentences before the executioner can ever carry out that function. In many cases, these post conviction legal challenges are attempted at an exuberant expense to taxpayers. It even cost trial courts and prosecutorial offices extra expenses to pursue the death penalty in the first place. These things all accumulate to render our nation’s attachment to capital punishment impractical. For Californians, it’s ‘good riddance.’

    Admittedly, there are important questions related to the policy that may go unresolved indefinitely. Like is the death penalty actually a reliable deterrent against certain serious crimes to meet the public safety justification? (The overwhelming consensus among criminologists is that it is not.) Is eye for eye and life for life still an appropriate approach to criminal justice in our civilized and enlightened times? Is it cruel and unusual punishment like the constitutional language of the Eighth Amendment prohibits? Is it hypocritical, inconsistent, confusing, or mixed messaging for a society to sanction execution by the government while condemning it for common citizens? It’s obviously a public debate that won’t be settled in this article, if anywhere at all. 

    In regards to the man interviewed, Mr. Steven Jones, it was not my intention here to scrutinize his past lifestyle or conduct. I chose to avoid graphic details and consideration for the family members of the victims of the crimes, who are also victims in their own rights. My approach to this article was to report on the closure of death row in California and begin to consider some of the ripple effects of that move. For a more detailed account of his upbringing, or his past lifestyle and mentality, you can read his self published autobiography, “Doomed From The Start: Have Heart, Have Money.”

    The post Interview: Returning To General Population After San Quentin Closes Death Row appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • The following independent journalism was made possible by paid subscribers. Take advantage of this discount offer and subscribe to Shadowproof’s Dissenter Newsletter today.

    While the United States Justice Department has increasingly wielded the Espionage Act to make an example out of government employees or contractors, federal prosecutors have been reluctant to charge current and former high-ranking officials. That makes the thirty-one Espionage Act charges against former President Donald Trump stunning.

    On June 8, 2023, Trump was accused by prosecutors of “unauthorized possession” of documents “relating to the national defense.” He was additionally accused of “willfully” retaining those documents and failing to turn them over to an officer or employee “entitled to receive them.”

    The alleged offenses fall under 793(e) of the Espionage Act, which has featured in a number of leak prosecutions against whistleblowers and media sources. Of course, Trump is neither. He kept the documents in boxes at his Mar-a-Lago Club in Palm Beach, Florida.

    Back on August 10, 2022, days after the FBI raided Trump’s estate, I published an analysis of prior cases where the Justice Department had investigated lower-level government employees or contractors for unauthorized possession of information. In big bold letters, I shared it under the headline, “Justice Department Unlikely To Charge Trump With Violating The Espionage Act.”

    I was fairly certain, given the example of General David Petraeus, that Trump’s legal team would be able to negotiate with the Justice Department behind closed doors to ensure that he was not charged with violating the Espionage Act. But I was wrong, and now I realize that would have required Trump to concede that he had done something wrong by possessing the classified documents.

    Numerous Republicans have lashed out at the Justice Department for indicting Trump, who has a commanding lead in polls for the party’s 2024 presidential primary. Republicans contend that the Justice Department has been “weaponized” against Trump.

    Such a response would be easy to flat-out dismiss if it weren’t for the fact that the Justice Department has been, in one way or another, investigating Trump since 2016.

    As Jeff Gerth exhaustively documented for the Columbia Journalism Review, Democratic presidential nominee Hillary Clinton and her campaign “secretly sponsored” and “publicly promoted” an “unsubstantiated conspiracy theory that there was a secret alliance between Trump and Russia.” Former FBI director and special counsel Robert Mueller oversaw a sprawling investigation into Trump, but the investigation failed to uncover evidence that would support criminal charges.

    Nonetheless, federal prosecutors appear to have plenty of evidence to show that Trump took hundreds of classified documents that should have been turned over to the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) because they were not his property. He transported the boxes to his Mar-a-Lago Club and allegedly continued to hide documents from Justice Department officials and FBI agents when they requested that he return the files to the government.

    Republican Senator Lindsey Graham tweeted, “President Trump will have his day in court but espionage charges are absolutely ridiculous. Whether you like Trump or not, he did not commit espionage. He did not disseminate, leak or provide information to a foreign power or news organizations to damage this country.”

    “He is not a spy,” Graham added. “He is overcharged. Did he do things wrong? Yes, he may have. He will be tried about that. But Hillary Clinton wasn’t.” (Clinton improperly shared classified information on a private email server but was not charged with any offenses.)

    Importantly, Graham makes a distinction that has not prevented the Justice Department from securing convictions under the Espionage Act. It does not matter if the accused did not act as a spy. It does not matter if the accused did not provide information to a “foreign power.” It does not matter if the accused did not publicize the information to “damage” the United States. This is why there have been attempts to reform the law (attempts which Graham has not supported).

    Beyond that, Graham promotes ignorance by comparing apples to oranges. Trump was not accused of making an “unauthorized disclosure” of information. He was accused of “unauthorized possession,” which is different from most of the recent high-profile leak prosecutions.

    “Unauthorized possession” under the Espionage Act is a felony-level offense. Perhaps, another statute in the U.S. criminal code—18 U.S. Code § 1924—that specifically covers the “unauthorized removal and retention of classified information” would have been more appropriate for Trump and less shocking. That statute does not contain the word “espionage” in the law.

    Incredibly, the crime of mishandling classified information was a misdemeanor-level offense until 2018, when Trump signed a law that increased the punishment. He made “unauthorized removal and retention of classified information” a felony punishable with up to five years in prison.

    Very Little Repression In The Espionage Act Case Against Trump

    For two of the chapters of my bookGuilty of Journalism: The Political Case Against Julian Assange, I recount how the Espionage Act has historically been used to crack down on antiwar dissent and criminalize alternative media publications. Ralph Engelman and Carey Shenkman, who authored A Century of Repression: The Espionage Act and Freedom of the Press, compiled an even more exhaustive history of the weaponization of this 1917 law against Americans.

    The Espionage Act case against Trump, however, is an exception to the rule. Very little repression has occurred. The Secret Service knew before the raid in August 2022 that FBI agents would show up to conduct a search of the Mar-a-Lago Club.

    Trump was not immediately arrested and charged. Trump was given ample opportunity to hand over documents before they were seized. An investigation, with Special Counsel Jack Smith in charge, plodded slowly toward an indictment that occurred ten months later.

    Screen shot from U.S. Justice Department’s broadcast of Special Counsel Jack Smith announcing the indictment against Trump

    After Trump was officially charged on June 8, Trump’s legal team was notified. He was not immediately arrested. He was able to hold a rally in Georgia. An arraignment date for Tuesday, June 13, was scheduled days later, which was unusual, and bizarrely, the news media and the public learned that Trump had been indicted from the defendant himself when he posted about it on TruthSocial.

    The indictment was not unsealed by the Justice Department until June 9. Only then did Smith make a public statement about the charges.

    If there is any reason for concern, it is that the liberal Democratic establishment is eager to see this prosecution save President Joe Biden from a close election or potential defeat. Biden will be 81 years-old as he campaigns for re-election. Before Biden announced his 2024 campaign, polls showed around half of Democrats were opposed to Biden running for president again.

    The lack of enthusiasm for a presidential incumbent’s re-election may make it difficult for the Democrats to counter the right-wing demagoguery of Trump. But a prosecution is no remedy for an ailing democratic republic that only gives voters the illusion of choice in presidential elections.

    Now, torture advocate and former Bush administration official John Yoo contends that Trump should not be prosecuted because he is a former U.S. president and ahead of Biden in some polls. “We’re breaking an institutional norm that has been there since the beginning of our country, which is leave former presidents alone.”

    Yoo would know. He, along with David Addington, Steven Bradbury, Jay Bybee, Dick Cheney, Alberto Gonzales, Donald Rumsfeld, and other Bush administration officials, encouraged or engaged in a number of criminal acts. They all benefited from this supposed inviolable norm, and anyone who cares about accountability should oppose impunity or immunity for former US presidents.

    I have covered and reported on nearly every Espionage Act prosecution that has occurred in the past 10-15 years, particularly cases involving “unauthorized disclosures.”

    When Trump was president, NSA whistleblower Reality Winner, FBI whistleblower Terry Albury, drone whistleblower Daniel Hale, and WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange were all indicted under the Espionage Act.

    Trump nearly pardoned Assange and NSA whistleblower Edward Snowden, who was indicted under Obama. In the end, Trump was too scared that Senate Republicans might support his impeachment if he took a stand.

    Winner, who does not think Trump should go to prison, had an optimistic reaction to the indictment.

    “This is probably one of the most transparent and straightforward indictments that defines national defense information and gives the public a sense of the itemized description of every document, which is not how this particular law has been used against ordinary citizens,” Winner told NBC News. “So this might set the new legal standard on how it will be used in the future. Perhaps it could give people like myself who were acting out of moral conscience more leverage under the law.”

    Unfortunately, I doubt the charges against Trump will make it any easier for a person of conscience who is unfairly targeted. A former U.S. president was only charged because their defiance of authorities was so brazen that the government had to charge Trump to avoid embarrassment.

    Do not mistake that statement as one of support for the Espionage Act case against Trump. The potential harm to national security caused by Trump’s alleged actions is as theoretical and over-hyped as most cases. Which is to say that no one was ever truly in danger, despite the pronouncements of national security agents.

    By charging Trump, I believe the government has ensured that the immense power that prosecutors wield will go unchecked by lawmakers and another century of repression will be possible with widespread support from political elites.

    That will be terrible for future whistleblowers, media sources, and journalists or publishers, who are certain to have their lives upended because there was no meaningful push to reform or abolish the draconian law.

    The post The Espionage Act Is Not The Answer To Donald Trump appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • Originally published at Ongoing History of Protest Music

    No-No Boy is a multimedia project formed by Julian Saporiti & Erin Aoyama while pursuing their doctorates at Brown University.

    The project employs music as an educational tool to teach historical lessons about the Asian American experience, something they both share in their heritage. Saporiti’s family were refugees during the Vietnam War while Aoyama had family incarcerated at United States internment camps during World War II.

    Their name comes from the No-No Boys, who were Japanese Americans who refused to pledge allegiance to the U.S. government and who were detained in concentration camps. They also refused to fight in the war. These experiences were the basis of John Okada’s classic 1957 novel No-No Boy.

    No-No Boy released their debut album “1942” in 2018, but it has since evolved primarily into a Saporiti project.

    Saporiti followed it up in 2021 with the album “1975,” which featured considerable vocal, musical, and production contributions from Emilia Halvorsen. The album title referred to the year Saigon fell.

    Similar to “1942,” Saporiti explored his own family heritage and connected that heritage to the. experiences of those in WWII Japanese internment camps. He linked this history to modern-day immigrant detention centers and refugee camps.

    One of the album’s highlights is “The Best Goddamn Band In Wyoming” which relates the story of a 1940s Asian American swing band that perseveres in the face of bigotry.

    No-No Boy’s latest single “La Banda Más Chingón en Wyoming” is a mariachi reworking of that tune. It features Mariachi Los Broncos, whose bandleader Jessie Vallejo was drawn to the parallels between the Japanese internment camps and the detention centers set up at the U.S.-Mexico border that are filled with Latin American migrants.

    The new arrangement adds an element of exuberance in the face of adversity. The harrowing reality is balanced with the optimism that the human spirit will conquer and still find reasons to sing.

    The post Protest Song Of The Week: ‘La Banda Más Chingón en Wyoming’ By No-No Boy Featuring Mariachi Los Broncos appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • Originally published at Ongoing History of Protest Music

    Armed with his weapon of choice, a guitar with the words “This Machine Kills Fascists” painted on it, Woody Guthrie was a pivotal contributor to the canon of protest tunes. He composed nearly 3,000 songs, many of which remained unpublished. This has allowed a new generation of artists to
    set these unused lyrics to music and create anthems that still resonate in modern society.

    One group that recently did this is the Celtic punk band Dropkick Murphys. The first time they made use of unused Guthrie lyrics was “Gonna Be a Blackout Tonight” for their 2003 album “Blackout.” They followed that up with their most well-known song, “I’m Shipping Up to Boston,” which appeared on their 2005 album “The Warrior’s Code.”

    After discussions with Woody’s daughter Nora, the band recorded an entire album of Guthrie lyrics in 2022 called “This Machine Still Kills Fascists.” During the same session, they also recorded a second album of Guthrie-penned lyrics, Okemah Rising, which will be released on May 12, 2023.

    “Every night, when the audience is singing along with Woody’s words, his steadfast defense of the working class, and his fight against social injustice and the abuse of political power comes across loud and clear,” said vocalist Ken Casey, the band’s founder. “So as long as Dropkick Murphys are involved, Woody’s message will always be heard.”

    The first video and single from the upcoming album is “I Know How It Feels.”

    “And I know how it feels to work ’til you drop. And it’s 10,000 bills that you owe,” the song declares. It continues, “[I] know how it feels when you got calloused hands. And blisters on both of your feet. You can’t pay the rent, so the men take your things. And throw you right out on the street.”

    With the working class under growing pressure and ongoing labor strikes and protests around the world, the song is a message of solidarity for the downtrodden.

    The song weaves its way to a verse of empowerment: “I know how it feels to join a union. Speak up like a man and fight. I know how it feels to march and sing. When you know that your fight is right.”

    Watch/listen to Dropkick Murphys’ “I Know How It Feels”:

    The post Protest Song Of The Week: ‘I Know How It Feels’ By Dropkick Murphys appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • Die Jim Crow Records, the first record company to work exclusively with musicians impacted by the United States prison system, has collaborated with another formerly incarcerated artist named EL BENTLY 448.

    Wrongfully convicted, EL BENTLY 448, who is also known as Leon Benson, spent 25 years in an Indiana prison. Ten of those years were spent in solitary confinement. He was released on March 8, 2023, after he was exonerated.

    Shadowproof is honored to debut “Innocent,” a hip-hop track from Leon’s forthcoming EP that will be available on June 26. (Another track, “Mugabe,” was shared on April 26.)

    Leon told Shadowproof, “I was innocent, but I wasn’t an innocent person.” He recorded the track to explore this idea of being innocent, but born guilty.

    “You’re innocent born guilty if you’re born a different gender than somebody, if you’re born to a particular racial group, if you’re born in a particular time, in a particular location, in a particular economic status, or under a particular religion or culture,” Leon described.

    Leon added, “If you look at it, nobody had a choice of coming to the world. So when you come into the world, we are already made guilty by the powers that be in our life.”

    The lyrics for the track are autobiographical in the first verse. The second verse questions those who may believe that they are somehow more innocent than anyone who has been incarcerated.

    Leon wrote the track in 2012 while he was in solitary confinement. He hoped the track would help him bring awareness to his case so that he could be exonerated.

    As Leon recalled, he took that solitary cell that was meant for sensory deprivation, a “torture chamber,” and he transformed it into “a university, a place that I had to heal, learn, [and] grow.”

    “That’s where I got over a lot of anger because it was a place that I knew was meant for me to smother in, and even go crazy,” Leon shared.

    Fury Young founded Die Jim Crow in 2013. In 2014, Fury connected with Leon after an activist named Zulay Velasquez shared an announcement on the Facebook group for the Innocence Network that indicated Die Jim Crow was looking for artists. 

    “I’d never heard from someone in prison directly before (via cell phone) so we had a long uninterrupted conversation a couple hours later,” Fury shared. “We instantly hit it off, bonding about certain philosophy shit and world history. Then we continued to build!” 

    The Indiana Department of Corrections denied Die Jim Crow access to record music with Leon at least twice. So Leon found a way that he could record without them while he was in prison.

    For incarcerated musicians like Leon, making music is a form of “healing justice.” It is “music therapy.” Leon contended that allowing prisoners to “voice their particular experience” while locked up is a very powerful way of dealing with trauma. It can be a means of seeking rehabilitation before returning to society. 

    Leon grew up primarily in the area around Flint, Michigan. He was inspired by local music like the Dayton Family, Top Authority, and MC Breed. “They made the dream look really big. This is what made me try to put my voice on tracks” when he was about 13 years-old.

    “I used two radios,” Leon recalled. “One radio to record, one with the beat playing, and that’s how I used to make my first mixtapes.”

    The name EL BENTLY 448 is an amalgamation of El, bent, and -ly. Together, to Leon, they mean “becoming God in the nature of determination and talent.” What 448 refers to is numerology. Leon said it means “completion.” The number can represent the trust that one should have in their instincts and abilities to survive.

    “I’m a person who grew up in urban America. I used to be in the drug trade so it’s a lot of stuff that comes with LB 448,” Leon also shared

    According to Die Jim Crow, Leon’s song reflects the record label’s goal of dismantling stereotypes around race and prison. His lyrics deal with the injustice of wrongful conviction as well as the “emotional trauma that comes along with it.”

    “But even more so EL BENTLY 448 himself is an incredibly unique person,” the label added. “He spearheaded the fight for his freedom relentlessly until his dream of being a free man was achieved. It is an honor for us to provide our platform to him.”

    Listen to EL BENTLY 448’s “Innocent” from Die Jim Crow Records

    The post Die Jim Crow Records Releases New Music From Hip-Hop Artist Wrongfully Convicted And Imprisoned For 25 Years appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • The following article was made possible by paid subscribers of Shadowproof’s Dissenter Newsletter. Support independent journalism on whistleblowers and press freedom and become a subscriber with this limited offer for World Press Freedom Week.

    On World Press Freedom Day, the United States State Department abandoned its policy of not commenting on the case against WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange and essentially backed the prosecution against him.

    Matthew Lee of the Associated Press asked State Department spokesperson Vedant Patel “whether or not the State Department regards Julian Assange as a journalist who would be covered by the ideas embodied in World Press Freedom Day.”

    “I’m not asking for the [U.S. Justice Department point of view. I’m asking for what the State Department thinks,” Lee said.

    It was not the first time Lee had posed this question. In 2021, on World Press Freedom Day, Lee asked if President Joe Biden’s administration was looking into the Assange case, “his detention, his extradition, the request for extradition here, the charges against him?”

    “I realize you can’t speak for DOJ, but from the State Department’s perspective, is the current position still – does that still hold? Do you believe that Mr. Assange is a journalist?” Lee added. “And given the importance you place on accurate and factual information being disseminated, do you believe that the information that was published based on the U.S. government documents that he obtained and put out was either unfactual or inaccurate?”

    Jalina Porter, who was a spokesperson for the State Department, avoided the question. “So to your specific on Julian Assange, we’ll have to get back to you on that.”

    But now, with Biden going around repeatedly declaring that “journalism is not a crime,” Patel read a prepared response.

    “The State Department thinks that Mr. Assange has been charged with serious criminal conduct in the United States, in connection with his alleged role in one of the largest compromises of classified information in our nation’s history,” Patel declared. “His actions risked serious harm to U.S. national security to the benefit of our adversaries.”

    Patel continued, “It put named human sources to grave and imminent risk and risk of serious physical harm and arbitrary detention. So it does not matter how we categorize any person, but we view this as something, he’s been charged with serious criminal conduct.”

    The response was lousy and stale. The State Department basically dusted off a few talking points from 2010, when WikiLeaks first published U.S. State Embassy cables that exposed the inner workings of U.S. diplomacy.

    To be clear, Assange’s “role” was that of a publisher who received documents from U.S. Army whistleblower Chelsea Manning. A 2011 review by the Associated Press of sources, which the State Department claimed were most at risk from the publication of cables, found no evidence that any person was harmed. The potential for harm was “strictly theoretical.”

    Lee appropriately pushed back on the idea that being charged with “serious criminal conduct” made Assange a person unworthy of support on World Press Freedom Day.

    “Yeah, but anyone can be charged with anything. Evan Gershkovich has been charged with a serious criminal offense in Russia, and you say that he is a journalist, and he is obviously,” Lee replied. “And I just want to know whether or not you, the State Department – regardless of any charges that he faces – believe that he is a journalist, or he is something else.”

    Patel contended the two cases are “completely different.” He said, “The United States doesn’t go around arbitrarily detaining people, and the judicial oversight and checks and balances that we have in our system versus the Russian system are a little bit different.”

    The U.S. government subjected nearly 800 people to rendition, indefinite detention, and torture and brought them to Guantanamo Bay military prison, which was established a legal blackhole for alleged terrorism suspects. It’s still open, continues to hold detainees not charged with any crimes, and in fact, the United Nations recently condemned the US for keeping Abu Zubaydah in arbitrary detention, which “may constitute crimes against humanity.”

    Yes—the U.S. does arbitrarily detain people. Just not people the U.S. thinks should be free from arbitrary detention.

    Tip Jar

    “Okay. So, basically, the bottom line is that you don’t have an answer. You won’t say whether you think he is a journalist or not,” Lee stated.

    The State Department cannot say that US officials do not believe Assange is a journalist because they know that puts them at odds with civil society organizations that they frequently partner with on press freedom issues and campaigns to free detained journalists.

    Gershkovich’s case is not meaningfully different from the case against Assange. Russian intelligence accused Gershkovich of “collecting state secrets.” Like the U.S. government, the Russian government claims the authority to detain a journalist to make an example out of them and send a message that they will protect their military information from further disclosure.

    Few may know, the State Department intervened in the extradition process to help the Crown Prosecution Service win their appeal after a district judge ruled that extraditing Assange would be oppressive for health reasons. Diplomats offered empty “assurances” that Assange would not be mistreated in U.S. custody and leaned on the United Kingdom to approve Assange’s extradition to preserve the close partnership between the U.S. and the U.K.

    Now, on the same day, White House Press Secretary Karine Jean-Pierre was asked about Assange. “Advocates on Twitter today have been talking a great deal about how the United States has engaged in hypocrisy by talking about how Evan Gershkovich is held in Russia on espionage charges but the United States has Espionage Act charges pending against Julian Assange.”

    The reporter who asked this question also suggested the US had lost the “moral high ground.” Unlike the State Department, the White House did not feel compelled to take this question seriously. “Look, I’m not going to speak to Julian Assange and that case from here,” Jean-Pierre blurted.  

    CODEPINK co-founder Medea Benjamin, CODEPINK member Tighe Barry, and others in the peace group probably deserve credit for forcing the State Department to respond to a question about Assange with something more than “no comment.”

    Secretary of State Antony Blinken participated in a World Press Freedom Day event hosted by the Washington Post. As he sat down to talk with Post columnist David Ignatius, Benjamin stepped on to the stage. “Excuse us. We can’t use this day without calling for the freedom of Julian Assange.”

    The Post muted the audio for the video broadcast as security swiftly dragged Benjamin offstage. Security was so rough that it made Blinken uncomfortable. He stood up from his seat and told them, “Take it easy. Take it easy. Take it easy, guys.”

    Associated Press reporter Matthew Lee tied his Assange question to the protest, noting the case had been “raised perhaps a bit abruptly at the very beginning of [Blinken’s] comments.”

    Perhaps, that is why the State Department had a canned response ready. Or maybe the State Department flack had an answer prepared because all the advocates chatting about US hypocrisy bother the department.

    There is more political support in the world for ending the case than ever before, with parliamentarians in the U.K., Australia, Mexico, Brazil, and a handful of U.S. representatives urging the Justice Department to drop the charges. U.S. officials are afraid to engage reporters and defend the case in public.

    Confrontation works. Letters to the Justice Department that demand an end to the case are welcome, but they do not have the capacity to provoke an immediate response as CODEPINK’s protest apparently did.

    The post After Years Of Refusing To Comment, State Department Backs Assange Prosecution appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • The following article was made possible by paid subscribers. Support independent journalism on whistleblowers and press freedom and become a subscriber with this special World Press Freedom Day offer.

    For the United States government, World Press Freedom Day is an opportunity to further project an image of the U.S. as a supposed champion of journalism and human rights. But that projection is muddied greatly by the prosecution against WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange.

    An event was hosted by the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) at the UN headquarters in New York. It marked the 30th anniversary of World Press Freedom Day.

    Dr. Agnès Callamard, the secretary general for Amnesty International, called attention to the double standard of so-called democratic countries while discussing challenges to protecting press freedom.

    “It is not just what is happening in Iran or in Russia that should worry us, although it should worry us a lot. It is also what is happening here [in the U.S.],” Callamard said. “Who is imprisoning Julian Assange? Who is creating more laws to curtail the freedom to protest? All of those indicators and trends are occurring within the so-called democracies of the world.”

    Callamard added, “Sadly, the playbook of autocracy, of control over conscience, of control over speech, has been well-learned by our so-called democratic leaders.”

    President Joe Biden, Attorney General Merrick Garland, and Secretary of State Antony Blinken have wielded the playbook of autocracy through deliberate acts of omission—by consistently dodging any attempts by reporters or civil society leaders to hold them accountable for pursuing the Assange case.

    At the White House Correspondents Dinner on April 29, Biden highlighted Russia’s detention of Evan Gershkovich and the abduction of Austin Tice in Syria over a decade ago.

    Then Biden proclaimed, “Tonight, our message is this: Journalism is not a crime.”

    However, that message seems fraudulent as the U.S. government remains committed to prosecuting Assange and keeps him in jail.

    Assange has been a target of surveillance and subject to some form of arbitrary detention for more than a decade. The journalism he oversaw as WikiLeaks editor-in-chief, which involved publishing classified documents from the U.S. government, effectively made him a target.

    Last year, Blinken uttered the following on World Press Freedom Day:

    When individual journalists are threatened, when they’re attacked, when they’re imprisoned, the chilling effects reach far beyond their targets. Some in the media start to self-censor. Others flee. Some stop reporting altogether. And when repressive governments come after journalists, human rights defenders, labor leaders, others in civil society are usually not far behind.

    A similar statement about the climate of fear fueled by prosecuting Assange has been made by Rebecca Vincent, the director of operations and international campaigns for Reporters Without Borders (RSF).

    If the U.S. government is successful in securing Assange’s extradition and prosecuting him for his contributions to public interest reporting, the same precedent could be applied to any journalist anywhere,” Vincent contended. “The possible implications of this case simply cannot be understated; it is the very future of journalism and press freedom that is at stake.”

    This year, Blinken will participate in a “moderated conversation on the state of press freedom worldwide” with Washington Post columnist David Ignatius.

    After Assange’s arrest on April 11, 2019, Ignatius argued the U.S. Justice Department had “drawn its indictment carefully enough that the issue [was] theft of secrets, rather than their publication.” The Washington Post Editorial Board has maintained that WikiLeaks “differs from journalism.” So Blinken will likely be permitted to advance a litany of double standards without being called on it.

    The United States Agency for International Development (USAID) marked World Press Freedom Day by promoting “Reporters Shield.” Under the new program, certain journalists and media organizations can apply to become “members” that are eligible to receive funds to help combat legal threats aimed at silencing them  (Note: USAID has in the past been used by the CIA as a front for operations.)

    According to USAID Director Samantha Power, who spoke at the UNESCO meeting, independent journalists around the world increasingly face lawfare from “corrupt leaders,” who are intent to drive them out of business.

    “Repressive or corrupt elites have tried to silence opposition by killing journalists. Now they are trying to kill journalism,” Power stated.

    Power was thinking of journalists countries like Russia, China, Iran, and North Korea, but the reality is that Assange and WikiLeaks might benefit from such a program.

    The CIA mounted a disruption campaign against WikiLeaks to make it difficult for the media organization to function. Officials reportedly discussed kidnapping or poisoning Assange while he was living under political asylum in the Ecuador embassy, and Mike Pompeo, when he was secretary of state, pressured Ecuador to toss Assange out of the embassy so the US could get their hands on him.

    Later in the meeting, Committee to Protect Journalists Jodie Ginsberg pointed out that if we really want to keep journalism safe then all governments must cease lawfare that involves targeting journalists with a “wide variety of spurious charges.”

    “One thing that the United States could concretely do is drop the charges against Julian Assange,” Ginsberg declared. She noted if Assange was brought to trial it would “effectively criminalize journalists everywhere.”

    Hitting Assange with Espionage Act charges and jailing him for the past four years has forced WikiLeaks to focus on freeing their founder. The organization has little to no funds to support the publication of new leaks, not to mention their reputation has been tarnished by smear campaigns engaged in by current and former U.S. intelligence officials. And it has also become harder to maintain the invaluable archive of documents on the WikiLeaks website.

    U.S. officials could abandon this case on World Press Freedom Day, but they will not because officials have entrenched themselves in the spiteful position that Assange is not a journalist. They see no conflict between their calls to free imprisoned journalists and their own autocratic conduct.

    The post US Double Standards On World Press Freedom Day appeared first on Shadowproof.

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  • The following article was made possible by paid subscribers. Support independent journalism on whistleblowers and press freedom and subscribe to Shadowproof’s Dissenter Newsletter.

    Even as Pentagon Papers whistleblower Daniel Ellsberg closes in on the end of an incredible and impactful life, the Washington Post and the pundit class still cannot resist using Ellsberg as a prop to misleadingly assert that he is history’s best example of a “Good Leaker.”

    Devlin Barrett, a national security correspondent who covers the FBI and the United States Justice Department for the Post, spoke to Ellsberg and invited him to compare what he did to the leak of Pentagon documents, which were allegedly posted to a Discord chat group by Air National Guard reservist Jack Teixeira.

    The framing somberly noted how Ellsberg faces terminal pancreatic cancer, and to him, the war in Ukraine is eerily similar to the Vietnam War he helped end. “I’m reliving a part of history I had no desire to live again. And I hoped I wouldn’t. And by the way, that makes it easier to leave,” Ellsberg declared.

    But Barrett and the Post brought in Steven Aftergood, who is known in Washington, D.C., for his work with the Federation of American Scientists’ Government Secrecy Project, to comment on Ellsberg. Aftergood held up Ellsberg as the “archetypal” leaker of government secrets and pits him against many of the more recent whistleblowers, who Ellsberg himself has supported.

    “He actually read and understood all of the material he released. He knew what he was doing. And he acted with thoughtful discrimination by withholding four volumes of material on diplomatic negotiations that he considered particularly sensitive,” Aftergood argued.

    Aftergood added, “Government officials had told the public lies before, but rarely had they been exposed with such merciless clarity as they were in the Pentagon Papers.”

    Furthermore, Aftergood described Ellsberg as an “example” because he “took responsibility” and “did not try to evade the consequences of his decisions.” That supposedly “won the respect even of his adversaries and critics.”

    It is unclear who these “adversaries and critics” might be.

    Henry Kissinger was secretary of state under President Richard Nixon, and he dubbed Ellsberg the “most dangerous man in America.” Robert McNamara, the defense secretary who commissioned the classified Pentagon Papers study, wanted to hurt Ellsberg “very badly.” Later in their lives, they never showed Ellsberg respect for facing the “consequences.” So, Aftergood cannot be referring to them.

    Aftergood was obviously referring to NSA whistleblower Edward Snowden. A popular talking point promoted by President Barack Obama’s administration is that Snowden “fled into the arms of an adversary [Russia]” and that country engaged in a “concerted effort to undermine confidence in [US] democracy.”

    Ellsberg has wholeheartedly backed Snowden. “In my estimation, there has not been in American history a more important leak than Edward Snowden’s release of NSA material—and that definitely includes the Pentagon Papers 40 years ago.”

    What Aftergood, Barrett, and the Post did is similar to the tactic that prosecutors employed in the extradition proceedings against WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange when Ellsberg took the stand to defend Assange.

    Lead prosecutor James Lewis of the Crown Prosecution Authority emphasized that Ellsberg had withheld four volumes of the Pentagon Papers and made the same point that Aftergood made. But Ellsberg informed Lewis that he was wrong about the reason why Ellsberg did not disclose the volumes.

    Ellsberg did not want to give the U.S. government an excuse during the war for breaking off negotiations to end to the conflict. It did not bother him at all if the names of U.S. intelligence sources were exposed.

    As Ellsberg described, the 4,000 pages of original government documents that he disclosed contained thousands of names of Americans, Vietnamese, and North Vietnamese. There was even a clandestine CIA officer, who was named.

    Nowhere in the Pentagon Papers was there an “adequate justification for the killing that we were doing,” Ellsberg recalled. “I was afraid if I redacted or withheld anything at all it would be inferred I left out” the good reasons why the U.S. was pursuing the Vietnam War.

    Ellsberg was concerned about revealing the name of a clandestine CIA officer, though he mentioned the individual was well-known in South Vietnam. But he left it in the documents so no one in the government could get away with lying about redactions in the papers.

    Just like U.S. Army whistleblower Chelsea Manning, who released entire databases on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan to WikiLeaks, Ellsberg believed the public needed to have access to the complete record. (Needless to say, Manning is not a “good leaker” to Aftergood.)

    In the extradition proceedings and in almost every instance where a whistleblower has courageously risked their livelihood, Ellsberg said the pundit class has used him as a “foil” against any “new revelations” of systematic government abuses of power. They have claimed certain leaks were different than his leaks to make it easier to discredit people who took great risks to reveal the truth.

    The inconvenient fact is that many of these “Bad Leakers” from the past 50 years are individuals who Ellsberg has championed. But soon the media establishment and wider pundit class will no longer have to worry about a longtime person of conscience getting in the way of their narrative.

    Ellsberg will no longer be around to correct them, and they will be able to focus on helping the FBI identify and hunt down leakers after they squeeze out all the scoops that they can from their disclosures.

    ***

    Back in early March, you may recall that I published a conversation with Daniel Ellsberg, who graciously agreed to help me promote my book Guilty of Journalism: The Political Case Against Julian Assange.

    We talked for over an hour and a half, and I edited the conversation to less than an hour so it could air on “The Project Censored Show” on KPFA radio in Berkeley, California.  

    But it is Daniel Ellsberg Week, a celebration of a peace activist and whistleblower. I shared some of the parts that were left out of my conversation, and I invite you to listen to Daniel share more of his insights on leaks, secrecy, the press, and lawless government.

    The post The Myth Of Daniel Ellsberg As The ‘Good Leaker’ appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • The following was originally published at Ongoing History of Protest Music.

    Mark Stewart made several contributions to the canon of protest music as part of the pioneering UK post-punk band The Pop Group, his solo work, and various other projects. He died on April 19, 2023, at the age of 62, and no cause of death was immediately shared.

    Several musicians including the trip-hop group Massive Attack, Steve Albini, and Nick Cave paid their respects and acknowledged Stewart’s considerable influence. Cave described Stewart as a “fearsome vocalist and unbelievably exciting frontman to whom I am deeply indebted.”

    Cave also specifically singled out the Pop Group’s 1979 standout single “We Are All Prostitutes,” which he said “influenced me as much as anything I have ever heard and has, I would say, the greatest opening 20 seconds of any song ever recorded.”

    The single appeared on reissues of their influential 1980 sophomore album “For How Much Longer Do We Tolerate Mass Murder,” and it also featured the B-side “Amnesty International Report on British Army Torture of Irish Prisoners.”

    “We Are All Prostitutes” declared that “capitalism is the most barbaric of all religions” and that “we are all prostitutes, everyone has their price.”

    The lyrics remain relevant decades later given politics, where wealthy lobby groups hold considerable influence over policy and greed fuels the climate crisis and other societal ills.

    Listen to “We Are All Prostitutes” by The Pop Group (1979):

    The post Protest Song Of The Week: ‘We Are All Prostitutes’ By The Pop Group appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • The following article was made possible by paid subscribers. Support independent journalism on whistleblowers and press freedom and subscribe to Shadowproof’s Dissenter Newsletter.

    A judge in North Carolina found two journalists with the Asheville Blade guilty of “trespassing” on Christmas in 2021 when they stayed in a public park to cover Asheville police as officers evicted a homeless encampment.

    Veronica Coit and Matilda Bliss were “sentenced to pay $25 fines and court costs.” Coit received an additional sentence of “one year of unsupervised probation with a 10-day suspended [prison] sentence,” according to the Asheville Citizen-Times.

    The Asheville Blade reporters immediately appealed the decision by Judge Calvin Hill, and a jury trial was tentatively scheduled for May 1.

    “In today’s bench trial of Blade journalists Veronica Coit and Matilda Bliss, judge Calvin Hill declared them guilty of trespassing, ignored freedom of press, openly sided with [Asheville Police Department’s] claim [that it] can order reporters off public land,” the Asheville Blade stated.

    Hill, according to the media organization, apparently contended that no evidence had been presented to show that Coit and Bliss were journalists. The prosecutor did not even take this position.

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    The Asheville Blade is a “leftist local news co-op” that focuses on “hard-hitting journalism, in-depth investigation and sharp views” from Asheville. They are reader-supported (primarily through Patreon) and have been around for more than a decade.

    Beginning on December 19, 2021, those in the Asheville community gathered at Aston Park for five evenings to urge the City of Asheville to leave people without any shelter alone in the park after it closed at 10 p.m. They took a stand on Christmas, and police responded by sweeping the encampment and arresting six people, including Coit and Bliss.

    All six arrestees were “released from custody on the condition that they do not return to Aston Park,” the Asheville Free Press reported.

    The American Civil Liberties Union of North Carolina, Freedom of the Press Foundation, Reporters Without Borders, National Press Club, and Committee to Protect Journalists backed Coit and Bliss and urged the City of Asheville to abandon their prosecution.

    Body camera footage was released after the groups requested that the Buncombe Superior Court in Asheville make the video public. The footage showed that police had ordered the arrest of Coit and Bliss because they were “videotaping.”  

    Seth Stern, the advocacy director for Freedom of the Press Foundation, said the footage also showed that the Asheville Blade reporters had “recorded the sweep from a distance and did not obstruct police.”

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    In the released footage, Asheville Police Department Lieutenant Mike McClanahan asks Bliss if they are leaving. “Clearly, I have marked identification as press,” Bliss responds. To which the police lieutenant replies, “Clearly, you are trespassing.”

    Coit is singled out by officers similarly. They tell police they are “covering a story” and identify themselves as press.

    “These two journalists were serving the public interest by documenting this event, and their presence is protected by the First Amendment,” stated Clayton Weimers, the executive director of the United States Bureau for Reporters Without Borders. “The charges against them for trespassing are a poor attempt by local officials to intimidate the press and public from being able to monitor law enforcement.”

    Weimers spoke to Asheville Citizen-Times and highlighted the fact that more and more local governments in the U.S. are passing ordinances to prohibit reporting from homeless encampments.

    “I think this is the first guilty verdict in one of these cases, and I hate to think about what kind of precedent we’re setting here.”

    The trial was the fourth trial since 2018 against journalists for “offenses allegedly committed while gathering and reporting news,” according to the Freedom of the Press Foundation’s U.S. Press Freedom Tracker.

    “Bliss and Coit were never accused of harming or obstructing police or anyone and it’s ridiculous the case even got to this point,” Stern declared after the verdict. “Asheville’s crackdown on free speech doesn’t end with journalists—the same prosecutors are trying mutual aid workers for ‘felony littering.’ Seriously.”

    “Every reporter, everyone who’s ever criticized any official or cop should find the push to punish our journalists chilling,” the Asheville Blade concluded. “We remain determined to keep fighting.”

    The post North Carolina Judge Convicts Journalists Of ‘Trespassing’ While Covering Eviction Of Homeless Encampment appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • The following article was made possible by paid subscribers. Support independent journalism on whistleblowers and press freedom and subscribe to Shadowproof’s Dissenter Newsletter.

    British police invoked a terrorism law in the United Kingdom to question and later arrest a French publisher over his alleged involvement in protests in France.

    Ernest Moret is the foreign rights manager for Editions La Fabrique. He arrived in London on April 17 to attend the London Book Fair. Police detained Moret and demanded that he “give up his phone and pass codes to the officers, with no justification or explanation offered,” according to a joint press statement from Editions La Fabrique and Verso Books.

    The following morning on April 18 the police arrested Moret and accused him of obstruction because he had refused to share his pass codes with police who detained him.Around 6:30 p.m. local time, Moret was released by police and not charged.

    But his lawyer Maître Marie Dosé told Libération that he was still facing an investigation. The police seized his computer and phone, and Dosé contended if the police are able to access the contents of his devices they will share the information with French authorities.

    An update posted by Editions La Fabriqueand Verso Books indicated that Moret was ordered by British counter-terrorism police to return to London in four weeks.

    The British counter-terrorism system is unique in Europe as far as emergency legislation is concerned: it is the only one that allows, without any investigative leads, suspicious behaviour, prosecution or even official ‘police custody,’ to arrest, detain and interrogate individuals who automatically expose themselves to legal proceedings if they refuse to cooperate It also provides a very permissive legal framework for police officers to extract all data from any computer device or phone of an interrogated person. Despite his release, our colleague’s fundamental rights have been violated and his life subjected to a totally opaque state arbitrariness.

    National Union of Journalists (NUJ) senior books and magazines organizers Pamela Morton condemned the arrest. “It seems extraordinary that the British police have acted this way in using terrorism legislation to arrest the publisher who was on legitimate business here for the London Book Fair,” Morton declared.

    PEN International indicated that they were “deeply concerned by the detention of French Publisher La Fabrique’s foreign rights manager,” who had planned to take part in the London Book Fair. They called for his immediate release.

    As Editions La Fabrique and Verso Books shared, Moret had plans to meet with over 30 foreign publishers at the book fair. When he arrived at St. Pancras International railway station, officers stopped him for questioning under Schedule 7 of the Terrorism Act of 2000. It evidently means that French and British police are collaborating to track down individuals who have participated in protests against French President Emmanuel Macron’s “pension reform” in France.

    “We consider these actions to be outrageous and unjustifiable infringements of basic principles of the freedom of expression and an example of the abuse of anti-terrorism laws,” Editions La Fabrique and Verso Books further stated. “We consider that this assault on the freedom of expression of a publisher is yet another manifestation of the slide towards repressive and authoritarian measures taken by the current French government in the face of widespread popular discontent and protest.”

    Both publishers announced that there would be a protest at the French Institute in London in the evening on April 18, where Moret had been scheduled to attend a reception. They also indicated that there would be a “simultaneous protest at the British Embassy in Paris.”

    Stella Magliani-Belkacem, who is the editorial director for Editions La Fabrique, told the Guardian, “When we were on the platform, two people, a woman and a guy, told us they were counter-terrorist police. They showed a paper called section 7 of the Terrorism Act of 2000 and said they had the right to ask him about demonstrations in France.”

    “I’m still shaking, we are in shock about what happened,” Magliani-Belkacem added.

    While abuses of authority under Schedule 7 of the UK’s terrorism law have primarily targeted Muslims, journalists have also had to worry about authorities using the law to violate their rights to freedom of the press.

    The NUJ previously noted that in October 2018 “the UK’s independent reviewer of terrorism legislation called for greater clarity over the use of Schedule 7 stops, which allow police to question people and copy data from their mobile phones and computers at ports and airports without reason for suspicion.”

    In 2013, David Miranda, the partner of journalist Glenn Greenwald, was stopped under Schedule 7 for nine hours. Police detained Miranda in the hopes of seizing copies of documents from NSA whistleblower Edward Snowden that detailed United States and U.K. involvement in mass surveillance programs.

    Multiple newspapers in the U.K. asked the Metropolitan Police and the French embassy in London for comment, however, they did not immediately respond to their requests.

    The post UK Police Arrest French Publisher For Refusing To Share Pass Codes For Phone appeared first on Shadowproof.

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  • Dawn Ray’d is a UK anarchist black metal band that draws from the folk traditions of rebel music. On their latest album “To Know The Light,” the trio conveys a rousing anti-fascist message that balances the bleakness that black metal is known for with a sense of optimism.

    The band released a video for one of the album’s tracks called “Go As Free Companions”. According to vocalist and violinist Simon Barr, the song is an “exploration of anarcho-nihilism, and ‘Go As Free Companions’ is our conclusion.”

    “We have chosen not to despair in the face of overwhelming odds, but to live while time allows it. If the future is canceled, if the present is all we have, then each minute must be revolutionary; every moment counts, so live these ideas in every moment.”

    “It is easy to know what we are against, but we must not forget what we are for,” Barr added. “Whilst there is joy, love, empathy, kindness, people in need of your help; we cannot give up. You may sometimes feel like it, but you are not alone and you are not powerless, there are huge numbers of us, let’s find each other! Though acrid black clouds race across the horizon we must not forget: today, the sun still shines.”

    The song’s potent message is summed up in the lyrics:

    If you make food for those without,
    And if you pour sugar in to their machines,
    If you help those stolen by jail
    Or fight for your neighbours basic needs,
    You the still unafraid to love
    demand for the end of demands!
    The sun still shines,
    And it would be a waste
    To not only lose tomorrow
    But also lose today.


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eM9XjdDIV3s

    The post Protest Song Of The Week: ‘Go As Free Companions’ By Dawn Ray’d appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • Originally published at Ongoing History of Protest Music

    Founded in 1911, the Alabama Industrial School for Negro Children was a juvenile correctional facility in the Mount Meigs community near Montgomery, Alabama. The juvenile facility was notorious for the abuse inflicted on Black youth.

    As late as the 1960s, prisoners were forced to pick cotton from early morning to late evening, with physical and sexual abuse commonplace.

    “This was functionally a slave plantation,” concluded journalist Josie Duffy Rice, who researched the school’s history for a podcast series. 

    Among those who endured those horrors was 73-year-old acclaimed visual artist and avant-garde musician Lonnie Holley, who was arrested when he was 11.

    “I was like the Jungle Book child,” Holley shared in 2018. “I was cast away from society.”

    Years later those memories continue to haunt Holley to the point of experiencing night terrors. Holley tries to exorcize those past demons on the unsettling “Mount Meigs”, a stand-out track off his recently released fourth album “Oh Me Oh My.”

    Hearing Holley say, “They beat the curiosity out of me. They beat it out of me. They whooped it. They knocked it!” is jarring, but it properly confronts the dark past. Holley’s music does not whitewash history.

    Listen to Lonnie Holley’s “Mount Meigs”:


    The post Protest Song Of The Week: ‘Mount Meigs’ By Lonnie Holley appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • Originally published at Disruption Lab

    Saturday, March 25 – 7pm CET (2pm ET)

    Featuring Stella Assange (Julian Assange’s wife, Lawyer, UK) and Kevin Gosztola (Journalist, Dissenter Newsletter Editor, US).

    Introduced and moderated by Stefania Maurizi (Investigative journalist, IT).

    As an introduction to the film Ithaka, this panel describes the pervasive surveillance, monitoring and personal control that has oppressed Julian Assange and WikiLeaks for more than ten years, and discusses the conditions around Assange’s incarceration at the Belmarsh high-security prison in the United Kingdom, where he has been imprisoned for four years, and faces indefinite detention, while the United States seeks his extradition to face a 175-year prison sentence. He is accused of receiving and publishing documents from Chelsea Manning which documented war crimes, extrajudicial killings and civilian casualties during the US occupations of Iraq and Afghanistan.

    The panel starts with a talk by Stella Assange, a human rights lawyer born in South Africa and one of the protagonists of the film Ithaka. In March 2022, she married Julian Assange with whom she has two children, born in 2017 and 2019. She joined Assange’s legal team in 2011. During the latter stages of Assange’s political asylum in the Ecuadorean embassy, Julian Assange, Stella, their infant child and WikiLeaks lawyers were targeted by illegal surveillance. The embassy has been described as ‘the most surveilled embassy in the world’ and a ‘type of prison’. Since his arrest in April 2019, Julian Assange has been kept under administrative detention in the UK’s harshest, most surveilled prison, Belmarsh prison, also known as Britain’s Guantanamo Bay. All this while not having been convicted of any crime.

    In his talk, Kevin Gosztola, journalist and Dissenter Newsletter editor, accounts for the role of U.S. national security agencies in targeting Julian Assange and WikiLeaks. He describes what is known about the CIA and the FBI’s roles in the prosecution. Through several examples, he shows the extensive lengths that those in the shadow government have gone to instil paranoia and fear among those in Assange’s inner circle, who represent him publicly and legally, and those who campaign for his freedom.

    The panel is opened and moderated by investigative journalist Stefania Maurizi. In light of her work on the WikiLeaks secret files since 2009, she reconstructs how Julian Assange and the WikiLeaks journalists unleashed a revolution not only in journalism, but also in the people’s right to know. Based on her 8-year-long trench warfare to unearth the truth on the Julian Assange and WikiLeaks case through FOIA litigation in UK, US, Australia and Sweden, she provides and dissects forensic evidence of the persecution of Assange and the WikiLeaks journalists.

    The post [LIVE PANEL] Targeted by Surveillance: Julian Assange, WikiLeaks & Networked Repression appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • Originally published at Ongoing History of Protest Music

    Born Evan Pang, Aysanabee is a Canadian Indigenous multi-instrumentalist, producer, and singer-songwriter. He is Oji-Cree and began creating music under his mother’s maiden name in order to reclaim his family name.

    Aysanabee’s mother gave him the last name Pang because she felt that a non-Indigenous name would make it easier to find employment.

    His 2022 debut album Watin” was named after his grandfather. His grandfather was renamed from Watin to “Walter” by the McIntosh Residential School in northwestern Ontario that he was forced to attend.

    “Watin actually started out as a series of conversations between myself and my grandfather,” said Aysanabee. “We spent the first year of the pandemic talking about things we’ve never spoke about, his life on the trapline on Sandy Lake First Nation, falling in love, his life in residential school and then leaving everything behind..we never spoke of it until now. Even though we were over 1,000 kilometres apart, it was probably the closest we’ve ever been.”

    The album includes nine spoken word interludes featuring his grandfather, which add poignancy to the music.

    The opening interlude relates to Watin’s harrowing experiences in residential school: “Ya I was eight years when I went to Residential School. Somebody from outside, the government person, said ‘if you don’t send your kids out, you guys, we’re not going to help you.’ And so I went to school. We had no choice. It was 300 kids that went to school, and I used to cry. I was lonesome. I was wondering why I was sent here. And I didn’t know why. What did I do wrong?”

    One of the album’s highlights is the anthemic “We Were Here”. It opens with the potent lyrics, “They say that we can reconcile this. Put it in the past. They say that we can reconcile this. What if I can’t?”

    The song and album are all about reclamation in the face of “fading memories,” “fleeting stories,” and “disappearing words.” Even though there may be efforts to whitewash history, Aysanabee defiantly declares that “it’s in my blood.”

    The post Protest Song Of The Week: ‘We Were Here’ By Aysanabee appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • This article was funded by the Marvel Cooke Fellowship. Read more about this reporting project and make a contribution to fund our fellowship budget.

    About one year after the COVID-19 pandemic hit Washington State prisons, sick prisoners at Stafford Creek Correctional Center found themselves huddled into the gym to isolate from the rest of the population. 

    The events that took place in that gym, organized by medical and corrections staff, provides a window into how medical care is approached in a carceral environment.

    “A couple of weeks ago, I had got diagnosed with COVID,” Robert Hampton recounted from a prison phone in June 2022. “Now when I first got diagnosed, I didn’t believe I had COVID. I was telling everyone like, yo, I don’t got COVID, they’re tripping. But then they put us in the gym.”

    “We get to the gym and you got all these people up in there, and they’re coughing, just hacking up and everything. And the next day I found out I did have COVID, and I could barely walk and whatnot.”

    Hampton recovered in the gym, but soon more people arrived. He realized prison officials were mixing people from different housing units—raising the risk of transmitting infection between buildings in the midst of an outbreak of a highly contagious airborne virus. 

    “As I started getting well, they started bringing other people in,” Hampton explained. “They bring in a couple of brothers and I know that they’re from a different unit. We’re all hanging out. We’re making prayers and everything together.”

    “And then one night, they come in there about nine o’clock and they turn the field lights off,” he said. This was a surprise because typically the lights were turned off around 11pm.

    “I’m just thinking like damn what the hell they doing? Then [staff] go over to one of my bros—actually they went to two of them—but they went to one of my bros. He came and told me before he left.”

    “He came up and said, ‘Rob, man, they’re moving me over…. They said I got [tuberculosis].’”

    This was the start of a massive and deadly tuberculosis (TB) outbreak at Stafford Creek, which would continue for months and eventually see the WADOC fined $84,400 for “reportedly failing to follow safety rules meant to stop the spread of disease” at the prison.

    “He’s been in here with us for three days. We’re not even wearing a mask in there, you know—we all got COVID so we’re not wearing a mask in there—but he’s been there with us for three days. And then he comes and tells me on his way out the door that they’re moving them guys out and that he has TB.”

    Hampton told the others in the gym what had just happened, but by then it was too late. Over 300 people who had been quarantining in that space had been exposed to the disease. Many had already returned to their housing units.

    “They turned the gym into like a sick hall and a TB testing place,” he said, “but I don’t know… I don’t know what they do… I don’t know what they do for it. But I know this. We didn’t have it in our [housing] unit. (Well, so they said, right?) But then it started showing up in all these different places.”

    “This has been going on now with this TB for months,” Hampton said with frustration. “So it’s like, yo, how did we even get to a point where we got TB and we don’t even have that under control here? How are we… how are we getting to this? You know what I mean? So they don’t care. They don’t care.”

    The administration’s response to the outbreak was not one of regret and remediation but one of obfuscation.

    “When they were on the news and the news media got wind of it, then they blame it all on COVID. ‘Oh, well, you know, it’s hard for us to tell…’ You know what I mean? Like we’re in a cold catch-22 up in here.”

    “We have this lady named Cheryl Strange that was on TV denying a lot of stuff the other day,” Hampton said, referring to the State Secretary of Corrections who had recently been appointed to the position by Democratic Governor Jay Inslee. Strange was promoted to the position after running the Department of Social and Health Services. 

    “That’s supposed to be the head of medical,” Hampton said. “That’s supposed to make these things better. And it’s like, how can you make things better if you can’t even come in here and meet with us? You got authorization to slide up in here and talk to the people, not the staff, come talk to the people, but you’re not doing that you know.”

    Hampton eventually recovered in the gym and returned to his housing unit, but he said they “changed the rules up.”

    “Now they be testing cats and, if a cat has COVID, they’re not even gonna tell you,” he said. “They’ll just retest you later, and then your results will come, and you’ll be like, ‘Oh the whole time I had COVID.’ So what happens to the guy that didn’t have COVID, you got COVID, and then they don’t tell you?”

    “Then they had these guys sign waivers that said that, if they get COVID, they’re gonna shelter in place, whatever whatever. But they’re not even telling you if you got COVID now. See what I’m saying? So I was like, man, this is all, it’s all bad.”

    Deliberate Indifference

    Hampton’s story demonstrates how prison health care is designed to avoid or withhold care for as long as possible, often to the point of causing serious harm. 

    Legally, prisoners are the only people in the United States who have a constitutional right to state-sponsored medical care. The Eighth Amendment is supposed to shield prisoners from cruel and unusual punishment, which includes protection against “deliberate indifference to serious medical needs.” But as Hampton’s experience indicates, such rights mean little in a system that is designed to punish instead of care.

    Prisoners’ “right” to healthcare was established in a 1976 Supreme Court decision Estelle v. Gamble, which held that “deliberate indifference by prison personnel to a prisoner’s serious illness or injury constitutes cruel and unusual punishment contravening the Eighth Amendment.” At first glance, this ruling may seem to adequately protect a prisoner’s right to medical care. However, it only legislates over its absence.

    Prisoners point out a number of issues with this. First, there is an enormous burden of proof placed on incarcerated people to prove “deliberate indifference.” It is easier to prove that something happened—that injury or an act of harm has taken place—than it is to prove neglect.

    The second issue concerns the standard necessitated by “deliberate.” The protection presumes a degree of contact between prisoners and those for whom a standard of “deliberate indifference” would even apply. However, the prohibitive bureaucratic processes and perverse incentives inherent to the prison healthcare system ensure that there is as little contact as possible between prisoners and the healthcare system. Prisoners feel they are abandoned to either muddle through costly and complicated bureaucratic processes, or to cope with or address their medical issues collectively or on their own.

    The irony of having to meet the standard of “deliberate indifference” is that, to actually experience and understand the reality of prison health care is to know that there is nothing indifferent about it. Incarcerated people and their loved ones see correctional health as intentionally callous and cruel, a system designed to make people suffer through illness, infections, chronic pain, and mental health crises all while pleading for care with little hope of relief. 

    Seeking Medical Care 

    In an Inside Olympia interview shortly after the TB outbreak, Secretary of Corrections Cheryl Strange said healthcare reform is her administration’s top priority. She described the prison’s current healthcare model as “treatment on demand” and said that her team is working towards a “preventative care” model.

    Washington prisoners take issue with Strange’s characterization of the existing system for a number of reasons. They will tell you that, because the system is so quick to deny them care and will often charge them exorbitant costs regardless of treatment, there is nothing “on demand” about it. Even if state prisoners pay the $4 copay for medical visits and are permitted to see a doctor, more often than not they are denied any additional testing or a referral to a specialist. While $4 may not seem like a steep price to those on the outside, for prisoners who are indigent and supporting themselves on wages that range from $0.70 to $1.70 per hour, medical co-pays are often debilitating. 

    In other words, prisoners without significant outside financial support have to choose between purchasing basic food and hygiene items or seeing the doctor. For this reason, they often decide to cope with medical conditions that raise concern, such as high blood pressure, low blood sugar, nerve pain, bloody stools, and breaking or rotting teeth. If they see a doctor without adequate funds, they incur institutional debt. And whenever money is added to their commissary accounts, it is automatically garnished to pay off that debt.

    Prisoners also reject the idea that a prison-run “preventative care” model will fix the major systemic issues with prison healthcare, such as the refusal to solicit second opinions, the authority that non-medical personnel have to make decisions about provision of care, and the debilitating cost of co-pays. As long as the DOC denies that these problems produce severe illness and mass death, no healthcare reform program will improve conditions for prisoners.

    Want to get involved in the fight for health care in Washington State prisons?
    Contact Lawrence Jenkins via Securus:

    LAWRENCE JENKINS
    ID#: 306665
    Stafford Creek Corrections Center (WA)

    When people enter prison, they lose any prior healthcare coverage and are automatically enrolled in the state’s prison healthcare plan. In Washington, for example, prisoners are enrolled in the WA DOC Health Plan. The plan’s language makes evident that the system is designed to withhold rather than provide care while insulating the institution from lawsuits as much as possible. The first page of the plan states that the “WA DOC Health Plan is not a contract or a guarantee of services to incarcerated individuals.” In order to receive medical services, the prison must identify the issue as “medically necessary” for the patient or general health of the prison population.

    Each step in the process of obtaining medical care is increasingly prohibitive. Prisoners first file a medical “kite,” on which they detail their medical, dental, or mental health needs. Of course, for many ailments, it is extremely difficult for the patient to pinpoint exactly where the pain is or describe exactly what it feels like in as much detail as a doctor needs to proceed. Nonetheless, when prisoners are later called for “sick-call,” they are only evaluated for exactly what they describe on their kite.

    Prisoners can expect to be called up two-to-three days after submitting a kite. For optometry, dental, and mental health-related issues, it can take much longer. These long time horizons leave prisoners at risk not only for severe pain and discomfort, but also an increased likelihood that their conditions worsen and become harder to treat. 

    When prisoners are finally summoned to sick-call, medical personnel will categorize the issue with a “level” of one, two, or three. As WA prisoner Frank Brunner describes, the level essentially determines how long somebody will have to suffer, not the amount of attention or care they will receive.

    “Medical level one is emergent, necessary, life-sustaining care—a broken bone, or you’re bleeding or you’re having a heart attack,” he said. “They have to give you immediate emergent care, regardless of cost. Level two care is like a person with cancer—stage three cancer or diabetes—they know that you’re dying, but it hasn’t reached the level of number one care for it to be considered emergent. Yeah, so it’s slowly killing you is the difference.”

    “And then level three care is the stuff you can’t get, like anything cosmetic,” he said. “You should see all the stuff that they just deny, you know acne, and stuff like that—cysts and tumors.”

    Many prisoners do not even bother seeking care when they think the doctor will deem the issue level three. They make the assessment that the $4 co-pay isn’t worth being told to take Ibuprofen and drink water before being sent back to one’s cell.

    Of course, any “minor” issue can become quite serious without adequate attention and care. One WA prisoner, Darrin Maiden, suffered ankle pain for over three years and racked up a bill of over $900 in an effort to get medical care. Each time he sought treatment for his pain, he paid $4 and was told to rest and take Ibuprofen. The medical staff never documented the progression of his pain, nor did they schedule follow up appointments. 

    “Eventually three years go by and it’s to the point where I can’t even walk, I have to use a cane and I’m missing meals,” he said. “So I decided to go up there and look at my medical records because I wanted to know what was my medical provider putting in my medical records to explain why they wasn’t doing nothing to help me.”

    “That’s when I realized he wasn’t documenting everything that I was telling him. When I told him how much pain I was in or the level of swelling… he didn’t document any of that. That’s how they’re able to get away with not doing anything for you.”

    Maiden’s story demonstrates how difficult self-advocacy is, even if you can afford to rack up medical bills and bear the mental burden of seeking care. When he was able to get the X-ray needed to properly diagnose his condition, he found out that the cartilage in his ankle joint had completely deteriorated and his bones were scraping together with every step. At that point, the pain was excruciating.

    For conditions deemed “level two,” WA DOC has a Care Review Committee composed of DOC medical staff from across the state. It meets weekly and decides whether care is necessary and cost-effective. If they decide it is not, it becomes nearly impossible for prisoners to get care and for families to advocate for them.

    This leads to another issue toward which WA prisoners consistently point: the lack of alternatives if they are denied care or believe they are misdiagnosed.

    “There is no access to a second opinion whatsoever. If you have money to pay for it yourself, maybe you can get it, but it has to be approved by the DOC,” said Brunner.

    As one would expect, obtaining DOC approval is nearly impossible. However, practically speaking, there is no reason a prisoner should be denied access to a second opinion if outside family members and loved ones can organize and pay for it. Here we start to see the punitive nature of these denials. 

    Hampton has suffered from chronic migraines for 20 years in prison. While the medical staff prescribed him a migraine medication, he went to sick-call a number of times in an effort to understand the underlying issue. Each time his requests for a CT scan were deemed unnecessary. 

    If prisoners want to appeal a decision by the Care Review Committee, their only route is to file a grievance. Prior to President Bill Clinton’s enactment of the Prison Litigation Reform Act (PLRA) in 1996, prisoners could directly file lawsuits in federal court. Under the PLRA, they are required to exhaust all other administrative remedies before filing a lawsuit. The grievance is the first step.

    Grievances go through an intra-administrative process in which prisoners file formal complaints. When a prisoner submits a grievance, the prison’s grievance coordinator—an administrator with no medical training or experience—will deem the issue grievable or non-grievable. Prisoners have the option of appealing the decision, but the cycle of appeal and denial can continue for months until the grievance is reviewed by WA DOC headquarters. 

    In the unlikely best case scenario, when a prisoner files a grievance for an issue that is deemed grievable, DOC policy permits 120 days for the department to remedy the issue. When it comes to medical issues, a four-month waiting period can become a death sentence. 

    Even worse is the apathy and negligence around emergent medical issues. For emergencies, prisoners are at the complete mercy of the prison guards, who lack medical training yet are given the responsibility of determining whether a medical issue is emergent or not.

    Hampton explained that prisoners are often forced to resort to extreme measures to get the help they need. In one instance, an elder prisoner was continuously denied a hospital visit and forced himself to pass out so he could get the prison staff’s attention. He was only taken to the hospital after passing out a second time.

    “When he got back from the hospital he was like, ‘Man, you’re not gonna believe this. I got stage 4 liver cancer.’ We were all just stunned.” Hampton said. “When they finally took him serious, he’s gone. He passed away.”

    In the absence of medical care, WA prisoners pointed out that they do whatever they can to care for each other. They check in on each other regularly, inquiring about physical and mental health. They cook together and pool resources to meet the dietary needs of people with chronic illnesses such as diabetes. They also act as physical therapy aides. In the event that someone’s medical issue is becoming life-threatening, they collectively organize campaigns with outside support to pressure the prison administration to attend to their needs. While prisoners risk getting an infraction for caring for one another, they see these measures as necessary to ensure their collective survival.

    Each Crisis Amplifies The Next

    As the COVID-19 pandemic raged in prisons, blatant disregard for pandemic safety protocols led to many deaths in WA facilities. Stafford Creek Correctional Center was recently fined $60,000 for skirting COVID-prevention measures. On top of this, the pandemic strained the already understaffed prison healthcare system and led to even further denial of care for non-COVID related medical issues. As Brunner explained, prisoners were locked down in their units and could not access medical care if they needed it.

    “Because they were short on medical staff, there was no sick call. There were no kites going out. We had no access to medical care,” Brunner said. “If you had an infection or something, by the time they picked up a kite, it’s already been days or weeks even and you still haven’t been seen. Routine care was totally set aside.”

    When prisoners and their families thought the medical situation in WA prisons could not get any worse, the tuberculosis outbreak at Stafford Creek in May instigated the largest outbreak of tuberculosis that the state has seen in two decades. From the perspectives of Stafford Creek prisoners, prison officials did nothing to curb the outbreak and acted with intentional disregard for their safety, even after dozens of prisoners were infected. 

    When you unearth the violence underneath any facet of the prison industrial complex, it’s extremely difficult to believe in any outcome short of abolition. But there are life-saving measures that prisoners need now. 

    WA prisoners compiled a few important measures they hope advocates will help fight for:

    1. Elimination of medical co-pays. Medical co-pays force prisoners into institutional debt, making it extremely difficult for all prisoners, but especially indigent ones, to access medical care. Healthcare services should be accessible to all prisoners without financial obligation.
    1. Establish first aid training classes for prisoners. WADOC should remove rules and regulations that prevent prisoners from helping other prisoners in the case of a medical emergency. Currently, if prisoners assist each other in a medical emergency, they risk catching a write-up because the prison doesn’t want to risk legal liability if something goes wrong.
    1. Establish health education courses for prisoners. When prisoners are sick, experiencing pain, or coping with chronic illness, they don’t have the ability to Google their symptoms and help themselves through common illnesses. In this information void, prisoners need access to education that teaches them about how to manage common illnesses and diseases commonly experienced by prisoners, such as diabetes, asthma, high blood pressure etc.
    1. Allow prisoners and their families to access medical information. While the barriers to getting a second opinion on medical diagnoses are significant, one important step would be to remove institutional barriers that prevent prisoners from accessing their medical records. Currently, it can take months to receive records once a request is made. This prevents prisoners from effectively advocating for themselves and families from advocating on behalf of their loved ones.
    1. Allow alternatives to prison medical coverage. Currently, WADOC does not allow prisoners’ loved ones to pay for procedures or necessary medication or medical equipment, such as an insulin pump. These senseless restrictions have led to preventable death in WADOC.
    1. Expand healthcare coverage through medicaid and medicare. Currently, prisoners are not covered by Medicare or Medicaid while incarcerated, even if they are eligible. While recent reforms have introduced Medicaid access for prisoners who are set to be released, these programs should be expanded to cover currently incarcerated people and therefore remove healthcare from state DOC budgets altogether. This would hopefully provide strong coverage as well as more stringent oversight provisions for care.

    It’s undeniable that prisons are death-making institutions, but the contradiction of the prison healthcare system specifically is that it is a system designed around withholding healthcare – it actually hastens death. Whether or not the law recognizes it, medical neglect in prison is cruel and unusual punishment. The greatest irony is that it is actually the state that inflicts this very punishment.

    Want to get involved in the fight for health care in Washington State prisons?
    Contact Lawrence Jenkins via Securus:

    LAWRENCE JENKINS
    ID#: 306665
    Stafford Creek Corrections Center (WA)

    The post Healthcare As Punishment: Seeking Medical Care In Washington Prisons appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • This article was funded by paid subscribers of The Dissenter Newsletter, a project of Shadowproof. Become a monthly paid subscriber to help us publish more independent journalism on whistleblowing.

    To further their nationwide efforts to restrict access to transgender health care, Republicans in the state of Missouri have deployed a former case worker at Washington University’s Transgender Center at St. Louis Children’s Hospital, who they claim is a whistleblower.

    There is no shortage of activists, journalists, academics, and people of conscience who have some story to share about the impact of the “Collateral Murder” video.

    The U.S. military footage of an Apache helicopter crew shooting indiscriminately at a dozen Iraqi civilians — including Reuters journalists Namir Noor Eldeen and Saeed Chmagh, and two young children — is widely recognized for exposing the true nature of the United States war in Iraq and for making WikiLeaks and Julian Assange household names.

    Three years before WikiLeaks made it possible for the public to watch this video, Dean Yates, Reuters bureau chief in Iraq, learned of its existence. Yates testified about the impact of the video at the Belmarsh Tribunal in Sydney, Australia on March 4, 2023.

    Later in the Tribunal, another delegate, Australian lawyer Bernard Collaery, called Yates’ testimony “admissible evidence,” which could serve as witness testimony in defense of Assange. (In fact, a statement from Yates was submitted to a British court during Assange’s extradition trial.)

    It has now been nearly 13 years since WikiLeaks published the video, and nearly 16 years since the attack took place. No one responsible for the attack or the invasion of Iraq has faced even a modicum of accountability.

    In contrast, Assange is languishing in Belmarsh Prison under torturous conditions. He sits in legal limbo while the United States continues to pursue his extradition under Espionage Act charges, in a case which poses an unprecedented threat to press freedom.

    While WikiLeaks’ publication of military documents from Iraq and Afghanistan are at the heart of the case, the “Collateral Murder” video is absent from the 18-count indictment that spans 37 pages.

    “The U.S. military usually didn’t investigate civilian casualties in Iraq. It did in this case because Namir and Saeed worked for a major international news organization,” Yates said as he started his speech.

    “I was shown—without advance warning—less than three minutes of footage from the gun-camera of Crazy Horse 1-8, up to where it opened fire for the first time. I was told the gunship then attacked a minivan because it was believed to be helping wounded insurgents and picking up weapons. U.S. forces had acted in accordance with the rules of engagement for Iraq, I was told.”

    Yates spent the next three years trying to convince the Pentagon to provide the full footage through the Freedom of Information Act, yet his effort was met with repeated refusals.

    Then, in 2010, WikiLeaks published the video. It immediately was clear that what the Pentagon had claimed was deceptive and dishonest.

    Screen shot from the “Collateral Murder” video

    “It was obvious why the U.S. government didn’t want to share the tape with Reuters,” Yates said. “It showed grainy figures on a Baghdad street. The hellish clack of Crazy Horse 1-8’s chain gun firing rounds the size of a small soft-drink bottle, the length of a man’s hand. Clouds of dust as those cannon shells crashed into men.”

    Yates further explained in his testimony that he highlighted sections of the indictment against Assange when the charges were announced. He concluded they were “an attempt to criminalize what journalists do,” and then Yates recalled something U.S. Army whistleblower Chelsea Manning explained at her court-martial.

    “After saving a copy of the tape, Ms. Manning told her court-martial that she searched for and found the ROEs, a 2007 flow chart outlining the chain of command for the use of force in Iraq and a laminated ‘ROE Card’ soldiers carried with them that summarized the rules,” Yates explained. “Then I got it. The U.S. government didn’t want the video in a courtroom. Too embarrassing.”

    “Potential war crimes. Cruel pilot banter. The U.S. military repeatedly lied about the events of July 12, 2007, in which my Iraq staff were killed.”

    Yates debunked, point-by-point, the lies in the original statement that the U.S. military put out justifying the attack, as well as the excuses U.S. Defense Secretary Robert Gates made following WikiLeaks’ publication of the footage. Yates emphasized that U.S. troops were well aware of the rules of engagement that they were violating, and despite this clear breach of rules, a U.S. military investigation cleared the pilots.

    The Pentagon engaged in a cover-up to try to keep the footage from ever seeing the light of day.

    Zoomed in screen shot from the “Collateral Murder” video

    “All this shows why the U.S. government didn’t put the tape in Assange’s indictment – that snapshot of the war would have exposed the hypocrisy of its case against him,” Yates said. “The breach of the ROEs, the blatant way the military ignored the wrongdoing and the extent senior military and civilian officials lied about it. Collateral Murder is so powerful because it is pure truth-telling. No military officials could deflect, sanitize, or provide ‘context.’”

    Yates finished his testimony by comparing the video to the Pulitzer Prize-winning photo taken by photojournalist Eddie Adams at the start of the Tet Offensive in the Vietnam War. The photo powerfully documented the casual execution of Nguyen Van Lem, and is credited for changing public perception of the war in Vietnam.

    The “Collateral Murder” video certainly impacted the public perception of the Iraq War. However, 20 years after the invasion of Iraq, many of the war’s architects have succeeded in memory-holing their crimes, lies, and abuses of power.

    Thanks to Assange and WikiLeaks, even if the criminals behind the war and occupation in Iraq never face any justice for their actions, this video will always be available to anyone who wants to know the truth about the conflict.

    The post US Still Trying To Bury ‘Collateral Murder’ Video That WikiLeaks Released appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • This article was funded by paid subscribers of The Dissenter Newsletter, a project of Shadowproof. Become a monthly paid subscriber to help us publish more independent journalism on whistleblowing.

    To further their nationwide efforts to restrict access to transgender health care, Republicans in the state of Missouri have deployed a former case worker at Washington University’s Transgender Center at St. Louis Children’s Hospital, who they claim is a whistleblower.

    Shadowproof and Project Censored present a conversation between Kevin Gosztola and Pentagon Papers whistleblower Daniel Ellsberg to mark the release of Kevin’s book, “Guilty of Journalism: The Political Case Against Julian Assange.”

    The book is available today, March 7, from Censored Press and Seven Stories Press. It is a crucial and compelling guide to the United States government’s case against the WikiLeaks founder and the implications for press freedom.

    “Kevin Gosztola is a rare journalist who understands the abominable threat that the case against Assange poses to press freedom,” says Daniel. “I rely on his indispensable reporting not only to stay informed about Assange, but also to follow developments in the wider war on whistleblowers.”

    Daniel has spent many decades sharing not only his experiences as a Nixon-era whistleblower but also showing support for fellow whistleblowers, who have faced similar attacks. He testified at the extradition trial against Assange in the United Kingdom in September 2020. He is also a board member for the Freedom of the Press Foundation.

    We thank Daniel for his generosity, and all the kindness he has shown to whistleblowers and independent journalists while standing up for peace and truth-telling.

    Below is the conversation between Kevin and Daniel on Guilty of Journalism.



    ***

    The following is a transcript of the conversation with minor edits for clarity.

    GOSZTOLA: We’re fast approaching the fourth anniversary of Julian Assange being thrown out of the Ecuador embassy and put into jail. Though we don’t have to get into all the details, especially given the life announcement you made recently, I just want to ask you about the passage of time as it applies to Julian Assange because it’s something that I think about as I follow this case.

    What I wrote about in my book, we’re talking about events that unfolded 13-14 years ago. The passage of time has usually factored into criminal cases. Sometimes it is weighed against hem when you’re considering bringing a case against a person. But Julian Assange has considered figures like Michael Ratner, who is no longer with us who was a really good human rights attorney who represented him, [as a mentor]. He’s lost Gavin MacFadyen, who was a figure in some way that he looked up to. So I’d like to get your view about what you consider most alarming about the fact that this keeps marching onward and doesn’t have a resolution yet.

    ELLSBERG: On the one hand, [the U.S. government] would be very happy to bring him to trial in Alexandria in particular, to extradite him and get him on trial, and with the expectation that in the post-9/11 world of law and attitude that he would be convicted. The Supreme Court has never yet ruled on the constitutionality of applying the Espionage Act to anyone other than a spy, who gives secret information to a foreign power generally with intent to harm the United States especially in wartime. That’s where it’s been used exclusively before my case in 1971.

    I was the first one tried as they said for a non-espionage case under the so-called Espionage Act. That’s not it’s official name, as you know. It’s 18 U.S.C. 793, especially paragraphs (d) and (e). As a non-lawyer—I’m not a lawyer I’m a defendant—that’s the one law I can trip off my tongue easily because I was the first non-spy, and they didn’t accuse me of being a spy. People misreported that often. But the [first] person who was not being charged with espionage to be charged under the act, and both paragraphs (d) and (e).

    [793(e)] is particularly for people who did not have authorized access to the material for which they were a source. I was an authorized person with the Pentagon Papers to have it, as was Chelsea Manning when she had access to the material that she gave over. That’s true in most of the cases that have been brought.

    It’s never been brought before against a journalist, as you know—and despite [former New York Times executive editor] Bill Keller’s despicable, I would say, allegation that he doesn’t recognize Julian Assange as a journalist. That’s partly due to the fact that most journalists do not really regard sources as part of the process.

    Journalism begins with the person I give it to, and the source is sort of, I’ve come to realize, is sort of like a policeman’s criminal informant, a snitch who disobeys the rules of his organization. If he’s in the mafia, he’s subject to death. Even if he’s not in the mafia, he’s a criminal. And he’s very, very useful to the policeman. [The police don’t] want to share him with any other police person because it’s useful information. He wants to build his career on that information, but he doesn’t really have much respect or concern.

    I will say that journalists do show a great deal of concern for concealing the identity of a source, and I’m sorry if I sound cynical here. I’m talking out of a good deal of experience of talking to whistleblowers other than myself. They don’t feel that journalists in the end have shown as much concern as they expected, often in the beginning.

    I actually don’t know a whistleblower who regrets what she or he has done. Even when they’ve almost all—you know them only when the law has entrapped them, not the anonymous ones. But I’ve talked to a lot of them. I’ve made it my effort to meet a lot of them because I identify with them, and I’ve been through the mill and I can give them some advice and reassurance and generally my admiration for what they’ve done. I’ve found that it’s very hard to find one who ends the process without great complaint against the journalist they’ve dealt with.

    This article was funded by paid subscribers of The Dissenter Newsletter, a project of Shadowproof. Become a monthly paid subscriber to help us publish more independent journalism on whistleblowing.

    To further their nationwide efforts to restrict access to transgender health care, Republicans in the state of Missouri have deployed a former case worker at Washington University’s Transgender Center at St. Louis Children’s Hospital, who they claim is a whistleblower.

    I don’t think that I’ve ever seen that before as a generalization, or even as a selective case. Because they don’t fight them. They’re happy that the material got out, as certainly I am for example. But they all are, they’re happy the material got out in nearly all cases. There’s a few where they didn’t really intend it. And they generally start out with a really friendly relationship with the journalist, and in some cases, certainly mine and others, you feel you’re part of a movement, say against war or nuclear weapons or invention or [for] the Constitution.

    You sort of assume that the journalist is on your side as a liberal. That’s who you’re dealing with. Or a progressive, even if their editors are not that liberal or progressive. But you sort of start out with the assumption—and they encourage this assumption—that we’re together on this somehow. We’re getting this out. It seems a very natural presumption. If people are against the war, they welcome the opportunity to put out some truth that might shorten it.

    But it turns out, as these people nearly all find out, that the concern either for keeping their identity, or how they present the materials, does not really extend to the source very much. They don’t really regard them as being on the same team as the source may originally mistakenly imagine.

    The Times Treated Assange In A Manner That Was Familiar

    Coming back to Assange, I perceived immediately that he was treated in a way very familiar to me by the Times, even terribly [and] contemptuously. Bill Keller may be in some ways that I don’t know a very fine person and a good journalist. From what I do know of him and his treatment of Chelsea Manning and Assange and others, he’s a horse’s ass, one of the jerks of the world. [chuckles] Elon Musk is revealing himself in those terms.  

    When Bill Keller says I don’t recognize him as a journalist and then he prints a [New York Magazine] story introducing the world to Julian Assange, which describes him as this unkempt character looking like a bag lady—Look, we’re talking about a computer guy who lives at night on his computer, pretty much. Or around the clock. He was originally a hacker, as some of the others. This is his life. So he didn’t look like a Times reporter, which I guess has some of the standards of J. Edgar Hoover’s FBI agents. And he smelled bad.

    Now, when was the last time you saw that described of anyone? Have you ever heard anyone described as smelling bad? This is a source. So Julian didn’t expect that kind of treatment. He was rather dismayed by it, and I had to say Julian. I could have told you what would come here.

    I haven’t ever publicized it at all. I can tell you why. But I was treated even worse than that by the New York Times Magazine section in a disastrous profile that was done of me, which was misleading in almost every paragraph. And I’ve never talked about that publicly.

    Why don’t any of the leakers or sources come out like me and criticize the dealing with the papers, or the papers as they see them? Because we want to get the word out. It’s got to be through a newspaper. No one wants to antagonize media. And like any profession, they don’t like criticism, even of their colleagues. Even if they don’t like those particular colleagues. It’s like lawyers and doctors. They don’t testify against each other, and they don’t like to hear it. You may want to get something else out, as certainly I did.

    I never wanted to antagonize the New York Times. As you know, I’m coming to a point here, where I don’t have to worry whether I antagonize the New York Times. So I will say, and I’m not going to go into details, my dealings with the New York Times were not less frustrating than those of Julian Assange and some of the others. I do think of that as a defect because of their craft. Because they could get an awful lot more information if they had more respect for sources, and if they probed for what’s there, which they generally don’t.

    Sometimes they do. Good investigative reporters, certainly, [like] Sy Hersh, who doesn’t try to maintain to government officials by dining with them, and playing tennis with them, and being part of their club, the officials club.

    “They Don’t Like Civil Disobedience”

    Let me get away from the relations with the sources to a more general point. It’s the kind of thing you cover, Kevin. I’ve often been asked, how do you weigh the way the press is doing compared to 1971 when they printed the Pentagon Papers? And I got more coverage than I could have dreamed of, that is the papers did. Because of the effort by Nixon and Attorney General Mitchell, disastrous to them, of trying to enjoin the New York Times. And then, when I gave it to the Post, they enjoined the Post. So I gave it to one paper after another.

    A friend of mine, Gar Alperovitz, who didn’t want to be known as a source until recently, a wonderful historian and scholar—He was very involved in this process for other reasons. I was inclined to put it all out. We didn’t have the web then, but to get it out before the FBI could make me stop it. He said no. I’ll give him credit for this. He said do it one at a time. He had worked for Congress. He says stretch it out. That will give more attention to it.

    The effect was there were four injunctions, and then they stopped because they simply realized they could not stop this. It eventually got to 17 newspapers I recall. The prosecution had to say we can’t stop this with injunctions. I remember the prosecutor saying it’s like trying to herd bees. They’re just out there.

    That was a glorious moment for the press, which they take almost no credit for. It was a wave of civil disobedience, which is what they were doing. Not one of them wanted to acknowledge that because they don’t like civil disobedience. They don’t get treated well; in particular, the New York Times.

    For instance, Abe Rosenthal, the managing editor of the New York Times, did a wonderful job getting this through and getting the documents in despite the fact that he supported the [Vietnam War]. I don’t give him credit for that, but I give him a lot of credit as a newsman for getting this stuff out despite the fact that it contradicted policies that he had supported.

    [chuckles] Okay, I’ll tell you something I’ve never said publicly. A friend of mine on the Times informed me that Abe Rosenthal hated me. What? How could that be? First, I’m an antiwar activist, and he didn’t respect any of them. He was for the war. So as an establishment person, he didn’t like the Berrigans. He didn’t like David Harris, and he didn’t like me.

    But more important than that, he was furious at me—I was told very authoritatively—because by revealing my identity to Walter Cronkite and otherwise while the FBI was searching for me, I had taken the attention away from the New York Times. It had become a Daniel Ellsberg story, to a considerable extent, instead of we have a anonymous source; a reason why I think they love their sources to be anonymous. Obviously, it’s for the benefit of the source to a large extent, but it turns out also for the press. They don’t have to share attention for their revelations [with] the source.

    I said to the person I was talking to that I had always made it clear to Neil Sheehan on the Times that if I was indicted, which was almost certain but not quite certain. I was not aware of any indictments, but I assumed there had been and that I just didn’t happen to be aware of them. But I assumed if there’s been so few that even I don’t know about them from being in the government for a decade, seeing a lot of leaks. They must have known the source in a number of those cases. Others they didn’t. But often they must have known who the source was, and [the Justice Department] didn’t seem to indict them, as far as I could see.

    I didn’t know that that was for constitutional reason. They felt they didn’t have a British-type Official Secrets Act. And they don’t. The British who didn’t have a war of independence, a revolution. And they do have a monarch who cannot impeached. He’s above the law. So we made some advances in terms of freedom and democracy in our war of independence. And because we don’t have, as you point out in your book right at the beginning—We do not have a British-type Official Secrets Act, which criminalizes any and all release of protected information that they don’t want out. Just [basically], did you do it?

    Now, that’s the way they’re using the Espionage Act since my case, and above all, by Obama, then Trump, and now Biden.

    ‘The Guardian As A Whole Doesn’t Look Good’

    GOSZTOLA: The media is something that I deal with in the book, and we wanted to make sure that we raised that Andrew Cockburn did this fantastic feature story for Harper’s Magazine called “Alternative Facts: How the media failed Julian Assange.” And he also incorporated some details from my book into the feature. He used it as a kind of guide to help him question and account for all the misrepresentations that the media, these news organizations particularly in the US but also at the Guardian, have engaged in collectively.

    A good example is David Leigh and even Nick Davies saying Julian Assange said that Afghan informants “deserve to die.” That was something that was quoted in a PBS FRONTLINE documentary. Der Spiegel journalists say he never expressed anything of that nature. It’s been used to defame Julian Assange.

    ELLSBERG: Let me say since you’ve just given that anecdote. I want to take advantage of this since this is one of my last late interviews in life. You may have noticed I’m using language that I really have never used before, and I’m criticizing the media in a way I was afraid to do like other sources. I don’t want to antagonize people that I might want to share stories eventually with, but that’s not going to go on.

    Okay, David Leigh and Nick Davies and the other people who said that, who with Luke Harding revealed the password that enabled these State Department cables to be released. They had done it in their book. But in their general attacks from the Guardian on this major source, I can identify David Leigh as another jerk, a real, real jerk.

    The Guardian as a whole doesn’t look good. Alan Rusbridger, the editor, pretty good at printing this stuff. But the people under him have an almost campaign against Julian. It’s bizarre. I don’t know, have to go into that. Very bad performance. I started to generalize, and I didn’t say it in my monologue here. People would ask me how the press is doing.

    I said there’s two ways to answer that. One is terribly but better than any other institution in our government structure. Look at the Supreme Court in recent years, Congress, the Democratic Party, the Republican Party. [chuckles] No use even talking about that now. So the press looks better than any of those. Another way of saying it is they’re better than any other institution but terribly. They’re doing terribly.

    What was it? Twenty years after the Pentagon Papers for the Gulf War, and then for the Iraq War. Each case they were as misled by the executive as willingly, as easily as Vietnam. There was no improvement there. Rightly so, the government has even found new ways to suppress truth in the press. But they go along with it pretty easily.

    How Do We Know They’ll Print It?

    GOSZTOLA: One of my favorite movies of all time, which is from the era of film-watching that you were doing. I remember in your Secrets book that you mention seeing “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid with Howard Zinn. But another Robert Redford film that is quintessential to a conversation —

    ELLSBERG: Day of the Condor!

    GOSZTOLA: “Three Days of the Condor,” yes. And I want to say that question at the end, where we see the New York Times and the CIA company man asks, how do you know they’ll print it? I think that’s something that should enter our conversation here.

    ELLSBERG: How did he say it?

    GOSZTOLA: How do you know they’ll print it? That’s what the CIA man says to Robert Redford at the end. Because Robert Redford’s character Joe Turner says that he’s just blown the whistle on the underground assassination network inside the CIA, and he’s gone inside the New York Times building and he’s given [them] the allegations. And as he’s walking away, the CIA man—this is the Cliff Robertson character—looks at Robert Redford’s character and says—

    This is kind of him saying that you didn’t necessarily beat us because how do you know that the news media is going to publish your claims about our underground assassination network. We’ve talked about how the media demeans sources. They don’t want to share ownership. But we have countless examples in the last 20 years of journalists flat out not publishing material that was brought to their attention. And I think that’s something that we have to contemplate too in this case with Julian Assange and the way that the government has been able to go to war with WikiLeaks.

    Because what WikiLeaks did was publish material that probably the New York Times and the Washington Post would not have published, and it put them in the position where they had to deal with the fact that material they wouldn’t publish was now being shared by all of us and they didn’t want to have to deal with it in their newspapers.

    ELLSBERG: Good question. It brings me back to someone I was discussing a little earlier.  

    I remember “Three Days of the Condor.” My memory of the ending is that he looks up at the triangular building, the New York Times building, with the crawl that goes underneath. Isn’t that right? But I didn’t remember the question that you just mentioned, which is, how do you know they’re going to publish it?

    Well, they had just shown definite courage [it was 1975], as did the Washington Post and 17 other newspapers, who each of them defied the attorney general. He didn’t use the word treason, but he implied it. This is against the national security right at this moment. And the president was saying it. They said we’ve looked at it, not very long in some cases. They went with the New York Times example, which is why the New York Times is such an important place to put this. And they decided the attorney general was wrong. They didn’t agree that it endangered national security.

    Of course, I’m the good whistleblower now because 50 years later no one has ever found any way in which it endangered national security. By the way, Irwin Griswold, who represented the government in the civil case to enjoin the New York Times and the others, had said at the time it endangers national security. Years later, at a conference and in an op-ed in the Washington Post said I never saw any reason to believe that this endangered national security. It contradicted what he said before the Supreme Court, but then again he’s a lawyer and not a defense lawyer.

    ‘Let Me Tell You A Secret That I’ve Never Told’

    Can you be sure that they’ll print this stuff? Let me tell you a secret that I’ve never told. Why not? I’m not holding anything back now, and you’ll see why I was reluctant before.

    A year ago, just about exactly a year ago, I gave the New York Times and Charlie Savage a 350-page study by my old colleague Morton Halperin, who had done a top secret study for the Rand Corporation. Two-thirds of it had been declassified, but a third of it was still classified. And it had to do with the nuclear threats we had made and were ready to carry out to protect Taiwan from Chinese assault and even the offshore islands, a mile and a half from the mainland, which they regarded as part of the defense of Taiwan.

    The Economist had just had a piece on the cover showing Taiwan with cross-hairs on it. It said it’s the most dangerous place in the world. So I wanted to reveal to the American public—I think it the study was done in 1964, 1966, more than half a century ago. It’s time for people to know that we thought it then. Taiwan was worth blowing up the world, starting a nuclear event.

    Eisenhower expected, he said, in secret communications, the part that he had not declassified—He expected the Russians to respond with nuclear attacks. Which would mean, as I knew having worked on the war plans in 1961, in the Eisenhower period, even a non-nuclear attack on American forces, and we had American forces in Taiwan. Any attack would call for an all-out attack on Russia or the Soviet Union and China.

    What he was saying was if this blockade on the offshore islands and we can’t break it just by going through it if they’re shelling our ships, we’re going to do something that begins the process of destroying the northern hemisphere. They didn’t know about nuclear winter then, which would also take out the southern hemisphere. Okay, so I release that to the New York Times, and of course, revealed myself as the source. Charlie Savage did a good story on this.

    I said I would welcome, and I was younger then but not a lot younger, a year younger. I was 91. So I said I would be glad to prosecuted on this because I’m not going to bargain plea. The others have pled bargains in almost every case to get only 30 or 40 months in prisons or 55 or something like that. Rather than a life sentence, and I’d been charged with what amounted to a life sentence, 115 years. Julian is facing 175 years, but in both cases, that’s basically a life sentence.

    But I said a life sentence to me doesn’t mean what it used to mean 50 years ago. I wasn’t ready to face that then, but a life sentence isn’t going to weigh on me too heavily. I’m 91. No prosecution for this.

    Alright, so what I hadn’t told Charlie. I’ll now reveal it. I hope he doesn’t mind too much. I hadn’t told him because I thought it might deter him from this scoop—That I had given this study when it was all top secret to Tom Wicker of the New York Times, a friend of mine, wonderful journalist. I think he’s probably a Pulitzer Prize winner. I think he was head then of the Washington office. I’m not sure. But I gave it to him on my way to give to Japanese political parties.

    I put it out in Japan. I had a press conference. Never talked about this publicly. Every party was represented except the main party. The liberals control them. It’s essentially a one-party state but has a lot of other parties under it. So they were all there, and I put this on the table. I said you should know that Japan was very explicitly in this study a hostage, would be treated as a nuclear target if we started a nuclear war—for one thing because all of our warships had nuclear weapons in Japanese harbor, which the public didn’t know and their government denied.

    We had American bases there. Planes would be coming off from Japan. So I thought the Japanese public deserved to know that the president was secretly endangering them at this time.

    Then, on my way to Japan I thought, better if I make sure that the Americans have this before I give it to foreigners. So, on my way to Japan, I duck in to Washington, and I give this Tom Wicker. None of it ever appeared. So what Charlie Savage revealed last year had been in the hands of the New York Times—this would have been something like ’82. That’s 40 years ago.

    I thought if I mentioned that they had it and chose not to run it then that might discourage him. He might look a little deeper into whether he should run it now. I can understand that. So I didn’t mention it to him. I didn’t lie, but I didn’t reveal that particular part of the past.

    I also thought it’s going to be hard for them. Frankly, they can prosecute me. But I’ve got a pretty good case here because they know perfectly well that I gave this to these parties in Japan, and the Japanese have an ability—It was in a parliament building, the Diet Building. They use their regular Diet stenographers, or translators. They translate it into Japanese almost overnight. It’s like the congressional record. So it was available in Japan. This top secret study.

    An International Herald Tribune reporter was at this press conference, and I’ve forgotten his name. He writes a long story about what I said to the press, which had a lot to do with Taiwan, other things about our relations to Japan. I told them a lot of things. And he didn’t mention that I put an explicitly top secret study on the table in front of these people, who immediately copied it. It’s not in the story, and it’s a long story.

    There could only have been a phone call from somebody who said that’s top secret. Don’t run it. Must have checked it with somebody. It’s not mentioned. It was never mentioned in the press in the U.S. that I had done this. So I didn’t get prosecuted that time. This was after the Pentagon Papers.

    Criminalizing Journalists For Protecting Their Sources


    GOSZTOLA: One last question and then we will end this interview. I want to first bring up the fact that since you mentioned Edward Snowden we should raise the matter of how the third indictment against Julian Assange incorporated the support that WikiLeaks provided to Edward Snowden as a source—

    ELLSBERG: Oh, I’m not sure I knew that. Hmm.

    GOSZTOLA: Yes, it’s in there. In June 2020, they criminalized WikiLeaks for sending Sarah Harrison to Hong Kong to help Edward Snowden. And of course, we know the story. He gets stuck in the Moscow airport because his passport revoked. I wonder if you could draw a parallel to Pentagon Papers. You disclose them to journalists, and if any journalists had been accused of helping you evade the FBI, would they have been legally liable if we’re going to apply the way the Justice Department is pursuing Assange now?

    ELLSBERG: As I discussed with Charlie Savage at the time, just to make sure this is all clear, there is no question that he and the Times editors, who approve this, and the secretaries who dealt with it on the Times, were as indictable as I was under the plain language of the act, which needs to be amended in various ways. Which has been proposed by the way by Rashida Tlaib, a different version from Tulsi Gabbard’s earlier.

    Savage is as indictable. That’s the way it is, and the publisher, yes. [DOJ] have until now refrained naturally from taking on the New York Times, and for a lot of reasons. I’ll just mention one. Carl Bernstein wrote a long piece in Rolling Stone. Why in Rolling Stone? He couldn’t get it published anywhere else, and it was a long piece about CIA dealings with journalists in which he said 500 journalists had aided the CIA knowingly. I think 500 had security clearances or non-disclosure agreements, which would seem to compromise them as journalists significantly.

    [Note: According to Bernstein’s report, the CIA had dealt with 400 journalists. At least 200 had signed agreements or some form of a contract.]

    View Post

    Bernstein said their number one asset was the New York Times for getting out information. Conceal this, and we’ll give you that. I could give you many examples, but we’ve been going on for a long time. And that’s true for the Times of course.

    The CIA did not want to take on the Times, even though it does expose things infrequently that they don’t want out. But that just enhances the credibility of the Times from the government’s point of view, when the New York Times is doing their job. [chuckles] They’re doing it about one-tenth of the time to the extent that they should be doing it, and from the government’s point of view, we’ll accept and we won’t prosecute these people for embarrassing us occasionally.

    As long as they’ll align ourselves with us, as long as they won’t put out the surveillance story for a year with [Thomas] Tamm [on NSA warrantless wiretapping]. We need that. So they don’t prosecute them—yet. And yet it has been true for a half a century. Some day, and the ACLU predicted that it would be trump who would indict a journalist, which Obama who had indicted more sources than anyone else—you go into why.

    You tell a little bit more why [in your book]. It’s always puzzled me. How did he get in that position? Well, he hated leaks. Well, all presidents hate leaks. Why was it under him that there were so many prosecutions? I was learning from that at midnight last night from your book, reading it.

    Trump didn’t care about that, of course. He didn’t even like the New York Times. Didn’t he call it the failing New York Times? He hated the Washington Post even more. As you mention in the book, there was an earlier effort by Nixon to prosecute the New York Times. That grand jury was dismissed before bringing indictments apparently because those people had been overheard illegally without a warrant, as I had, Noam Chomsky, Howard Zinn, Richard Falk, my friends. They didn’t get indicted then because almost surely they asked, have I been overheard?

    Now it’s against Assange, and if Assange is convicted, if he is extradited and convicted, every journalist in the world has an x on their back, a laser target for if they print anything that is classified of the one hundred percent that is classified. Of which, five percent should be classified. Five percent is a lot, but 95 percent is even more. Say it’s a few years old.

    The Charlie Savage case is 50 years old. I was looking forward to arguing in court. This is before I knew that my life would be shorter than I had expected. But I was looking forward to going to court and saying, do you really think it’s going to endanger national security? To put out information that is 50 years old? Now granted, it is very current. There is a crisis going on about Taiwan. I’m not sure I could have prevailed.

    It does affect U.S. policy with respect to Taiwan, right now. That’s why I put it out. Still I would like to see them argue explicitly in court that they must protect a policy of readiness and threat to blow up the world to hold on to Taiwan, which I think would not look a lot better than Putin’s monstrous threats to blow up the world to protect Crimea, his hold in Crimea and the Donbas, which he has defined as Russia.

    Now why isn’t he being denounced? That’s an unconscionable threat, immoral and insane, which it is. Well, because NATO has been making that threat for 70 years and is still doing that. Not very actively because we now have a conventional non-nuclear superiority to the Russians.

    [cell phone ring interrupts]

    The Warsaw Pact has changed sides, and is now in NATO. We have a huge superiority. Though we don’t need nuclear threats, they can’t denounce Putin for making these insane threats to take an insane action to initiate a nuclear war because it’s their policy. Biden needs that threat for Taiwan, where we don’t have conventional superiority in that region.

    Now, do you have to threaten nuclear war to keep the Chinese from invading? No, I don’t think so. Even Putin—well, Putin may feel he has to threaten that to hold on to the Donbas against American intervention, if we intervene directly. If we do intervene directly, he will say to hold on to this part of Russia, whose existence is threatened—the Crimea, the Donbas, or Zaporizhzhia—we can do that against Ukrainians. Against American pilots directly, not so clearly. That’s where I fear he would carry out his threats to carry out a small nuclear war, which has of course every risk. You would hope not, but every risk of causing nuclear winter.

    ‘We Have Only A Small Chance’

    I’ll say right now. Anyone in the government, in the Russian government—A citizen can’t even object to this without getting imprisoned and in many cases tortured, like Navalny, in Russia. That’s not true here. So people who object to his policy can say you should not be threatening or preparing to blow the world up. That’s a shorthand for it doesn’t kill everybody, but 90-98 percent yes—from the smoke in the stratosphere that shuts out all the sunlight and destroys all the harvests.

    No nation in the world should accept without the utmost condemnation and resistance. If anyone, as I have said before in other occasions, any American I’ll speak to, but this is just as true in any other country—some of which the dangers of doing what I’m saying are much greater.

    Anybody who knows that the public and the world is being lied to by their officials or that preparations are being made that may well be carried out to cause nuclear winter or to initiate nuclear war. Of course, a Russian who knows that now or someone in the U.S. who knows that about Taiwan should consider at any cost personally to tell the truth that may avert a nuclear war, or any kind of war, actually.

    I can’t say they should individually do it, but if they think, they should consider doing it, what I wish I had done earlier in 1964 or ’61, when I had top secret information or access to it that could have averted the Vietnam War. Of course, I should have put that out earlier. So I say don’t do what I did. Don’t wait til the bombs are actually falling. And get it out. Get it to the New York Times, if they’ll print the documents. Get it to El Pais, Der Spiegel, even the Guardian. [chuckles] They behaved so badly with respect to Assange. Don’t expect respect or concern from the Guardian or these others, or the Times. That’s not an issue.

    It’s not a question of whether you should be called names, which have kept Democrats from opposing wars for generations here; not only Vietnam but all the others. That’s not a sufficient reason for not telling the truth. So people should have the moral courage that our soldiers routinely exhibit in combat with respect to their lives. But it’s very rare to find an official who will risk her or his career, or clearance or access. Or re-election or any of this. Unless there is more moral courage in the press, in Congress, and in the military than we’ve seen in the past, I don’t think we’ll survive the consequences of climate change or avoiding nuclear war. Everything depends on it.

    Even a small chance of affecting the ripping apart of the Constitution, as in Snowden’s case, or of ending a war and avoiding a war’s worth of lives at stake, of course it’s worth any personal cost to consider, and to do it. We have only a small chance, but everything is at stake. It’s worth pursuing it.

    You’re in a potentially noble confession, Kevin. And you didn’t mention in this excellent article in Harper’s by Andrew Cockburn, who is terrific on the question of the military industrial-complex and on how the media failed Julian Assange, terrific article—You naturally didn’t mention that you were the single investigative journalist who is singled out by name in your book and in your reporting for having covered this properly, courageously, and meticulously and so, I give you that tribute too just as Andrew does. And I think others will avail themselves of your information in your book.

    GOSZTOLA: Let’s end there, Dan. I really appreciate your time, and I thank you again for the endorsement that you gave to the book. I wish you the best. You seem like you’re at peace, and I’m very happy for you.

    ELLSBERG: Well, the world is not at peace. But we’re doing what we can.

    GOSZTOLA: John Shipton, Julian Assange’s father, calls it the difficulty of destiny. This is what is chronicled in the film that’s touring the country right now in the United States. That Julian Assange’s brother [Gabriel Shipton] produced. I’m just mentioning it and plugging it in addition to my book because there are screenings that people who watch this stream or broadcast will be able to go see in different locations.

    But the difficulty of destiny. Not the idea that an individual can be a hero and change the world but the idea that people who are trapped in these predicaments, in these circumstances, have to struggle and try to transform it. These Belmarsh tribunals that we participated in, rallies, the pressuring of Congress people. We’re all trapped in these predicaments, and it’s all up to us to try and transform it.

    Thank you very much, Dan.

    ELLSBERG: Thank you for the chance.

    The post A Conversation With Dan Ellsberg On Assange And The State Of Journalism appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • In a word, the ongoing union organizing drive that has swept the coffee giant Starbucks can be described as ‘unprecedented.’ Never before has a mass unionization effort of this magnitude gripped a fast food company in the United States. The humble origins of the barista-led Starbucks Workers United can be found in the Rust Belt city of Buffalo. It is there where the nation-wide unionization effort was publicly launched in August 2021. 

    As Starbucks Workers United (SBWU) expands from shop to shop, workers face an onslaught of union busting tactics from the company. Union fever continues to rapidly spread across the country as Starbucks workers at over 400 locations have filed petitions for union elections, with more planning to do so. 

    Starbucks’ response to these efforts came as no surprise to veteran union organizers and former baristas involved with a lesser-known and very different unionization effort at the company that took place years ago by the Industrial Workers of the World.

    Workers have won union elections at 291 stores and at two of the company’s three roastaries at the time of this writing. Those numbers are only expected to grow. There are 7,335 workers represented by SBWU at union stores.

    Starbucks barista Colter Chatriand got involved early in the organizing at his shop in Philadelphia. It kicked off “once Buffalo started to make the news,” he said. “And what that did for us was, when I would be talking to people or trying to start conversations with people, it was extremely easy to just be able to reference Buffalo.” 

    All eyes were on the three locations in Buffalo when the unthinkable happened: workers at two of the stores won their union elections, with tightly contested results at the third. Chatriand and other baristas were ecstatic. 

    Arjae Red was a barista and union organizer at SBWU’s flagship store in Buffalo. They were aware of the organizing going on before they were hired, and joined a union organizing committee shortly thereafter. It did not take too long for Red to see the writing on the wall for how the company treats its workers. 

    “They just basically lie. They’re like military recruiters. They say you’re going to get all these benefits when you come out and then you don’t have anything,” said Red. 

    Both Chatriand and Red have a similar background that propelled them to organize at Starbucks.

    In 2017, Chatriand was living in Butte, Montana, an old mining town with a deep history of labor militancy with the radical, anti-capitalist Industrial Workers of the World (IWW), popularly known as the Wobblies. Chatriand became enamored with the history of the union, and in particular with Wobbly organizer Frank Little. 

    “He was lynched by the bosses for his efforts to organize. He’s a local labor martyr in Butte,” Chatirand said. “It was the 100 year anniversary of his death when I moved up there. So that’s that part of what piqued my interest.”

    As he researched more about the history of the Wobblies, Chatriand learned that the union was still active in Butte. He joined the IWW and attended a workplace organizer training to learn how to form a union at his workplace.

    Chatriand moved to Philadelphia in 2019 and got a job working at Starbucks, but he had not yet fully put the knowledge he gained from the IWW union training to use. “I was kind of just keeping it in my back pocket,” he said.

    Arjae Red also joined the IWW around the same time that Chatriand did. They attended the same IWW training in Buffalo and made an attempt to organize at a factory where they worked.

    Their work intersected with a range of other left wing organizing around Black Lives Matter, LGBTQ justice, and socialist base-building. As a low-wage worker who saw the bigger picture of organizing, it made perfect sense for Red to get involved with the Starbucks campaign in its earlier, still underground, stages.

    Red noted that a number of organizers with SBWU, which is a part of an affiliate of Service Employees International Union (SEIU) known as Workers United, are also Wobblies. However, they were quick to point out that this cross-union activism represented only a small minority of SBWU activists. 

    “A lot of the people who are organizing at Starbucks right now are doing it for the first time,” said Red. “And a lot of them are not activists, they’re not people who were super political before. Many of them are people who are, for the first time, becoming politicized by the struggle.”

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    When Wobblies Organized Starbucks 

    Both union activity and union busting are as old as the company itself.

    Although the Starbucks campaign is the most widespread unionization effort at the company in the U.S., it is not the first. The United Food and Commercial Workers (UFCW) represented about 120 workers at Starbucks before the union was decertified in 1992, the same year Schultz bought the company. 

    Major Starbucks unionization efforts—some more successful than others—have unfolded in Canada, Chile, and New Zealand

    It was not until 2004 that the first nation-wide, sustained IWW organizing campaign at Starbucks surfaced at a Starbucks storefront in New York City. Organizers named their newly formed union Starbucks Workers Union (SWU).

    When Wobblies filed for a union election with the National Labor Relations Board (NLRB), they received a rude awakening about the limitations of labor law in the U.S. The board determined that the bargaining unit would have to include every Starbucks location on the entire island of Manhattan. 

    At that time, powerful unions like SEIU and UFCW were not interested in organizing on such a scale in the fast food industry. It would be near impossible for a small, anti-capitalist union with a shoe-string budget to do it alone. Wobblies pulled their union election petition and adopted a strategy called “solidarity unionism,” which marked a return to their union’s roots.

    In practice, solidarity unionism took on many different approaches as the SWU spread across New York City and ultimately across the U.S. Rather than waiting to bargain for a union contract, and relying on union officers to represent workers off the shop floor in lengthy grievance procedures, Wobblies and their coworkers took direct action at work to address issues as they arose.

    “Solidarity unionism, to me, means staying up all hours of the night writing press releases, and having long meetings where you definitely bring snacks, and tease out strategy—strategy beyond, how do we get somebody to sign a card,” recounted Anja Witek, another former Starbucks Workers Union organizer who worked at a shop in Minneapolis. 

    In an echo of the sentiments outlined by long time labor and civil rights activist Staughton Lynd in his book, Labor Law for the Rank and Filer, Witek said that Wobblies did use labor law as a defensive tactic, but never as a guiding element of their strategy. 

    In 2009, Starbucks fired Witek’s coworker Azmera Mebrahtu, falsely accusing her of stealing $1,200 from the company. She said that the company’s firing of Mebrahtu, an Ethiopian immigrant, was racist, and she and other Wobblies picketed the store and organized other actions to pressure the company to rehire her. 

    “In the IWW, we say ‘direct action gets the goods,’” Witek said. “We filed an Unfair Labor Practice but it was the direct actions that got her job back. She didn’t have to wait for the law.”

    The most successful IWW Starbucks campaigns centered around wages. Union activists won three wage increases, or a 25 percent total increase, for baristas across New York City. This bump in pay spread in varied forms to other cities and states. 

    In a separate three-year-long battle, organizers won company recognition of Martin Luther King Jr. Day and time-and-a-half holiday pay for workers.

    “We’re not going to win this,” Locke recalled thinking while organizing around the holiday. “I was just depressed and bogged down. But everybody else on the organizing committee said ‘we still want to’ and we went with what the committee wanted.” 

    The IWW announced a march and Locke, who worked at Starbucks for nearly a decade and was one of the core organizers for seven years in New York City, was in disbelief when fellow union organizer Anja Witek texted him on MLK Day about the major win

    “I immediately looked up the employee manual, because they did digital updates all the time, and it had Martin Luther King Day listed as one of the holidays,” Locke said. Tears over that bitter victory streamed down his face.

    “Since 2013, we have gotten $1.3 million of additional money into the pockets of baristas across the country on Martin Luther King Day for paid holiday pay, as well as a paid day off for managers, which was a side effect,” said Locke. With pay increases and company growth, that initial dollar amount has increased over the years.

    “I have never been more proud of anything in my whole life,” Locke said of the union victory. “It’s really profound the way that that specific campaign touched a lot of baristas, the way that it mattered to them when they learned about the labor fights that Dr. King supported and fought for, and the fact that he was in support of unions.”

    King was a vocal backer of unions. His final act before his assassination in Memphis was supporting a mass strike of union sanitation workers. 

    According to Locke, at the union’s peak there were only “300 baristas nationwide organizing.” In New York City, he said there were about 200 SWU members and an additional 900 workers who took collective action but never officially joined the union. Wobblies organized at Starbucks in over a dozen states.

    A small-yet-committed group of union members were able to achieve victories.

    However, many union leaders were targeted and fired in the course of the campaign. There was constant turnover of workers, and organizers endured an incredible amount of mental and physical pain from the daily grind of working at Starbucks. Union leaders were burnt out.

    In the end, the company’s brutal union busting pushed the IWW campaign into oblivion. 

    The Workers United Campaign

    The IWW and Workers United – SEIU could not be more different unions. There is certainly some overlap between the two on the basics of organizing and talking to coworkers, but the differences in overall strategies and structures of both unions are night and day. 

    The IWW has always marched to the beat of a very different drum since its founding in 1905. While the dominant American Federation of Labor practiced a “pure and simple unionism” that focused exclusively on improvements to wages and working conditions under capitalism, but also actively excluded Black and Asian workers from union ranks, the IWW preached revolutionary socialist and anarchist ideas, militant industrial unionism, and practiced racial equality. 

    Because of their power to disrupt industry and their criticism of World War I, the IWW was brutally repressed by the U.S. government and nearly destroyed

    Today, the IWW in the U.S. and Canada has only about 9,000 members, but Wobblies contest that what the union lacks in numbers it makes up for in its unique approach to organizing: solidarity unionism that transcends industries and national borders, a refusal to get involved with electoral politics, and a grassroots directly-democratic structure. Wobblies still cling to their radical, anticapitalist ethos and were the first union to endorse Occupy Wall Street when it erupted in the streets of New York City in 2011.

    SEIU by contrast is the largest union in the U.S. and Canada, and boasts a membership of 2 million. While many unions in the U.S. have decreased in membership over the years from an anti-union onslaught, SEIU has been steadily growing and taking the lead in organizing nurses, service workers, janitors, and adjunct faculty. They were behind the Fight for 15 campaign to demand “15 dollars and a union” across the fast food industry, which resulted in widespread wage increases for fast food workers. 

    Their promise of a fast food workers union, at least at Starbucks, is finally coming to fruition. SEIU towers over the IWW in numbers and material gains, but it is a hierarchical, staff-driven organization that has deep ties to the Democratic Party. 

    There are plenty of reasons why the SBWU campaign under SEIU is taking off in ways that the IWW’s Starbucks Workers Union campaign never did. A significantly more favorable political atmosphere is one of them, which created fertile soil for SBWU to plant firm roots.

    Mass movements and protests like Occupy Wall Street, the Wisconsin Uprising, the Dakota Access Pipeline protests at Standing Rock, and Black Lives Matter, have all made a deep imprint on the landscape of organizing in the U.S.

    Rising income inequality, inflation, and the stresses specifically faced by service industry workers from the COVID-19 pandemic have also ripened conditions for organizing.

    There are legal forces behind SBWU’s boost, too. “I think the reason why this movement is so widespread is because the judge in Buffalo allowed [bargaining units and elections] to be on a store by store basis,” Chatriand said. “That was the ruling that took us by surprise.”

    “We were anticipating that the law was not going to be on our side, and that they would rule against us and in the favor of Starbucks,” he said. The favorable ruling has made the process of filing for union elections much easier. 

    Unlike other SEIU campaigns, SBWU only has a small handful of staffers who are assisting Starbucks baristas in their organizing. New baristas are constantly reaching out to Workers United expressing an interest in organizing but the organization lacks the staff necessary to provide deep support. By necessity, union leadership and staff have turned to empowering workers to learn the skills to become organizers, run their own campaigns, and bargain their own contracts. 

    The structure of SBWU, according to Arjae Red, is very democratic and run essentially by Starbucks baristas.

    “We don’t have the union staff speak for us, we just do it ourselves. And then we refer to them if we need advice,” said Red of Workers United staff.

    Organic worker-to-worker networking has developed across “a web of stores that are connected to each other,” Red shared. This includes baristas in Buffalo, Memphis, Phoenix, and other cities.

    Baristas also set up city-wide committees and regional networking structures to share resources and offer support.

    Chatriand sees this campaign as “very worker driven.” He believes that the past organizing at Starbucks “was too top heavy with the UFCW, and it was too bottom heavy with the IWW. But I think now with Workers United it’s finding some sort of middle ground where it’s kind of the best of both worlds.” 

    Tactically, Starbucks Workers United activists are not solely organizing around union elections.

    “There’s a lot of random little strikes that are being called, one day strikes, one day boycotts, weekend boycotts,” Red said. “As people get fired from stores, the stores are walking out. And this is not really something that we’re coordinating on a country wide scale, but our union still fully supports these autonomous strike actions.”  

    Workers are getting more bold with their actions as well.. At the Starbucks roastery in New York City, they walked off the job on October 25, 2022 over the health and safety concerns surrounding a bedbug infestation. The historic strike lasted 46 days, and workers won on several of their demands as a result. 

    In mid-December, baristas staged a three-day strike against unfair labor practices that involved over 1,000 workers and over 100 stores. Much of the work to pull off these actions came from baristas on the shop floor. 

    The strikes are building a foundation of confidence for the workers. The roastery workers released a statement when they ended their strike, stating, “We are excited to return to work, but we recognize that our fight as a unionized store has just begun… Our next step is to bargain a contract!”

    All eyes are on Buffalo to see what the first union contract will look like. 

    “We want to get a strong first contract so we put out a bargaining survey around the whole country and got a poll of what everybody wants,” Red explained as a member of the barista-led bargaining committee.

    The belief is that the first union contract that comes out of Buffalo will set a precedent, good or bad, for stores across the country. 

    ‘Starbucks Has Been Crushing Unions Since Day One’ 

    Starbucks Workers United has thus far weathered the storm of union busting, but given the severe anti-union history of Starbucks, there is no telling what lies in wait for the union. 

    “Starbucks has been crushing unions since day one,” said Arjae Red. Shortly after buying the six-store company in 1987, CEO Howard Schultz set his sights on the UFCW union membership at the company. 

    “He quickly stomped out the union,” Red explained. “Howard Schultz lied and told these unionized workers, if you decertify at your next vote, then you’ll maintain all your benefits, and we don’t need a union once we do the merger. And unfortunately, I guess they fell for it because they decertified.” 

    Starbucks has fostered a public image as a progressive company that champions racial justice, LGBTQ+ rights, and a variety of progressive causes. That image stands in stark contrast to the reality experienced by workers. 

    In 2020, a movement of Starbucks baristas emerged in Solidarity with the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement. Baristas wore BLM buttons and face masks in support of the movement, but managers and the company pushed back against them. In a company-wide memo sent to baristas, management explicitly forbade workers from wearing anything in support of Black Lives Matter. Their justification for this was that this public display of support for the movement might incite  “agitators” to violence

    Public pressure in support of the workers mounted and the company conceded. They allowed workers to wear BLM buttons and masks, and created a company sponsored BLM tee shirt—a move that Red and other baristas called “tokenistic.”

    “What they’re doing is just using the struggles of marginalized people just to advertise,” Red said. “It’s just a way to make money.” 

    “They present themselves like their cafes are a safe space for LGBTQ+ people, people of color and all kinds of different people who need a place to go. The workers do a good job of trying to make that a reality, but the company, really, it’s not compatible. Many of their values and principles that they’ve claimed to have are totally contradictory to just the way that they run as a corporation.” 

    Red, who is queer and non-binary, said they were misgendered by managers “on a constant basis.” They want the company to “hold their managers to a higher standard” and “train them better.” 

    Liberte Locke faced an even deeper level of homophobia at the coffee chain. “Starbucks used my queerness heavily in the anti-organizing campaign,” said Locke, who identified as a queer woman when in the IWW, but has since transitioned.

    “It’s not untrue that Starbucks offers assistance with IVF, supports gay marriage, and has pretty extensive language that’s supportive of trans employees. But I feel like Starbucks knows too much, so they are able to use it against us,” he said.

    While Locke was organizing in New York, Starbucks replaced the store manager—a straight Puerto Rican woman—with a new manager, who, like Locke at that time, identified as a lesbian woman.

    “Starbucks took the basics of queerness and tried to make sure that I would identify with the person,” he said. “And then she did her job as an anti-union person of doing everything she could to appeal to that in me.”

    But the approach failed, and the manager was eventually fired.

    Several months later, Locke’s former manager asked to talk to him privately. “We met in the park for my lunch break. And she tells me, she says, ‘listen, everything you think is happening is happening. Everything you’re worried about, they’re actually doing.’”

    Locke was a primary target for Starbucks’ effort to bust the IWW, and the company attempted on multiple occasions to write him up over minor issues and fire him.

    Daniel Gross was one of the original IWW organizers at Starbucks, and one of the Wobblies who asked Locke to join the union in 2007.

    When the IWW initially filed for a union election, Gross “had a meeting with all these Starbucks lawyers and district managers and his lawyer, and they had offered him a certain amount of money in the 10s of 1000s to just quit Starbucks and never come back,” recalled Locke. Gross refused the bribe and kept organizing. 

    At a union picket in 2004, Gross and another union activist were singled out by the police and arrested. Starbucks fired Gross in 2006 in what he and other union members say was an attempt to destroy the organizing effort.

    In the years-long court battles that waged over Gross’s termination, and the thousands of documents that surfaced in discovery, it was revealed that Starbucks went so far as to send managers to follow Gross and other union members back to his home to spy on them.

    Meanwhile, Starbucks reserved its harsher actions for Black union organizers, many of whom were fired. 

    One Black union leader targeted by the company still leaves Locke with a feeling of deep unease. She was on the organizing committee with Locke at the 17th and Broadway Starbucks store. 

    “She was galvanizing everybody,” he said. “She got people to join the union and to take action.” Locke declined to give her full name out of concern over retaliation from Starbucks. 

    Locke said that, in early 2009, an irate customer threw a cup of coffee at the union leader, who responded by deflecting it. The customer was not hurt, but filed a complaint with Starbucks which then used the incident as justification to fire her. 

    According to Liberte Locke, the union leader, who was a single mother of three facing foreclosure, begged management not to fire her.

    “And then Starbucks said, ‘we won’t fire you, but only if you give us the names of everyone that’s in the union in the city that you’re aware of,’” Locke said. He claimed she was also asked to steal his notebook. “And she adamantly refused. And they fired her on the spot when she had no previous write-ups.”  

    The union was primed to take both legal and collective action, but the fired union leader never showed up. “We couldn’t get a hold of her. We couldn’t find her,” he said, and figured she was burnt out and afraid. 

    Liberte Locke did not hear from the fired union leader for two more years when he happened to run into her at another barista’s apartment. He was incredibly relieved to see her. What she told Locke made him speechless. 

    “She just told me: ‘I had to sign this stuff where I wasn’t allowed to talk to you, where I wasn’t allowed to talk to the IWW anymore. And I wasn’t allowed to go to the organizing trainings, or talk to the media, or talk to anything or they wouldn’t give me my house.’” 

    “Starbucks literally gave her a house in Queens,” Locke claimed. He repeated the words so as to let that reality sink in again years later. “They literally gave her a house.” 

    Ultimately, the company was successful in crushing the IWW Starbucks Workers Union through the use of threats, intimidation, targeted firings, spreading lies, bribing union activists, and spending millions of dollars in the process. The company has utilized some of these same tactics against the current SBWU campaign. Starbucks continues to target Black and other union activists of color, too. 

    On Martin Luther King Jr. Day, a group of Starbucks baristas in Memphis went public with their union. In a public statement, workers noted that they were doing so “in the city where [King] was killed while fighting for the right of sanitation workers to organize.” The workers urged Starbucks to “embrace Dr. King’s vision” and asked the company to not employ union-busting tactics. 

    Starbucks responded by firing the entire organizing committee, which was made up almost entirely of Black and Latino workers. 

    Although it is illegal in the U.S. for employers to fire workers for union activity, employers will find other justifications for doing so. Starbucks, for example, claims Memphis workers were fired for violating various company policies, which the union argues were arbitrarily enforced to target activists. Starbucks Workers United launched a national campaign to demand the “Memphis 7” be rehired. The campaign was ultimately successful. Last August, a federal judge ordered Starbucks to reinstate the fired workers.

    “Starbucks obviously doesn’t treat any of the organizers well, whether they’re Black or white, regardless of ethnicity,” said Red. “But they acted particularly viciously against Black organizers compared to the stores that have majority white organizing committees, for example, like in Buffalo.” 

    The NLRB issued a statement against Starbucks on April 22, stating Starbucks broke the law and fired the seven workers because they “joined or assisted the union and engaged in concerted activities, and to discourage employees from engaging in these activities.” 

    Another union leader, Leila Dalton, was fired from her store in Phoenix, AZ after a recording of her manager harassing her went viral. “She’s the only Black worker at her store. She’s 19 years old. And the company targeted her heavily, they were just non stop harassing her, trying to threaten and intimidate her. And they fired her,” said Arjae Red.

    Starbucks has used a variety of other tactics as well. Red said that, in the lead up to the union election at their Starbucks store in Buffalo, the company closed another local store that had a particularly anti-union reputation, sending much of its workforce over to Red’s store. 

    “Many of the votes that we had, in the end, were actually people that didn’t even work at our store. It was really obvious that Starbucks was trying to just stack the vote with people they thought would vote no,” said Red. They alleged some pro-union workers never received election ballots. The vote was 15-9 in favor of forming a union, and an additional 7 ballots were challenged.

    Starbucks also conducted a series of captive-audience meetings across the country, often shutting down stores for hours without public explanation. During the sessions, managers lied to the workers about the unionization effort and attempted to derail organizing. Union activists and supporters across the country also had their hours and benefits cut. 

    In April, Howard Schultz told store managers across the U.S. that he would review a plan to expand benefits for employees but exclude employees from stores that have undergone union elections from those same benefits.

    The union filed charges against Starbucks with the NLRB, saying that Schultz’s comments were illegal and a violation of the National Labor Relations Act.

    Arjae Red was not immune from retaliation. Over 100 barista union activists were fired across the country. Many more found themselves in a situation similar to Red’s. “The company slashed my hours and I was forced to look for options elsewhere,” they said. “I actually liked working at Starbucks and would’ve preferred to stay.” 

    On March 1 the NLRB finally made a ruling on multiple unfair labor practices filed by the union in Buffalo.

    In a scathing condemnation of Starbucks’ union-busting tactics in Buffalo, NLRB Administrative Law Judge Michael A. Rosas ruled in favor of the SBWU in a 218 page decision. The company must rehire and compensate union activists who were retaliated against, according to Rosas, and reopen stores that were closed in an effort to stymie the union drive.  

    ‘It’s Bigger Than Just Your Contract’

    If this history of organizing and union busting has anything to teach Starbucks Workers United, it is that the union will continue to face a torrent of attacks from the company. Baristas are bracing for this.

    The struggle ahead will be an arduous one, particularly so since the union’s goal is to bring every one of the 7,000 Starbucks locations across the United States into the union fold. And while the unionization effort has only spread to a few hundred locations so far, for now there appears to be no end in sight for the eagerness and tenacity of union baristas to keep building their union from coast to coast.

    Red said the next big fight for the union is over bargaining for a first union contract. Starbucks is dragging out the bargaining process, according to union activists. Workers are demanding an increase to wages and benefits, including a more robust health insurance plan and guaranteed hours.

    While the company does offer benefits to employees, including health insurance, and college tuition to Arizona State University online courses and programs, the company is notorious for cutting employees’ hours to disqualify them from receiving them.

    “The problem is that many of us, even people that have been at Starbucks for years and have been getting those benefits, they’re getting their hours slashed down to 5, 10, 15 hours a week,” which puts workers below the 20-hour-a-week minimum for eligibility. 

    Citing comments that Howard Schultz made during a Starbucks town hall meeting with employees in March 2022, Red noted that the CEO “has a class-wide perspective. He’s not just thinking about it in terms of his own company and his own money. He’s looking at the entire capitalist class under assault by the workers.”

    “I think if these corporations have a class-wide perspective, then the workers need to have a class-wide and international perspective, too,” said Arjae Red. “That’s something that I’ve been trying to point out to people, that this is bigger than just getting your store a contract or even just unionizing Starbucks as a company. We have to be linking up with Amazon workers, and other workers. We’ve got to be linking up with other left forces. It’s bigger than just your contract.”

    The post On The Long Road To Organizing A Starbucks Union appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • As Georgia prison officials move towards fully digitizing communications with Securus and curtailing access to contraband cellphones, incarcerated people and their loved ones are speaking out. According to advocates, at the heart of the issue is how contraband phones are both a vital transparency tool and are increasingly used by Georgia prison officials as a scapegoat for agency brutality and incompetence.

    When Tim Ward was commissioner of the Georgia Department of Corrections (GDC) last year, he told the state senate that the department believes cellphones are used to commit crimes and plan “hits” on civilians within the prison walls. The crackdown on such devices is allegedly a response to threats to safety and security within the prison system. However, incarcerated people and their advocates say the GDC is is attending to fears of media exposure and enjoys financial incentives to remove the devices.

    BT, a Georgia prisoner, is the spokesperson for the incarcerated group called Georgia Prisoners Speak. Shadowproof is withholding BT’s name to protect him from retaliation from prison officials. The self-described “auto-advocacy” group aims to expose the prison system and hold prisoncrats accountable through its YouTube platform, website gallery, and blog posts.

    “This isn’t about cellphones,” argues BT. “It’s about money and exposing the prison system. There are serious problems in the GDC, starting with all the deaths: suicide, murder, lack of medical care.”

    “People are starving and the lack of vital nutrition has become a serious concern, especially as most of the ‘food’ is inedible. There are no programs for rehabilitation and job skills, despite what they claim in their fiscal reports, and so for many prisoners there is nothing to do.” 

    “GDC doesn’t want taxpayers or lawmakers to know just how terribly they are failing in their mandate,” BT said.

    There have even been reports of prisoners forced to live in shower stalls or outside. Georgia prison conditions are so abysmal that it has prompted the U.S. Department of Justice to announce the launch of a second investigation into GDC’s deadly prison conditions. 

    In recent years, cellphones have become a major talking point for prisoncrats who are questioned about conditions. In order to legitimize state assertions that contraband phones are mainly used for nefarious ends, the GDC has invested in security technology such as Mobile Access Management systems that allow them to control devices on their property, and sensors to detect drones and the presence of electronic devices. The agency has also made use of full body scanners, electronic detection-trained dogs, and prolific searches.

    In a letter dated January 26, Georgia Attorney General Chris Carr and 21 other state attorneys general called on Congressional leaders to pass legislation that would allow states to use cellphone-jamming technology in correctional facilities. Currently, federal law prohibits the use of such technology.

    Securus—a telecommunications company that provides phone and video services to prison systems across the country—has a contract with the Georgia Department of Corrections, and the company stands to benefit if the use of contraband cellphones is reduced. This is because when prisoners use Securus’ tablets and pay phones, the company charges them and their families high rates. 

    Zombr3x, 28, is incarcerated within a Middle Georgia men’s prison. Shadowproof is withholding his identity to protect him from retaliation. 

    “The  reason they want to take away phones is because the more we are able to establish lines of communication outside of ‘official’ channels, the less money companies such as Securus and JPay make off of us,” Zombr3x explained. “Less money for the prison industrial complex means less money for kickbacks to wardens and commissioners.”

    The GDC entered into a revenue-sharing agreement with Securus and also reportedly receives over $8 million dollars per year in kickbacks from the company for prisoner phone calls. Additionally, there may be unrecorded kickbacks given to select GDC employees. 

    The crackdown is also about ensuring access to surveillance, narrative control, and, of course, punishment. Contraband phones and jailbroken tablets have been the amongst the most prominent means that prisoners, their loved ones, and prison reform activists have to compel transparency and demand accountability.

    Prisoners’ use of cellphonesto document and share evidence of abusive guards, inadequate medical care, and unsanitary living conditions has put pressure on the GDC to improve conditions. It is likely that the crackdown on these devices s is an attempt to prevent prisoners from continuing to expose these issues.

    Campaigns for free prison phone calls have become more common, and pretty much everyone except for prison officials and prison profiteers agrees this is a good and fair demand. But those campaigns alone arguably do not obviate the other roles contraband phones play in terms of avoiding surveillance and reporting conditions of confinement. 

    Several Facebook groups, such as They Have No Voice and The Human and Civil Rights Coalition of Georgia, actively communicate with prisoners via social media in order to get the hard details on what’s happening inside. 

    “GDC wants the absolute isolation and deprivation of the incarcerated,” said Susan Burns of They Have No Voice. “GDC is trying to prevent exposure as a failed agency providing cover to a remarkably inept and corrupt staff. GDC cannot afford to be transparent with stakeholders when violence, cruelty, callous treatment of the sick, injured, and elderly, starvation rations, and disrespect are not considered abhorrent behavior by its workforce.”

    The Southern Center for Human Rights and Ignite Justice, nonprofit organizations both, have also corresponded with prisoners through their phones and tablets in order to collect evidence that has resulted in rare steps towards accountability. 

    The COVID-19 pandemic led to the suspension of in-person visits in most prisons and jails. Since then, most prison systems have reopened “limited visitation,” but a handful still have not returned to their pre-pandemic arrangements, according to the latest available data by the Marshall Project.  

    Adding communications obstacles to this situation further isolates incarcerated individuals and weakens their connection to their friends and family, and other support systems. This is a recipe for disaster as around 600,000 people leave prisons in the US and a larger number cycle in and out of jails. Approximately 2.7 million children in the US have a parent who is incarcerated. By removing cellphones, the process of rehabilitation and reentry can be hindered, increasing the risk of recidivism. Maintaining these bonds is critical to the health and safety of  communities.

    Prisoners’ access to phones and other unrestricted internet devices needs to be encouraged and protected, possibly even legislated in favor of, because of the roles they play.

    Ultimately, this is about the GDC’s financial interests and the agency’s efforts to conceal the inhumane realities of the prison system. Prisoners, their loved ones, and the communities to which prisoners must return suffer most from these pernicious prison cellphone policies.

    The post Georgia Prisoners May Lose Critical Lifelines As Prison Officials Overhaul Communications And Target Contraband Phones appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • Originally posted at Ongoing History of Protest Music

    Canadian hardcore punk band Fucked Up recently released their sixth full-length album “One Day.” As denoted by the album’s title, each band member committed to a self-imposed time frame of 24 hours to write and record their contributions.

    Compared to their previous ambitious standards, the album is more straightforward but still carries considerable weight. It also features a few poignant social commentaries.

    “Broken Little Boys” explores the generational cycle of toxic masculinity. Another song, “Found,” which is Shadowproof’s protest song of the week, chronicles how Indigenous people have been displaced and
    murdered to build highways and “temples of police and landlords.” All for the worship of money.

    The track was inspired by guitarist Mike Haliechuk’s experiences living on one of the oldest streets in
    North America and his observations of the tragic consequences of colonization and gentrification.

    “I used to live on Davenport Road, which is one of the oldest streets in North America and has been a
    First Nations trail for thousands of years, running along the north shore of Lake Iroquois, which receded
    after the last ice age,” Haliechuk recalled. “Just to the east was Taddle Creek, which was
    buried underground during the 19th century to build the streets I walk on. I thought about gentrification
    a lot, watching little stores get swallowed up by big buildings until I realized I am one of those big
    buildings.”

    Haliechuk continued, “The name of the song comes from the Shadi Bartsch translation of The Aeneid,
    where she points out that the words ‘found’ and ‘stab’ open and close the book, which are two
    meanings for the same Greek verb. That discovery is actually conquest, and that settlement is always
    violence. And that any story I try to tell myself about the place I found to live can only be a story to
    justify the expansion of one people across the world of another.”

    The lyrics, “There I stood on the shore. Of a story we don’t tell anymore. All the names were erased.
    Buried under a land that my people stole,” connect to repeated talks of a reconciliation taking place within Canada.

    An essential part of the process is an acknowledgment that Canada is “a country found on a genocide”. It is time to discontinue the whitewashing of history.

    Listen to Fucked Up’s “Found” off their album “One Day.”


    The post Protest Song Of The Week: ‘Found’ By Fucked Up appeared first on Shadowproof.

    This post was originally published on Shadowproof.

  • This article was funded by the Marvel Cooke Fellowship. Read more about this reporting project and make a contribution to fund our fellowship budget.

    Joseph Wilson, who is incarcerated in a maximum security state prison, believes COVID-19 worsened the existing crisis of incarceration in the United States and amplified the urgency for mutual aid practices in prison. 

    Such survival work, thoroughly theorized by organizers like Dean Spade, encompasses projects that work to meet people’s basic needs and educate them about why we don’t have the things we need in the first place.

    “During the height of the covid pandemic, the residents of prison banded together to care for one another regardless of affiliation,” Wilson said. “Men shared food. Some made masks. Everyone checked in on their neighbors. It was a beautiful glow around a dark cloud.”

    “Lots of men lost family members. They were not able to go to funerals. Some men died in prison and we, their friends and neighbors, were not able to say goodbye in a meaningful way. Grief was a bonding agent.” 

    Joseph lost family to covid, too. “I couldn’t go to her funeral and I was distraught,” he said of his mother’s death in 2020. “Men, some of whom I’d never had more than simple conversations with, signed sympathy cards, made meals, and checked in on my mental and emotional well-being. These are the most relevant examples of mutual aid for me.”

    Formal and informal mutual aid work beckons us to consider the inequalities that shape our world, and often reveals that the very systems responsible for addressing our social problems are also responsible for producing crises. 

    We (James Jones and Caren Holmes) surveyed and interviewed incarcerated comrades across the country and in the United Kingdom in an effort to collectivize our knowledge of the robust mutual aid practices happening inside prisons. 

    The people we spoke with shared experiences, stories, and strategies, confirming that—despite the best efforts of the criminal punishment system—incarcerated people keep each other alive. Small acts of care, enormous acts of courage, and “mundane forms of collective rebellion”  preserve life and humanity inside prison walls. 

    We focus on four categories of mutual aid work: connections and relationships, advocacy, material resources, and care work. For each, we consider how conditions of falsely-produced scarcity and isolation work to destroy the bonds that facilitate our collective survival, and explore the creative and enduring mutual aid practices that persist in spite of them. 

    Prisons across the country are different beasts and can vary widely in everything from security classifications to facility-specific policies and customs. While we don’t claim to paint a comprehensive picture of mutual aid in all prisons, we hope to offer a few glimpses that arrived to us from different settings. 

    Still, there are patterns to the work. Inside prisons, letter writing, networking, storytelling, education, resource distribution, mentorship, collective mourning, nursing, nurturing, listening, and performing other rituals of mutual aid belong to the legacy of incarcerated caregivers. 

    People on the inside may not always name these practices as “mutual aid,” but its tenets are practiced on a daily basis and are critical to survival strategies. These practices are life-giving forces within death-making facilities. Those on the outside, who have never experienced incarceration, have an enormous amount to learn from those who have had to ensure each other’s survival under conditions of imprisonment. 

    Paul Cortez, who has spent 16 years in a maximum security facility, explains that, “as a prisoner, sometimes the need to just survive another day can become the sole focus of one’s existence.”

    This piece is a love letter to practices of love and solidarity, which survive despite the dehumanizing conditions of the prison system. 

    Connections and Relationships

    Prisons seek to dismember the types of social connection that humans need to survive, subjecting people to state-sanctioned alienation through constant and multilayered forms of punishment. 

    Incarcerated people are disappeared from their communities, their communications are highly surveilled and restricted, and they are obstructed from building relationships with other criminalized people. Prison officials have nearly unlimited discretion to further restrict already-limited visitation and phone access. 

    “Isolated further and further into our own cliques, our own cells, our own selves,” Cortez explains, “we begin to lose one of the most fundamental aspects of our own humanity: connection.” 

    Conditions of extreme scarcity breed desperation and can lead people to burn each other. People are pushed to destroy trust between them. Compounding traumas around neglect and abandonment loom over relationships. 

    On Christmas Day, 2021, prisoners in one midwestern medium-security prison clamored for the few working telephones, desperate to be in contact with their families during the holidays. Pitted against each other in a situation of calculated scarcity, fights broke out and the whole facility was locked down.

    Broken phones were common in the facility and prison staff could have easily anticipated how a holiday would exacerbate demand. Yet official accounts of the event turned to accusations of gang violence and the age-old myth of inmate-facilitated drug smuggling when it came time to lay blame. 

    In this way, prison workers not only created this crisis by ignoring weeks of complaints and work orders anticipating holiday demand, but retroactively used the violence that ensued to formalize criminalizing narratives that would justify future punitive actions, like cell sweeps and searches. That is, the facility took actions that reproduced the cycle of communications scarcity and crisis that caused the lockdown in the first place. It is this cycle that mutual aid endeavors to break. 

    While prisons are designed to prevent social growth and interconnectivity, people inside strategize to resist social death, building and preserving relationships in and outside of prison. According to those we spoke with, sharing phone lines, creating phone trees, passing along messages, connecting people to each other and to local activist groups, creating newsletters, and developing letter-writing networks, are all ways that people coordinate to meet the social needs of those locked inside. 

    Sustaining social connection is itself survival work. People on the inside who have no outside support become vulnerable because prison guards know that no one will show up for them. 

    Over the last four years, we organized to meet this need in the facility where James is incarcerated. Together, and in collaboration with other incarcerated organizers, we connected hundreds of people inside his facility to writers on the outside. From the seed of these connections have sprouted friendships, book clubs, commissary fundraisers, clemency petitions, poetry, and curated art shows. Our friendship and collaboration on this piece are testaments to this network and the commitment of people inside to connect with each other. 

    Advocacy, Organizing, and Political Education  

    Incarcerated people are subjected to daily indignities, institutionalized violence, and systemic neglect. Disappeared into fortified compounds, they are refused medical treatment, held in small cells without air conditioning during heat waves or without heat during cold snaps, cavity searched by guards, arbitrarily refused visitation or phone access, and transferred far away from loved ones without warning. Bare necessities such as use of the phone, visitation, and time outside are recategorized as “privileges” and are always precarious, taken away at the discretion of guards without transparency or due process. 

    Friends and family on the outside call and email prison officials in an attempt to intervene in the sustained mistreatment of those inside. Often called the “run around,” those advocating from outside are herded through a maze of phone calls in order to reach someone who ultimately tells them, “there’s nothing we can do about it,” leaving those inside feeling defeated and utterly powerless. 

    Incarcerated people bear witness to the injustices endured by a cellmate or a fellow prisoner. They know that intervening is likely to result in collective punishment. With the threat of retaliation always looming, they move strategically to de-escalate and mitigate harm. 

    De-escalation skills therefore become life-saving, heading off a progression of violence and punishment from guards. Many people become accustomed to “tucking your tail,” swallowing indignities, even abuse, in order to prevent the escalation of violence or retaliation of guards. 

    Prisoners try to remind each other that enduring such indignities does not compromise their humanity. Rocko, who’s incarcerated at a medium security facility in rural Illinois says, “a lot of the time we laugh to keep from crying or say things to comfort one another in times of duress. Kind words are the glue that prevents us from falling to pieces. While folks inside may not have the power to change a situation, they listen and extend empathy to one another.” 

    But tucking tail is not always an option. Rocko recounts one incident, in which prison staff failed to orchestrate an inmate’s virtual visit to attend his grandmother’s funeral. As the scheduled time approached and his door remained locked, it became clear to this comrade that the prison had no intention of honoring his visit. 

    Knowing only a massive disruption would garner immediate attention, everyone in the unit began yelling and banging on their doors. The uproar seemed to overwhelm the arriving officer, who nervously explained he had no knowledge of this inmate’s visit, and that he couldn’t open his cell without prior confirmation. This incited another barrage of banging and yelling from irate inmates. 

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    The corrections officer left and returned minutes later to finally escort him out of his cell. He was late, but he made it to witness the funeral. 

    Miran (Mikey) Thakrar, who is incarcerated at HMP Whitemoor in the United Kingdom, gives another example of using disruption to help an incarcerated friend. He says people have coordinated impromptu noise demonstrations to demand medical attention for a person in his cell block. But disruption comes with a cost. “[Prisoners] raise complaints, verbally or formally, and end up in segregation over it, transferred or moved wings,” Miran explains.

    “The prison prefers we stand alone, that way they can do what they want to, to make the prison run with the least amount of resistance!” 

    Prisons not only prevent collective organizing and solidarity, but intentionally strategize to create disunity, turning prisoners against each other. “Creating a sense of isolation, even within a single wing of the prison, destroys our sense of community and that leads to conflict between ourselves, which I’m sure the guards love,” he said.

    Page Dukes, a formerly incarcerated researcher and organizer in Georgia agrees, “solidarity is condemned and criminalized—people inflict harm on one another in an environment of designed scarcity and desperation. Admin encourages distrust and fear, discourages community and hope.” 

    Despite this, she explains, “We bear witness, tell each other’s stories, share skills and resources, encourage one another to organize and resist, to hope and to create our own opportunities, to liberate ourselves and each other.” 

    Building on the legacies and demands of the Attica uprisings, incarcerated people have advocated tirelessly for programming and access to educational resources. Several men in a maximum security facility shared with us their experiences of studying, practicing, and facilitating restorative and transformative justice processes. 

    When the state would not provide, inside organizers and educators designed their own political education curriculum. Paul, who has been incarcerated for more than 16 years, explains, “there is no greater mutual aid than to educate the mind, and to help one break out of the prison of mental slavery.” 

    Joseph Wilson mobilizes a collective of family members connected to incarcerated people in his facility. He writes and regularly publishes a report on conditions inside the prison for families. 

    “At times,” he says, “I must quell rumors and suspicions on both sides of the wall. Continuing this work is important because many families are unaware of the law, how to use it, and their collective and individual political power.” 

    In recent months, as the corrections department worked to limit access to physical mail in his state, he and others inside coordinated outside advocacy on social media to counter threatened policy changes. 

    Ethel Edwards, a formerly incarcerated organizer with Survived and Punished, explains she consistently filed grievances to demand changes of collective conditions within the prisons where she was held. Having come home recently, she has a long list of women she continues to support and advocate for from the outside. 

    The things people do to advocate for each other “to thwart the system’s effects, we often don’t really acknowledge, sometimes because it’s illegal, sometimes because we’re embarrassed to admit we needed help, sometimes because we didn’t get any help even when we asked for it,” Rocko observed. 

    Advocacy inside prison walls is not often recognized as such, but even the small things keep people alive and in relationship with each other. “Eating meals together, listening to music or watching sports/movies, exercising or playing games, looking at magazines or pictures, imagining what kind of car, truck, motorcycle or boat you’d drive or where you’d live if you could decide, reading books and discussing the storylines and characters, or studying religious or educational material: all these activities pass the time in a constructive way and keep our minds occupied and distracted from the oppression of the day-to-day indignities.” 

    “It’s a miserable existence but being active gives the mind and soul something to look forward to, and dulls the hunger pains and the yearning for human touch and engagement,” he said. “It  doesn’t quite satiate the longing, but it quiets it a bit.”

    Material Resources

    Prisons meticulously calculate the minimum calories needed to sustain their incarcerated population. Prison meals are rationed, served at unreasonable hours, and often are entirely inedible. Folks inside supplement their portions with food from the commissary, which they are responsible for purchasing themselves. States have different baselines for the amount of money they commit to prisoners each month (in Illinois, for example, the monthly “state pay” is $10). It is with these funds—sometimes the cents-per-hour people are paid to work—that people must buy food, hygiene products, letter-writing materials, and clothes, and cover court fees and medical bills. 

    While some people have loved ones on the outside who can send them money, others do not. Even those with financial support can be barred from accessing their basic necessities when prison officials place them under punitive commissary restrictions. 

    Sharing or doing things for another person, labeled “trading” or “trafficking,” is against the rules in most facilities. Simple human kindness or gestures as small as giving someone a snack or a bar of soap can be forbidden. 

    “We cook each other meals. We make cards for each other’s family members,” Miran said. “We distribute the burdens to make conditions easier to bear.”

    He notes that Muslim communities who support each other are harshly targeted. Their collectivity is interpreted by Islamaphobic guards and state officials as evidence of “extremism,” “terrorist plotting” and a generalized security threat. He says prison staff “try to stop large gatherings, or to make it difficult for them to share meals together in certain areas.” 

    This racialized targeting of a community is similarly experienced by Black and brown people, whose efforts to share or exchange basic material resources are targeted as evidence of “gang affiliations.” 

    Ethel explains that when COVID-19 hit, people were limited in the ways that they could support and provide for each other. When the prison stopped providing two hot meals a day, people made meals for each other. “I always fed someone who didn’t have anything,” she said.  

    Everyone we spoke to for this piece could recall times when they, despite endemic scarcity, provided resources for someone who needed it, such as coffee, paper, headphones, or food.  Several recalled being moved by moments when they needed and received the generosity of others. 

    Scholar Orisanmi Burton tells this story of his incarcerated friend, Absolut, in an episode of the Millenials are Killing Capitalism podcast. “Absolut, and another person who was in solitary confinement, took turns abstaining from eating lunch so that the other person [could] have a double portion. So that, on that particular day, that person would feel satiated.”

    “Imagine the kinds of sacrifice that it takes, the kinds of selflessness, and acknowledging of another person’s feelings. The sort of small, mundane tasks of care and tenderness are in fact, forms of rebellion.” 

    Burton explains that these tremendously selfless acts, “make possible other forms of struggle that might be more easily recognizable, as political. And that’s precisely why they’re forms of rebellion.” 

    The prisons have the power to restrict food intake by not allowing people to order from the commissary or accept commissary items from other inmates. The prison restricts not only that which feeds the body but also that which feeds the mind, controlling what can be read, which in turn controls what can be learned. 

    All books coming into the facility pass through a review board, who read book covers and synopses to determine if the books are “acceptable.” Most books with revolutionary or subversive messaging are denied and added to a list of restricted material.

    Yet, thanks to the stubbornness of supporters on the outside, beacons of hope—books by authors such as George Jackson, Mariame Kaba and Dean Spade, to name a few—make their way inside. Reading about abolition and revolutionary ideas gives people something to discuss and hold onto, something to rally around. 

    Care Work

    In reflecting upon the forms of mutual aid people described in interviews, the majority of experiences can be, and often are, categorized as care work. This includes organizing birthday celebrations, caring for the sick, helping to mourn and process grief, providing relationship advice, or comforting someone who has been denied parole. 

    Burton, who spent many years writing to and learning alongside incarcerated people, and in particular Black men, writes about how the violent and gendered segregation that takes place in prison severs cis and heterosexual men from types of gendered social reproductive labor that is most often performed by women, trans, and gender non-conforming people. While women on the outside often continue to provide enormous care and support for incarcerated loved ones, this gendered segregation forces some cishet men to take up these roles themselves.

    Care work thus becomes a necessity for collective survival in men’s prisons. Burton notes that, perhaps as a result of their relation to care work, many of the incarcerated men he communicates with have a “profound tenderness that is intact.” Despite the system’s efforts to harden, that tenderness becomes “part of how [incarcerated people] are able to survive.” 

    In the absence of grieving rituals available to people on the outside, people in prison come together to grieve lost loved ones. “My cellmate lost his brother to gun violence,” Rocko recalls. “Together we honored him on what would have been his 24th birthday, cooking a meal together from commissary items we pay homage to our loved ones, wishing we could be with them and sending all the positive energy we have stored up inside us out to them.” 

    Ethel Edwards explains that humanity comes to the surface in crisis. In the women’s prison where she was incarcerated, people provided emotional support to survivors of sexual violence. Shared experiences, she explains, create conditions of compassion. When Ethel’s 21-year-old daughter was murdered during her time in prison, she found intimacy and support from other women whose children had also been murdered. She notes that “the women, around me, the mothers around me, checked on me all day long, anything I needed they slid it under my door.” 

    Shantee, an organizer incarcerated at a maximum security facility, notes that when inmates are summoned to the chaplain’s office, they anticipate that they will be notified of a loved one’s death. He and others inside have learned to anticipate their return with empathy, love, handmade sympathy cards, and cooked meals. 

    Embracing a man whose mother passed, Shantee recalls, “he knew he was not alone in his darkest moments. I asked him if he was hungry, and another brother blurted out, ‘I’m already cooking something for him!’ If he needed to talk, eat, or a shoulder to cry on, we were there for him.” 

    Sometimes the care work does not involve crisis, but encompasses more mundane needs. Staten Taylor, a barber locked up in central Illinois, notes, “haircuts are huge for maintaining your mental stability, you feel a piece of normality and feel better when you are looking fresh.” 

    These forms of care remind those inside of our humanity, our dignity, our integrity. 

    ‘Towards Collective Survival Work’

    The mutual aid that takes place inside prisons is deeply political and, more often than not, overlooked by outside organizers. When outside organizers look to build with people on the inside, they are often plugging into existing practices and networks of care work and mutual aid, not starting from scratch. These practices provide insight into the revolutionary potential of care work under deeply repressive conditions. 

    While they may not codify mutual aid as such, or name its counterinsurgent power, prison officials know that the collective survival tactics of prison populations undermine their authority and yet the prison system simultaneously relies on these practices to function. They know that resource sharing, adaptive communication networks, and care work chip away at the deprivation and dependency upon which their unearned and precarious power relies. 

    Disciplinary tactics reveal an explicit focus on undermining sociality. It is not just commissary or phone time that is revoked for minor infractions, it is time outside of one’s cell, access to news media, and in the cruelest instances, all forms of human contact.  

    The prison and its guards have the impunity to take away ‘privileges’ that people can’t afford to lose – more explicitly, they have the power to restrict food intake, sensory input (through solitary confinement), and access to community. The scarcity of basic necessities is compounded by levels of control, isolation, and punishment. 

    Even still, people organize to survive and take care of each other.

    “I’m trying to figure out how to change our thought process away from ‘survival of the fittest’ towards collective survival work, or social reproduction, as they call it,” Rocko said. On the inside, “we don’t all have the language or a manual for these practices and sometimes we hurt each other or let each other down.” 

    But mutual aid work holds a promise of generating new ways to relate to one another. As  Dean Spade says, “at its best, mutual aid actually produces new ways of living where people get to create systems of care and generosity that address harm and foster well-being.” The revolutionary nature of the mutual aid that takes place inside prison walls embodies this possibility. 

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