In 2002 I was sent to the hole for two years. We call it Siberia because you are moved far from anything resembling humanity. Siberia houses the prison’s rejects in the most remote area of the prison, along with the rats and cockroaches, and the holding cage I was assigned to had feces piled in a corner and puddles of urine along the floor.
Upon arrival at my new residence, the guards told me to step in and strip. There may be a procedural reason for this, but it feels like it is intended for humiliation as women walk by and others look down from the observation booth. I kept my head high and maintained eye contact as defiantly as I could until they returned my clothing and left me to antagonize someone else.
The first few months felt like pure hell, and I was traumatized from all that I saw. Siberia houses a number of guys who suffer from some degree of mental illness, which can only be aggravated by the living conditions. On one occasion the nurse forgot to bring a guy his medication and though she promised to return, three hours went by and she never did… The guy lost it. He began to kick and bang on the door, screaming for the guard in the observational booth, who just seemed to ignore him, or so I thought. About ten minutes later, the ‘goon squad’ arrived, positioning themselves outside his door. I could hear the guy trying to explain that he needed his meds, but one of the guards cut him off saying, “Talking is over when we come.”
They then opened the trap door, pepper-sprayed the guy and slammed the trap door closed. They waited to hear the prisoner coughing and gagging before signaling for the door to be opened again. About five of them rushed in with batons and shock shields, and in all of my years in prison, I have never heard anyone screaming like I did that day. The screams only seemed to escalate the situation, as the guards dragged him out of his cell by his feet and dragged him down the concrete steps, his head bouncing off each one.
While the incident was horrifying to watch, what I found more appalling was that once the guards left with the semi-conscious man, conversations resumed around me as if nothing had just happened. Gang bangers talked about gang banging while others talked about music, sports and what’s going to be on the next food tray.
It really showed me just how inconsequential our lives in here really are. In the years since I left the hole, it has received a new paint job and a host of psychiatrists to help guys deal with some serious issues, but the violence continues despite the numerous changes of administration. I’m told it’s a necessity.
ABOUT THE WRITER. Marcus Mitchell has been a member of the WITS book club for quite some time, but this is his first contribution as a writer. It is not his first writing project though. Marcus often writes with a focus on mental health within the carceral environment and how it is impacted by prison conditions as well as restorative justice. He has partnered with Liane Peden to further these efforts at https://hellofaview.com/.
Mr. Mitchell can be contacted at:
Marcus Mitchell #0488288
Central Prison
P.O. Box 247
Phoenix, MD 21131
