SupportKevin.com

Letter from Kevin - Read Feb 14, 2007

Thank you all so much for coming out tonight to show your generous support of me and, more importantly, our shared political cause. A fabulous multi-course, vegan dinner is a comically luxurious way of demonstrating this support - but it's support I'll gladly take, and am so jealous of your participation (you have no idea of my level of desperation for Seward Cafe's, Super-Red-Green-Earth with tofu, soy cheese, and a cup of NON-instant coffee).

Well, Happy Valentine's Day - or for those more politically-cynical - Happy Hallmark's Day! This was seldom a 'holiday' I celebrated while free, but after 3 months of incarceration I now see the merit in a dedicated day of partner appreciation. Perhaps similar to near-death experiences, prison has a way of heightening the value of relationships and people you once took for granted. A sin only truly recognized from trauma or deprivation. One of the most frustrating parts of being imprisoned is not being able to live what I've learned. Even more than my insatiable nutritional hunger, the belonging for a private embrace with my most important supporter is what pains me the most; and not just on Valentine's Day, but everyday.

I hate prison. More specifically I hate FCI Sandstone. But, this is not to say I regret finding myself here; however, as I am defiantly proud of my role in one of the most vanguard of social justice campaigns this emerging animal rights movement has seen. I don't back down to anyone on this, whether that be to Fox New anchors or Federal Judges - my principles and my pride are worth more to me than the 'terrorist' labels or lost years. Saying that though, prison life does suck. As a political science student over at the University of Minnesota, I had a tendency to romanticize political struggles - I found the idea of struggle and sacrifice sexy in a way... but perhaps that was more of a bi-product of 13 years of catholic schooling though - you know? - equating sex and misery!

Needless to say, there is nothing remotely glamorous about my life right now, contrary to the grandiose fantasies of my undergrad years. FCI Sandstone was built in the late 1930s and feels twice as old. To me it's like something out of a Charles Dicken's novel and I'm playing the role of Oliver Twist.

Many prison critics often decry the warehousing of inmates and I now know exactly what they mean, as my housing can really only be described as a giant 'man warehouse' - and I don't mean this in the provocatively exciting way some of you may be envisioning! I live in an oblong room filled with bunk beds that are partitioned off with 3 and a half foot tall cubicle walls. There is absolutely zero privacy. Every movement I make can be seen by up to 60 guys at any time. My bunkmate is a decent man. He considers himself vegetarian even though he still eats cat food, or whatever it is the prison tries to pass off as 'fish.'

The 'food' here has taken me some time to get used to. There is always a vegetarian option; about half the time that option is vegan and about half of those times I find this option actually edible. In short I eat in the cafeteria about 25% of the time. All other meals I usually cook for myself with the housing unit microwave. I can whip up a batch of pretty mean burritos and you'd be surprised with what I can do with simple ramen noodles. Write me for recipes!

While emotionally I am suffering, I am keeping my mind and body in relative health. I do yoga three days a week and weight-lift the other four. If I were actually getting sufficient nutrients and enough protein I'm sure I'd be building muscle mass right now. For intellectual stimulation I am not without reading materials. I've got about twenty books on my shelf - mostly non-fiction. Daily I read the New York Times, weekly the Economist, The New Yorker, and the Nation, and monthly the Atlantic, The New York Review of Books, Mother Jones, and VegNews. Every afternoon I meet with a small group for two hours to argue politics and discuss literature, philosophy, and religion. These little roundtable McGloughlin Group-like debates are as great as a cognitive cardio, but often leave me exhausted, and depressed, as bigotry can rear its ugly head.

I will never truly know the feeling of hell those beagle pups go through inside of HLS - but I think I came as close as I ever will my first night here. I was cold, scared and hungry. I was disoriented, everything was so loud, and I couldn't understand what was being asked of me. I felt desperate to know what was going to happen. Stressed and confused I didn't sleep that first night in, but sat up wishing to be at home with my mother, to be safe. Yeah - I know this makes me sound like a wimp - me the big 'terrorist.'

But - that night and ever night since when I've awakened with that heartbreaking feeling of homesickness I've remembered how very real the stakes are in this movement. I know it can be easy to forget - as I throw myself pity-parties and you all gorge yourself on delicious foods - but what's brought us all together tonight is a shared indignation over the very real suffering and very real deaths being carried out in the name of 'humanity.' It demands of us a sober honesty and sincerity in our pledge to double our efforts for abolition, for liberation.

Because of the ridiculous of my convictions - found 'guilty' of the direct activities of unknown third parties - I consider myself kind of a proxy prisoner; and as such, in my absence, I am happy I can count on all of you to be the proxy activists - to pick up were my codefendants and myself left off. I can't tell you how - I can't tell you where, but I can tell you why: because no one else is going to! We are the only hope those animals in Huntingdon have and we need to start acting like it!

I truly appreciate all of you coming out tonight. Thank you to the organizers. Thank you to the Seward Cafe. Until I can meet all of you in person I look forward to corresponding with as many of you as I can.

Yours Truly,

Kevin