How the Coronavirus Inspired Me to #Joinprisonerchallenge

• 

By Amber Smith

Just a few months ago when someone said"Corona" you probably thought about the Mexican made beer. I know I did. I remember vividly enjoying them during my wild college days. My friends and I would invade the local bars and drink Coronas until we were sick. The word Corona, at least for me, was associated with positive memories.

Then COVID-19 came crashing into my world. In a matter of days I watched how the world that I knew came to a sudden halt.

My morning coffee at Starbucks..gone!

My day at the office.. vanished!

Wednesday girl's night out with my best friend.. eradicate!

Trips to the doggie park.. indefinely!

Just like that..boom. My life had been ripped away by some strange virus ironically named "Corona."

Sitting in complete quartine from my previous life I began to think about a prisoner that I had developed a pen friendship who has been incarcerated for over 23 calendar years for a crime he didn't commit.

Throughout our correspondence this friend who is a journalist and prisoner's rights activist, who detail some of the horrible living conditions prisoners were exposed to on a daily basis. Just the mere details of being casted into solitary confinement were enough to bring even the tough-on-crime politician to tears.

I am unsure if I was driven by the madness that the sheer boredom of my lockdown had produced or if it was the fruit smoothie that I had for breakfast that had impaired my thinking. But, after stumbling across one of my friend's letter, I erroreously thought my "Corona virus" lockdown was similar to what prisoners go through.

When I conveyed that thought to my friend he laughed and said, " if you want to know what we go through, take only a blanket and a drinking cup and lock yourself into your restroom for 24 hours."

Initially I thought he was kidding but soon and knew he was serious. He told me if I was not courageous enough to take the challenge that I should put the challenge to the world. Especially to those who claim to know what prisoners in America endure daily.

So, the #joinprisonerchallenge was born.

I put the challenge out on social media and encourage politicians, community leaders, and criminal justice activist to take it. After a day of seeking the first participant, I decided to lead by example and take a leap in faith by accepting the #joinprisonerchallenge myself.

On April 12 , 2020 , I entered into my restroom with only a blanket and drinking cup and here's what happened next:

Living alone doesn't require much space. My one bedroom apartment has a decent bathroom. I've always found it to be spacious. It always maintain it's boardness despite all of the clutter I've have stored out of bad habit.

The very first thing that captivated me when I entered into my previously spacious bathroom and shut the door was how small the place actually was. I could literally walk from one end of bathroom to the other end in just three tiny steps.

I begin to panic. What had I gotten myself into. Frantically grasping on to my blanket and drinking cup as if they were my last dying hope of surviving this quandary, I began to sweat profusely as I examine the landscape for a place to make my bed.

I've never been catastrophic, but suddenly it felt like the walls were coming in on me. I dropped my survival gear and rushed to the sink to run cold water over my face. After a few mad dashes  of cold water to the face, I began to calm down.

I looked at myself in the mirror and in an attempt to assured myself, I sternly stated "we are going to survive this."

I grabbed my blanket and collapsed in the spot that separates my toilet from my bath tub.

It was at this point I realized that I was all alone. I began to think about my friend. Here I was about to have an anxiety attack seconds into #joinprisonerschallenge, yet my dear friend was entering into his 23rd consecutive calendar year of incarceration. I felt dejected. Tears began to saturate my eyes as I dozed off.

A short time later I awoke in a state of panic and confusion. Impaired by the smell of urine that reeked from inside my toilet, I was puzzled why I was sleeping on the hard floor of my restroom. I thought about reaching for my cellphone to check my messages but was stalled by the realization that I had accepted to #joinprisonerchallenge.

I had willingly relinquished all the luxury I possessed as a free person, to experience what it's like to be a prisoner.

How foolish was I. In addition to wanting to check my cellphone messages, I suddenly had this burning desire to do all of the simple things that I've previously took advantage of.

Fetching a glass of Ice tea from the kitchen.

Listening to my favorite podcast.

Taking a walk for fresh air on the patio.

The comfort of my sleep number bed.

Extreme deprivation had begun to drive me mad.

Out of nowhere I yearn for the apple pie that had been in my refrigerator for weeks.

Then came the obsession of having to change my cat's litter out now!

Noticing the isolation was on the verge of triggering another borderline anxiety attack, I tried to focus. I had to instantly turn my thoughts to something that would prevent me from fallen deeper into despair. I glanced at my sink, then the toilet. Running out of time quickly I focused in on the tiles that lined my bathtub.

"One, two, three," I began to count. "Four, five, six." I discovered that there were a total of 126 tiles laid throughout my bathroom. I counted them five times in a row. Anything to take my mind off of the fact that I was lockdown like a prisoner in my own bathroom.

I thought about my friend. If I can't consume the few hours I've been locked into my bathroom, how has he managed to do it for decades.

Despite all of the fancy prison scenes I've seen in movies, I had read enough of my friends account to know that incarceration was no cake walk. And, being locked in my bathroom had taken that understanding deeper.

Isolation of any form is torture. As sociable creatures we were designed to be around others, to fellowship, and benefit from our social interactions. The Coronavirus, and now, the #joinprisonerschallenge had violently stripped that very important element from my life.

I needed to desperately hear the comforting words of my mother or the hilarious narratives of my younger brother. But the hallow walls of my bathroom blocked me from this enrichment.

"One, two, three," I stared counting tiles for the sixth time.

Still 126, my mind was still healthy.

How does the most modern and advance country in history explains how it leads the world incarceration? And,  the mass majority of the prison facilities in the US are dilapidated and inhumane.

If we produce the most brightest minds and greatest leaders how do we explain this? I'm sure there's a better model than this one--even in my luxurious bathroom-- because this shit is mind- crippling!

I want to give up. Who would know. God understands that I have to get rid of that piece of spoiling apple, and for heaven sakes! my cat's litter needs changing.

But, my friend had challenged me, I challenged the world, and I choose to led by example.

Having no appetite skip my five minutes meal break. Couldn't trust myself to return back to Guamtonamo Bay if I left out.

Once again I curl up in my spot next to the toilet and cried myself to sleep.

I slept for what I thought was hours but turned out to be minutes. I was awoken by the turbulence of a nightmare.

I was pulled over by a cop one night while driving home from choir practice. He drew his weapon, placed me in hand restraints and hauled me away to a prison. I was not explained what I had been accused of or anything.

I was tossed into a soltiary cell that had the same porcelain toilet as was in my one bedroom apartment's bathroom. And to the left of it was my bathtub.

"One,two, three.." holy shit! ALL 126 TILES...

That's when I woke up in a cold sweat.  Being inducted into the ranks of the wrongfully convicted, even in a dream, had severely traumatized me.

I made a mad dash to my bathroom door to ensure I was only dreaming. After assurance that I was still in my bedroom and not a prison provided me with some temporary relief.

But my thoughts returned to those million of prisoners who are incarcerated wrongfully, like my pen friend. This experience was about joining prisoners, and my dream had thrust me into the shoes of a wrongful convicted man or woman. The feeling was gutwreching.

"One, two, three," back to my only real theraptic method available.. counting tiles.

Confident with my 126 findings I begin comtemplating how prisoner officials oftentimes forced more than one prisoner into such a small space. The lack of privacy and the obvious humiliation that comes from having to repeatedly defecate and urinate in their presence. Or, the suffering that come from having to smell your cellmate meets nature's calls.

I revisited the correspondence where my friend illustrates how prisoners lockdown oftentimes have to beat on their doors for hours to received medical treatment.

Analyzing my current lockdown situation where had I fallen ill there would be no one available to assist me, made those correspondence surreal. Just like in a real prison, I had no buzzer to press, no cellphone to fail 911 ,and no concerned guard to help me.

I was completely alone.  I gazed at my bewildered facial expression in the mirror and it petrified me despite the fact I could abandoned the challenge at anytime.

I had gotten way more than I could bargain for and I was ready for the challenge to end and end quickly.

Lockdown in a house is nothing like prison. The mere isolation and boredom is enough to trigger psychosis.The nightmares casted me into 16 of intense sleep deprivation. Prohibited from using the disinfectant that was stored in my cabinet caused me to be nauseated by the bitter reek of urine. The repetitiveness of tile counting was as destructive to my psych as the reality that I could have fallen ill with a non-life injury, but still die. Death by neglect.

Although I am sure I will need therapy to overcome some of the psychological injuries endured from the #joinprisonerchallenge, I can honestly say I am a better person as a result of this unique experience.

I emerged from my bathroom with a deeper understanding on what the million of men and women locked in jails and prison experience. I am now more determine than ever to ignore meaningful criminal Justice reform.

I have a deeper appreciation for my pen friend who has steadfastly professed his Innocence. Despite being incarcerated for over 23 years, this young man has obtain several college degrees and has been a role model mentor to other prisoners. To achieve so much in such a horrible place, I now know it takes a tad more than I could have possibly given.

If you are involved in any fashion with criminal Justice reform and/or the pursuit of criminal Justice, I encourage you to take the challenge.Its an educational journey won't regret.

Amber is the community coordinator for#

JOINJEREMY a movement to trigger meaningful criminal Justice reform and generate Justice in the wrongfully conviction of Jeremy Busby. She can be reached@ realtx6713@gmail.com.