A Reporter’s First Rodeo

The rodeo is in town in Bayou City. Every year, a three-week marathons of animals, carnival food and concerts floods Houston for the famous Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo.

Here’s some of the highlights of my week covering the big shindig.

A reporter’s quest to find the elusive rodeo jail

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Is this rodeo jail?

 

There’s a cracked painting of a bucking animal sprawled across one wall and a parched dirt floor underfoot. In one corner is a lone tattered boot with a star-shaped spur. In another there’s a mean two-headed rattlesnake with a gun in its mouth. The only food is raw hamburger meat wrapped in fried bacon, served three times a day. The only thing to drink is cowboy tears – and cowboys don’t cry.

At least this is how I envision rodeo jail.

Click here to read the full story. 

Speak, you said? A dog’s eye view of what the rodeo need

This is not my first rodeo. As a World Champion Disc Dog, I have been to a good number of these things — and I have six suggestions to make them less human-centric and more agreeable for canine visitors such as myself.

IMG_5449What does this adorable dog suggest? Click here to read the full story.

In tractor maintenance, a fierce competitor

In a sea of baseball caps, Sage Boettcher’s blond ponytail stands out.

It bobs beside the bright orange tractor in front of her as the 18-year-old bangs the back wheels in frustration.

It wobbles as she peers closely under the seat, searching for the problem.

It pauses as she remembers: The clock is ticking.

Does Sage win? Is she the fastest tractor-fixer in Texas? Click here to read the full story.

Border Patrol presence turns heads, creates worries at the rodeo

It started with what looked like an unnerving photo: windowless Border Patrol vans parked outside the Houston Rodeo.

And as the image spread online in the run-up to Sunday’s Go Tejano Day, it seeded fear and rumors of roundups in the local Hispanic community in light of President Donald Trump’s immigration crackdown.

“They don’t need to be spreading fear or instigating further tension between people with different skin tones,” said Yvonne Hernandez, a Houstonian who comes from a family of immigrants.

Click here to read the full story and find out Border Patrol’s response to the online rumors.

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In Real Life, War Can Sneak Up on You

The world was on the brink of another war, and Chuck Bowman headed out for a bike ride.

In any other decade, my great-uncle Chuck’s voyage might have been a leisurely sightseeing trip, but when the newly minted West Point grad trekked through Europe on a bicycle in 1939, he was seeing the beginnings of a global conflict.

As detailed in his war diary, Chuck’s trip seems ominous only with the benefit of hindsight.

Click on the image below to read the full story. 

hitler Continue reading “In Real Life, War Can Sneak Up on You”

More Than 20,000 Attend Houston Women’s March

Houston is not a town known for its protests, but Saturday more than 20,000 revved up rally-ers showed up for a two-hour march and demonstration in the middle of downtown.

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Houston Women’s March, photo by Ryan Robinson

The speaker line-up included a number of local celebs, who covered everything from bathroom bills to women in politics to Houston’s diversity.

Following on the heels of a number of less-attended protests on Inauguration Day, the event outside City Hall drew at least twice the expected number, including some enthusiastic Trump foes wearing crazy costumes and waving hilarious signs.

For the full story, click on the image below:

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Author Interview: Anthony Papa

Once facing a life sentence, today Anthony Papa is an author, artist, and activist who works at the Drug Policy Alliance. Recently, he released his second memoir in paperback. Here’s a quick look at the man behind This Side of Freedom.

So, for starters, tell me a bit about yourself – and, more specifically, what your latest book is about?

This Side of Freedom: Life After Clemency is a riveting, compelling tale about my life. I tell of my experience of returning home after serving 12 years of a 15-to-life sentence for a non-violent drug crime, sentenced under the mandatory provisions of the Rockefeller Drug Laws of New York State.

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Anthony Papa, author and activist (photo via A. Papa)

In 1997, I was granted executive clemency by New York Governor George Pataki. Upon release I soon realized that the freedom I fought so hard to get smacked me swiftly in the face, overpowering me. I struggled with my freedom while fighting to free those I left behind. I go through heart-wrenching trials and tribulations as I sought to end the war on drugs and save those I left behind. Along the way I meet an array of individuals from famous movie stars to politicians and the very rich, enlisting their help in doing away with mass incarceration and draconian sentencing laws that have destroyed America’s criminal justice system.

This is not your first book and not your first memoir – so what was your first book about?

15 to Life is a rare adventure story about how an average married Joe was railroaded by the subterfuge surrounding the War on Drugs. Offered a chance to make a quick $500, I agreed to deliver an envelope in a fated police sting operation. My first and only criminal offense cost me a 15-year sentence in Sing-Sing, a maximum-security prison in New York State. I had tried to commit suicide when I realized the best years of my life would be spent in a 6×9 cell.

One day I discovered my talent as an artist. This gave me the ability to transcend the negative environment I lived in.It also gave me the will to live. When the Whitney Museum chose my self-portrait 15-to-Life to exhibit in a retrospective of installation artist Mike Kelley I had to lie because of the jarring stipulation that the painting chosen would have to be that of a murderer because of the intellectual context of Kelley’s art. I did, and soon afterward I received intense media attention. Governor Pataki got wind of my case, and after 12 hard years of time, I was granted clemency.

What motivated you to write the second memoir, especially after already having a first one out? 

I wanted to address the need to write a book that would provide valuable information about returning to society after serving a long time in prison.

Carrying the stigma of being an ex-offender is often debilitating, from being denied employment and housing, to not knowing how to establish healthy relationships, life becomes exceedingly difficult. In addition, maintaining that freedom is no easy task while wrestling with the haunting memories of past imprisonment

I realized that after serving a tremendous amount of time in prison upon release my prison life was deeply rooted into my present existence.  I had a decade of life in an environment where survival mechanisms and behaviors were hardwired into daily existence. Being hardwired for survival was a good thing in prison; it had saved my life many times. In the free world, though, it was another matter, especially when these mechanisms would surface suddenly and without warning. The tools that were once lifesaving had become a tremendous burden to me as I tried to get my life back together.

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This Side of Freedom is Anthony Papa’s second memoir.

Through my second memoir I talk about my 18 years of freedom and the extraordinary experiences that I have lived through. I have advocated for celebs like Cameron Douglas and enlisting him to become the poster boy of drug relapse and how he was punished for falling off the wagon and given an unbelievable prison sentence for it, to fighting tooth and nail for the hundreds of thousands of non-violent drug offenders who are rotting away in the gulags of the United States of America because of outdated drug laws.

I would imagine that publishing a memoir about such deeply personal topics could be nerve-wracking. Did you have concerns about how your books would be received?

Yes, I reveal a lot of personal issues in this book and talk about them in an open fashion. The hardest issue was talking about my daughter Stephanie who was totally traumatized by the prison experience. During my imprisonment I had tried to commit suicide, been stuck with a knife, and was beat down with a pipe, but nothing hurt me more than my separation from my daughter.

As time went by, my 7-year-old daughter learned about the reality of our situation. No child should have experienced the horrible conditions she had to go through, such as body searches, long waiting lines and abusive correction officers. Little by little, her beautiful child-like demeanor disappeared, and was replaced with a sadness and depression generally seen in a much older person. By the time she was 12, she had become psychologically damaged, and so traumatized by the prison experience that she could no longer visit me. Today she sees me as a total stranger as we have no type of relationship. In fact she just had a baby girl and I don’t even know her name!

What do you want a reader to come away with after finishing this book?

I want them to realize that prison does not stop at the prison wall, it extends far and wide reaching love ones and that for many, including myself, carrying the stigma of being an ex-offender is often debilitating. And that the road to freedom is very hard to walk especially when reentering the real world you find that there are many roadblocks that exist that will prevent you from facing a smooth transition.  From being denied employment and housing, to not knowing how to establish healthy relationships, life becomes exceedingly hard.  Responses have generally been supportive for both books.  But breaking through the stigma of being an ex-offender has been tough.  Hopefully people will buy this new book and see what I went through in maintaining my freedom, despite the odds being against me to stay free. Statistics show that almost 70 percent return to imprisonment within three years of release. I have been fortunate enough to stay free and become an activist to fight for meaningful drug law reform.

Do you have plans for a third memoir? Or a third book or any kind?

Yes. I also want to write a book about my art and to talk about my life as a painter and show the work I have created in a coffee table-style book.

Finally, where can interested readers buy your book?

It’s now available on Amazon and Barns & Noble in ebook form and softcover

 

The War on Confidential Informants

Anthony Papa knows the burn of betrayal.

Today he’s an accomplished man—a published author and staff member at the Drug Policy Alliance—but in the mid-’80s, his life wasn’t in such a bright place.

In 1985, Papa was living in the Bronx with his wife and daughter. He was self-employed, installing car alarms. He was an avid bowler, but also an avid gambler. He went to bowling alleys and bet on other bowlers, and sometimes he was up, but at the start of 1985, he was down. Money was tight and his wife gave him an ultimatum; make rent or get out. One of his bowling buddies in Westchester stepped in, seemingly to save the day.

“He asked me if I wanted to make a fast buck. All I had to do was deliver an envelope to Mount Vernon.”

After some nerves and reconsiderations, Papa eventually went through and delivered the goods to a mysterious man in a tow truck.

“I walked into a bust,” he said. The bowling buddy who’d “helped” him was already in legal hot water himself, “so the more people he got involved, the less time he got,” Papa recalled.

“He was setting up all his friends, people who weren’t even doing drugs.” Papa had dabbled in drugs, but he was by no means a drug dealer—just a desperate man who was out of options.

After his arrest, Papa was offered the chance to do what his bowling buddy did and become a confidential informant in exchange for a reduced sentence.

“I wouldn’t do it,” he said. “I knew at that point that I would just get deeper in the hole.” Instead, he took his case to trial and ended up with two sentences of 15 to life under New York’s notorious Rockefeller drug laws. He served 12 years before he was granted clemency by Gov. George Pataki.

Although today he’s doing well, the events that led to Papa’s arrest are not uncommon. Every day, confidential police informants are used to make drug busts. Sometimes they’re snagging bigger dealers, but sometimes—as in Papa’s case—they’re setting up bit players for big arrests.

The latter scenario is something that 60 Minutes focused on in a December 2015 segment with Lesley Stahl. The in-depth investigation looked at some of the tragic outcomes when the use of confidential informants doesn’t go as planned.

The show highlighted the cases of Andrew Sadek and Rachel Hoffman, both college students who were arrested with small amounts of drugs and pressured to work as confidential informants. Both ended up dead. Sadek was missing for months before he was found near a river, shot in the head. His backpack was weighted down with rocks. Hoffman was shot five times and dumped in a ditch. Both were college students with bright futures.

Although 60 Minutes used examples like those to outline the problematic nature of using confidential informants, the show didn’t include stories like Papa’s. To be more specific, the youth profiled in the show were all white.

Getting data about the demographics of confidential informants is difficult, to say the least. In fact, it’s hard to even get a good handle on how many confidential informants are used every year.

“By their nature, you’re not supposed to know who they are, so it’s very hard to say how much they’re actually used,” said Asha Bandele of the Drug Policy Alliance.

Nsombi Lambright, previous executive director of the ACLU of Mississippi and current executive director of One Voice, said that anecdotal evidence suggests that a lot of confidential informants are minorities.

“Overwhelmingly we’ve seen that the use of confidential informants is in poor and African American communities. That’s not to say that it doesn’t happen in other communities, but that is where we’ve seen the overwhelming use just because of the simplicity of entering into certain communities,” she said.

Typically, more privileged communities are more likely to have access to legal resources that prevent them from seriously considering offers to work as a confidential informant.

“I think that reason would have us extrapolate that people who are used as confidential informants are the most vulnerable—if you have a good lawyer, you’re probably not going to be a confidential informant,” said Bandele. “It’s very hard to quantify that or try to, but it’s not an unfair leap to think that somebody with wherewithal doesn’t need to be put in a position where they need to put their life at risk—and that’s about race and class.”

By way of example, Bandele pointed to the story of Shelley “Treasure” Hilliard. Hilliard, a black trans teen, was collared by Detroit police for half an ounce of marijuana. As a trans woman, the prospect of doing time and being housed in a men’s facility was understandably terrifying. So Hilliard agreed to become a confidential informant, hoping—like Hoffman and Sadek—to avoid time behind bars. But things went wrong when police leaked her name, and soon the teen went missing.

In November 2011, her burned torso was identified by investigators. “She was burned and hacked up and spread across the city,” Bandele lamented.

“She was trans, she was poor, she was black—it was a perfect storm of stigma and prejudice. It was a conflation of all these things that put her in a vulnerable position.”

The thing is, even if everything had worked out well, even if police hadn’t leaked her name, there’s still cause for concern on at least a few levels. For one, not everyone who works as a confidential informant actually manages to avoid prison time.

Papa said that the man who set him up ended up serving three years. Predictably, if someone is known as a confidential informant, prison becomes a lot more difficult.

“Once you get that label as a snitch, you’re dead,” he said. “You go to prison and they find out, you’re finished. You have to check into protective custody or always look over your shoulder. There’s nowhere to run in prison.” Protective custody typically means 22 to 23 hours a day in solitary confinement, so it may be safer than general population, but it’s mental torture.

Sometimes, confidential informants end up doing time because they don’t come up with enough information or don’t participate in enough busts. Other times, Lambright said, they get arrested on completely separate charges or the prosecuting attorney doesn’t honor the agreement. Even in a best-case scenario, where no names are leaked and no one is injured, confidential informants don’t necessarily get off scot-free.

A second problem with confidential informants is reliability.

“If somebody is facing time themselves, then of course they’ll do anything to get a reduction in time,” said Lambright. That was a problem the New Jersey ACLU outlined in a 2011 report examining the use of confidential informants in the Garden State.

“Police survey responses and community interviews indicate that police sometimes take CIs at their word without first carefully and independently corroborating the veracity of their statements before attempting to make an arrest,” the report notes. “Incentives offered to CIs, including leniency in their own criminal cases, increase the risk that CIs will provide unreliable information. The prevalent and repeated use of drug-addicted civilians as CIs increases the risk that the information they provide may be unreliable.”

According to the ACLU, unreliable testimony from informants is “one of the largest sources of wrongful convictions in the country.”

Part of the reason this happens is simply a lack of oversight. As the 60 Minutes segment pointed out, there’s typically no real training for the informants who are essentially being sent out to do police work.

As the New Jersey ACLU outlined, informants in the Garden State are often not properly registered and agreements are not set out in writing as they should be, as per a mandate from the state’s Attorney General. In fact, the report found that 44.6% of law enforcement personnel surveyed did not even know the Attorney General had a policy regarding the use of confidential informants.

When the U.S. Government Accountability Office issued a report on confidential informants in September 2015, they found a similar lack of oversight and a lack of sufficient policies for the federal agencies examined.

Although the use of confidential informants presents clear problems, Lambright said that there aren’t a lot of groups specifically focusing on activism around the issue of confidential informants, even though some advocacy organizations make it part of a drug reform platform.

One organization that has been very clear about its stance on confidential informants is the ACLU. On its website, the organization outlines some changes that could make the use of informants less problematic. Those changes include everything from requiring corroboration to improve informant reliability, broadening data collection to better evaluate the efficacy of using informants, and limiting the use of informants to serious crimes instead of non-violent drug offenses.

For Papa, that’s still not enough.

“It should be banned,” he said. “People should not be threatened or deals made based on putting other people in dangerous situations.”

“To police, it’s acceptable when really it’s not.”

This story originally appeared on The Fix.

Get Fit, Prison-Style, Without Doing Time

They’re killing time before class and Sultan Malik muses, “I just feel like I’m catching up.”

And caught up he has. After 14 years in prison, Malik has now graduated from college and is working as a fitness instructor at ConBody.

ConBody
via Facebook

Calling out orders like a drill instructor, he leads the class through a series of burpees, jumping jacks and squat jacks.

This isn’t your regular fitness class. ConBody is a fitness program founded, staffed, designed and run by former prisoners like Malik and the program’s charismatic and impressive founder Coss Marte.

“Let’s go! Come on,” Malik shouts. It’s three days before Christmas, but Malik’s not slacking off.

Marte and Malik both did time—they’re some of the cons in ConBody—but they met on the outside, when a newly released Malik was looking for help putting together a resume and Marte was working as a resume maker.

“It was an instantaneous bond,” Malik said.

Malik was doing time not for drugs, but for robbing drug spots à la The Wire’s Omar. Marte, on the other hand, was selling drugs. A Manhattan native, Marte was arrested in 2009 in a bust big enough that the website of the city’s Special Narcotics Prosecutor still has a post about it in the “Significant Case Archive.”

Marte wasn’t even a teenager yet when he started dealing.

“At 11 years old, my cousin popped out a bag of weed and was like, ‘You wanna smoke?’” he recounted. “We rolled up a nasty blunt and it was lookin’ like a football, but we smoked it and we got high.”

Marte wasn’t just interested in getting stoned, though; he quickly realized that the better high was selling. But, with selling drugs came the possibility of arrest – and soon that possibility became a reality. “I was in-and-out of jail since I was 13,” he said. “The first time I was arrested right on the block in the local park of the neighborhood. The second time I was 15 or 16 and I did about a year in a drug program.”

Then, he went to the big leagues when he went to state prison in 2006, and again in 2010, after his 2009 arrest. During one of his stints behind bars, he came up with a plan for a better way to sell drugs. “I thought of the idea of having all my friends dress up in suits and ties and that way we won’t get stopped by the police. We won’t look like we’re selling drugs,” he said. So when he got out, that’s just what he did.

He made up business cards and started dressing nice, in hopes of evading police attention. In the process, he built up a booming business. By the time he was 19, Marte said, he was pulling in $2 million a year. Now, he’s out of the drug world—but he said the allure of being a drug dealer and enjoying that kind of wealth can be almost as addictive as the drugs themselves.

“It’s definitely an addiction. I mean, it was something that kept me up three days at a time,” he said. “I was super money hungry, going out there with the thrill of driving down the street with a whole bunch of stuff and the cops behind you. It’s a freedom as well, the freedom of not having a job and working for yourself even though you feel incarcerated in that world.”

So what turned it around for Marte?

“I hit rock bottom,” he said. After his last arrest, Marte continued selling drugs in prison and experimented with some pills, but then he got sent to solitary confinement—when he should have had two months left before his release.

“That really hit me hard. Not being in the cell, but knowing that I had only two months to go home,” he said. “I felt like I’d been doing the right thing; I was ready to go home. I was playing the victim,” Marte admitted.

“I wrote out everything I was feeling and I wrote to my family to tell them I wouldn’t be out in two months. It was a 10-page letter and I didn’t have a stamp so I just left it on the little table in my cell and didn’t send it. I received a letter a week saying, ‘We found out where you at and you should read Psalm 91.’” Marte was not, at that point, very religiously inclined, so at first he did not heed the advice.

Then, he decided to give it a go. “After a couple days I decided to open the Bible and read that and a stamp fell out of the Bible and that sent chills down my spine when I think about it now,” he said. “That’s when I said, ‘I can’t go back. I need to do something different.’”

It was his awakening, his moment of clarity. “At that point it hit, and I was really regretful. I wanted to know how I could give back – I’d destroyed so many other people’s lives,” he said. “And then I began to realize I was already helping these guys in the yard, working out and things.”

When Marte was released in 2013, he had a new lease on life.

“When I came home I started doing a boot camp in the local park,” he said. It was the same park he’d been arrested in as a kid. Although he’d considered the possibility while still behind bars, at first he didn’t really think that making prison-style fitness into a career would pan out.

“Initially, I wasn’t charging for classes and then I got my first customer by accident. I picked up this dirty old pipe that was on the ground and stuck it between fences at the park and I was doing pull-ups because there were no pull-up bars. Then one morning I’m training people and one guy jumps on the bar and tries to do a pull-up and I’m like, ‘Yo, that’s mine! You got to pay me to use that!’ And he said, ‘How much do you charge?’” Marte hadn’t really thought it through and just threw out a number: $200. The man agreed and became Marte’s first client.

via Twitter

From there, Marte picked up more clients and gave more thought to what a structured program would look like. His workouts don’t require equipment; they’re things you could actually do in a prison cell or in the rec yard. In part, it’s based on the exercise-intenseLakeview “shock” incarceration program. 

Also, Marte made the decision to make sure his hiring practices were in line with the concept of ConBody. “I came up with the idea of hiring formerly incarcerated individuals to teach our classes because those are the people that I knew and they needed help,” he said. Accordingly, Marte has hired trainers with all sorts of records—from robbery to drug dealing.

He formally launched a business with the help of Defy Ventures and by June 2015, Marte was able to make ConBody into his full-time job.

At first, ConBody was renting rooms in other buildings, but on Jan. 1 they opened their own space on Broome Street. The inside of ConBody plays on the prison theme, with a front desk made of cinderblocks, a real prison gate for a door and art showing a prison escape on one wall.

For Marte, the location of the studio is symbolic: “It’s right on the block where I used to sell drugs at.”

His life—and his life rebooted—sounds almost unimaginable. Or, as his girlfriend and ConBody co-conspirator Jennifer Shaw pointed out, it all sounds almost like the start of a joke.

“It’s like, ‘A couple of drug dealers and a bank robber walked into a fitness studio,’” she said with a laugh.

But it’s no joke—they really did, and they’ve been wildly successful.

This story was originally published on The Fix.

“It Could Have Been Me”: Death, Loss, and a Life Cut Short

“No doubt it’s getting worse,” she told us. When I interviewed Vickie for an Ithaca Times story in the summer of 2014, the vivacious redhead was clean and spoke of the future with hope.

The story was an in-depth look at the increase in heroin use in Tompkins County and Vickie took the brave step of going on the record — using her name and picture — to talk about her own struggles and history with addiction. She was in early sobriety and told me that, if her story would help one person, it was worth going public about it.

“I’m rediscovering who I am and what I want out of life,” she said. She was going back to school and enjoying more financial stability. “I graduated drug court, which would have never happened if I continued using—and I’m just way more happy. Being a junkie is just miserable.”

In December, that misery ended, but in the worst way. Vickie’s addiction got the better of her.

Before co-writing that story, I’d known Vickie for years. She was bubbly and outgoing. She had a great sense of humor, even in some pretty miserable situations. We’d laughed a lot. We’d shared a love of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. We’d also shared a love of some really destructive things in life and, when we met, we were both in a bad way. Eventually I cleaned up and, in bursts, she did, too. But addiction is cunning and hard to beat.

It’s easy to get mad at someone in the throes of an addiction. From personal experience, I’d say addicts tend to do things they regret. Sometimes, I’ve found the easiest way to explain it is to say that an addicted person is a placeholder for the person they are when they’re sober. You can’t have the same set of expectations you would of them normally and sometimes they’ll do really shitty things — but with some people, even in the height of their addiction, it’s still easy to see hope and light shining through. And that was what I saw in Vickie. Even in the midst of her struggles, there was no mistaking that she was a great person.

After hearing of her death, I called up a mutual friend — someone I’d met through Vickie — to see how he was taking the news. That day, the same day she died, he’d gotten a Christmas card from her in the mail.

Even in the midst of an addiction, she’d remembered to take the time out for a season’s greeting. She wished him love for the coming year and, as he read the card aloud, we worried about her family.

“It could have been me,” he said. “There were days I shouldn’t have woken up.

I could say the same, as could an awful lot of my friends — those of us who are left. You can’t be a drug addict without seeing a lot of loss: loss of dignity, loss of hope, and loss of life. That’s a loss that Vickie’s family and many friends are feeling right now.

In the days after her death, her Facebook page was filled with a steady stream of condolences and fond memories. Some remembered her as a free spirit, some highlighted her compassion. Some remembered her smile and her vibrance. Some said that she’s another young person gone too soon.

They’re all right. So I’m not saying anything that hasn’t been said dozens of times already when I close by saying: Vickie, you will be missed.