People are being raped here at USP Tucson, facilitated by the staff…
I sit here, trying to find the right words to convey to anyone reading this, in a desperate attempt to convince people of the outright debasing of humanity in federal prisons like USP Tucson.
As you are reading this, a person here is in danger of being raped, and it could be a person you know. If not here at USP Tucson, certainly any jail or prison.
I want to share a few examples from real stories of those who have been put in horrible situations, by staff here at this prison, but I also want to “think aloud”; to question my heart: what can possibly be done. If anything, and in the whole scope of things, does anyone really care?
Does anyone really cry for them?
If I do this correctly, either I’ll draw your inner demand for compassion and justice, or ignite a spark of anger towards these malicious officers, to demand some level of accountability.
But if I fail, you won’t care about a person who’s been raped, and I lose a person who might be able to do something about it; whether sharing this essay, or calling an elected official, or praying for intervention. If I fail, another victim succumbs to this prison’s torture.
Months before this essay, I talked with a guy who was trying to sue USP Tucson because they forced him a cell with a rapist, and he was violated- for days. Staff knew he was raped, but ignored his pleas for help. He finally had to smuggle a desperate plea in his legal work, and sent it out. He was eventually removed from that cell, taken to the hospital and determined that he was indeed raped.
Hearing this gruesome testimony, I was inspired to write an essay, “How To Facilitate Rape”, and sent it out to different sites and publications, to expose the issue. The victim told me that the cellmate he was forced to live with was a known rapist in the prison, and was listed as a “HRA”, or “house/rec alone”. Prison staff was well aware of this dangerous individual, yet forced that victim to go in that cell, locked the door, and leave, knowing, and anticipating, that this person would be raped.
That victim has a family…prison staff didn’t care.
They would never cry for him.
I mailed as many essays as I could afford; I could not sit here and do nothing, I could not neglect the extreme sufferings of these victims, who cried for help while USP Tucson made insulting remarks about the victim. To them, it was entertainment.
Somebody’s got to care…somebody’s got to do something, or at least try.
Months later, the same victim or that rape incident told me of another inmate who just came out of the SHU (Special Housing Unit). He said the inmate was also just raped- in the same manner.
He was forced to live in a cell with a man known for at least two incidents of rape at another prison- and murder. Prison staff was well aware how dangerous this man was, yet forced the soon-to-be victim in that cell, where he was raped.
What if I’m talking about someone you know…what if it was ME?
Would anyone cry for them- or me?
Immediately after hearing of this victim’s incident, I quickly penned letters to send to the Bureau of Prison’s Central Office, the Western Regional Office, the President of the United States, a United States Senator, a local radio station, and other entities, to draw attention to this atrocity.
But on Friday, August 14th, I was called to the Lieutenant’s office, and was threatened by Lieutenant Carroza and Officer Gonzalez for “Interfering” with an “investigation”. I argued that I was not interfering because the rape victim came to me and told me about it, and clearly, there was an issue of inmates being raped in the SHU here at USP Tucson, and many times the officers laugh about it.
In defiance of those two officers, and with the threat of being retaliated against, I told them that I have to care, because it could have been me. I could not back down to these threats by cowardly and uncompassionate officers, because lives are being destroyed by these federal staff workers.
If God cares for these people, then I must do the same.
But, it seems that no one cares; no one cries for them.
So, why should I?
I have to care, because I wrote an essay titled “more Required of Thee”, an account of when I myself was in the SHU, and had a cellmate, a young man named “Josh”, who was raped, all facilitated by staff here. He attempted suicide and by a miracle, he lived. I had to live with a person who lost all hope in life, after there was no one to help him, and staff turned their backs on him.
None would cry for him.
And he almost killed himself for it.
It was there that I learned that if I believed in God, then there has to be a demand to help, if possible. But often times, it requires us standing in the face of hatred, and not budging, even if it comes with retaliation. Somebody is counting on those types of people; those would cry for the victims, and DO something about it.
You’ve got to care; to cry for them.
But is it worth it, if nobody cares? Many people here in my dorm, after the threats by staff, worried about my safety. We know retaliation in prison is real, and can be deadly. Why then, would I risk my life for those who were raped; would it be easier to just stay out the way, and just “hope and pray” that God will intervene?
But I just don’t believe that saves people… because it requires no tears, thus no heart.
How is it that rape is so common here, yet no one does anything? There are many Christians here that know this is going on, yet turn their backs to it, delegating it to God to “figure it out”. But in this, they do nothing, and there is very little sympathy.
It made me think, “if I was back there, would they do the same? Would I be stuck back there, and for all those I tried to help, none would risk the same for me”?
Would anyone cry for me?
If not, then why should I care? Isn’t it better to just not get involved, and hope somebody else does something? It’s safer for me to care from a distance, that way I justify in my heart that I am genuinely concerned, but also concede that it is out of my power to do anything. Maybe in this, I don’t have to cry.
I don’t really have to care.
But as I was writing this, thinking of those hurting souls that needed help, and didn’t get it, and the weight of what God expects us all…
I broke down…and started crying.
Not for myself…but for them.
Tears started falling from my eyes, drops pooling up in my glasses, then falling on the paper I was writing on, leaving heartfelt markers of hope…or hopelessness.
My God, what am I fighting for?
I had to stop, wipe my eyes; I could not see for the weight of burden I may have imposed on myself…too heavy for me to carry. Why should I care when it seems that no one else does.
Because, it COULD have been me.
And more importantly, because God cares.
I broke down, thinking of Josh, who hung himself in my cell, and by a miracle he lived. But in that, he told me that while dead, he was told that he had to love, because people like me still cared. He had to love, to inspire me to continue to care.
After the tears dried, I continued to write; I had to finish, so I could type this out. For him, for those who have no one to help them, and in bold declaration to those officers who facilitate rape, I have to help, even if I’m the only one.
I will have to be enough…I will cry for them.
Will you?
No Comments