New Mexico State Penitentiary (N.M.) - The hate factory

Brutalization begets brutalization, violence begets violence. In Santa Fe had a system of penology with a mentality that was all punishment. When you take everything away from a human being including his personal dignity, then he has nothing left to lose. He become extremely dangerous.

DR. JOHN SALAZAR,

former secretary of corrections, State of New Mexico

Friday, February 1,

There was a full moon that Friday night. I watched it move across the patch of sky framed by the window near my bunk, noticing how it turned the desert surrounding the penitentiary ghost white. I even thought about all the superstitions connected with the full moon and something Id read recently about a survey proving that crime really did increase every month when the moon was full. I was tuned in but not enough. It didnt cross my mind that the instigators of a long-planned riot would choose this night to put their scheme into action, maybe because I didnt really think of a prison uprising as something criminal; to me it was a righteous and overdue response to years of abuse, mental and physical. All that overdue rage, though, made people go crazier than anyone expected.

11:45 p.m . Eight well-juiced inmates sat around the table in the dayroom of Dormitory E-2. Theyd been chugging down a new batch of home-brew, prison booze made of fermented raisins, yeast, sugar, and water, since just after the early evening headcount at 8:30. Angry and loud, they were gripping about conditions.

Unless somethins done soon, The Mans gonna have all the white bros locked down in 3. Over half the brotherhoods in there already, a ranking member of the Aryan Brotherhood told the group. Most of the Anglo population, a minority in this Chicano-dominated prison, belonged to his clique.

It aint just you guys. Theres a lot of homeboys in lockup right now too, said a lieutenant of the Chicano clique. There was occasional racial tension between the Anglos (the name given to whites in New Mexico) and Chicanes, but usually the two maintained a truce and banned together to fight the blacks, none of whom lived in this dormitory.

So what are we gonna do about it? another broke in. Weve been talkin about a riot for so long now Im fuckin tired of waitin.

Okay. What about tonight?

The eight men sat stunned for a moment, then, nodding agreement, grins spread across their faces.

Well, all right, thats what I want to hear!

They poured another round of brew, toasted their decision, and began discussing the details of the takeover. A Chicano leader spoke for his clique. If we can pull it off, we can count on at least three hundred of our people to back our play. How many white brothers can we count on?

At least a hundred and fifty, maybe more. If we can take Cellbiock 3, theres another sixty in there.

I dont trust the blacks. What do you guys think?

Theyre either with us or against us. If they wont go along, well fuck them up. But I think they will. Theyre as tired of The Mans action as we are. In fact, I dont think were gonna have any trouble gettin the majority of the population to go along with us.

Okay, lets get the show on the road, then. Well take them when they come in for the one-thirty count like we planned. Ill call the white brothers in here, you go get your guys, he addressed the Chicanos at the table. Well clue everyone in together. If anyones asleep, wake the fucker up.

Minutes later, all sixty-two residents of Dormitory E-2 were crowded into the day room, the area usually used for TV watching and card games. These inmates had also been drinking and were well-psyched for the news they heard one of the white leaders announce.

When the pigs come in tonight to take the count, were gonna grab them and take over this prison. There was an uproar of approval that the speaker had to quiet. Heres how its gonna go down. When the two screws whore countin get to the back of the dorm, three of us will grab them. Another two will take the pig at the door whichll be easy, since these assholes never lock it like theyre sposed to. Everyone else look asleep when they come in, but be ready to cover our action when we need you. I know youre creamin about it now, but just remember when it comes down, anyone who stays in the sack after the shit hits is in trouble.

1:30 A.M., Saturday, February 2, 1980 .

Shift Captain Gregoria Roybal and Corrections Officers Michael Schmitt and Ronnie Martinez arrived at E-2 to close down the dayroom and take the final count for the night. Officer Martinez opened the dormitory door and Roybal and Schmitt walked into the unit. Martinez waited outside. Lieutenant Jose Anaya arrived unexpectedly just as Martinez was closing the door. Hed received word that there had been drinking going on earlier and decided to come down to back up his fellow officers in case trouble was brewing. He followed Captain Roybal and Officer Schmitt inside. Martinez, as expected, did not lock the door behind them; he left it ajar.

Two of the riot planners were lying in wait on bunks in the center of the room by the entrance door, and two others were on the end bunks near the dayroom; all had homemade shanks (knives) within easy reach under pillows or blankets. When they saw three guards instead of the anticipated two, they felt only a moment of panic before one of them whispered to the man in the next bed, Pass it on: Everyone jumps when we make our move. Get ready.

They let Schmitt make it to the dayroom, lock the door, and turn off the dormitory lights. The leaders knew this would be to their advantage. The only illumination in the place would then come from the bathroom. The blue night lights usually used from lockup to daybreak were out of order and had been for over a month in spite of the fact that a guard had written a memo requesting they be fixed for security reasons. Each time the officers came into this unit for the final count, they became tense. Rumors of a riot had reached the administrations ears back in mid-January, and its promoters were known to be in E-2. Even if a riot hadnt been in the wind, corrections officers would have had reason to be wary. E-2 was a minimum security unit, but just before Thanksgiving it was filled with the most hardcore convicts in the penitentiary. Theyd been transferred from Cellblock 5where the violent, escape-prone, high security-risk inmates were permanently housedso that renovations could be made in the cellblock. It was doubly eerie for the guards to walk down the long aisles when it was so dark since the officer on watch outside couldnt distinguish the other guards from the inmates by the time the dayroom was reached. The unit was a mine field of double bunks jutting out from both walls and single beds taking up two rows in the center. They knew how easy it would be for an inmate to hide behind one of the double bunks and jump them.

Schmitt came out of the dayroom, and Captain Roybal was halfway down the right aisle while Lieutenant Anaya was four or five bunks in. At that moment all their fears came true. One of the inmates in front sprang from his bed and pushed open the front door while another lunged at Officer Martinez outside, who was struggling to force the door shut. Two men in the back of the dormitory took on Schmitt, and groups in the middle seized Captain Roybal and Lieutenant Anaya. They were all easily overpowered. Captain Roybal and Lieutenant Anaya were both fifty-two years old, short, and not particularly physically fit. The convicts were younger and quicker, and most of them spent a lot of time lifting weights. Only Officer Schmitt had the youth and size to be a challenge, but the sheer number of his opposition brought him down.

The four were dragged into the dayroom, stripped naked, their ankles bound with torn bedsheets, and their hands tied behind their backs.

Blindfold 'em, too, someone yelled, fastening a canteen-issued bandana tightly around one of the hostages eyes. Lets keep these sorry motherfuckers shittin in their pantsthey wont be able t'see nothin, they wont be able to protect themselves. Itll be just like sittin in the goddamn Hole, hey, pigface? Just like all those times you wrote up tickets on me and sent me into that black pisshole in the basement. Well, its your turn now, cocksucker.