While I guess this deflates my previous argument, it also seems to be a gross violation of my first amendment rights. Whereas the phone is considered a privilege, it is my understanding that mail access is a right. As such, these letters should be protected by the constitution.

Beyond that, who is and is not the media at this point in time? The majority of the people writing to me have some sort of blog or videoblog. Are they the media? According to the California Court of Appeals they certainly are.

Clearly this creates a destructive paradox that is liable to not only leave me unable to communicate with most anyone but also threatens to put me into a situation where I’m being held incommunicado. Scary shit.

I tried to call my lawyer, but Rivas doesn’t work on Fridays and apparently neither does Christopher, the man who handles the phones at Jose Luis’ firm. So there’s no way for me to call him as I can’t dial his extension from prison.

I called my mom and asked her to ask him to visit me, but she told he said he’s too busy doing work in regards to our response to the appeal and is leaving tomorrow for a three week vacation.

Hopefully I can get this straightened out — we’ll see. Maybe Dan, a partner at the firm, will be able to meet with me early next week. Being in jail really demonstrates how much we really rely on the modern advances in distance communication for our day-to-day lives. How we go about assuring ourselves that our calls are not being monitored.

Suddenly you have to watch what you say, the way people so often have to watch what they eat. And this is “democracy?”

I’m going to miss these guys when I get out; that’s strange, I know — but I feel I’ve met some amazing people in here and my prejudices about the federal prison population , minor as they were, have been completely shattered.

This experience is clearly a life-changing one, and I only hope that I am learning all that I can; making the most out of this opportunity, this challenge.

This morning was a rude awakening, and today has been one of the most trying in recent days. Sometime in the middle of the morning I was called by Rivas into the CO’s (commanding officer’s) office.

Immediately it became apparent that this was a disciplinary meeting, and I was unsure what I might have done. Within a few moments, I’m heavily scolded for having a conversation with Judith Miller, which was considered an interview, and therein a violation of prison policy.

Here’s the rub: in a previous conversation, the jail administrator, Bill Kubitz said that written correspondence with the media is permitted — at least to the extent that prohibiting such communication would violate my first amendment rights.

Is not a monitored phone call with someone on my approved list also protected by the first amendment? On first glance, apparently not.

Rivas told me that there is an established policy for talking to the media and that I must follow those procedures or risk having my phone privileges revoked along with facing other possible disciplinary actions.

While it is true that there is a policy for how the media can contact me, there is no procedure for me to contact the media other than sending them a letter. Furthermore, follow-up interviews with the media are difficult to obtain, but can be vital to writing an an accurate story.

So, after all this, I get pulled into Kubitz office and he tells me that on reconsideration, he thinks that my actions may have actually been legitimate, but he’s not sure. His demeanor is professional and appropriate for communication with a colleague — a welcome relief following my scolding from Rivas.

Upon my return to the unit, I ask Rivas about the feasibility of having a two-hour visit with my mom this weekend. He tells me it’s too late — despite the fact that my mother wasn’t even an approved visitor until 5:30 a.m. this morning. He tells me that he doesn’t have the time to write the appropriate memo before he gets off for the weekend in two hours so I’m SOL.

I tell him that I’ll need to fill out a cop-out to Kubitz to do so, as Kubitz advised I do if I am unable to speak to him before he leaves.

At this point Rivas feels I’ve now gone over his head and he’s apparently become quite upset about my actions according to Gabriel, a guard, who told me about it after the two of them ate lunch.

At this point I’m totally on edge and things have begun to careen out of control. I also had my first encounter with inmates who don’t support me. They fucked with my head a bit and I started nutting out and became paranoid:

My salad wilts and drops down in size and and I think someone might be poisoning my food. There’s more dressing then I remember.

As quickly as I adapt to my environment — today was a reminder that I still don’t have my feet planted firmly on the floor. I’ll get there and I think I’m on my way.

Life is a learning experience.

Depending on how long I’m holed up here will certainly have a dramatic effect on how things will be when I’m released of course. That’ll be strange.But today, I realized that I’m strong enough to see this through.

It’s actually a good thing I wasn’t bailed out right away; I doubt I’d be so resolute as I am now.

Let’s see what the future brings.

Kurt and Scott weren’t around this morning  — they were apparently taken to an emergency court session. When they returned, they were placed in isolated custody. I wonder if my blog entry had any bearing on their predicament

My request to allow my uncle to visit me was also denied, and my mother’s request forms still haven’t arrived — quite frustrating and altogether fishy to me

Do they think that acting this way will convince me to bend?

Hardly, I’ll just speak louder than before. If these are the injustices I witness here — just imagine what goes on that I have no knowledge about.

My hand hurts — I haven’t “written” this much since I was a child.

Being in custody has been an emotional roller coaster — I think maintaining exercise is key to not becoming too depressed. After three days in a row of virtually no activity, I found myself in an emotional doldrum earlier today. About this time, while listening to my cell mate’s radio, Green Days Longview came on. One line seemed especially relevant:

“I locked the door to my own cell and I lost the key.”

I also played Monopoly today — something kinda meta about being in jail, in jail.

From here, he transitions to an article published in the New Yorker by Nicholas Lemann in which Lemann apparently asserts that bloggers are not “real” journalists. Unfortunately Carroll does not explain why Lemann draws feel this way, instead, he only points out that the article fails to define “journalism.”

I’m curious why Lemann reaches this conclusion. One common critique of citizen journalism is that it isn’t objective — but in my opinion, neither is most commercial media. In fact, the only truly objective reporting would be something akin to a Warhol experiment in which a static camera runs uncut — but even then, some bias had to help determine where to place the camera.

Another common critique against citizen journalism is the lack of an editor — but how many journalists would contend their work only becomes “true journalism” after the editor has finished slashing up the work? Not many I’m sure.

In one sense, Caroll’s concluding remarks on the matter are perfectly on point. He writes, “they each consider the other to be the enemy.” But I don’t think most of us on this side of the fence consider the established journalist to be the enemy, so much as the establishment the journalist may rely on to pay the rent.

Carrol continues, “the real enemy is out there, all the people who spin the truth and bury the truth. Journalism should be about revealing the world as it really is.”

God bless you Jon Carroll. I appreciate where you are coming from, but in reality there is no means to reveal the world as it really is — only the possibility to reveal it as we see it.

To pretend that a journalist is doing anything else quickly approaches deception. Sure, some journalists do an amazing job of seeing things in a light that approaches the unvarnished truth, and other point out how their bias colors their reportage; but both of these approaches are encompassed under the umbrella of journalism. The value of honesty far overshadows the value of this myth we call objectivity.

Not too many people tuned in for some reason, and I suspect the fact that it was in black & white may have been a big factor. Funny how not being in color can be such a deterrent to some people.

I saw Jose Luis (my lawyer) today, and apparently some organization has offered to pay all my legal fees (The Society of Professional Journalists)— imagine that.

Jose Luis heads off to Morocco this weekend — from there on out I”ll be represented by Dan Siegal — I wonder how this will all proceed.

Although I thought 1984 was one of the most prophetic books written, I now see Animal Farm clearly takes the cake. From the constant slashing and burning of the constitution to the mythical terrorism plotted by Snowball — the book parallels the current administration’s war on civil liberties and the fear fueled by the specter of Osama Bin Laden.

Just as Boxer was betrayed by Napolean and taken to slaughter once he had eclipsed his productive years — so too are people betrayed by our very own government. Since arriving in Dublin, I’ve heard two such tales — one more harrowing than the other.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised hearing treacherous stories about our government in a federal prison, but these tales did not come from my fellow inmates but the employees themselves.

Yesterday afternoon I was called in to receive a check-up on my health, and I began making conversation with the P.A. Upon learning her story of how she came to work here, tears began to well up in my eyes.

You see, Ms. Anderson (not her real name) never planned to be a prison doctor. Her first career involved mental health work treating indigent people in an urban environment. A stressful and exhausting career that she couldn’t continue after being injured.

After that, she entered a program through the federal government to retrain as a physicians assistant. As part of that program, she agreed to work treating migrant workers. However, upon completing her training, she was told that she would actually be working here in this prison. After protesting this betrayel, she was informed that she could either work in the prison or join the population. She chose the former and seems to be making the most of it.

The other tale is a common one, and a story I’ve heard many times before: combat vet faithfully serves his country, develops rash due to Anthrax vaccine, and then he’s told that the only health coverage he’s guaranteed is a semi-annual dental screening.

How’s that for a wake-up call?

My issues that have caused the worst trouble, aren’t with the people here, nor even dealing with being locked up. No, the biggest grief is that of my roommates on the outside who have chosen this opportunity to bitch about their fiscal shares. Ironic, isn’t it?

Other than that I’m doing pretty good. Just keep your spirits mellow, sit back, and tell yourself everything’s gonna be all right and you’ll be fine.

Lots of good conversations.

Unfortunately they don’t sell shaving cream, so it’s either gotta be soap or shampoo. I tried shampoo tonight; perhaps I’ll switch to soap tomorrow.

Apparently things aren’t going well in our efforts to get bail from the 9th circuit — I haven’t heard from my lawyer about this, but it seems the US Attorney is trying to assert something along the lines of a “get-out-of-jail-free-card,” and I should thus not be granted a bail hearing.

I don’t quite grasp this logic, but I know I need to speak with my lawyer, and preferably in private.

I’m too fucking upset to write right now — I’ll have to pick this up later.