April 14
CALIFORNIA:
Buddhism Behind Bars
Jarvis Jay Masters may be the most talented North Bay writer you've never
heard of. If his work has indeed passed you by, perhaps it has something
to do with his address: San Quentin's death row, where he has resided
since 1990, after being convicted for his role in the murder of a prison
guard in 1985. Like most of the convicts on death row, Jarvis, 43, was
raised in a violent environment. His parents were drug addicts, and at an
early age, he began bouncing from one foster home to another. By the time
he was 12, he was running the streets; at 19, he was sentenced to 10 years
in San Quentin for a series of violent crimes.
Criminologists such as Lonnie Athens (profiled in Richard Rhodes'
definitive book Why They Kill) tell us that overcoming such a background
is practically unheard of. Yet if Masters' writings in his book Finding
Freedom: Writings from Death Row (Padma Publishing; $12) are to be
believed, that's precisely what the condemned inmate has done.
Finding Freedom is a collection of poems, short stories and journal
entries that detail Masters' conversion to Buddhism behind bars. When
exactly this conversion took place is never made clear, but we may presume
it occurred sometime after his involvement in the killing of the prison
guard. Nevertheless, there is a sincerity in Masters' writings that tells
readers (at least this one) that his is no mere deathbed conversion.
"This was home," he writes in "Sanctuary," the opening piece describing
his arrival in San Quentin in 1981. "For hours I couldn't bear the
thought. The roaches, the filth plastered on walls, the dirt balls
collecting on the floor and the awful smell of urine left in the toilet
for God knows how long sickened me nearly to the point of passing out."
Cleanliness is next to godliness, and Masters overcomes the squalor by
vigorously scrubbing every square inch of the cell.
Masters' prose is just as spotless as that cell. Like Buddhism, writing
came to him in prison, and the economy of style that comes to most writers
only after many years of practice seems to have come to him naturally. He
also has a gifted eye for story, and what author could ask for more
fertile ground than inside San Quentin prison?
For example, the short story "Little Black Sparrow" conveys an early
lesson taught to Masters by a fellow convict. In "A Reason to Live,"
Masters the student becomes teacher, convincing a new inmate that suicide
is not the way out. "Funny How Time Flies" uses the fact that wristwatches
no longer make a ticking sound as a device to humorously explore how the
outside world leaves prisoners behind.
Finding Freedom pivots on Masters' PEN Award-winning poem "Recipe for
Prison Pruno." Using the cut-up technique pioneered by Brion Gysin and
William S. Burroughs, Masters juxtaposes the recipe for homemade liquor
("Take 10 peeled oranges . . . one 8-oz. can of fruit cocktail") with the
statement made by the judge at his death sentence hearing. By the poem's
end, this juxtaposition becomes the cold hard truth of Masters'
predicament: "pour the remaining portion into two 16-oz. cups. / May God
have mercy on your soul, / Guzzle down quickly! / Mr. Jarvis Masters. /
Gulp Gulp Gulp!"
The short stories and journal entries following the poem document how
Buddhism, including an empowerment ceremony performed in prison by
Masters' teacher, Chagdud Tulku Rinpoche, has helped Masters cope with
this truth. "My writing and spiritual practice have become inseparable,"
he notes in the epilogue.
Some critics--most notably University of Utah College of Law professor
Paul Cassel, who reviewed Finding Freedom for the Washington Post--doubt
that Masters' conversion to Buddhism is sincere. Cassel correctly points
out that the inmate has carefully avoided mention of the violence that
brought him to death row, and suggests that Masters is simply trying to
save his own skin with his writings. "No doubt we will see these
life-saving claims credulously reprinted when his execution approaches,"
Cassel writes.
Of course, there may be another reason the author eschews writing about
the violence. Masters' appeal is currently before the State Supreme Court,
and there is a chance that his death sentence--perhaps even his murder
conviction--may be overturned. If that happens, perhaps we'll hear more
from this talented writer. If it doesn't, well, there will be one more
good reason to abolish the death penalty.
(source: North Bay Bohemian)
***********************
Lawsuit: Police, deputies violated treaty
A federal lawsuit filed Friday alleges local law enforcement officers
violated an international treaty by failing to advise Mexican citizens of
their right to contact the Mexican consulate after they have been
arrested.
Vista attorney Genaro Lara, who filed the lawsuit on behalf of a Fallbrook
resident serving a year in jail on drug charges, is seeking to have the
case certified as a class-action lawsuit on behalf of all Mexican citizens
arrested locally between May 1, 2003, and April 1, 2005.
Capt. Glenn Revell, a spokesman for the San Diego County Sheriff's
Department, said he could not comment on the lawsuit. Jail staff determine
where a suspect is from when he or she is booked and arrange quickly for a
suspect to speak to a diplomatic representative from the consulate if a
suspect requests it, Revell said.
Lt. David Mankin, a spokesman for the Escondido Police Department, said he
could not comment because the lawsuit is pending. Officials at the
Oceanside Police Department could not be reached for comment Wednesday.
Carlsbad police Lt. Bill Rowland referred questions to City Attorney
Ronald Ball, who could not be reached immediately for comment late
Wednesday afternoon.
The lawsuit alleges that sheriff's deputies violated the constitutional
rights of Ezequiel Nunez Cornejo, 39, of Fallbrook, when they did not tell
Cornejo at the time of his arrest about his right to contact the Mexican
consulate, as specified in the Vienna Convention on Consular Relations.
Cornejo and others like him were deprived of information that "would have
resulted in a different outcome of their case had they been provided with
consular assistance," the lawsuit alleges. Lara said the consulate would
have given Cornejo legal assistance and advised him not to make statements
to sheriff's deputies.
Lara said he could not say whether Cornejo is in the United States
legally, but that citizens of other countries must be advised of their
right to contact their country's consulate regardless of whether they are
legal residents.
Superior Court criminal case records showed Cornejo pleaded guilty March 1
to marijuana transportation, possessing a firearm while possessing
methamphetamine, and driving under the influence of drugs. Superior Court
Judge K. Michael Kirkman sentenced Cornejo on March 29 to 1 year in jail
and three years on probation, court records showed.
The new lawsuit comes at a time when the U.S. Supreme Court is considering
a Texas death row inmate's case that could determine how an international
court ruling last year applies to death row inmates who allege they were
denied the right to contact consular officials.
The outcome of that case could affect other cases, including that of
accused Oceanside cop-killer Adrian Camacho. Prosecutors are seeking the
death penalty if Camacho, a twice-deported illegal immigrant from Mexico,
is convicted of murdering rookie Oceanside police Officer Tony Zeppetella
in 2003. Camacho's attorneys have said questions about whether Camacho was
able to contact the consulate without delay after his arrest could affect
his case.
(source: North County Times)
USA:
US prisoners may be conscious when given lethal injection: study
Some prisoners who are executed by lethal injection in the United States
may be conscious and in pain because of botched procedures and
insufficient sedation, a study says.
This form of execution is hailed by supporters as humane, but in practice
is so flawed that it falls below veterinary standards for putting down
sick animals, it says.
Researchers analyzed execution procedures in Texas and Virginia, where 45
% of executions are carried out in the United States.
They found that the executioners -- typically emergency medical
technicians or medical military personnel -- had no training in
anaesthesia.
Nor were records were kept about sedation doses or reviews carried out
after the execution to ensure the inmate had been killed humanely.
They also analyzed autopsy toxicology reports from 49 executions in
Arizona, Georgia, North Carolina and South Carolina.
They found that, in 43 out of the 49 cases, concentrations in the blood of
the sedative sodium thiopental were lower than that required for surgery.
And in 21 out of the 43, inmates had concentrations consistent with a
patient who was still conscious and aware.
Since 1976, when the death penalty was reinstated by the Supreme Court,
956 people have been executed in the United States, 788 by lethal
injection, according to figures cited by The Lancet.
The procedure is preferred to other forms of execution, such as hanging,
electrocution or gassing, as it is not considered to violate the US
constitution's 8th amendment, which forbids "cruel and unusual"
punishment.
Under the process, the inmate is strapped to a chair or trolley, and 2
intravenous lines are opened, on of which is a backup.
At the prison warden's signal, the injection team first administers sodium
thiopental to anaesthetize the patient so that, in theory, he or she feels
no pain.
Then pancuronium bromide is delivered to cause paralysis. This is followed
by a huge dose of potassium chloride to stop the heart, resulting in a
death portrayed as painless and clinical.
In practice, though, the situation may be quite different, the study says.
"The absence of training and monitoring, and the remote administration of
drugs, coupled with eyewitness reports of muscle responses during an
execution, suggests that the current practice of lethal injection for
execution fails to meet veterinary standards," it says.
"Failures in protocol (drug administration) design, implementation,
monitoring and review might have led to unnecessary suffering of at least
some of those executed."
The research is lead-authored by Leonidas Koniaris of the Comprehensive
Cancer Center in Miami, Florida. It appears in next Saturday's issue of
The Lancet, the British medical weekly.
In an accompanying editorial, The Lancet blasts the US death penalty as
"an American atrocity" and "a stain on the record of the world's most
powerful democracy."
But it also points to a dilemma for physicians: botched lethal injections
would increase demands for doctors, rather than medical orderlies, to
carry out the anaesthesia.
The American Medical Association (AMA) has ethical guidelines forbidding
doctors to take part in executions. However, most doctors when surveyed
were unaware of these guidelines and a significant minority said they were
prepared to take part in executions.
(source: Agence France Presse)
***************************
Wallis book has message for all people of faith
When a book is enthusiastically recommended by dignitaries across the
political and religious spectra - people like Archbishop Desmond Tutu, PBS
journalist Bill Moyers, a host of ultraconservative Catholic bishops, and
even rock megastar Bono of U2 - it's well worth a look.
"God's Politics: Why the Right Gets It Wrong and the Left Doesn't Get It,"
by Jim Wallis, could be one of the most important books of our time.
Wallis is an evangelical Christian, but his message is for all Christians:
Catholic, mainline Protestant, Pentecostal, and other evangelicals. And it
will also resonate with people of goodwill who subscribe to other faiths,
or no faith at all.
Anyone who has even a passing familiarity with the teachings of Christ
will find it difficult to argue with a word Wallis says. His beliefs and
values are steeped in scripture, and he presents the "good news" in a way
that makes perfect sense not just for church communities, but for the
world at large.
Rather than advocating political passivity and disengagement on the part
of fellow Christians when it comes to the political arena, Wallis insists
people of faith have a moral obligation to aggressively promote Christ's
agenda, as perhaps most clearly outlined in Matthew 25:31-46.
Wallis asks: "Since when did believing in God and having moral values make
you pro-war [and] pro-rich? And since when did promoting and pursing a
progressive social agenda with a concern for economic security, health
care and educational opportunity, mean you had to put faith in God aside?"
Wallis wants Christians to hold the government more accountable to what he
calls "key values of the prophetic religious tradition - that is, make
them pro-justice, pro-peace, pro-environment, pro-equality, pro-consistent
ethic of life and pro-family." He cites love, justice, reconciliation and
community as the virtues Christ tried to instill in his followers.
To emphasize God's "preferential option for the poor," Wallis describes
how a student of his procured an old, ragged Bible, and cut out every
reference to "the poor" and God's prescription on how to care for them.
After he completed his task, all that was left was a "Bible full of
holes." In the gospels, for instance, they found 1 in every 7 verses was
related somehow to the poor.
Wallis pulls no punches in his denunciation of the American political
machine, and he is equally critical of Democrats and Republicans, liberals
and conservatives. He charges conservatives with a narrow and
mean-spirited interpretation of scriptural mandates, and accuses liberals
of bowing to elitist and secular interests that leave no room for
Christian values. He concludes that God is, indeed, the only solution to
America's problems, and that it's up to Christians to spread the word. And
for Wallis, that "word" starts with the familiar imperative to "love one
another" - a directive many Americans seem to have forgotten.
Wallis doesn't limit his biblical scrutiny to the gospels and other New
Testament scriptures. He also relies heavily on the prophets, and includes
stories about "modern-day prophets" such as Dorothy Day, Tutu and Martin
Luther King Jr. - the latter of whom, though a Baptist, the Roman Catholic
Church has designated a "martyr for the faith." Wallis personally knows
many of today's Christian pillars, and he's also acquainted with more than
a few politicians, including our current president. In the book he relates
several encounters and dialogues he and other American religious leaders
have shared with elected officials, and how people of faith are striving
to bring about positive change in America.
Those who suspect the book may be back-door endorsement of Democrat Party
dogma can rest easy. Wallis poignantly describes how former Illinois Gov.
George Ryan, a Republican, wrestled with the moral dilemma of a flawed
capital punishment system before finally issuing a moratorium on
executions. He writes about his years-long, inimical relationship with
Campus Crusade for Christ founder Bill Bright, until Bright's increasing
concern and love for the poor just before his death in 2003 helped cement
a reconciliation. But perhaps the most moving passage in the book details
the efforts of Alabama Gov. Bob Riley - a Republican and a Southern
Baptist - to deal with the crushing poverty in his state. Riley, Wallis
pointedly states, has been reading a Bible that's not full of holes.
Wallis' book is available at local stores and can also be ordered online
from Barnes and Noble or Amazon for about $14. It's well worth the
investment. In fact, when you've finished reading it, pass it on to
someone you care about. And pass along what's left of your box of tissues.
If you're a person of faith, you'll need to get one before you start
reading.
(source: Tahlequah Daily Press)
ALABAMA:
Feds Lay Down For Rudolph
If Eric Robert Rudolph weren't a cold-blooded murderer on the verge of
spending the rest of his life in a federal penitentiary he'd make an
excellent legal analyst. Amidst an ugly 11-page manifesto (think Timothy
McVeigh meets Paul Hill meets the Unabomber) Rudolph cogently described
why the feds cut him a sweetheart deal that spares him a possible death
penalty.
The Justice Department chickened out, Rudolph surmised, because federal
lawyers figured they never could get a unanimous jury in the South to
recommend a death sentence for a man convicted of trying to stop the
practice of abortion - even though he chose to do it by bombing a clinic
and killing a cop (and by bombing the 1996 Olympics and killing an
innocent bystander). "They were afraid," Rudolph boasted in his diatribe,
"that in at least one jurisdiction they were going to run into this
recalcitrant pro-life juror who would hang the jury and deliver a
political defeat and embarrassment to Washington's efforts to make an
example out of the person who assaulted their specially protected policy
of child murder."
My view of why the feds backed down is not dissimilar just a bit more
diffuse. I'm not sure it's as much a "pro-life" juror that prosecutors
were wary of in any of the potential Rudolph prosecutions. I think it was
more a general concern about "anti-government" jurors who would have been
(and who probably still are) both suspicious of federal authority and
sympathetic toward Rudolph and his particular brand of politics. Rudolph,
remember, was described as a modern-day "Robin Hood" during his years in
the wild. He is a man who generated "Pray for Eric Rudolph" signs in North
Carolina upon his capture. He is a man who created sentiments like the one
expressed by Hoke Henson, quoted by The New York Times a few years ago as
saying he didn't see Rudolph "bomb nobody ... You can't always trust the
feds."
But whether it is a pro-life juror or an anti-government juror, the fact
that the feds would back off this notorious terror case for fear of a
possible jury holdout (or anything else, for that matter) is stunning. We
have been told since Sept. 11, 2001 that the federal government would
never waver, never falter, and never stop short of delivering to
terrorists the justice they deserve. But now, suddenly, federal
prosecutors aren't willing to trust an American jury in a case involving
domestic terrorism involving hundreds of victims? Now, suddenly, the feds
are afraid of taking a murder case to trial even when a law enforcement
official (Robert Sanderson, an off-duty cop at the clinic in Birmingham)
has been killed? Now, suddenly, we're afraid of putting a nasty, racist
like Rudolph in the dock of justice because some people think he is a
hero? Some people thought McVeigh was a hero, too, and look where he is
now. Since when does our federal government go easy on a guy who murders
in anti-government fervor?
Legally-speaking, unless there is 'way more to this story than has been
publicly revealed, I don't think the deals necessarily are a poor choice.
But the political and ethical and moral compromise they represent - the
contradiction in prosecutorial policy they stand for - is appalling. After
today, how does the government refuse to make a deal with Zacarias
Moussaoui, another terror suspect, but a man who, unlike Rudolph, never
actually murdered anyone? How does it justify life sentences for criminals
who do not kill and maim hundreds and then tie up precious police
resources for years? And what happens the next time an abortion clinic is
bombed in the name of politics? Won't that defendant ask for, and expect
to receive, the Royal Rudolph treatment from the government? These deals
are bad policy, folks, and bad policy makes for bad precedent we'll be
stuck with for years.
Indeed, what gives these deals the unique odor they possess today is the
fact that there was never a reasonable chance that Rudolph would have been
acquitted of all of the charges against him. There was never a chance he
would have been able to walk the streets and terrorize again. He would
have been easily convicted and - here is where Rudolph the legal analyst
is again right on the money - there might have been a tussle or two during
jury deliberations over the death penalty. But then the feds would have
been no better or worse off than they are today - with Rudolph facing the
prospect of life in prison without parole. It would have cost more, and
taken longer, and it would have put Rudolph's surviving victims and the
family members of the slain through an emotional ordeal. But so what? We
pay our prosecutors to prosecute and we gratefully ask our victims to bear
witness even in difficult circumstances.
These weren't smart deals designed to avoid the risk of acquittal. They
were deals designed to lock into place the safest (and perhaps the most
likely) result of the potential Rudolph trials. It was a risk-adverse day
for an Administration that typically doesn't make risk-adverse decisions
when it comes to trying men accused of terrorism. It was a play-safe
strategy from a government that has spent the last decade aggressively -
some, like me, have called it at times "recklessly" - pursuing a
zero-tolerance approach to criminal justice. The deals make a mockery of
all the rhetoric we have heard from Washington since the Twin Towers fell
about not showing weakness to those who would do us harm. Rudolph
reportedly winked to prosecutors Wednesday during one of his court
appearances. I wonder if that felt as stomach-turning to them as it does
to the rest of us. And I wonder if they would have made the deals if they
had read Rudolph's hate-o-gram first.
So this man, this unrepentant murderer, just stared down the federal
government and won. It's as if John Allen Muhammad, the Beltway Sniper,
had been given a plea deal by the government because prosecutors weren't
sure they would get a death sentence in each jurisdiction in which
Muhammad was to be tried. It's as if Terry Nichols who, like Rudolph,
knows a thing or two about terror bombing, hadn't been tried for his role
in the Oklahoma City bomb blast because the survivors of the Alfred P.
Murrah building needed to move on with their lives after the McVeigh
trial. I've criticized the government before for taking lousy cases to
trial or for seeking the death penalty in cases in which I did not think
it was warranted. I never dreamed I would be criticizing the government,
in 2005, for being afraid of a courtroom fight with a terrorist.
Whether Rudolph is right about the abortion angle, whether I am right
about the anti-government angle, or whether the truth lies somewhere in
the middle, the about-face from the feds is startling. The deals
formalized Wednesday say a lot more about the potential jury pools in
Alabama and Georgia than they do about Rudolph. They say a lot more about
politics in this country right now than they do about the particularly
cowardly nature of Rudolph's crimes. And they say a lot more about the
current leadership at the Justice Department than they do about the
justice of it all. I just don't get how prosecutors can look at a woman
like Emily Lyons (who can't look back because she was blinded and
disfigured by one of Rudolph's bombs) and tell her that justice was done
through these deals. Lyons, according to wire reports, "wept in the
Birmingham court when Rudolph offered an abbreviated confession. 'He
sounded so proud of it,' she said. 'I feel he is not being punished enough
for what he did.'"
Just hours before Rudolph released his view of the world, federal
prosecutors offered their own spin on things. "Today Eric Rudolph's reign
of terror ended in courts of law and justice," U.S. Attorney David Nahmias
declared from Atlanta. "It ended with certainty, immediacy, finality, and
protection of public safety ... There can be no doubt anymore about who
was responsible for those crimes, and no uncertainty about the results of
long and complex trials. Eric Rudolph is guilty today. There will be no
further delays in obtaining justice for the public and the many victims of
his terrorist acts. Eric Rudolph is guilty forever more. There will be no
long appeals."
That's all true. But this government spin ignores the fact that Rudolph's
reign of terror actually ended in June 2003, when he was finally
apprehended after evading one of the largest individual dragnets in world
history. It ignores the fact that there was strong and clear direct and
circumstantial evidence against him - certainly stronger and clearer than
some of the junk evidence prosecutors routinely toss before jurors in
criminal cases. It ignores the fact that many of Rudolph's victims do not
see this result as justice. And the very language of the announcement
arguably would justify the federal government's acceptance of a plea deal
in every criminal prosecution.
Every plea deal brings with it certainty and finality. Every plea deal
obviates the need for long appeals. Every plea deal avoids a long trial.
But, for good reason, not every case ends with a plea deal. Sometimes,
prosecutors make the tough call to bring a case to trial even though there
is no guarantee of victory. Indeed, recent history is replete with
examples where federal and state prosecutors took cases to trial they
might have been better advised to plead out. For example, the
aforementioned Nichols was re-tried in Oklahoma last year even though it
was painfully obvious to any reasonable observer that any death sentence
he might have received would have been voided by the federal courts.
Sometimes, for political and even moral and ethical reasons, you just have
to take a case to trial. Sometimes the trial itself, never mind the
result, is what justice is all about.
But the feds didn't take their good cases against Rudolph to trial. They
did what they have refused to do on countless occasions in the past. They
failed or they refused to fight the good fight. Someone should be forced
to answer for that. And if the answer, when it comes, is that Rudolph's
analysis is correct - that a murderer caught the break of a lifetime
(literally) because of the current state of abortion politics in Georgia
or Alabama or Washington or anywhere else - then the politicians and the
lawyers who signed off on these deals ought to be forced, at a minimum, to
say so to what's left of Emily Lyons' face.
(source: CBS News)
INDIANA:
Kernan cautious about death penalty
Former Gov. Joe Kernan, who granted clemency for 2 death row inmates when
he was governor, still supports capital punishment but with "much more
apprehension and much more skepticism."
The former governor, who left office in January, spoke at the University
of Notre Dame Law School on Wednesday and said he remembers being called
to the scene of a drugstore triple-murder in 1990, when he was mayor of
South Bend.
"I came away from that believing whoever had done that deserved to die,"
he said.
Christopher Allen, a former drugstore employee accused of the 1990 triple
murders, is scheduled for a third trial in August. One trial ended in a
hung jury and another ended in a conviction, which was overturned on
grounds the defense should have been permitted to introduce additional
evidence.
Kernan's support for capital punishment didn't stop him from twice
granting clemency while he was governor. Last July, he commuted to life in
prison the death sentence of Darnell Williams, a man who had been
scheduled to die by lethal injection for the 1986 murders of a Gary
couple. In January, Kernan granted clemency to Michael Daniels, an
Indianapolis man convicted of a 1978 murder during a robbery.
Kernan said he put together a team of attorneys and staff members to study
the Williams case and advise him. He also visited several people for
advice. Those whose advice he sought included the Rev. Edward A. Malloy,
Notre Dame's president, and the Rev. Robert Pelton, a Notre Dame theology
professor who performed the marriage of Kernan and his wife, Maggie.
Kernan said his decision to commute Williams' death sentence was based on
several factors: the prisoner's mental capacity; the fact that a
co-defendant who was more culpable for the crime was declared ineligible
for the death penalty because of retardation; and questions about the role
Williams played in the crime. Indiana law bars anyone with an IQ of 75 or
lower from being executed. Williams' IQ was placed at 78 to 81. Daniels'
IQ was 77.
"I felt that was an important consideration," Kernan said.
He said he doesn't think the clemency decision was a deciding factor in
his election loss to Republican Mitch Daniels. He also praised former
Illinois Gov. George Ryan for his 2003 blanket commutation of the
sentences of that state's 167 death row inmates.
"It took a lot of guts, and I admire him for having made that decision,"
Kernan said.
(source: Associated Press)
LOUISIANA:
Photos and poems from prison----Deborah Luster's pictures and C.D.
Wright's words capture life behind bars
For years, it was known as the bloodiest prison in America, a place so
brutally harsh that 8 out of every 10 inmates died behind bars. And while
recent reforms have curbed some of the worst abuses, the Louisiana State
Penitentiary at Angola remains one of the country's most dangerous places
to do hard time.
Yet as poet and Brown University professor C.D. Wright discovered when she
and another artist, photographer Deborah Luster, began visiting Angola 6
years ago, the prison didn't always live up to its violent reputation.
"The first thing you notice is that the whole place is incredibly clean,"
Wright recalls. "Then there are the grounds, which are always perfectly
manicured and maintained no matter when you visit. If you didn't know
better -- and if you could somehow block out the guard towers and the
razor wire, which is everywhere -- you could easily think you were looking
at a nice state-college campus."
The prisoners, too, were a surprise.
"As a group, they were extremely polite," says Wright "It was always 'Yes,
ma'am,' 'No, ma'am,' 'Would you like some Kool-Aid, ma'am.' I'm sure part
of it was just trying to be on their best behavior. But it's also bred
into them. Many of the inmates are from the rural South, where good
manners still matter."
2 years ago, Wright and Luster published One Big Self: Prisoners of
Louisiana, a book of poems and portraits based on their visits to Angola
and 2 other Louisiana prisons: the minimum-security Transylvania Prison
Farm and the 1,000-bed Louisiana Correctional Institute for Women in St.
Gabriel.
The book, which brought readers face to face with everyone from rapists
and murderers to petty thieves and drug dealers, earned Wright and Luster
the 2003 Dorothea Lange-Paul Taylor Prize from Duke University.
Now the book has spawned an exhibit, also called "One Big Self," opening
tomorrow at Brown's David Winton Bell Gallery. (Note: as part of the show,
Wright and Luster will present a free gallery talk today at 5:30 p.m. in
the List Art Center Auditorium at 64 College St.)
According to gallery director Jo-Ann Conklin, the show will feature about
60 of the more than 800 prison portraits Luster took between 1998 and
2001. Though small in size, the black-and-white pictures are both finely
detailed (Luster uses an old-fashioned view camera) and disarmingly
direct. Except for their prison uniforms -- and a few rather colorful
tattoos -- these could be friends, neighbors, co-workers.
Accompanying the portraits are excerpts from Wright's poems, in which
inmates talk -- at times in their own words, at times through Wright's
spare, hardscrabble verse -- about everything from their childhood dreams
to life behind bars.
"It's pretty powerful stuff, especially when you put the words and images
together," Conklin says. "Without trying to idealize them or makes excuses
for their behavior, the show reminds us that these prisoners are people,
too."
Shedding light
Wright agrees that there's a humanizing intent behind "One Big Self,"
noting that the show's title comes from The Thin Red Line, a brooding 1999
Terrence Malick film about American soldiers fighting the Japanese during
World War II. Even in the midst of war, observes one character, "Maybe all
men got one big soul where everybody's part of -- all faces of the same
man: one big self."
At the same time, Wright and Conklin say the show -- along with a smaller
exhibit of death-row photographs by Indiana artist Lucinda Devlin -- isn't
meant as a call for better prison conditions or an end to the death
penalty. Instead, the goal is simply to shed light on an otherwise hidden
part of American society.
"As Americans, we hear a lot about crime and criminals," Wright says. "But
once someone is convicted of a crime, they basically disappear from view.
In a sense, our goal was to make them visible again."
Ironically, Wright says she initially balked at the idea of writing poems
based on the lives and experiences of prison inmates.
"At first, my reaction was, like, 'Ugh, no way am I doing prison poems,' "
she says. "There's a whole sub-genre of poetry devoted to prison stuff,
and most of it isn't any good.
"But then Deborah, who'd already started making contacts in the Louisiana
prison system, invited me to come down and see for myself."
What Wright discovered changed her mind.
"Despite all the dangers and hardships of prison life, most of the people
I talked to had managed to come to terms with their situation," she says.
"They read books, took classes, worked out, joined clubs -- all the things
the rest of us do. In effect, they'd made their own life and their own
society behind bars."
Prison rodeo
Wright was particularly impressed by Angola, a former slave plantation
that ranks as the country's largest (at 18,000 square acres, it's almost
twice the size of the City of Providence) and most populous prison.
Located within its walls are farms, schools, churches, playing fields --
even an athletic stadium.
It's in this stadium that Angola hosts one of the most unusual events in
the history of American penology: the Angola Rodeo.
"If you're a Southerner, you definitely know about the Angola Rodeo,"
Wright says. "It happens every year, and it's one of the biggest tourist
attractions in Louisiana.
"Basically, you have these inmates who've never even ridden a horse before
risking their lives by riding bulls and bucking broncos. It's extremely
dangerous, and people are always getting hurt. But if you win the Angola
Rodeo, you're pretty much The Man around the prison yard -- at least until
next year."
Another tradition, observed at Angola and other prisons, is for inmates to
make their own costumes for holidays such as Halloween and Mardi Gras.
"Louisiana is heavily Catholic, so events like Mardi Gras are a big deal,"
Wright says. "People spend months making elaborate costumes out of little
more than old bits of clothing and maybe some scrap paper or cardboard."
Some of Luster's most striking photographs show inmates wearing these
costumes.
In one, a man poses wearing a black-and-white-striped prison uniform and a
huge stovepipe hat. The hat, wrapped in the same striped fabric, makes him
look like a jailbird Mad Hatter. In another, an older woman wears an
old-fashioned lace dress and fringed shawl. She could be someone's fairy
godmother.
Tattoos are also popular. Indeed, Wright says tattoos represent one of the
few ways inmates can assert control over their own bodies.
"It's really one of the few forms of self-expression they're allowed," she
says. "For people who otherwise have very little control over what happens
to them, getting a tattoo is way of asserting authority over their own
bodies."
Focus is on inmates
One thing gallery-goers won't find is an explanation of why Luster's
sitters are in prison in the first place. Instead, the show's wall labels
list only the inmates' names, where they are incarcerated and a few other
basic details.
"That was a conscious decision on our part," Wright says. "Obviously, if
you're in a maximum-security prison like Angola, chances are you did
something worse than if you're in a minimum-security facility like
Transylvania. Otherwise, we wanted viewers to focus on the person, not the
crime."
The author of 10 books of poetry and winner of a 2004 "genius grant" from
the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation, Wright lives with her
husband, poet Forrest Gander, in Barrington. Luster is an award-winning
photographer based in New Orleans.
So how did the two hook up for "One Big Self"?
"Actually, we've collaborated on a number of projects," Wright says,
noting that the two first teamed up on The Lost Road Project: A Walk-in
Book of Arkansas, a 1994 book that combined Luster's photographs with
excerpts from the work of Arkansas writers such as novelist Maya Angelou,
historian C. Vann Woodward and bluesman Sonny Boy Williamson. (Wright is
an Arkansas native.)
Since then, Luster has contributed photographs for two of Wright's books:
Just Whistle (1996) and Deep Stick Come Shining (2002). The two also
collaborated on a 1998 exhibit at The Poet's Theatre in New York City.
Photos without people
In addition to "One Big Self," the Bell Gallery is exhibiting excerpts
from The Omega Suites, a series of large-scale color photographs by
Lucinda Devlin. Unlike Luster's portraits, which focus on the humanity and
individuality of prison inmates, Devlin's photographs are entirely devoid
of people.
Instead, Devlin casts a coldly clinical eye on execution sites such as
electric chairs, gas chambers and lethal-injection rooms.
"In a way, Deborah's and Lucinda's photographs represent different sides
of the same issue," says Bell director Conklin. "Deborah's photographs
really come from a humanist tradition and highlight the humanity of the
inmates. Lucinda's pictures, on the other hand, focus on places that are
designed to end human life."
"One Big Self: Prisoners of Louisiana" and The Omega Suites open tomorrow
and continue through May 29 at the David Winton Bell Gallery, List Art
Center, 64 College St., Providence. Gallery Hours: Monday-Friday, 11
a.m.-4 p.m. and Saturday-Sunday, 1-4 p.m. Phone: (401) 863-1562.
In conjunction with the exhibit, poet C.D. Wright and photographer Deborah
Luster will discuss their work tonight at 5:30 in the List Art Center
auditorium. Photographer Lucinda Devlin will present a separate slide
lecture on her work at 5:30 p.m. on Thursday, April 21.
(source: Providence Journal)
