As I sit in the belly of the beast, I thank god that my cell’s window faces the east. Because each morning I’m awakened, I feel the light that fights through steel that’s forsaken. Here at Smith State Prison we’ve been on 24/7 lockdown for almost two weeks as a result of two black nations colliding against each other…again. I’m so sick of witnessing black brothaz stabbing each other ruthlessly. The sickening part of it all is that we are one culture, who is so confused and compelled by ignorance of one another’s belief systems that we believe it’s earning one side a rep if we beat, stab, and eventually kill the opposition. A brother was stabbed to death here four months ago and we was locked down for weeks. Then about two and a half months ago anotha young brotha was stabbed to death in the next unit over and we was locked down for weeks. Now they reported dozens of brothaz in three dorms being stabbed within a period of thirty minutes…14 days ago and we are back on lockdown once again! We are losing black lives and it is a serious time to ask ourselves if our lives really matter.
While the satanic and demonic evils creep through these barbed wires and razors in the form of a ice that we don’t drink, I beg of my black brothaz to remember our value. For so long we’ve cultivated a belief system that we need drugs to make money so we can have the things we and our family need. Far too long we’ve watched our parents and streets become hurt in life, then reach out to medicate the pain through drugs, alcohol, and violence. An even as we accept this way of existence, I stand alone to scream and holler out, “Fam, we dead ass wrong!” Our family, friends, and groups of other affiliations and religion people who condone this are also dead ass wrong! We are dying each time we fight to get that poison, sell that evil, or use that cold-hearted killa drug. Outside nations, cultures, and groups are shaking their heads at the destruction we’re focused on expanding. I ask you my brotha, do you know your value? Do you see the same value in that black man with a a red rag, blue rag, or under the cufi? If not, then let me be the first to keep it 1000 with you…because we see in others what we love or hate about our self! I can only hate the member of another group if H.A.T.E. is alive and being breeded inside of me. Many catz around you claim that they are not haterz, but their actions prove that they find reasons and excuses to lash out hatefully at another person or group. This is simply because hate has been stored up in their heart and mind so they quickly snap or slowly build up hated until finally they find a way and a target to unleash the inner-beast.
We are inside these walls with many men who are on the edge of life. They are dealing with memories, habits, issues, and a lack of adequate counseling each day that they awaken. They’ve lost sight of home and the people they love very much, and they’re stuck in this cold place with only a shank and a faded dream of making it home. The hostility is a wall of what seems to be a protective cover for them. Animosity becomes the mask he wears to scare the next door neighbor with. This daily coping technique triggers within our brothaz an atmosphere of edginess and a “negative” is a skill cultivated most of the times. With this being the normalcy of what’s being breeded in our level 5 penz, we find our value extremely low. We easily lose respect for our elders, brothaz, and the next generation as they come in these wallz. A brotha who lacks respect for his culture has usually lost respect within his community and/or family ties. This state of mind leads to hate for the brotha sleeping in the cell next door to us. And hatred allows us to sell him a poison or call him a opposition and stab him many times…just because of a petty beef or disagreement.
In conclusion, it is my plea for us to move with love family, speak with healing. Sell store or create a hustle by investing in the local artist, poet, or kitchen man, Education of all the ways we can invest around us leads to options. Economic advancement is nothing if we can’t be proud of how we acquired the wealth. Political development means meeting the dorm leaders and seeing we can better the lives of everybody in the unit and then compound. Social development is being a mentor, wanting to interact in a meaningful way with elders, brothaz, and young guyz who can be inspired to create an atmosphere of love and know-the-ledge. …in Love and Service, Brotha Hest P.O.P.S. Movement (Prisoners Organizing Peace Programs)
Rest In Paradise: Moon B. and Mario G.