Transcript
Circumstance of Incarceration By Tafari Tai I would say good day, except mines has been anything but. This is my attempt at trying to express my circumstances of incarceration through written words. I hope my description of being a prisoner in the modern day plantation which is more currently known as the United States of America's Prison System, is as insane, miserable, negative, oppressive and lonely as the reality of living it. I mean it can't be all that hard writing about here, I've been surviving it my entire life. With that said...I am in a place where I am more identified by a registration number that Uncle Sam gave me, rather than the name give to me by my mother. The trial and tribulations that I am daily confronted with is stressing to a sober mind. I guess that's why so many inmates seek some sort of narcotic to escape this harsh reality. I've witnessed first hand the measures some take to "feel free." (S.M.H.) These walls are seething with negativity. From the minute I wake up in this place it's a mental battle. My grandma tells to me to pray, read my Bible and trust in God, but I've been silently speaking to God all my life, to no avail. Maybe I'm doing it wrong or just not patient enough. Yet I continue to do so when I remember, because right now I can use any kind of help. I've been in and out of the penal system since a youth. My first time being arrested, I was in the sixth grade. My grandmother had to come and get me. Because believe it or not, when the cops said that they were going to call my mother to come and get me, I pleaded with them to not call her, I told them "I'll stay." (LOL) This was my reply for 2 reasons, I knew I was in some serious shit, and mainly I knew that my mom would once again have to leave work early behind some "foolishness" that I done did. (S.M.H) Can you imagine? At that age my mentality was that my mother would be more upset about leaving her job early, than picking up her 11 year old son from a police precinct (for committing a crime). That was seventeen years ago, and I'm still being handcuffed by law enforcement. Some inmates in this place go insane and some refuse to accept the fact that they're also insane. It doesn't take a psychologist to tell me I'm insane. And I don't have to be in a straight jacket to be considered insane. To me stabbing someone 20 plus times over a forty five cent soup, or because someone didn't like the way he walked by them is clear and present insanity. But it's a Herculean task to be held captive away from one's family and loved ones and still be expected to keep a sane mine and behave civilly. I am the father to a little boy who will be five this year. His sister is about to be six. I have not seen them in three years, and that was only for 50 minutes. My son was only two months when I was taken away from him. I was feeding him his bottle at around five a.m. that cold January morning. As his mother got her last hour of sleep before having to get up for work, when the A.T.F. and U.S. Marshall kicked in our apartment door, fully suited in riot gear with rifles pointed. I knew that this was serious and it might be the last time I would be with my kids as a free man. Standing there being hassled and cuffed, I was caught in a trance. Just staring at my kids in their mother's arms. As she looked hurt, confused, and angry, that just broke what little love I did have left in me, that was 5 long years ago. This incarceration has put a strand on a lot of my relationships, with friends, family, and loved ones. My baby's mother seems to miss me less and hate me a little bit more with each birthday, Christmas, Valentine, and graduation that I am not there for. I don't too much blame her. I just wish she'd understand that my hand was forced, she knows how hard I tried to be legally employed, and walk that proverbial straight and narrow, but with no high school diploma and a resume that includes selling drugs, and working in a Riker's Island mess hall, there isn't much chance to make a decent living. Even though I didn't do half the crimes I've been charged with, a man in my position can't do certain things, it might seem like the correct thing to others, but that does not mean it's the right thing. The time I got sentenced to does not fit the crime. I try to remain optimistic and keep close ties with my family especially my son, but he doesn't like to talk to me. My mother says he just doesn't like talking on the phone period. She says he asked "when is my daddy coming home?" When they tell him soon, he says "why is he taking so long?" On top of that I spoke to my daughter a few months ago and her first words were "Who is this?"... It's things like that, that drive a person insane. The way I see it, I have to keep in constant contact with them, that means not losing my phone, or visitation privileges, but the inmates and C.O.'s seems like they're just set to make that impossible. It's like the more you try to walk away the more they tempt you, it's a lose lose in this environment. I just pray I don't kill someone or end up getting killed in this place. My mother and kids don't deserve that. I have calmed down a lot though, it's as if my 4 year old son is helping a twenty eight year old me become a better MAN. Being a father is still awesome to me. It might be because I am in here away from them, but every snowstorm, heat wave, or violence/accidents involving children I hear on the news, I get to worrying about my own kids, that might be a good thing though. I tell them all the while, that out of sight never means out of mind when it concerns them and me. I know father's who are free, yet hardly see their kid(s) and do less than I do for mines. It is amazing how corrupt and Machiavellian, not just the penal but the whole American system is, for the lower class, inner-city citizens, don't get me wrong, I have brothers who have made it out to be successful with their heads held high legitimately; (college, career, taxes), but that doesn't make me weak, it just makes them that much more stronger, but if you look at what's in plain view, it's hard to miss...mom working two to three jobs nodding off, fighting sleep on the train on her way to work in the morning. Coming home when the sun is down, to cook (sometimes), iron and make sure everything is ready for school, just to get a few hours nap to do it all again. And all this on basically minimum wage. Pops ain't around to the point he's not even missed anymore and the kids in almost every case is left to parent their self. Which leads to drugs, violence, and sex. Now Imagine a neighborhood with eight out of ten kids fitting this category regardless of gender. This cycle just repeats. More fatherless kids, who mothers are spending more hours at work to provide them at home. (And that's the best case scenario). That is why I am trying to make it home in time to catch my kids before they fall into the ills of the ghetto. It's like the rapper Billboard Bigs says "It's the burden of being born black." I know my family is going through this ordeal with me, sometimes I call, and they sound more down than me. I try to stay strong for them so that they can reciprocate that strength. They say it's just one of those days. I tell them shit! I've got 5 years worth of those. I guess when you become well accustomed with it, you an find a bit of humor in pain. I am not perfect, and I know I've done some things that would break my mothers heart, but I know that this is it for me. I'm tired of waiting years for promised mail to no avail, I'm tired of being the cause for my mother's tears. I'm tired of living, eating, sleeping in a bathroom twenty three hours out of every day. And I'm tired of wasting my life away behind bars. I've put my kids through too much with my selfish ways. I wish my friends that are dead could see what it's like to be in your twenties. I wish my true friends who are doing fifty years and more, and only in their twenties could get a real shot at freedom and success, but I owe it to them to make it out and stay out. The most talented people are incarcerated, I think they should start by having college courses, and vocational training in here. And setting up better contact, communication incentives and programs between inmates and their families and loved ones, especially conjugal visits (wink). No, seriously though, that way there can be less baby mama's and more wife's for our daughters to look up to. My hardest challenge on being released is always finding a permanent, and decent employment. So a job placement program would be great, and I don't mean something that's gonna just tempt me to revert back to my illegal ways, just to pay the bills and feed the kids. But I guess that would be against the greater scheme of the American Penal System. Well...I hope my presentation was informative and real to you. I could go on and on, but I think the truth of Hell on Earth has to be taken in painful doses. Anyway I must go, because it is count time and if I don't stand up, I might not be allowed to go to my five minute shower tomorrow (we only get three a week), or worst yet the C.O.'s might raid/shake down my cell and throw away my personal documents. Including this, just know that I am changing for the better, and I will be free again despite the circumstances of incarceration. Still I remain. Tafari Tai. P.S. I hope this makes it out.
