‘I understood what it felt like to be broken,’ recounts a prisoner at Oregon State Penitentiary
Just think if you had a loved one behind bars, would you want that loved one treated with respect? You would not want that person treated like an object.
People make mistakes, and that is something as a society we have to remember. I write the truth so people can see the damage that is done and the pain inmates have to endure because of a broken prison system.
Change will not happen overnight but someday my voice will make a difference and change will happen. Today, I choose to share the effect segregation had on me. I’ll explain in detail about every segregation unit I spent time in at each facility I was placed in during my years of incarceration.
My first stop in solitary confinement was the “disciplinary segregation unit” within Coffee Creek Correctional Facility. I was placed in a cold cell, but at least I had a lot of space. I was allowed one book, even toothpaste and soap.
The cells are on the same units as general population, but the difference is we had a metal fence surrounding our doors — wrapped around us like a cage.
It was like being in a zoo, but this time I was the animal that everybody has to watch.
This is how they break a person down, by putting them inside a cage for weeks or even years.
CAGED: A Street Roots report on prisoners' experience with solitary confinement (from 2017)
Now, looking back, I can see this segregation unit was a blessing compared to the other segregation units I would spend time in during my incarceration.
The next segregation unit I was sent to was at Snake River Correctional Facility. My hands were placed in restraints behind my back as I slowly made my way down the hallway with officers on each side of me. I felt numb, but the fear was still there as the hallway ended. At that moment, I heard officers call over microphone and the metal doors in front of us opened. I could hear the screams and banging that was so loud my body could not help but shake.
As I walked in the unit, I could see people yelling through their doors, big plastic windows with metal bars as reinforcement. I can see the faces of grown men with nothing left to lose, no hope left inside them, broken and caged like an animal.
Every sound would echo across the room, sending a sharp pain into your ears.
Once we finally arrived at my cell door, a place that would be my home for weeks or even months, they yelled at the man standing in my cell to get against the back of the cell, to put his face against the wall. He did what he was told with no response, but you could see the hate in his eyes.
The officer called on his radio, and at that point my cell door opened. I went inside and waited for the door to close and the officer directed me to put my hand through a slot through to remove the restraints.
The feeling I felt at that moment, words cannot describe. I lost a part of myself that day, and that is something I will never get back.
The gangs in the prison system still have complete control over the unit.
Each inmate was forced to adhere to mandatory workout times, and time to wake up and time to go to bed. If those rules were not followed, the individual in your cell would be forced to take action against you with violence, or you’d be targeted once released to general population. This is something correctional officers and security allowed to happen.
Inmates were put in certain cells by the command of other inmates. It sadly reinforced negativity, when anger and violence are already the norm. The inmate in my cell used violence, not because he was a bad man, but because he always felt numb and that satisfaction to feel anything was a blessing — after many months stuffed in your cell, getting your food through a slot in your door, the days blend with no change, no tears left to cry, no feelings — is the only way I can explain it.
But still, this segregation unit was not the worst I’ve endured.
The next facility was Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution. I was placed in the segregation unit. As I was being walked down the cold hallway, doors on both sides of me, all the inmates looked out their tiny windows at the new face on the block.
There was no banging or screaming, just sad looks staring into my eyes. It was depressing, because these men were so broken, their voices no longer a weapon they used. The fight inside them was gone, the torment in their eyes was real.
The cell I was placed inside with another person was so disgusting that it is hard to put into words. The toilet was covered with a towel because it was full of shit and piss because the toilet was broken and unable to flush. The smell was so filthy that it was hard to breathe. We had to sleep on the ground by the door so we had fresh air during the night. No matter how much we complained, the correction officers said “tomorrow.”
The wall leaked water onto the floor so we were forced to use our blankets to stop the flow of water. The nights were cold and long, but at least we could stay dry.
Our cell was one of many that had the same problem. When we would bang and yell, we would be skipped during meal times. For the first time in my life, I understood what it felt like to be broken. Anger, hate, sadness was gone. I had no emotion. Defeat was the only thing left.
It’s a crime, what me and these men had to endure. By speaking for myself, I’m also speaking for them. Short term and long term, segregation will have a lifetime effect of pain that stays with that individual.
The last place that I’ve been in segregation was at Oregon State Penitentiary. I was placed in the Mental Health Infirmary, which is, to be honest, no different from disciplinary segregation. It’s a place that is supposed to help people who are going through mental health problems, but instead it was a spot to lock them up so they would no longer be an issue. Instead of working with them or trying to help them with their mental health, they choose to force-medicate them 24/7. These men stuck in the cell 23 hours a day, most of them would not even leave their cell for weeks at a time because the medication had such a strong impact. Many of the inmates would rub shit all over the walls and their bodies. They’d go days without the opportunity to shower. They’d flood their toilets and piss-water would splash over the floor, but they would be forced to live in these conditions, sometimes for weeks. These men have serious mental health issues and need to be taken care of properly.
Injustice in the prison system keeps going. Until we stand up as a society, nothing will change.
This article is an excerpt from a book Basim Floro (formerly Skyler Floro) has been writing about his experiences in Oregon state correctional facilities. Floro has been housed in solitary confinement, in part, for protection since quitting gang life. He sued the Oregon Department of Corrections and won $350,000 in 2019 after he was stabbed due to a guard’s actions. When Floro submitted this excerpt, he was housed in the infirmary at Oregon State Penitentiary after seriously harming himself. Following an investigation by Disability Rights Oregon, the Oregon Department of Corrections addressed some of the issues Floro raises in this column related to the treatment of prisoners in the mental health unit. By 20 19, DRO found prisoners there spent more than 20 hours per week outside their cells on average, no longer stayed in the unit for years at a time and incidents of extreme self-harm had drastically decreased. Floro recently learned he will be transferred from the infirmary to a segregation unit at Two Rivers Correctional Institution. He is a minimum-security prisoner and said he could be transferred to Columbia River Correctional Facility’s general population, where he would be safe and not confined. He believes the decision to send him to segregation, or solitary confinement, is retaliatory. He’s set to be released from prison in October. Street Roots is an award-winning weekly publication focusing on economic, environmental and social justice issues. The newspaper is sold in Portland, Oregon, by people experiencing homelessness and/or extreme poverty as means of earning an income with dignity. Street Roots newspaper operates independently of Street Roots advocacy and is a part of the Street Roots organization. Learn more about Street Roots . Support your community newspaper by making a one-time or recurring gift today .
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