H-Unit
The modern concept of Supermax prisons came from the federal penitentiary in Marion, Illinois.
In October, 1983, Thomas Silverstein, a chained and shackled inmate returning from his weekly shower stopped outside the H-Unit cell of another prisoner, who quickly passed him a handcuff key and a shank. Silverstein killed one of the three guards escorting him from the shower. [Now, 23 years later, Silverstein is a prisoner in the federal supermax prison and has his own website.]
Later that day, another H-Unit inmate killed another guard and brutally stabbed two others. Federal officials locked the prison down and used the killings of the guards to justify a new and even more secure form of incarceration: Supermax.
Marion opened in 1963, the same year Alcatraz closed. In 1973, H-Unit was designated a "control unit." Prisoners, who couldn't constitutionally be placed in long-term disciplinary confinement, were said to be in "administrative segregation," or "ad-seg." Whatever it was called, it evolved into a new and extremely harsh form of imprisonment. Inmates were placed into solitary, given nothing to do, with little to hear or see. The worst of these inmates are classified for "no human contact."
Although there is no definitive list, there are believed to be around 50 supermax units or facilities, and many more prisons have "solitary" or other minimal contact units where prisoners are placed for limited amounts of time.
Considering those living conditions, how can it be that a group of segregated, isolated, supermaxed prisoners are now on trial, charged with running a huge criminal enterprise from their prison cells at Pelican Bay in California, the Florence, Colorado, ADX, and other super-maximum security prisons around the country. More than two years ago, the New Yorker printed a story detailing the background of the powerful Aryan Brotherhood, "The Brand."
Flash forward to 1999, when a few Aryan Brotherhood defectors apparently started cooperating with government agents. Officials established a secret unit inside the Florence, Colorado, supermax prison. This is the federa; prison that houses the country's most notorious terrorists, bombers, and gang leaders. They called it the H-Unit.
Alan Prendergast, a reporter for the Denver weekly, Westword, has been covering the Colorado Supermax prison since 1995. According to Prendergast, in "A Broken Code," published in July, 2000,
Special privileges, including fast food and pizza from town, use of a computer, color televisions, payoffs and placement in protection programs, and access to privileged information about other prisoners were just a few of the rewards. The H-Unit prisoners were even allowed to read other prisoners' mail, allegedly to search for coded messages.
By 2002, Federal officials were finally ready to move; they rounded up 40 purported members of the Aryan Brotherhood, and charged them with one of the most extensive conspiracies this country has seen. The only thing even coming close is the investigation and prosecution of the mafia, and even that never resulted in the kind of prosecution and trials now underway against the Aryan Brotherhood. Last year the L.A. Weekly published "Who'll Stop the Reign?," a report about the events and people involved in the trials.
In Colorado, Alan Prendergast, in "Bringing Down the Brotherhood," again discussed the issues, this time focusing on a former-supermax prison guard, Joe Principe, who was allegedly fingered by the H-Unit informers and subsequently indicted as part of the conspiracy.
In March, 2006, the first of the planned series of trials, involving four of the powerful gang's purported leaders, started in Santa Ana, California. The OC (Orange County) Weekly published this graphic story.
Of the 40 men rounded up in 2002, nineteen (including Joe Principe) have made plea bargains, and one died. That leaves 20 defendants still charged in what prosecutors have called the largest capital crimes case in U.S. history. Two of the four defendants presently on trial face the death penalty.
Over the last few months, the prosecution has presented a parade of witnesses. The first of those witnesses described the oath he had taken many years ago: "My tongue eternally silent, I give my life to the Aryan Brotherhood." Gang leaders must reportedly kill someone to qualify for membership. This week the defense began to present its part of the cases.
Predictably, the defense attorneys admit their clients are members of the Brotherhood, but deny the conspiracy. They contend that the government's convict witnesses were paid for their testimony, which is in large part fabricated. Federal agents this week reluctantly confirmed that some of the witnesses received reduced sentences, and sometimes were released from prison, and that some received money and favors.
A U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives case agent, Michael Halualani, said one inmate received $150,000 when he was released from prison, and others at the Colorado Supermax prison were also paid for their time. According to Halualani, "I paid for time and information, not for convictions." He said the payments were similar to lawyer's charges for billable hours: "although they are in prison, it's their time."
The agent agreed that there was a danger of getting false information. He claimed, however, that the information was corroborated. "We do pay for time and we do pay for information but we also do some work," he said.
According to a Fox News report,
The Associated Press reported that "Smith said he spent nearly four years suypervising the 'H Unit' in which cooperating witnesses were housed at Supermax. He said six inmates eventually occupied the space and were allowed to mingle with each other and enjoy special privileges."
Every once in a while supermax prisons emerge from their obscurity and take center stage in society's consciousness. The Aryan Brotherhood trial presents such an occasion. The sentencing of Zackarias Moussaoui to life imprisonment was another.
If it can be "ethical" or "reasonable" to lock convicted terrorists and gangsters into solitary administrative segregation without any human contact or concern for their well-being, is it equally appropriate to reward some of them for informing on their fellow or former gang members.
And if some of them take advantage of what is offered, and they con the cops into accusing and indicting the wrong people, is that cause for additional prosecutions and more societal discomfort or concern or is it a kind of weird "justice"? Does this story, and use of the H-Unit informers, demonstrate how ineffective and contradictory our present practices are and how many of our values and principles have adapted to a stark reality?
The trial is now in recess until June 27, when it will resume.
In October, 1983, Thomas Silverstein, a chained and shackled inmate returning from his weekly shower stopped outside the H-Unit cell of another prisoner, who quickly passed him a handcuff key and a shank. Silverstein killed one of the three guards escorting him from the shower. [Now, 23 years later, Silverstein is a prisoner in the federal supermax prison and has his own website.]
Later that day, another H-Unit inmate killed another guard and brutally stabbed two others. Federal officials locked the prison down and used the killings of the guards to justify a new and even more secure form of incarceration: Supermax.
Marion opened in 1963, the same year Alcatraz closed. In 1973, H-Unit was designated a "control unit." Prisoners, who couldn't constitutionally be placed in long-term disciplinary confinement, were said to be in "administrative segregation," or "ad-seg." Whatever it was called, it evolved into a new and extremely harsh form of imprisonment. Inmates were placed into solitary, given nothing to do, with little to hear or see. The worst of these inmates are classified for "no human contact."
Although there is no definitive list, there are believed to be around 50 supermax units or facilities, and many more prisons have "solitary" or other minimal contact units where prisoners are placed for limited amounts of time.
Considering those living conditions, how can it be that a group of segregated, isolated, supermaxed prisoners are now on trial, charged with running a huge criminal enterprise from their prison cells at Pelican Bay in California, the Florence, Colorado, ADX, and other super-maximum security prisons around the country. More than two years ago, the New Yorker printed a story detailing the background of the powerful Aryan Brotherhood, "The Brand."
Flash forward to 1999, when a few Aryan Brotherhood defectors apparently started cooperating with government agents. Officials established a secret unit inside the Florence, Colorado, supermax prison. This is the federa; prison that houses the country's most notorious terrorists, bombers, and gang leaders. They called it the H-Unit.
Alan Prendergast, a reporter for the Denver weekly, Westword, has been covering the Colorado Supermax prison since 1995. According to Prendergast, in "A Broken Code," published in July, 2000,
the federal supermax presented the perfect setting for an ongoing "debriefing" process that would help authorities make cases against incarcerated gang members as well as those on the street. Prison officials also hoped to learn more about how inmates obtained weapons and passed messages, even in lockdown, and to identify staff members who'd grown too cozy with the gangs or were on their payroll.But doubts remained, and persistent rumors suggested that the cons were conning the cops. One of the H-Unit residents, Danny Weeks, later said he was a "mole," working within the Unit to discover who was snitching on the Brotherhood, the prison gang charged with controlling much of the violence, mayhem, gambling, and drug dealing in the U.S. prison system.
Special privileges, including fast food and pizza from town, use of a computer, color televisions, payoffs and placement in protection programs, and access to privileged information about other prisoners were just a few of the rewards. The H-Unit prisoners were even allowed to read other prisoners' mail, allegedly to search for coded messages.
By 2002, Federal officials were finally ready to move; they rounded up 40 purported members of the Aryan Brotherhood, and charged them with one of the most extensive conspiracies this country has seen. The only thing even coming close is the investigation and prosecution of the mafia, and even that never resulted in the kind of prosecution and trials now underway against the Aryan Brotherhood. Last year the L.A. Weekly published "Who'll Stop the Reign?," a report about the events and people involved in the trials.
In Colorado, Alan Prendergast, in "Bringing Down the Brotherhood," again discussed the issues, this time focusing on a former-supermax prison guard, Joe Principe, who was allegedly fingered by the H-Unit informers and subsequently indicted as part of the conspiracy.
In March, 2006, the first of the planned series of trials, involving four of the powerful gang's purported leaders, started in Santa Ana, California. The OC (Orange County) Weekly published this graphic story.
Of the 40 men rounded up in 2002, nineteen (including Joe Principe) have made plea bargains, and one died. That leaves 20 defendants still charged in what prosecutors have called the largest capital crimes case in U.S. history. Two of the four defendants presently on trial face the death penalty.
Over the last few months, the prosecution has presented a parade of witnesses. The first of those witnesses described the oath he had taken many years ago: "My tongue eternally silent, I give my life to the Aryan Brotherhood." Gang leaders must reportedly kill someone to qualify for membership. This week the defense began to present its part of the cases.
Predictably, the defense attorneys admit their clients are members of the Brotherhood, but deny the conspiracy. They contend that the government's convict witnesses were paid for their testimony, which is in large part fabricated. Federal agents this week reluctantly confirmed that some of the witnesses received reduced sentences, and sometimes were released from prison, and that some received money and favors.
A U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives case agent, Michael Halualani, said one inmate received $150,000 when he was released from prison, and others at the Colorado Supermax prison were also paid for their time. According to Halualani, "I paid for time and information, not for convictions." He said the payments were similar to lawyer's charges for billable hours: "although they are in prison, it's their time."
The agent agreed that there was a danger of getting false information. He claimed, however, that the information was corroborated. "We do pay for time and we do pay for information but we also do some work," he said.
According to a Fox News report,
Danny Shoff, a Bureau of Prisons offical now assigned to Washington, D.C., said he was one of the few staff members at the Supermax prison in Florence, Colo., allowed entry to "H Unit" at the time when the inmates were helping the government crack the heart of the Aryan Brotherhood.Defense attorneys also called Leslie Smith, supervisor of the Bureau of Prisons' special investigations unit, to testify.
Shoff said he was aware that "H Unit" inmates were using a computer and were producing documents, but he was not sure whether they had access to internal prison databases that could have given them information that they would then represent as their own.
The Associated Press reported that "Smith said he spent nearly four years suypervising the 'H Unit' in which cooperating witnesses were housed at Supermax. He said six inmates eventually occupied the space and were allowed to mingle with each other and enjoy special privileges."
Every once in a while supermax prisons emerge from their obscurity and take center stage in society's consciousness. The Aryan Brotherhood trial presents such an occasion. The sentencing of Zackarias Moussaoui to life imprisonment was another.
If it can be "ethical" or "reasonable" to lock convicted terrorists and gangsters into solitary administrative segregation without any human contact or concern for their well-being, is it equally appropriate to reward some of them for informing on their fellow or former gang members.
And if some of them take advantage of what is offered, and they con the cops into accusing and indicting the wrong people, is that cause for additional prosecutions and more societal discomfort or concern or is it a kind of weird "justice"? Does this story, and use of the H-Unit informers, demonstrate how ineffective and contradictory our present practices are and how many of our values and principles have adapted to a stark reality?
The trial is now in recess until June 27, when it will resume.
posted by anon at 7:17 PM
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