Ever seen a guy smash his own face bloody against a security window just to prove a point? A point even he isn’t clear on — beyond a sense of commitment. His only reason — his only “because” — because some random chain of events has brought him to this moment in time. This place in life. So he says F – it. Might as well see it through to the end….
How about you? Ever feel like you have no control over your own life? No say in your own future? Or present for that matter? Do you need permission for everything you do outside your small allotment of personal living space? Feel like you’ve been reduced to being treated like a little kid?
As a wise adult child of an incarcerated man-child once said to him, “Well, I guess you shouldn’t have gone to prison then, Buster…” (A little tough love from the free will/self-determination crowd.)
Fate or choice. Free will or predestined by God/the forces of the universe. It’s been a topic for philosophers to kick around since the beginning of time.
One thing you can say for lots of cell time, whether as a monk at a monastery or a prisoner in prison, you get a lot of time to think. I’m blessed here in my state. It’s a small state, small prison population and for the most part not a lot of chaos. Prison jobs aren’t too hard to get and the pay ain’t bad for prison.
So, why — why if this ain’t a bad place to do time, if not comfortable, not abject misery — why do guys still on a fairly regular basis go absolute bat bleep banana pants crazy seemingly over nothing?
Flipping out. Over nothing.
I’m sure psychologist and social workers and New York Times best-selling authors have all kinds of deep profound explanations. Based on the best science and years of research. And maybe they’re right.
All I’ve got is, to steal a line from an old song, my lying eyes and a quarter century of “cultural immersion”.
As far as I’m concerned. It, all of it, is about control. Seizing control of your own life, if even for just a few seconds before the prison response team — “the squad” — can rush in and restrain you. Regaining control as you sit or lay there humanely strapped to some kind of Torquemadian piece of furniture.
I’ve been around long enough to see what this does to the people on the squad as well. A linear progress. For the first year or so it’s a surreal moment for them. A rush of adrenaline as they join their comrades in a contest of wills and physical prowess. A sense of being the elite. Those the rest of the facility relies on when things get rough. Including the inmates. When you find yourself on the wrong side of a four on one fight the sound of alarms and the tromp of boots is akin to the trumpets of angels, you might live through this yet…
Some stay on the squad, other may quit the corrections business altogether, others take up other positions, unit staff, utility/floater, etc. The ones who remain on the squad for any length of time take on that world-weary appearance, the proverbial soldier who’s seen too much and basically kind of lost hope in humanity in general. Mass incarceration doesn’t only destroy the humanity of the incarcerated. Or at least that’s one guy’s opinion…
And the casualties of this war? The guys — and gals too — who completely flip the freak out, totally lose it, go full on banana pants crazy?
Many, if not most, maybe all, come from one form of marginalized life circumstances or another. Whether it’s generational family dysfunction. Addiction. Urban, rural and now suburban poverty commonplace; real life living conditions that a good number of average middle-class Americans would say had to be from a third world country if they were shown a photograph.
But dumping this mostly on the doorstep of familial, community, and/or economic woes misses the point, maybe.
I think it’s a social dis-ease. Dehumanization makes for a great catchall. Is there anything called rehumanization? Make America Humane Again? If there is, I ain’t seen it yet.
It’s near impossible to convey the absolute power imbalance, the complete lack of agency that is incarceration to anyone who hasn’t experienced it for themselves. Yes, it is true, it is not some totally random process. Some arbitrary force beyond any form of redress. There are laws, rules, institutional policies. Checks and balances if you want to call them that.
BUT to invoke ANY of these checks and balances, YOU the incarcerated must fully convince at least one of THEM, the institutional powers, whether lowly guard or the high commissioner, that they should deign to listen to anything you have to say.
Because: Concrete box. Solid steel door. The only ones who can hear you scream are your fellow inmates.
So, for now, self-destruction will remain the one constant. The one tool in your inmate survival toolbox that you will always possess. Your singular lever to take control. To flip the freak out, just go absolute bat bleep banana pants crazy will remain the one and seemingly only way we have to have a say in our own live. Finally seize control, affect our right to self-determination, if only for a few moments. The sole piece of agency we will always possess. The ability to pull the pin on the grenade that is our life, throw it straight up in the air and see what happens when it blows up.
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