John Ewing III, "Life After Death" (2007).

It's rare that I'll take the chance on a DVD without reading a single consumer review beforehand. But there was something about the packaging of Life After Death that inspired me to overlook the complete absence of critical attention. It didn't hurt that I was able to buy a copy of it from an Amazon independent seller for about $5 + shipping and handling. I probably wouldn't have chosen to order it alone, but since I was basically indulging myself in a mass purchase, I figured I'd assume the minimal risk. Now after watching it, I can't say that I'm overwhelmingly satisfied. While it wouldn't be entirely correct that it was a waste of time, I will admit to being misled into believing it would be something that it wasn't.

Basically what John Ewing III delivered with this movie is a series of interviews with black men and women who have spent significant time in the nation's prison system. Before I get into the content, I feel it necessary to comment on its form. This is one of the most poorly produced documentaries I have ever seen. It appears that very little money was wasted on things like sound mastering or professional editing. The former is especially problematic since many of the interviews are delivered in a garbled, heavily slang-inflected manner. If you are used to the cadences of urban inner-city accents, then you may have an easier time with this. Even so, the volume levels vary wildly throughout the film.

As far as editing is concerned, what we have here is a series of full frontal segments with former prisoners. All throughout there is an undercurrent of gangster rap that can be subtly distracting. To top it off, some of the footage is simply repeated or interjected in a seemingly random fashion. At other points interviewees are cut off in mid-sentence, or seem to be responding to questions that are only barely audible or consistent with the delivered answers. In between clips, we get to see shots of anonymous prison interiors, with no hint of where they were taken or who took them. I suppose they were included to provide the proper Mise-en-scène. At any rate they are only partially effective.

Yet all this criticism is tempered by the authenticity of Life After Death. Many of the stories related by the ex-cons are both compelling and effective. For the most part the inquiries made elicit frank and descriptive talk of life inside our penal institutions. Much of it will probably come as no surprise to students of the subject. But for those with only minimal exposure to information about our nation's prisons, this should be an enlightening viewing experience. Obviously the viewer should keep in mind that the participants are capable of exaggeration. This indeed is endemic among the incarcerated population. However I'd be shocked if the spirit of their accounts wasn't true, especially given the nature of some of their admissions.

Ultimately I'm not sorry I ordered this. There are multiple opportunities for folks to view or read objective accounts by so-called "experts" presenting outsider views of prison life. On the other hand, it's relatively rare to encounter unvarnished commentary by those who have 'walked the walk'. Even firsthand memoirs are often delivered by non-traditional inmates, who are blessed with ample skills of articulation. The men and women in Life After Death seem generally representative of the African-American population currently housed in federal and state prisons. They are a cross-section of people caught up in a depersonalized and controversial system. I'm glad someone made a document of their voices.

A True Test of Civility.

Imagine spending thirty-six years in prison. No thank you. Often you'll hear people (who obviously have no idea what they are talking about) ranting about how easy inmates have it in the United States. They'll say,"Color television, porn mags... don't have to work for a living... free food and get to sit around all day. I wish I had that kind of life." Whenever I hear someone talk like that, I join them in their desire to get their wish. Not the one that they imagine as some sort of gift for the guilty- but the reality that incarcerated criminals face in America. I'd love to see them react to having their freedom taken away. I'd love to see them sweat through the nights in a cell, wondering when they would have to face the next predator, eager for the fresh meat of a 'fish'. They would surely generate a new perspective facing 36 years in the slammer.

As if being stuck in 'gen pop' for three-and-a-half decades isn't bad enough, imagine that you have to serve all of that time in solitary confinement. You may think that our civil rights protect us from that kind of fate. Think again. Herman Wallace and Alfred Woodfox have been housed in the solitary unit at Angola Prison in Louisiana since 1972. The two convicts were sent to lockdown for allegedly murdering corrections officer Brent Miller during a prison riot. Along with a man named Robert King Wilkerson, they were known as the 'Angola 3'. Every two weeks since being moved to isolation, they have shown up at their reviews only to be told they had no hope of escaping their plight.

What is it actually like where Wallace and Woodfox have been 'housed'? Prisoners are kept in their cells for 23 hours of each day. They eat every meal in that little 6" x 9" box. They are allowed to go to the showers and walk alone on the tier during that remaining hour. Once every three days, they can spend one hour by themselves in an outdoor caged yard. If they are lucky and know someone in the ward, they might yell to them through the walls. Their personal property, reading materials and visitation rights are restricted. There is increasing research in the mental health community that shows that isolation can lead to mental and emotional breakdowns, as well as psychotic episodes. Specific symptoms can (and often do) include Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome, visual and auditory hallucinations, hypersensitivity, paranoia, insomnia, and suicidal ideation. But what the heck... commit the crime, do the time, right? No, it's not that simple.

Apparently there is significant doubt over whether Woodfox and Wallace were ever guilty of the crime that got them put into solitary in the first place. Reportedly the Angola 3 were Black Panthers who were actively organizing to stop a prisoner sex slavery ring and to end racial segregation within Angola. When Brent Miller was initially found dead from stab wounds, the prison warden immediately fingered Woodfox and Wallace. In the subsequent trial, inmate witnesses were given cigarettes and promised other deals to testify against the defendants. Robert King Wilkerson was released from lockdown in 2001, after being there for 29 years. He had been accused and found guilty of murdering another inmate. After being exonerated, Wilkerson devoted his freedom to publicizing the plight of his imprisoned comrades.

The attorney for Woodfox and Wallace was recently stunned during a routine visit to find that the current Angola warden had released the prisoners into a dormitory setting. Of course they are still imprisoned, but their case is under review in higher courts. Now in their 60's, these men are clearly no threat to the security of other inmates, or the institution in general. The larger issue is the constitutionality of prolonged solitary confinement. The 8th Amendment of the Bill of Rights assures us that US citizens are free from the threat of "cruel and unusual punishment". Sadly for Americans, this concept is being challenged at the federal level. The fabled 'War on Terror' has allowed the Bush administration to chip away at our civil liberties. Much of the nation has already accepted torture as a means of punishing 'non-military combatants'. Guess what... that term can easily be applied to the government's perceived enemies at home.

The Conclusion of HBO's "Oz" (Years After the Fact).

Today M. and I completed our viewing of the complete series of HBO prison drama Oz. It truly was a long, strange trip. Six seasons of machismo, menace, shifting alliances, violence, and betrayal should satiate even the most bloodthirsty of viewers. Yet at the dark heart of this journey, there is some humanity to keep us engaged. If Oz doesn't make you reflect on the prison industry (one of the fastest growing sectors in our 'New World Order economy'), then you're not watching closely enough. This milieu represents the most fatalistic and complex microcosm of our society, and if you think it represents only a narrow portion of the United States- then I think you are sadly mistaken. While it's true that life in 'Emerald City' (the 4th level unit in which most of Oz's action takes place) is an exaggerated depiction of what modern incarceration is like, it does present us with a general picture of some of the extreme difficulties that we face in our administration of 'justice'.

Season 6 brought us a heaping dollop of what we'd come to expect from watching the previous seasons. Oz's creators were never shy about eliminating its main characters, no matter how much we were led to feel for them. The last eight episodes clearly illustrate that absolutely no one is untouchable. Sometimes the abrupt endings of these lives is randomly meaningless, just as in our external reality. If we learn nothing else from this show, it is that fate is often arbitrary and capricious. One major player is eliminated in such a shockingly unexpected way that it seems anti-climactic. At other times the demise of an inmate occurs in such a dramatically poetic way that it seems almost inevitable. In fact one such episode is underscored by a big house production of Shakespeare's MacBeth that contains a fitting resolution to a conflict set up in the very first show of the series. Part of the fun (as it were) of watching Oz lies in the anticipation of these conclusions. As in life, sometimes they are satisfying, and sometimes not.

Even when I thought that I could track the logic of the scriptwriters, I occasionally found myself tricked, and sometimes devastatingly so. Episode 6 is particularly wrenching. M. and I found ourselves viewing an unthinkable story arc that inverted our feelings and hopes for those involved. It was amazing that we could be taken to such emotionally vulnerable states simply with the dramatic depiction of something we know has happened in the past. Good television strives to close the distance between the cold hard facts we hear in the news and the visceral effects of harrowing experiences, aptly portrayed by competent professional actors. Sometimes the result is magical, causing us to feel a depth of compassion we were barely aware existed within ourselves. The realization of deeply held empathy is our reward for subjecting ourselves to such tragedy. Episode 6 was the perfect example of this process. I found myself weeping for almost a half hour after seeing it.

The ultimate finale of Oz was (I believe necessarily) a bit dissatisfying. Within the last couple episodes there were intriguing new characters introduced, and tales just beginning their development. There were plenty of threads left unexplored, and their presence suggested that the creators had enough material available for an additional season. I'm not sure whether or not the word of Oz's cancellation came down while they were still shooting Season 6, but it really seemed as if Tom Fontana and company had more up their sleeves. Ultimately it doesn't matter because Oz is gone now, and has been for several years. It is left up to the viewer to speculate on the lives of the remaining inmates and administrators of Oswald Penitentiary. Neither M nor I knew what to expect in terms of resolution before watching Season 6, but I am comfortable with my speculations about the unseen futures of the characters.

It seems that any lack of closure in a television series is enough to keep curious viewers from engaging it. In the case of Oz, I feel that any hesitation based upon this absence of tidy endings is a mistake. If you have a strong stomach and enough open-mindedness to take a look at the underside of humanity, then you owe it to yourself to watch Oz. As citizens of the US, each and every one of us is complicit in a justice system that aims to protect us from those who stray outside the bounds of our laws. Turning a blind eye to the ugly realities that are created by our methods of incarceration and punishment only contributes to a collective ignorance. Having the courage to confront the complexities and consequences presented by our choices will not yield pat answers, but it can be enlightening. Why not shine a bright light into society's black corners? Can the revelations about what lurks in the darkness be as frightening as the darkness itself?

Continuing in "Oz".

M. and I have now worked our way through the fourth season of Oz. That's a total of forty different episodes that we've watched since late Spring. I've also watched Seasons 1 and 2 twice. I realize how obsessive a quest this is, but its a viewing pattern M. and I have repeated now with several different television series. There's just something appealing about watching one show after another. You really get a sense of the continuity of the story. While I was considering taking an extended break before we finish Oz- we still have Seasons 5 and 6 to watch- I'll probably break down and order them soon. I do want to keep the events fresh in my mind.

This last set of sixteen episodes was a pretty wild ride. From what I understand, HBO was hesitant to extend the show past the third year. So when the producers were finallly given the go ahead, they took the liberty to make twice as many segments as usual. Season 4 defies a lot of expectations, and tends to be a lot more sensationalistic than the previous runs. It's as if its creators knew they had to up the ante and create a lot of hype. Certainly they had reached the point where they risked losing viewer interest. We see several major shake-ups to both staff and the inmate hierarchy. In addition we lose a few of the most charismatic characters in the show's history to both death and attrition. For sure there are no lack of surprises.

But at the same time, the seasoned OZ viewer should have developed a fairly deep understanding of the logic of the show by this point in the series. Simply by musical cues alone, I could often accurately predict the eventual fate of many of the minor characters. Perhaps this is why the writers felt the need to stir things up with unlikely scenarios. Season 4 brings us Adibisi's realization of an all-black "utopia" in Emerald City. That plot arc not only strained credibility, but actually crossed the line into the ludicrously unbelievable. Another show introduces a television news magazine crew to the unit. As one might imagine, few of the inmates are on their best behavior. For me though, the absolute worst premise introduced in Season 4 is a subplot involving Dr. Nathan's administration of an experimental drug to inmate volunteers. Mercifully the show's creators let that idea die a quick death.

It's a fact that any worthwhile series is going to present certain consistent emotional and atmospheric tones, and exhibit some consistency of philosophy. In this respect OZ is certainly no exception. This is a darkly brutal and cynical show. In making a commitment to viewing it in its entirety, I knew I was setting myself up. Ultimately I have developed the notion that nothing good is ever going to come for these folks, whether they are on staff or among the convicted. Even in a universe as immoral as OZ we start to see patterns of subtle justice running through the treatments of these characters. Season 4 seems to go out of its way to reinforce the reality that its principals "got nothin' coming". There were a few occasions where I found myself wishing (in futility, as it turned out) for just one good thing to happen to my favorite characters. No doubt there is satisfaction in seeing a long-hated inmate utterly destroyed, but it might be heartening once in awhile to see a good guy get rewarded by a good turn.

Regardless I have to give the show's creators credit for trying to keep viewers guessing. While they didn't always succeed with their more adventurous experimentation, I was not bored. I was also pleased by the unconventional casting choices of some of the minor characters- David Johansen, Ally Sheedy, Method Man, John Lurie and Luke Perry make appearances in Season 4. While its soul-crushing tenor may be levying a subtle toll on my spirit, I'm determined to see this through to its conclusion.

Jarvis Jay Masters.

It's not hard to find memoirs of prisoners nowadays. It seems that every major penal institution in America has its share of literate cons, waiting to become spokesmen of the conditions under which they live. I've been able to read a few of them, and they have been without exception enlightening. Some of these authors claim to have undergone true rehabilitation during their sentence. In a few cases their stories are quite convincing. It's become almost a cliche for inmates to have a religious conversion while incarcerated. No doubt many of these revelatory transitions are contrived and superficial- mainly aimed at improving the way future parole boards view the convicted. But at least some of these religious experiences must be valid. I believe that there are some convicts that actually have found "God" behind bars. Most often they become Christians or Muslims. Rarely however, do you hear about an inmate adopting Buddhism. Finding Freedom (1997) is a book about just such a case.

Convicted of armed robbery at age 19, Jarvis Jay Masters found himself facing a ten-year sentence at San Quentin. Like many others, Masters soon joined a gang- the Black Guerilla Family. In 1985, prison guard Sgt. Dean Burchfield was stabbed to death with a prison-made knife. Three members of the Black Guerilla Family were tried for his murder. The man who actually killed Burchfield, and the inmate who ordered the killing, both received life sentences without parole. Masters, who was said to have made the weapon and passed it on to the killer, was given the death sentence.

Melody Ermachild Chavis was a private investigator working with Masters' defense team. She found herself caring deeply for the man she was trying to save. She turned her client on to two of the main passions in Masters' life- Buddhism and writing. During a series of visits to the prison, Chavis split time working on the appeals process and writing with Masters. Through her encouragement, Masters put together his first collection about his time on death row- Finding Freedom. They also studied Buddhism, and Chavis helped introduce Masters to a spiritual guide. Eventually she arranged to have a Tibetan Buddhist Monk (Chagdud Tulku Rinpoche) travel to San Quentin to perform a Red Tara Empowerment ceremony for Masters- thus making him an official Boddhisattva. This actually occurred in a visiting area outfitted with screens separating visitors and inmates, with phones to connect them.

Masters writes about the difficulty of the Buddhist practice in the penitentiary. He has pledged oaths of harmlessness, helpfulness, and purity. This can be a tricky proposition in San Quentin. All three of these qualities, while evidence of great inner spiritual strength in the free world, are interpreted as weakness in prison. For instance, Masters tells a story about how he came to a homosexual's aid in the exercise yard. Knowing that such an inmate invited his own demise by his very presence, Masters put his own well-being at risk by subtly interposing himself between the man and his would-be killer. Each time Masters puts his religious beliefs into practice, he leaves himself vulnerable to predators. But concordance with his adopted faith does not allow him to remain a neutral observer. He is committed not only to non-violence, but to assisting others who face the ordinary threats of prison life. Reading about how Masters negotiates the treacherous traps of his days and nights proves to be compelling. His voice is mature and confident, and he demonstrates a remarkable degree of self-insight for a virtually self-educated man. The reader finds himself rooting for Masters throughout the book. Fortunately for his supporters, their efforts on his behalf may not be in vain.

In March of 2007, the California Supreme Court ruled unanimously that the State must show cause to continue to hold Jarvis Masters. They acted on information that testimony used in prosecuting Masters was provided by inmate witnesses who have since recanted. Apparently they were offered a secret deal by the prosecution for their cooperation. Such tactics are inappropriate, if not illegal. Perhaps sometime this year, Masters will be a free man- his 22-year nightmare over.

Victor Hassine, "Life Without Parole" (2nd Ed. -1999)

Why did I pick up inmate Victor Hassine's Life Without Parole: Living in Prison Today? I'm always interested in hearing firsthand accounts of what it's like to be locked up. I'm also fascinated by any account of the choices people make when they are in a crisis situation. I think it's fair to say that being incarcerated is akin to being in a "crisis situation". The rules are obviously different behind bars as opposed to being out on the streets. The prisoner is surrounded by those who chose to break society's laws. To survive and keep one's dignity, it's important to project an image of strength. Whether or not the authors of such books relate the unmitigated truth, the reader experiences the flavor of an extreme and foreign environment. These works are rarely ever boring.

Hassine's book is especially interesting because he is serving a life term without the possibility of parole in the Pennsylvania state prison system. Since 1981, he has tried to make a home at SCI-Graterford (outside Philadelphia) and SCI- Pittsburgh (also referred to as Western Penitentiary). Additionally he has lived at SCI-Camp Hill and SCI-Rockview (his most current residence). Therefore he has substantial experience with the specific conditions of punitive institutions in the state where I live. Aside from convicted cop killer Mumia Abu-Jamal (currently held at SCI-Greene in Waynesburg), I know of no other contemporary inmates in Pennsylvania that have authored books.

Victor Hassine's story is an unusual one, as far as criminals are concerned. He is a naturalized citizen and originally from Egypt. He grew up Jewish in Trenton, NJ. In 1980 he graduated from New York Law School. Shortly after finishing his degree, he was accused and convicted of hiring a hitman to kill a man over a drug dispute. The victim survived, but in the process an innocent man died. With no prior record to speak of, Hassine entered the correctional system with a large amount of fear. As a naive "fish" he had no choice but to quickly learn how to survive in his new environment.

Life Without Parole begins with a chapter entitled "How I became a Convict". Hassine doesn't dwell on the actions that caused him to end up in prison, but rather describes in detail how he was processed, classified and integrated into the general population. He outlines his initial feelings and his strategy for protecting himself. Being neither wholly black nor white, there were no easy affiliations for him to make. Early on he pissed away a prized job working as a clerk in the Major's office- all because he was tempted by a freshly cooked contraband hamburger. After a period of time trying to insulate himself with books and painting in his cell, he was convinced by an "old head" (wise inmate) that he needed to engage the life he could not escape. Apparently being a loner with lots of possessions in prison is a recipe for victimization. (Hassine cautions that a new inmate is especially vulnerable because he is prone to sleeping through the morning, while the doors of his cell remains unlocked. This makes him a target for rape, theft, or other forms of brutalization by prison predators.)

As the months passed by, Hassine's observations about his fellow inmates, his captors, and the system began to coalesce. He started recording his thoughts and ideas on paper, and eventually he collected them into Life Without Parole. It is divided into three sections: "Prison Life", "Interviews", and "Op Ed". In the second part, Hassine gives some of his fellow convicts the opportunity to tell their stories. Through these segments Hassine explores issues such as sexual victimization, AIDS, medication as a means of control, the changing nature of solitary confinement, and the conflict between "old heads" and the new arbitrarily-violent inmates who have nothing to lose. Perhaps the most affecting story is related by Hassine himself- he recounts his role as a witness to a particularly savage incident during a riot at Western Penitentiary.

In the "Op Ed" chapters, Hassine seizes the opportunity to address what he sees as the biggest challenges facing prison administrators today. He identifies overcrowding as the most significant problem in contemporary prisons. He believes that every other difficulty can ultimately be traced back to this factor. Rape comes in a multitude of forms, but is made much easier by doubling the occupancy of cells originally designed to house one inmate. The relationship between prisoners and guards is steadily deteriorating as tired and frustrated guards pull overtime shifts to compensate for staffing shortages. Staffs are losing control of the prisons, as they exhaust their limited resources in just trying to meet the basic needs of those incarcerated. There is no longer any money available for rehabilitation or treatment of criminals. And Hassine maintains that this situation is like a "runaway train". The consequences of overcrowded prisons will eventually spill out into the society-at-large.

Although Life Without Parole is a slim volume, and its authorial voice often comes across as surprisingly detached, it is not without its merits. Those looking for a book that combines personal anecdotes with a touch of academia will be pleased and edified by Hassine's writing style. (Evidently Life Without Parole is being used as a college text in Criminology courses- a fact which explains the multiple editions and the $42.95 price) Additionally, Pennsylvania residents will find the local associations meaningful. I recommend it with mild reservations.