The Humiliating Strip Search, Step by Step

The feeling of being directed to bend over at the waist, spread your ass cheeks, and expose your anus is too awful for words. I undergo this dehumanizing strip search performance after each and every contact visit with my friends and family: An irritable ending to such a gleeful segment of my existence.

Cavity strip searches are by far the most demeaning act I experience in prison. This performance requires me to strip naked under the watchful eye of a prison guard; open my mouth, lift up my tongue, run my fingers over my gums, lift my testicles, squat, cough, then separate the buttocks to expose any items I may have concealed in my rectal cavity.

I’ve heard people say, “Fuck them visits! I’d rather not see my family if it requires me to spread eagle.”

My response is a weaponized defensive statement that may not necessarily be true, “You don’t love your family as much as I love mine.”

The truth of the matter is that I feel ashamed for not resisting and conforming to the procedure. Deep down I know that the system desensitized me. For 15 years I’ve endured this demoralizing practice. And as of lately, I find myself going through the progression without even being told what to do next.

Psychologically there is a scintilla of dignity I maintain by going through the routine on my own. In doing so, I also hope that the officer is relieved that he doesn’t have to tell me to lift my nuts up. I would like to believe he doesn’t enjoy commanding me to perform this indecent act.

In a disembodied state of mind, I mechanically scurry through this reoccurring traumatic experience like a forced sex worker. A few times I was scolded by an officer for moving too fast. He suspiciously regarded my quick movements as jumpiness, and assumed I must be smuggling something. His flawed intuition led to a more thorough search. He failed to consider that I was simply uneasy with the act of stripping naked and being examined.

After discarding each article of clothing, I pass them to the officer to be searched. I start by taking off my fresh, crispy sneakers; left foot, then right foot. The officer intentionally bends my brand new sneakers up so far that the toe touches the heels. This instantaneously gives them a stale make over. I delay removing my socks to minimizing the time that I spend standing on the dirty floor bare foot.

Next, I take off my freshly pressed state issued khaki-colored shirt and pants. The guard then crumbles up the set to feel if there are any smuggled goods hidden in them. The nobility and self-respect I felt by presenting myself to my family in this skillfully ironed attire now fades away. The wrinkled uniform lies in a pile on the floor atop of my creased up sneakers.

I am overtaken by a feeling of dejection. The sorrow rapidly increases as I remove my white undershirt leaving me standing in my socks, boxers, and tank top.

Next, I do away with the tank top. My bare chest exposed to the guard. At this point I take off my socks. I rather stand bare foot on this filthy floor than to prematurely reveal my private parts.

Robbed of my chastity, I strip out of my underwear. Completely naked I begin the dreaded inspection of my body. I face the guard, hands above my head, showing there is nothing concealed in my armpits. I proceed with the degradation. Mouth open wide, I lift up my tongue, and then run my left index finger over my gums. After going through this procedure I have a new found understanding of the psychological abuse subjected upon my ancestors on the slave trading block.

Reluctantly, I grab and lift my testicles with my right hand, revealing there is nothing hidden in my crotch area. Shamefaced, I turn around exposing my backside. I raise my left, then right foot to show the bottom of my feet is clear of any contraband. In one swift motion I go down into a squat, cough, and then bend at the waist and use my hands to spread my butt cheeks to show there is nothing concealed in my ass hole either.

After passing this final inspection, this disgusting and humiliating procedure is complete. I anxiously begin to put on my clothes. In a rush to get dressed I absent mindedly put my boxers on backwards and my socks on inside out. I just want to clothe myself to cover the shame I just experienced.

These two minutes of embarrassment eviscerates the feeling of joy I felt for the hour and a half I spent in the presence of my loved ones.

Shakeil Price #200947-c

#666160 NJSP

P.O.Box 861

Trenton, NJ 08625

Instagram:  @FreeShakeilPrice