Very excited to share this latest page from a police violence zine that my friend Rachel Marie-Crane Williams is working on. The zine will be released in the Spring (late April) as part of an overall police violence curriculum project that I am working on.

Here is a quote from Angela Davis that I think captures some truth about people of color and poor people’s historical relationships to the police.

“The announced function of the police, ‘ to protect and serve the people,’ becomes the grotesque caricature of protecting and preserving the interest of our oppressors and serving us nothing but injustice. They are there to intimidate blacks, to persuade us with their violence that we are powerless to alter the conditions of our lives. Arrests are frequently based on whims. . . . .
…They encircle the community with a shield of violence, too often forcing the natural aggression of the black community inwards.”

Source: Davis, Aptheker, and Prisoners, eds., If They Come in the Morning: Voices of Resistance, p.39.

Entering San Quentin for the first time at the turn of the 20th century as a prisoner would likely have been a terrifying experience for most 19th century women. The prison was infamous for its brutal treatment of inmates and for its extremely poor conditions. Below is a partial description of the women’s quarters of the Prison from a book titled Crime and Criminals.”

“A door opens from an office, and you enter a place that looks for all the world like a bear pit, with its thick, gray walls on four sides and cement floor. This pit, by actual measurement, is 60 ft. by 90. Out of this oblong a building, 40 by 20, is taken; so, if you are good at figures, you can see just what room is allowed for clothes lines, exercise, garbage cans, etc. The feet of these poor women never touch the ground of mother earth, and all exercise, which is optional, has to be taken on this cement floor. Midway in the place is the hopper, and on the other side hang the thirty or forty buckets used in the cells from 4 p.m. to 7 a.m. Opposite stand the immense garbage cans, and, as they have no covers, the aroma that greets the olfactory nerves is indeed overwhelming. No benches, whereon one might sit to get the sun, are in the pen, and the matron will not allow the women to carry out a chair; so, if one must have a little sun and air, the only alternative is to squat on the stairs leading out of the yard to the cells, or sit on the cement flat and let one’s feet hang down. Either plan is conducive to sorry comfort, helping the rheumatism and stiffness of joints so much in evidence among the inmates. Why cannot the warden allow a few benches to be placed along the gray walls?’ was asked many times, and the reply was that seats would injure the cement! Never mind the women. They are here for punishment; and I can add feelingly that no stone was left unturned to see that they got all that was coming to them.

“The hopper referred to deserves a special article.It is situated in the laundry room, and is an oldfashioned thing, about eighteen inches in diameter. Into this must go the contents of the buckets I have mentioned, and as this deposit must take place as soon as the women are dressed, the scene that follows beggars description. There were two large holes in the floor of this laundry, and as the filth from human bodies accumulated and overflowed the hopper, a stream ran into these holes and this filth flowed, under the dining-room and kitchen, out under an office, emitting a stench that finally attracted the attention of some officer. The matter was then remedied slightly, but the vile conditions of the hopper remain.

“The pen, or pit, is also the playground at night of an ever increasing army of the most gigantic rats, and the stairs, platforms and yard bore unmistakable evidence of their nocturnal ramblings. As the women emerged from their cells in the early morning they reminded one of cave-dwellers, and the agility which had to be used to clear away these remembrances of his ratship was something long to be remembered. They also invaded the kitchen and pantry, and mute evidence of their presence was often seen in the beans, rice and other foods, if the cook was not careful. Try, if you can, to imagine the air in such a place. Small wonder that the health gives way, and that tuberculosis, rheumatism, sore throat and kindred diseases are prevalent; while the only remedies are a handful of calomel at night, and a dose of salts in the morning, ladled out by the wholesale to the miserable creatures.

These were the conditions that greeted Laura Scott when she arrived at San Quentin Prison. She spent every day and night from August 8, 1905 until her June 8, 1906 discharge sleeping in one of fifteen 7 by 10 foot cells perhaps with one or two other women crowded together. Her cell would have included: “Old-fashioned wooden bedsteads, with boards for springs, [that] are covered with hard straw ticks and heavy gray blankets.” She would have had to roll up her coat for a pillow or “collect enough cotton flannel pieces from the floor of the sewing-room to form one.”

Laura Scott was one tough lady though. Not much seems to have rattled her. In March 1905, a man named Frank McVeigh hit Laura over the head with an ax almost cracking her skull. She went to the police station to give her statement about what transpired and then calmly walked out still bleeding. An account of the incident appeared in the March 13 1905 edition of the Los Angeles Herald under the headline: “Negress' Head Too Hard Even For Ax: Racial Characteristic of Skull Probably Saves Woman From Fatal Injury.” Putting aside the supreme racism of the headline, it paints an incredible portrait, doesn’t it? Below is the entire article which gives us incredible insight into who Laura Scott was:

Because she asked him to repay a small sum of money which he had borrowed from her a few nights previous, Laura Scott, a negress, who lives on San Pedro street, was made the victim of an assault by Frank McVeigh, also a negro. That she was not instantly killed was due as much to the racial characteristic of a thick skull as to anything else, for McVeigh hit her on the head with a heavy hand ax and succeeding in cutting a deep gash from which the blood flowed freely.

According to the story told to the officers by the Scott woman, McVeigh borrowed some money from her a few nights ago, and promised to give it back Tuesday. Last night, when she went for the money, the woman found that McVeigh had gone to 131 Central avenue. Thinking to get her money before it was all spent for liquor, the woman followed McVeigh to the Central avenue place and found him there. When she asked for her money McVeigh seized a hand ax and hit her over the head with it.

McVeigh says the Scott woman has been persecuting him for some time and that the blow he dealt her on the head was only to warn her that he was not to be bothered.

The pair was taken to police headquarters and McVeigh locked behind bars. Although she had been hit a powerful blow and the scalp had been cut open the Scott woman did not lose consciousness for an instant, and after she gave her testimony to the desk sergeant walked out of the station as though nothing unusual had occurred.

This gives a new meaning to the term hard-headed. Could this incident be the culprit for that scar above her left eyebrow that I referenced in a previous post? We can only speculate…

Note: Based on suggestions from a couple of readers, I will be posting the installments of Laura’s story on a regular schedule. They will usually appear on Fridays. Thanks for the good suggestion and thanks for reading.

Last summer, I decided to curate a photographic exhibition to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the Attica Prison Uprising. The exhibition which included photographs from John Shearer (who kindly sent them to me) and from my own collection of newspaper wire photos was incredibly well received. It culminated with a reading of original prose and poetry written by Attica prisoners and observers as well as a presentation by Michael Deutsch who shared his reflections about defending some of the Attica Brothers.

The experience that most impacted me though was the visit that I facilitated for a group of middle school boys from a local after-school program. As the young men walked around looking at the photographs, I watched their faces closely. Some seemed perplexed, others were clearly fascinated and a few were upset.

After they had seen the pictures, I asked how many of them had ever heard of the Attica Prison uprising. Out of the group of about 16 young men (all Black and Latino), not one hand went up. None had heard about the Attica rebellion. This was not at all surprising to me. Most people haven’t. But it was the response to my next question that really shook me. I asked how many of them knew a friend, relative, or neighbor who had been or was currently “locked up.” Every single hand in the room went up. Every single one. 16 out of 16.

This happened in September of last year and I haven’t written about it before today because I have been trying to process the experience since then. What does it mean when young men of color grow up not knowing the history of Attica but knowing so many people in their lives who were or are incarcerated? How do they make meaning of this experience? What lessons are they learning about how the world works for black and brown people?

After a few months of consideration, I have decided to take on an ambitious project. With the help of my friend Teresa Silva, who is a museum curator and scholar, I plan to organize some sort of an exhibition this year that will narrate a history of black imprisonment in the U.S.

I may have mentioned here in the past that I am a collector of prison-related artifacts. I have been for over 15 years now and have amassed a treasure trove of items relevant to the history of black people’s relationship to the criminal legal system in the U.S.

So with Teresa’s help, I am hoping to offer an opportunity for young black people in Chicago to interrogate themes related to the prison industrial complex: past, present, and future. My intention is to help young people to develop critical thinking about the experience of incarceration in the U.S., to identify its root cause, to consider resistance efforts, and to apply the experience to their own current circumstances.

I heard Rinku Sen recently say that: “Information is not power. Power is power and action makes information a conduit to power.” My challenge in co-curating this exhibition will be to make sure that young people don’t simply walk away with information but with a real desire to take ACTION today to address the epidemic of mass/hyper-incarceration which is ravaging black and brown communities across the U.S.

Stay tuned to hear about our progress in organizing the exhibition which I hope will open in October or November of this year. Much remains to be done, to start with, I need to find a venue for the exhibition. More details will be forthcoming and I welcome your ideas about what you might include in such an exhibition. How would you tell a history of black imprisonment in the U.S. in a way that would be empowering rather than dispiriting? I’d love to hear any thoughts about this.

I am dedicating this project to my young friend who committed suicide this past November.

In the meantime, I wanted to share one piece of my collection of stuff. Below are a set of vintage original mug shots from police records in Pennsylvania in the 1930s through the 1950s.

From My Collection of Mug Shots

Also, here is Angela Davis making an important point about the failure of the educational system to teach about history and literature. This is why I have always worked to develop opportunities outside of the classroom to share historical knowledge with the broader public. It has been a motivating factor in my work since I was a teenager:

by Danny Lyon

When a group of young women in rural Georgia were placed under lock and key after protesting segregation at the local library, photos like the one above, which was snapped through the bars by new journalism pioneer Danny Lyon, helped secure their release. – from Flavorpill

When we last left the story of Laura Scott, I was previewing the fact that I would be sharing more about her life in the coming weeks. Well my first discovery was that the Bertillon card that I purchased actually represented her second incarceration at San Quentin Prison in 1908. That’s right, from what I have been able to gather so far, Laura Scott did at least two stints at San Quentin. The first seems to have been in 1905 and the second in 1908. However, my research is ongoing so I could still discover new information that could change these facts.

In 1905, Laura Scott was arrested in Los Angeles County. The charge was grand larceny. She was sentenced to one year at San Quentin Prison. Two items appeared in the Los Angeles Herald which provide us with the context for this incident. First, this on July 14th, 1905:

Then, this on August 5, 1905:

“Laura Scott, negress, pleaded guilty yesterday to a charge of grand larceny and was sentenced to one year in San Quentin prison. The woman was accused of stealing (.85?) and a gold watch and chain from Carson. ”

We have an unusual amount of information about Ms. Scott’s appearance through her arrest records, mug shot photographs, as well as information gathered from her prison records. In San Quentin’s Descriptive Register of Prisoners housed at the Bancroft Library at UC Berkeley, Laura Scott is described as having heavy ears, a scar near her left eyebrow, and thick lips. [There’s an interesting story about that scar which I will share at a later date.] She weighed 150 lbs, was 5 foot 6 inches tall, wore size 5 shoes, had a black complexion, brown eyes, and black hair. Her 1908 Bertillon criminal card describes her as having lips that were “thick” and “protrude.” Her skin had numerous dark blotches and her build is listed as medium.

Laura was one of only a few women arrested in California in 1905. It was rare for women in that period to come into contact with the law. Therefore, in this way, Laura Scott was exceptional. In an article about female violence in pre-1910 California, historian Linda Parker writes that:

“From 1880 through 1910, 231 women (1.4%) entered San Quentin out of approximately 16,630 prisoners. Murders, assaults, and robberies represented twenty percent (forty-six inmates) of the convictions, which was less than that for male prisoners. ”

Theft was the most common reason women found themselves incarcerated in California at the turn of the century. Once again Linda Parker (1992) is instructive: “The San Quentin Prison Register from 1880-1910 showed that the women imprisoned at the facility committed grand larceny (forty-seven percent) far more often than any other crime.” In this, Laura Scott seems not to have stood out.

Laura was a “dress-maker/seamstress” with a grade school level education. Available prison records describe her education as poor or fair (depending on the year) and she seems to have attended a public school. According to the 1910 Federal Census, Laura was literate, she could read and write. It seems that she had some basic level of schooling as a child, perhaps attending one of the Freedman Bureau schools in Alabama. Her religion is listed as Protestant.

Linda Parker provides some insight into life for women in California during this period:

“Before 1910 the women of California, like people in other states, lived under state laws that favored male dominance. Many towns enacted laws prohibiting women from wearing men’s clothing even though shirts and trousers were more comfortable and practical for a number of occupations, including farm work. In a typical marriage, fathers assumed sole guardianship of all children, including their care, education, custody and services. Community property of a marriage was also controlled by the husband. He could not sell it without the wife’s consent but he could will one-half of it away. If the wife died first she had no rights to convey her share of the property. Although women paid taxes, they could not vote in California until 1911. Women accused of law violations were “arrested by men, imprisoned with men…tried in a court by men lawyers, jurors, and judges according to man-made laws.”

Laura Scott seems to have eschewed the conventions of her time. She was divorced and did not have any children. An interesting notation appears in her San Quentin records: “habits Liq. and Tobacco.” This suggests that Ms. Scott drank alcohol and smoked. These habits would certainly not have been considered ladylike. Laura Scott was ahead of her time to be sure. Some questions to leave you with: “What was Laura Scott doing with a white man from Arizona in her home at midnight?” Perhaps she was sewing him a new suit given her skills as a seamstress…

Stay tuned for the next installment of Laura Scott’s story…

One of my most prized possessions is this original vintage press photograph of Dr. King and Ralph Abernathy in jail together. Today, I am reposting a piece that I wrote last year in honor of his birthday about what he might think of hyperincarceration in the 21st century. He remains an inspiration to all of us over 40 years after his murder.

by Eric Drooker

Occupying Mumia’s Cell
Copyright©2011 by Alice Walker

I Sing of Mumia
brilliant and strong
and of the captivity
that
few black men escape
if they are as free
as he has become.

What a teacher he is for all of us.

Nearly thirty years in solitary
and still,
Himself.

He will die himself.
A black man;
whom many consider to be
a Muslim, though this is not
how he narrows down
the criss-crossing paths of
his soul’s journey.
Perhaps it is simpler
to call him
a lover of truth
who refuses
to be silenced.
Is anything more persecuted
in this land?

No boots will be allowed
of course
so he will not
die with them on;
but there will always be
boots
of the mind and spirit
and of the heart and soul.

His will be black and shining
(or maybe the color of rainbows)
and they will sprout wings.

Mumia
they have decided
finally
not to kill you
hoping no blood will
stain their hands
at the tribunal
of the people;
but to let you continue
to die slowly
creating and singing
your own songs
as you pace
alone, sometimes terrorized,
for decades of long nights
in your small cage
of a cell.

We lament our impotence: that we have failed
to get you out of there.

Your regal mane may have thinned
as our locks too, those flags of our self sovereignty, may even have
disappeared;
waiting out this unjust sentence,
until we, like you, have become old.
Still,
if you will: accept our gratitude
that you stand, even bootless,
on your feet. We see
that few of those around us,
well shod and walking, even owning, the streets
are freed.

Somehow you have been.

Enough to remind us
of freedom’s devout
internal and
ineradicable seed.

What a magnificent Lion
you have been all these
disastrous years
and still are,
indeed.

Yesterday, the Sentencing Project released a new report about private prisons titled “Too Good To Be True.”

The report details the history of private prisons in America, documents the increase in their use, and examines their supposed benefits. Among the report’s major findings:

1. From 1999 to 2010 the use of private prisons increased by 40 percent at the state level and by 784 percent in the federal prison system.

2. In 2010 seven states housed more than a quarter of their prison population in private facilities.

3. Claims of private prisons’ cost effectiveness are overstated and largely illusory.

4. The services provided by private prisons are generally inferior to those found in publicly operated facilities.

5. Private prison companies spend millions of dollars each year attempting to influence policy at the state and federal level.

The following table shows the dramatic increase in prisoners held in private prisons in the U.S. over the last decade:

Prisoners Held in Private Prisons in the United States

Read an analysis of these charts by clicking here.

(h/t Megan for posting this poem by Vanessa Huang on Facebook)

Dear Executioners,

This the year angels unravel
your promise; enduring prayer hearts
fly home for holidays, stay
for each and all the days,
where bread for all reign free.

This the year no angel
sacrifice your pain, no plea
for life need breath, your swollen
feet return to visit each one
you’ve put away; this
the year you resolve to face
each sin, confess
humanity with the rest
of us, pilgrims
each and all.

This the year angels
lynched by your pen
and coffee, angels
still keeping
watch inside
return
and bless each memory.

This the year all earth’s
children witness
your prison, secrets
broken so no child know shiver
of hunger, shame,
mumstealing, the year each child
remember what it is
to be curious, free from
judgment gaze, relearn
home in body.

This the year we uproot
toxic spread barbed wire
watch tower, pray for each
serving lie
of lock and key; this
the year each immigrant
shriveled under gavel’s learned
command lay to rest, medicine
earth’s palm massaging
temple our sky, the year new
days rain your wildfire.

This the year strip
searches and forced sterilization
become sorrows
of our past, doctors
and warden find their own
forgiveness enough
to imagine reparation
for war on baby
breath, the year we each find
breath enough
to imagine new
practice, collect
bouquet for each
fallen soldier who
brave this trespass.

If we have learned to hear
prayer of ghosts on Angel Island, then
this is the year; if we felt pollution
from Alcatraz enough to shut
a prison down and dandelion
still root, then
this is the year; if Attica reminds us
that patience shake
foundation enough to threaten
your hold, wake sun
gods, know freedom
for a moment, then
this is the year.

So may each finger’s sorrow find
joy enough to loosen your mallet
grip and rest
in prayer
with the angels.

after Martín Espada’s “Imagine the Angels of Bread”