Jessica Watkins: A Tale of an American Political Prisoner Part 6.1

Gulag This! (02/19/2024)
“A Tale of an American Political Prisoner”
Part 6.1; DC Dept. of Corrections-CTF; Washington, DC
–Welcome to the DC Gulag–

A True Story; 100% verifiable with Text Messages, Emails, Video/Audio, Court Documents and Testimony.

Well, today’s installment of “A Tale of an American Political Prisoner” is being written on Presidents Day. My fourth such holiday spent behind bars. I have no doubt that our Presidents are up there in heaven, looking down on this country in disgust. They’re likely doing barrel rolls in their graves. This is NOT what they fought the British for; what they drafted the Constitution for; what they risked life and limb to create and uphold. This time four 3 years ago, I was living out my second week in C2A… the COVID Quarantine Pod adjacent to C2B that would become the infamous DC Gulag Unit for J6’ers. But you’ll hear about that soon enough. I won’t get ahead of myself. From this point forward, I want to preface by saying that I will attempt to keep events in a chronological order as best as I can. But, in jail, one day leads into the next and before you know it… months run into each other. I will do my absolute best to hammer things out in a proper sequential fashion. But if I get events out of order, then I am sorry. It’s jail. You wouldn’t understand unless you’ve been here for years.

The date is February 10th, 2021; this is the precise date that I was inprocessed and booked into the DC Dept. of Corrections. This place… this vile, evil place… would become infamously known as the DC Gulag. The events of January 6th had occurred only a mere month prior, and the proverbial teargas had yet to clear. Inside the DC Beltway, the Media discussed January 6 and “the threat still posed to Democracy” on every segment. Images of soldiers carrying rifles and machine guns as they patrol imposing fencing with K9 units still abounded on every page of the Washington Post. The Libs pleasured themselves in the mirror as their fantasies ran rampant at the thought of a second Trump impeachment. While the Dems and RINO’s on Capitol Hill exercised wanton disregard for our nation, a line of brand spankin’ new J6 Political Prisoners filed through the doors of the DC Gulag. Our wrists and ankles jingling like a modern day chain gang; we were led to a slotted window with a faceless silhouette for a bureaucrat sitting in the booth just behind the tinted glass. After submitting my info to LawBot4000, I became Political Prisoner #376520. (Yes, I will remember that number until the day I die) Once processed, we were led into an adjoining cell. I was placed with the men initially, but then quickly removed and isolated.

Graffiti was carved into the glass, the stainless steel booth, the walls. Such phrases as “F*** 12”, “1312”, “ACAB”, “F*** the Police” and, naturally, “Black Lives Matter”. So then, we were in the right place. This was DEFINITELY in Washington DC, home of the Defund the Police movement; where hatred for Law Enforcement was synonymous with Liberal Godliness. Many of these phrases were reminiscent of the BLM Riots I’d witnessed in Louisville, KY and Columbus, OH. These very same phrases were painted everywhere. For those who have no idea what I am talking about, allow me to offer a brief lesson on the phrases used by the violent BLM and Antifa Mobs. “1312” is the numerical equivalent of “ACAB” (1=A, 3=C, 1=A, 2=B). Both “ACAB” and “1312” represent “All Cops Are B****es” or “All Cops Are Bastards”. They’re interchangeable. The phrase “F*** 12” is in reference to “1312” although, I am still not sure what “…All Bastards…” ever did to them? I assumed they mean “All Cops…” but that would be “F*** 13”, not “F*** 12”. Whoever invented the phrase “F*** 12” thought they were being clever. Clearly not clever enough, and that lack of comprehension for their own invented phrase had clearly spread to the Washington, DC inmate population; ultimately finding itself scrawled into the flesh and bone of the DC GitMo infrastructure.

After an hour of freezing in my small concrete cubicle, a woman entered my door. My vitals were taken and I was questioned concerning my medical and gender needs. I told her about my broken arm/ribs (which by now had been untreated for weeks). I told her about the gender surgery I had downstairs, told her which hormones I was on, and insisted I wanted to be housed in a women’s unit. She said informed me that after quarantine, my needs would all be addressed. She seemed sincere at the time, but I misjudged how readily and convincingly these people had learned to lie to inmates. After being fingerprinted, stripped, rectally examined, retina scanned, DNA swabbed, COVID tested and fed a sack lunch of bologna sandwiches (…always with the bologna sandwiches…) then we were led up to our Unit. My ConAir buddy, Mr. Black, had severe diabetes (nevermind a face FULL of trauma where Capitol Police shot him in the face with a rubber bullet for no reason) and was taken to the Medical Unit. I’d never see him again, and I hope that he is well and free wherever he is. His country owes him a great debt. Once Black was dropped off in the Med Unit, we filed down a maze of concrete hallways; into and out of elevators, down more hallways, and finally up a flight of steps before being led down a T intersection to the Left hand side. The door opened with an ominous ***THUNK*** and we were led into C2A; the COVID Quarantine Unit for the January 6th Political Prisoners. Our new home far far away from home.