THIS YEAR, CALIFORNIA law will prevent public libraries and prisons from arbitrarily banning books.
As an African American who has spent the majority of my life in prison, I know what it’s like not to be allowed to read a book. We have a long list of banned books.
But we also have a long list of banned people, which makes me wonder if we might need laws to prevent the banning of ourselves. I have seen many people get placed in solitary confinement and determined to be a security threat.
As I’ve traveled through the prison system, educating myself, seeking to find my identity and independence, I find myself to be in a peculiar situation. Like Ralph Ellison’s “Invisible Man,” a once popularly banned book, I know what it’s like to be banned in prison.
Suspended without warning
I was sitting at my computer performing my duties as editor-in-chief of the San Quentin News, a newspaper publication written and produced by the incarcerated. A coworker approached me and said my supervisor — San Quentin’s public information officer — wanted to see me outside.
When I stood up and walked outside the media center, I saw two custody officers standing about 20 feet away. I approached the two serious faces.
“I am suspending you from the media center until further notice,” my supervisor said. “Gather all your belongings and leave the media center immediately.”
“May I ask why,” I said.
“No. You’ll find out when you talk to the disciplinary officer.” “Take your hands out of your pockets,” the second officer said.
I thought I was going to be arrested. The two officers followed me to the media center and watched me gather my things.
“I’m being suspended,” I told my coworkers while packing to leave. I was labeled as a threat to security and marked for administrative review.
After less than a year as editor-in-chief, I no longer led the newspaper. I couldn’t even write for it. I could no longer participate as an assistant producer for the podcasts Ear Hustle and Uncuffed. How could I be suspended from a job without being found guilty of anything, I wondered?
It couldn’t be that bad, I wasn’t placed in solitary confinement, I rationalized. In more than 23 years of working in prison, I had never been suspended or terminated from any program.
Charged with ‘over-familiarity’
After three weeks of guessing, a disciplinary officer served me with a rule violation report. It was dated Dec. 8, 2023, the same day I was told to leave the media center. What surprised me was that my supervisor was the reporting employee.
I was charged with “over-familiarity” with a formerly employed clinical psychologist and assumed volunteer at the prison. We were allegedly too friendly in communicating and sharing information about each other’s personal lives while talking on my ViaPath tablet.
The devices are given to the state’s incarcerated people with paid messaging services to “strengthen the bonds between the incarcerated population with their families and communities,” the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation says, as well as providing “rehabilitative program content, important departmental updates, and positive leisure-time activities.”
I was now caught in a situation where my duties crossed a line that wasn’t clear, but with strong implications by prison administrators of an inappropriate relationship. … That was not true.
“Clearly, this was a misunderstanding,” I thought to myself. As a journalist, it wasn’t unusual for me to talk to people on my tablet, including volunteers with San Quentin News. It was my job to communicate with advisers, volunteers, custody staff and members of the public. I had telephone clearance to contact the outside world. I had used my tablet to conduct interviews and develop working relationships with people as part of my job as editor-in-chief.
There are no prison rules that prohibit me from talking about my personal life with a volunteer. No guidelines prohibited me from communicating on my tablet device. But I was now caught in a situation where my duties crossed a line that wasn’t clear, but with strong implications by prison administrators of an inappropriate relationship with many possible scenarios, including potential escape attempts or the introduction of illegal contraband into the prison. That was not true. Prior to this, the worst thing I had ever done in prison was make alcohol out of rotten fruit 12 years ago.
Out of bounds
Over a month had passed. I still hadn’t been to a disciplinary hearing. I wasn’t segregated from the general population and placed in a security housing unit, as is the normal practice with cases of over-familiarity and allegations of endangering the institution.
I started to believe that things were working themselves out. The school break was over and spring semester was about to begin. I went to the education department to pick up my college books for a Spanish class I was taking at Mount Tamalpais College, an independently accredited college in the prison.
While standing in the education complex about 50 yards from the media center, an officer approached me and asked, “What are you doing here?”
“You’re not allowed to be here,” he told me. “No, I’m not allowed to be in the media center,” I corrected him.
The officer left and phoned my supervisor. When he returned, he told me my supervisor doesn’t want me anywhere near the media center, including in education.
“I was told to write you up,” the officer said. All of a sudden I felt like I was in the early 19th century; while others walked about, I was violating some unknown vagrancy law or black code. I was accused of loitering, being out of bounds, even though no signs designate education as an out of bounds area.
Supposedly a memorandum existed that banned me from the entire education department. My picture was also hanging on a bulletin board in education by the officers’ desk for everyone to see.
That same day, I was called to the lieutenant’s office in the North Block housing unit for my disciplinary hearing. I pled not guilty.
“The person I’m accused of being over-familiar with was not a volunteer,” I informed the lieutenant and showed him my evidence.
“Well, I’m finding you guilty as charged,” he said.
I was shocked by the complete disregard for my due process rights. But I filed an appeal. Within four months, CDCR ordered the rule violation report to be reissued/reheard or dismissed in the interest of justice.
The office of appeals specifically said, “Appellant was denied due process protections, and the hearing officer failed to support the allegations that appellant exerted influence over anybody but a free person.”
I had a new hearing and I was found “not guilty.” But my supervisor didn’t want me back and decided to take SQ News in a different direction, one that didn’t include me.
Tearing off the covers
I no longer have a job or a platform in the prison community. Most incarcerated people are unable to read articles from the external platform I have with the Bay City News Foundation and LocalNewsMatters.org through the California Local News Fellowship.
Every day I walk around the prison, I am asked questions as to why. Volunteers for the Ear Hustle and Uncuffed podcasts ask me, “When are you coming back?”
But when I show up to events being covered by SQ News, my former coworkers look at me with nervous eyes. Some are afraid to be seen talking to me. Prison administrators look at me with suspicion or disgust.
It’s clear they only see me as “guilty.” I could speculate as to all the reasons I was terminated, but one thing is clear: when you have a voice and can think for yourself, you’re often hated, like the hardback covers officers tear off of books we purchase from outside vendors.
I was never more hated than when I tore off my own hard covers and used my voice to be honest in the many articles I wrote. I ruffled a few feathers. I was asked to rethink some words.
But I used my platform at the San Quentin News to tell my truth and maybe I became too much of a beacon of light. Perhaps my words were sprinkled with the dust of empowerment or cultivated with the seeds of hope. Perhaps I was a walking contradiction to Gov. Gavin Newsom’s plans to transform San Quentin?
I can think of so many reasons why my pages started to burn and a highly visible moment in my life abruptly ended. But no one will dare answer the question as to why, after more than a year and after I was cleared of charges of over-familiarity, I am still an invisible man who has been banned in the prison.
Steve Brooks is a California Local News Fellow with Bay City News Foundation, reporting from inside San Quentin Rehabilitation Center. His perspective gives readers insight into issues and news from inside the prison. See more of his work at Inside/Out on Local News Matters.