blueviolet
04-10-2004, 10:24 PM
The New York Times
Equating Long Hair and Freedom, Prisoner Makes a Stand
By CHARLIE LeDUFF
Published: April 9, 2004
LOS ANGELES, April 8 — The telephone rang. Billy Paul Warsoldier was calling collect from prison, even though the warden had denied him that privilege. Mr. Warsoldier refuses to cut his hair.
Mr. Warsoldier is confined to his quarters and allowed no visitors, no activities, no job, no packages and absolutely no calls to reporters.
Mr. Warsoldier, a Cahuilla/Apache Indian from Southern California, called anyway. Above all else, he said, he is a man who marches to the beat of his own drum.
Inmates were shouting in the background as Mr. Warsoldier said he is a political prisoner, a man fighting the white man's system from within it. To cut his hair, he said, would be an insult not only to his ancestors but also to his manhood, and if he has to endure prison life without snack cakes or hair conditioner, then so be it. It is a fight worth fighting.
"I just have a regular plastic comb, prison issue," said Mr. Warsoldier, currently serving the tail-end of a two-year sentence in the Adelanto Correctional Facility in the heart of the Mojave Desert. His crime was the manufacture of brass knuckles.
"The shampoo, it's all right," he said. "Suave, I think. $2.50. It's drying the hair out. Split ends. But a man's got to do what he's got to do."
Mr. Warsoldier said that the only time a traditional Indian man should cut his hair is when mourning the death of a loved one.
This cultural contract, however, runs counter to that of the California Department of Corrections, whose grooming policy requires that an inmate's hair be no longer than three inches from the collar. Nor may it hang over the eyebrows or ears. Sideburns may not be more than one and one-quarter inch wide. Hair dye is forbidden, as are designs cut into the hair. Wigs and hairpieces are banned without consent from a doctor.
Mr. Warsoldier, who wears his salt-and-pepper hair parted down the middle and down to his buttocks, filed a federal lawsuit last week, claiming his religious beliefs must usurp prison rules.
He says that his hair is a symbol of the strength and wisdom he has accumulated over the years, and that to cut it for reasons dictated by the white man would bring "taunting and ridicule from deceased members of my tribe."
Prison officials ask what is so wise about a man who is serving time for drunken driving and making brass knuckles. They point out that Mr. Warsoldier has a prison record as long as his hair, having served time for weapons possession, grand theft auto and violation of parole.
"The state makes every reasonable effort to accommodate religious practices," said Terry Thornton, a spokeswoman for the Department of Corrections. "Obviously, if an inmate wants to carry a ceremonial knife, we won't let him. There are safety and security reasons for why our grooming standards are the way they are."
Long hair, for instance, "can aid in facilitating an escape," Ms. Thornton added, saying it could be used as a disguise, or to hide weapons or even as a weapon.
And so Mr. Warsoldier, feeling isolated and bored, is reduced to pretending he is calling his lawyer when he is in fact giving an interview to an East Coast newspaper.
As for the drunken driving and brass knuckles convictions, Mr. Warsoldier can explain.
The brass knuckles? "They were presents," he said. "Paperweights."
The drunken driving? "I was sad, I was in mourning," he said. A cousin had recently been shot dead and Mr. Warsoldier drank himself silly. He was caught ripping through the San Fernando Valley in excess of 75 miles an hour, unaware that he was driving at all.
"I should have got a room, but I didn't," he said.
Mr. Warsoldier claims that he has cut his hair only once in 35 years. That was in 1980, when his father died. He wrapped the lock in cloth and placed it in his father's hand so it might be used as a weapon in the next world.
Marlowe Cassadore, a traditional Apache from the San Carlos reservation in Arizona, said Apache men do indeed cut their hair as a symbol of respect when a loved one dies. But he takes exception to Mr. Warsoldier's statement that to wear short hair is a cause for shame. "I'm not ashamed," Mr. Cassadore said. "I keep my hair Geronimo length."
Equating Long Hair and Freedom, Prisoner Makes a Stand
By CHARLIE LeDUFF
Published: April 9, 2004
LOS ANGELES, April 8 — The telephone rang. Billy Paul Warsoldier was calling collect from prison, even though the warden had denied him that privilege. Mr. Warsoldier refuses to cut his hair.
Mr. Warsoldier is confined to his quarters and allowed no visitors, no activities, no job, no packages and absolutely no calls to reporters.
Mr. Warsoldier, a Cahuilla/Apache Indian from Southern California, called anyway. Above all else, he said, he is a man who marches to the beat of his own drum.
Inmates were shouting in the background as Mr. Warsoldier said he is a political prisoner, a man fighting the white man's system from within it. To cut his hair, he said, would be an insult not only to his ancestors but also to his manhood, and if he has to endure prison life without snack cakes or hair conditioner, then so be it. It is a fight worth fighting.
"I just have a regular plastic comb, prison issue," said Mr. Warsoldier, currently serving the tail-end of a two-year sentence in the Adelanto Correctional Facility in the heart of the Mojave Desert. His crime was the manufacture of brass knuckles.
"The shampoo, it's all right," he said. "Suave, I think. $2.50. It's drying the hair out. Split ends. But a man's got to do what he's got to do."
Mr. Warsoldier said that the only time a traditional Indian man should cut his hair is when mourning the death of a loved one.
This cultural contract, however, runs counter to that of the California Department of Corrections, whose grooming policy requires that an inmate's hair be no longer than three inches from the collar. Nor may it hang over the eyebrows or ears. Sideburns may not be more than one and one-quarter inch wide. Hair dye is forbidden, as are designs cut into the hair. Wigs and hairpieces are banned without consent from a doctor.
Mr. Warsoldier, who wears his salt-and-pepper hair parted down the middle and down to his buttocks, filed a federal lawsuit last week, claiming his religious beliefs must usurp prison rules.
He says that his hair is a symbol of the strength and wisdom he has accumulated over the years, and that to cut it for reasons dictated by the white man would bring "taunting and ridicule from deceased members of my tribe."
Prison officials ask what is so wise about a man who is serving time for drunken driving and making brass knuckles. They point out that Mr. Warsoldier has a prison record as long as his hair, having served time for weapons possession, grand theft auto and violation of parole.
"The state makes every reasonable effort to accommodate religious practices," said Terry Thornton, a spokeswoman for the Department of Corrections. "Obviously, if an inmate wants to carry a ceremonial knife, we won't let him. There are safety and security reasons for why our grooming standards are the way they are."
Long hair, for instance, "can aid in facilitating an escape," Ms. Thornton added, saying it could be used as a disguise, or to hide weapons or even as a weapon.
And so Mr. Warsoldier, feeling isolated and bored, is reduced to pretending he is calling his lawyer when he is in fact giving an interview to an East Coast newspaper.
As for the drunken driving and brass knuckles convictions, Mr. Warsoldier can explain.
The brass knuckles? "They were presents," he said. "Paperweights."
The drunken driving? "I was sad, I was in mourning," he said. A cousin had recently been shot dead and Mr. Warsoldier drank himself silly. He was caught ripping through the San Fernando Valley in excess of 75 miles an hour, unaware that he was driving at all.
"I should have got a room, but I didn't," he said.
Mr. Warsoldier claims that he has cut his hair only once in 35 years. That was in 1980, when his father died. He wrapped the lock in cloth and placed it in his father's hand so it might be used as a weapon in the next world.
Marlowe Cassadore, a traditional Apache from the San Carlos reservation in Arizona, said Apache men do indeed cut their hair as a symbol of respect when a loved one dies. But he takes exception to Mr. Warsoldier's statement that to wear short hair is a cause for shame. "I'm not ashamed," Mr. Cassadore said. "I keep my hair Geronimo length."