Category: Books

I Built This Prison: Teaser #5: Life Is a Meat Grinder


“The fact that I took it so personally day in and day out my whole life is a testimony of how severely self-absorbed I was. The prolonged nurturing of the scars caused by casual indignities was a very special pet in my menagerie of craziness. But even I would never claim that the pedestrian oppression of hierarchic systems was my exclusive prerogative.  

To be mistreated by those who outrank you (a boss or a critic) – this is just how life is.  If you try to make something of yourself in this harsh and merciless reality, no matter what it is, you must be ready to endure scores and scores of hardships.  You will have your self-esteem wrung, torn into pieces, thrown on the ground and stamped all over – hundreds of times. There is nothing new, special, or personal about it. You cannot be “out there” without experiencing a continuous inflow of sufferings.  The key is to be able to manage it without being traumatized and damaged. Which is quite a tall order.

  Generally speaking, as a species, we should’ve evolved to deal with all that shit.  How else are we surviving? There are a few rare individuals who, for better or worse, found ways of preserving themselves, of staying away from the garden-variety degradation of the spirit.  The rest of us, however, willingly and even strategically – with precision, rhythm and deliberation – stomp our feet straight into the meatgrinder.  And it fucking hurts.  Being chewed by the metal teeth of the machine (no matter what it may be – business, science, entertainment, arts, anything at all) is painful to everyone – lazy and hardworking, mediocre and geniuses, laid-back and ambitious.     

I’ve observed people and their involuntary reflexes in the workplace for thirty years – listening to their complaints, concerns, and rueful ramblings. It is my firm belief that even those who are pre-conditioned for the delusional complacency – perfectly tenderized and well-shaped for the feeder – are unable to remain indifferent to the hierarchic cruelty.”

“I Built This Prison”, Part I: Etiology of Crime, Chapter 4: Buckets of Tears… and Blood,  p. 51 – 52

I Built This PrisonExcerpt: Ozark‘s Wendy Byrde Negotiates Her Compensation


I Built This Prison,  Part I – Etiology of Crime, Chapter 3 – Delusions of Entitlement and Misconfusion of Rewards:

“In the episode 1.6 of Netflix’s original ‘Ozark’, desperate for money Wendy Byrde charges at her boss with an attempt of hostile earnings renegotiation (she is a pushy bird that Wendy Byrde, so it goes with the character). She notes that the sales are up 43% compare to the same month the previous year, while the only business change that took place was her hiring. Hence, she deserves a bonus that would correlate her compensation with her value(‼). Specifically, 50% of the income increase. They haggle and at the end the boss agrees to the bonus that together with Wendy’s salary amounts to one-third of the additional profits.

Fiction, of course. But, if the employers were actually inclined to evaluate and compensate their employees based on their tangible contribution into their businesses, the negotiations like that would be a common place. And maybe they are… somewhere. But I’ve never really witnessed anything like that. Well, something of the kind – once, fifteen years ago. But that was it.  

Of course, these are not exactly “negotiations” either. Wendy gives her boss an ultimatum because she has an upper hand – there is no comparable supply of labor in that God forsaken bumblefuck locale. There is like literally no one to do the same job – not on a half-ass, or quarter-ass, or even one-hundredth of an ass level. And so, her boss is not rewarding her for her contribution, he yields under the pressure of unfavorable market conditions.

An unimaginable situation for NYC (and I’m sure the same goes for all industrial centers), no matter what your field of expertise is! Here, an employer – even the one that is afraid out of his mind to lose you – deep inside knows that if you walk, he can find at least Somebody to fill the void. You, on the other hand, may drown in the competition searching for another place.”

                                                                                                                          p.40

On Columbia Campus or NYS Prison Camp, Antisemitism Is Inescapable: I Built This Prison Excerpt


Over and over again, I am consistently stunned by the political blindness of hate. It’s incomprehensible to me. How can people loathe all Catholics because they still worship the papal Christianity or all arabs because of 9/11 and ISIS? Or how pro-Palestinian convictions automatically translate into hostile animosity  towards all Jews dispersed throughout the globe – many of whom are not religious whatsoever, have never been and don’t plan to go to Israel, and some (especially here, in the States) don’t even understand what the conflict over there is all about? Aren’t the haters at all concerned that their blanket enmity completely obscures the essential meaning of their political standpoints? Shouldn’t they be more focused and direct their efforts against the forces behind the territorial and largely economic conflicts? What can possibly be achieved by inciting violence against the students and the teaching staff of an educational institution 5700 miles away from the epicenter of the military actions? It’s truly bizarre!

On the other hand, I’m quite accustomed to the pervasive, persistent, and profuse plain-ass antisemitism no matter how many political, nationalistic, self-righteous, and morally confused shrouds anyone throws over it. Look, I was born in the most antisemitic country in the world – Soviet Russia, with its pre- and post-revolutionary history of oppressing my relatives and ancestors going back centuries.  Thus, as the Soviet Jew I was raised to believe that antisemitism is simply written into the genetic code (my mother was among the first generation of Soviet physiology students to be taught genetics at universities in the 50s) of every non-Jew and there is nothing we can do about it: Whether openly or secretly, and with some even subconsciously, goyim will despise you. Live with that. Period.

And when I escaped Russia, the Soviet Union, though on its last legs, was still live and kicking, the communists were still in power (many of them still are – lightly disguised), and anti-Jewish state policies were still as prominent as the nationalistic hatred of the Russian populace. But, of course, decades of the subsequent NYC living… It lulls you with its ethnic diversity, and religious freedoms, and Jewish mayors, and Philip Roth, and Woody Allen, and Kubrick, and the overwhelming popularity of Seinfeld and Friends, and everybody eating lox on their bagels… And you (I mean me), a cultural non-observant Jew, start feeling… Well, I wouldn’t go as far as to say “free of the ethnic bias”, but you definitely push to the back of your Jewish kop the teachings of your grandparents – that if you ever forget that you are a Jew, there will be an antisemite nearby to remind you.

Of course, Ivy League schools, even those – like Columbia University – located in Manhattan, are nothing like NYC. Their student bodies, professorial staff, and administrations consist mostly of transient people from all over the world. Not just all fifty states of our own nation – most of them not nearly as diverse as our city, but from the foreign countries with their own socio-economic backgrounds as well. These people are here not because they belong, but because it’s good for their resumes – if I had to generalize. So, it shouldn’t be surprising at all that these educational institutions are prone to become fertile grounds for antisemitic protests.

And apparently the ones at Columbia earlier this week got so threatening, Jewish religious leaders urged students to STAY HOME (!!!) Here, IN NEW YORK CITY! And the university’s administration (as well as the law enforcement – let’s be honest) are so powerless in the face of these protests, the solution they offered is online classes! This is Columbia we’re talking about!

I don’t even know, though, why I’m so shocked. I mean, I’ve already got exposed in the fairly recent past to similar displays of open antisemitism and the passivity by “the powers that be”. Because, guess what? The New York State prison system is even further removed from NYC than the hodgepodge of Columbia campus. It’s staffed entirely with ethnically and culturally isolated upstate prison guards; and among the inmate population, there are plenty of multigenerational neo-Nazis – proud to display their various tattooed insignia and the compatible attitudes – as well as intellectually confused people.

From I Built This Prison, Part III – Impressions of Imprisonment, •The Jewish Thing•:

“…In Albion… I’ve got exposed to antisemitism of all stripes and colors – the white-bred upstate xenophobia, the ignorant multi-racial criminal-element loathing, the semi-religious misconfusion, and the pure Aryan “pride”.    

Funny, how some naïve individuals sometimes ask how Russians always knew that I was a Jew without even checking my official documents. Well, my Albion experience has proved all over again that Russian, German, American, or of any other origin – an anti-Semite always knows. By simply looking at you. Even though you are secular and wear no other ethnic attributes than your own face.      

***

I just couldn’t get used to this shit all over again. Even two years in, it was still hurting.

On the way from OMH meds, Sherri Ellis called me “old stinking Jew”, because she thought I looked at her funny. On previous occasions she called me a “nasty Jew” – she was definitely escalating. Oh, she kept her antisemitism in check when she asked for my help with her ASAT reinstatement after being kicked out for dirty urine. Now, this. Nobody had used that specific slur on me since the Soviet Union. And there was nothing I could do about it – not even talk back to her violent mug: if she lunged at me, both of us would’ve been sent to SHU.

Heather Mims was walking next to me. She was shocked: “What are you doing being Jewish?” was her question. That was easy to brush off, actually. She knew me for two years and didn’t realize I was Jewish. Hers was the antisemitism of geographical isolation not of consciousness. She was from a tiny village on the Canadian border.

I was more offended by Trish D: “I despise you because you are a Jew,” out of nowhere she spewed at me from across the messhall table. I was lost for words and I couldn’t just leave before a CO’s release… But several women at that table instantaneously joined forces in berating Trish for her unacceptable racism and un-Christian hatred. I felt as if a row of warriors was shielding me from the enemy. 

***

Yet, most of the time you are unprotected, alone…

Did you know that not all Nazis that fled Germany at the end of WWII and escaped the justice, ended up in Latin America? Thousands of them were accepted in the United States and many ended up in upstate New York.       

In prison, I’ve discovered that a chunk of their offspring constitutes a sizable part of our state’s neo-Nazism movement: children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Quite a few of them wore the guards’ uniforms, far more – the state’s greens. Some with no other signs of the fascist distinction but their openly hateful attitude. Others – walking around with the swastikas, SS bolts, 88 (numerical code for HH – heil Hitler), 4/20 (Hitler’s birthday), etc. tattooed on their necks, chests, and arms…

But twenty-something Amanda in the fourth of my Albion’s residences had a huge flower arrangement on the back of her neck. She was tiny, very blond, cutely pixyish, terribly flirty – especially with young white officers. A very sociable kid, friendly with everyone. A cleanliness freak and a cleaning ace. She bore a tongue-breaking last name that started with W, which, together with her partiality towards German rock bands, left no doubt of her descent. She chirped at me and offered to do my chores for cigarettes. She lived in a row of cubicles that shared back walls with my row, two cubicles down.

You were not really allowed to wonder around the dorm and cube-visiting was strictly prohibited. But if you needed to get something from somebody and you asked for permission to do so, depending on the CO, you might’ve been granted a 2-3 minutes trip to someone else’s cubicle. My cooking time-slot was coming up and I needed to retrieve my Mrs. Dash from somebody who lived next to little Amanda.  

As I was passing her entryway, my sideview caught something on her board that froze me on the spot. The picture was affixed right in the center – a cutout from some cheap-paper publication, an old black-and-white photographic portrait of SS Oberstumbannführer Adolf Eichmann – the architect of the Holocaust. The man who proposed that exterminating every Jewish child and adult would solve all German problems and then proceeded to manage the logistics of the mass slaughter.

She was in her cube, cleaning. I stepped in, “Why do you have this photo?”

“Do you know who he is?!” she exclaimed. Not in the way that she couldn’t believe that I recognized him, but in excited, starry-eyed, groupie way. “I’m obsessed with him… Do you want to see my books?” She started pulling hardcovers from her locker and shoving them at me one after another. Half of them were in German. I saw ‘Mein Kampf’ and something with the word “Aryan” on the cover… and then I stopped looking… She was chattering something about her dear great-grandfather, but I stopped listening… I walked out. I was nauseous…”

To continue: p. 428 

The featured image:

© Marina Zosya, My Personal Nazi Brigade – Self-portrait in Mise-en-scene, ACF, 2019

I Built This Prison: Excerpt: Once More On Looking (or Rather Not Looking) the Part


From I Built This Prison, Chapter 2. Aspirations, Hopes, and Dreams

“Here is an interesting thing to consider: I never was of the correct shape and texture to fit the typical idea of a cutthroat corporate mover and shaker.  Anywhere. In the same way probably as Julia Child was not considered an acceptable choice as standard TV personality in her time. First of all, it wasn’t just the creative pursuits and liberal-arts education – which included journalism, languages, art history, theater and cinema studies, to make a short list – that were barred by the antisemitism in the Communist Russia. Any and all “executive prospects”, such as they were, were also closed for even the most persistent, academically overachieving Jews. The only thing that mattered there was that I looked Semitic and that my “Nationality”, as ethnically defined on the fifth line of a Russian passport, was “Jewish”.

I bless the moment I was accepted to America as a political refugee over three decades ago. Yet, the pertinent truth is that, even after 25 years of professional experience in NYC and the addition of MBA to the list of my degrees, I was still not recognized as a perfectly fitting executive peg here either. Ethnically looking immigrant with an accent; no Ivy-League tokens on my resume or any nepotistic cards up my sleeve – I had to break a lot of barriers to attain my positions even in the private entities, for which I worked.

Big-time HR managers and headhunters will never admit to it, but, in spite of my verifiable knowledge and expertise, they could never visually match me with formal demands and expectations of their illustrious employers/clients for the targeted positions. It’s only when I had a chance to speak with a functional key person from the hiring company directly my qualification usually prevailed over everything else, which only happened in smaller, privately held companies…

We cannot deny the simple fact that opticals play an instrumental role for all American occupations. It’s like what Aaron Sorkin wrote in his 1995 script for ‘The American President’…: “If there had been a TV in every living room sixty years ago, this country doesn’t elect a man in a wheelchair.”

Visually, people like me look most appropriate in the seclusion of labs with Bunsen burners and glass retorts, research libraries with old books and microfiche, at the desks with typewriters, at the various lecture podiums addressing a blurred audience… Not at large-scale corporate events, schmoozing, in a constant search of best-connected targets like a self-propelled torpedo… I cannot stand shellacked hair and none of my business skirts are pencil-shaped. I prefer pantsuits.

I recently mentioned this “suitable look” issue to my daughter who, God bless her, is able to look and act right in any environment imaginable. And she said very simply, “It’s unfortunate, yes. But, Mom, you never even tried to straighten your hair…” How heartbreaking is that? This is what we need to consider in order to succeed in this world? What kind of aspirations we are talking about?

Let me remind you that I am referring here only to the external perception, not the actual competence, abilities, skills, expertise. Everyone knows about a book and its cover, and still no one is willing to read. Yet, looks are truly deceiving, you know, for both covering up the rot and concealing the superpowers. A person may look like an Orthodox-Christian priest but be one of the most important hip-hop, heavy metal, and alternative rock producers of all times (This, by no means, is an abstract example – I specifically have Rick Rubin in mind. I knew who he was long before I saw his photo for the first time. It surprised me.)“

I Built This Prison: Teaser #3: I Just Hate Job Hunting


I always hated the anxiety of the job-search process and everything related to it. The desperate need to show yourself from the best angle and in the best light. The frustration of the idiotic matching game the headhunters invented to wipe out any type of intuition and sensibility from the hiring process: the formal laundry list of clients’ needs vs. whatever skills they discerned from your application – like a fucking robot – check, check, check… The full-body adrenaline poisoning inflicted by every interview, even the ones conducted on the phone. The rising hopes, the bitter disillusionments. And again, and again, and again. Worst of all, the constant fear of ending up with no means to exist and to support.

  I Built This Prison, p. 35