Newspaper behind bars boasts compelling storytelling
The San Quentin News is one of the country’s few inmate-produced publications.
SAN QUENTIN — The scene was almost indistinguishable from that in any other newsroom. Editors sat around chatting about the next issue and tinkering with stories. Front pages were tacked up on the walls, and family photos were taped to computer terminals.
But in fact this newspaper office was unlike almost any other, obvious from the dress code: Staff members wore the standard blue uniform of California prison inmates.
When the phone rang, the answer was a crisp, “Hello, San Quentin News.”
The newspaper — motto: “The Pulse of San Quentin” — is one of the country’s only inmate-produced publications. Convicts write the articles and design the pages from behind the walls of the all-male lockup outside San Francisco that houses California’s death row.
It’s a community newspaper for a community of felons and the guards who keep them there. Articles mark officers’ retirements, inmates’ releases and the latest developments in the federal court battle over reducing California’s swollen prison population.
A regular column highlights “an OG’s perspective” — OG for “old guard,” rather than the more common “original gangster.” There are Sudoku puzzles, book reviews and recaps of prison-yard sports.
The paper typically has an aspirational tone, emphasizing uplifting stories about inmates improving their lives and taking advantage of education programs. Headlines refer to prisoners who “promise to work for peace” or go from “criminal life to positive futures.”
Staffers say their work can induce soul-searching, that telling other people’s stories helps them explore their own lives. And it can be a source of pride.
Rahsaan Thomas, a convicted killer, mailed his mother a copy of the October issue, where he appeared in a front-page photo of a basketball game.
“It was the first time I was in the paper and nobody got shot,” said Thomas, 43, the sports editor.
Before they reached San Quentin, many of the editors’ only brush with journalism was as subjects of articles about the crimes that put them behind bars. Each issue of the monthly San Quentin News is a reminder that their lives did not end when they were locked up.
The paper is distributed inside San Quentin and mailed to libraries at 16 other California prisons. And the editors have larger plans.
They’re working with graduate students at Berkeley to expand the publication, hoping to increase circulation tenfold to at least 120,000 copies and distribute them in all of the state’s 34 prisons.
“We have a vision,” said Arnulfo Garcia, 61, the editor in chief. “Our dreams are big.”
Their plan hinges on funding from foundations, individual donors and even some subscriptions. It could take more than a decade to reach fruition. But slow progress isn’t an obstacle.
“We’ve got a lot of time,” joked Managing Editor Juan Haines.
Haines, 56, is serving 55 years to life for bank robbery; Garcia’s sentence is 65 years to life for burglary and skipping bail.
It’s not just the criminal records that make the San Quentin News unconventional.
Staff members have an obvious stake in the topics they cover, although they strive for objectivity. And they lack true editorial freedom because of oversight and occasional censorship by prison officials.
They also have a captive audience. But roughly a third of California’s inmates can’t read above a sixth-grade level, according to state statistics.
A team of outside advisors, former reporters and editors from around the Bay Area, donate their time to help put out each issue. One of the advisors, Berkeley professor William Drummond, discovered a surprising connection with an inmate.
Walking across the prison yard in the summer of 2011, he was introduced to Watani Stiner. He told Drummond, “You wrote about me years ago.”
Four decades earlier, Drummond had been a reporter for the Los Angeles Times. He wrote a story about a deadly shooting at UCLA that led to conspiracy convictions for Stiner and his brother. Now Stiner pens the “OG’s perspective” column.
“When you write about a crime and someone goes to prison, you say that’s the end of the story,” Drummond said. “But when working at San Quentin, you realize that’s the beginning of the story.”
The prison has had a newspaper on and off since at least 1930. When Robert Ayers became warden in 2006, the paper had been shut down since the early 1980s.
Ayers thought reviving it was a good idea at a time when California’s prison system was facing enormous challenges. Inmate healthcare was being placed under federal control because of unconstitutionally poor care, and “there was all kinds of information, misinformation, rumor,” he said.
A newspaper would provide “a vehicle for communicating to the inmate population,” he decided, and the first issue of the rejuvenated San Quentin News appeared in June 2008.
Only a handful of such publications still come from behind prison walls, including the monthly Prison Mirror newspaper in Minnesota and the Angolite magazine in Louisiana, which is published six times a year.
Although there’s a phone in the San Quentin newsroom, it connects only to other prison offices. The computers have no Internet access.
Studies and news coverage that may be fodder for the San Quentin News have to be walked into the prison on flash drives by advisors so inmates can use them to generate their own articles. Photos are taken by inmates under close supervision or by the prison’s public information officer. The paper’s website is maintained externally by an advisor.
Every issue is reviewed by prison administrators before going to press. Although the editors say it’s rare for officials to block something, it has happened.
When Haines wrote a review of the book “Makes Me Wanna Holler,” a memoir about growing up black in America, prison officials yanked it, fearing it would inflame racial tension in the lockup.
“We’re in a subservient position,” Haines acknowledged.
Sgt. Don McGraw, administrative assistant to the prison’s current warden, Kevin Chappell, said the decision was about “the safety and security of the institution.”
The newspaper does carry articles critical of budget cuts and prison conditions. The hunger strike that roiled California’s prisons last summer received front-page coverage.
But there are “two things you don’t criticize, the food and the package room,” Haines said. “We get all our goodies through packages, and we have to eat in the cafeteria every day.”
Inmates who work at the newspaper can find more than pride and a way to pass time behind bars. Some find themselves again.
David Marsh earned a journalism degree more than three decades ago but never used it until he wound up at San Quentin for selling drugs. He joined the prison newspaper and fell back in love with journalism.
“It was like I had just done it the day before,” said Marsh, 58.
He was released from San Quentin in 2010 and began hunting for a job in the Central Valley. Although his resume was thin, he was able to show the editors at the Valley Voice in Visalia some articles he had written for the San Quentin News.
Marsh was hired.
“If I could afford it,” he said, “I’d pay them for the job.”
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