Uhoes

As you know, I recently changed my name in the craftshop to “Uhoes,” so as to make a joke out of my earnest buddy’s complex involving being called a hoe (i.e. a coward), even in jest. Now, quite a few individuals will, upon seeing me, say, “Hey, what’s up, Uhoes?” And, if I just so happen to be sitting with him, well…☺

He’s gotten upset about it several times, and after my responses of, “But it’s MY name, it’s ME they’re talking to…” lost their neutralizing effect, I finally told him to just relax, as it’s just a joke. But, the just-a-joke defense is actually a philosophical package deal. As regards to criticism, one can criticize openly, ensconce the criticism in a joke, or abstain from criticizing. My joke about changing my name to Uhoes is openly pseudo-self deprecating. That is, I only pretend to take the flak, when his complex is obviously the punch line. He at least tacitly understands this, hence the anger. But what he may not understand is the package deal. That is, when I say it’s just a joke, such seems to negate any criticism. But, if the joke is funny (and “Uhoes” happens to be one of the most popular themes in the juvenile jungle of our craftshop), the punch line (the moral of the story) holds water, and the hidden criticism is true.

Earning Forgiveness

Punishment is defined in the Oxford Dictionary of Philosophy as the deliberate infliction of harm upon somebody, or the withdrawal of some good from them, by an authority, in response to their being supposed to have committed some offense.

The elements of its justification are that it’s done for retribution, reparation, reformation, deterrence and prevention.

The element of retribution balances an injustice by rectifying the situation (i.e. an eye for an eye…). Reparation pays a duty from the accused to the victim. Reformation focuses on the punishment teaching the accused to behave better in the future. Deterrence focuses on the punishment deterring potential criminals from committing crimes in the future. And, prevention focuses on the punishment preventing the accused from committing other crimes.

I believe that each of these elements are, to varying degrees, sound reasons for punishment. On the opposite end of the spectrum from punishment, however, is recognizing when forgiveness has been earned. And as the initiation of these elements justifies the initiation of punishment, their completion likewise justifies forgiveness (deterrence and prevention, as purely social aspects, are impossible for the accused to “complete”, so must be exempted from this dynamic).

The combined completion of the first three elements equals true redemption. And since with true redemption the accused’s forgiveness has been earned, it would be dishonest on the part of all other parties not to bestow it. (Granted, redemption gets harder to attain as the alleged crimes get worse, as culpability rises, or for any number of other factors, but Man always has the capacity for such).

With the element of retribution, denying earned forgiveness will render yet another unjust situation again in need of retribution. With reparations, denying earned forgiveness may cause any attempts at reparation to cease to exist, and victims will lose the only direct and tangible recompense that they can legally get from the accused. With reformation, the very means to the end of earning forgiveness—from society, the victim, and the self—denying earned forgiveness will reduce cases of reformation to the rarest kind: those solely for the self. With deterrence, denying earned forgiveness will also deter other penitents from attempting to earn forgiveness. And with prevention, while denying earned forgiveness will have no effect on his being prevented from committing more crimes on the outside during the time of his punishment, it will actually induce his committing crimes within the prison, and again upon his release.

Granted, the majority of the assertions in this post are still theories, but if we, as a society, could have a serious discussion about them, perhaps then we’d eventually arrest our exploding prison population.

The Difference Between Humor and Funny

Due to an inclination toward mockery, much of my humor has a zero sum game element to it. And, possibly because I’m the object of my own mockery much of the time, many of my associates like my wit and impromptu dramatizations.

Except for one buddy – the little earnest fellow who’s graced these posts a few times. He and I are not birds of a feather. In the coffee shop context that I generally manifest around me, by tending toward philosophical and cultural discourse with the most nearby associates, I can come across as a high-minded aristocrat (though even that is kind of a running joke). He’s rubbed the wrong way by this aspect of me, so we butt heads, and he sometimes ends up as the fodder for my mockery.

Every now and then, loud arguments will crop up between several of us, with my mocking the topics at hand. (I like to later call these incidents “scandals” ☺). My earnest buddy would allege that my mockery isn’t humorous at all. Now, the philosopher Voltaire once said that if anyone wanted to debate with him, the two of them would have to first define their terms. I couldn’t agree more. After vigorously defending the humorous nature of my wit by detailing the actual elements of humor therein (e.g. in congruity, subtle allusions to other humorous subjects, irony, hidden absurdity, etc.), yet still not swaying my buddy’s position, I finally realized what he meant when he said the word humor.

The distinction between humor and funniness is that the former is objective, and embedded somehow into the topic at hand, whereas the latter is a subjective appraisal by those privy to said humor. A witticist could make a humorous remark, but if the hearer just lost his job, he may not find it funny…even if he can find the humor therein.

When I explained all of this to my earnest buddy, he agreed in his usual prompt fashion that implies he knew of such all along (even though his arguments until then showed otherwise). In my exasperation with him of late, I’ve begun to note the humor in my even referring to his as my buddy. But, that also is not so funny.

Aggregate Theft Theory - Another TDCJ Absurdity

Imagine if you had a sister, and she was caught purchasing $1,200 worth of electronic products that were discovered to be stolen. You have an Ebay store that you’ve run for the past 2-½ years. To date, you’ve sold around $200,000 worth of electronics similar to the ones your sister were caught with.

On this evidence alone, the state then charges you, your sister, your father, and your mother with first degree felony of theft over $200,000. Using the aggregate theft theory, the state alleges that the entire $200,000 in sales of electronic products in your Ebay store consisted of stolen goods, purportedly because the particulars involved your sister’s actions on the day she was arrested. But, at trial, none of the complaining parties can confirm that any of the $200,000 worth of products that you sold on Ebay was stolen from them, or even where the products came from for that matter.

This miscarriage of justice occurs, I believe, with the state alleging aggregate theft, and as such moving the locus of necessary proof from the $1,200 instance of your sister buying stolen goods, to your having $200,000 of similar goods over 2 ½ years. As your farce of a trial proved, however, there was simply no evidence to link your sister’s theft of one day to any familial aggregate theft.

The state could theoretically place anyone in a murder trial, and just because a jury convicts, that person would go to prison. (But even then, a person was killed, that much is true. In this instance, save for your sister’s theft, it’s not even known if a crime in fact occurred). The question is how the specific charges are applied to the specific person. In this case, with the aggregate theft charge, whereas the state initially would have had to prove your sister guilty, now you essentially have to prove that you’re innocent, and all solely due to the implication that since she purchased $1,200 worth of stolen electronics, the $200,000 worth of similar electronics you sold must have been stolen, as well. But, when there’s no way to prove anything – as the aforementioned complaining parties showed at trial – you’re basically as good as convicted.

In the end, you and your family get over 200 years in prison. (And to those who think, “That much time? Sheesh, they must have done something really bad.” Don’t forget to consider the opposite viewpoint, and question whether that “something” deserved that much time. If not, then you have a justice system that metes out injustice.). Your mother and sister, neither of whom had a criminal record, sit in the county jail for 18 months on million dollar bonds. Your father, who was already in prison on another charge, gets a life sentence. And you get 50 years, and lose everything.

Even just imagining this, you can see how far out of perspective the justice system, in its current form, can take things. I generally don’t ask for comments, but this is for a good friend of mine, and he’d like to use your feedback as research of sorts. And, of course, I just think this blog as an informational link between him and you is downright cool. ☺

So, please let us know what you think about this case. Read more about it at US vs. Medina 485 3rd, page 1291.

Saved by the Shower Shoes

In prison, on the older style units without shower stalls on the pods, those who are in the know carry around a pair of shower shoes with them everywhere they go. Given that I don’t go shower with my wing at its allotted time of 6:00am (because after a full day of movement, recreation, etc. I’ll need to take another one anyway), the three options I have for bathing are 1) getting into the shower at some other time (due to being in good standing with whichever officer is working the shower door), 2) birdbathing in the cell or, 3) birdbathing with the industrial sink in the craftshop.

In any of these instances, however, the conniver for cleanliness must have a pair of shower shoes in hand for quick usage. As regards to cleanliness, a shower is obviously optimal. Birdbaths, even when taken with scientific precision like mine, come in second. But their efficacy, contrary to popular belief, isn’t attested to by actual grit on, or a foul smell emanating from one’s person. Rather, it’s from the oily feel of the skin anywhere from 6 to 24 hours – depending on the season – later. I believe that the oily feel is due to the fact that the dumping of cupfuls of water on oneself, that the vast majority of birdbaths necessitate, simply does not get all of the soap out of one’s pores like a shower does.

Yesterday, for the first time in many months, a confluence of events reduced me to having to take a birdbath in the industrial sink in the craftshop. I got clean (they all feel the same at first), but sure enough, I was slightly oily when I woke up the next morning – which I promptly rectified with an ultra-efficient in-cell birdbath (where my system is perfected).

Yet even craftshop birdbaths aren’t the worst. Once, in a gymnasium long long ago, a certain porter gained access for he and his compatriots to have out-of-place recreation sessions. And, in the midst of winter, after a basketball game, I took a birdbath with the water fountain and a nearby mop (in my boxers of course). The winter winds and ice-cold cupfuls of water practically killed me, as I scrubbed down with my teeth chattering away. But, thanks to my trusty shower shoes and a little bit of tenacity, I succeeded. I stayed clean in a place that seemed hell-bent on preventing such.

The Prison Good Life

One thing about my unit—the defining thing, in fact—is that it’s wide open. That is, the authoritative regime, and underlying culture, is such that contraband proliferates and illicit activities flourish. I don’t directly benefit from such an environ, as I don’t smoke or sell drugs, gangbang, or have sex with female correctional officers. But, I do benefit indirectly, in having created an almost paradoxical freedom of movement, and by having access to all of the non-immoral contraband that I desire (e.g. bleach, sandwiches, new clothes, etc.).

By exploiting these indirect benefits, having nothing to do with the direct benefits, having a laid back job (the medical squad here goes out to shuck peas a few days a year), and being in the craftshop, I have close to as good of a life as it gets in prison. And believe me, I don’t forget that for a second.

But there is one weakness in this perspective.

Any day now, I am going to transfer to a unit closer to home so as to attend the University of Houston. That unit, though it has many rare and great benefits, has an authoritative regime and culture nothing like my current one. Thus, along with the much lesser incidence of drugs, gangs, etc., my beloved freedom of movement and non-immoral contraband are also in much lesser degrees. Moreover, it will take a good while to get in the craftshop there, and even then it’s open much less often than the one here (ours has friends in high places). And, last but not least, the medical squad there goes out a bit more than the one here. All in all, it appears that, all else being equal, my life will take a big step down at my new unit.

Let us, however, consider the benefits that I hold so dear. For all their wonderful attributes, they are all prison-centric. I mustn’t forget that I write this blog, manage several stock portfolios, and am a stakeholder in a craftshop initiative that we’re trying to take mainstream. If I can expand my involvement in these free world endeavors during (or because of) my arrival and transition at my new unit, then it will instead be a clean step up. After all, I’ll trade prison-centric to free world-centric any day of the week!

The Goon Squad Hits Home

Last week, the new goon squad hit our wing, and my cell was one of the ones that they shook down (i.e. searched). Given my celli’s infatuation with contraband, they had a field day in the cell. My celli got several cases, and they took both of our radios, which had been altered.

Around 6:00 the next morning, when my celli was at court, one of the goon squad officers brought me confiscation papers for my radio. As I was asleep, he tapped on the end of my mat to wake me. I did awaken—none too pleased—and signed the paper, then went back to sleep. Minutes later, the lieutenant who heads the goon squad came to my cell, and, thinking that I was my celli, woke me up to serve me his confiscation papers. I, obviously inebriated by a state of semi-sleep, informed him that I wasn’t my celli, and the lieutenant—a hard nosed operator, let me tell you!—softened a bit, and said, “alright, dude, alright. Go back to sleep.”

As the lieutenant’s stance shifted from the usual overlord to empathizer—so much so that I vividly recall it through the aforementioned state of semi-sleep—I realized something (or, more precisely, I finished realizing something): Basically, laced throughout the entire realm of society are untold numbers of general collectives of people. College kids, drinkers, cops and Eskimos are but a few. As individuals, we belong to a large number of these general collectives, and in our personal and social lives, we constantly dip in and out of these collectives. When the lieutenant saw my state of semi-sleep, he exited the general collective of Correctional Officer (albeit momentarily), and entered that of Empathizer. And, just like that, our social relationship changed for a moment.

Collectives that cut across the officer-inmate one are visited all the time here in prison. During Dallas Cowboys games, some officers and inmates will band as Cowboys fans, while others will band as Cowboys foes. When certain female correctional officers are nearby, they’ll become gossips and lusters.

When I first got in my unit’s craftshop, we had a second shift captain that absolutely loved the place. He’d constantly drop by and visit for as long as possible. One day, as he walked by our station, my buddy said, “Say, Cap, this is Dave, he just got in.”

The Captain squared up with me, beaming a smile, and congratulated me. Yet, he was practically tremulous in his effort not to reach out and shake my hand. And I was too. Sometime people can’t meet in a general collective, no matter how natural it feels.