The Bureau of Prisons’ Twisted Holiday Gift to Oscar López Rivera

The ProLibertad Freedom Campaign

By Laura Ruth Johnson January 17, 2007

Having been involved with the issue of Puerto Rican political
prisoners for nearly 15 years, I have learned to expect, and be
prepared for, just about every type of injustice and maltreatment.
But what happened on Saturday December 29, when I attempted to take
Karina López to visit her grandfather, Oscar López Rivera, who is
incarcerated at USP Terre Haute, reached a new level of abuse. We
were denied visitation because I failed an ion scan, used to
determine any contact with trace narcotic elements. I tested positive
for THC, or marijuana. Although Karina was not tested (the tests are
performed randomly) she was essentially barred from visiting because
she is a minor and cannot visit unaccompanied. This was an annual
holiday visit and Karina had traveled from Puerto Rico to Chicago,
IL; we had driven almost 4 hours from Chicago to Terre Haute, leaving
at 4:30 am, only to immediately return home, our mission of spending
time with ‘buelo Oscar unfulfilled.

It should be noted that the ion scans have been cited for producing
false positives, and do not test your use of drugs but your contact
with narcotic elements. The guards themselves acknowledge that use of
cold medicine, cleaning solution, or cigarettes can result in a
positive reading. Karina remembered a time when, after I tested
positive 2 years ago, the guard mentioned that cat fur can trigger a
positive reading.

On the way back Karina and I discussed our experiences off visiting.
She has by far had to endure much more hardship associated with
visiting than I have, as her paternal grandmother was incarcerated
for 19 years and her maternal grandfather has now been imprisoned for
over 25 years, and in some of the most punitive prisons in the
country, such as Marion and Florence, where visits occur through
glass. Each prison has its own rules, and they seem to be constantly
changing, and sometimes arbitrarily enforced.

At Terre Haute, as in most prisons, there are rules for how you
should dress—no open toed shoes, tank tops, hooded sweaters, short
skirts, or khaki pants. You cannot bring in more than $20 and it
should be in a plastic bag. You cannot bring in any pictures or
personal items. You are assigned seating in uncomfortable plastic
chairs in a row, so that you have to crane your neck to have a
conversation. There can be no excessive touching, and prisoners have
been disciplined for kissing their wives.

The ion scan has been instituted more recently than some of the other
procedures, and has made the already difficult process of visiting
prisons even more arduous. The night before you must select and wash
your clothes—some even forgo using soap for fear of the chemicals. On
the drive down, you are anxious regarding whether you will be allowed
to visit. While in the waiting room, you watch others endure the
test—essentially a vacuum used on the pockets of your clothes, your
shoes, and your hands—and wonder if you will be selected randomly.
You witness others “fail” the test and become upset, holding back
tears, as I did a few days ago, and walk away. You leave feeling as
if you have done something wrong or illicit and ask your self
irrational questions: Did I not wash my shoes thoroughly? Did I wear
this outfit after washing it? Could someone I know have
“contaminated” my clothing or belongings? Nearly everyone I know has
failed the ion scan at least once, and some twice. After the first
positive in a one year period, you are unable to visit for 48 hours;
the second positive has a 30 day penalty. A fourth positive would ban
a person from visiting for 6 months.

Karina, whose experience and maturity far outnumbers her 15 years,
put it this way in describing the rationale of the scans: It’s their
way of telling us that “you are part of THIS now,” meaning that
because of your relationship with a prisoner, you too will be
criminalized. While it’s an effective means of reducing the numbers
of visitors, it also works to make visitors feels as if they have
committed a crime. Essentially it’s an additional form of oppression
against prisoners and those who visit them. Such a procedure is all
the more unjust when viewed in the context of the holidays, a time
when most people “on the outside” spend time with friends and family,
and visits are especially significant and meaningful.

Laura Ruth Johnson is an Assistant Professor in the College of
Education at Northern Illinois University. She has been a member of
the National Committee to Free Puerto Rican Political
Prisoners/National Boricua Human Rights Network since 1994.