I’ve spent 20yrs telling you about prison and prison politics. We’ve talked about how different guys clique up in groups or, Cars, as we call ’em. I repeat it here, everything in prison is segregated, by choice. Mexicans eat live, watch TV and look out for Mexicans, Blacks live, eat, watch TV and look out for Blacks, Indians with Indians, Whites with Whites and so forth – I repeat, we live this way, segregated, by choice. That’s the way it is in Federal Prison; it’s safer that way.
For my whole time in the prison system, we, the convicts of all races, had unwritten rules that we live by, a Code of Honor, per se. I’ve told you about these rules in various blogs and in at least one of my books ( A Poet Dreams) … so I won’t repeat myself here. I will say that these rules were created by the Cons for the betterment and safety our community decades ago. But, of late, those time honored rules have become blurred.
About 5 or 6 years ago revolutionary changes happened in the Narcotics Business, the prison Drug Game. I mean there were always drugs in the system, but they only affected a few, and for the most part, those guys got high, paid their bills and kept to themselves; they too, lived by a Code of Honor. Now however, with the help of Big Pharmaceutical, narcotics like Synboxin (probably misspelled) and the spray on paper K-2 has so lowered the cost and made it virtually impossible for anyone to stop its introduction into the prison system, that it has revolutionized the dope game – it’s everywhere in here – and I’m embarrassed to tell you that the biggest use and abuser of it, is my people, yeah, the White Man has become the slave to those who control the prison drug trade … we are now their slave; hell maybe it’s some kind of Karmic Debt, I don’t know, I certainly ain’t trying to figure out God’s part in all this, I’m simply stating a fact. The White Man, in prison, has chosen to abandon his honor, for a false high; they have become the SLAVE to the Mexican Cartels who flourish here in prison.
It breaks my heart to see anyone, anyone became a drug slave, but it hits closer to home with me, because, I’ve always believed it my job, my responsibility to help these guys … but more and more I find myself the outcast. I used to be the guy they all respected, now I’m the guy they know looks down on ’em, and they resent this about me … but that ain’t gonna change, I ain’t gonna act like being a drug slave is ok, ’cause it ain’t. Why am I telling you all this?
Well, I have always stood for my people in prison, always. I’ve stood and fought when I was on the bottom of the heap and I’ve stood at the front of the battleline as the Speaker for my people; never did I lead from the back. I’ve stood when other supposed tougher men, out of fear, hid in their cell, and yes, the story’s true, I’ve even been carried off the battlefield in a conflict I didn’t start. I’ve stood for my people against all odds and I did it with pride and honor. I have given council to these men, and been the father that most of them never had … and I take great pride when one of them goes home and takes the time to call one of my sons to tell them about the positive impact I’ve had on them. However, the inevitable has arrived, drugs has became more important to my people than getting out and doing the right thing. When I look around this prison yard, at my people, I’m ashamed at what I see; I’m ashamed to see my people so willingly selling their souls to the Dope Man … my heart is broken.
It used to be that, as a Shot Caller, I always held the hammer if not the numbers against the other cars. Whenever a dispute would arise I could always tell the Shot Callers for the other Car, who I’ll leave unnamed, that if they tried to take advantage of their numbers that I’d cut them off from their source of money. You see, we hire them to clean our cells to iron our clothes and we are the ones who buys most of the food they steal out of the kitchen – everything; without us most of them have no money and we can cripple their capacity to exist. Therefore, they had to respect us as a people, but that has all changed now because, THEY, have the dope, and if I were to have a “Wood Call” (manditory meeting of all the white guys) and tell my people that due to circumstances, they could not do business with these guys, they’d defy me … my own people would turn on me over dope.
We have truly and completely become the slave.
I have told you some months back that I no longer speak for my people, it’s true, I do not speak or represent anyone other than myself and that cannot now be reversed; my outspokenness has created some ill feelings with the drug majority in my own Car … I’m completely fine with it too! NO, I ain’t gonna get beat up! Hell, in here, I’m still respected for the afore mentioned reasons, it’s just that my type of leadership is obsolete, I’m a dinosaur, a dying breed of old school convict. Never thought I’d say it, but, I’m ashamed of my people.
Awhile back I wrote a series I called “The Shot Caller” series and it has been wildly popular; on the bottom of one of those I listed my text number and low and behold an old friend of mine hit me up to tell me that he was reading my stuff and actually enjoyed it. Now I ain’t heard from this fellow in, I guess 30 years, damn I love modern technology. Anyway, he has a blog of his own and I promised I’d give him a plug (of course I didn’t disclose the fact that I only have three followers, lol), anyway here it is … www.rockinrutherford.com/blog
Y’all go and check this out!
Peace Be With You and may each and everyone of you have a Merry Christmas!
Three Rivers, 12-17-19