How Maine State Prison Kills Protected Birds
The sky is crying as this Maine summer ends and fall begins. Another innocent life has been violently ripped away by the razor-wire of Maine State Prison. Two or three victims are killed this way each year, but like most of the sufferings here, their deaths go unnoticed beyond the walls.
Being an occasional annoyance does not warrant death, and seagulls are a protected bird in Maine. They’re also one of the few types of free living beings an incarcerated person will see in their natural habitat through barred windows. Over the past 15 years, I have seen a small variety of such animals, some every year, others making cameo appearances: moose, bald eagle, turkey vulture, hawk, goose, fox and crow. There is only one steady presence: the seagull.
As I express in the poem that closes this column (included in the Maine Prisoner Advocacy Coalition’s gallery exhibit,Inside Vision: An Outside Exhibition of Inside Art), I have developed a fondness for seagulls. On good days, their graceful wheeling in the sky bolsters my inner peace. On bad days, their light presence penetrates the dark weight of my daily existence.
That’s why my stomach clenched and my heart felt pierced when I went outside to run on the track in mid-August. As the sun hit my face, my eyes met those of Lady Gull. She was pierced herself, in multiple places, by the razor-wire atop the prison fence. I see her now: wings outstretched, as though in flight; head held high, with eyes alert and searching; left leg pinned beneath her body, right leg dangling in search of solid ground.
My purposeful walk slowed to a pensive trudge as I took in the horrible sight. Several incarcerated men stood beneath her, discussing the anguish and what to do about it. I turned around, saw a senior officer supervising the area, and approached him with a quiet question: “I trust you already called for help?”
“Yes, I did,” he said. “I’ve done what I can do.”
Having been around this officer for as long as I’ve been in this prison, I knew I could take him at his word. I resumed my walk to the dirt track that surrounds the softball field and sat down to tighten my laces. But when I looked up from my shoes, the piercing in my heart hit again. Still silent, Lady Gull started trying to run for a few seconds with her one free leg before seeming to resign again to her fate. She was going to die in confinement and pain.
I know that feeling. I remember that resignation well, so I sat with her for awhile, feeling close to her and despairing the hundreds in Maine — and hundreds of thousands across the U.S. — who are currently resigned to their death in confinement. Though I was trapped in that mindset for years, it only comes back to plague me on occasion these days. Now, I see I must live and fight for the lives of others, both human and animal.
After completing my jog, almost an hour had passed and Lady Gull remained ensnared. No one had come to save her because, as I heard the senior officer tell multiple people who asked, “It’s not like we have a seagull rescue truck that magically appears when we call.” Well, what about a ladder and some gloves? I went inside to inquire with a staff member who may have been able to approve my request to assist. He wasn’t able. He told me that one of these regal creatures is killed two or three times each year, and since they’re a protected species, only a game warden can give approval to save them. Previous guidance from the game wardens has invariably been, Sorry, there’s nothing you can do.
Lady Gull died slowly, the light in her eyes stolen by the fence of a system designed for violence. Her lifeless body still hangs there weeks later.
Prison staff members and residents shared this moment of mutual helplessness, unable to save Lady Gull’s life or end her suffering. Not all suffering and death can be avoided, but a change in state policy to allow intervention by staff in such situations could save several beautiful lives from the prison’s barbed wire each year.
“Alone Together, Imprisoned and Free”
We are imprisoned and free, she and I
confined to an existence separate, apart
looked upon as little more — or little less
than scavengers of garbage, stealers of
french fries, sandwiches, joy, and life
Yet, when she twirls midair, sun at her back
when my mind creates a world, a life at peace
you cannot tell us we are not free. It is you,
you, who are in prison.
You, who hears our unanswered cries
our screams for love, food, and compassion
You, who scorns our existence, who closes
eyes, ears, hearts, and minds to our pleas:
See us! Hear us! Acknowledge our beauty! Our worth!
So, here I sit, surrounded by concrete and steel, there
she flies, bathed in sunlight, caressed by clouds
Both imprisoned and free
Both longing for more
Both alone together.
Leo Hylton is a PhD student at George Mason University’s Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter School for Peace and Conflict Resolution, currently incarcerated at Maine State Prison. His education and work are focused on Social Justice Advocacy and Activism, with a vision toward an abolitionist future. You can reach him at: Leo Hylton #70199, 807 Cushing Rd., Warren, ME 04864, or leoshininglightonhumanity@gmail.com.
