Photo madness

I work in a big office building in downtown St. Louis. In the lobby of this big building, security guards bark at anyone who tries to take a photo. It happened in my presence once, when a co-worker was taking my photo. She and I were told that the reason for the ban on photos was "homeland security." Later that same day (it was almost Christmas), I asked the guard whether people would be allowed to take a photo the huge Christmas tree in the lobby, and he said, "No. It is against the rules." I see one of the security guards at the lobby desk almost every night. I need to sign out most nights because I tend to work late. The soft-spoken guard knows me quite well, by name and by face, because I've signed out hundreds of times while he has watched me sign out. This security guard recently told me that he has now been ordered to make sure that everyone who leaves the building after working hours shows him a photo ID. Therefore, this man, who has seen me sign out hundreds of times is now asking me for my photo ID every time I sign out. I reminded him that he knows me, and he agreed, but these are the rules. My photo ID actually looks a lot less like me than I do, because my driver's license photo of me does not have a beard, and I DO have a beard. Nonetheless, this security guard makes me pull out my drivers' license every night as though he has never met me. He stares at it for 2 seconds, and then he nods. A few times this month, I've tried to just sign out without showing my photo ID, but he always says, "Excuse me. I need to see your photo ID before you may leave." For the past few nights, for fun, I've asked him whether he needs to see my license. He says "Yes, that is the rule." At least he hasn't uttered that he needs to see my ID because of "homeland security." One more story about photos. Today I spent some time at the St. Louis Recorder of Deeds Office looking at real estate records. A somewhat grumpy female clerk told me that copies were $3 for the first page of a document and $1 for each additional page. Thus, a 3-page document costs $5, which is outrageous gouging. After getting some expensive copies of relatively recent documents, I moved over to the micro-fiche machine and started looking at some real estate records from 70 years ago. Rather than asking for copies, I decided to instead take out my camera and take photos of the screen (without a flash, and without any noise). This system was working out great, I thought, and I took ten photos of documents. Right after that tenth photo, I heard that clerk call out to me (you could hear her voice bellow across the room): "You are not allowed to take photographs of the documents!" I turned around with a smile and asked, "Why am I not allowed to take photos of the documents?" She paused, then said: "You are not allowed to take photographs of the documents!" I guess she didn't want to say "Because I'm an automaton, and my boss told me to say this sort of bullshit because when you take photos you are no allowing us to gouge you for photocopies." As I write this article, I am safe in my own home. Here at home, no one asks me for my photo ID. No one yells at me for taking photos of Christmas trees or documents. No one tells me that I can't do something because of "homeland security."

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End the use of long-term solitary confinement in Illinois!

Hey all. I haven't been posting since last summer, mostly because I've been drowning in graduate school duties. One of these duties has been interning at Chicago's Cook County Jail. There, I sit in on group therapy sessions for inmates with drug-related offenses. I've been consistently touched by the philosophical and psychological depth of these men, their gentleness and the span of their regrets. These are men who will sit down and opine for hours on topics you wouldn't expect low-SES drug dealers and addicts to have much knowledge of: gender identity is a big topic, for example (these guys live firsthand the consequences of masculinity). And when it comes to living with shame or regret, these guys are almost the best resource you can find. The only place where you can find more affecting people, I think, is at prisons. I've been volunteering for a Chicago-based group called Tamms Year Ten, which advocates for prisoners housed in long-term solitary confinement. I write and read inmates' letters, respond to their requests for photos and magazines, and read their countless reports of abuse-- from medical staff, from Corrections Officers, from mail room staff, and from the state itself. Let's be clear on what "long-term" solitary confinement means. These men at Tamms are housed alone for 23-hours a day, with zero human contact, for decades. Some have been locked up alone for 23-28 years. [More . . . ]

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