The journal of David Snyder
14 November 2005
I've been doing this for six years, very diligently the last year/year and a half. A fellow prisoner told me about this so here I am. I'll tell you my experiences (past and present), beliefs, views, observations and more.
Warning first. I tend to bounce all over the place when I write. I get emotional on things I feel strongly about and poetic or both. I've been called a crusader at times. My language is sometimes too strong and possibly offensive. A curse of being an emotional and poetic person. I will speak from heart and soul. Sometimes it will be pleaseant. Sometimes it won't. In this first entry is a poem giving a glimpse of my poetic juices. It's also a challenge. It's not about what it appears to be. The challenge is for you to figure what it is about.
Who am I?
Some say crusader. Others say bleeding heart. I hate any injustice, dishonor, disloyalty, etc. just for the sake of wanting harm or revenge on another. Nature has a way of doing it for you if you're patient. Trust me, I've gotten more payback letting things take their natural course than actively seeking it. But, I do not claim to be perfect or not done any of the above. But I have never done it intentionally nor been serious enugh to merit prison or unending hate. I strive to be as good a person as I can...
I write this as a prisoner falsely charged and convicted on my own sister's lies and the corrupt justice system. I'll tell you that story another time. For now I'll just say I have found a lot of mistakes; moral and legal by the state, composed of lies to convict me. The state knows it did wrong but won't say it, and puts whatever roadblocks in front of me it can.
Prison life?
It's a contradiction in terms. In prison there is not life except the one who has such a sentence. Some prisons are better than others. Some are worse. Some are equal. Whatever you think you about them is a smoke screen. I know. What I thought before prison and what I see now are not near the same.
I was at CNYPC my first year and kept in a drugged fog state. Then I was at CCF for a year and half and again kept in a drugged state. CCF was hell. I don't remember much of my time there nor do I want to. Prisoners here knew me then and say I was a virtual vegetable. That's DOCS so called "rehabilitation". CCF was mouse, rat, and cockroach infested. Lights out and they came out. All your property was chewed on. No hot water in cell and communal showers. Sure, put a bunch of naked guys in a shower who cannot have the company of a woman. I don't need to tell you the danger of that. Recreation time was almost nonexistant. So called "programming" was a joke. It was one long gallery and if too far down no officer could hear you when help was needed. I saw one successful suicide there. No one knew until the next morning. This is a supposedly "safe" and stable living environment. Wow, that's DOCS "rehabilitation" and "debt to society".
SCF is better. Medical said I was overmedicated and took me off a lot. I woke up. Now I do volunteer tutoring for English/History, joined a Writer's Workshop and video group, full-time pantry worker, help the illiterate with letters and law library thrown in.
Now something that pisses me off. The state says I'm "violent". I have absolutely no history of any. My "crime" is a 1st degree so "violent". The 2nd and 3rd degree aren't even though they are the same except victim age. 2nd and 3rd are non-voilent and misdemeanors. I have a violent felony? I learned first hand it is a matter of how badly the D.A. wants to ruin your life.
Life is not the luxurious, laid back, all is provided free you think it is. For a year we get: 3 pants, 3 shirts, 6 socks, 6 t-shirts, 6 underwear, sneakers, work boots, sweatshirt, coat, and 3 hankerchiefs. Now part of htat is once a year and part is split every six months. That means we have to wear the same clothes 2-3 days in a row for work, rec, and program. Some prisons now charge a $5 fee for sick call or emergency sick call. The five free postage stamps died. The collage program died. Food is cheaper/less qaulity so state can save money. A collect call to family costs about $10 for half and hour. My pay fo rthe year? $240. It goes a very short way.
Prison is not "rehabilitation". It's business. Almost all we get is made by prisoners in prison shops. $30,000 a year to house a prisoner and we get less than adequate. Prison population was 500,000 in 1971. In 1998 it was 2 million. This is the so called drop in crime? In 1998 almost 700 million was spent on prisons and about $400 million on education. Oh, let's screw education so teens have to struggle to live and resort to crime. Oh, crime is terrible, out of hand? The state dug it's own grave and won't even admit it! Parole denial is done just for the money kickback. The state hoesn't want you released. It takes away their cries of needing more money and possible job losses.
Employees have contracts, unions, bebfits, etc. In most jobs it is deserved. but , prisoners have none of this. We have no groups who sit at the table making demands for us. We are a lost and forgotten people blind to the world. To the world we do not exist. One night an officer said to another he doesn't understand why their union doesn't fight for themt o have a microwave on the block for them. Oh, how that pissed me off. I can't get enough clothes to wear each day and this guy is complaining he "deserves" a microwave? I earn $240 a year and this guy gets at least $30,000 a year with pension, bebfits, paid vation, overtime, etc.? I physically defend myself and I'm kept locked. He does it and it's justified as "security"? I harass an officer in any way and I'm kept locked. Yet, he can sit and laugh about me or my situation/problems and spread gossip and it's not seen as harassment? Oh, I can have rights that I can grieve or go to court. The grievance committee is a pretty painting. Court? I can if I have the court fee usually $190 or if very lucky $15-50 for a "poor person" I get $240 a year! How the hell can I afford such court fees?
Prison from the outside and prison from the inside are two very differnt world and lives. The outside has a very definite wrong view of prison. Not living within its walls and having an opinion about it is easy. Living it first hand will change that opinion very quick. Honestly, what I thought and what I know now opened my eyes to the truth, and I'm ashamed I had such a high misconception. Prison is outdated. Many officials of court and law have been saying so for 30 years. Instead of listening, the public demands more prisons, less opportunity for prisoners, harsher sentence, more restirction,s denial of parole and so on.
We have the highest prisosn population in the world and we are supposedly the most "civilized" nation? Prison is just a modern version of slavery. Putting disabled people in prison bebfits them how? Terminal prisoners how? Want a debt payed to society? Community service. Garner wages to pay fines. Restrict ability to travel. Residential housing with limited public contact. So many alternatives exist, but society wants none despite its hypocritical cries of such.
Prison sucks in every way, every level. It demeans and degrades. It breaks and twists. It makes one angry and spiteful. It amkes one want to strike back at society. It makes you mean and cold.
Johnny Cash understood prisoners. He wrote a hell of a song call "San Quentin". One line stands out for me:
"I'll walk out a wiser, weaker man."
Prison does make you wiser, but also weaker and definately does not make you feel like you're walking out a man.
30 October 2005
I begin my journey.
The dawning light
casts its golden glow.
In the distance
a lake of pure waters
reflect the morning sun
like pearls sought by divers.
Trees of cherry
dance in the wind,
distantly beyond.
My first step
begins with anticipation.
I walk the path
in a virginal forest;
untouched,
unsullied.
Misty dew clings
mysterious
to blade of grass,
and branch of tree.
Sweet scent of life
moistens the air,
carried in the breeze.
Now I enter
the open plain;
free and unburdened.
I begin my climb,
hill and mountain
to reach the peaks.
Along the way
I pause,
slaking my thirst
in their streams,
restoring lost salts.
At last I come,
taste the trees of cherry,
sweet like wine
the color of roses,
scent of a wild land.
Finally,
I dive into the waters;
reborn,
die and reborn again.
Water taken by fire,
fire taken by water.
Yet,
both becoming
part of the other.