“A Tale of an American Political Prisoner”

Part 19.2: The Oklahoma Transfer Center; Oklahoma City, OK

–GenPop Maximus–

by: Jessica Watkins (X: @J6ssicaWatkins)

A True Story; you’ll just have to take my word for it…

In the SHU, my cell was 10 paces long. and wide enough to touch my bunkbed and the wall with one arm span. There was a stainless steel shower unit in the cell with me, and a desk was mounted to the bunkbed. There was a sink/toilet combo against one wall. That’s it, my entire universe, for 10 straight days. I was permitted Recreation twice in those 10 days; Rec consisted of 1 hour inside of a cage, inside a much larger cage, behind a 40ft wall covered with razor wire. If you look straight up through the cages, you could see a sliver of blue sky. Rec sucked, because it was scorching hot, and there was no bathroom facility or water. If you had to pee, you either held it or you pissed yourself. If you were thirsty (because it’s 100 degrees out) then you have to wait until you get taken back to your cell. The SHU was TERRIBLE! So when I was taken out of that environment and brought into the Women’s GenPop unit, I was completely overwhelmed. After 10 days of no human contact of any kind (outside austere, silent guards who were only barking orders when necessary) it was a cacophony of noise in GenPop. There were nearly 100 girls milling about, there were people shouting, laughing. The Cell Block was a massive room; two tiers – top and bottom, with like 50 or so cells on each level. There was a TV room, a “hair room” where we could use flat irons/curling irons, there was an “outside Rec” area with a message painted on the wall that said “55 Laps = 1 Mile”. This would be where I spent most of my time; I walked 12-14 miles every day. The freedom of wide open spaces, the noise of girls having fun, playing board games, or making phone calls was a massive sensory overload. I was assigned to a cell, and I immediately curled up in the bed and cried myself to sleep. Not from misery, but from relief. It had been such a weight on my mind, that for the fear to be lifted left me in a state of mental exhaustion.

The next morning, people wanted to ask “the new girl” (me) questions. They had a LOT of questions, “Why didn’t you come in with everyone else?” or “Did you self surrender?”. People wanted to know where I was from, why I was there. They said I looked like I didn’t belong in prison. They wanted to know if I was a ChoMo or something. When I told them I was there for January 6th, they were all like “Ohhhhh s***! You stormed the White House!” You’d be surprised, but I’d say that 80% of people who I meet in the BoP think we “broke into the White House”, another 10% have never heard about January 6th at all, and 10% actually know that we were at the Capitol Building, that there was a riot, and also that innocent people have been getting arrested for it. Once people learned that I was a J6er (and facing 8.5 years for nonviolent charges), they started to give me stuff; shampoo, makeup, hair brushes… all sorts of things. They felt I didn’t even belong there, and they wanted to make my stay as comfortable as possible. There were only beauty products/hygiene items on Commissary, but I was given a fair bit of each. When I told them that I had spent 10 Days in the SHU, they wondered why. “Did you punch a cop or something?” I would shake my head, “No, they’re saying that my charges make me a terrorist.” It didn’t make sense to the PRISONERS who had spent years (or even decades in some instances) in prison. They had never heard of someone going to the SHU merely because of their charges. I guess it’s a novel punishment that the Biden Regime has only been doing to the J6 Political Prisoners. After I was given my PIN/PAC number, I made good on my promise to the Warden; to call and “ask people to stop calling”. My first call was to my husband, @MontanaSiniff, who hadn’t heard from me since I was in the Tallahatchie County Jail. He and I talked at length. I felt starved without daily conversations with him, and he was very worried. It was SO good, more than words can convey, to hear his voice. I missed him so so much.

After I got settled in, I began to receive mail! I guess the word had spread, and folks started writing me. It astonished my bunkies (cellmates) how much mail I was getting. The Patriot Mail Project was a unique concept to them. I wrote a Gulag This! on paper and sent it to Serena (@mamaearthusa) and had her take a screenshot to post it for y’all. Sorry it was handwritten, but I didn’t have access to THIS yet. I had to make due the best I could. I wanted to thank YOU, ALL of YOU… for SAVING MY LIFE! I couldn’t have done it without Jenn Baker, Serena, Don & Donna… I would have ended up getting tricked out in a rape factory if it weren’t for y’all. Now, I am in a safe conducive environment. But I’ll get to that later. I settled into life in the Women’s GenPop Unit. The turnaround for the Oklahoma Transfer Center (OKTC) was something like 3-5 days. Girls come in, and are flown out in roughly a business week. It wasn’t someplace where folks spent much time. Because I was no longer “designated” to the Men’s Prison in Elkton, I had to be Designated THERE; in the OKTC. That was strange to people, but I explained that I was in transit, and the SHU designation changed things. After a few days, I found out my NEW Designation; a FDC in Philadelphia, PA. The girls around me were shocked. “Damn! They must HATE you! Girls get KILLED in that prison! It’s one of the worst, if not the ABSOLUTE worst most dangerous prisons in the BoP!” I was terrified! First the Biden Regime was going to put me into a Men’s rape factory, and now they were trying to put me in the most dangerous women’s prison in America? What were they trying to do to me!?!? But this wouldn’t last. A psychologist came down and spoke to me, and signed me up for the FIT Program, and Designated me for HERE in Tallahassee.

I met a wonderful friend in the OKTC, who for now shall remain nameless. She was a wonderful person, and I hope she’s doing well. She and I were two peas on a pod. We walked every day, first doing our 55 Laps = 1 Mile, than then elevating it to walk laps around the Tier , which involved walking up a decent sized stairway. It a good exercise, and after having spent MONTHS in the SHU/Supermax in DC, I desperately craved MOVEMENT. I had rotted away in cells for far too long, and the ability to stretch my legs was more than I could ask for. I walked literally (we calculated) 12-14 miles per day. After a week (and several cell/bunkie changes) I was finally told to “pack up”. That was the morning we were shipping out. We were walked out across the Catwalk to ConAir, and I was put back in the “Black Box” terrorist restraint device, and I chanted “LET’S GO BRANDON” all the way to the airplane. I was in a window seat, and watched the landmarks roll by 10,000 feet below: the Mississippi River, the Bayou, the coastline with vast stretches of water that I presumed were the Gulf of Mexico, then sure enough, *BAM* the world took a hard right turn beneath us, and the beaches got whiter and whiter. Soon, the land was shrouded in trees, with massive bodies of water beneath – the Everglades. When we touched down, there were palm trees everywhere. After sweltering on the tarmac in the summer sun for an hour, our bus loaded us up and took us through the city of Miami, down to the FDC (Federal Detention Center). It’s what’s known as a “tower”, a prison skyscraper in the middle of downtown Miami, and let me tell you. That place was a total s***show; it would be my home for the next week.