There is a quality of cynicism in this overly eager competition between the government, the same government that passes its massive volumes of overly punitive statues, and commercial enterprise panting hotly to capitalize on this exploding industry. It is the warehousing of humanity on an unprecedented scale. One walks into the central compound and looks across at three vast, square, gray, human warehouses. A college degree is not required, nor skills of any kind . . . You can hear the slurping miles away.
Tension is high, there is very little to do and the food is consistently poor.
The next step down is the simple concentration camp along the lines of Stalag 17 and doubtless, as the drug war grinds on, stalags and gulags will replace the more expensive, traditional prison and the more expensive concept of enlightened and humane treatment. Perhaps it is the time of year, the cold, iron gray sky. Maybe it is the general rudeness of many of the staff here, the uneasy feeling that were they issued .22 caliber pistols and the proper instructions, they would begin systematic purges of this despondent, teeming population. I suppose it could be the dreary fact that I have already been locked up for nearly a decade, and as far as I am concerned, the government has gotten its godforsaken pound of flesh. The years stretch out ahead of me and threaten in a real sense to change the essential being that I am, something I have tried very hard to hang on to.