We Kill Our
Revolutionaries
By Chris Hedges
February 23, 2015 "ICH"
- "Truthdig"
- YOUNGSTOWN, Ohio—Siddique Hasan, his
legs shackled to a chair, sat in the
fourth-floor visiting room of the Ohio State
Penitentiary, a
supermax prison. The room, surrounded by
thick glass windows, had a guard booth in
the center and food vending machines
flanking a microwave on one wall. There was
a line of small booths, entered through a
door behind Hasan, where families, including
children, were talking to prisoners through
plexiglass partitions.
Hasan, 5 feet 10 inches tall,
52 years old, bearded and with wire-rim
glasses, had a white
kufi on his head. He wore a short-sleeve
shirt over a long-sleeve shirt, light blue
prison pants and white Nikes. His 209-pound
frame was taut and compact, the result of an
intense exercise regime. He has been on
death row since he was convicted for his
actions while leading, along with four
others, the April 1993 uprising at the
Southern Ohio Correctional Facility at
Lucasville, Ohio. They are known as the
Lucasville Five. The uprising saw prisoners
take control of the prison for 11 days in
protest against numerous grievances,
including deaths that occurred allegedly
from beatings by guards. It was one of the
longest prison uprisings in U.S. history. By
the time it was over, 10 people had been
killed by prisoners, including a guard.
A riot that occurred Friday has
made a Texas prison
uninhabitable and forced a mass
transfer of prisoners. In a 2014
report by the ACLU, prisoners
there complained of “severely
crowded and squalid living
conditions.”
Click here or
here for more information
about what happened at the
Willacy County Correctional
Center.
|
Hasan, born Carlos Sanders,
has been in juvenile detention facilities or
prison since he was an adolescent. His early
life was difficult, unstable and marked by
extreme poverty. His mother had her first
child at 12 and her fourth and final child
at 19. His father, who was physically
abusive to Hasan’s mother, abandoned the
family when Hasan was 5. The children and
their mother survived on her meager pay from
cooking and cleaning jobs. Hasan, the third
of the four children, lived briefly in
foster homes and never went beyond fifth
grade. He ran the streets with his older
brother and engaged in petty crime. Since
his first incarceration, in his early teens
in Georgia—where he was nicknamed Savannah
Slim or Savannah Red, and where he worked
with other convicts on Georgia prison
highway details—until today, he has spent
only 17 months outside prison walls. He has
always rebelled. He masterminded a mass
escape from a juvenile detention facility
when he was 15 years old and, a year later,
a mass escape from a county jail. In 2013 he
took part in a hunger strike with other
death row prisoners that saw prison
authorities finally agree to expand the
range of items at the prison commissary,
permit physical contact in visits with
relatives, allow prisoners to use computers
to do legal research, increase the length of
phone conversations and increase recreation
time.
“I am a human being,”
Hasan said. “I don’t like being locked up,
deprived of my rights, told when to go to
bed, when to eat, when to shower. These
things hurt a person physically, emotionally
and psychologically. No human being should
be caged like an animal.”
Before he converted to
Islam in 1981, he said, he was “a
materialist freak and a monster that sold
drugs and protected people for payment in
prison.” He organized prison gambling rings
and extortion rackets and oversaw a small
army of enforcers.
“I would have 30 pairs of
shoes, 30 bottles of lotion, 30 bottles of
shampoo, 30 bottles of baby oil and 200 bars
of soap in my cell,” he said. “But once I
came into Islam and put into practice the
knowledge I acquired, I changed.”
He hopes prisoners will
organize to mount a coordinated nationwide
work stoppage and hunger strike to improve
conditions behind bars, including raising
pay from the roughly $1 a day that prisoners
now receive for eight hours of labor to the
legal minimum wage of $7.25 an hour. He
would like to see coordinated boycotts of
the overpriced commissaries. He said
prisoners should purchase only the bare
necessities, such as soap and toothpaste,
and forego the “zoozoos and wamwams,” prison
slang for junk food. He places no hope in
the courts and the legislatures. Prisoners
will have to start to carry out acts of mass
civil disobedience for any justice, he
said—that is the only mechanism left to
them.
“Prison authorities never
give you anything without a fight,” he said,
clutching white prayer beads. “Those
prisoners who can should refuse to go to
work to demand the minimum wage, although
the first thing the prison will do is try
and break it up by transferring the leaders
to another prison or remove them from the
general population. But if any protest is
done right, with unity, they may not lock
anyone down. Let the prison authorities know
in advance what will be done. Let them know
the demands. Don’t surprise them. Give them
an opportunity to resolve it, say 60 days.
If you catch them by surprise all you will
get is a lockdown. If you put them on notice
they can’t say they didn’t know it was
coming.”
“The beauty of a work
stoppage is that the prison administrators
have to bring in compensated labor,” he
said. “This is what happened in the Georgia
prison system in 2010 when the prisoners
held a work stoppage for six days. It cost
the state a lot of money. The prisoners got
a lot of concessions. The issue of state pay
cannot be solved expeditiously. That takes
time. It is best to have other demands and
other tactics. We can lower commissary
prices and the price of phone calls through
boycotts.”
There are lessons about
resistance Hasan has learned that apply not
only to the 2.3 million Americans who are
incarcerated but to a society in which the
loss of civil liberties and the creation of
the security and surveillance state
increasingly mirror the prison state.
Revolt, he said, must include certain
elements. Those who rebel must understand
how systems of power work; otherwise,
effective resistance is impossible. Revolt
requires a disciplined and hierarchical
organization and an incorruptible leadership
to prevent betrayal, anarchy and bloodshed.
To maintain unity there must be a commitment
to nonviolence and a refusal to allow
intrusion from personal, racial or religious
animosities, including the hatred many
prisoners feel for homosexuals and those who
are informants or “snitches” for the prison
administration. Divisions among the
oppressed, Hasan said, are gifts to the
oppressor. There must also be a clear set of
achievable demands and an active support
network outside the prison willing to
mobilize on behalf of the rebels. Any revolt
requires transparency, including informing
the authorities in advance of a protest and
articulating demands. Prisoners who mobilize
an entire prison cannot hope to keep
anything secret given the swarms of
informants, he said. Finally, a revolt
requires a willingness on the part of the
rebel leaders to sacrifice and to even lose
their lives. For him, Husan said, this last
element is made possible by his faith.
“Most prisoners don’t have
a problem going on strike for fair wages and
better conditions,” he said. “They will
challenge the powers that be. The problem is
that we need people on the outside to help
us. If we go on a hunger strike and starve
ourselves, if we refuse to work or
participate in our own self-destruction
there have to be groups publicizing our
resistance and backing us.”
Hasan, who had been only
months away from being released at the time
of the uprising, lived in the Lucasville
prison honor wing, reserved for prisoners
who had good disciplinary records. He worked
as an imam among the prison population.
During the uprising he repeatedly minimized
or prevented violence. He is credited with
saving several lives, a fact that came up in
his trial. The state, as always, was far
more concerned with removing a charismatic
and incorruptible prison leader, no matter
what he or she did, from the general prison
population. Prisoners in sworn affidavits
after the uprising told of Ohio State
Highway Patrol officers moving through the
institution’s population and offering deals
for reduced sentences to those who would
name and testify against revolt leaders. One
of those who testified against the leaders
of the uprising, Anthony Lavelle, the head
of the Black Gangster Disciples inside the
Lucasville facility, is widely believed to
have carried out the murder of the prison
guard, Robert Vallandingham. For that
killing, Hasan was sentenced to death with
George Skatzes, Namir Abdul Mateen, Jason
Robb and Keith Lamar. Despite intense
pressure by the state, and promises to spare
them from the death penalty, the five men
refused to incriminate each other. That the
five are mixed racially, that Skatzes and
Robb at the time were members of the
Aryan Brotherhood and had to reject
white solidarity to stand with the black
defendants, was remarkable.
“They rose above their
status as prisoners, and became, for a few
days in April 1993, what rebels in
Attica had demanded a generation before
them: men,”
Mumia Abu Jamal wrote in the foreword to
“Lucasville: The Untold Story of a Prison
Uprising,” by Staughton Lynd. “As such,
they did not betray each other, they did not
dishonor each other, they reached beyond
their prison ‘tribes’ to reach the
commonality.”
It was the Muslims, the
most disciplined and politically conscious
segment of the prison population, who
organized the Lucasville revolt. And the
uprising was, from its inception, designed
to be nonviolent. Guards would be seized, as
had happened five years earlier in the
prison during a protest against deplorable
conditions, and held until prisoners were
permitted to make contact with the press.
Once the press reported the prisoners’
grievances, and once the state agreed to
address the abuses, the guards would be
released.
“We were dealing with a
warden, Arthur Tate Jr., who was very
hard-line,” Hasan said. “The convicts called
him King Arthur. We wanted to bring enough
pressure on the system to take it out of his
hands and get his superiors in Columbus at
the ODRC [Ohio Department of Rehabilitation
and Correction] to respond. The goal was
always to resolve this amicably.”
No one in Lucasville, Hasan
said, wanted to replicate the bloodbath that
took place in New York state in September
1971 during the four-day uprising at the
Attica prison in which over 43 people were
killed, including 10 correctional officers
and civilian employees, along with 33
prisoners who died at the hands of state
police officers who stormed the institution.
But uprisings, as Hasan swiftly found out,
are very difficult events to control.
The catalyst for the
revolt was a decision by the prison
administration to test the prisoners for
tuberculosis by injecting them with a
substance the Muslims believed contained
alcohol, which is forbidden to followers of
Islam. Hasan and other Muslim leaders asked
the prison authorities to do the testing by
X-ray or sputum sample. The prison refused.
The testing, especially because it was
scheduled for
Ramadan, was, Hasan said, “the final
straw.”
“Muslims were fasting,” he
said. “They couldn’t take a shot.”
Conditions in the prison
were already barbaric. There was severe
overcrowding. White and black prisoners
often physically clashed, and the practice
of housing men of different races within the
same cells exacerbated the tension. Medical
facilities were inadequate. Families that
attempted to visit prisoners were harassed
and abused by the guards. Commissary items
were overpriced. Phone calls were limited to
one five-minute conversation a year, usually
at Christmas. Guards routinely beat
prisoners, at times fatally. A group of
prisoners known as the “Lucasville 14” had
earlier attempted to renounce their U.S.
citizenship. Three of them, to illustrate
their seriousness, cut off fingers and
mailed them to the United Nations and the
U.S. Department of Justice. Prisoners had
also attempted to organize a branch of the
Industrial Workers of the World to
demand that prison laborers receive the
national minimum wage. Every attempt to
organize or resist was met with harsher
control.
“There were several
incidents where a prisoner did something
like masturbate in front of a female guard,
spit on a guard or become verbally and
physically abusive,” Hasan said. “In
situations like these the guards are
supposed to file a conduct report. But
instead the guards took the liberty of
physical abuse, and in some cases this was
fatal. They would take a prisoner to
isolation or administrative segregation, go
into the cell, close the door and jump on
the prisoner while he was handcuffed and
shackled.”
Internal prison protests,
he said, have become an imperative. Nearly
all rehabilitation programs have been
terminated. Tens of thousands of prisoners
are locked for months or even years in
isolation. Prisons, every year, are
extracting more money from prisoners and
their families through exorbitant phone
fees, rising commissary prices, money
transfer services that take huge commissions
and refusing to provide items such as
footwear, forcing prisoners, who typically
earn about $28 a month, to pay $45 for
sneakers. Prisoners must also pay an array
of fees, including hundreds of dollars to be
taken on a visit to a dying family member or
to a funeral home. And more and more
prisoners, because of
fees and fines, are leaving prisons with
thousands of dollars of debt. Over 60
percent of those who are released return to
prison. This is by design.
“The prison officials know
that when you get out you are coming back,”
he said. “You are not trained to do
anything. There is no advanced program of
education. There is no vocational training.
You get out and you don’t have a place to
live. You are on somebody’s couch. You don’t
have money. You can’t get a job. It’s just a
matter of time before you go back to
exploiting your old way of living. And
prisoners are demonized. They are portrayed
as incorrigible, unsympathetic, uncaring,
irredeemable monsters that need to be in
prison.”
In the 1993 revolt the
Muslims seized a dozen guards at the end of
the recreation period around 3 in the
afternoon. Prisoners, freed from their cells
and prison control, grabbed baseball bats
and fire extinguishers and attacked guards.
Hasan said someone suggested to him they
murder the snitches and the “fags,” an act
he denounced, saying “that would mean
killing half the prison population.”
Prisoners began to barricade hallways with
ice machines and locker boxes. They used
45-pound weight bars and pickaxes to smash
windows and doors to capture guards in a
secure area known as a “safewell.”
“Me and some of the other
Muslims had congregated in the barbershop,”
he said. “A brother told us they were
killing snitches in [Block] L6. We went down
to L6 and saw bodies on top of bodies. Not
all were dead; some were gagging for air,
some survived.”
“It was mass chaos,” he
said. “People were beating the guards and
beating convicts. It was pandemonium. Blood
was in the hallway. It was like a massacre.
Blood does not have a nice smell. I
remembered snapping on the Muslims and
telling them to secure these guys.”
Hasan moved the captured
guards to the shower stalls and kept them
protected. He placed vulnerable prisoners,
including the informants, in cells for their
safety. The Muslims had drawn up an
organizational plan before the uprising,
with groups assigned to security, legal
matters, food distribution and education.
They struggled to impose order.
I asked him how he felt
when he saw the bodies and the bloodbath,
something he had desperately hoped to avoid.
“I didn’t feel anything,
maybe because I have a different perception
about death than other people,” he said.
“Stabbin’. Killin’. Hangin’.
This was not [an intended] part of the
uprising,” he said. “Things got out of hand.
You had a lot of prisoners with a lot of
grudges, animosities and hatred in their
hearts for prisoners and nonprisoners. These
people had snitched on them or abused them.
People settled old scores with other
prisoners and with guards. That’s what
happened. That’s what went wrong.”
Rape, too, was a problem
during the uprising. Prisoners who committed
rapes during the revolt were locked in
cells. Hasan said one black prisoner, Bruce
Harris, raped a white prisoner. Other white
prisoners, when they heard of the rape,
wanted to kill Harris. Hasan intervened.
It was agreed that a
prisoner from each of the three main prison
factions—the Aryan Brotherhood, the Muslims
and the Black Gangster Disciples—would
punish Harris. They took Harris into the
corridor and beat him for three minutes.
Then they took him to the gym and beat him
again for three minutes. After that, they
locked him in a cell.
“Bruce was nervous that
they were going to kill him and he started
tearing up the cell,” Hasan said. “He tore
the porcelain toilet off the wall and
smashed it to pieces, disturbing the
Muslims, who were praying. I went to Bruce.
I asked him to stop. I assured Bruce that he
was not going to die. I told him I would
escort him out to the prison authorities
when the time came to end the riot. He
promised to stop making a ruckus.”
Harris, however, was killed
later by fellow prisoners. The state
attempted to charge Hasan with the murder,
but during the trial a video was produced
showing Hasan in negotiations with prison
authorities at the time of Harris’ murder.
“When there is disorder
and no law, people have the tendency to do
evil things,” Hasan said.
“What is the cause of any
uprising?” he asked. “Simply put, it’s man’s
injustice to man. We could not expect
freedom, but we could expect freedom from
oppression, tyranny, persecution and gross
miscarriages of justice that go on in
institutional life. Prisons are here to
stay. Be realistic. It’s about the money,
the control and the power. But if you take
over a prison you can confront the evil and
the corruption, you can make some changes.”
The captured guards, he
said, suddenly began calling him Mr.
Sanders, something that was unthinkable when
he was under their domination.
“The guards were all
saying they were sorry, they were just doing
their jobs,” he said.
The white prisoners, many
of them members of the Aryan Brotherhood,
gathered nervously in the gym in the first
hours of the revolt. They feared that the
blacks would turn on them. All of the
alleged snitches killed in the first few
hours were white. A few blacks believed to
be snitches had been beaten but had
survived. Hasan called the Muslims to prayer
in the gym. He demanded that the non-Muslim
prisoners be quiet and respectful during
prayer. When it was over he announced that
any other religious group that wanted to
worship would be given the same respect
shown to the Muslims. That promise of
respect broke down the racial walls and made
possible an alliance between whites and
blacks. Prisoners began to paint slogans
such as “Convict Race,” “Convict Unity” and
“White and Black Together” on the walls.
“I did what I did with the
choices that were available,” Hasan said. “I
had to do something. I am a revolutionary.
To be a revolutionary is to be an agent of
change, which is impossible if one doesn’t
know what needs to be changed. For there to
be a revolution there must be revolutionary
consciousness. A prisonwide hunger strike, a
prisonwide work stoppage, would have been
more effective. But then it would not have
been about the Muslims. You would have had
to take it to the whole convict body.”
On death row all who rebel
against empire are comrades.
“People, Muslim and
non-Muslim, admire ISIS [the Islamic State
of Iraq and Syria],” he said. “They are
happy to see ISIS stand up against the U.S.
government and Israel. A lot of us may not
agree with all their tactics, but we know
what it is like to be pushed to the edge. We
also know that al-Qaida carried out the
attacks of 9/11 against the symbols of
American power, the Pentagon and the
financial institutions. If they only wanted
to kill Americans they could have flown the
planes into a stadium with 80,000 or 90,000
people during a pro football game.
Prisoners, because they are oppressed, like
seeing anyone stand up to the big bad wolf.”
The Lucasville uprising
was settled peacefully. The state promised
not to carry out reprisals against the
leaders, a promise it broke once it regained
control.
The state should not be
able to murder people, no matter what these
people have done. But what of a state that
places a person such as Hasan on death row
when it knows he never committed murder?
What of a state that cut a plea deal with
the actual killer of the corrections officer
so it could execute Hasan? The message sent
by the state is clear: It does not fear
criminals. It fears rebels.
Hasan, who is fighting his
own death sentence in the courts, has seen
several men taken to the death chamber. Two
of those executed—Abdul-Hakim Zakiy and
Abdullah Sharif Kaazim Mahdi—were close
friends. The last conversations before
execution haunt him.
“Brother Mahdi didn’t get
a lot of visits in prison,” he said. “He
would not participate in the final process.
He didn’t want a last meal. He spent the day
fasting and reading the Koran. He asked for
a little olive oil and some Islamic dates. I
told him he would be dearly missed. I told
him I knew he had a strong faith. I told him
I knew he believed in Allah. I told him to
accept that all life is transitory. I told
him to hope that Allah would accept his
worship, the sincerity of his belief and
grant him paradise. I told him I loved him.
I felt helpless.”
“He did not want his
family to get his body,” he went on. “He
wanted his body washed and buried according
to Islam. He wanted to rest in the prison
burial plot with the other Muslim prisoners.
It is hard to see someone you love and
admire go through that. I believe I will see
him in the next life. I can’t imagine going
through that without my faith.”
Chris Hedges previously
spent nearly two decades as a foreign
correspondent in Central America, the Middle
East, Africa and the Balkans. He has
reported from more than 50 countries and has
worked for The Christian Science Monitor,
National Public Radio, The Dallas Morning
News and The New York Times, for which he
was a foreign correspondent for 15 years.
© 2015 Truthdig, LLC. All
rights reserved.