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Ain't I A Woman? newspapers, June 1970-July 1971

1971-04-30 "Ain't I a Woman?" Page 10

two women speak from Niantic prison

reprinted from LNS
   (Editor's note: I met Pam and Marsha in the livingroom of a woman who works for the people's bail fund in New Haven. When I first saw them, they were writing letters to Ericka Huggins. We were all going to Ericka's trial the next day.
   Pam, 20, and Marsha, 24, were arrested together in New Britain, Conn. one night in January, handcuffed in a parking lot, and charged with violent robbery and conspiracy to rob. Strung out on heroin, they were brought before a judge who sent them to Niantic State Farm, a women's prison in Connecticut, to go through withdrawal. After a hearing, they spent three months in Niantic, where they met Ericka.
   Pam, who is white, and Marsh, who is black, grew up together on the streets of New Britain. Pam began taking heroin a the age of 14. Becoming "partners in crime" to support their habit, they robbed the men who bought their bodies on the street.
   Marsha has an eight year old daughter, and Pam is four months pregnant. They each face 15 years in prison if convicted. Until their trial next month, they will be trying to organize a bail fund in New Britain.
   They told me, "If we have to do time at Niantic, we're ready.")

[photo of woman -LNS WOMEN'S GRAPHIC COLLECTIVE]

[photo of woman -LNS WOMEN'S GRAPHIC COLLECTIVE]

  MARSHA: We arrived at Niantic State Farm at 4:30 in the afternoon. We were taken to the admission room where they took fingerprints of us, took our picture, and a nurse checked us out.  We had to sign a paper about state property. They give us five dresses, five bras, five pairs of underpants. We were warned not to destroy their property. We hand over our money, our rings, our jewelry, and they say they aren't responsible, but we're supposed to be responsible for the shit they give us, you dig it?
   The nurse told me 'You're sick, I'm going to let you go upstairs. I'm not going to send you to the infirmary. You have to be quiet. If you raise too much noise when you're kicking, they'll put you in the dungeon.' She said 'You'll get medicine.''
   I didn't get anything except two aspirin every four hours. We had to stay locked in a room for 60 hours, in isolation. They give you Look magazine to read and a puzzle to do.
   You go through withdrawal alone. It took me about a month and a half to get to sleep. They give you no methadone, no pills, no anything to kick with. You have pains in your stomach, you have cramps in your legs, you have diarrhea, you vomit, you have headaches, your throat is swollen, your tongue is swollen. There is no relief whatsoever.
   And if you lie on the floor -- the floor's cold, you try to lie on the floor to get a little relief -- they tell you, 'If I catch you laying on the floor again, I'm going to lock you up for extra days.' You can't sleep, so when you toss and turn, your sheets fall off the bed. When they find your sheets off the bed, they lock you up for extra days.

   PAM: A few weeks later, about ten sisters got locked up for singing "Power to the People." It seems funny now but it really blew our minds at the time. We were singing in the dining room and some of the sisters were drawing and writing. We had a magic marker that belonged to a matron. One of the matrons came down to the dining room for the magic marker.
   'I want the magic marker,' she said. And we wouldn't give it up. We passed it around the whole room, all the sisters were passing it around. Finally we were told we could have no lunch until they got the magic marker.
   I thought there was going to be a riot that day. We started singing "Power to the People." Ericka came downstairs, she was crying. She told us, 'Do you think it's fair for some of the sisters to get involved when they aren't involved?' You know 'because some of them aren't ready for it yet.' And so we gave the magic marker up.
   They called us down to the office, about ten of us, and we were told we had to be locked in our rooms for singing "Power to the People." We started banging on the doors. They brought guards over. I don't know what the guards were going to do, but they brought them over.
   When the matrons brought our lunch up, we refused to eat. They opened the door and said, 'Do you want your lunch?' We said no. They got real nervous about it. 'Oh, you're refusing your lunch? You're rejecting your lunch?' And they kept asking us. So we finally told them, 'Just get the fucking tray out of here, we don't want it.'
   Then, all the sisters were really thinking about why we got locked up. They started banging on the doors, all started banging on the doors. The matron was up there all the time, she's real sneaky about it, walking around on their tiptoes and everything. She says, 'Well, if you don't quiet down, you won't be coming out of your room tomorrow morning.' So everybody did quiet down.
   A couple hours later she came by with papers ordering us to appear before the discipline board. They're papers but we call them warrants, because it's like getting arrested. She slipped it under my door and I saw it: 'You are charged with POWER TO THE PEOPLE: SONG, SUNG.'
  We cracked up. We threw them back out in the hallway.
  This was really when we started to get to know Ericka. She really talked to us, we listened. She's so strong and full of love. Ericka knew where we were coming from, why we were singing "Power to the People." She would come by our room every night and tell us, 'Be strong.'
   We were locked in our rooms for about five days. While we were there facing the discipline board, we got messages from all over Niantic, saying 'Be strong.' Lonnie (McLucas) sent us a message. Bobby (Seale) sent us a message. Even a brother on Death Row in New Jersey sent us a message, saying 'Be strong. Keep up the struggle.' He's on death row and he's telling us to be strong?
   When I finally went before the discipline board, they said, 'Do you plead guilty or not guilty?' I told them, 'I don't plead nothing until my lawyer's here.' They looked at each other and said, 'You go into your room and stay there until you decide to talk.' I said right on, and I went to my room.
  So then Marsha went down, she told them the same thing. Another sister, Sylvia, and Milly, all the sisters locked in their rooms told them, 'We don't plead anything until our lawyers are here.' 
   The next day, they took us out of our room real quick, down in front of the Board. They had the nerve to say, 'Well, since you won't put in your plea, we'll put it in for you. You're found guilty.'
   Then they said, 'You girls can come out of your rooms now, do you have anything to say?' They were waiting for us to say thank you. We just walked on out. We were really ready for our rooms. A lot of sisters think they really got it made when they can walk around the building. Big deal, you see the same thing. The doors are locked, the windows are locked, so there's nothing to lose staying in your room.
   As days went by, they thought they were really fucking our minds, but they were making us stronger. The more they said to us, the stronger we got. The more they locked us, the stronger we got.
   Other sisters came in, we started getting them together, we started a Sisterlove Collective. That's what we called it. See, a lot of sisters don't have money, a lot of sisters don't have people. Some of us do. So we put all our money together. Nobody has what they call their money, it's our money.
 
MARSHA: When we got the money together, we'd go around and ask the sisters if they'd like lotion, or hair grease, or an afro-comb. Candy and cookies we'd share with everybody. It was all the sisters sharing, and the matrons didn't like that.
   But whatever they like is not good for us. And whatever they don't like, that's what is good for us.
   I remember the first day I met Ericak. I came out of isolation, and went to the dining room. There was a seat vacant near Ericka, and she told me, 'Sister, come sit over here.' There were some other sisters sitting at the table, and they asked me what I got charged for, and I told them. They asked me did I have a lawyer, and I told them no. A few days later, somebody drove my family up to see me. 
   There's no medical care whatsoever for the inmates at Niantic. If you're sick, you tell the matron, 'I'm sick, I want to see the doctor.' You have to wait at least two weeks before you can see a doctor.
   You go in there, they don't have any kind of real cleanser for the bathroom or toilet, no disinfectants. Nothing to really clean the toilets with. A lot of girls pick up diseases. Especially after they kick.
   There was a crabs epidemic while we were there. One girl came in with the crabs, and the matron said, 'Well, I'll tell you. You shower in the right-hand stall, and the girls that don't have the crabs will shower in the left-hand stall.' Now what kind of shit is that?
   I came down with an infection after I kicked, and I didn't see a doctor until at least three weeks after I reported it. You have to tell them what's wrong with you. They have one baby doctor and he doesn't even know what he's doing. They have a psychiatrist you can go see, who will ask you what's wrong with you, and you tell him you can't sleep or that you want medication, and he'll say what kind of medication, and you'll tell him you want medication so you can sleep, and he orders you sleeping pills. So you walk around fucked up.

10   Vol. 1, no. 15     Ain't I

Saving...

two women speak from Niantic prison reprinted from LNS (Editor's note: I met Pam and Marsha in the livingroom of a woman who works for the people's bail fund in New Haven. When I first saw them, they were writing letters to Ericka Huggins. We were all going to Ericka's trial the next day. Pam, 20, and Marsha, 24, were arrested together in New Britain, Conn. one night in January, handcuffed in a parking lot, and charged with violent robbery and conspiracy to rob. Strung out on heroin, they were brought before a judge who sent them to Niantic State Farm, a women's prison in Connecticut, to go through withdrawal. After a hearing, they spent three months in Niantic, where they met Ericka. Pam, who is white, and Marsh, who is black, grew up together on the streets of New Britain. Pam began taking heroin a the age of 14. Becoming "partners in crime" to support their habit, they robbed the men who bought their bodies on the street. Marsha has an eight year old daughter, and Pam is four months pregnant. They each face 15 years in prison if convicted. Until their trial next month, they will be trying to organize a bail fund in New Britain. They told me, "If we have to do time at Niantic, we're ready.") [photo of woman -LNS WOMEN'S GRAPHIC COLLECTIVE] [photo of woman -LNS WOMEN'S GRAPHIC COLLECTIVE] MARSHA: We arrived at Niantic State Farm at 4:30 in the afternoon. We were taken to the admission room where they took fingerprints of us, took our picture, and a nurse checked us out. We had to sign a paper about state property. They give us five dresses, five bras, five pairs of underpants. We were warned not to destroy their property. We hand over our money, our rings, our jewelry, and they say they aren't responsible, but we're supposed to be responsible for the shit they give us, you dig it? The nurse told me 'You're sick, I'm going to let you go upstairs. I'm not going to send you to the infirmary. You have to be quiet. If you raise too much noise when you're kicking, they'll put you in the dungeon.' She said 'You'll get medicine.'' I didn't get anything except two aspirin every four hours. We had to stay locked in a room for 60 hours, in isolation. They give you Look magazine to read and a puzzle to do. You go through withdrawal alone. It took me about a month and a half to get to sleep. They give you no methadone, no pills, no anything to kick with. You have pains in your stomach, you have cramps in your legs, you have diarrhea, you vomit, you have headaches, your throat is swollen, your tongue is swollen. There is no relief whatsoever. And if you lie on the floor -- the floor's cold, you try to lie on the floor to get a little relief -- they tell you, 'If I catch you laying on the floor again, I'm going to lock you up for extra days.' You can't sleep, so when you toss and turn, your sheets fall off the bed. When they find your sheets off the bed, they lock you up for extra days. PAM: A few weeks later, about ten sisters got locked up for singing "Power to the People." It seems funny now but it really blew our minds at the time. We were singing in the dining room and some of the sisters were drawing and writing. We had a magic marker that belonged to a matron. One of the matrons came down to the dining room for the magic marker. 'I want the magic marker,' she said. And we wouldn't give it up. We passed it around the whole room, all the sisters were passing it around. Finally we were told we could have no lunch until they got the magic marker. I thought there was going to be a riot that day. We started singing "Power to the People." Ericka came downstairs, she was crying. She told us, 'Do you think it's fair for some of the sisters to get involved when they aren't involved?' You know 'because some of them aren't ready for it yet.' And so we gave the magic marker up. They called us down to the office, about ten of us, and we were told we had to be locked in our rooms for singing "Power to the People." We started banging on the doors. They brought guards over. I don't know what the guards were going to do, but they brought them over. When the matrons brought our lunch up, we refused to eat. They opened the door and said, 'Do you want your lunch?' We said no. They got real nervous about it. 'Oh, you're refusing your lunch? You're rejecting your lunch?' And they kept asking us. So we finally told them, 'Just get the fucking tray out of here, we don't want it.' Then, all the sisters were really thinking about why we got locked up. They started banging on the doors, all started banging on the doors. The matron was up there all the time, she's real sneaky about it, walking around on their tiptoes and everything. She says, 'Well, if you don't quiet down, you won't be coming out of your room tomorrow morning.' So everybody did quiet down. A couple hours later she came by with papers ordering us to appear before the discipline board. They're papers but we call them warrants, because it's like getting arrested. She slipped it under my door and I saw it: 'You are charged with POWER TO THE PEOPLE: SONG, SUNG.' We cracked up. We threw them back out in the hallway. This was really when we started to get to know Ericka. She really talked to us, we listened. She's so strong and full of love. Ericka knew where we were coming from, why we were singing "Power to the People." She would come by our room every night and tell us, 'Be strong.' We were locked in our rooms for about five days. While we were there facing the discipline board, we got messages from all over Niantic, saying 'Be strong.' Lonnie (McLucas) sent us a message. Bobby (Seale) sent us a message. Even a brother on Death Row in New Jersey sent us a message, saying 'Be strong. Keep up the struggle.' He's on death row and he's telling us to be strong? When I finally went before the discipline board, they said, 'Do you plead guilty or not guilty?' I told them, 'I don't plead nothing until my lawyer's here.' They looked at each other and said, 'You go into your room and stay there until you decide to talk.' I said right on, and I went to my room. So then Marsha went down, she told them the same thing. Another sister, Sylvia, and Milly, all the sisters locked in their rooms told them, 'We don't plead anything until our lawyers are here.' The next day, they took us out of our room real quick, down in front of the Board. They had the nerve to say, 'Well, since you won't put in your plea, we'll put it in for you. You're found guilty.' Then they said, 'You girls can come out of your rooms now, do you have anything to say?' They were waiting for us to say thank you. We just walked on out. We were really ready for our rooms. A lot of sisters think they really got it made when they can walk around the building. Big deal, you see the same thing. The doors are locked, the windows are locked, so there's nothing to lose staying in your room. As days went by, they thought they were really fucking our minds, but they were making us stronger. The more they said to us, the stronger we got. The more they locked us, the stronger we got. Other sisters came in, we started getting them together, we started a Sisterlove Collective. That's what we called it. See, a lot of sisters don't have money, a lot of sisters don't have people. Some of us do. So we put all our money together. Nobody has what they call their money, it's our money. MARSHA: When we got the money together, we'd go around and ask the sisters if they'd like lotion, or hair grease, or an afro-comb. Candy and cookies we'd share with everybody. It was all the sisters sharing, and the matrons didn't like that. But whatever they like is not good for us. And whatever they don't like, that's what is good for us. I remember the first day I met Ericak. I came out of isolation, and went to the dining room. There was a seat vacant near Ericka, and she told me, 'Sister, come sit over here.' There were some other sisters sitting at the table, and they asked me what I got charged for, and I told them. They asked me did I have a lawyer, and I told them no. A few days later, somebody drove my family up to see me. There's no medical care whatsoever for the inmates at Niantic. If you're sick, you tell the matron, 'I'm sick, I want to see the doctor.' You have to wait at least two weeks before you can see a doctor. You go in there, they don't have any kind of real cleanser for the bathroom or toilet, no disinfectants. Nothing to really clean the toilets with. A lot of girls pick up diseases. Especially after they kick. There was a crabs epidemic while we were there. One girl came in with the crabs, and the matron said, 'Well, I'll tell you. You shower in the right-hand stall, and the girls that don't have the crabs will shower in the left-hand stall.' Now what kind of shit is that? I came down with an infection after I kicked, and I didn't see a doctor until at least three weeks after I reported it. You have to tell them what's wrong with you. They have one baby doctor and he doesn't even know what he's doing. They have a psychiatrist you can go see, who will ask you what's wrong with you, and you tell him you can't sleep or that you want medication, and he'll say what kind of medication, and you'll tell him you want medication so you can sleep, and he orders you sleeping pills. So you walk around fucked up. 10 Vol. 1, no. 15 Ain't I