Prison Camp: Prisoners' Anthem
A White-Collar Journal forum for criminal justice, lived experience, and the personal search for redemption
Disconnection from society is at the core of incarceration. Below is an excerpt from my essay, A Muddled Brotherhood.
Prisoners’ Anthem.
Brian Nelson, a long-termer at the camp, walked the track with a guitar, but everyone called him Nelson. He told me that there were three sex offenders in the main prison named Brian and he didn’t want to be confused with them. He didn’t walk the track often and only during the summer. A former long-hauler, he was seasoned but surprisingly not bitter. He was always on a diet but none seemed to work. He told me he had lost fifty pounds twice and put on fifty twice over the years. He was one of the few inmates who was balding that didn’t succumb to the popular shaved head. He certainly didn’t look like a singer-song writer. But he was. Every once in a while, you’d see him strumming, meandering around the track moving from the inside lane to the outside lane in deliberate stride. Pausing, stopping, never acknowledging anyone, he seemed oblivious to everyone passing him. I’d hear melodies and lyrics very familiar but actually none were anything I could have heard because he made them up as he walked. One night just before count he came into my bunk and told me he was going to organize a camp sing-along of the Inmate’s Anthem which I never heard of. He said I might not know it but I would be able to figure it out and sing along with the rest of the camp. I was skeptical as I don’t have a great ear, but said I’d try. He had a loud voice and he was able to surprisingly quiet the entire dorm. The start was intermittent and soft, the Spanish guys weren’t even trying at first. But with each verse more inmates joined in and eventually everyone got into it. It was so loud I was afraid a CO would come back and start sending guys to the Shoe.
FIRST VERSE:
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU GO FUCK YOURSELF
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU.
SECOND VERSE:
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU GO FUCK YOURSELF
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU
THIRD VERSE:
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU GO FUCK YOURSELF
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU
And on and on. By the third verse the whole camp was singing loudly, lustily, heartily and everyone smiling and laughing. I couldn’t name the melody, but it was a familiar one and easy to sing along. One of the best nights in camp. In some ways, the obvious was more nuanced than when I first heard it. But at the moment, I enjoyed the fun, the laughing and the place. Over time, the words began to sink in. I thought about Judge Bolden and his words about being disconnected to humanity. And so I came to understand that all inmates are branded, upon arrival, as outcasts and disconnected from society. And this is the anthem of the exiled. FUCK YOU.
Following is a link to the complete essay, A Muddled Brotherhood, in Minutes Before Six.
If this piece resonated with you, consider sharing it or leaving a comment. To support this work and help spread awareness about justice reform for white-collar defendants, subscribe to White-Collar Journal and stay connected. John DiMenna is a member of the White Collar Support Group.
Up Next on White Collar Journal:
Wednesday (Justice Notes): Criminal Justice Reform
Thursday (Notes from Exisle): Log/Verse: Daily, fragmented reflections
Sunday (Prison Camp): More Stories from prison
If you’re new to White-Collar Journal, you can read earlier chapters and essays on incarceration, justice, and reentry at whitecollarjournal.com.
Thank you for reading White-Collar Journal. Subscribing is free, and I hope you’ll continue with me as I explore stories of incarceration, justice, and redemption.
If this piece resonated with you, consider sharing it or leaving a comment. To support this work and help spread awareness about justice reform for white-collar defendants, subscribe to White-Collar Journal and stay connected. John DiMenna is a member of the White Collar Support Group.
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