BLACK COFFEE, STRONG AND HOT

BY TRACY SCHLAPP

When we arrive to the activities floor at Oregon State Penitentiary Wednesday mornings at 8am, the space is bustling. The club cages frame three sides of the floor (yes, cages) these offices are comprised of floor-to-ceiling chain-link walled cubicles that are padlocked close at the end of the day. Inside cramped offices, men huddle over ancient PC desktops (they do not have access to the internet and phones in their space) as they run their business. The clubs include Lifers, Toastmasters, AA/NA, and culture clubs dedicated to building positive social interactions between cultural groups through education and activities. The club system distinguishes OSP from other prisons in Oregon. As we make our way across the floor, we pass the Lakota-Oyate-ki Club group’s table outside the cage — any given Wednesday men are beading or mending regalia for the annual PowWow. Other clubs will be meeting at tables or busily packing up a fundraiser to distribute to fellow prisoners. An ever-changing configuration of folding tables and chairs, the floor’s space is shared and rearranged. It’s difficult to cross the floor in a timely way, there are many folks to greet, hands to shake, and questions to ask — our meeting time suffers from a rolling start. It’s the least we can do, as the rest of the prison runs precisely. You do not show up late to count. If you chose to come to our meeting, you are welcome at any point.

A project like the PonyXpress needs a club sponsor to ensure a regular meeting room, to administer and coordinate with the on-site administrative staff, and to draw people to the program. We partner with Lakota Oyate-ki Culture Club — an organization that was founded in 1968 at OSP. The club has a long history, including one of publishing a magazine in the 1970s and early 1980s, which has been replaced by an emailed newsletter.

Matt Reyes, the club’s Chief works with us closely to manage the prison-side endeavor. Matt feels a profound sense of duty to his people and wishes to help them find their voices, learn about their culture and language. Weekly drumming and sweat lodge ceremonies are a cornerstone to strengthen his brothers and developing resilience at OSP. For Matt, partnership with the PonyXpress effort considers: How can we better serve Indigenous writers around the state? Matt’s natural leadership shines in his actions and intentions — he works hard in his administrative duties, though he prefers phone calls to emails. He maintains his vision for the club. The editorial board asked writers to cast forward stories for next generations. To see the future, prisoners must first attend to the deep places within and settle those scores. The ground where we stand must be cared for, reclaimed, planted with intention before we move on. Good work for any season, but particularly profound in the quiet dark.

Hugh Crow II wrote powerfully to his Cherokee great grandfather, Oklahoma in To My Great Grandfather now addresses to his relatives down the line in his poem Dear Distant Relative. Which stories, which traditions survive, which ones win?
Legacies often remain in graves.
Untold stories of survival left laying
beneath tear-softened topsoil,
wails of a memory
that holds on and forgets
to pass down the knowledge that is left.

I think of how we catalog information and misinformation on these digital platforms in typefaces that eliminate the personality of handwriting.  Will our words seem industrial and cold? Will future readers even trust this enormous amount of conflicting content that we produce? Or will all this code become like unreadable like 8-track cassettes? As I look at Hugh’s poem in his handwriting:
Though you’ll never know the sounds I make?
You’ll feel the warmth of my words’ embrace.
You matter beyond all circumstance.

We held Matt Reyes’s piece, I Am A Survivor to mark our first PonyXpress Thanksgiving. For many Indigenous people this day holds the great paradox that survival for white colonial settlers set into motion a history of genocide for Indigenous people throughout the continent. See this piece in from the Smithsonian. Generations of warriors were taught to defend and protect their families from the harm brought to them in the form of armies, and then police. This trauma takes many forms, here Leonard Peltier described his incarceration: “I live in the nation’s fastest growing reservation in the United States.”

Matt writes directly. He is down to earth and his sentiments are clear. A circle of vengeance through violence ultimately undermines his ability to provide comfort and healing to family, he writes: “I thought I only had two options, to protect my family or be a coward. I can now see another option. I don't have to take another person’s life.”  Matt has grown during his time served, and in his spiritual work. As we watch actions of vengeance and protection play out globally and at home. The thing we all crave — peace and safety for our families — seems unobtainable until we all learn to be a warrior who picks up the pieces.

On the Wednesday morning meetings at OSP, we gather at tables set so that the U-form opens to a white board. We sit and let the morning unfold lightly and people breeze in and out of the space. As we start to settle, one of the men will bring me a steaming cup of prison coffee — strong, hot, a little bitter. It tastes perfect, sweetened by the company and the work we do together. For this I am thankful. | TDS