Hell Is a Very Small Place by Jean Casella

Author:Jean Casella
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781620971383
Publisher: The New Press
Published: 2015-12-25T16:00:00+00:00

SURVIVING

Weak as Motherfuckers

BRIAN NELSON

Brian Nelson, fifty, was born in Chicago and went to prison for murder in 1982 when he was sixteen years old. Nelson was later transferred to Tamms supermax prison after which he spent a total of twenty-three years in solitary confinement in various facilities. Although Nelson was never given a reason for the more than two decades he spent in isolation, he believes it was in retaliation for a lawsuit he won in 1989, Brian Nelson v. Ronald Haws, which forced the Department of Corrections to build law libraries in every segregation unit in Illinois.

At the time of this book’s publication, Nelson has been out of prison for five years. He currently works with the Uptown People’s Law Center in Chicago and is known as a tireless advocate and organizer against the use of solitary confinement. Nelson, who is a devout Catholic, says his favorite books are the Bible, the Harry Potter series, and “everything written by Thomas Merton.” “Solitary still creates a lot of problems for me on a daily basis,” Nelson writes. “I can’t even ride the city train to work because I feel trapped.” In fall 2014, he attended a protest in front of the Pontiac Prison but had to leave because he felt sick to his stomach. Nelson was incapacitated for days afterward by traumatic memories brought on by “the smell of the place.” The following piece is based on an interview with Sarah Shourd in February 2014.

NOBODY GETS IT. EVERY DAY I CRY. I’M AFRAID OF PEOPLE, REALLY scared of people. Twenty-three years with no TV, no radio. Touched hands once with my mother in court. I’m not a human being, everybody wants to try drugs on me. I was in minimum security. I used to make guards’ uniforms. I was the warden’s fucking trustee. Then twenty-four hours later I’m at Tamms, two pairs of chains on my hands and feet. I can taste it. I can smell it. I can see it every single day. I like being away from people, I am so afraid of people. I used to love hangin’ out, even my Mom—how do I tell my mother I’m afraid of her? The woman I love? How do I walk down the street with the prison mentality? No one knows what to do with me. What did they do to me? I went in at sixteen; I’ll be fifty next month. I hate it out here. I’m afraid every fucking day.

I love going to work at 5:00 a.m. I’m the only one there and all I do is read letters from prisoners. I try to help them. My office is almost the exact same size of my cell. I need this space. I need a place to go where I can’t see the fear in my mother’s eyes, her terror at what’s left of her son.

My brother criticizes me; it’s the best thing. I need it. He keeps me on track. He made me stand in front of the mirror.

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