Letter from Prison 2

August 19, 2000

Dear family, friends and SOA Watch supporters:

      Greetings from Camp Atwood on my third Saturday.  I have gotten similar questions from a number of people and, in the interest of using my time well, I want to answer them in this update.  I am going to have to keep personal notes just that--notes--or I won't have time to do the media work in an optimal way.  So please don't be hurt if I don't respond to letters at length!  You are all in my heart and very much a part of this experience.

      It has been an interesting experience to watch.  This morning I was thinking of the sensations I've been feeling in my heart. (NO, Renate, I'm NOT poised for a heart attack!)  At times the fact of confinement feels physically and energetically like a large hand squeezing my heart.  Then shortly thereafter I'll be walking with a woman, or perhaps standing in one of many lines with her.  She will be telling me her story and I'll feel my heart expand as if it might pleasurably explode, feeling such gratitude for being here to hear her story. (And what stories!!)

      I've also observed I have a "weeny" aspect who is relentlessly checking the calendar hanging in the back of my skull (cf. the first sentence!)  Another aspect in the foreground is carefully dodging staff, trying to be invisible so that I can focus on the SOA work and write, rather than be assigned to busywork.  Yet another part is simply happy to be here with these women.  All in all, my many aspects are fine!  I do miss terribly and worry about my cats, Phoebe, Chloe and Boy, although I try not to linger there.  (LoriAnne, please remember to check Chloe's eyes for that recurring inflammation.  I so appreciate your care of them, and my tendency to worry is no reflection on you!)

      So, a number of people want a better idea of what this place looks and feels like, what my typical day is like.  I'll give you a sketch.  The facility is an old dormitory, built in the 1930's as an elite treatment facility for drugs and alcohol addiction.  Actually, that may have been the second incarnation--I think it was originally a college dorm.  During the rehab facility phase, Billie Holliday stayed awhile.  Today it is pretty decrepit, cold and institutional.  The room I share with 12 others (one empty bed, for the moment) is a pale, pukey green that I have always loathed, accentuated with plaster repairs, holes and years of wear.  We have 7 sets of bunk beds, fairly close together, with high-school-type lockers (I just this morning figured out how to fasten the floor securely into mine).

      The saving grace of this room is what we hyperbolically call "the sunroom," a semicircle of windows where we've placed a few contraband chairs.  Our contraband table, a tiny nightstand, was confiscated earlier this week.  One of my ongoing challenges is just finding a place to perch in order to read or write in relative peace.  There are several lounges, but they can be noisy, as is the "library" usually, so I am usually in the sunroom, on my top bunk or using a picnic table outside as a desk.  The bedroom is where everyone MUST BE at designated times throughout the day and night.  Staff walks through and does a body count-- even while we sleep.

      Undoubtedly the main saving grace of this physical place is the lovely landscape, against which we are something of a blemish.  But I'm not complaining.  The fact is, I am becoming rather comfortable here, and realizing again that home is anywhere the heart is--when it is relatively open.  (As I said earlier, my heart is alive and well.)  I should mention, on balance, that the stretch of service road we are allowed to walk on points directly into the sunset.  Every night we have a new light show, a uniquely shimmering jewel on the horizon.  I try to absorb that, as I do the shimmering green of the fields and trees when I walk during the day.

      So there is ample sustenance here, if one determines not to succumb to the subtle and often not-so-subtle climate of humiliation.  (Being exceedingly fond of myself, I am immune to this, but am concerned about some of my sister inmates who would benefit more from self-esteem classes!)  For anyone interested, I will be happy to share a critique of this place AFTER MY RELEASE.

      Another observation I've made is that, despite the slights, the locks and the undermining of initiative, the women nevertheless find ways to nurture themselves and each other.  Their spirit is so resilient!

      Back to the sketch:  There are 250 women here, distributed over 3 floors.  We have common bathrooms, common laundries, 3 common phones, and one dining hall.  Also a chapel, a meager weight room, a meager and usually noisy library, and an expensive commissary.  Standing in line is a way of life, and another recurring opportunity to practice slowing down and being patient.  We all wear simple, issued clothing.

      I am at the end of my orientation period and have been medically cleared, so will likely be assigned to a job soon.  The only problem with that is it will cut into my anti-SOA and letter-writing time!  But I will deal with whatever comes my way, will still have some free time.  I've managed to write 5 essays and articles thus far, and have started sending them out.  That feels good!

      Thanks for all the letters, books and stationery.  Please hold off on the books, as I am only allowed to have 5 in my locker!  I am known as "that protester vegetarian who always gets a lot of mail."  And I am grateful for all of it.

      PLEASE don't worry about me, those of you who worry!  Use that energy to write a letter to Sen. Dewine or Sen. Voinovich instead at: Senate Office Building, Washington, DC 20510 or call through the Capitol Switchboard, 202-224-3121.

Much love,

Margaret