Personal Narrative: Guantanamo Bay

It was that time of the year when school was finally over and it was summer! I remember being super excited for the summer and having total freedom because I just had got my license. I got my license and my first car so I was excited to do many things during the summer. A couple weeks into the summer, my friends and I hung out a lot because I had my own car. More into the summer, near the end of July and the start of August, my friends and I were out one night and it was about 2 in the morning, I wasn’t supposed to be driving after 9 but I did anyway. We were on our way to McDonald’s and I’m trying to get there as soon as possible to get home and not get caught. As I’m driving to McDonald’s I see the speed limit which was 30 mph and I was

Hey little brother sorry you can't call. I don't have any money on the phone. I haven't spoken with Mj in a month. I am so heartbroken. Your wife told me the great news and I am so happy for you both. Like I told Lamont I really don't talk to no one in Michigan. Kristy (1-2 times a week) Aretha and Fred (every other 3-4 months) maybe. Mom and Cass never. So that's that. You, Lamont and Mj are my concerns as long as you all let me be in your lives I will be. I love all my family dearly; however, along the way we have lost vital parts of who we are as a family. I think long incarcerations have made some feel that they are not family. Many people have forgotten who they are as simply Africans but on a basic level in this family we have forgotten

I reached in my pocket for my pen so I could sketch some flowers. I pulled out a few dollars bills, and I remembered my mother gave me money so I could buy some milk for her. I turned around and went to the grocery. I went into the milk section, grabbed a jug, and headed to the checkout. The man in front of me in the line was staring at me. He looked at me like I was a vicious beast. I began to feel uncomfortable. The teenage brothers behind me were rough housing and when one threw a punch, they knocked me with their elbow. I couldn’t keep my balance. I went diving towards the ground, and I hit the man in the back with my nose. He fell to the ground, holding both his arms like he broke them. I got up and tried to help him up. He was backing up in fear saying, “Monster, you monster.” Everyone began to stare and back away from me, even the brothers. It was completely silent. I could hear my breathing. I heard one of the employees whisper to someone, “Call 911.” Then I bolted out the front door. I ran as fast as my little feet could go. In the corner of my eye I could see people behind me. They were catching up to me. At this point, I knew I couldn’t run any longer. I started to stumble and then, I felt a hand hook my shell. I went flying back. After that, the moment was surreal. I knew my mom was going to kill me, if the police don’t first. I don’t even remember much of it

My first disturbing encounter with SFC Wilson was in November 2016, we were housed in lodging across from one another and he made the remark that I should make sure my door is secure and rattled off my key door lock number. After that incident, I shoved the sofa that was in my room up against the door every night until I moved to permanent housing. I was very relieved that I would be away from him so that I could sleep better at night. The second incident was during the first course of the 42A30, SFC Wilson introduced himself to the instructors and made it known to them that he did not know what he was doing and he would need assistance from all of us. He would ask my opinion about issues or situations that he was assisting in creating

Hey how are you doing? My name is Sheterrica Lenard and I've been working since I was 16 years old and I have all the experience that is required for this position. I have 5 years of experience in supervising and coordinating work of other correctional officers, I also can drive passenger vehicles and trucks used to transport inmates to other institutions, courtrooms, hospitals and work sites. I counsel inmates and respond to legitimate questions, concerns, and requests. I have also participate in required job training. After being in school for 8 years, majoring inn this field, I know I meet all required standards for this position. Although not all police departments require their detectives to possess a college degree, the shift toward a

Hey freshmen, don’t worry I was one last year as well. But I’m writing some advice down for you to survive a year here at Edgecatraz, so listen up. The dorms, where you live for the school year, has it’s natural rules. The school is serious and you will need to keep up to stay. The climate is usually different from home so we dress differently. Well let us get with the lessons.

After we left the jail I went to work. While I was at work Debra kept texting me, because she wanted to talk about things.

In the years that it was open, Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary seemed like a horrid place to live. If I were an inmate sentenced to spend my life at Alcatraz I would try to escape too. I think the three men that attempted to flee in the summer of 1962 were all highly intelligent. They came up with a very intricate, flawless plan, but I believe that the trio’s chances were too small, given their limited resources, to have successfully pulled off the escape. If there was anyway they made it out alive, I think the two skilled swimmers, Clarence and John Anglin could have done it while dropping the weak link, Frank Morris. I think the most accurate information there is about the men’s fate is the picture shown above. Although, the picture that the

Mohamedou Ould Slahi, sometimes spelled Salahi, has been held at the detention camp at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba since 2002. Despite the fact that he has never been charged with any crime, the United States has kept him detained here for more than thirteen years. Slahi began writing Guantanamo Diary in 2005. The manuscript, which consisted of 466 handwritten pages, remained classified for six years. When the work was finally declassified, it contained over 2,600 redactions. In the book, Slahi describes his detainment in the United States controlled detention camp to an American audience. Towards the end of the book, Slahi reflects on his captivity, writing “I often compared myself with a slave. Slaves were taken forcibly from Africa, and so was I. Slaves were sold a couple of times on their way to their final destination, and so was I. Slaves suddenly were assigned to somebody they didn’t choose, and so was I” (314). The type of slavery Slahi is referring to here is American chattel slavery, in which individuals are treated as property to be bought and sold. According to Slahi, the reason for his detention is because America “is strong enough to be unjust. And it’s not the first time you have kidnapped Africans and enslaved them” (212). His interrogators response to this claim, the “African tribes sold their people” to the United States, is ironic due to the fact that Slahi was given to the United States by his

“Give me Liberty or get me a Tent.” There have been better signs of course. But that was what my protest sign read for the first Occupy action I went to. I carried it proudly to a number of Occupy marches and rallies; for womens’ rights, for housing reforms, for improved prison conditions, and for a better educational system. But I made it for that first idealistic action: the Daylong Nonviolent Mass Occupation.

Kristine was sentenced to life in prison and they can not guarantee her another trial. Her lawyer is fighting for another trial because the evidence is strong enough to prove her as innocent. I do not think her outcome is fair because there is not enough evidence to prove her as guilty. The main reason I do not think she is guilty is because her son died with a high percentage of carbon monoxide in his blood, which means he was dead before the fire started. The fire was likely to have started in the space between the ceiling and roof because of faulty wires. With this evidence, I believe she is innocent.

Being held captive like this reminded me vaguely of my time with Vordenburg but I dare not tell her that. She seems to have a big heart and I don’t want to be the one to crush it. Laura gathered the ginger squad together and told them everything we had discussed she taped a cup full of blood over my arms and sat a straw in my mouth. This was fine with me I’m just glad she didn’t make me use those stupid glasses shaped straws I knew she probably had. They devised a new plan to go after my mother which I knew was ludicrous. I had waited centuries to even get this close to her and I had no idea of how I would take her down let alone some college students. My warnings seem to have been unnoticed or fallen on deaf ears but I feel slightly worried not for everyone but at least for Laura.

Seeing that I came at such a late hour, Beauplaisir begged me to stay, and I slept in the vacant guest chamber for the night. It had been years since I last slept in such a cozy bed, so I sank into the cozy sheets.

Saturday, December 13, 2003 my parents had the six o’clock news on. They never watched the news; there was too much sadness, no one ever mentioned the good things, and there was nothing for little children to see my mother always said. At five and a half, there was a good chance I would be playing and become oblivious to the news cast. For whatever reason I wasn’t playing, I was watching the TV with confusion. The light was low, the glow of the TV illuminated the space as we heard, “The American Operation Red Dawn has successfully captured Saddam Hussein. The Iraqi terrorist was found in a spider hole…” My ears ceased to listen as I watched my mother stop preparing supper and slowly make her way next to me.The reporter continued to give other

After 15 minutes of a warm and relaxing shower, I'm drying off and I hear a loud banging at the bathroom door. there were also muffled yelling from what I could make out was my father. i had a loud fan going so making out the words were impossible. I yelled "I can't hear what you are saying, I'll be out here in a second. I just need to put on some clothes" the banging stopped and I got dressed. I opened the door of the bathroom, turned around the corner and started to ask "what was going on" before I could get one syllable out of my mouth I felt a sharp painful blow to the left side of my jaw. the blow was so hard that I was rendered unconscious for a moment. I came to on the floor with one hand around the collar of my neck and a fist consistently hitting my face. Blood had started to cover the fist that was punching me. I couldn't make out who was causing me this pain due to the constant blows close to my eye socket. there was a moment they stopped to take a breath maybe? to admire what they had done? I will never know but in that moment my eyes focused and