---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Wed, 14 Nov 2001 23:54:45 -0800
From: radtimes <resist@best.com>
Subject: A CRACKDOWN ON DISSIDENT PRISONERS
http://www.progressive.org/0901/amc1201.html
You're in the Hole
A CRACKDOWN ON DISSIDENT PRISONERS
by Anne-Marie Cusac
It was September 19, 2001. Elizabeth McAlister had not heard from her
husband, Philip Berrigan, in more than a week. Such silence on Berrigan's
part was "most unusual," she says. Convinced that something was wrong, she
telephoned the Federal Correctional Institution in Elkton, Ohio, where the
seventy-seven-year-old peace activist is serving a sentence of a year and a
day for hammering on a military aircraft while on probation for a similar
action in another state.
"It took ten phone calls to the prison to get them to admit to me that he
was in segregation," she says. McAlister also learned that Berrigan was
being denied all phone calls and visits, even from family members. "I was
not told why or for how long."
So McAlister telephoned the office of her Senator, Maryland Democrat Barbara
Mikulski. Mikulski's office called the prison and, according to McAlister,
was told "that Phil was put in segregation on September 11, 2001, as a
direct consequence of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the
Pentagon, [and] that this was done 'for his protection.' "
But that explanation did not ring true. "If Philip is in segregation 'for
his protection,' why the punitive denial of visits from his family?"
McAlister wrote to Mikulski.
On September 20, Mikulski wrote her own letter--to Kathleen Hawk Sawyer,
Director of the Federal Bureau of Prisons. "I would appreciate being advised
of Mr. Berrigan's status and an explanation as to the reasoning for that
status," the Senator said.
The reason Mikulski received differed markedly from the information her own
office had obtained several days earlier. The October 1 letter, from Michael
B. Cooksey, Assistant Director of the Federal Bureau of Prisons, said that
Berrigan had been placed in administrative detention "for security reasons,
pending a review of his case." It added, "The Warden may occasionally
restrict certain privileges afforded inmates, such as visiting and telephone
calls, to ensure the orderly running of the institution and to protect the
public."
The letter also in-formed Mikulski that Berrigan's "case has been reviewed,
and he was released to general population on September 21, 2001.
Additionally, his visiting and telephone restrictions have been lifted."
In a letter to The Progressive dated October 25, Berrigan describes his
experience. "On September 11, I watched appalled as the second tower of the
WTC came down. The guards called me out, took me to the lieutenant's office,
shackled and handcuffed me, and took me to solitary. I inquired several
times as to why. One guard grunted, 'Security!' During twelve days in
segregation, no further daylight was provided. One lieutenant came to
announce, 'No phone, no visitors!' And no stamps. I was locked down ten days
before mailing out letters. The result? Limbo-incommunicado."
It was "perhaps Ashcroft's idea. Lock up all the naysayers," he says.
Berrigan's hunch about Attorney General John Ashcroft may have been right.
On October 31, the Department of Justice published new rules, "effective
upon publication," that "impose special administrative measures with respect
to specified inmates." The document, entitled "National Security: Prevention
of Acts of Violence and Terrorism," was signed by Attorney General John
Ashcroft on October 26 and published in the Federal Register.
Under the new rules, the Department of Justice, "based on information from
the head of a federal law enforcement or intelligence agency," will select
certain prisoners for "special administrative measures." These "may include
housing the inmate in administrative detention" (another term for isolation)
and denying that inmate "correspondence, visiting, interviews with
representatives of the news media, and use of the telephone, as is
reasonably necessary to prevent the disclosure of classified information."
Prior to these new rules, the amount of time an inmate could be held under
such conditions was limited to 120 days, although the Department of Justice
had the authority to renew the stay in isolation. The new regulations
authorize the Bureau of Prisons to hold an inmate incommunicado for a
"period of time designated by the Director [of the Bureau of Prisons], up to
one year." In addition, "The rule also allows for the Director to extend the
period for the special administrative measures for additional one-year
periods, based on subsequent certifications from the head of an intelligence
agency."
The Attorney General's rationale for these actions? "Where the head of an
intelligence agency has certified to the Attorney General that there is a
danger that the inmate will disclose classified information posing a threat
to the national security, there is no logical reason to suppose that the
threat to the national security will dissipate after 120 days," explains the
document.
But the segregation measures are not the end of it.
In a provision that National Lawyers Guild attorney Scott Fleming calls
"frightening and entirely new," the new rules direct the Bureau of Prisons
to eavesdrop on conversations that such prisoners have with their attorneys.
"In any case where the Attorney General specifically so orders, based on
information from the head of a federal law enforcement or intelligence
agency that reasonable suspicion exists to believe that a particular inmate
may use communications with attorneys or their agents to further or
facilitate acts of terrorism, the Director, Bureau of Prisons, shall . . .
provide appropriate procedures for the monitoring or review of
communications between that inmate and attorneys or attorneys' agents who
are traditionally covered by the attorney-client privilege," the rules
state.
Under these rules, not only is the prisoner a threat "but the attorney as
well," says Fleming, who has worked on the cases of several prisoners with
political backgrounds. The rules, he says, characterize the attorney "as
disseminating information for a prisoner who's been deemed a national
security threat."
Until now, federal prisons have had a separate, untapped phone line for
attorneys. Attorney-client privilege "is usually held sacred," says Donna
Wilmott, litigation coordinator for the San Francisco-based Legal Services
for Prisoners with Children. Phones aren't listened to; mail is not read.
"It's a basic right because, if you are trying to develop a defense
strategy, you need to have confidential conversations with your attorneys."
But now, says Wilmott, "They're basically saying there's a whole category of
people they don't have to honor attorney-client privilege with."
Usually, such changes in government policy involve an extensive public
comment period. Not in this case. As the Department of Justice explains this
unusual maneuver, "The immediate implementation of this interim rule without
public comment is necessary to ensure that the Department [of Justice] is
able to respond to current intelligence and law enforcement concerns
relating to threats to the national security or risks of terrorism or
violent crimes that may arise through the ability of particular inmates to
communicate with other persons."
Amnesty International is concerned about the new developments. "Prompt and
regular access to counsel for detainees is a fundamental human right under
international standards, even during emergency situations," says Curt
Goering, senior deputy executive director of Amnesty International USA.
"These standards provide for the right 'to be visited by and to consult and
communicate, without delay and with full censorship and in full
confidentiality with his legal counsel.' "
These regulations may serve as a post-facto justification for prison actions
that occurred after September 11.
In the hours following the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and
the Pentagon, leftwing prisoners like Berrigan were singled out from the
general population and taken to Secure Housing Units. Some were denied
access to legal counsel.
"These are all people who were or are leftist political militants, but
hardly Islamic fundamentalists," says attorney Robert Boyle, who is based in
New York City. "These people have no connection whatever to this."
The new regulations, says Boyle, are "the formalization of what they've been
doing for the past six weeks."
"The decision to segregate inmates without explanation or access to counsel
appears to be driven by certain policies which have not been made publicly
known," William Goodwin, legal director for the New York-based Center for
Constitutional Rights, wrote in an October 18 letter to Attorney General
John Ashcroft. "Ultimately, these policy directives flow from the Department
of Justice through the Federal Bureau of Prisons to penitentiaries
throughout the U.S."
Goodwin estimates the number of leftwing prisoners who were segregated at
between ten and fifteen. Some of these prisoners say that others were locked
down, as well, including Arabs, militia members, and abortion clinic
attackers.
"Immediately after the events of September 11, there was a group of people,
who, in different institutions across the country, were singled out," says
Diana Block, funding coordinator for the Jericho Movement, which represents
prisoners with political backgrounds.
The Jericho Movement issued an open letter in response to the detentions,
calling them "another step toward criminalizing dissent in the United
States."
Since 1973, Sundiata Acoli has been serving a life sentence for the murders
of a police officer and a fellow Black Liberation Army member in a shootout
in which Acoli drove the getaway car. Shortly after the September 11 attack,
he found himself in the hole.
Soffiyah Elijah, a clinical instructor at Harvard Law School's Criminal
Justice Institute, is one of several lawyers who represent Acoli. "None of
us have had access to him," she says.
I talked to Elijah on October 25. The day before, she said, was her first
opportunity to speak with Acoli in nearly six weeks. She said she made so
many calls that she lost count. "I was constantly on the phone to the
lawyers of the B.O.P. [Bureau of Prisons]," she said.
Elijah gave me a copy of a letter on U.S. Department of Justice/Bureau of
Prisons stationery. It is dated September 26 and is signed Jake Mendez,
Warden of the U.S. Penitentiary in Allenwood, Pennsylvania, where Sundiata
Acoli (whose former name, used on all Bureau of Prison records, is Clark
Squire) is incarcerated.
"Dear Ms. Elijah," says the letter, "I am in receipt of your letter wherein
you request Inmate Clark Squire be permitted a legal telephone call. . . .
Inmate Squire is currently not authorized telephone privileges, including
legal telephone calls. This has been enacted for security reasons. Moreover,
my review indicates Inmate Squire does not have legal action pending at this
time. Accordingly, I am denying your request to allow Inmate Squire a legal
telephone call."
Elijah says that the order for Acoli's segregation did not come from the
individual prison, but from Washington.
"He was told by the warden a couple of weeks after he was thrown in the hole
that there was an order from the Justice Department and the FBI to keep him
in the hole," she says. "One lawyer from the Bureau of Prisons told another
lawyer who's been working with us that the decision came from Ashcroft's
office. I know I was told that it came from higher up than the B.O.P. I had
at least two different lawyers from B.O.P. tell me that."
As this story was going to press, on November 2, Acoli remained in
segregation.
Marilyn Buck is serving eighty years for several crimes that include
assisting in the 1979 prison escape of Assata Shakur and a 1981 Brinks
armored car robbery that resulted in the deaths of two police officers. She
was also convicted of the 1983 bombing of the U.S. Capitol. Buck is housed
at the Federal Correctional Institution in Dublin, California.
Elijah is her attorney, as well, and she was also denied legal access to
Buck. "No calls, visits, or mail. They told me that specifically," she says.
"Even in my pessimistic view of the B.O.P., they have sunk below my
expectations," she says. Elijah has never before been denied access to a
client. "Sometimes it may take a day or two, but being flat-out told I
couldn't talk to my client--never. I've never been told that my legal mail
wasn't going to be given to my client or that I couldn't visit my client."
After her release from segregation, Buck said in a letter, "I had never been
held incommunicado." It was "a new nightmarish experience."
Jan Susler is an attorney for Puerto Rican independentistas. She says two of
her clients were held in segregation. Antonio Comacho Negron, imprisoned at
the Federal Correctional Institution in Allenwood, Pennsylvania, was held in
a Secure Housing Unit from September 11 until October 2. Comacho Negron was
sentenced in 1989 to fifteen years and $100,000 for conspiracy to rob a
bank, then re-arrested and returned to prison in 1998 for violating parole
by returning to the Puerto Rican independence movement. Comacho Negron could
not communicate with anyone outside the prison during his isolation. "He
didn't get any ingoing or outgoing mail. No phone calls," says Susler. "He
asked to receive a legal call and was told he couldn't have that. He was on
medication that they refused to give him. He has a stomach ulcer. He says he
lost fifteen pounds."
Susler says that she wrote the Bureau of Prisons about Comacho Negron on
October 2. As of October 30, she had yet to receive a response.
Another of Susler's clients, Carlos Torres, the national leader of the
Puerto Rican nationalist group FALN, was convicted of seditious conspiracy
for an attempted robbery of an armored vehicle in Evanston, Illinois, in
1980. He is currently incarcerated at the Federal Correctional Institution
in Oxford, Wisconsin. As compared to others in the days after September 11,
Torres's stint in the Secure Housing Unit was relatively easy. Though
segregated, says Susler, "He was allowed regular visits from family, allowed
mail, would have been allowed legal visits, got his medication."
The prison employees at Oxford, says Susler, "told me that they were totally
puzzled by his placement in administrative detention, that they had nothing
to do with it," and that they were waiting for orders from Washington.
Susler wrote the Federal Bureau of Prisons and received a letter, dated
October 1, from Cooksey. "This placement was for security reasons, pending a
review of his case, and should not be considered 'harassment' or
'punishment,' " wrote Cooksey. "In this case, the Warden has determined Mr.
Torres should remain in administrative detention at this time."
The Bureau of Prisons denied my request to interview Torres "based on safety
and security concerns right now."
Raymond Levasseur is incarcerated at the U.S. Penitentiary in Atlanta.
Levasseur and his co-defendant, Richard Williams, each received
forty-five-year sentences for bombing buildings, including courthouses in
the 1970s and 1980s. Attorney Jamila Levi says Levasseur was held in
solitary confinement from September 18 until October 23. Levi says she
received a letter from the prison advising her to contact the Office of the
U.S. Attorney General if she had questions. But when she did call the
Attorney General's office, she was unable to get any information regarding
Levasseur, says Levi.
Williams has been imprisoned for seventeen years and is currently
incarcerated at the U.S. Penitentiary in Lompoc, California. Boyle, his
attorney, says that Williams was not only segregated but denied legal
visits, legal calls, and legal mail. In an October 17 letter to Sawyer of
the Federal Bureau of Prisons, Boyle wrote, "I was told that those
restrictions were ordered by Washington and were occasioned by the 'events
of September 11.' "
It was not until September 24, claims Boyle, that he was told he could have
a phone call with his client, a conversation that took place two days later.
In a letter dated November 1, Williams writes that on September 11, "A guard
came to my cell and said follow him. He took me out of the block and down to
a locked corridor. Within half an hour, there were ten of us in there. When
we asked why we were locked up, they said we were terrorists and we hate the
government."
As of October 31, Williams had not been released from administrative
segregation, according to Boyle.
"The complete prohibition on contact with his attorneys, as existed for some
twelve days, was an egregious violation of Mr. Williams's Fifth and Sixth
Amendment rights," he wrote to Sawyer.
"Being held incommunicado even from your attorney--that, to me, was
unprecedented," says Boyle. "They feel that in this environment, they have
carte blanche to do whatever."
In denying the inmates contact with their lawyers, says Boyle, the
government is, in effect, labeling the lawyers themselves as under
suspicion. "I kind of felt that in saying that he couldn't write to me and I
couldn't write to him, they were accusing me of being involved," he says.
"If there was a conspiracy, I was part of that conspiracy."
"In the aftermath of September 11, we can't address specific actions we took
to ensure the safety and security of our institutions," said Traci
Billingsly, a spokesperson for the Federal Bureau of Prisons. "All the
institutions took appropriate actions."
What about denying inmates access to their lawyers? Billingsly claimed that
such things didn't happen. "All inmates are afforded access to their lawyers
while they are in Secure Housing Units," she said.
The Department of Justice was also less than forthcoming. A spokesperson
referred me back to the Federal Bureau of Prisons, assuring me that Linda
Smith, a spokesperson there, would answer all my questions.
"Were they terrorists?" asked Smith. She told me all she could say was that
individual institutions may segregate inmates for several reasons, including
misbehavior, pending investigation, and before transferral to another
institution.
As for the lack of access to lawyers, "To the best of my knowledge, that is
untrue," she said.
The new regulations, in combination with the detentions, bode ill for our
democracy. "It's really a moment the people have to wake up and put the
government in check," says Susler.
Wilmott is concerned that the segregations in the federal prisons may be a
sign of the future. "To me, when the state does things like this, it's a
trial balloon to see how much of preventive detention will be tolerated,"
she says. "What they do to prisoners they can visit on the general public. I
think it has repercussions for everyone who has a dissenting voice."
McAlister put Berrigan's treatment in larger context. "It has all the
texture of reprisal and vindictiveness--a punishment for thinking outside
the consensus and acting against our nation's love affair with weapons of
mass destruction," she wrote to Mikulski. "If any of the attitude I feel and
fear is present, it is the absolute end of all that we say we value as a
nation."
This archive was generated by hypermail 2b30 : Thu Nov 15 2001 - 04:00:36 EST