Thomas Meyer-Falk shared with us his thoughts about solidarity and prison system:
(Prison) walls don’t protect people—they protect the status quo!
I’ve spent nearly 27 years of my life in prison. Eleven of those years were spent in solitary confinement. I’ve now been living in freedom again for three years. That’s how I’ve come to realize that prisons aren’t just buildings made of concrete and steel. They are always also an expression of a society that relies on exclusion; it is above all the marginalized members of society who end up in prison.
In school, in the mainstream media, and even at the regulars’ table (today that’s social media), people say that prisons serve the purpose of security. In reality, however, they manage the failure of this society. They manage and punish poverty.
I experienced this firsthand during my years in prison: almost all the people I encountered were living in precarious circumstances, and many had immigrant backgrounds. This is the second key factor that puts people in the crosshairs of the justice system.
I see this in my everyday life since my release as well, because again and again I find myself sitting in court hearings only to report on them afterward: almost always, the people who are charged and convicted are those forced to live in poverty. In many cases, they have a migrant background.
A society that spends billions on the military, police, prisons, and deportations, but cuts back on education, health care, and social inclusion, therefore creates precisely the conditions that it subsequently punishes through criminal law.
It is the anarchist prisoners who remind us that repression is always political as well. Those who fundamentally challenge authority feel the power of the state in a particularly forceful way.
This makes practical solidarity all the more important: postcards and letters are a first step. They let prisoners know that people are thinking of them, that they are not forgotten. For me, the many letters I received, as well as the exchange of ideas through correspondence—even though it was strictly monitored by the prison—helped me survive. In some cases, friendships even developed from this that still endure today.
The International Week of Solidarity reminds us that together we defend freedom—for and with the people behind bars. It is our solidarity that breaks through the isolation.
That is why the International Week of Solidarity with Anarchist Prisoners is much more than a gesture toward individuals. It is a reminder that freedom is indivisible. That walls do not only surround prisons. After nearly three decades in prison, I have experienced how deeply the outer walls have penetrated me, both mentally and physically. Freeing oneself from this afterward is a lengthy process—yet it is more likely to succeed in an environment of solidarity than in the cold of solitude.
The walls won’t disappear tomorrow or the day after tomorrow; the International Week of Solidarity will likely continue for many years to come.
To some people, the impact of such a solidarity week may seem small. But without that small contribution, everything will remain as it is.