Get in touch
555-555-5555
mymail@mailservice.com
CRIMINAL JUSTICE
Through unjust policing practices, systemic institutional discrimination in prosecution, sentencing and incarceration, communities of color are disproportionately affected by the justice system. Our work to reform these systems never ends.
MISSOURI PRISONS BY THE NUMBERS
WHAT WE'RE FIGHTING FOR
HUMANE PRISON CONDITIONS
Missouri has some of the worst prison conditions in the United States. We experience triple digit deaths every month inside Department of Corrections facilities. Each facility is run by a Warden who is answerable only to the Director of the Department and who is not required to make any changes based on inspections or recommendations. This lack of accountability is harming both incarcerated people and corrections officers. The conditions have to be addressed.
SENTENCING REFORM
Missouri has a mass incarceration problem. Our incarceration rates are higher than the averages for the entire United States as well as any other wealthy nation in the world. Incarceration should not be used as the primary solution to societal issues. Also, lower incarceration rates will make prisons safer for the people incarcerated there as well as the corrections officers who staff them. We deserve system oversight and accountability, community development, and an end to the death penalty.
LOCAL CONTROL OF LAW ENFORCEMENT
Kansas City, Missouri is the only city in the nation that does not have control of its own police department. The State legislature is attempting to make St. Louis the second. Missourians deserve not only to make their own decisions regarding law enforcement and locally elected officials, but also to have those decisions trusted and respect by the State.
Content from our prison units
The Missouri State Conference of the NAACP has Units in 9 Department of Corrections Facilities. Our prison members work to improve the lives of their fellow inmates and help to shed light on what is happening inside our prisons. Here are some of the latest writings and communications from our prison members.
On the typical Monday through Friday, my day would start out by waking up around 4 a.m., having a cup of coffee and then taking care of my personal hygiene, brushing my teeth and hair, putting on deodorant and the like. Then I would go down to Frances' cell to wake him up so that he could get ready to get his medication at 4:30a.m. At that time is when many DLA’s, that is Daily Living Assistants, assist the elderly inmates, also known as patients, get to the Medical building. Once there, they take their insulin shots or medications that are considered "Watch Take,” meaning they must take that particular medication in front of medical staff so staff can verified it's been taken. All DLA's have permission to enter any cell with a patient. Before I entered, I would call his name to wake him and ask him, " Are you ready for today?" My question would always be met with a grouchy response of, "No!” While Frances would put on his clothes and shoes, I would prepare his mouth wash and a warm face cloth for him. Once he was done, he would walk out of his cell and sit in his wheelchair and off to medical we would go. Once at medical, I would push Frances up to the " Medication Watch Take” area at the entrance of the Medical Unit. Most of the nursing personnel know all the inmates who take 4:30a.m. medications by name! Frances would always be greeted with an expression of kindness. " How is your morning, Mr. Frances?”, the nurse would ask. Frances would normally say, " I haven't had a cup of coffee yet.” The nurse and I would both just smile. After he's taken his medication, I would push him back to our housing unit where his cup of coffee would await him -no cream, no sugar. If the patients do not eat in the housing units, they are then pushed to the chow hall for breakfast. Frances is not a morning person, so he did not go to the chow hall for breakfast. After breakfast, all cell doors are required to be locked until after morning count is completed. I would go to my cell and take a nap while waiting on the doors to open back up, usually sometime around 7:30a.m. Once the doors are opened for the morning, our daily activities are resumed until 10 a.m. when we would go back to the chow hall for lunch. Some patients would choose to stay in their rooms, while others, like Frances, would come out into the unit -or wings -to participate in activities. Being that most of the patients have debilitating illnesses, most would rather not go outside, preferring the relative comfort of the wing. Frances enjoyed his coloring books while listening to his audio books that he has on his tablet. I would usually be off in another conversation with another patient. When he was ready to shower, I would push the button in the shower to get the water nice and hot before he entered it. I would already have his shampoo out and his towel and clothing neatly folded and ready for him by the time he headed to the shower. I would then mark that Frances had a shower on my log sheet. I would also mark that he did not go to breakfast and that his mood levels were normal. These weekly log sheets are essential for classification staff to fully be informed concerning the patients and their daily activities. The entire environment in these wings is similar to a day room for elderly in a nursing home. It's pretty much quiet, for the most part, which is something that the patients enjoy the most. Sometimes the inmates would just rather be in their own little world, and the quiet setting helps. We would often change up the routines and the prison's "Puppies for Parole” dog handlers would bring in the dogs to spend time with the elderly. It usually really brightens their day to get to play with the dogs. The dog handlers would have the dogs do tricks on command and rewarded them with treats. By 10:45 a.m., lunch would be announced over the loudspeaker in each wing calling us to go to the chow hall to eat. There is a short distance walk from the housing unit to the chow hall. As I push Frances down the path to the show hall -called the Boulevard -we would see other inmates from other housing units that are usually having conversations about who may have been transferred or went to the hole or solitary confinement. Once in the chow hall, we’d roll up to the small window where our food trays get pushed out to us from the kitchen, Frances would grab one for himself and one for me, then I'd find a wheel chair accessible spot for him at one of the tables, I would then go and grab him some juice or water, depending on what he was feeling like having, and utensils to eat. There is always commotion in the chow hall, enough usually to keep people’s attention. Frances continues to reflect on how much better the food is in outside society. He does not enjoy his food cold. Almost all prison food is served cold. There is something that usually triggers him to not want to interact very much. Sometimes he would say, out loud in a mild voice, "They feed us like animals.” I would often allow him to say his peace concerning whatever issue that may have triggered an emotional reaction out of him that day, without responding, He would look at me and ask, "Antwann, was the food anything like this 27years ago? I don't know how you could've done it." I would respond, "No! Food was much better back then." Then I would say, "I'll tell you what, let’s go back to the housing unit and I'll cook you your favorite meal." He would chuckle and say, "Okay!" Frances loves egg noodles with chicken gravy and roast beef. After the meal, time would pass by so fast. Before we knew it, it was time to lock down for count at 2:30 p.m.. The doors would stay closed until 4 p.m. and then stay opened until 10p.m. Around 4:45 p.m., dinner would be announced over the loudspeaker. Once again, Frances and I would be off to the chow hall. Today’s meal wasn't so bad. We had chicken patty, mashed taters, coleslaw and iced cake. " Mmmm mmmm", Frances said as he grabbed our trays. Of course, he would always say, "Antwann, I know you're not going to eat this tray," the inflection in his voice posed as if he did not already know the answer to that question. I always give Frances my trays because I am blessed to be able to afford canteen, and therefore rarely eat at the chow hall. So, I'd reply, "Frances, you're the only person I'll give this tray to." It would take nearly 25 minutes for him to finish eating. When it's time for Frances to lock down for the night, he always calls me over to his table and shows me the picture he's just finished coloring and says with a smile, "I appreciate you Antwann, I'll see you at 4 a.m. Okay?" This I can honestly say; all in all, we make the best out of what's available and are always optimistic in stressful situations.
For just a brief moment, I would like the reader to visualize themselves only having one week to live; knowing that you only have 7 days left to speak to loved ones ... cherish fond memories ... to breathe the sweet breath of life ... trying to make peace with your fate in the best way that you can. Imagine thinking about all of the opportunities you took for granted ... mistakes you've made along the way ... the harm you've caused to yourself and others. Imagine waking up every day and counting down the hours ... minutes ... seconds ... until your eyes will close for the last time. Envision yourself waking up on that final day, to what you know will be the last 24 hours of your life on this Earth. Eating your final meal and knowing it will be the last food you ever taste. Imagine being led Into the death chamber and seeing the look of pain on the faces of those you have hurt as well as your friends and family. Feel your heart beating faster by the minute, as if it also realizes that the beats will soon cease. Imagine spending hours pondering what your last words will be, and praying that God truly will have mercy on your soul for all of the wrong you have done in your lifetime. My desire is to tap into the hearts of mankind to ensure that people fully grasp the agony that delivers a daily assault on the minds and souls of those on death row. It's been said that death by lethal injection is one of America's most painful and inhumane ways to die. Taking one life for another is not the solution; it only perpetuates death which the law of God forbids. For the men and women across the country facing death row, no one knows their struggle - they only see the outcome of what they have been charged for. Society has a way of removing humanity from the inmates in the prison system and labeling the vast majority, if not all, of those who are incarcerated as monsters who are incapable of change. Despite the crimes we have been charged with, each one of us is still a human being and it is hard to carry on feeling as though no one loves you. If prison is supposed to be about correction and rehabilitation, why is more time not spent trying to understand why those who are incarcerated have become the people that they are and why they commit these crimes in order to attempt to correct the thought processes? Even in the beginning stages of going through the judicial system, why is more effort not placed on psychological treatment for individuals? It seems as if more focus is placed on getting a conviction than on truly trying to help those who go before the judge. Although it is man who has sentenced you to die, it's God who provides eternal life. The following is my humbling experience living among a few of those individuals who were on death row in Missouri. When I first arrived at Potosi Correctional Center in January of 1999, I did not know what to expect. Being surrounded by men on death row was somewhat confusing at first. The fact that I was 23 years old at the time serving Life without Parole was stressful enough in itself, but there was something about death row inmates that was different. Their presence had a unique kind of energy. For the ones I remember dearly, I can still hear their names: DJ, SD, Stan, Rambo, Marlone, Big Moe, and Jarome Mallete. The one thing I quickly noticed about these men was that despite being sentenced to die, their hearts were filled with love; there was no sign of bitterness in them, only worry of what was to come. For me, the precious moments I spent with these individuals were priceless. They are still remembered as if they were just yesterday, replaying over and over again on the movie reel in my mind. I would watch how these men interacted with one another, as well as with new death row inmates; doing their best to spend their time in good spirits. If we weren't all busy trading "war stories," there were debates about politics, religion, laws, entertainment, or whatever the hot topic of the day was. You never saw a death row inmate become violent or harm anyone. I would listen in humble silence as one by one they poured their hearts out to me in their stories of what caused them to be on death row. Each one of them carried a deep sadness and expressed sincere regret and remorse for what they'd done. One of the things that impacted me the most is that despite all coming from varying backgrounds and being on death row for different reasons, all of them told me something similar at the end of their stories... "It may be too late for me, and I'm ok with that ... But for you, Antwann? You still have a fighting chance ... " I had grown close to one of the guys In there whose name was Mose Young, but we all called him "Big Moe". We would have deep, meaningful conversations and he once told me, "If just one of us on death row makes it back out alive, a part of all of us made it." I watched as the tears rolled down his face while he told me this, and the sincerity in his voice was heart wrenching. I was so engrossed in the conversation we were having that reality took on a whole new meaning. Each one of those men that I was incarcerated with at that point in my bid made it very clear that they had lost trust and hope in this judicial system. It was their only desire to gain faith in their maker, God. Living carefree and running wild was the life we had chosen, but many of us knew that this lifestyle would prove to be short-lived. For those living on death row, the stress and anxiety of not knowing when your day, time and final hour will come to die creates an emptiness of fear deep inside. I found this to be so true when we all found ourselves mourning the loss of "Rambo", the first individual to be executed after I arrived. When Mose (Big Moe) was escorted off to be executed I was in tears because of the bond we had developed, and to watch him walk out of that door; knowing that he would never return; filled me with a mixture of emotions that ranged from sadness to anger. Not long after he left, breaking news came across the TV screen. It was the St. Louis City Assistant Circuit Attorney Jane Geiler. She was giving a press statement to the media expressing that she was being threatened with the loss of her career if she revealed the truth that there was wrongdoings involved to secure the conviction against Big Moe.** It was announced that he would be given a stay of execution, and everybody rejoiced. It was an emotional moment because there was a prosecutor speaking in his favor, which was a rare occurrence. Big Moe was given a 30 day stay, but the excitement was short-lived because the stay was revoked and Big Moe would indeed be executed. It was in the moment that we all received the bad news that someone in the wing placed their boom box radio at the foot of their cell door where there was a 2-lnch gap at the bottom and turned their radio on; playing the song "Life Goes On" by 2Pac. It was a very painful time for everyone who knew Big Moe. Even though all 7 men I once lived with have been executed, I've managed to not focus so much on their deaths. What really counts is what I've learned and gained from them while they were here. It took me 47 years to finally realize and accept that death is inevitable. Everyone has a dash in between their birth date and the date of their death. Only God has the power to decide who goes and who stays, but it's up to us to decide how we choose to live our lives and what to fill in that dash with. For me, being told by detectives during my arrest and interrogation that I was facing the death penalty was overwhelming in itself. Actually experience being around those who were on death row helped me to understand how precious life truly is and to be grateful for the things which I used to take for granted. Often times we don't understand how truly blessed we are until we are placed in a situation which the things that we should have been holding sacred are taken away. Especially if you end up making the unfortunate life decisions that leave you on death row with only one way out. Please become an advocate to abolish the death penalty.
Hospice: Providing Professional Care By: Antwann Johnson #524659 Jefferson City Correctional Center
WARNING: The following post contains discussion of suicide, rape, and mental distress.
WARNING: The following post contains significant discussion of suicide and mental distress.
Has i nadequate medical care become the new death sentence for Missouri inmates?
In the United States, there are nearly 1 million incarcerated individuals.
“Against the Odds” For a Worthy Cause… By Antwann Johnson #52659 Jefferson City Correctional Center My name Is Antwann Johnson #524659, and I felt compelled to share with you my personal experience with the COVID-19 pandemic while being incarcerated. To be perfectly honest with you, what I've witnessed through my eyes has changed my life forever. This is my story. On October 16, 2020, my day started as any other day. I was preparing to check in on my patient to begin my dally activities as a DLA (Dally Living Assistant), but all of that would change when I was approached by the Housing Unit FUM (Functional Unit Manager) who asked me If I would be willing to live in the Medical TCU Unit for the purpose of giving assistance to the nurses and medical personnel who cared for inmates that had contracted COVID-19 and were severely Ill and dying. At first, I felt reluctant because this virus was still a mystery to us all. Not long after that conversation with the FUM, I was confronted with terrible news. I was Informed that my cousin and two of my close friends had tested positive for the COVID-19 virus. It was at this point that a sense of fear came over me. One of the biggest reasons that I made the decision to go to the TCU Unit was so that I would be able to face and confront my greatest fear, which is dying alone. I've seen firsthand how many of the inmate patients don't have any family or people who care about their wellbeing. It would be two inmate patients that I grew close to while they were battling COVID-19 who had a bittersweet ending that would ultimately give me the strength to continue fighting for this worthy cause. One of the patients whom I helped care for was Stanley, who was 64 years old and had been diagnosed with both COVID-19 and pneumonia. He was in such bad shape that the outside hospital sent him back to the facility and said that he would not make it due to the fact that his lungs were so severely damaged. As he lay in his bed, I Just stared at him and imagined that it were me lying in that bed fighting for my life. As time went on, we became close, and I did all that I could to assist the nurses with getting Stanley's health back to where it once was. He thanked us all, because he knew that his condition was bad and that we were doing our best to keep him alive. He expressed to me how he didn't have any family or friends, so I took It upon myself to care for him as if he were my own family. It was around this time that we also received George Bructher into the TCU unit. He was diagnosed with terminal cancer. This was a death sentence for him, Stanley knew that I had a passion to help others, so he did not feel neglected or alone while I was aiding George. I have to admit, George was a fighter. Just as with Stanley, George and I became close, and there were even times when George would not allow the custody staff to touch him unless I was present. You would have to be here to truly experience the joy these patients bring to our medical team and vice versa. Collectively, we're a big family that relies on each other for strength and support, and we have the biggest prison medical facility in Missouri. Each nurse personnel plays a pivotal role in making this unit function, but it's the hospice workers who give compassion for human lives its true meaning. There would be times where George would make us laugh, and there were times, as we all knew, where there would be tears. While we were experiencing the outbreak of COVID-19, there were a total of 25 patients who had contracted the virus assigned to the medical TCU Unit, and 8 deaths due to complications with the Illness. There were countless more inmates in the general population of the prison who had COVID-19 as well. The primary purpose for all 4 of us Inmates selected to live in the medical unit was to help prevent any cross-contamination or spread of the virus as much as possible. We literally gave up everything to assist the staff. For me, someone who is trying to prove my innocence regarding a false conviction for a murder that I did not commit, It was very difficult not being able to go to the law library. I also missed going to the gym, and simply being outdoors enjoying the company of friends. But again, I knew that these inmates were relying on us for help, so I had to be selfless and look at the bigger picture. There were times when things were so chaotic that nurses wanted to Just walk off the Job, and we 4 hospice workers were losing hope in this fight. I know that just staring down at a lifeless body did something to us all emotionally. There would be times when the power from the generator would go out, and we would sit in the still darkness, quiet, listening to the halls, wondering when we were going to hear our names being called for assistance. There was one pivotal moment where I found myself questioning life itself, and that's when I was spending time with one of the COVID-19 inmate patients. What he said to me still lives in my thoughts. He said, "Goldie (my nickname), it's funny how cruel life can be, huh?" I responded, "What do you mean?" He replied, "I never smoked in my life, but I'm dying from lung cancer, and I have COVID-19." Then he said "It's ok, because I know I don't have long, but I want to know, Goldie, why do you do this kind of work?'' My response was, "Because I hope that If I'm ever in your situation that someone would be there by my side in my time of need" Two weeks later, he would be dead. During the rougher times, I found myself stepping into an empty cell for a few moments because I had to pull myself together mentally, emotionally, and also spiritually. If I told you I wasn't affected by the death of another human, especially one I'd grown close to under these circumstances, I'd be lying. I honestly have a newfound respect for any and all healthcare workers. While I have been a hospice worker, working alongside medical personnel, I actually feel like a real human being and not just some worthless criminal. This Is the first time in my 24 years of incarceration that I have felt like this, But the question I ask is who actually cares enough to feel and see my pain through these eyes? It's hard to hold back the tears as I think about all the work we have done, but how we've received little to no recognition for our help and support from the prison officials who are higher up. I've witnessed firsthand how this virus attacks the body with no regard for human life. The times when we all worked together to give George the best care, we were lucky If we even got 5 hours of sleep. Unfortunately, nothing could prepare me for that day and hour when one of the hospice workers woke me as I was getting some rest and informed me that George was no longer with us. I rushed to my feet so that I could begin the process of notifying his family, but it was another inmate by the name of Limbo whose words reverberated through my mind. Donnie, and even C.0.1 Dieckman, asked me If I was alright because they both knew that George and I had grown close. It has been a rough journey being a hospice worker, and it has definitely humbled me. There were many times when I felt lost, confused, and couldn't process the loss of the other patients we had. There were only a few nurses who witnessed how we were impacted by these deaths. For us 4 inmate hospice workers, it definitely brought us closer together. The fact that we put others’ lives before our own convinces me of how compassionate we actually are; but the mere fact that Ralph and Limbo were my two friends that initially caught the virus first, but they came back to work in order to help others knowing that they could contract this deadly virus again and die, gave me the strength to say, "Against the odds, for worthy cause". I'm hoping that the impact of my experience gives life to an interview with the media or a news station. I believe that people in society have the right to know what this virus has done to us all, but especially to those who are behind bars. Over 500,000 humans In the U.S. have been affected by this virus in some way, shape or form. But for me, an innocent man fighting a murder conviction only to witness COVID-19 kill 8 people before my eyes, has me now questioning life, wondering where is the Justice, and if death is the actual answer to true freedom. I've truly become a broken shell among damaged petals. If there is anyone beyond these gates who is willing to listen, please become that "SEED OF HOPE" and share my story, because I'm only a Voice of Conviction.
MEET THE EXPERTS
JAMES Figueroa ROBNETT
Prison Support Chair, Missouri NAACP
STAY INFORMED
The best way to stay involved with the work of the NAACP is to stay informed.
Newsletters come out weekly and contain information about upcoming events, important actions, and notable people who keep our organization thriving.
MENU
©2023 | All Rights Reserved | Missouri State Conference of the NAACP
Website powered by Neon One