Kevin Rashid Johnson: February 2013: They Waited, Wanted and Watched For Me To Die...
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What follows is a message from Kevin "Rashid" Johnson, who is currently being held at a behavior modification unit in Oregon, where he suffered a severe health crisis earlier this year. It answers many of the questions we have had since we learned of his predicament. -k
February 2013: They Waited, Wanted and Watched For Me To Die...
February 2013: They Waited, Wanted and Watched For Me To Die...
Kevin “Rashid” Johnson
Things I Don't Do
Even before I began my political journey in
2001, I maintained certain principles; a variety of things I just don't
do. And usually, if ever I deviated from
those principles, even in error, I'd end up in a tangle of trouble.
February 2013 was an ordeal. I broke some of my rules and things got
ugly. What happened is yet another
experience that those who blindly trust the system, and those who don't,
need to know about.
Among my longstanding “don't dos” are 1) I
don't do suicide and 2) I don't do intoxicants.
Suicide's a no-brainer. Since I
couldn't fathom caving in to pressure – especially not from the
opposition. Which is the only way I
could see taking myself out. But more
important is the political principle that my life is not mine's to take. It belongs to the people. And that's not to posture nor sound
“politically correct.” It's a genuine
commitment. The intoxicant thing is a
bit more complicated. For one, I don't
like not being in control of myself.
Secondly, when under the influence I go soft in the head, being what
some call “chemically imbalanced,” or in other words, I literally go berzerk
when intoxicated. And since I don't use,
it doesn't take much to tip me completely over.
Meet Mr. Highjinks
My troubles of February 2013 were the result
of breaking these two particular “don't dos.”
Over a three day period I got intoxicated, then, under the influence,
attempted suicide – twice. And the pigs
and “professionals” quite blatantly watched and waited for me to die, which
compelled me, once I sobered up, into yet another life and death struggle to
not let that happen.
The intoxication wasn't intentional (on my
part), but the practical joke I might say of an apolitical and particularly
mischievous peer. A fella who routinely
makes and takes cocktails of various mind-altering prescription drugs he
collects. Although he has consented to
being identified by name, being remorseful and willing to confess his role in
the ordeal his shenanigans caused, I'll just call him Mr. Highjinks (for
obvious reasons).
For some time he'd tried to convince me to
pop some pills with him. Wanting to
share his and many others' method of escaping the maddening tedium of solitary
confinement. I declined of course. But he kept at it, trying all sorts of
enticements. To no avail. But what I didn't realize was how determined
he really was to get me pickled. Nor
that he'd use devious methods to do it.
Mr. Highjinks Spikes the Spread
To give a bit of diversity to the otherwise
bland prison diets, prisoners – when we can afford it – sometimes make homemade
pizza-like or casserole concoctions by combining foods purchased from the
prison commissary and foods taken from our prison meals. Sometimes several prisoners will contribute
various food items and one person will make the “meal” that is then shared
around. The concoction is called
different names depending what prison system you're in. Here in Oregon it's called a “spread.”
Well, on January 31st, I “put in”
with Mr. Highjinks to make a spread, contributing items left over from our
special Christmas commissary purchase along with some ingredients from the meal
trays. Turns out Mr. Highjinks decided
to spike the spread with one of his pill concoctions that has him bouncing off
the walls for days at a time. To him it
was all in fun.
I didn't consume my entire portion of the spread
until Saturday, February 2nd, and that's when and how things went
south. The result was a total loss of
impulse control, and an odd compulsion toward self-annihilation. In short, I lost my mind.
Outta My Head
First I got into a fracas with the goon
squad (about seven guards dressed out in full body armor with gas, taser and a
large plexiglass shield). Then I
overdosed on dozens of my own prescription anti-inflammatory medications. Followed by another clash with the goon
squad, as I was being prepared to be taken to the hospital for the OD. At the hospital – St. Alphonsus Medical
Center in Ontario, Oregon – no treatment was given, except a staged blood test
while I was kept hidden away in an isolated back room. Within a couple of hours of arriving I was
dischaarged back to the prison, where that same night (shortly after midnight,
Sunday the 3rd), I was placed on a Close Observation Suicide (SCO)
watch, inside a suicide monitoring cell where I found a razor blade. Obviously no coincidence.
The next day (Monday the 3rd),
still out of my head, I broke the razor into three pieces and swallowed
them. This was witnessed by a sergeant
and captured on camera. The entire
experience played before me like I was standing outside myself watching someone
else.
I was again taken to the same hospital,
where again no care was given. Although
they went through the motions of taking x-rays (which they wouldn't let me
see), the hospital staff, who were pretty blatant about not wanting me there
(apparently a skin thing), claimed the films showed definitively that no razors
were inside me. By then I was sobering
up, and, losing my suicidal compulsion, I contested that they were wrong or
outright lying, and should do further investigation. With a bit of attitude the doctor – named
Bean – declined and told the guards to be off with me.
To Eat or Not to Eat
Knowing the fatal danger of a punctured
intestine I protested to prison medical and security staff upon my return that
I still had three razor pieces inside me.
They blew me off, citing the hospital report to the contrary. So I declined to eat or drink, expecting that
stimulating digestion would cause the razors to move along and slice through my
contracting entrails. Meantime I
repeatedly requested medical staff to order further x-rays. They refused, indifferent to my protests.
Several admitted my concerns were valid if
I actually did have razors inside me, but of course I didn't, they contended,
because the hospital said so. I went six
days without food or liquids, and dropped twenty pounds in just as long. I requested intravenous hydration from
nursing staff and the doctor – named Garth Gulick – which was also denied. I was told that I was choosing myself not to
eat and drink, so they would not intervene.
The New Hippocratic Oath: “Do Nothing”
On the fourth day without food and water, I
fell unconscious in the cell, and was taken by gurney to the prison's medical
center. Gulick was called, and simply
told them to put me back in the cell.
That my severe dehydration was my own fault.
To validate refusing me medical hydration, a
nurse named Folkman lyingly documented in my medical file that she witnessed me
drinking water on my 5th day without food or liquids. When on the 6th day without food
or liquids Gulick assured me he'd watch me dehydrate to death, and he cited
Folkman as a witness that I really wasn't going without liquids (although my
tongue was white and “furry,” my lips parched, and my skin scaly), I decided to
risk drinking water.
Initially, I kept vomiting the water back
up, while suffering extreme stabbing pains in my abdomen. Gradually, the water stayed down. Then later that night I defecated a puddle of
blood laced with bile. A nurse Fritz was
alerted to the situation and ordered x-rays, taking seriously my protests that
I still had razors inside and obviously cutting me. The next day Gulick overruled her order for
x-rays.
Meantime, everyday mental health staff
attempted to meet with me to try and take me off SCO status. I refused to talk to them in order to remain
on SCO status for as long as possible.
This way I remained under documented close monitoring in case the razors
otherwise caused serious complications.
On SCO status I remained in a completely bare cold cell, naked except
for sleeveless nylon smock and nothing
else but two nylon sheets. I was left to
sleep and lie on a bare concrete slab.
Throughout the ordeal I endured constant
severe abdominal and kidney pains, and was discharging blood in my urine daily.
Gulick made a game of it all. Being such a fanatic for denying prisoners
needed care, every time I saw him he'd play a debating game with me attempting
to rationalize how he knew I was faking about the razors and why he
would give me no medical care for that, my pain, nor an of my other
issues. He accused me of everything from
malingering the abdominal and kidney pain (although urine tests repeatedly
confirmed blood in my urine), and “tricking” guards into thinking I'd swallowed
the razors, to trying to “extort” x-rays just so I could look at myself on film
(!?). He ultimately admitted a concern
to save the state money by not giving prisoners needed care.
The Uncover Up
During the ordeal several prisoner witnesses
sent letters out to my supporters and comrades, only one of which actually made
it out – a letter from Cory Freiberg.
Cory's letter succeeded in prompting outside protest and inquiries on my
behalf. Apparently officials didn't
expect word to get out -- in fact they acted at every turn to prevent it.
Although I'd had consent for release of
information on my medical condition and treatments on file for several of the
inquirers since February 2012, the prison's medical staff lied to them for
almost a week, claiming they had no such consents on file so they couldn't
discuss my medical situation with anyone who called. In fact the forms on record required them to
alert the inquirers when I had to be sent out to the hospital or had any other
serious medical problems, but they didn't.
Each prisoner witness who sent out letters
was promptly moved out of the unit with me under some pretext. Meantime my mail was withheld and denied,
then ultimately a large amount of it was “confiscated” by an Assistant
Superintendent Judy Gilmore, without explanation or justification.
Also, based on a completely fabricated
disciplinary report from February 2, 2013, that was later dismissed, I was
placed on a completely unrelated status where once off SCO status, I could not
possess any mail nor any other property (except legal papers in pending court
cases) but for four hours per day.
A Cutting Edge Discovery
After repeated documented complaints of
severe abdominal and kidney pain, another nurse ordered x-rays for me. Gulick promptly overruled her, too. Only with mounting outside pressure about my
situation and a lawyer Benjamin Haile having arranged a call with me, did
Gulick finally allow the x-rays, just to “prove,” he said, that I had no razors
in me.
On February 21st the x-rays were
filmed and the “independent” radiologist's report came back confirming that
pieces of metal were indeed in my intestinal tract, having passed through my
system and settled in my transverse colon.
I didn't see Gulick again nor find out about
the x-ray report until February 28th, at which time he changed his
tune. He knew word had gotten out about
my actual situation and I was scheduled to speak with Mr. Haile for the second
time the next day. So Gulick's angle
then became to try and interpret and “prove” the metal showing on the x-rays
was something other than razors. He
admitted consulting with other doctors to this end. Another set of x-rays was taken on that day
also.
The next day, one of the more candid nurses
assured me with the February 21st x-rays showing the razors having
passed into my large intestine, they were unlikely to cause serious damage if I
ate. I then accepted my first meal in 25
days. The next day I passed my first
stool in 26 days, where one of the razor pieces was found and documented by the
same nurse. Overall I'd lost 29 pounds
since February 4th.
Ducking Liability
I next saw Gulick on March 5th,
where the February 28th x-ray results couldn't be found and he then
claimed belief that the metal showing on the February 21st x-rays
were staples, or something I'd swallowed since my February 4th
hospital visit. Yet another theory he
abandoned when I pointed out that I was on a closely monitored SCO status since
returning from the hospital.
He finally admitted an initial concern to
protect the hospital from liability, and now himself. Once again it came down to placing monetary
interests before human life and professional integrity.
On March 8th the nurse who
confirmed the razor in my stool on March 2nd searched for, found and
showed me the report for the February 28th x-rays, and it showed at
least two pieces of metal in my lower large intestine, one of which she said
matched exactly the measurements and dimensions of the razor piece I passed and
she collected on March 2nd.
She said Gulick had not yet seen the report, and I haven't seen Gulick
again since.
This particular nurse went on to express
relief that the razors had passed through my system without any apparent
serious injury in light of Gulick's and others' persistence in doing nothing to
help me. She compared the “miracle” to
one she said she'd experienced when her young daughter swallowed an open safety
pin and it passed through her without injury.
Conclusion
From all this I recognized that from the
hospital to the prison staff, a series of events played out that showed at very
least gross neglect, and at worst a consistent and shared intent to see me die
(no surprise to me by the way). However
foolish my actions that created the predicament, their responses can't be
justified. Now granted, I'm not exactly
loved by prison officials so they've some strong motives to see me out of the
way once and for all. But the outright
indifference and intransigence of these medical “professionals” and the
doctor's admitting to prioritize penny-pinching over needed care even in
life-threatening cases, demands that everyone who cares about human life, and
anyone with loved ones behind these walls raise a sustained hue and cry, and
mobilize resistance and awareness concerning medical “professionals” relating
to us with such overtly fascistic mentalities.
Otherwise many loved ones will return to homes and others' lives with
all manner of medical disorders (even communicable ones) and expenses they
didn't leave with. As for others, we
should remember that the evil people do is in knowing of abuse and turning a
blind eye.
Dare to Struggle, Dare to Win!
All Power to the People!
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