Big X (Scott Rose) was found lifeless, hanging by a bed sheet knotted at his neck, dangling from the metal grate within his cell. He had been serving a second-degree life sentence and was recently denied parole by the Massachusetts parole board. Prior to his death, prison guards had been doing their best to make Big X’s life a living hell in addition to the hellish conditions we as prisoners already confront. The harassment resulted from him speaking out against officers who savagely beat him in the late night hours on 18 January, 2005 – within the L-3 unit of Souza Baranowski Correctional facility. As Big X was fortunate enough to have a family support system, he initiated a civil action against officers, exposing how officers shouted racial slurs at him while continuously whipping him across his back with an unidentified object. They repeatedly battered him as he lay subdued on the floor of his cell in a prostrate position, screaming for his life. Upon relief from his brutal flogging, medical examiners described his injuries as a shoulder dislocation, right rib contusions, left cheek laceration, and lash marks on his back (see 2010 U.S. Dist. LEXIS 97223 :: Rose v. Dennehy :: September 11, 2010). It was the mounting toxic stress of the prison environment in combination with the nefarious intent of prison guards that interacted and served as the causal factors which led to his eventual death, and is why Big X is no longer with us today.
I witnessed first-hand how conditions of confinement functioned as a giant leech that drained the life force from Big X, who was simultaneously struggling to sustain his mental stability. He was a godly man who felt intense regret for the crime he had been convicted of and often spoke about righting his wrongs upon his release by the Massachusetts parole board. However, that leech of despair was relentless in driving its fangs of dejection and hopelessness deep into the veins of his spirit. It pains me to have to describe the characteristics of his departure because Big X was a good man with a good heart, who simply made some mistakes in his past. Equally important, Big X was a dear friend of mine who is no longer around. I guess I am relieved to know that he is truly free now, at the very least — and no longer has to worry about the intense harassment of rogue prison guards or the constant struggle of exclusion. Rest in Peace Big Bro, and much love to you.
Today, February 7th, 2017, marks my 12th year of slavery (incarceration) and I find the disquietude of my many thoughts settling in. I’ve pondered over my past conversations with other prisoners and thought back to the many men, good men, who have been chewed up by this ogress we call lady justice and churned through her digestive tract, ultimately left to dissolve in the bile of her rotten belly. These men have been sanctioned to hopelessness, designated to perish one by one while others just remain caught in her gastric juices. It was Al-Ameen, a fellow prisoner who wrote a letter to the common people. He posed such compelling questions that pried at the purpose and functions of our criminal justice system, which stood out when he inquired “What if Malcolm X had been sentenced to Life?” as he swiftly followed with the query “What would South Africa be like if Nelson Mandela never was released from prison?” I proceeded to follow the text as I came across the stammer of his next question with him implying in his disquisition: “What if they never let Arnie, Zakariyya,…Fu-Quan…[or] D. Washington…out?” These are just some of the men he mentioned, including myself, who are currently in the belly of this ogress, fighting against the peristaltic forces working to repress and snuff out the lights of life, liberty, and freedom. Al-Ameen’s letter hit home, and I was able to garner strength from his writings, as I am confident that this modern practice of American slavery will be assigned an expiration date through the efforts of such men.
The evils of slavery are not far gone, but have only been packaged in the euphemistic gift wrap of “crime and punishment” which will be unwrapped through our political unity. I’ve pondered for years over such thoughts of “how can such an obvious and egregious practice of modern slavery by way of life and life without parole (LWOP) prison sentences be so obscure and misplaced as allegory in the perception of any American citizen?” Are not those truths Thomas Jefferson declared in his Declaration of Independence so self-evident? He said that “all men are created equal and are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights” stating “among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” I must say, I thought over this passage more than a million times as I stared at a barbed wire fence through the grated window of my prison cell. Not surprisingly, I never failed to let out a slight laugh each time I think this over. It’s funny because most of the men I’ve resided with, both before and during my incarceration, never had true liberty — causing most to explore ill methods in pursuit of their happiness, costing many of them their lives.” I, personally, never felt like I was included in that compact of “We” preceding “The People” in our U.S. Constitution. That covenant between citizen and government did not consist of me or any of my brothers and sisters. Now is our time though, our time which we as a people hold those hypocritical slave drivers who authored that document in the summer of 1787 (our Constitution) to the principles implied in Article IV Section 4, and those Bills of Rights that were later decreed to secure those evasive liberties outlined within them.
Throughout my entire life, I’ve never had the privilege to select (vote) any of the men and women chosen to make the laws that governed me. These past 12 years, I’ve been shackled and branded as chattel property of the state of Massachusetts. The state has controlled the limits of all my movements, listened and observed my every phone call, scrolled through each line of every letter I’ve received, and illuminates my abode as I rest. Their attempts, however, through conditions of exclusion, to extinguish the flame of our fight are futile and will not succeed. We’re Warriors, and we’ll continue to rise! Continue to smile people as we sustain our fight for dignity and rally around the strength of our collective voice. PEACE!
Derrick Washington