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WALL CITY Spring 2019 Volume 2 Issue 1

FORMER LIFER AT LARGE IN COMMUNITY SPRING 2019 WALL CITY 1

Photo from P. Jo

PLACE SQ Lower Yard

TAKEN FROM SQ Healthcare Facilities Building rooftop

BUILT The sunset shines on San Quentin. Empty of the inmates who usually fill the yard, California’s oldest prison is quiet. During the daytime, men in blue play tennis, basketball and other sports here, not only to pass the time, but also to learn how to get along and understand rules. But as dusk falls, prisoners return to their cells to be counted. In the distance, a ferry lumbers by, full of free people viewing the $138 million medical building, erected in 2010, from which this photo is taken. The looming structure sticks out among decades-old concrete buildings. Look closely on the right, below the fog-covered Mt. Tamalpais beyond the bay, and work your way toward San Quentin’s grassy field to see the long white wall that divides the incarcerated world from the free world. A lone palm tree stretches high above the wall. Inside the sacred grounds of the Native Americans.

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F E A T U R E S

WA LL CIT Y 2

Editorial

Contributors

Health

Arts in Corrections

Crossword

Comic

Legal

Over The Wall

Support Us

Glenn Bailey—Former lifer at large in the community After half a century behind bars, Glenn Bailey’s on a mission. His co-pilot? The police officer who sent him to prison on homicide charges decades ago.

Coming back from the edge Curtis Roberts’ story shows how seemingly little things can do a lot, including saving a life. Answers from the crossword on page 27

E S S E X

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R A N G E

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I G N E R S

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P E R R Y

S O A P S A I M

X M L

S L A Y E R T A U N T

M T A O R S O

S P E E D

S A R A H H O R O W I N O L

A D A M T A G

D O R M E R I

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S H A D E

T A J N

S H E

C E D A R A H A

L A N

W E S T P O I

A L O H A

O R A T E

C L E A R

R A C E R

I G H T

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Rahsaan Thomas investigates what schools and people on the outside can learn about survival from men who have inflicted violence on others.

S R

T A C

Can Restorative Justice be the solution to stopping mass shootings?

S N E A K

Front and back covers: Eddie Herena. From top: Courtesy of Glenn Bailey, Eddie Herena (2)

The View

Prison Journalism

E D I

T O R I A L

By Professor William Drummond

What Prisoners Get Out of Working for a Prison Newspaper

Courtesy of William Drummond

re prison-written newspapers a good idea? Well, it depends. More than 20 years ago dozens of prison newspapers dotted the map all across the United States. There were so many that they formed their own news association. Then, one by one, almost all of them disappeared, including the San Quentin News, which went dark for around 20 years. They fell victim to the violence and racial turmoil of the 1980s. Wardens and superintendents across the land had their hands full simply maintaining order. And the prison publications at the time often engaged in exposing lapses in the prison administration. This was no way to befriend the warden’s office. Meanwhile, the courts held that wardens were constitutionally prevented from censoring the publications. So, the easy solution was to shut them down. And that’s what happened. Looking back on the history of San Quentin News through the decades, since its founding by Warden Clinton Duffy, it’s clear that prison journalism needs the support and confidence of the administration. Both sides need to be on the same page. Otherwise, it won’t work. Since former Warden Robert Ayers revived the newspaper in 2008 after a shutdown of nearly 20 years, the San Quentin administration and the prisoner staffers now have an effective working relationship. What have been the benefits? From the administration’s point of view the newspaper helped the prison win recognition throughout the country for its rehabilitation efforts. The warden gained bragging rights. Although SQ is still referred to in news reports as “notorious,” San Quentin nowadays most often appears in the news for its forward-looking training programs,

such as Guiding Rage Into Power and The Last Mile, which pioneered the training of prisoners in computer coding. In addition, the newspaper played an important role getting the message out to California prisoners that important, effective programs were in place at SQ. Instead of being known as Johnny Cash’s worst nightmare, SQ became known as a prime place to do time. Mainstream media from across the country picked up on these themes, creating a positive, hopeful echo effect. It has not always been a bed of roses. The 45-day suspension in 2014 is an example. The warden at the time punished the newspaper for publishing an “unauthorized” photograph from a Shakespeare production. The newspaper rebounded, and today the editors and staff communicate frequently and candidly with Public Information Officer Lt. Sam Robinson. And as a result of the 2014 suspension, more safeguards are in place. Nowadays, before publication, all of the copy goes to Sacramento for a complete vetting before it goes to the printer. The more significant part of the ques-

William J. Drummond

tion is, what do the prisoner journalists get out of working on a prison newspaper? Does it play a role in making them better men? Yes, it does, and I don’t think it has much to do with writing. Here’s why: 1. Prisoners feel ‘validated.’ They feel they are part of a worthy cause and get support from authority figures on the outside for what they are doing. 2. Seeing their name in a byline is a big ego boost. They gain status on the prison yard. 3. They interact with intelligent, stimulating people from the outside. At San Quentin, I’ve been bringing UC Berkeley students since 2012 to help edit the newspaper. The visits give prison journalists a window on the outside world. 4. The act of reporting summons the man outside his own head and his immediate surroundings. Gaining facts through interviews is an ongoing challenge. Actively engaged in research, the prison journalist gains confidence. 5. The San Quentin News has a good reputation with the parole system. It’s a persuasive item in a prisoner’s campaign to get out of prison. And prisoners have sought support letters from contacts they’ve made via the newspaper. 6. The late Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall in 1974 made the strongest case for prisoner journalism in his opinion written in the landmark California case Procunier v. Martinez: “When the prison gates slam behind a prisoner, he does not lose his human quality; his mind does not become closed to ideas; his intellect does not cease to feed on a free and open interchange of opinions; his yearning for self-respect does not end; nor is his quest for self-realization concluded.”

UC Berkeley SPRING 2019 WALL CITY 5

E D I

T O R I A L

By Richard Richardson

The Fall and Rise of the San Quentin News

t is a well-known fact amongst the San Quentin News staff that Warden Clinton T. Duffy wanted people to voice their opinions about whatever subjects they felt comfortable addressing in prison. That was the seed of opportunity that we were given at the time to increase public safety and achieve social justice. However, conflict arose between San Quentin News staff and the administration that took a legal turn for the worst. Eventually the newspaper went out of existence. In 2008, Warden Robert Ayers Jr. didn’t agree with having the newspaper sidelined and reinvigorated the San Quentin News, which started our mission to change the prison culture. While the mainstream media underlines the latest violent incidents that occur at Folsom, Soledad or Corcoran State Prisons, San Quentin News covers stories about the 73-year-old woman or man who has earned a GED, maybe even a college education. The more success stories San Quentin News highlighted, the more people wanted to be a part of that change and positive growth. We hope this change led to a safer society once these people return home. Michael Harris said it best, “The human beings that are encapsulated inside these prison walls have the power to change themselves, as well as influence others in positive ways. Some of us will never get out and others will. What has become the obvious is that we can learn from our mistakes, and so can others, if we, as a community, are brave enough to share in this undertaking.” Harris knew then that we as a community can influence positive growth, but recently the term influence has been given a negative connotation, nonetheless, that’s exactly what we wanted to do. In order for us to change the prison culture we must influence those people who believe that they cannot change for the better to do so.

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In 2010, former Governor Arnold Swart- Quentin News Adviser Steve McNamara to zenegger enacted sweeping budget cuts facilitate a deal for printing the newspaper across California that closed down many off-site. prison vocational programs and educationThe San Quentin News was back up al classes. and running with no threats ahead, HarBeing that San Quentin News was printed ris made sure that stories of rehabilitation and distributed through the vocational print flooded each issue. shop, our mission ended when the print Eighteen months later, Harris thought shop shut down at the end of 2009. he had earned his release from bondage. But Michael Harris and Arnulfo Gar- After spending more than 23 years cia did not want to give behind bars, the parole up on San Quentin News board agreed that Harris and the fact that informawas rehabilitated and tion can change a prison found him suitable to be culture with stories of rereleased back into society. habilitation. In a meetHowever, on October 11, ing with Acting Warden 2011, federal agents picked R.K. Wong, Lt. R. Luna Harris up and transported and Principal Ted Robhim to a federal prison. erts, they made a deal to Many of the San QuenExecutive Editor Richardson & keep the newspaper up tin News staff and advisers The Late Arnulfo T. Garcia and running. However, were confused, disappointthe deal provided that if ed and were in disbelief. they could provide the content and layout With all the rehabilitative efforts, groups of the paper on one computer they could and programs Harris had either started or continue to produce the San Quentin News. been a part of we couldn’t believe he was They would also have to print the paper in not being released. the print shop without the shop being fully Garcia said that Harris “was commitup and running. ted, compassionate and a great leader.” He Trying hard to keep that positive voice strongly advocated “not to define a person of inmates alive, Harris and Garcia were by his past, but by the person’s desire to running around San Quentin struggling change his past anti-social behavior and to to keep the San Quentin News afloat. Just develop pro-social habits.” when it looked like A.W. Wong was about Many of us wanted Harris to go home to pull the plug, San Quentin News pro- with the skills he had learned in prison duced its first edition of 2010. and become instrumental in communities However, the threat of shutting the pa- throughout California and further. But per down wasn’t over. While printing the knowing that so much positive energy is January-April edition, we were told that sitting behind prison bars really proves that we could no longer utilize the abandoned the criminal justice system is still broken print shop to print, and we lacked the re- and needs to be fixed. sources and funds to print the newspaper San Quentin News will continue to advoelsewhere. cate for those people without a voice, what Once again, Harris came to the rescue. works in the criminal justice system, what Agreeing to pay for the newspaper out of doesn’t and how we can join together to fix his own pocket, Harris talked with San it.

WA LL CIT Y VOLUME 2, ISSUE 1

Executive Editor Editor-in-Chief Senior Editor Staff Writer Staff Writer Contributing Writer Columnist Columnist Art Director Staff Photographer SQ PIO Warden’s Office Deputy Chief, Office of External Affairs CDCR Information Officer Adviser Adviser Adviser Adviser

SPRING 2019

Richard Richardson Jesse Vasquez Juan Haines Rahsaan Thomas Wayne Boatwright Kate Wolffe Lisa Santora Danica Rodarmel Jonathan Chiu Eddie Herena Lt. Sam Robinson Raphaele Casale Krissi Khokhobashvili Bill Sessa William Drummond Sarah Horowitz Doug Levy Kate McQueen

From left: Courtesy of Kate Wolffe, Lisa Santora and Danica Rodarmel

C O N T R I B U T O R S

Kate Wolffe, KQED Intern

Lisa M. Santora, MD, MPH

Danica Rodarmel, Attorney

Kate Wolffe is a writer and reporter based in Berkeley, CA. She is a UC Berkeley graduate and a contributor to San Quentin News, Street Spirit newspaper and KQED News. She is passionate about reporting on and for diverse communities.

Lisa M. Santora is the Deputy Public Health Officer for Marin County. Previously, she was Beach Cities Health District Chief Medical Officer. She graduated from Rutgers–New Jersey Medical School and completed residencies in preventive and family medicine.

Danica Rodarmel graduated from Berkeley Law in 2017, and is currently an Equal Justice Works Fellow at Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights of the San Francisco Bay Area. Her work centers on ending the criminalization of poverty and mass incarceration.

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H E A L T H

By Lisa Santora MD, MPH

The Benefits Of the Flu Vaccine

he flu is not just a bad cold. Every year nearly 40,000 people in the United States die from the flu and more than 200,000 are hospitalized each year because of the flu. During the past couple of years, we have seen an increase in inmates transferred from San Quentin to local hospitals due to the flu. Sadly we have also seen San Quentin inmates die from the flu. The most common complication from the flu that leads to death is a bacterial infection of the lungs, or bacterial pneumonia. This happens because the flu virus injures the lungs, which makes it easier for bacteria to invade the lungs. The best thing anyone can do to protect against the flu is to get a flu vaccine each season. Vaccinations not only protect you, but also your fellow inmates, visitors,

Tips to Stop Spreading the flu Get vaccinated

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Wash your hands regularly

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Sneeze and cough into the crook of your arm

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Avoid touching your eyes, face and nose

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Avoid close contact with people who are sick

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Stop smoking

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and the San Quentin community at large. Vaccinations are most important for at-risk populations, including those 65 years of age and older and people with chronic medical conditions (e.g. diabetes, asthma, congestive heart failure, lung disease). There are many myths about the flu vaccine. The most common myth is that the vaccine itself makes people sick. The vaccine is made from an inactivated virus that cannot transmit infection. So people who get sick after receiving a flu vaccination were going to get sick anyway. It takes a week or two to get protection from the vaccine. But people think that because they got sick after getting the vaccine, the shot caused their illness. Marin County Public Health Department advises all residents to follow flu vaccination guidelines set by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, which recommends everyone six months of age and older be vaccinated. It is important to remember that healthy individuals

can become infected with the flu without experiencing symptoms. These people are known as “carriers” and can infect others with the virus unintentionally. Most seasonal flu activity typically occurs between October and May. Flu activity most commonly peaks in the United States between December and February. While flu spreads every year, the timing, severity, and length of the season varies from one year to another. For more information about flu in Marin County, visit marinflu.org. County of Marin Health & Human Services 3240 Kerner Boulevard San Rafael, CA 94901 Lsantora@marincounty.org

Courtesy of Lisa Santora

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Flu Vaccination

I N

C O R R E C T

I O N S By Juan Haines

Bruce’s Artistic Endeavors

CBS Sunday Morning

African Gray bird

A R T S

Ted Koppel visited San Quentin, March, 2018 for CBS Sunday Morning. Here is Brew’s sun for the episode.

photo brought back memories. “There was a flock of these birds that people had at their homes,” Fowler said. “They were released in my neighborhood of Oceanside, California. The painting came from a photo that reminded me of the release.” Fowler said that he wanted to practice realism, so he painted the interior of a car. He said that painting was a test to see if he could faithfully capture all the details. “It came down to the cobra in the shifter,” he said. “It taught me a lot about how to cre-

ate detail,” Fowler said. “The pieces here are almost realism. Now, I’m loosening up my style. Now, I’m following more of an impressionistic style.” The clown is Fowler’s attempt at a three-dimensional piece, called “diadrama.” “I paint from a place that affects me psychologically to get things out of my head,” Fowler said. “Then in the physical world, my paintings are where I’m escaping the environment. Getting each of these completes my artistic endeavors.”

Cobra

Dia-Drama Clown

ruce “Brew” Fowler has been painting in San Quentin’s Arts-in-Corrections program for eight years. The William James Association sponsors the program. Fowler is a self-taught artist. His only prior illustration experience comes from drawing construction plans. Fowler has donated several pieces of art that were sold in fundraising efforts. He said he’s most proud of an auction fundraiser that supported artists with disabilities and a Toys for Tots Christmas giveaway sponsored by a local veterans recruiting station. The paintings in this Arts-inCorrection section are different styles of Bruce’s artistic endeavors. While flipping through a magazine, Fowler said that he came across a picture of an African Gray bird. He said the

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San Quentin News Cele By Kate Wolffe

Photos by Eddie Herena

In early February 2018, a motley group dressed in business casual or prison blues gathered at the San Quentin State Prison Protestant Chapel to celebrate a prison journalism milestone. It was a far cry from where the group usually met, in the dark, cramped media lab on the other side of the property. But the sun-drenched hall was more appropriate for the celebration in store. Decorations hung in blue and gold, the pews replaced with small tables. ‘Reserved’ placards awaited a widespread web of people connected to the newspaper—advisors, donors, volunteers—who filed in to commemorate San Quentin News’ 100th edition. The event began in a constant cycle of surprise, recognition, guests jumping up to offer warm greetings and handshakes, sitting down, and doing it all again, giving the evening the flavor of a strange family reunion. Once everyone had settled down, San Quentin News Editor-in-Chief and resident beanstalk Richard ‘Bonaru’ Rich ardson took the stage. He acknowledged Warden Ron Davis, and described a conversation the two had shared about parenting and the natural love that emerges for one’s child. From there Richardson segued into the brief story of what brought him to prison, a tale of a childhood bereft of love and of a criminal history that began when he was just 10

years old. “We couldn’t recognize our parents’ love growing up, so we looked for it in other places,” he said. San Quentin TV Staff Member Eric ‘Phil’ Phillips found Richardson’s story particularly moving. “Hearing that, that’s the story of a lot of us,” said Phillips, who has been in prison for over 20 years for second-degree murder. “Coming from that to being editor-in-chief? We never thought that we could be here; it shows that we can go anywhere.” After this heartfelt start, Associate Editor Kevin Sawyer regaled attendees with something of a family history – a tale of the successes and roadblocks the newspaper has encountered since the paper’s humble beginnings in the 1940s. The first iteration of a paper began almost a century ago, he explained, under the title Wall City News. Throughout the twentieth century, an active, if relatively unknown, body of American prison newspapers channeled the voices of incarcerated people to the outside, connected populations inside, and made those who held the keys uncomfortable. Wall City News was among them. The first newspaper at the prison began almost a century ago, he explained, under the title Wall City News. Throughout the twentieth century, an active, if relatively unknown, body of American prison newspapers channeled the voices of incarcerated people to the

Executive Editor Richard Richardson 10 WALL CITY SPRING 2019

outside, connected populations inside, and made those who held the keys uncomfortable. Wall City News was among them. It was shuttered in the mid-1930s. In 1940, San Quentin News was established. It was shuttered on more than one occasion due to strife with the prison administration, and then again in the mid1980s, after a number of courts ruled prisoner-run newspapers could not be censored by prison administrators. After 20 years of dormancy, in April 2008, the paper was revived in its current form, as San Quentin News, when then-warden Robert Ayers Jr. decided inmates ought to have a reliable source of true and pertinent information, rather than just grapevine-generated gossip. The paper now reports on prison affairs and policy changes that have the potential to affect incarcerated readers far beyond San Quentin’s walls. In 2011, then Editor‑ in-Chief Arnulfo Garcia and his staff decided to expand to all California state prisons. Now the paper circulates 30,000 printed copies each month. These papers reach all 36 prisons in California, as well as individuals in 46 other states and hundreds of outside donors. Although it receives advice and volunteer contributions, San Quentin News is the only completely inmate-run newspaper in the world. It has experienced many struggles to get to where it is. In the last decade alone, the paper has survived despite a print shop shut down, limited funding, a 45-day suspension, and tight deadlines to

Former Warden Robert Ayers and Carmeilta G. Vargas

brates its 100 Edition th

work around lockdowns. Still, it seems that with each headwind the paper faced, a tailwind—in the form of an advisor’s support or some formal recognition—had come along that kept the paper afloat. Many of those positive forces were present in the room at the 100th edition celebration, and they followed Sawyer’s account with nodding heads and knowing familiarity. In 2014, San Quentin News won the James Madison Freedom of Information Award from the Society of Professional Journalists, which some of the staff belong to. “We’ve become, in effect, a professional news organization,” Sawyer said. The crowd applauded when Sawyer acknowledged the zero percent recidivism rate of men who have been involved in San Quentin News. And although the event focused on the paper’s 100th edition and its staff’s accomplishments, it was also an acknowledgment of the work that those on the outside—advisers, donors, volunteers, fellow prison media—had done to help the staff reach the milestone. “I’m humble. I’m humble because every step that the San Quentin News makes is because of everybody in this room,” said Richardson. “Without you, there would be no us.” Although the mood was celebratory, it was shot through with an undertone of grief. The community is still mourning the September 2017 death of Garcia, the galvanizing leader who was instrumental in re-starting the program. During the Q&A

portion of the event, many men spoke of Garcia and what he did to fold them into the newspaper and help them get on the right track. As Richardson took the stage after a touching tribute video, he said he wouldn’t talk about Garcia, for fear of becoming emotional. “But he would want us to move forward, and I will move forward with him with me,” he said. In the spirit of Garcia’s forward thinking, Then Staff Writer Jesse Vasquez took to the stage to discuss upcoming projects: a forum with law enforcement, a newsletter to be distributed within the juvenile justice system, and a program to bring awareness to prison culture. Others in attendance were looking forward as well. Assistant District Attorney Marisa Rodriguez emphasized the

importance of connecting her office with incarcerated communities in California. And Richard Alden Feldon, Director of Programs for the Jonathan Logan Family Foundation, which has donated $100,000 to the San Quentin News, so far, called the newspaper’s work “world changing.” The energy was electric and hopeful as attendees reluctantly filtered out of the space. Standing in the sunlight, Former Warden Robert Ayers, who restarted the paper back in 2008, reflected on how far the paper has come. Although in his speech, he presented challenges to the newspaper to better itself, he said he believes it has come a long way. “You need to do that, you need to push them,” he said. “A medium like the San Quentin News can be a conduit for change.”

Associate Editor Kevin D. Sawyer SPRING 2019 WALL CITY 11

By Juan Haines Photos by Eddie Herena

Glenn Bailey

FORMER LIFER AT LARGE IN THE COMMUNITY 12 WALL CITY SPRING 2019

correctional officer passed Glenn Bailey’s San Quentin cell and saw Bailey cramped in the four by ten foot cell with two other inmates. “What the hell’s going on in there?” the officer growled. Bailey, towering over him at six-footfive, stepped out from the cell. “Do you know what we’re doing?” Bailey asked the officer, making him shrug his shoulders. Before the officer could utter a word, Bailey continued, “Me, that Mexican dude and that White dude are talking about how to keep the peace on the yard during these holidays coming up.” Embarrassed, the officer left them alone. While that happened in the 1980s, Bailey says the same principles still apply today. “In all my experience, I’ve learned that you can only go from violence to peace by talking,” said Bailey, now 77. Still a commanding figure, Bailey carries his antiviolence message to audiences throughout the East Bay, where he returned upon parole in 2014. For more than a year, he has returned to San Quentin frequently to help others learn how to survive incarceration and succeed when they return to their communities. Prisons, known for their segregated nature and violence, have elements that bind all inmates. Bailey believes that finding this common ground leads the yard away from war and makes peace. This philosophy has helped Bailey earn a reputation for problem solving across traditional boundaries during his 42 years of incarceration. It also helped him forge an unlikely friendship with one of the cops who arrested him. “We learned to live together without killing and fighting each other,” Bailey said about doing time decades ago. “I wanted to give society an example of how people could live together, even though they are from different races and have different cultures.” Life wasn’t always peaceful for Bai-

ley. In 1972, he killed two people connected to the powerful, Black Guerilla Family (BGF). The BGF is a legendarily black organization with ties inside and outside of prison. Many of their exploits were criminal. “They kidnapped me and were going to kill me,” Bailey said. “I was never regretful for killing them.” Shortly after the murders, Oakland police officers Victor Grant and Doug Butler, arrested him. He was convicted and sentenced to life in prison. “I never looked at Doug or the police in a negative way because they arrested me,” Bailey said. “I was in the wrong, and they did their jobs.” About four years later, Butler found himself in financial difficulties, so he took on a second job as a nightclub security officer. However, the Oakland Police Department (OPD) did not sanction the job. One day, a barroom brawl broke out. In an attempt to break up the fight, Butler injured a customer. The customer sued everybody, including OPD. As a result, OPD dismissed Butler from the force. From there things went rapidly downhill. His money worries swelled and he sank into debt. In a desperate attempt to get out from under water, he got involved in the cocaine business, and eventually everything in his life spiraled out of control. By 1984, his drug dealings turned to increasingly violent encounters. The violence led to murder and prison. Butler and Bailey never bumped into each other while incarcerated. However, when Butler came through San Quentin reception and Bailey knew about it, he was asked what to do. “Nothing,” Bailey told the other inmates. He said that he didn’t hold Butler responsible for his fate. Butler too looked at his plight in retrospect. “You can’t go around trying to blame others for your actions,” Butler said, referring to his fall from grace. He took full responsibility for the decisions that led him to a criminal lifestyle and used incarceration as a means to redirect his life towards social responsibility. After demonstrating that he was no longer a danger to public safety, the parole board

recommended his release, and Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger discharged him from prison on August 17, 2004. Butler currently works as an administrator for Cypress Mandela Training Center, a workforce development program in Oakland that prepares men and women, some formerly incarcerated, for various kinds of construction jobs. After Bailey was released from San Quentin in April 2014, an odd twist of fate connected him once more with Butler. Now, they are best friends who share the same goal: reduce violence and increase job and other legitimate opportunities for the youth of Oakland and other underprivileged communities. The doors are opened to step toward their goal through The Barbershop Dialogues with Paul Chambers, a reporter for Channel 2, KTVU Fox News. The purpose of these community dialogues is to bring people from different parts of the community together with law enforcement to discuss crime, violence, safety, and ways to work together for the common good. When a police officer learned how many years Bailey had been incarcerated, he wanted him to sit in on one of the dialogues. Bailey, in his typical fashion, didn’t say very much. He did a lot of listening. Afterward, he approached the officer and agreed to participate in another dialogue. “I looked them in the eye and knew they were serious,” Bailey said. He’s now an active participant in these events. “It’s to meet and exchange information and ideas, concepts opinions and sentiments on how to improve police and community relations.” Bailey places a lot of emphasis on restorative justice practices, personal accountability and responsibility as well as integrity. “People are tired of seeing babies getting shot,” Bailey said. “So, they’re not afraid of talking to the police.” During one of the dialogues, Bailey was moved by the words of a 16-yearold girl. The young woman said that she wanted to get an education and then to work in her community. “Change from SPRING 2019 WALL CITY 13

Glenn Bailey and Deputy DA Jill Klinge in San Quentin’s Garden Chapel

the inside,” she said referring to police reform efforts. “If you don’t like how the police operate, then join the force.” The transparent nature of the program, Bailey believes, involves the community and creates the opportunity to correct some of the problems in the neighborhood. For example, the police officers openly talk about how to conduct traffic stops and arrests with the goal of preventing police shootings. Currently, Butler and Bailey come together weekly at San Quentin to give lifers advice on what it takes to survive the prison system, as well as how to get out and stay out. One of Bailey’s ex-cellmates remembers him as someone who “kept his mind on the streets by constantly working on things that would get him out of prison.” “He used his typewriter every day,” Bobby Ray “Silk” Venderbilt, 50, said. 14 WALL CITY SPRING 2019

“He impacted me, not by what he said but what he did. I paid attention to how Glenn had the respect of people on the yard, as well as the prison staff. I was amazed by hearing staff call him ‘Mister.’ I never saw anything like that while incarcerated and it made me want to be a better person. I learned a lot about respecting people and the rewards that come from that simple act.” What kept Bailey motivated in prison was having the parole board tell him about a dozen times that he was never getting out even though he’d only violated a prison rule twice in 42 years. However, both Bailey and Butler, from the first moments of their incarceration, worked on self-improvement through rehabilitative means. They conducted themselves with dignity and were mentors to their fellow prisoners. “It all came from treating people right,”

Bailey said referring to why prison staff as well as his fellow inmates trusted him and treated him with respect. “You have to let go of attachments. In prison, you have to learn that you’re going to lose material things and people—all kinds of things. If you’re secure in your life, you’ll do okay. You’ll do your time without problems,” Bailey added. “While doing time, I was never in prison—it was only a physical thing.” Bailey said the biggest mistake people make who are doing time is thinking they are doing it alone. Thinking you’re isolated is unhealthy, and it makes it hard for law enforcement to establish communication. While in the community, Bailey calls himself “A Lifer at Large.” He tells stories like his and Butler’s to the community, as well as law enforcement, as examples of how to bring peace between unlikely

Glenn Bailey being interviewed by KTVU’s Paul Chambers’ Barbershop Dialog in November 2018

people, with emphasis on responsibility and accountability. “The people need to know that the police are human beings and make mistakes,” Bailey said. “However, I want to see the well-thought, proper-minded police officers patrolling the community.” Having community members and law enforcement talk openly is the kind of community building he’s done all of his life. Bailey talked about one morning when he was doing his usual routine and saw one of his neighbors, who wasn’t Black looking at another, who was Black. He’d seen both of them before. They lived only a few houses apart. The non-Black man challenged the Black man’s presence solely because he was Black and asked him if he lived in the neighborhood. “I went to each of them separately, told them that I was having a barbecue the next weekend, and invited them. I made sure

they had the chance to meet and talk,” Bailey said. “Everybody in the community needs to see and talk with each other. Communication ends violence. It’s the same in prison. As long as we keep communicating, we’ll be alright.” Bailey also points to the prison administrative policy of “controlled seating” in prison dining halls. “Controlled seating forces different races to sit together. It causes people to share more than just food,” Bailey said, touting the power that comes from culturally diverse people breaking bread together. “There’s a benefit from getting people from different backgrounds to sit at the same table.” “I survived the prison system because I treated everyone with respect. It’s no difference on the streets. Respect goes a long way.” Reflecting on his first day of being a free man said he didn’t have too many

expectations. “Days come and go.” Bailey begins each day by sending a text to about 100 of his friends. The texts, he says, are a reflection of the 42 years of his life behind bars and his appreciation of freedom. Sitting in the San Quentin News office, Bob Kaser, 80, talked about his relationship with Bailey after almost three decades of separation. “When we first met, we immediately had a friendship. He’s a big guy with a big smile,” Kaser said. “For myself, I know that I have a friend in Glenn for the rest of my life,” adding, “People should know Glenn has a heartfelt love for all human beings and importantly, people should know about his spirituality.” Philosophically he says, “The secret to happiness isn’t the gifts you give, it’s what you share.” SPRING 2019 WALL CITY 15

Coming back from the edge A guard discovered Curtis Roberts at count time, working on a bed sheet. He was alone, feeling down, having watched yet another friend go home.

Curtis Roberts

By Wayne Boatwright Photographs by Adnan Khan

18 WALL CITY SPRING 2019

“I sat alone, depression beginning to take its toll,” Roberts remembers. “I began playing around with the idea of killing myself because there’s just no way I can do fifty years.” He was referring to his sentence of 50 years to life—for a robbery in which he got $40. He sat in his cell trying to figure out the best way to make a hangman’s noose out of the sheet. The guard, confused, stood watching him, then asked what he was doing. He told the guard that he was practicing for when he really wanted to kill himself. The guard opened the cell door and ordered Roberts to turn around. He placed him in cuffs. “He was really polite about it,” Roberts says. Roberts was escorted to the nurse’s office, where he waited for about half an hour. After a psychological evaluation, his doctor placed him on suicide watch. The nurse gave him a gown that used Velcro fasteners. There were no shoes or socks to wear; no soap to wash up with. In the beginning of the ordeal, Roberts felt protected, “safe, seen and heard,” but the experience also made him feel uncomfortable, even belittled. “There’s a nurse sitting outside the locked room, watching you,” he says. “There’s no TV or any comforts of day-to-day life.” Even his meals were delivered to the room through a metal tray slot. Every 24 hours, medical personnel, including doctors and counselors performed a psychological evaluation, a deep dive into a person’s life, a life which for Robert was neglectful and abusive. “I can’t remember my mother telling me that she loves me,” he says. She left the family while he was still young. Later, his suffering multiplied, and he suffered abuse at the hands of his father. Suicides are the third leading cause of death in U.S. prison, according to U.S. Department of Justice’s Bureau of Justice Statistics (BJS), and San Quentin is not

immune. Brown and white posters hang in the housing units, dining halls, education area, chapels—all around the prison: THINKING OF SUICIDE? With Help Comes Hope! HONOR YOUR LIFE – Talk to a friend today! Talk to any staff member now! The prison aims to address the problem before thoughts of suicide become actions, but people like Robert who have struggled with depression say the resources are not there. While suicide

watch is designed to work like an emergency brake, its regular use in prison suggests a systemic failure of the system to address the underlying causes of suicidal thoughts and actions. While criminal activity often results in prison time, the underlying cause behind criminal acts is often a mental disorder. “Nearly 400,000 of the 2.2 million prisoners in the U.S. have a psychiatric diagnosis,” according to Esquire magazine. But “the country’s state-run psychiatric hospitals can only accommodate 38,000

patients.” In the United States, suicide is now the tenth most common cause of death. Nearly 45,000 Americans age 10 and older died by their own hands in 2016, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. And for those incarcerated, suicide is the third most common cause of death, according to U.S. Department of Justice’s Bureau of Justice Statistics. Roberts’ treatment shows one flaw in the ways prisons go about addressing this issue: the process of healing can take time. Roberts has been on suicide watch more than once over his 24 years of incarceration. For him, suicidal thoughts started after he was raped in prison. Though the episodes discussed here happened over a four year period after the rape, he still finds himself struggling with suicidal thoughts—even while medicated. During one medical exam, Roberts found himself reliving a traumatic experience, when he was asked to strip and sit on the examination bed. But the idea of being touched triggered Roberts. He struggled, emotionally, as if it were happening again. “I felt dirty,” he remembers. “I felt unclean and very small.” When he asked the doctor not to touch him, the doctor asked why. “I feel like killing myself,” he responded. “I was raped.” Regardless of his surroundings, Roberts’ mind does not wander far from what he learned as a child. Curtis recalls seeing his dad swallow a bottle of rat poison in an attempt to kill himself. Then later seeing his sister be raped and attempt suicide. For him, the logical conclusion was learned in those moments—when life gets rough, suicide is an answer. While the rape had happened years before, it was still an ever-present possibility, and the complexity of Roberts’ experience with both childhood abuse and prison rape made for a difficult living situation. The doctor recognized the symptoms, and Roberts was placed SPRING 2019 WALL CITY 19

Curtis inside his cell on the bunk.

on suicide watch. For five days, a team examined him daily. After that, he was diagnosed as non-suicidal and returned to the prison’s general population. For a person placed on suicide watch, the standard protocol has significant physical and emotional consequences. Roberts says the physical restraints were not the worst part. Instead, it was the unsettling risk of transfer. “Mentally, the most difficult part is when ‘the-powers-that-be,’ prison authorities and medical professionals, keep repeating how they think it would be best if I was transferred to another institution,” he says. “They kept saying to each other, ‘we think he’ll be better off at another prison.’ ” He says a transfer would mean moving away from his only close friend and form of emotional support, and that is the “worst thing that could have hap20 WALL CITY SPRING 2019

pened.” To a person in need, he argues, the suicide watch protocol should only consider transfer as a last resort. He believes San Quentin owes its inmates on suicide watch better treatment. Taking people needs into account is not the only way he believes prison authorities could make the process better. “I should have been given credit for standing up, reaching out for help and taking care of myself, not threatened,” he says. “This whole process can be softer, kinder, and less intrusive. It’s hard to be stripped naked in front of people. And it’s hard to be treated like I did something wrong—when all along I’m crying out for help.” That could mean the offer of a phone call, a meal, or a talk with a trusted professional. “One time all I wanted was to color with the female doctor,” he says. “Yeah, you heard right, color with crayons.” Roberts needed to express his

pain physically, not by hurting himself, but with art. After being placed on suicide watch multiple times over a four-year period, Roberts has finally found healing from a surprising source outside of the health care system—in this case, through the Ear Hustle podcast, which boasts millions of listeners. Recently, after being featured on that podcast, Roberts received a large packet of mail. He opened it expecting to find an invitation to a class reunion. Instead, to his surprise, it was filled with letters—“heart-felt letters from students and their teacher, high school students writing to me, a convicted felon,” he says. “They wrote as if they knew me, each of them pouring their hearts out. The letters helped me tremendously. I felt special being acknowledged—yes, I felt very special.”

Suicide is preventable.

Photo by Danielle Devencenzi Cronin ‘97

If you know someone with thoughts of suicide, call National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255 or go to speakingofsuicide.com/resources

His English teacher sent a cover letter and explained that her class used the podcast as a teaching tool. And when Roberts wrote back to tell her about this miracle flood of letters, she responded saying that the students were “overjoyed” to learn he had also graduated from their school and were eager to stay in touch even after his release. Roberts responded, detailing his happiness and emphasizing to the students how much their own stories matter. “If somehow my mistakes helped one student change their life and not become incarcerated, then my life matters,” he says. And the class had another surprise: they sent Roberts his yearbook photos from 1977, 1978, 1979, and 1980. “I think I cried more from seeing the Curtis who had no idea about what’s to come his way,” he says, “than my seeing the Curtis who looked so young.”

Where is Curtis now?

Before Gov. Edmund G. Brown Jr. left office, Curtis received a commutation of his sentence and was home for the holidays.

Curtis at St. Ignatius College Preparatory San Francisco, CA SPRING 2019 WALL CITY 21

Participants and facilitators speaking in a Restorative Justice small circle in the San Quentin Catholic Chapel

ngs?...Can Restorative Justice be the sol March, this generation made itself between the Generation of Mass ShootThe Generation of Last visible when more than one million peo- ings and the NRA, as more and more participated in the student-organized self-proclaimed experts state their opinMass Shootings: ple March for Our Lives rally in Washington, ions about solutions and the root causes That’s what high schoolers named themselves in the wake of the February 2018 massacre at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, which took the lives of 17 students and faculty members. Other words they’ve taken on: “Never Again,” the name of a Parkland studentled group intent on challenging the National Rifle Association (NRA) and advocating for gun control legislation. 22 WALL CITY SPRING 2019

D.C., and in school walkouts nationwide aimed at stopping the onslaught of mass shootings. Mass shootings are defined as four or more people shot at the same location, according to the Congressional Research Service. In the first half of 2018, 154 mass shootings took place at schools, a church and a newsroom, among other places. Meanwhile, the tug of war continues

of gun violence. In addition to the oftenrepeated ideas about gun legislation in the form of background checks or assault weapon bans, unrealistic ideas about Second Amendment repeal, arming teachers with guns, or even arming students have been suggested. Notably missing from the debates, though, are the solutions that have already proved effective in what may be an ideal laboratory: San Quentin State Prison in

Photos by Eddie Herena

By Rahsaan Thomas

lution to stopping mass shootings?...Can California. These concepts have helped transform San Quentin’s once-violent general population—the areas that don’t include Death Row, Administrative Segregation or the Reception sections—into what some people call a model of rehabilitation. The mainline has over 1,000 men serving life sentences, who walk around the prison grounds almost freely, yet violence amongst the lifer population at San Quentin is so rare that members of the outside world are allowed to spend time there. NBA all-stars Kevin Durant and Draymond Green, as well as hip-hop art-

ists J. Cole, LeCrae and Common, have visited this prison and hung out surrounded by hundreds of incarcerated fans without incident. Prosecutors have participated in forums with men their offices once convicted of crimes without a guard present. Even Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg has toured the prison. Moreover, 3,000 volunteers, mostly women, enter the prison each year to help facilitate programs. Mary Elliot, Ph.D., has been one of those volunteers since 2007. She retired in 2010 from working as an administrator at the Thelton Henderson Center for

Social Justice at the University of California, Berkeley. Currently, she sponsors a Restorative Justice (RJ) program alongside three men serving life sentences, two of them for murder, and other community volunteers. “I feel safer here than I do at home,” Dr. Elliot said. Volunteer-facilitated programs at this prison successfully help reduce the use of violence by addressing the root causes. Which raises an intriguing question: Can society learn about stopping violence from what works for men incarcerated at a state prison? SPRING 2019 WALL CITY 23

Inside San Quentin’s Catholic chapel on Wednesday and Thursday nights, a motto unites a group committed to ending atrocities: “Violence is not the solution to any problem.” The words flash on two screens mounted high on the walls. About 75 men, many of whom are incarcerated for crimes involving gun violence, stand side-by-side with about 10 Bay Area volunteers, and recite the words in a chorus of voices, harmonizing community. The group recites other principles and pledges at the end of every RJ meeting. The principles derive from The Little Book of Restorative Justice for People in Prison by Barb Toews. The book teaches the practice of RJ in daily life. It focuses on building community and explains that “crime is a sign that something is wrong with our relationships.” The RJ motto is: “Hurt people hurt people, but healed people heal people.” The way RJ is taught inside the prison focuses not on conflict resolution, as it does in many other RJ programs, but instead on practicing the principles of restorative justice as a way of life. The participants believe that “everyone is capable of change, healing and being restored.” They also pledge to “accompany anyone affected by crime on their healing journey” and to “be an instru-

RJ Facilitator Richard Richardson 24 WALL CITY SPRING 2019

ment of restoration, of forgiveness and reconciliation.” Incarcerated men called “Circle Keepers” facilitate the Restorative Justice meetings. Richard Richardson is one of those Circle Keepers. He moderates discussions on topics meant to uncover trauma. An object called a “talking piece—a rock, pen, or dwarf doll with long red hair, depending what is on hand—is passed around among participants seated in a makeshift circle of chairs. Whoever holds it is the only person allowed to talk. This gives the individual an opportunity to be heard, vent and heal. Most of the men who sit in Richardson’s circle are convicted of violent crimes and are serving life sentences. But they weren’t born violent. “No one just picks up a gun and starts shooting; that’s (the result of) a buildup of traumas,” Richardson said. “Society is actually broken. People are out there hurt and emotionally damaged. We have emotions and feelings not being heard. Sitting people down in circles allows them to speak without being interrupted and it allows people of different backgrounds to answer questions posed to get them to dig deep. It helps us understand that there are deeper issues—people have gone through many traumas that affect their behavior in society.” Practicing restorative justice as a way of life kept Darnell “Moe” Washington from acting out in violence again. In 2016, Washington, who was convicted of first-degree murder, found out that Leon Bland had arrived at San Quentin and was housed in the very same cell block. In 2014, Bland had beaten Washington’s aunt so savagely that she was hospitalized. “This isn’t going to end well,” Bland said when he found he was in the same cell block as Washington. The first thing Washington did was talk to co-RJ facilitator Louis A. Scott about the issue. “This couldn’t have happened to a better person,” Scott told

A talking piece, used in RJ small circles

Washington. “Why?” “Because you practice restorative justice.” Instead of retaliating, Washington talked to Bland and they held a restorative justice circle, in which Bland took accountability for harming Washington’s aunt. Bland explained that he loved her but was acting under the influence of PCP. He agreed to pay her medical bills. Bland apologized and Washington accepted the apology. The lessons Washington said he learned were that if restorative justice is in place as a way of life, it can give people the tools they need to mediate conflict without resorting to violence. “When people can talk to each other, they can avoid a lot of conflict,” Dr. Elliot said. “People’s stories are powerful.” It may sound counterintuitive that the solution for stopping violence can be talking, but this has been very effective at San Quentin. Would implementing RJ in schools work to change them from pipelines into lifelines? Most of the men reformed by self-help groups at San Quentin are minorities who committed gang or drug-related gun violence. On the surface, they seem different from the stereotypical school shooter. According to the 2004 Safe School Ini-

tiative Final Report, prepared by the U.S. Secret Service and the U.S. Department of Education, roughly 76 percent of teens who committed mass murder at schools were White. Other researchers have pointed out that school shootings may be driven by different motivations than inner-city gun violence. Potential mass shooters do share a unique psychological profile, according to Dr. James Knoll, a leading forensic psychiatrist with a special expertise in mass murderers. Drawing on Knoll’s work in an online article for Psychology Today in 2014, psychiatrist Allen J. Frances described the potential attacker as “an injustice collector who spends a great deal of time feeling resentful about real or imagined rejections and ruminating on past humiliations. He has a paranoid worldview with chronic feelings of social persecution, envy, and grudge holding. He is tormented by beliefs that privileged others are enjoying life’s all-you-can-eat buffet, while he must peer through the window, an outside loner always looking in.” Neurologist R. Douglas Fields, author of Why We Snap: Understanding the Rage Circuit in Your Brain, declared that the slaughters of church worshipers or high school students can’t be lumped together with other violent acts. Fields says we need to study the brain to find out why such mass murders happen. However, Richard Wenbe Johnson’s life experience living amongst men who kill over racial differences suggest RJ can work with anyone. The Black man spent 19 years in solitary confinement with skinheads, Nazi Low Riders, Mexican Mafia members and other groups. There, he saw what happened before and after an informal practice of Restorative Justice took place at Pelican Bay State Prison. “It was kind of crazy,” Johnson said. “You had a lot of bad sentiments among the various formations at that time. There was a lot of tension. People would jimmy

their doors and come out, catch you coming from yard or to shower and cut you, shoot you with darts or gas you.” He didn’t really know the people espousing the racist ideas, and they didn’t know him. “All I knew was that he represented something I despised. We never got to talk without the politics getting involved. We never talked like a man to deal with the issues. The fear of the unknown will always be a barrier. If you fear the unknown, you build a wall.” After the different rival tribes from different walks of life, races and criminal backgrounds started talking, Johnson said the violence between them stopped. “It was the unknown that kept us apart,” Johnson said. Also, research conducted by the U.S.

RJ Volunteer Mary Elliot, Ph.D

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention concluded that many different forms of violence—child abuse, neglect, youth violence, sexual abuse, domestic violence, elder abuse and suicidal behavior—“are interconnected and often share the same root causes.” Mental health often comes up as the primary root cause of violent behavior but about half of 200 mass murderers studied by Michael Stone, a forensic psychiatrist at Columbia University, didn’t have clear evidence of mental health issues before they committed their acts, some—about 25 percent—did show signs of depres-

sion and psychopathy. The Safe School Initiative Final Report also noted that most school attackers engaged in some prior behavior that signaled a need for help. Most attackers showed some history of suicidal attempts or thoughts (78 percent), had problems coping with losses or failures, and felt bullied, persecuted or injured by others prior to the attack (71 percent), among other things. These findings are not surprising in the context of work by Bessel A. Van der Kolk, a psychiatrist who specializes in the treatment of trauma in children. Van der Kolk found that male children particularly who were victims of violence or other traumatic events often develop an unconscious compulsion to repeat the trauma in the role of the aggressor. The Safe School Initiative Final Report suggests that spotting these warning signs is an important step in prevention so that the person can be reported to law enforcement before anyone is harmed. But the same recommendation can apply to prevention strategies aimed at helping a person stop their desire to commit acts of violence without involving systems of incarceration. In his scholarly article, “The Compulsion to Repeat the Trauma: Re-enactment, Re-victimization, and Masochism”, Van der Kolk argued that addressing the trauma and identifying the triggering events helps heal the person and break the cycle of repetitive violence. “Once the traumatic experiences have been located in time and place,” he wrote, “a person can start making distinctions between current life stresses and past trauma and decrease the impact of trauma on present experiences.” RJ and other self-help groups have been successful in helping older men at San Quentin—motivated by remorse and a chance at parole—stop using violence as a solution to any problem. It’s also been yielding positive results in Bay Area schools with kids in sixth through twelfth grades. SPRING 2019 WALL CITY 25

Rona Yee, a RJ coach for the Services that Encourage Effective Dialogue and Solutions (SEEDS) organization, says RJ definitely works with school kids. SEEDS, a Berkeley non-profit, helps school districts implement RJ, among other tools. Their definition of RJ in schools “is a set of principles and practices that build community and involve processes that restore relationships when harm has occurred. Restorative Justice practices support and complement current school initiatives and can be used to positively impact school culture, discipline and academic needs.” Yee warns that, for RJ to be effective, it must have a foundation as part of the school culture. That requires buy-in from the administration. “The adults really need to be on board for it to take hold and for the kids to really know what RJ is,” Yee said. “If we don’t have a healthy community, a strong foundation, we don’t know if we’re the ones creating trauma.” She recalls working at an after-school program where RJ didn’t have a foundation. “I was still learning,” Yee said. “I myself lacked a lot of the skills needed in the beginning to create a really strong foundation. And what happened was, there were lots of fights. People were getting physically hurt. There were people getting emotionally hurt. People were being bullied. I saw the impact on the kids. I also saw the impact on the adults, on the staff I was supervising. There was certainly impact on me. And it’s because we didn’t build any community.” Things turned around once Yee learned to start the process by building a foundation for the practice in everyday life instead of waiting until there was harm. In a weekly program, they held circles with 85 students, through which individuals were heard and supported. 26 WALL CITY SPRING 2019

“I saw fights decrease,” Yee said. “Conflict was still there for sure. Conflict is just really normal. But it wasn’t to the extent that it was my first year. So I know for a fact that RJ really works.”

Berkeley School Board Vice President Judy Appel also believes RJ works. “We definitely have seen a reduction in suspensions and expulsions,” Appel said. “But what’s bigger than that is how kids are dealing with conflict. It’s really giving our kids the skills they need to deal with conflicts when they come up.” Kusum Crimmel, a RJ manager at Oakland Technical H.S., agrees. “Conflict and suspensions have gone down,” Crimmel said. “I personally see my kids, who I train, stop fights from happening. The kids are getting used to the culture and it’s being destigmatized to ask for help.” Schools in other states have also reported seeing a huge difference after RJ practices were implemented. “Programs like restorative justice are gaining popularity in public schools from Maine to Oregon,” Jim Vaiknoras wrote in a Hechinger Report post. “Early adopters of the practice report dramatic declines in school discipline problems, as well as improved climates on campuses and even gains in student achievement.” RJ may be able to stem violence better than gun control because it addresses the root causes directly and can be implemented without the NRA and opponents of gun violence—members of the Generation of Mass Shootings—battling

against each other. Emma Gonzalez, a former Parkland student turned gun control advocate, now has more Twitter followers than the NRA, but with the current president, moving the needle on gun control will still be a challenge. Nor can such laws legislate hate out of people’s hearts. Even if an assault weapons ban does pass, they’re likely to be so weak that gun lovers will figure a way around them. “I can say with confidence, based on the modularity of the AR-15’s design, that if a new ban passes and it’s anything like the old one, millions of Americans will be able to legally obtain substantially the same guns we can buy today, but we’ll just have to buy them in pieces,” said Jon Stokes, co-founder of Ars Technica and contributing editor to TheFirearmBlog.com. Moreover, the focus on stopping the legal purchase of assault rifles ignores all the other weapons that have been used, like anthrax, knives, bombs, shotguns, revolvers and trucks. Nor do gun control laws give enough consideration to the loopholes that allow illegal guns to flood the streets, like easy sales at gun shows or the ability to print guns on a 3D-printer. In order to change the culture of mass shootings we need to develop a culture of restorative practices like the ones used at San Quentin. Every Wednesday and Thursday night in the Catholic Chapel, Richardson conclude the sessions by reciting, “Everyone is capable of change, healing and being restored” and then they pledge to “be an instrument of restoration, forgiveness and reconciliation.” Isn’t it time we did too. Editor’s note: Rahsaan Thomas practices Restorative Justice. Kate McQueen, Dan Fost and Kate Wolffe contributed to this story.

C R O S

S W O R D

By Jonathan Chiu

Edited by Jan Perry

Across 1. What people always want to be 6. Speed _____ 11. Definite article 14. Visible 15. Gab 16. Sped by 17. Emma Stone movie 18. Military academy or towel manufacturer 20. Tip 22. Got ya! 23. Women’s name 24. Jeremy Renner movie 27. ___ Mahal 29. Precedes Rapids or waxwing 30. Maroon 5’s Levine 32. Natalie of Elementary 36. Human label 37. What you want from a smartmouth person 39. Insult that you throw 40. Wall City adviser and author of Dry-Me-Dry: The Untold Story of the “Amazing 3 Fibre Towel” 45. Ridicule 46. Keanu Reeves movie 48. ___ Lanka 51. Heavy-metal band 53. Just about 54. San Quentin News Adviser Jan 56. Web language 58. City org. 59. Leave it __ __

60. Kwik-E-Mart owner 63. Toothpaste brand 65. Graphic artists 68. Daytime dramas 72. Soledad to High Desert (Dir.) 73. Home on the _____ 74. Unsaid 75. Cadillac model 76. Former Anglo-Saxon kingdom in E. England 77. Move stealthy

18 20

21 27

Down

1. Electronics brand 2. Sick 3. Metro maker 4. Katharine of Bad Moms 5. Distinguishing characteristic 6. Clash 7. Region 8. Wad 9. Singer James 10. Workout term 11. Threes 12. Comedian Gadsby 13. Whole 19. Bullfighter’s speak 21. Naughty 24. Brownish color 25. Troubles 26. Precedes apple or follow the Met 28. Jackson of The Affair 29. Terry of Brooklyn 99 31. Former orbiter

23 29

39 41

45 48

11 16

56 60

53 57

58 64

33. East coast Bravo reality TV show (Abbr.) 34. Brand name of kitchen towels 35. Group living in S. Nigeria or former name of Tokyo 38. Dupe 41. Actor Holbrook 42. Investment label 43. Condition 44. Gusto 47. Condition (Abbr.) 48. Digging tools 49. Envy 50. Eye membranes

52. Prison meal offering (Abbr.) 55. Medical condition from over using a keyboard (Abbr.) 57. Tilts 60. Actresses de Armas and Ortiz 61. Writes 62. Compel 64. Sound of pain 66. Grade school test 67. Felicity Jones’ movie On the Basis of ___ 69. ___ bandage 70. Dept. at SQ prison (Abbr.) 71. LA restaurant hotspot

C O M I C

Illustration by Fred Tinsley Concept by Jonathan Chiu

SPRING 2019 WALL CITY 27

L E G A L

By Danica Rodarmel

Senate Bill 10—Eliminating Cash Bail Reforming California’s Pretrial System is Far from Over

ince January a man we will call Fred has been calling me from Santa Rita Jail. He’s currently being held on over $2.5 million dollars bail. He started calling after the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals issued a decision, which held that the failure of California judges to take people’s ability to pay into consideration when setting bail was unconstitutional. The decision injected a shot of hope into the bail reform movement in California and prompted a wave of efforts to push for reducing bail amounts. That’s how Fred ended up on the line with me—he wanted to know if Humphrey would apply to him. As with most things in the criminal legal system, the fight for bail reform in California has been less than perfect. As for Fred—he’s still in Santa Rita. Reforming the money bail system is a hot topic, with legislation and litigation efforts across the country and countless media reports about it. And yet, too often these efforts and conversations get bogged down by focusing solely on the nitty gritty details of pretrial release and the use of money bail to ensure court appearances. While these conversations are important, it is also important to see the links between the money bail system, pretrial detention and mass incarceration. Over the last few decades, average bail amounts have skyrocketed. California now has the highest bail amounts in the nation, with a median bail amount of $50,000 for felony offenses (10 times the

28 WALL CITY SPRING 2019

national average). This increase in bail amounts has led to the inability of many individuals to post bail to get out of jail pretrial and the expansion of the for-profit bail bonds industry. In California, over 60 percent of individuals being held in jail have not been convicted of any crime. They remain detained due to inability to pay bail. For those who have posted bail to get out, the vast majority have done so through a for-profit bail bonds company, which charges a non-refundable fee for its services. In California, what has primarily been framed as a money bail issue is in fact a contention centered on pretrial detention. At the pre-trial, money bail has been one of the primary drivers of mass incarceration. However, simply ending it will not solve the problem because of how poor communities and communities of color are policed as well as prosecutors overcharging in criminal cases. In Fred’s case, the problem leading to his pretrial detention was the way in which money bail was being used. By setting bail at an unaffordable amount, the judge was able to prevent Fred from getting out of jail pretrial, and in effect to “preventatively detain” him. Under the current money bail system,

when judges set bail, they are not required to consider a person’s ability to pay. Frequently, bail is set in amounts far beyond the accused’s ability to come up with that kind of cash. This is where the for-profit bail industry comes in, posting bond on behalf of those who don’t have the money to pay the full bail amount to the court. Payments made to these companies, unlike amounts posted with the court,

File Photo

are never returned to consumers--commonly resulting in thousands of dollars of unaffordable debt, assessed from extremely poor and vulnerable families who (again) have not been convicted of any crime. This profiteering results in wealth stripping from poor communities and communities of color. This wealth is transferred to the accounts of big insurance companies profiting from underwriting an estimate $2 billion dollars in bonds written by the forprofit bail industry annually. According to the Million Dollar Hoods research team at UCLA, Los Angeles County courts set over $19 billion in money bail between 2012

and 2016. Of that $19 billion, 62,118 people bailed out of LAPD custody by paying cash or contracting with a bail bond agent. Collectively, they delivered over $17 million in cash to the court and paid an estimated $193 million in nonrefundable bail bond deposits to bail bond agents. But most of the money bail set was never paid. Of the $19 billion in money bail set, over $13 billion was never paid, leaving 223,366 people in LA county

jails pretrial between 2012 and 2016. One of the clearest links between pretrial detention and increased conviction rates is the way that pretrial detention makes it easier for judges and prosecutors to coerce guilty pleas. In an effort to expedite huge numbers of defendants through the court system, judges and prosecutors (even some public defenders), encourage the accused to give up their constitutional right to fight the charges against them. The tactic used is to tell them that a guilty plea will often get them out of jail faster than waiting for a trial. According to Human Rights Watch, of the six California Counties they analyzed from 2014-2015, 71–91 percent of misdemeanors and 77–91 percent of people facing felony charges held pretrial were released before the earliest possible trial date because they pled out before they had a chance to make their case in court. All of this clearly illustrates the need for bail reform in California. Recognizing the harm caused by the money bail system, reform efforts are occurring on a national level through community organizing, legislation, and litigation. In California, there have been lawsuits filed which allege the state’s current money bail system is unconstitutional and writs of habeas corpus that challenge the way that judges set bail. Then, on August 28, Governor Brown signed SB 10, which is a full overhaul of the pretrial system in California. What started as a bill with several cosponsors— from SEIU, to the ACLU, to grassroots groups like Ella Baker Center for Human Rights, Silicon Valley DeBug and Essie Justice group—ended up with nearly all of those groups shifting position and most changing to opposition. Ultimately, one of the big lessons on the reform side was that the framing of the issue may have been flawed from the get go. The effort should never have been about ending money bail alone. It should have been about ending the

harmful pretrial detention practices, perpetuated by a money bail system that is sustained trough racism and over-assessment of risk by judges who are too dis-incentivized to let people out of jail. Senate Bill 10 will dramatically reform California’s pretrial system. The bill eliminates money bail and eviscerates the forprofit bail industry. There remain serious concerns, however, that this bill may actually increase, rather than decrease, pretrial detention. The central concern is that for accused persons charged with a wide variety of offenses, much of SB 10’s structure includes a presumption of detention, rather than a presumption of release. Or, in the words of constitutional scholar and Dean of Berkeley Law School, Erwin Chemerinsky: “The revised version of SB 10 gives judges unfettered discretion in deciding whether to keep a person in jail and has no mechanisms for monitoring the racial impact of these decisions. Money bail should be eliminated. But not with something that could be even worse.” So, where does this all leave Fred, who called me again a few days after Governor Brown signed SB 10? Fred was in a panic, because he has an upcoming hearing (and is still holding out hope that the judge might reduce his bail amount to something that he may actually be able to afford) and feared that SB 10 would take that possibility away. I assured him that this would not be the case at his upcoming hearing, as the bill does not take effect until October of 2019. But, when it does take effect, it almost certainly will prevent Fred’s release pretrial, given his conviction history and the charges he’s currently facing. Of course, even considering the Humphrey ruling, there are people who could not afford to bail out of jail. But, how many of them are going to be preventatively detained pretrial under SB 10 because of their perceived risk? Ultimately, much of this will have to be worked out as judges apply the bill to defendants. But this much is clear: the fight to protect the maxim “innocent until proven guilty” is far from over.

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O V E R

By Juan Haines

T H E

W A L L

Outside Looking In A Q&A with San Quentin News’ Editor-in-Chief 2008-2009

enny Brydon, who spent 39 years behind bars before his release in 2017, was the first editor-in-chief of San Quentin News (SQN) since the paper was revised in 2008. Now living in the San Francisco Bay area, Brydon reflected on the challenges of leaving prison, transitioning into the free world, and being in charge of a prison newspaper. Juan Haines interviewed him. Kenny: I spent my entire prison term active in self-help, participating in many programs. I was greatly blessed by the many instructors from Golden Gate Baptist Seminary, and my own sobriety was built on the devotion of the principles in 12-Step Programs. In my own efforts at writing, the Brothers in Pen creative writing class was a major blessing. Zoe Mullery was a very patient and thoughtful instructor. That first day was a time of just breathing. (Reentry experts) David Cowan, Becca Carter, Marvin Mutch and Debra Sheldon

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met me at the gate. They handed me a cellphone, and I began moving ahead. Steve and Geri Kinstler, who visited me for over 11 years, welcomed me to their church and helped me buy my first car. The world that I came out to was both very familiar and very different. What I saw on television while in prison explained a lot but not everything. While I understood that the pace of life out here is quicker, it was another thing to be a part of it. The time and effort preparing inside made a difficult adjustment much easier. Choices about how I would live my life behind bars allows me now to make the decisions about the way I live in this world simple and straightforward. Juan: What was your conversation with Warden Ayers on producing San Quentin News? Kenny: He wanted a “real” newspaper, but he also realized that politics meant

Photo by Peter Merts, photo courtesy of Kenny Brydon

some limitations. We couldn’t allow it to become a personal gripe machine for anyone. It had to be as fair and impartial as it could be. I knew it was a position that would be highly controversial, with both administration and men in blue looking at it with skepticism. The idea was that we would be a real source of information; a paper that spoke to prison life. There was, of course, the question of who that voice would represent. And, if it was speaking for one, could it allow for a differing perspective? And if we stepped too far, would we see the newspaper shut down for another 20 years? If we didn’t

allow the “worst” of situations be openly aired, then we’d be just a propaganda tool. We had some really good legal writers that included John Dannenburg and Stephan Liebb. They gave great detail to what was happening in the courts. Juan: Talk about the decision-making process of running the Integrating Prison Cells article in the first edition. Kenny: Integration was a matter of choice or forced sharing of space in a place and a manner that would put individuals in harm’s way. It was not only a question of race but of age and ideology. If an elderly individual was forced to live with an aggressive younger person from another race, that alone could result in racial tensions escalating. The policy lacked in addressing many issues which should have been answered prior to the attempt...It wasn’t implemented. Juan: You did a lot of writing in the second edition, why? Kenny: That was a mistake, but there was a shortage of stories and I decided to fill in what I could. And I missed some other stories, which should have been printed. Juan: Editions were doubled up for June/ July 2009 and tripled for August through October, 2009. Why? Kenny: What I recall is we were behind schedule on the number of issues and decided not to print. Juan: Talk about the January 2009 article, Administrative Segregation: One Giant Leap Backward. Kenny: The story, written by Jeff Brooks, was about the poor conditions in Ad-Seg. How this article differed from informal gripes was that it was common knowledge, and the writer had set it forth as to why you would not want to go there. Technically, Warden Ayers made the final decision to print Jeff’s story, but that did not stop the demands that we print written rebuttals (which didn’t deny that the situation was true), and brought the anger of administration on many fronts to both the San Quentin News and myself. But things improved in the Hole.

Kenny’s first day of freedom

Juan: The February 2009 edition had an editorial opinion about overcrowding. It sounds like the staff and inmates were frustrated. Can you put the process of running that piece in perspective? Kenny: When change begins, it typically is with the recognition from those who one would expect to be completely in support of the status quo. People were being neglected; CDCR had become a behemoth with so much neglect happening that it could not be denied. Juan: Your last edition as editor-in-chief was March 2009. What was it like to step down? Kenny: I was struggling with poor health, the result of a sub-standard medical care and other issues related to overcrowding that eventually came close to killing me. Inasmuch as I enjoyed the challenge of the job, there was wisdom in passing the baton after settling down some groundwork, which allowed the paper to get solid footing. I was relieved, but I also missed the challenge.

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