I was out with my camera per usual at first light. On my own. Per usual. As I drove out of the city...

 
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Dear Anonymous,

I was out with my camera per usual at first light. On my own. Per usual. As I drove out of the city I saw him sitting on a park bench by himself in the sun. Hat off. One arm over the back of the bench. Looking relaxed. He recognizes my car. I pull over. Mask. Check. Gloves. Check. Social distance. Check. If I am asymptomatic I sure as hell don't want him exposed. That's why.
He places two crumpled twenty dollar bills into the bin in my car.
'Get some baking supplies. I like your baking.' he says.
His face is swollen. His speech thick and raspy all at once.
I ask him to reconsider. Take back half? No, he says adamantly.
He responds, 'I got my stimulus check.'
I know he has recently enjoyed a bottle of Jamesons, a favorite of his. I assume there will be many more purchased.
But I am on the street and someone on the street, in the street, of the street has donated to Dear Anonymous.
Let that sink in a bit.
He accepts socks, a coffee card and a pair of pants. The currency of connection.
PS: The gentleman described is not connected in any way to the location in this image.

Drive by birthday wish for Mike this morning. Complete with brownies and coffee cake handed over to share...

 
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Dear Anonymous,

Drive by birthday wish for Mike this morning. Complete with brownies and coffee cake handed over to share, badass bandana masks for the crew and coffee cards. (and this image from a zoom lens)
The mood was sour at first, filled with his frustration that an incentive check had not arrived in his account, but turned lighter as I read him his birthday well wishes that many of you left here yesterday. He smiled as I shouted out the messages and he nodded his head with each. Thank you.

Timely message for me two years later.

 
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Timely message for me two years later.

Memory from April 17th, 2018, with Justin Downey and Margo Walsh at MaineWorks:

What will we build when everything we know has been torn down, when we recognize we cannot just rebuild what has been...because that didn't serve us well. How do we put the bricks back in a different way?

To read an April 2020 interview with Justin Downey, please see https://www.joannearnold.com/posts/have-you-heard-sheltering-in-place-referred-to-as-solitary-might-want-to-read-this and https://www.joannearnold.com/posts/follow-up-to-april-2020-interview-with-justin-downey

Have you heard Sheltering-In-Place referred to as Solitary? Might want to read this.

An Interview with Justin Downey April 2020

I recently heard someone make reference to Shelter-In-Place as being in Solitary. I thought I'd ask someone who has actually been in solitary for his view of life during Covid19. The result is an interview with Justin Downey, originally from South Boston. I met Justin when he became a MaineWorks employee several years ago. It may be a tough reality check of a read for some folks but Justin reveals some powerful lessons learned on 10 Block.

Justin can speak from a place of facing his deepest, darkest shadows. A man identified with vicious brutality is today a bodhisattva of sorts. If he can emerge from the dark violence of his past maybe we can too. I think his words help all of us to do the same. To face our own shadows. It's not always polite, nor easy, but his words can help launch our own self investigations with the hope of a ferociously loving outcome.


Me: How, if at all, is our current situation with Covid19 like being in solitary? What did solitary teach you? What can it teach us as we isolate ourselves during the Covid19 Pandemic?

Tell me about Walpole and your time in solitary.

Note: Walpole Maximum Security Prison is under the jurisdiction of the Massachusetts Department of Correction, located in Norfolk, Massachusetts.

Justin: I was in Walpole 10 Block. It’s an isolation unit. There have been books written about it and documentaries too. It was the first prison implementing extended isolation. To break up gangs. Prison isolation tactics are based on Walpole 10 block. I was on the unit for one year. It’s located in a sub basement. There are no windows. There is no light in your cell other than a ‘bug light’, a dim light that buzzes constantly. It’s on all the time. But ironically it’s always dark. A single cell is smaller than a regular cell. If you start with your back against the wall, side to side it’s 5 paces. That’s foot to foot. You can almost touch both walls. From the back to the bars is 7 paces. There’s a stainless steel toilet 8”-10” off the ground. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday you get out for a total of 45 minutes. This includes a shower while handcuffed and time in an outside recreation cage 15’ by 15’. You’re alone to pace or do pushups and stuff. Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday you never leave the cell. You can’t see other inmates because your cell doesn’t face other cells. They’re all side by side so you wind up having conversations with people you can’t see.

 
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You’re not allowed to receive canteen while you’re on the block and you’re restricted to a 1500 calorie per day diet. Your meal comes with a juice or milk container, like kid size, that you have to hold onto to use for water. No cup is provided.

They’d bring in a cart of books every two weeks. You get to pick one or two. Books were allowed to be sent in courtesy my aunt who picked some for me and she would get some I asked for. You got two twenty minute calls a week. They’d wheel a phone in on a cart. You had to hope the person you’re calling is available. Three weeks can go by without a call picked up. Only 5 people can be linked to your account. I had my aunt and two friends.

Hygiene was almost nonexistent. The shower with cuffs wasn’t much. No shaving. You’d lose weight. Your skin becomes translucent and people without mental health would lose more of it.

I was in one full year. Some guys had been in for 5 years and longer. If there was a crime committed while on the block there was no lawyer. No judge. You were brought in front of a jury of guards and a sentence was implemented. No fair shake. Guys would lose their minds. Get restless. They’d throw piss or feces or become violent. They’d do anything to be touched. To provoke a response. To interact. Then they’d be maced. The guards would do a forced extraction and then they’d increase the isolation. They’d attach a solid metal door to the bars of the cell. Shut the light off. For 4-5 days at a time. Couldn't see your hand in front of your face.

After the 4 or 5 days they’d crack open your door and hurl an insult...to provoke a response. The inmate would say something like ‘FUCK YOU!’ and they’d justify continuing the isolation as a result. 7-8 guards would come in with full tactical gear with mace and force you to react. The entire cell block is affected by that gas. They’d beat the hell out of you ’til you’d submit. Handcuff you. Then beat the hell out of you again. Then you were left. It was an eerie deep silence. You could feel the pain and hatred in the air. It wasn’t a nurturing silence.

All the guys reacted when any inmate was getting beat.

Then you were left in a restraint chair. In cuffs. You can’t move. No circulation. A face mask so you couldn’t spit. They’d leave you for 6-12 hours. A nurse came in periodically to check for a pulse.

The restraint caused intense pain in your extremities. Then they went numb. Guys would collapse when they were first released . They couldn’t stand up or walk. They’d get nerve damage. Their hands and feet just never worked right again.

If you got sick you got no care. Tooth extraction was the only solution to dental complaints. A couple of times when they were macing me thru the bars I’d pick up my food and start eating it to show them they had no effect on me. I’d just completely disassociate from the pain by channeling hate or become totally indifferent to being maced. I’d do the same when they would come in and it would be a fight. I’d never submit. They’d HAVE to beat me. I just was never going to give them the satisfaction of beating me. I’d even laugh while being held in those painful restraints. I had to own the situation and this was my way.

Some guys would sing. Some guys would provide a back beat for them. Some would tell stories to keep from going crazy. It wasn’t all positive. There was also psychological warfare. A guy would piss in one of those milk cartons, or fill it with sperm or feces and throw it at another prisoner. Or they’d kick the door of their cell at 3 AM. To fuck with everyone collectively. With an iron will they just wouldn’t stop. So that no one sleeps. Everyone’s screaming ‘We’re gonna kill you!’ and begin plotting one another’s death. If you developed an enemy while on the block and they returned to general population the prisoners would communicate and create trouble for your enemy out there.

Always fucking with one anothers’ minds.

 
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Guys would rub feces all over themselves. All over the walls for attention. Negative attention. And they’d get it.

I had lots of altercations with the guards but I got along with prisoners.

I was a hard line racist. My next door cell mate was Izzy. A militant black Muslim. He came to his cell door and called to me ‘ White boy!’

I answered ‘Wassup?’

’You don’t like niggers?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Well, I don’t like white boys. But we in this together so we gotta get along.’

He turned out to be one of the funniest guys. We talked about hate. Became friendly. I was flipping out at the guards one day and he threw piss at them.

When I was in restraint he’d talk me through it.

He’d cover himself in shit to provoke the guards.

I joked with Izzy. That shit wasn’t gonna show up on his skin. We laughed. Might even call him a friend.

Routine was important. So was creating structure.

Exercise. Reading. Meditating. I’d count bricks in the wall.

I’d count the noodles in my meal. Anything to keep my mind sharp. I’d memorize the food menus that changed every two weeks. I’d try and memorize quotations. I’d rip the page out and use toothpaste to attach it to the wall to empower me.

I’d read a lot. Spirituality, psychology, philosophy, poetry....a James Patterson novel wasn’t gonna cut it. I’d leave there mentally.

The more tortuous the condition got, I was going to have control over it.

 
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I would sink into silence. Not allow my emotions to overcome me. I sought equanimity. I’d read. I’d do street exercise programs. Pray. Hopefully there would be a guard who might leave a radio on at the end of the hall loud enough to hear.I liked digging into my psyche and pulling things out. There was a lot of soul searching and moral inventory.

When I got out and into a sober house the Step Program just wasn’t gonna help me. I knew this was a trauma issue and not an addiction issue.

The manager at the sober house didn’t like the way I made my bed. And went into my room and messed with it. I lost it. There was gonna be a bloodbath if they threw me out. I wasn’t gonna be out on the street.

We worked it out. I found my way to another sober house.

Me: So during the covid19 pandemic we are in confinement. What can people do?

Justin: Couples can make love. Talk. Make food together. Go on walks. Do relationship repair. Ask themselves why they’re together and whether they should stay together. People can meditate. Listen to deep talks. The internet can be used for more than social media and pornography. Go after spiritual people and think tanks. The mind is an asset. Examine your own inner engineering.

Create healthier food habits.

Try sinking into silence.

Observe your thinking patterns.

Learn breathing to co-regulate anxiety.

Self soothe with something other than tobacco and alcohol and drugs. Self medicate without all that stuff.

Individual consciousness leads to community consciousness. I hope it doesn’t return to business as usual. Or just stressing about what you can’t control.

People can dig into their hearts not numb their minds. They can use their minds properly in proper form.

Dig into great thinkers and leaders like Ram Dass, Thich Nhat Hanh, Robert Adams. Like Sri Ramana Mahrashi.

Use promoters of spirituality and breathing, pranayama and yoga to get in tune with your body and mind. Both separately and in correlation.

Stop eating cheese doodles and feeling sorry for yourself. Stop watching the news and conspiracy theories. We have buffoon and asshole leading us. Don’t get your information from him.

Practice gratitude.

Upon awakening list 5 things you are grateful for. Big or small.

Meditate on these.

It worked for me. And that’s another thing. You gotta figure out how your own brain is wired. Get high on your own supply.

Use breath work.

Have sex with your partner.

That’ll clear your head. Probably make you happier.

If you dig into individual consciousness you bring it out into the collective.

Work on individual consciousness to change social consciousness. Tell that to the cheese doodle eating #!&%@ watching MSNBC like it's god.

 
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I was unwilling to be killed by my own life experiences.

I was a stubborn f*ck and I wouldn’t give any joy to people who wanted me to fail.

I’m gonna break them by doing well.

I was always going to have the upper hand psychologically even if they overwhelmed me physically. I’m the captain of my mind and soul, no matter what, in every and all situations. Nobody takes that away from me. Ever.

Justin Downey from South Boston is a card carrying member of Pipefitters Local 537, Boston, Massachusetts and is a proponent of psychedelic therapy, meditation and yoga amongst other spiritual practices. He has recovered from heroin addiction after having served time in several Massachusetts prisons.

Note: An addendum to this interview was published on April 19th. To read further, please visit Follow Up to April 2020 Interview with Justin Downey

I don't know but I listen from a distance. Briefly. I know they crave more time...

 
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Dear Anonymous,

Many folks out on the street are getting hotel rooms provided by the City. ( I do not know the details or the policy so I apologize if I am incorrect about who is providing what) I hear if you do not have a State ID you will not be admitted to the hotel. This is a problem for some. Others are well hunkered down at Milestone (thank you Milestone Foundation) at night and are wandering during the day as best they can without any place to land.
Several men mentioned how hard it is not to have people around to speak with. More difficulty getting in touch with caseworkers. Of more than the usual stigma around homelessness. I don't know but I listen from a distance. Briefly. I know they crave more time. Mental stability does not seem to be prospering. There was one story of someone self immolating behind a convenience store yesterday. I pray this is not true.
Mike is headed to shelter for a week and wanted to thank whoever it was that provided these masks at Preble Street.

Remembering a comment from a MaineWorks employee last winter. A man from the County Jail pre-release program who said:
How we treat our most vulnerable members of society speaks to the quality of our society.
Powerful words.

This image was photographed 6+ feet away and was an exceedingly brief check-in as I filled my car with gas.