Panopticon

Matthew Davis                                             Stateville CC                                                 Crest Hill, IL

I have been back in isolation for 5 months now. In March I was caught tattooing and received 6 months punitive segregation. It has taken me a while to adjust back to the mentality of isolation...confined to my cell 24 hours a day, 5 days a week, surrounded by madness. We go to yard 5 hours on Saturday and Sunday. There are moments when I feel my sanity slipping and I have to fight to get it back. Some people aren't so lucky. Not everyone is built for this. I've spent a total of 12 months out of the last three years in isolation. In March of 2014, I got 6 months for 3 1/2 bottles of homemade alcohol, which was later proven to be kool-aid. (But not before I served all of those 6 months in isolation.) Most recently for tattooing "smile now, cry later" on a guy's hand. These last two times are nothing compared to my first 2 years in isolation. At least this time I have clothes, a toilet, running water, a mattress and other basic items, I am, however, thankful for those first 2 years because if not for that I may not handle my current situation quite as well. That's the scariest part for me, that I could have been part of this madness.

I'm currently housed in F-house at the Stateville CC. F-house is the last functioning "round" house in America. The round house is just that, a circular building with 4 levels of cells around the outer ring with a central tower, allowing, by the use of backlighting, a single observer to watch over an entire cell house. This is a great source of pride for Stateville officials, not so much for those of us housed within. A round house is an architectural figure called a panopticon. The panopticon was designed by J. Bentham in 1791, and its design is based on the idea of mental as opposed to physical subjugation. Bentham himself described the panopticon as "a millstone to ground upon the criminal mind." Later in Michel Foucault's book "Discipline and Punish", the panopticon is described as a tool "to induce in the inmate a state of conscious and permanent visibility that assures the automatic functioning of power." I, myself, have come to understand the function of the panopticon as one of self-policing. By placing the tower in the center with unseen guards inside, who can peer into any cell at any time, one will unconsciously, or consciously, follow the rules. While we do not know if we are being observed, we do know we COULD be observed.  This form of mental subjugation and oppression have been proven more harmful than helpful and the use of round houses has been discontinued in America~except in Stateville.

Because the building is round, not only can the tower man see every cell~every cell can almost see every cell. This allows me to observe first hand the madness brought on by lengthy stays in isolation combined by the mental pressure of the panopticon. I will look out upon the cell house right now and describe what I see...

Imagine the mouse cages in a laboratory stacked 4 high and 60 long. I see about 100 men just standing in their doors watching. There are about 20 or so guys "texting" each other by using a rudimentary sign language. I count 10 cells on suicide watch. That means the hospital and x-house are full, so there's probably 20-30 guys on suicide watch. There are so many guys kicking their doors it is hard to count~or concentrate. It's a constant BANG BANG BANG BANG...so loud and constant. I must have tuned it out because I'm just becoming aware of it. There are nearly 500 men over here, most yelling about something. It sounds like the dull roar of a football stadium. There is movement everywhere. I just noticed what most of the commotion is about. Four cells to my right, in 146, there is a puddle of blood slowly oozing under the door and out onto the gallery, Three police are standing outside the cell watching. I can only assume the guy is cutting himself...orange crush will most likely be here soon to do a cell extraction on him. Cutting is a very common thing back here. Mental health people come around once a week to ask if we are okay. If we say we're not, they schedule an appointment with mental health~usually in three weeks. (Uuuh, Im not okay right now, dummy!) Here comes orange crush. There are 7 of them dressed in bright orange riot gear. They just sprayed, I'm guessing, an entire canister of mace into the cell and all 7 ran inside. It took them a long 5 minutes to subdue the guy. Now they are marching him~ naked and backwards~ down the gallery. He's bleeding from a self inflicted cut on his arm and a fresh gash on his head that was most likely not self inflicted. He is taken out of the building. Maybe he will be back, maybe not, This has really set the building off, Probably 100 doors are being kicked. Trash is raining down. Insults fly. It's not even noon yet. Welcome to the round house.

Derealization...

I've been in isolation for six or seven months. I'm still naked. I've been developing callouses on my hips, knees, elbows and shoulders, so I'm sleeping on concrete a little easier. I pass time by pacing the cell~ two steps, turn~ two steps, turn~ two steps, turn. Back and forth. As I do this my mind drifts and I'm suddenly watching myself pace the floor. Back and forth. Back and forth. I watch myself as I begin to sing some old 90's grunge tune...Stone Temple Pilots "Creep" and then Soundgarden "Fell on Black Days". I watch as my feet begin to bleed leaving a bloody trail of footprints. Back and forth. Back and forth. Suddenly the walls start to close in around me. I'm screaming at myself to stop pacing and get help. I need help. But I keep pacing. I keep singing. Back and forth. I start to panic and find it hard to catch my breath as the walls begin to squeeze in tighter and I feel the cold hand of death on my skin. That's when I blink my eyes and realize I'm not pacing. I'm "back" in my body, standing at the door. I look down at a huge pile of paint chips I've picked off the door...."How long have I been standing here?" I ask myself. I turn and start pacing again. Back and forth. Back and forth. I still go through that daily, but I'm not naked in a box and I don't have paint to chip. 

Matt

Mental Warfare

Matt Davis                                               Stateville CC                                       Crest Hill, Illinois

Matt is currently spending six months in segregation. He was taken March 25th and will be released September 25th. He is having a hard time concentrating on anything long enough to complete another blog. I told him I could help him out. Out of the mass of letters I have there is a lot of substance in them. The below is taken from a letter Matt wrote me August 15, 2014. He was six weeks from finishing a six month stint in segregation.~~Krista

“You wouldn't believe the absolute lunacy I am exposed to on a daily basis. I've been consumed by the thoughts I talked about a few letters ago...could a normal "sound" mind actually withstand the pressure of prison or is it normal to go crazy and abnormal to deal with it and NOT go crazy. My ideas, thoughts and realizations go so deep that I'm sure you wouldn't want me to go into details...5 pages in, you'd give up! But check this out...almost every cellie I've ever had no matter how "sane" or cool they were, everyone has some weird shit going on. They might not be cutting on themselves or playing in their poop but the constant stress we are under will always manifest in some form. Most common is OCD. I'm constantly giving myself a "self-examination" to be on guard for weird shit. I don't have any "common" weird shit~ for instance the OCD~ but my thing is my routine. I do the same shit every day and if my routine is thrown off my whole day is ruined. I get so mad especially if my cellie is the reason my routine is interrupted...I mean I'm not going to beat somebody up, but I will hold resentments about it. It's insane! I said before how I wished I had a voice...the main difference between me and a lot of the guys in here is that I can recognize the psychological games the prison plays, therefore it doesn't affect me as profoundly. I'd like to write a book exposing the penal system for what it is. I feel like I've got a very clear and accurate view of what is going on. I guess youre wondering why I'm going H.A.M right now...Ready for some REAL crazy shit? Yesterday on the yard I had a long conversation with a young guy who eats himself. Yes, you read that correctly. He eats himself. Actually takes bites out of his arms and legs and eats it. The scars are horrific, complete with teeth prints. My question to him was, what events in your life led you to think it was a good idea to eat yourself? The answer was not completely informative, but highly enlightening. This fucking guy came to prison for burglary, with a 4 year sentence…that’s 18 months after good time. He was in a minimum security prison, got into an argument with an officer and allegedly slammed a door in the officer’s face. The door hit the officer in the shoulder. The inmate was issued and IDR (inmate disciplinary report) for staff assault, given one year in seg and transferred to the Pontiac CC. Pontiac is a seg only prison, where the absolute most incorrigibles are sent. People are literally rotting in seg for decades there. In Pontiac, the most bazaar things go on as normal day to day. A few examples… guys fill their mouths with shit, piss and semen and spit it into other people’s faces…or shit directly in their hands to throw at people…guys use a STAPLE, a fucking staple, to cut their penis off. One guy cut his ball sack open, pulled his nuts OUT and tied them to the cell door so the police wouldn’t open his door…something becoming more common is guys cutting their stomach open and pulling their intestines out. I could go on for days. So they sent this young man there, someone threw shit on him. He made a shank, got caught with said shank, then another shank and another…now he eats himself and doesn’t get out of prison until 2021…He is out of Pontiac, but doesn’t get out of seg until 2016…so they are going to expose him to the above mentioned things for basically a decade~ day in, day out~ then release him. How do you think it will turn out? Some days I’m glad I don’t have a TV because I’m more aware of what’s going on, and some days I wish I had one to just tune this madness out....” 

Forgive Me For I Know Not What I Do...

Matthew Davis                                                                         Stateville Correctional Center

This is a strange time of year for me. February 29th marked the 12th anniversary of my arrest for murder. Something strange happens to me around this time every year and for the longest time I didn't even know it was happening. What happens is that I lose interest in almost everything positive in my life and I fall into melancholy. In these weeks I feel the full weight of my guilt, I feel like, due to my unforgivable mistake, I do not deserve to have anything good in my life so I unconsciously become lax in anything positive I've got going on. My loved ones usually suffer the effects the most by my unexplained distance.
It's only been the last couple of years that  I've actually been able to put a label on what I feel. Guilt. I don't like feeling this way even though I know I SHOULD. Guilt. Shame. Overwhelming sadness. Confusion. Regret above all. I think about all I've gone through these past twelve years...the torture, beatings, and other indignities at the hands of the police...The years of isolation... My child knowing another man as "dad"... The pain I see on my families face...The horrible things I've witnessed... It's all taken a toll. I know that to some people all of that is not enough pain or punishment and in fact, NO amount of pain or punishment will ever be enough. I wonder what's the point? If no amount of suffering is enough to atone, will anything be enough?
I wonder... If I had not been caught... If I had been so affected by what happened that I spent the next 50 years, the rest of my life, working with children, the homeless, at risk youths, anything, just giving of myself without gain or expectation, would that be enough? If I then confessed on my deathbed, would I be viewed as evil, unworthy of love or happiness?
I say all of this because I am surrounded by wasted human lives. I live in a cesspool of suffering and NO GOOD COMES FROM IT! Longer, tougher sentences do not deter or reduce crime. Making someone suffer every indignity known does not bring anyone back to life. It does not make society better or safer. It does not make anyone truly feel better. BUT what if I was given the opportunity to actually serve society?
I'm not suggesting that I be let out of prison tomorrow or even ten years from now. I need to be punished for my reckless actions. I abused drugs and alcohol and the worst happened. I took a life. I SHOULD be punished. I SHOULD suffer. I SHOULD feel guilt and shame. But I should feel all of that for a PURPOSE. My purpose in life has become to use all I've suffered to keep the next person from making the same mistakes.
That is the future I dream of when my guilt and shame force me into submission. That thought gives me the hope to push through and FIGHT towards my purpose.

Matt