Notorious inmate's lawyer says officials knew he was target - Yahoo News

Hugo Pinell, a notorious killer with ties to the 1960s and 1970s black revolutionary movement, spent the last 45 years in California's prison isolation units partly for his own protection. Just days after he was moved into the general prison population, fellow inmates stabbed him to death in an exercise yard.

Now family members are demanding answers, arguing that authorities at the state prison east of Sacramento should have known he would be a marked man. Pinell, 71, became infamous a generation ago for his role as one of the San Quentin 6, helping to slit the throat of San Quentin prison guards during a failed 1971 escape attempt that killed six.

"He has been a target from just about every group in prison because of his notoriety and what he did years ago," Keith Wattley, his attorney, said a day after the killing on Wednesday. "This was foreseeable, which is what makes it so much worse and why the family is looking for answers as to why prison officials let this happen."

Notorious inmate's lawyer says officials knew he was target - Yahoo News

Transferring Funds To Prisoners Is Big Business For Some Financial Companies – Consumerist

The Center for Public Integrity has released the first in a two-part series investigating how private financial companies have made millions from the families of prisoners.

Over a six-month investigation CPI found that prison bankers collected tens of millions of dollars every year from inmates’ families in fees for basic financial services. As a result, some families have gone without medical coverage, paying bills or even staying in contact with their imprisoned family members.

So how did this happen? According to CPI, these problems can be traced back several years to the point when private financial firms, like Florida-based JPay, began to dominate the market for prisoners’ finances.

While families once could spend as little as $3 to send a traditional money order to inmates and have the funds transferred to their prison accounts, now they must pay upwards of $8 per transfer to have transfers made in a timely manner.

Although families can opt to continue sending paper money orders through companies like JPay, CPI found that many have converted to costly electronic transaction after waiting weeks or even a month for the funds to be made available to their loved ones.

JPay, which provides money transfers to more than 70% of the inmates in U.S. prisons, is often the only option for families to send money. And some consumer advocates say it would appear the company has taken advantage of its position by charging exorbitant fees.

In 2013, JPay processed 7 million transactions for families of inmates and made more than $50 million in revenue.

Transferring Funds To Prisoners Is Big Business For Some Financial Companies – Consumerist

Culture and Community: The Complexity of Pagans in Prison | The Wild Hunt

If one looks at this from the perspective of "equal access under the law," there is a glaring discrepancy within the prison system. The "we'd love to have a Pagan chaplain in our system but not in my prison" mentality experienced by the many commenters not only needs addressed, but stopped.
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The reality is that these numbers show a significant need for continued prison ministry, something that Pagan chaplains have continued to do as a part of their service to the community. Yet there is a significant lack of understanding about the needs of prisoners in general, and Pagan prisoners more specifically. It is very common for general society to lock the realities of prison life out of the mind of the average person. Yet the reality of the prison industrial complex should be a concern to everyone, not just Pagan chaplains.

In exploring the needs of Pagan prisoners and religious services within State and Federal facilities, there are many things to consider. The racial disparities, systemic inequities, structural challenges and overall demands of prison take a toll on individuals emotionally and spiritually. Going into the various levels of the prison facility that the average person cannot see gave me a perspective for the toll that spiritual life could take on the psyche, as well as the spiritual impact that it could have.

If equality in access to alternative spiritual guidance is important for the well-being of all prisoners, it also lends a question of how challenging it is to get Pagan clergy to assist with a myriad of clergy needs, not just the standard Wiccan-like framework of practice with which many Pagan clergy come into service. Are prisoners able to get clergy support when they practice African Traditional Religions or even paths like Hellenic practices? Do we have the capacity as a Pagan community to provide clergy support that encompasses some of the cultural differences within our community?

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The ongoing discussion surrounding Pagans who are incarcerated and the community’s role in this supportive obligation is one that has gone on for some time. Inadequate clergy services can be just as harmful as not having any at all, and yet the community appears to be limited in resources to address this need. Prisoners are potentially vulnerable to misinformation at a time when they may looking for some way to connect to meaning inside of the prison walls, and without ways to access community, additional resources or even verify information they are being told. The lack of specific requirements of training to make someone qualified to do prison ministerial duties can cause problems for the inmates and for the community at large. Furthermore not everyone has ability or skill to navigate the political and potentially manipulative dynamic of working with the behaviors of prisoners.


Culture and Community: The Complexity of Pagans in Prison | The Wild Hunt

What Does Religion Look Like in Prison? - Pacific Standard: The Science of Society

Sorry if I just stabbed you in the back,” Joshua Dubler writes in the closing paragraph of Down in the Chapel. Hugging one of the prisoners whose religious faith his book chronicles, Dubler forgot to cap his pen.

The apology is a joke, but uncomfortably familiar to anyone who has labored to tell the stories of others, especially a group so disenfranchised as the prisoners at Pennsylvania’s largest maximum security prison. Joshua Dubler was a graduate student at Princeton when he began visiting Graterford, which is just outside of Philadelphia. His research at the prison, sanctioned by the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections and conducted over six years, included meticulously observing the life of its chapel for years and repeatedly interviewing some of its 3,500 residents.

Down in the Chapel, published last year, is an adapted version of Dubler’s dissertation, a record of one particular week in the life of the chapel, along with 10 broader theses about religious life at the prison. Dubler’s voice is rarely absent from Down in the Chapel, but it blends with many others: a Catholic convert who has studied Greek and Hebrew for seven years since being sentenced to life for murder; an atheist who works as the chapel janitor and thinks more about the philosophy of religion than most seminarians; Cherokee and Lakota prisoners who come together for smudging ceremonies and prayer circles; the rabbi, imam, Catholic priest, Lutheran pastor, and former guerrilla warrior in Sierra Leone’s civil war turned reverend who serve as chaplains; a lazy-eyed Wiccan who wears a silver pentagram but refuses to practice anywhere but his cell; and the many corrections officers, some callous and some caring, who staff the prison.

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Down in the Chapel is most interesting when it focuses on the thoughts, questions, concerns, and beliefs of the prisoners themselves. These are the voices we long to hear, the perspectives we realize are missing from our own considerations of religion. Eavesdropping on these conversations is the real gift offered by Dubler’s book.

What Does Religion Look Like in Prison? - Pacific Standard: The Science of Society