By Enceno Macy | Illustration by Sergei Chepik
Editor’s Note: In April, we began posting the work of Enceno Macy, an inmate in a US prison. Enceno’s articles are sent handwritten, then typed and edited by a trusted editor. Comments typed into the response area will be sent directly to Enceno. Thanks for reading and for the warm response he received last time –efc
Three years ago, the Federal Bureau of Prisons secretly built two experimental “Communication Management Unit” prisons, one in Terre Haute, Indiana, and the other in Marion, Illinois. These secret prisons were ostensibly designed to prevent terrorists from communicating with each other or with anyone inside or outside the federal prison system. In reality, information leaked out through lawsuits and prisoners’ families reveals that inmates are sent to the secret facilities for their religious beliefs, unpopular political views, environmental activism, or in retaliation for challenging other rights violations within the federal prison system.
The Communication Management Units severely restrict all inmate contact or communication with each other or with family, friends, or other outsiders. No physical contact whatsoever is allowed. Phone calls are also severely restricted, as is access to educational and employment programs. Inmates are transferred to the units with no explanation, no due process, and no recourse; the only avenue to complain or appeal is to the authority that placed them there.
Thanks to a [lawsuit brought by the Center for Constitutional Rights], the federal Communication Management Units are no longer a secret. What is disturbing is that the picture that has emerged is little different from your average state prison.
It is in human nature to desire interaction and/or companionship with another living, breathing being. Some humans find it in other humans, some find it in animals and/or nature, and others can substitute the living, breathing part with spiritual comfort. But many can’t, as is evident in those who have been isolated from all human contact. This is a common punishment in prison. They call it segregation, “seg,” which is a form of solitary confinement.
Those who are at all familiar with jail know about segregation, or “the hole,” as it’s often called. There are varying degrees of segregation, from total to partial isolation, all involving deprivations of mail, visits, telephone, television, radio, companions, reading material, exercise, or communication. Inmates are routinely sent to the hole for anything from petty infractions, like taking four books from the library cart instead of three, to serious assaults and volatile behavior. They can be kept there for as little as a few days to months or even years. Regardless of what a person has done to deserve such treatment, the longer the isolation the higher the possibility of psychosis or serious mental damage occurring.
Desperate for any human interaction, an inmate in the hole will create situations — usually negative — that require as much interaction as possible with prison staff or guards, for as long as possible. Boredom contributes to some of these incidents, but most of the time the staff dismiss as boredom what are really cries for help. The guards’ contempt and indifference increase the loneliness by making inmates feel less than human, cut off from decent treatment or attention. A common result is an inmate in the hole loses all hope and takes his own life.
The attitude that convicts deserve such suffering is faulty with regard to segregation, which has far-reaching and unpredictable consequences. Severe isolation can completely alter a person’s perception of himself and of the world, creating a monster of a person whose original crime was not violent at all. That monster will be let out one day, permanently warped and inured to violence. Society’s lust for vengeance has this way of blowing back on it.
Aside from the hole, prison involves other forms of isolation. Sometimes you can be around others 24/7 and feel more alone than if you were by yourself, the connection with others fading over time (or never being a possibility to begin with). You look around and realize that nobody in your life is anything like you or can possibly relate to you. As in my situation.
Loneliness cuts you off from other people’s realities. It is caused by one or more of these things: one’s inability to break through fear of letting his guard down; the antisocial or awkward personality of one or both parties; or the inability to truly care or be honest.
Inside or outside the wire, loneliness is not uncommon, but for inmates it is complicated because they fear being perceived as weak. Whereas some may be young, or for whatever reason have never been able to properly identify their emotions, most prisoners ignore, deny, or lie to themselves and others about being lonely so they will not appear weak by letting a softness show. Any softness in prison is considered a weakness, and the weak are easy prey. With no place to vent it – many having burned their bridges with anyone on the outside who might otherwise have stayed in contact to alleviate the loneliness – the pain builds and builds, adding to the bitterness the inmate already feels.
This is the downward spiral of loneliness. The more a person denies his loneliness, the less willing he is to be social or encounter potential friends, and the less likely he is to allow anyone to relieve his loneliness. Add to this the shame factor – or embarrassment – of even acknowledging that he is lonely, since being lonely implies that he is unloved and somehow flawed. Inevitably, he lashes out in what are cries for help to try to lessen the pain of feeling unloved and unwanted.
In prison, loneliness is compounded by the fact that being kept away from society affirms an inmate’s sense of unworthiness and unwantedness. Restrictions on contact with the outside world make reconnecting close to impossible. Eventually, guys enter back into society with no social tools and even less likelihood of having meaningful relationships or repairing the ones they once had. Their own kids, wife, and family are strangers.
I have a mother who loves me, along with a little brother. They have been constants all the years I’ve been in. Others (very few) on the outside may love me when I am on their mind, but over time that happens less and less and finally they stop caring or remembering. Whether or not this is true, it is the only reality I have, since it is all I can account for. It’s all I know. And when you’ve had people tell you they love you and want to be in your life, and then fade out altogether, their absence makes the loss of companionship even more painful when they’re gone. I get by with my mother’s love; she gives me more companionship than I would ever get from anyone else and I appreciate it more than she can imagine. But that does not keep me from desiring the kind of attention and interaction that she cannot provide.
I haven’t had a girlfriend in a long time. Someone to tell me how I look and that she thinks about me at intimate times. That she wants my company romantically instead of anyone else’s. Someone who wants my attention and love, whom I can share secrets with and connect with mentally. The public generally thinks inmates’ desire for females is sexual obsession, but the things I long for aren’t things sex can substitute for.
Falling in love in prison is not the same as in high school or books. I met a girl through a friend when I was 16, soon after going to prison. I was still in contact with many people outside then, including my high school girlfriend, so at first this new girl was just a pen-pal. She was only 14 at the time, and I didn’t really take her seriously, since I still had all these other people writing. One by one over the years, all those people dropped out of my life, but still this girl kept writing. We both lacked the skills to express our emotions, but we wrote sexual and romantic scenarios back and forth. Months would go by sometimes that we didn’t write, but for the most part, she kept at me. Through all my transitions, she was there, even during my brief foray into going christian. Her letters were never deep, but a great comfort nonetheless.
Finally, after almost five years, I met her. She couldn’t visit before because she had to wait until she turned 18. We held hands in the visiting room and fell in love. No question, 100 percent love. We got to really talk for the first time, and when I went back to my cell I wrote her for hours. We went on with romantic letters and visits over the next year, but eventually transitions in our separate lives butted heads and we argued a little. Then the reality of my time kicked in for her. Our letters grew farther and farther apart, and the romance in them slowly disappeared. She still came to visit every once in a while, but kisses and hugs turned to just formal hugs. Her dressing nice turned into sweat pants and a t-shirt. Our conversations no longer mentioned a future together, and she began including a boyfriend in her various accounts of her life. Finally in 2006 she came only twice in the whole year and took months to write. She was still a good friend, but one day she just never wrote back.
It is hard to have an emotion but no one to feel it for. Eventually you begin feeling it for the wrong people, because the urge to love someone is so intense. And then it fades, only surfacing on occasion when a certain song plays or something reminds you of past loves. The loneliness feels all that much greater when you have the emotion but no one to give it to. Just emptiness.
In here, friends are made on occasion — I have made a few — but those are the exceptions, not the rule for me. I have been let down so much in my life by people I’ve considered friends that it took years to figure out what friendship meant to me. I was lucky to find a couple fellow inmates who had the same criteria for friendship. It is close to impossible to trust anyone in here, and I don’t even trust them 100 percent. But sometimes one has to take a chance at letting his guard down, to overcome his anxieties and become less lonely by finding surrogate brothers.
Many guys attempt to alleviate their loneliness by latching onto the camaraderie found among people involved in the same causes – in this case the positives and negatives of being a convict, locked up. A lot of them will look to join one of the many prison or street gangs, which ensures that most prisons they are sent to they will find associates or affiliates and feel less lonely and vulnerable. That kind of connection means a lot, because the state moves prisoners from one prison to another with very little reason, or none at all, so you can never count on staying in one place or on friendships enduring.
Others are able to find guys not in gangs but who share common interests, goals, and ideals. I met the very few guys I now call my friends through being in the hole with a guy whose disloyalty had cost him his friends’ and partners’ support. When I got back to mainline, I talked to one of those former partners, a guy named Kell (all names are changed here), who explained what had happened.
Meeting Kell was a turning point for me. We talked about friendship and discovered that we had a lot in common on the subject. I had grown up having the same kinds of friends as any other kid — sleep-overs, play-dates, parties, etc. But in my early teens, for whatever reason, I ended up having only one consistently true friend. We talked about that. Both Kell’s and my criteria for friendship hovered on one idea: loyalty. That meant that the friend would never leave you alone to deal with issues and would be there no matter how bad the weather. A friend would also not leave you to stand alone against the size of an issue, no matter how big the storm. A friend puts you before non-friends and will fight or stick up for you even if you’re not there. And a friend won’t lie to you.
After many conversations on this and other topics, we began to let our guard down and be friends – something extremely dangerous in this environment. Along with Kell in many of our conversations was a partner of his named Stiles, who also shared the views we discussed. In time, a real quality friendship developed among us. It took years — a lot tests of each other — but in the end, I would risk my life for either of them.
Through Kell and Stiles, I have made other friends, but none that approach what we are to each other. If I need something and they have or can get it, they make sure I get it, and vice versa. If any of us has some kind of luxury, we share it with the others. We are there to help each other through the bad patches. There are lots of bad patches in prison.
The loneliness is so much less knowing you have guys who support you whether you are wrong or right. Who will forgive you even when you stubbornly won’t admit you’re wrong. Who help you try to become the best at whatever you want to do or try. Good hearts in a bad place. Comfort.
This is the only reality I have. It’s all I know. And part of the reality is that at any moment, for the pettiest reason or no reason at all, this last comfort and hold on sanity can be taken away without notice or recourse. The feds’ experimental Communications Management Units are hardball versions of that reality.
Enceno,
Like so many have already said , truly what you wrote about your experience seems to be very much what is experienced in the so called outside freedom. Your experience being more intense in degree with rigid structure of protective mindset within as well as enviroment and the dynamics that unfold. But I really must say that your telling of your girlfriend and how that went is exactly like how most marriages go
But the mindset you describe is pretty much where the majority of us orientate out from.
I believe this to be the result of countless years of experiencing being rejected , shamed or praised according to compliancy of our doing , continually recieving the message through countless experiences that our value was contingent on our ability to perform , with most tasks being very mechanical , the expression of ones being using the unique creative aspect of self was not only dismissed but discouraged by emotional manipulation using shame and rejection. Our greatest beauty went underground with a belief that our essence is defective which lays hidden beneath the constructed “Character” that conforms.
The irony is these “characters” are unimaginitively so like one another , very perdictable limited roles and yet we each feel as if we are unique, real true connection with another or others painfully hard .
This unique quality which was intended for us to express and share with others creating very interesting expansion of life celebrating the differences living in the joy that unfolds .
Certainty, of I , You , Me , Us and our continuity is found, known in the principle of Life itself , and not in the ever shifting , changing manifestations themselves . Our experience of feelings of isolation being very real is because we believe we are the manifestation and its an extremely limited one at that and much like all the others but curiously blind to this due to the truth of a uniqueness that dwells inside but with no vehicle of expression.
So this beauty full of potential lays dormant unknown even to ourselves mistakenly taken as the defective part , the wierd , unexposed and kept hidden , in this very real self imposed seperation we experience hell…..
What I found is that I can easily see the potential in my bother, and sisters as well as the limited rigid beliefs that are the lies and by encouraging the first which are of a wide diversity and dispeling the latter whenever I can, which are mind by the way mind numbingly alike its ridiculous .
Its so strange in our dysfunction we are so much alike as to be clones but yet think we are so different and yet if we are lucky to glimpse our unique expression the gifts we have we seem to feel its nothing special , anyone , everyone has it and we think probably can do it better. How upside down are we , how backwards …
Burdened hard on the road… by law all are wounded , that you may know , you may know one another…
Its not the law that wounds its our erroneous ficticious interpertation.
Currently I see our globe as one large Mental Ward and I encourage each and everyone of us to cultivate and accept the Looney within and find our way back to sanity..
All my Love,
Oops, typo.
no one must not know, my sorrow must not show
Should be
no one must know, my sorrow must not show
I found that a humorous subconscious freudian slip. No hiding. No more.
xo
moonrose
Dear Enceno,
I dug out that poem, written in early 1988.
sometimes I feel so incomplete
as if there’s something so important missing
what is it i’m searching for, yearning for
will it ever find my soul
it cries so loudly but can’t be heard
i hurt so badly yet struggle to go on
no one must not know, my sorrow must not show
to the world i’m as happy as can be
but to the mirror i’m a lonely lonely person
I think loneliness is something many people struggle with, and it can be one of our most deepest fears. My loneliness wasn’t imposed on me by a prison system, but I’ve felt it very deeply just the same.
And, I think, even with loneliness there’s much value in knowing you’re not alone.
xo
Patricia MoonRose
Enceno, you are gifted with much insight, surely hard-won. You’ve laid a finger on that place inside all of us that longs for profound connection.
Your words led me to think of something else said, by a guy named Robin Artisson. He observed (paraphrasing) that whether one’s fate/path is gentle or hard or somewhere in between, it is all an invitation to awaken.
Dear Enceno,
This touches me on so many levels. There’s a poem I wrote many many years ago that immediately, though only partially, came to mind but my home is mostly packed and I’m not sure where my notebook is, or I’d share it with you now.
Isolation, loneliness, segregation, inhumane treatment, torture: these are all things that are scary to consider because there’s a thin line between it happening to someone else and it happening to you. Most people don’t want to face those fears, or possibilities, so they reject them, turn a blind eye. That’s just one reason, but it’s a good one.
It’s personal accounts like yours that has hope of turning a person’s heart, cracking open their innate ability to sit with and feel someone else’s pain through feeling their own. They must feel their own first, their humanness, their humanity. Our planet, our people, has much healing to do.
The book “Man’s Search for Meaning” by Viktor Frankl came to mind, as well as the book I’m reading now, “Mother Earth Spirituality” by Ed McGaa, Eagle Man. Ed tells the story where he had committed to undergoing six sundances and during the third one the missionaries on his reservation attempted to shorten and violate the ceremony by not allowing the important fourth day, on a Sunday, which is traditionally the piercing day. The missionaries would hold Mass instead, at the base of the sundance tree: the utmost insult. The dancers and the holy men were too afraid to stand up to this and so the dance went through its third day, as though it ended, but Ed, Eagle Man, came out and danced on that Sunday, the lone dancer, while the priest was ranting and screaming at him, and while Ed’s community looked on. Ed was indeed pierced and the sundance had its traditional fourth and final day. The story is much more inspirational than that, when reading all the details of what Ed was feeling and going through, but essentially it was his courage to take a stand that was an integral part of the return of the sundance ceremony to his people. After that, there was more and more rebellion against the missionaries and more and more participation and interest in the sundance ceremonies, both especially by the younger generation. More and more courage, more and more strength, more and more pride in their heritage.
One man made a stand.
I can’t help but think that there must be some fear of reprisal on your part for sharing these stories and I honor you for your courage.
During Desert Storm my unit operated one of the Prisoner of War Camps in Saudi Arabia. In part because of the character and integrity of our commander, the prisoners were treated very well, and our surgeon and dentist were two very busy men: most of the prisoners had never received any medical care ever before, and we had 35,000 come through our camp. I wish all confinement centers were operated in the manner ours was. The thing is, power corrupts, power over others being the most disgraceful and the most damaging. I’m sorry you have had to experience this first-hand.
In early 2006 my neighbor downstairs was arrested and has been jailed ever since. I am friendly with his mom and have kept tabs on him that way – he’s not really in the best place or treated well unless he’s in the hospital (mental conditions). I’ve thought now and again that I should visit him, but it was always easier to just forget about it (I’ve been facing my own fears and humanity these last few years). Your story has brought it up again and I think may be time – so I’ll ask his mom what she thinks. His mom has visited him every single week.
I imagined once what it would feel like to be locked away somewhere and forgotten; it didn’t feel very good. And I’m glad for your mom and your brother too.
I thank you for sharing your story. It comforts me to know you have found true friendship, even under the circumstances that exist.
Many blessings to you, Enceno.
Patricia MoonRose
Enceno,
Wow, I get chills reading your harrowing description of prison. We live in a society that still pits humans into groups and subgroups, depending on anything that defines us, whether that be race, gender, socio-economic status, prison being a category all by itself.
Your writing lessens the gap…
Us vs. Them. You vs. Me.
The beauty of your writing is that your language is universal. We have all felt moments of extreme isolation, suffering sometimes at the hands of others, and wanting to kill ourselves because we are in such a dark hole. Baycyn says it right, “For me, healing and connection begin with recognizing the divine in my “enemies”.”
I don’t know what your feelings on God are, but when I am at those moments of isolation and sadness and guilt, I find that working on my own creative process makes for an easier time of it, to work through the darkness and into your own light.
I send many blessings and love and forgiveness,
you are inspiring…
~elle
Enceno,
please keep writing. you’re reaching far more people than those who comment, to be sure. i can only imagine how many reading this think of their own moments of loneliness, how painful they have been, and are simply left in shock — and possibly a little ashamed — of how far our society will go to render someone to the point of inhuman in the name of “justice.”
to allow yourself to be open to friendships in prison to the degree that you have is a beautiful testament to both your strength and a tenacious grip on your core humanity.
— Amanda
Good morning Enceno-
Your writing is eloquent; your descriptions of our human need to interact with other humans explicit. Separating prisoners from contact for days, months… years? is cruel and inhuman– and here, outside, it is surely illegal. Lonliness is a spiral that turns everything dark and erases the path beneath one’s feet– that is the same whether outside or inside. I am happy for you that you have made friends in there after so long. It is a blessing.
Thank you for your words.
Your essay reveals what all writers know – that writing is really a way to relieve the loneliness and separateness that is part of the human condition. Writing is a lifeline, particularly in your situation. I did want to ask you to consider one of your statements about the nature of friendship, that friends “support you whether you’re right or wrong.” I consider a true friend one who will tell you the truth about yourself, not someone who will just shine you on by letting you fall in the same holes over and over. Of course, they must first listen deeply to you, but I don’t think it serves anyone for friends to just tell each other what they want to hear. Friendship – and writing – are paths to the Truth.
Enceno – thank you for such beautiful and insightful writing. It’s strange that while you describe the prison in which you are in, and the culture that goes with prison, there is something of which you write, that relates to those outside. Your situation must highlight, somewhat in sharp focus, what others experience in what is the world outside prison. The fear of exposing what is percieved as weakness, the risk of exposing oneself emotionally and so on…all the more risky and potentially painful for you and others given your situation.
I am glad you have found some meaningful relationships in your current circumstance – they must be worth so much to you, and I understand just how fragile they must feel given the nonsensical, changeable whims of the prison system. Maybe it is of some comfort to know you are making connections out here through your writing. I do hope so.
Best wishes, keep writing, H.
Thank you, Enceno, for your beautiful and heartbreaking prose, bringing awareness to such a dark aspect of our lives. I look forward to reading more of your writing.
The irony, of course, is that truly we are all connected. The more we deny this — by shutting people away and denying their humanity — the more we deepen the rot in the very fabric of our society.
For me, healing and connection begin with recognizing the divine in my “enemies”. Doesn’t mean I have to *like* them, but it does mean I can’t conveniently dismiss them as less than human. Sort of reclaiming my own projections.
Thanks, Len. I went through the commencement ceremony yesterday for my college degree and our commencement address was delivered by Miriam Wright Edelman who pulled no punches talking about this exact thing in her speech, in particular the huge gap between rich and poor and the fact that prisons and warfare get more money than schools from the federal government. She called on us to teach and care for the children and reminded us that a functioning democracy depends on an educated citizenry. Thanks to Planet Waves for transmitting this man’s words so that at least some of us can be a little more educated on what a racket our prison system is.
Enceno, thank you for sharing your insight and experience. There are so many things in our lives that we take for granted, until we don’t have them anymore, and there are so many things to be grateful for that we brush off, such as the other people in our lives, whether it’s the grocery clerk who smiles at you or our family members. If we could truly appreciate and cherish the fact of being able to interact with another human being maybe our interactions with each other would be different. But again fear is the dividing line.
As for the secret prisons, Americans have a lot of waking up to do. This country is not what it appears to be on television.
Again, thank you and keep up the writing and take care of yourself.
wandering_yeti,
Thank you for your eloquent outrage. At a time when so many have been rendered numb your flame burns bright. You are beautiful and you are absolutely right. Thank goodness for you.
Cruel and usual punishment. We spend billions of dollars to do this shit to people while schools have to cut programs right and left to stay afloat. Just like toxic agriculture getting $300 billion per year to farm badly and kill the land and waters while organic produce has its price inflated because sustainable agriculture doesn’t get subsidies. Or the billions per year that go to the oil industry to put it on artificial life support as it suffocates the biosphere while clean energy alternatives are left to fend for themselves. The consequences of Empire, profit over quality of life. In America we’ve got the most millionaires and billionaires and also a gap between them and the rest of us you could drive a flotilla of oil tankers through. Methinks our culture has a systemic disease.
Enceno,
Thank you for another eloquent and moving correspondence from inside.