Just like everything else that happens outside of prison, we assumed that we would not be affected by this coronavirus at first. Even as it began to spread across the world, there was a sense of denial about what was going on in the free world, as those of us locked up describe the world outside of prison.

There are different groups in prison. We older people watch the news everyday. The youngsters live in an entirely different reality and wonder why they can’t watch their cartoons shows. 

In one sense, prison is a very safe place from the dangers of the world. I have electricity, running water and toilet paper — all provided by the State. These conveniences are a luxury compared to prisons in other countries and the homeless right here in the U.S. of A.

With the crazy shootings, scams and crimes going on in the world, prison is a safer place.

Still, when the Texas Department of Criminal Justice (TDCJ) began to limit 30 people to the dayroom to implement social distancing guidelines from the governor in a place where there is no social distancing, they began to infringe on my dayroom privileges. 

We in prison are for the most part anti-social. C’mon that’s why we are here. The limit on the inmates in the dayroom means that everyone else is forced to stay in the cell. They already took visitation and church, now I get every other hour out in the dayroom forcing me to be in the cell with my cellmate all the time. 

They send us in groups of 10 to go eat our meals and only two to a table. (Normal: 25 to a group and 4 to a table.) First the officers started wearing a mask, then they made all of us wear prison-made masks made out of a polyester material — the same material our boxers are made of. Think: “I can’t breathe,” and you will know what’s covering our face.

We hear reports of other units that have the virus. There are more offenders than officer who have been affected by the virus. 

Why? It’s because we cannot get away. We are forced to sit here and wait for them to light us on fire and let us burn. Why? It’s because: There Is no social distancing in prison! 

We are in a closed environment. When the virus gets here, it’s the officers that will be bringing it in. We will all be exposed to it, it does not matter how many people are in the dayroom. 

The humane thing is to release prisoners to end this cruel and unusual treatment. I came up for parole on March 16. Usually it takes three to four months for an answer, but this time I received a denial on March 27. That is a record for Texas. Eleven days to not consider me for parole? 

TDCJ never makes sense in their operations of the prison, but their response to this virus is beyond not making sense. 

The CDC says that stress jeopardizes our body’s immune response. We here in TDJ are beyond stressed out. We are just waiting. It may already be here. I heard that in North Carolina, they tested an entire prison, and they had 2,000 positive results with no symptoms. 

In 2015, the Texas governor decriminalized my crime but didn’t make it retroactive. So far I’ve served 14 years of a 20-year sentence for a crime that is no longer a felony. I am now waiting for an invisible enemy even though I shouldn’t be here. All lives are essential. 

X

Republish this article

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Prison Journalism Project is happy to share our writers and reporters’ stories with your print and online audiences. You are free to republish them under a Creative Commons license unless otherwise noted on the page. You can use the URL or copy and paste the story into your CMS.

Here are our ground rules:

• You must credit Prison Journalism Project. In the byline, we prefer “[Author Name], Prison Journalism Project.” At the top of the text of your story, please include a line that says: “This story was originally published by Prison Journalism Project” and include a link to the article.
• No republishing of photographs, illustrations or graphics without specific permission. Please contact inquiries@prisonjournalismproject.org.
• No editing the content, including the headline, except to reflect changes in time, location and editorial style. For example, changing, “today” to “last week,” or San Quentin to San Quentin, California. You can also make minor revisions for style or headline size, and you can trim stories for space. You must also retain all original hyperlinks, including links to the Prison Journalism Project newsletters.
• No translation of our stories into another language without specific permission. Please contact inquiries@prisonjournalismproject.org.
• No selling ads against our stories, but you can publish it on a page with ads that you’ve already sold.
• No reselling or syndicating our stories, including on platforms or apps like Apple News or Google News. You also can’t republish our work automatically or all at once. Please select them individually.
• No scraping our website or using our stories to populate websites designed to improve search rankings or gain revenue from network-based advertisements.
• Any site our stories appear on must have a prominent and effective way to contact you.
• If we send you a request to remove our story, you must do so immediately.
• If you share republished stories on social media, please tag Prison Journalism Project. We have official accounts on Twitter (@prisonjourn), Facebook (@prisonjournalism), Instagram (@prisonjournalism) and Linked In.
• Let us know when you share the story. Send us a note, so we can keep track.

A Texas Prison’s Not So Common Sense

by AAA Aaaauthor, Prison Journalism Project
July 27, 2020

<h1>A Texas Prison’s Not So Common Sense</h1> <p class="byline">by AAA Aaaauthor, Prison Journalism Project <br />July 27, 2020</p> <p>Just like everything else that happens outside of prison, we assumed that we would not be affected by this coronavirus at first. Even as it began to spread across the world, there was a sense of denial about what was going on in the free world, as those of us locked up describe the world outside of prison.</p> <p>There are different groups in prison. We older people watch the news everyday. The youngsters live in an entirely different reality and wonder why they can’t watch their cartoons shows.&nbsp;</p> <p>In one sense, prison is a very safe place from the dangers of the world. I have electricity, running water and toilet paper — all provided by the State. These conveniences are a luxury compared to prisons in other countries and the homeless right here in the U.S. of A.</p> <p>With the crazy shootings, scams and crimes going on in the world, prison is a safer place.</p> <p>Still, when the Texas Department of Criminal Justice (TDCJ) began to limit 30 people to the dayroom to implement social distancing guidelines from the governor in a place where there is no social distancing, they began to infringe on my dayroom privileges.&nbsp;</p> <p>We in prison are for the most part anti-social. C’mon that’s why we are here. The limit on the inmates in the dayroom means that everyone else is forced to stay in the cell. They already took visitation and church, now I get every other hour out in the dayroom forcing me to be in the cell with my cellmate all the time.&nbsp;</p> <p>They send us in groups of 10 to go eat our meals and only two to a table. (Normal: 25 to a group and 4 to a table.) First the officers started wearing a mask, then they made all of us wear prison-made masks made out of a polyester material — the same material our boxers are made of. Think: “I can’t breathe,” and you will know what’s covering our face.</p> <p>We hear reports of other units that have the virus. There are more offenders than officer who have been affected by the virus.&nbsp;</p> <p>Why? It’s because we cannot get away. We are forced to sit here and wait for them to light us on fire and let us burn. Why? It’s because: There Is no social distancing in prison! </p> <p>We are in a closed environment. When the virus gets here, it’s the officers that will be bringing it in. We will all be exposed to it, it does not matter how many people are in the dayroom.&nbsp;</p> <p>The humane thing is to release prisoners to end this cruel and unusual treatment. I came up for parole on March 16. Usually it takes three to four months for an answer, but this time I received a denial on March 27. That is a record for Texas. Eleven days to not consider me for parole?&nbsp;</p> <p>TDCJ never makes sense in their operations of the prison, but their response to this virus is beyond not making sense. </p> <p>The CDC says that stress jeopardizes our body’s immune response. We here in TDJ are beyond stressed out. We are just waiting. It may already be here. I heard that in North Carolina, they tested an entire prison, and they had 2,000 positive results with no symptoms.&nbsp;</p> <p>In 2015, the Texas governor decriminalized my crime but didn’t make it retroactive. So far I’ve served 14 years of a 20-year sentence for a crime that is no longer a felony. I am now waiting for an invisible enemy even though I shouldn’t be here. All lives are essential.&nbsp;</p></p> <p>This <a target="_blank" href="https://prisonjournalismproject.org/2020/07/27/a-texas-prisons-not-so-common-sense/">article</a> first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="https://prisonjournalismproject.org">Prison Journalism Project</a> and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.<img src="https://i0.wp.com/prisonjournalismproject.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/10/cropped-PJP-favicon-2.png?fit=150%2C150&amp;ssl=1" style="width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;"><img id="republication-tracker-tool-source" src="https://prisonjournalismproject.org/?republication-pixel=true&post=190&ga=" style="width:1px;height:1px;"></p>

1