May 18, 2012

Hello, World!

What happens in prison when promises are broken and words fail? Prison rules dictate that when two combatants get to flinging their fists, you ignore them unless it's racially based or the associates of one of them dog pile the other. The reasons you are supposed to "stay out of it" is because when the guards observe the altercation, they will assume you are a participant. This results in you being shot with a black gun, being pepper sprayed, handcuffed, and winning a trip to the hole. Other inmates could assume you are jumping in on behalf of one of the combatants. Then you'll find yourself getting jumped. All bad. Or the combatants could turn on you for getting in on their business. Again—bad.

In spite of these pitfalls, last night I chose to ignore the rule. Why place myself in such a dangerous situation? Because both of the combatants were my friends. I hate violence, and I believe God protects fools and Irishmen. I'm not Irish.

At a pause in blows, I stepped between the men. Pushing them apart, I wanted to give each an excuse—me—to walk away. The majority of fights are because of pride and the fear of appearing weak. Men will fight, but if possible, they will stop if they can save face. Despite my pleas and commands to "walk away" and "let it go," both of them told me they had to finish it. They had no other choice. Trying to stall with the hope of changing their minds, I asked, "Are you both sure?" They said, "Yes." Disappointed, I walked awya.

The fight continued for another minute until the guards saw them. Fortunately, only pepper spray was deployed. Its sticky orange liquid chokes all the inmates in the building's day room, including me.

After my friends were taken away and the code cleared so the evening program could resume, an OG (old guy) who has been incarcerated for 30+ years came up to me. He said, "Greg, you've been down a long time. You know not to get involved. You could have got 'caught up.'"

I said, "I know, but I had to try."

He thought about it and then said, "You got guts and a lot of respect. While you stood there, they stopped."

For a moment, the thought of possessing that much respect made me feel good, but I then considered their statement—they "had no other choice." THERE IS ALWAYS ANOTHER CHOICE. However, I once thought as they did and it resulted in the death of another, endless pain to many, and incarceration for me. I don't judge my friends for their madness. I will be here when they return from the hole. We will speak of promises and words, hopefully keeping the former and relying on the latter. Maybe together we can discover choices that were once hidden.

Thanks for checking in on me.

Cordially,
[signature]
Gregory Barnes Watson
D-67547 C-14-104-U
PO BOX 409060
Ione, CA 95640

Novel: A Thundering Wind
https://www.amazon.com/Thundering-Wind-Gregory-Barnes-Watson/dp/0615379443