“A Tale of an American Political Prisoner”

Part 19.4; The Miami FDC; Miami, Florida

–The High Rise from Hell–

by: Jessica Watkins (X: @J6ssicaWatkins)

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

The bus backed into the warehouse below the Miami Federal Detention Center, and we were led up through the lobby, booked, and inprocessed. There were probably 30 girls with me, so this took HOURS. The Staff were TERRIBLY unprofessional (reminiscent of the DC Gulag), and I began to wonder if this behavior was endemic of Big Blue Democrat-Run cities. The Tallahatchie County Jail was run down, sure… but the staff were WONDERFUL. Just as nice as can be. In Dayton, OH… in the Montgomery County Jail… the CO’s there were literally fist-bumping and saluting me. One even asked for my autograph. But then, look at Big-Blue Cincinnati, OH… in the Butler County Jail, where I was tortured for 4 straight days. It was getting to be apparent; the Big City environment, the CO’s were just total ass-hats. The Miami FDC was no exception. Only instead of being super ghetto like in the DC Gulag, here they were cocky a-holes. They were TERRIBLE at their job. They were slow, aggressive, unprofessional, and forgetful. One girl was inadvertently put into a cell with a MALE inmate (a PREA – Prison Rape Elimination Act – violation). Then a MALE guard went into the cell alone with her, to pull her out… which was a SECOND PREA in the span of 5 minutes. These people were completely inept.

We dressed out in hideous baggy green, one-piece jumpsuits, and were led up to the cell block. The inmates there came in two varieties; the ones in transit, and the ones there to stay. The Cell Block was a large rectangular room, with a top and bottom tier. We were something like 6 stories up from street level, and the outside Rec area – very similar to the one in the OKTC – was facing a large high-rise condo/apartment building. We could see people smoking cigarettes, kissing, etc… it was wierd. The people HAD to know it was a prison across from them. I mean, the place was surrounded with cameras, armed guards, barbed wire and such. They probably just didn’t care, or were so used to it, that they had grown apathetic. There wasn’t much to do there, and the phone lines were so long, that it wasn’t even worth talking on the phone much. I spent most of my time pacing circles in the “outside Rec” area, which was little more than a basketball court, with an open air fence halfway up the wall to let in fresh air. My bunkie was a Hispanic girl from Columbia, and spoke fluent English. She helped me make flash-cards so I could learn Spanish. I paced circles in the “outside Rec” area and read my flash-cards, learning while walking. It occupied 90% of my time there. After a week or so of verbal battery by hostile guards, we were “packed out”, and the next morning we prepared to leave for our final destination; the Tallahassee Federal Corrections Institution (FCI).

We were brought back down and out-processed, and issued thin paper jumpsuits to wear over our underwear. It was terribly cold. After we were cuffed at the waist, wrist and ankle, we were led down to the warehouse; filling up the bus with the same girls as before. By now, we were all well accustomed to each other; having spent time in 2 different facilities, a flight, and now a road trip. We goofed off and enjoyed each other’s company as the bus weaved its way through Miami. The bus was BOOMING with incredibly vulgar Rap music, and the “Bus Driver Guards” acted like they were driving the “Party Bus”. It was incredibly unprofessional and annoying. On top of that, the AC was blaring, and it was FREEZING cold in our paper jumpsuits. We had been woken up for the trip at 3am, so I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was sleep, so I curled up into the fetal position on the plastic bus bench, my ankle/wrist cuffs ripping into my skin until it bled. I didn’t care. My whole body was numb from the cold and the pressure from the bench. But I was wiped. Once I watched the GORGEOUS Miami sunrise, I slept for all 10 hours of the bus ride. When the bus finally pulled into FCI Tallahassee, it had been raining. A downpour, actually. We were filed in through the barbed wire gate, through the torrential rain. It was FREEZING cold, and we huddled our bodies against each other for warmth. It was miserable. This was to be our new home, my new home. The home from where I write you today. A new chapter in a new Gulag was about to begin. That chapter is still being written. It is a chapter I will not write until I am home; safe from retaliation. I have to live here, so naturally, I don’t want to cross anyone or step on any toes. But one day, I will be home again with my wonderful husband @MontanaSiniff.