S2E12 Dangerous

Six months to go. Sometimes you can almost feel the clock ticking. And that's not a good thing. Feeling the clock meant waking up with short-time or syndrome, tugging at me. Thanks, but no thanks.

In response, I just doubled down on my routine. I tried to keep in my lane and let as much of the prison bullshit as possible, roll off my back.

“What's that joke? How do you make God laugh? You tell him your plans?”

Well, it's the same thing in prison.

One of the first lessons I learned on my first day, Loretto,

was that the officials running the prison could and can do virtually anything they want to the prisoners under their charge. The prisoners have zero recourse to do anything whatsoever about it. Now, officially, there's an administrative remedy process. That's supposed to allow prisoners the opportunity to challenge wrongs against them

and to have them corrected. Like when their constitutional rights are being trampled. But the remedy process is as corrupt as the Bureau of Prisons is. And that's saying something. For starters, the BOP regularly ignores its own rules,

and they definitely ignore their own rules as they pertain to the administrative remedy process. For instance, the BOP refuses to abide by the time restrictions placed on it for responses.

“And I've never heard of anybody ever, ever winning an appeal.”

In fact, the whole purpose is to give the BOP a fig leaf so they can throw out every single prisoner complaint based on technicalities, usually that the prisoner didn't file in time. It's always nonsense. For the BOP, the whole cynical point of the exercise is the hope that the prisoners

lose interest in pursuing justice for themselves and just simply give up. Or the remedy process takes so long and demands so much hope jumping that the prisoner gets released, having served their sentence,

and their appeal dies, having never even made it to court.

Even more cynically, it's all just a paperwork exercise to pretend to show the court that the BOP is doing something to address prisoner grievances. For prisoners, it's just another sick joke. As I told you at the very beginning of this part of the story, when I arrived at Loretto, I expected to be placed in the minimum security camp

literally across the street from the prison. But it turned out that the Bureau of Prisons gave me a PSF a public safety factor designation. That meant that I was considered to be so dangerous by the BOP. And such a threat to the public safety that I would never be allowed to serve

any of my sentence in a minimum security camp, not a single day. That was despite the fact that my sentence and judge, a Clinton appointee with 20 years experience on the bench, had recommended that I served my time in a minimum security camp, and it was despite the fact that the U.S. attorney who represented the government

in its case against me also recommended camp, not prison. Neither of the people who put me in prison believed I was a threat to the public. In fact, nobody in any position authority believed I was a threat to anyone. And yet, apparently, some nameless faceless bureaucratic half-wit in the BOP's Grand Prairie Texas designation and sentence computation center,

the D.S.C.C. decided regardless that I was a threat disorming the same public safety designation as murderers, members of organized crime, and child molesters. I appealed this stupid decision, but I didn't know that it would do nothing for me.

The Bureau of Prisons had deemed me dangerous, simply because they could. And there was little to nothing that I could do to counter it. How a country or a culture punishes people speaks volumes about the country or the culture. Ironically, I wasn't anywhere near as dangerous as the Bureau of Prisons is to prisoners, and to public safety itself.

But then, if I'm 100% honest, the BOP was not wrong about me. They weren't wrong to suspect that I was dangerous. It's just that I was dangerous to them. I'm John Kerry Ocker. Welcome to Dead Drop.

What makes us bi-tick? This is episode 12 in our series "Doing Time Like a Spy." Before we get back to Loretto,

I want to thank you as always for listening to the podcast,

and for all of your wonderful comments, thank you as well for liking, rating, and reviewing us wherever you listen.

“In the world of podcasting, you, the listener, are incredibly powerful and important to us,”

so thank you for being there. What the DSCC, the designation and sentence computation center, did, placing a public safety factors as a nation on me, was just simply bullshit. Their excuse was that I had committed espionage and espionage along with trees in sabotage,

Therefore, warning such a design.

But as my attorneys pointed out, I had been convicted of violating the intelligence identities protection act, which has nothing whatsoever to do with espionage. It's not even in the same part of the US code as the US espionage act. That was one of the reasons that the judge and the prosecutors had recommended camp,

instead of prison. The DSCC ignored my attorney's letter, and instead sent it to the Wardenette Loretto for a response. This was cynical and disingenuous.

Now, I knew the Wardenette Loretto.

In fact, he was one of the few people there whom I at least semi-respected. He was a man of his word, usually, and this designation was not his word. I should also mention that crimes like treason, espionage, and sabotage often carry the death penalty. I was sentenced to 30 months, reduced to 23 months.

“How dangerous could I really have been in their own honest estimations?”

The Warden, man of his word, though he was, insisted that he could not reverse the decision. In fact, he paraded my lawyers' words right back to us while ignoring the facts. My attorney's had written that the PSF, the public safety factor, applies to, quote, espionage, treason, sabotage, and other related offenses. On quote, the Wardenette claimed in his response that my crime was and other related offense.

I appealed that. But then the BOP's regional director waited in. He wrote, quote, "Your total offensive behavior is to be considered utilizing the most serious offense or act committed when determining offense security level." Boom, the cat was out of the bag.

The security designation has nothing to do with your crime. It has to do with whatever the government originally accused you of doing. Whether the charges were dropped or thrown out, or not. The government, at then CIA director David Patreis' insistence, had piled all kinds of bullshit charges on me, including espionage. So only shit would happen to do process here.

“If I had actually committed the crimes I was charged with, why didn't the government then insist on going to trial?”

Why did they make five different plea offers because they knew it was all bullshit? Why did they drop four of the five charges? Obviously, because they were bullshit. And if I was so dangerous, then why didn't the BOP put me in a maximum security penitentiary? Why in a low security prison?

Until I received that letter from the BOP, I had believed that many of the BOP's officials were either lazy or stupid. How wrong I was? What they are is malicious. In addition to being lazy and stupid, but malicious above all.

Now, part of the problem here was that so many people in powerful positions had no idea what espionage is.

Certainly not by definition. So when they talk about it and throw the word around, the word is utterly meaningless. And it gets worse. If they had done an ounce of due diligence and say, "Check to the government's own records." They would have seen that the only other person who had ever been convicted of violating the IIPA, the law that they say I broke. And five counts of it, by the way, served nine months of a five-year sentence at Camp Cupcake.

So even if I had committed espionage, precedent was on my side. But alas, I'm going to use that word again, bullshit, great steaming piles of it was on their side. It turned out the BOP was punishing me all along for exercising my right to freedom of speech.

“I guess that's what comes from being dangerous, except it's the BOP that's being dangerous.”

In the episodes ahead, you're going to meet a terrific man named Paul Wright, a former prisoner himself, Paul co-created something called prison legal news magazine. It's the longest running newspaper or magazine produced by and for current and former prisoners in American history. In a July 2014 article published in prison legal news entitled BOP grievance system contributes to defiance of compliance by prisoners about a study conducted by the U.S. Marshall Service and the Department of Criminology and Criminal Justice at the University of Maryland.

Found that, quote, "the failure of BOP officials to adequately respond to grievances contributes to higher levels of violence in federal prisons." The research study determined that a benefit of the BOP's grievance system is deflecting or reducing potential litigation. Indeed, many federal court decisions have been decided in the BOP's favor based upon prisoners' failures to exhaust administrative remedies, unquote. The article went on to say that, quote, "the BOP's grievance system is perceived by some prisoners as overly formal and more concerned with procedural practices and deadlines than the substance of a complaint."

So, is the BOP really worried about violence here? Or are they worried about maintaining a regimen of bullshit and corruption? This behavior by the BOP, saying they do things to reduce violence while in fact doing things that increase violence is pervasive, systemic, and far-reaching. As I've said here, the one loses their freedom when sentenced to prison or jail, one does not lose their constitutional rights. Federal prisoners have a constitutional right to adequate medical care. That right is guaranteed under the Eighth Amendment's prohibition against cruel and unusual punishment.

That means that the BOP is legally obligated to provide essential physical, dental, and mental health services.

The U.S. Supreme Court established in the case of Estelle versus Gamble, that ignoring serious medical needs is unconstitutional.

“There's a lot of gray here to be sure. What is essential care? When does the obligation to provide it kick in?”

The default response from prison authorities to any prisoner expressing physical illness or disability of any kind is cynicism. That's the starting point for prisoner health care. You're lying. The second circuit has held that the denial of care has to be objectively serious enough to create a condition of urgency. That is, a situation where death, permanent injury, or extreme pain appears likely to occur, or has occurred. On the plus side, recent court decisions have emphasized pain and disability when evaluating prisoners' medical needs.

With all of that in mind, in February 2015, as many as 2800 prisoners at the Willissey County Correctional Center in Texas, seized control of the prison to protest the low quality of medical care there.

According to the Associated Press, quote, "inmates reported that their medical concerns were often ignored by staff, and that corners were often cut when it came to health care."

On quote, "An attorney with the Texas Civil Rights Project said that he, quote, was not surprised in adequate medical care, could ignite a riot. It's pretty abysmal with regard to modern standards of how people should be treated." What any normal person would consider medical malpractice outside prison? Well, it's a common occurrence in prison. My bunkmate Frank was 65 years old. He had diabetes and a history of heart trouble. He was insulin-dependent and took enough medications to stock a mid-sized pharmacy.

We were sitting in our room one evening when he suddenly felt a tightness in his chest. When a 65-year-old guy with health issues says his chest feels tight, you running get help. Together we went to see the CO on duty in our unit. Frank told the CO about the sudden tightness in his chest, and it was coming on top of the day spent being short of breath.

“One plus one equals two, right? Nothing I can do, said the CO. That's what he said. Nothing I can do.”

Sick call was from 6-6-15 AM Monday through Friday. You're going to have to wait and go to medical services the next morning. So one plus one equals nothing. That's what Frank did. He stood in line for medical services.

Finally got seen and was given Tylenol.

One plus one equals less than nothing. But the physician's assistant on duty did tell Frank that he, the physician's assistant, would do something proactive on Frank's behalf. He would apply to the regional medical officer in Pittsburgh to approve a request to do an EKG. Okay, thought Frank, one plus one equals, well, still nothing it turned out. Months passed the tightening in Frank's chest did not pass the tightening got worse.

Frank would tell me sometimes out of breath and worried that it felt like somebody was sitting on his chest.

“Or maybe that's what it feels like when the BOP is sitting on your chest.”

And my urging Frank returned to medical services. The physician's assistant insisted still that there was nothing he could do. It was all up to the regional office and the heartless bureaucrats there. Another two months went by one morning Frank got up to go early to the insulin line. I slept in that morning. I got up at eight and I headed to the shower.

On my way over to the shower, a prisoner who lived near the front of the unit called out to me. Yo, John, he says, Frank had a heart attack in insulin line. He just dropped to the ground. You unconscious. I was like, what the fuck? I felt dizzy with anger. Frank had been telling the medical unit literally for months that he was having a serious cardiac health issue. The classic signs of a man either having a heart attack or speeding toward one.

But a health official.

“Even a quasi-health official. Physicians assistants like those at Loretto do not take the hypocritic oath.”

But they do take a distinct profession-specific pledge known as the physician assistant professional oath. No matter how you cut it, no matter what metric you use. Everyone at Loretto failed to meet their most basic professional obligations here. If you're enjoying dead drop and, of course, we hope you are, then while you're waiting for new episodes, I'd like to suggest another great granular story podcast from the costart and touchstone family.

Just the photographer with David Swanson does for photojournalism what dead drop does for spies.

Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist David Swanson tells you stories his amazing news photos just can't.

It felt like being in all those dangerous places like war zones and natural disasters doing his job taking pictures. Having been to a few war zones myself, I can tell you this. Just the photographer will put you right there on the ground right next to David. Inside his head, in fact, it's a hell of a podcast and you can find it wherever you find your favorite podcasts or at costartandtouchstone.com. There's a link in this episode's show notes.

In fact, he'll find lots of great story podcasts that costartandtouchstone. Like the donor, a DNA horror story, the hall closet, sage wellness within, and the how not to make a movie podcast. Who knows, your next favorite podcast might be just a click away. Now back to Dead Drop. Frank survived the heart attack.

He spent 11 days in a local hospital, changed to a hospital bed, then underwent surgery for two

angioplasties and to install two stents. Why not bypass surgery? A better, more holistic solution of Frank's medical issue. Two expensive said the BOP, which ended up transferring Frank to a prison hospital in Massachusetts. A 15 hour drive away from his family and his support.

Then there was Larry. I didn't know Larry very well. He lived here the chapel where I worked as an orderly. So, ours was a, hey, Larry, how you doing, kind of relationship. One day, I passed Larry on my way to work and he's visibly hunched over.

I said, you okay? Like one normal human being to another? He told me that his back was killing him. It had been for over a year. In fact, he had gone to sit call that morning, where they just shrugged it off as usual and they gave him the usual Tylenol. Seriously, the man with visible physical impact on his frame complained about the same health issue for over a year.

The effect on Larry was profound and it was getting worse. Next time I bumped into him a few weeks later, he was walking with a cane. His pain was that bad. It was that chronic. That evident by now the Tylenol was utterly useless.

It wasn't putting a dent in his pain.

“I told him, buddy, you need to have your family call your congressman.”

He needed heavyweight help. That's how far this had escalated. But actually finding and getting heavyweight help is beyond most people. It was beyond Larry. A little later, I was attending the chapel weekly staff meeting.

The chaplain mentioned that he was going to stop by Larry's cell to see how he was doing. It turned out that Larry had gone from needing a cane to needing a walker, to needing a wheelchair to get around. I told the chaplain about his persistent back pain. About his years long attempts to get any sort of actual medical intervention.

I asked the chaplain to intervene if he could on Larry's behalf. And the chaplain did intervene to his great credit. He went to medical and he demanded that Larry be taken to an outside hospital for testing. Another two weeks went by before the regional medical office finally agreed to pay for the test. They took Larry to an actual hospital where he underwent an MRI.

And they diagnosed him with stage four cancer of the spine.

They sent him back to Loretto where he died in his bunk two weeks later, having never undergone any treatment of any kind,

except for Tylenol. He was never considered for any sort of compassionate release. In a lot of ways Larry was ignored to death. Look, there are a lot of genuinely bad people at Loretto, but none of them had been sentenced to death.

Not literally anyway, they deserve and continue to deserve at least basic medical care.

“A reminder, the BOP is legally obligated to provide essential health services.”

Ignoring serious medical needs is unconstitutional. And if mining the constitution is too big a lift and too hard, how about even just showing a modicum of human compassion?

This is what I said.

“Hello again from the Federal Correctional Institution at Loretto, Pennsylvania.”

I had a scare a few weeks ago that I wanted to tell you about because it's so typical of the BOP experience. By way of background, I have type two diabetes, although I am not insulin-dependent. A month ago, I had a routine quarterly blood test.

I have no idea what if anything that blood test revealed as my physician's assistant never put me on a callout to inform me.

A callout is a scheduled appointment. A few days later, I was put on a callout, but it was to the pharmacy not to the physician's assistant. I went to the appointment and the pharmacist handed me a bottle of pills. What is this, I asked? Glyberide, he said, "Like the name should mean something to me."

I said, "What's it for?" Diabetes. Only insulin-dependent diabetics are allowed to have testing meters. So I had no idea what my blood sugar numbers were. So now I'm getting worried.

Do I have a problem? I asked? I don't know, he said. Your PA called it in. He'll put you on callout.

I took the pills back to my room.

“The instructions on the bottle directed me to take a pill a day with food.”

So that's what I did.

At 2am on the second day, I woke up in my bunk, drenched in sweat.

I got down off my bunk, my head just swimming. I got my bearings enough to stumble to my locker, to eat a cookie. When your heads like that, even thinking can be hard. But I had reasoned that my blood sugar had dropped dangerously low. The cookie made me feel better almost immediately.

I drank some water and then I went back to bed. The next morning, I felt fine. That evening, with dinner, I took the next dose of glib your eye. I went to bed at 11 and I slept through the night. I woke up at 7, again soaked in sweat.

I lowered myself onto a chair overwhelmed by the urge to vomit. But then it passed. I went to the bathroom and washed my face. The bathroom is about 100 feet from my cubicle. And I started to make my way up there.

After a few steps, I got dizzy. I heard someone say, John, are you okay? I'm humbled. I'm not sure what's happening to me. A friend and fellow prisoner named Waheed, who was a pharmacist on the street, said,

"Your blood sugar's crashing. Sit down." I sat down on the concrete floor while Waheed ran and got a coke. I took two sips and then just everything went gray and I passed out on the floor. I woke up 15 minutes later in a wheelchair in the medical unit. The nurse helped me onto an examination table and took my blood pressure.

It was 88 over 60. He took it a second time. Again, it was 88 over 60. He asked me what medications I was taking. I told him about the glidebieride.

And he suggested, rather directly, that, "Perhaps you're not taking it the way you're supposed to." I assured him that I was. And that I had only taken three pills in three days. The nurse then suggested that I passed out because I was dehydrated. "Okay," I said, "Are you going to give me an IV?"

"No," he said. "We don't do that. Let's do an EKG to make sure you didn't have a heart attack." The EKG was normal. I told the nurse that I was certain that this was a case of blood sugar because of, let me do that again. I told the nurse that I was certain this was a case of low blood sugar because of the glidebieride.

He tested my blood, which was 138. Normal fasting levels should be between 70 and 100. I told him about the two-sips of coke I had had, which would then account for the higher level. He went back to the dehydration diagnosis and took my blood pressure twice more. 90 over 60, 90 over 60. The nurse told me to sit in a chair in the hall.

And when the regularly scheduled move was called at 825 AM, I should go back to my unit and quote, "Take it easy for the day."

"I never saw a doctor. I never even saw a physician's assistant."

That was three weeks ago and I still have not seen a medical professional. I've mentioned before that my father-in-law is a highly respected physician and former pharmacist in Cincinnati. I called him immediately. "Stop the glidebieride," he said. "Gliebieride is a medication meant as a last resort before diabetic's going insulin."

And I'm not up that stage. Besides, glidebieride can ruin the pancreas.

“That's why so many physicians refuse to prescribe it.”

He added that if I continued the glidebieride, I could expect to eventually go into heart failure. I threw all of it away. Interestingly, on the day I wrote this letter from Loretto, I received an electronic message that my refill of glidebieride was ready. I feel fine now. I use a friend's blood sugar meter to test my blood each morning and it's been between normal and slightly elevated.

What happened to me is minor, though, compared to what happens to other prisoners, systematically across the BOP.

The BOP generally ignores prisoners' medical problems, hoping they'll either go away or that the prisoner will be released and will become someone else's problem.

And this isn't just John Kerry Ocu talking, this is a documented policy in every BOP facility in America. I have a friend who was sentenced to two years in prison for having an illegal poker machine in his bar. He suffers from hepatitis C. As soon as he got to Loretto, he told the medical unit about his condition and that he needed treatment. Well, think about it, was the response. He asked repeatedly over the next 18 months for treatment. He was ignored.

Finally, two weeks before his release, he was called to medical.

They would give him the treatment, they said, "If he would agree to forego his halfway house and home confinement time."

“In other words, "We'll treat you, but you have to stay in prison for the treatment."”

He declined. The BOP can now cover itself by saying that they wanted to treat him, but he refused. Well, they knew he would decline. That was the plan from the very beginning. That night he called his wife to tell her what had happened. He was upset and angry and his language reflected that. Well, the next morning he was thrown into solitary for insolence, where he remained until the day he was released. Judy White is a contributor to op-ed news, a fantastic website that frequently covers BOP mouthpieces.

Her husband, Gary White, is a former Jefferson County Alabama Commissioner, who was caught up in the Carl Roe of instigated political case involving the former Alabama Governor Don Siegelman. Gary White is serving 10 years in a federal prison enforced city Arkansas.

“Judy White recently told op-ed news about the experience of one of her husband's friends at FCI Forest City.”

Here's what she said. "Today we're very concerned about Dave, one of Gary's fellow prisoners. Dave is 71 years old and should have already been released to a halfway house. For the past two years, Dave has sought medical treatment because of blood and his urine. As his condition has become dramatically worse and Dave has become much sicker, his medical needs and efforts to obtain treatment have been consistently ignored or denied by prison employees. The BOP routinely and purposely withholds treatment then releases sick prisoners to get whatever help they can get on their own.

Dave's medical needs became even more urgent when he began passing blood clots along with lots of blood. Dave understood that he was in serious trouble and that prison employees lived by their unofficial motto "We don't care." He begged to be taken to the hospital, denied and told to go back to his housing unit Dave had no choice but to take a stand. He told the prison employees that he was not leaving medical and that he had to be taken to the hospital. Eventually Dave was taken to the hospital where it was quickly and easily determined that he had multiple tumors and needed emergency medical intervention and surgery.

The emergency room physician told Dave that if he had not gotten to the hospital he would have been in the newspaper. The obituaries. Want to guess what happened next? Nothing. Dave was taken from the hospital back to the prison where he remains today without surgery and without a plan to save his life. The U.S. media have largely ignored this abominable denial of medical care. It has not however been ignored by everybody. According to prison legal news, the European Court of Human Rights refused to extradite suspected terrorist Haroon Rashid Aswat from the United Kingdom to the United States on the grounds that his mental and physical health would face significant deterioration in the more hostile U.S. prison system.

I have less than 150 days to go until my release on February 3rd, 2015. The first thing I'm going to do is to go see my doctor. I'm one of the lucky ones. Unquote.

“That's how I ended that letter from Loretto.”

It's funny. Had I never been sentenced to Loretto, I probably would never have known about the terrible problems there or throughout the federal prison system.

It might never have gotten onto my radar, but once it was on my radar, it had to be dealt with. The point of whistleblowing is to inform the public of something they need to know. Doing it is dangerous because power is incredibly protective of its secrets, especially as they pertain to power's corruption. The more experienced taught me about the federal prison system, the more determined I became, to blow as many whistles as possible on them. Even more than that, having been on the inside, having seen how easy it is to deny or abuse another citizen's rights.

Fiodor Dostoevsky wrote, quote, "A society should be judged not by how it treats its outstanding citizens, but by how it treats its criminals."

“Unquote. In America, part of that problem is who we consider criminal.”

I wrote in another letter from Loretto about the fact that the United States has 5% of the world's population, but 25% of the world's prison population. How is that a thing in the land of the free? The U.S. on a per capita basis has more prison inmates than Russia, China, and Iran. I wrote that quote, "This inexcusable fact is a result of our governments ill-conceived and ill-advised war on drugs and of Congress's propensity in election years to prove that it is tough on crime." On quote, "Indeed, according to the Congressional Research Service, Congress has created 50 new crimes per year over the past 10 years.

Harvard Law School Professor Harvey Silverglade argues in his book "Three Fellinies a Day" that the U.S. is so over-legislated, and daily life is so over-criminalized that the average American going about his normal business on an average day commits three Fellinies.

“Every day, it's no wonder that the Bureau of Prisons accounts for a quarter of the Justice Department's budget.”

It's no wonder that according to the American Civil Liberties Union, there are 3,278 prisoners in the U.S. serving sentences of life without parole for non-violent drug and property crimes. In prison from the time you wake up in the morning until the time you go to sleep at night, most people want to talk to you about their cases.

At first, it's fascinating. After a while, it's tedious. Later on, it becomes a real pain.

But the truth is that many of them have been wronged, whether by a racist system, by incompetent attorneys, by Overzealous prosecutors, or by judges whose hands are tied because Congress has mandated long minimum sentences, especially for drug crimes.

“At the time, a bipartisan bill called the Residivism Reduction and Public Safety Act, which was sponsored by Democratic Senator Scheldon White House of Rhode Island, and Republican Senator John Kornin of Texas, was on the table.”

So was a U.S. sentencing commission vote that wanted to lower the drug sentencing guidelines for all drug offenses. The sentencing commission's recommendations would have granted relief to thousands of federal prisoners convicted of drug crimes before November 1, 1987. There were conditions, caveats, and criteria, but as I said, thousands of people serving significant time far beyond what was reasonable would have gotten their freedom back. I wrote in another letter from Loretto quote, "These are not nameless faceless people that we're talking about.

There's a human side to this. We're talking about people who made a mistake, usually in their youth, and are paying for it with their lives. Their families are also victims. Rather than being in prison, where each prisoner costs the American taxpayer $29,291.25 per year, that numbers far higher today, by the way. They could be outworking, paying taxes, paying child support, and contributing to society. Both the recidivism reduction and public safety act and the Smarter Sentencing Act died in the Senate without even so much as a vote.

That was because then majority leader, Democrat Harry Reid, never brought it up for a vote.

When power changed hands and Republican Mitch McConnell became the Senate majority leader, he said the bills would no longer even be considered, and that's where it all remains to this day. Even as my efforts to get early release for fizzling, a new guy moved across the hall for me. He was a heroin dealer who sold tainted junk to a friend resulting in the friend's death. The heroin dealer got 20 years in prison and was grit. The heroin dealer got 20 years in prison and was given a greatest severity security classification, the very same as mine. The heroin dealer, appealed the classification, just like I did, are hearing that he was not a threat to society and should be in a minimum security camp.

Well, he won his appeal. His security classification was downgraded, and he was transferred across the street to the camp, to where I should have been. To the Bureau of Prisons, I was far more dangerous than a drug dealing murderer. In our next episode, we'll talk to Paul Wright, co-founder of the Prison Legal News, the longest running newspaper produced by and for current and former prisoners in US history, and we'll get his profound insights into this persistent problem.

Some secrets you have to keep others you have to tell the world.

Until next time, I'm John Kiryaku.

“Dead Drop is written by John Kiryaku and Alan Katz. Costart and touched on productions produces the podcast, and John Kiryaku, Alan Katz and Nick McCannick are its executive producers.”

This podcast is a cost-driven touchstone production.