“Damn it’s cold back here.” The nurse said as she stopped by the inmate’s cell to give him his morning dose of medication. The escort officer trailing the nurse flashed his flashlight in the inmate’s face to awaken him. “Johnson! Wake up! The nurse is here with your medication. Turn your light on.”
Jah rolled out of his bunk, hit the light switch, and stumbled to the cell door draped in his blanket. He was dressed in a wrinkled, state-issued khaki uniform and a skull cap. His beard was unkempt, littered with lint from the blanket. The nurse hurriedly gave the man some medication and walked away.
“Hold up! Nurse! Nurse!” the man yelled frantically. She walked off the tier followed by the officer. “Yo, nurse!” he shouted to no avail.
“Jah, what up bruh? You good over there?” A concerned inmate in the next cell inquired.
“Hell naw, this stupid ass bitch gave me the wrong medication again.”
It was a cold winter. The heat on the Administrative Segregation unit (Ad-seg, which is a form of solitary) wasn’t working. Prisoners’ complaints repeatedly fell on deaf ears. The officers were well aware of the heating issue; they dressed in ski hats, coats, and gloves while they did their 8-hour shifts. Some incarcerated individuals wore sweat suits and skull caps all day long. Others who didn’t have those items remained underneath their blankets in an attempt to hide from the frigid air.
People were sent to Ad-seg for a variety of infractions committed in general population: fighting, failing a drug test or possession of contraband. Their Ad-seg time ranged from 90 days to 10 years. Jah just got to Ad-seg three weeks ago. He was serving six months for threatening an officer. He was sent from a minimum security facility and was finding it hard to adjust here at a maximum facility. The isolation of 23 hours a day locked in the cell (and the other hour divided between recreation, the shower, and phone) was debilitating to his mental health.
“I’m sick of this shit!” Jah howled as he began kicking on the cell door. This set off a ripple effect by the other inmates who were also frustrated by a myriad of issues. The noise got louder and louder. Within moments, an officer appeared at the top of the tier, curious about all of the commotion.
“Stop all that fucking noise!” the pale-faced red-nosed officer yelled.
“Fuck you!” a prisoner yelled back. The banging and kicking intensified in response to the officer’s request to quiet down.
The officer walked down the unit with a pen and pad writing down all the cell numbers he saw banging. When he got halfway down the unit, he was splashed in the face with a liquid substance. The stench of urine struck his nostrils causing him to drop the pad and run toward the gate screaming and yelling obscenities. As he ran past every cell, he was doused with more urine, feces, spit, or rotten milk from the other inmates. He pressed the panic button, unable to articulate the proper code for officer in distress. By the time he reached the end of the tier he was dripping wet.
A Sgt. and seven other officers rushed over. The banging continued. The officers stood at the front of the gate in a stupor. The Sgt. asked the officer what was the issue. The saturated officer explained that the inmates were banging and yelling and when he went to see what was going on, they threw piss on him.
The tier runner’s cell opened electronically. The banging stopped. The runner stuck his head out of the cell and the Sgt. waived for him to come over. Looking around nervously, the tier runner stepped out onto the tier.
“Get ya bitch ass back in that cell!” a thunderous voice yelled from a nearby cell. “Tell em to open cell 7! I’m the wing rep!” The runner went back into his cell, his gate shut and cell 7’s door buzzed open.
A prisoner with a medium build wearing a crispy grey sweat suit and long dread locks stepped out. “Yo Asiatic, tell them colonizers bout da heat. They got this shit feeling like da Caucus Mountains,” a captive voice could be heard yelling from the distance.
“And let em’ know we ain’t get commissary in three months either.” another prisoner protested.
Asiatic doubled back to his cell, grabbed his legal pad from the bed and walked toward the front gate to address the Sgt. He had a list of complaints he had been writing to the administration, the ombudsman and the commissioner.
“Price, what the hell is going on?” the Sgt. questioned in a perplexed tone.
“First off we ain’t got no heat.”
“Why wasn’t I made aware of this?” the Sgt. said looking at his officer bundled up in his piss stench coat and gloves.
Asiatic smirked knowing that the Sgt. was doing his rounds in Ad-seg two times a day, five days a week and he knew many of the complaints, he just didn’t care.
“Also, we ain’t get commissary in three months.” Asiatic continued. “Half of these brothers don’t even have any of their property. The property room isn’t sending dudes their stuff.”
“Price, that ain’t a reason for ya’ll to be assaulting my officers. You could’ve just talked to me. You know I would’ve straightened all this stuff out.” the Sgt. lied.
“The only thing you Devils respect is violence. When we follow the proper protocols in a civilized manner, our grievances are ignored. We’re being subjected to cruel and unusual punishment at the hands of ‘YOUR’ officers. You’re opening yourself up to a civil lawsuit.” Asiatic was prepared for this type of encounter. Threats of lawsuits and violence were the only way to bring forth change in a correctional facility.
Asiatic had been requesting to speak to the Sgt. every time he came on the unit. And every time the Sgt. would say he was too busy. Now, Asiatic had his undivided attention.
Asiatic continued, “We ain’t had haircuts in over a month, the shower water is always cold, the nurse is giving guys the wrong medication, and…” The Sgt. interrupted him and said, “Alright, hold up, we can fix this. I just need to know who threw piss on my officer.”
“I ain’t here for that Sgt.” Asiatic spat back, offended that he would ask such a question. The Sgt. knew Asiatic was militant. He hated Asiatic because Asiatic is a part of the Nation of Gods & Earths.
Five years ago when the Sgt. was a rookie officer, he was stationed on the unit Asiatic was housed on. He searched Asiatic’s cell and found his Supreme Wisdom lessons. In the lessons, he learned that the Nation of Gods & Earths taught that the Caucasian man is a grafted devil, made from the Original Asiatic Blackman. This infuriated the Sgt. He resented the thought of the Blackman being GOD. Out of rage he threw some of Asiatic’s family pictures in the toilet.
Asiatic went up top on him, broke his jaw, and fractured his eye socket. He was on medical leave for six months. He transferred to another prison and didn’t come back until recently. Asiatic was given two years in the hole for that incident. Last year the officer returned as a Sgt. decorated with new stripes. Ironically, Asiatic was in the hole again for assault on another officer. The Sgt. knew Asiatic is not an easy target and he has been warned that any incident involving him will be deemed as retaliation for the previous assault.
“I’ll get the maintenance guys on the heat and hot water,” the Sgt. said, trying to maintain his composure.
“Today?” Asiatic demanded in the form of a question.
“Today.”
“What about commissary?”
“Have the guys fill out new lists and I’ll have an emergency order in for ya’ll tomorrow. I just want to know it’s safe for me and my officers to do a walk through?”
“When we see some results. You know our people got a long history of accepting false promises from you devils.” Asiatic said before walking back to his cell.
Twenty minutes later the maintenance department arrived and began working on the heat and hot water. Within an hour, the prisoners relaxed. The smell of heat and hot steam permeated from the pipes. Loud music began blasting from the radios. Prisoners were laughing and cracking jokes to one another. The mice even began running openly on the tier again. The next morning, commissary was brought up. The officer also took a list for people who wanted their haircut for that day.
“Yo Jah!” SP yelled.
“What!” Jah replied.
“Why you ain’t get them bennies from the nurse for me?”
“Man fuck that shit, I need my anti-depressants and you ain’t pay for that last batch.” Jah responded, hostility in his voice.
“Who you talking to like that?”
“I’m talking to ya broke ass.”
“Aight! Bet! You better not come out for a shower, cause Fin a shit u down,” SP said as he scooped feces out of a bowl into a water bottle with a plastic spoon. He then pissed in the bottle, put the cap on, and started to shake it up. Mumbling under his breathe, “This dude think I’m playing. I got something for his ass.”
Asiatic lay back in his cell, chuckling to himself, “Back to the same of shit.”
Shakeil Price #200947-c // #666160
NJSP
PO BOX 861
TRENTON NJ 08625
Instagram: @FreeShakeilPrice
