~21~

Last week I was introduced to another prisoner's blog: The Death Row Poet.  I read the article.  He has been on the local news and he is making quite a splash. 

This man has a name.  His name is Ronnie.  Ronnie writes about how corrupt the prison system is.  Ronnie is also quick to point out the side effects his writing has caused him to experience at the 'Hilton' (a.k.a Raiford Corrections Institute).  I noted that he stated you have to choose your battles carefully.  I agree.

(Ronnie Clark from his blog)

However, Ronnie has balls.  This man is single handedly taking on the prison system.  A world to itself.  Sure, these prisons may be in your backyard, yet they make their own rules.  On your side of the fence, you are suppose to be innocent until proven guilty.  Step on this side, we're just guilty.  Sadly, 80% of these guys will just sit back and eat the shit sandwich fed to them each day.  Not Ronnie.  No, Ronnie is standing up. 

Ronnie, your gonna get this message.  I'll see to it that you do.  I'm a fellow brother in blue.  Your voice is not only heard on the outside, but we hear you on the inside too.  I don't need to tell you what it means to be 21.  (For those of you that do not know....being 21 is a statement in the chain-gang that means 'I am a man.'  I still have a set of nuts between my legs.  When push comes to shove, I'll stand up.)  Ronnie, X53314 is 21.   

There is good sense in choosing battles 'wisely'.  I know full well what happens behind these fences.  Things that you, out there, will never know because we are a world to ourselves.  I handle what's handed to me the best that I can.  I also have a mother, three sisters, a 14-year old daughter and a woman - all who want me to come home.  So, these days I remind myself of this when I choose my battles. 

At my very first prison, I was given the tour.  The full tour.  I waited two weeks before I called my mom and told her.  Now, we have a system...if I don't phone home every three days, them my mother calls the warden to find out where the hell her son is.  It's possible to get lost back here.  Many dudes get lost in confinement.  So me and my people set up safeties.  My people don't play.  They get involved.

I'm lucky to have this.  It saves me all the time.  Plenty of dudes back here have no one.  No one to help them.  I do.  I also have a voice. For this very reason I will step up and let Ronnie (a.k.a The Death Row Poet) know that his voice is heard.

I read his article in a Jacksonville newspaper.  After reading it, I called my girl and asked her look it up.  She then sent me some of his material.  Just reading his blog lets me know he has people who care.  Ronnie's mat on Death Row may quite possibly be the only comfort he has.  Yet that will keep you warm.  Yes, knowing that you are not forgotten will indeed keep you warm.  Even if the food sucks! 

One of the biggest points I would like to make is how good it is to feel supported.  It's good for the guards and staff to see that we have family, friends and even strangers who care.  This will cause them to hopefully rethink and consider what form of punishment they decide to hand down. 

There is a set of rules.  For both guards and inmates.  Ours are constantly being revised and changed to rule over us better.  But who enforces their rules?  Ask them and it's all under control.  Ask Ronnie, myself, or any other person who has done time...you'll get a different answer. 

It's a spark that creates a flame.  That flame becomes a fire that begins to burn.  Nascar says...."Gentlemen start your engines!"  The U.F.C. says...."Let's get ready to rumble!"  I like the way my girl says it the best..."Let's throw some rocks, Baby!" 

Well, baby, we're throwing rocks.

Bottom line, I'm 21.  We named the project the Judicious Jailbird.  I want it to also be 21.  We will stand up.  I see you Ronnie.




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