Editor’s note: We received these rituals via an anonymous email and are passing it along to our readers. We also recommend invocations to Dionysos Eleutherios (Dionysus the Liberator), as well as Hecate, Brig Ambue, and other gods of outcasts, those considered “criminal,” and gods who rule over the transgression of walls and boundaries.
We have also made this post available as a downloadable .pdf designed for printing as a flier. See the end of this post for the file and printing instructions.
Solidarity with prisoners and those who fight prisons everywhere.
Ritual of Protection for Prison Rebels
Cleanse yourself and your working space
Make offerings of tobacco to the land and the indigenous ancestors
of the land you are on,
and the lands beneath the rebelling prisons
honor the sovereignty of the indigenous ancestors and their living descendants
deny the legitimacy of the so called United States
denounce the wickedness of its walls
Make offerings of water, wine, or rum to the abolitionist ancestors
especially those whose uprisings bookend the dates of this strike
to Nat Turner and George Jackson and all who fought with them
to the Attica martyrs
to all those rebels named and unnamed who came before
Light a red candle
Ask the abolitionist ancestors to protect and strengthen the prison rebels
to be wakeful as you are being wakeful
to be watchful as you are being watchful
to tend the flame as you are tending the flame
List the names of specific prisoners who have been targets of repression,
including but not limited to:
Michael Kimble, Ronald Brooks, Imam Siddique Abdullah Hasan, Kevin Rashid Johnson, Keith Malik Washington, Randy Watterson, Tod J Martin, and Jase Duras
List the names of specific prisons that have seen uprisings, including but not limited to:
Sterling (Colorado), Hyde (North Carolina), Lanesboro (North Carolina), Central (North Carolina), McCormick (South Carolina), Burnside (Nova Scotia), Saguaro (Arizona), Folsom (California), the Northwest Detention Center (Washington), all 11 prisons in New Mexico, and various other prisons in Halifax, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida
Keep vigil over the candle for as long as you are able
Remain open to messages from the spirits
Thank the ancestors
Allow the candle to finish burning.
Hex Against the Prison System
Gather those you trust
Banish the techno-vampiric-apparatus which lives in your pockets
Plan an attack
against one of companies profiting from prison labor
[these lists are readily available]
find a target near you
scout, witness, intuit, employ psychogeography to discover
which spirits are present
the gaps in surveillance
Choose a weapon
egg: to carry the hex
wheatpaste: to adorn walls
superglue: for the locks
paint: to inscribe sigils, mantras
rocks: to open the way for the spirits
fire: to purify
Consult the spirits by way of divination to doublecheck the plan
Wear dark colors for protective energy
and a mask to cultivate a state of ek-stasis (being outside of self)
Light a black candle
Pour out offerings of wine or water
to the darkness
to the night
to the stars and moon
to the crossroad spirits
to the city itself
and the wild things in it
and to the web which connects
our gestures across space and time
Extinguish a burning herb in a bowl of fresh water
with which to
Wash your weapon
While praying: an attack, a blow, a jailbreak, complicity which joins and multiplies the storm of refusal against the prison world wild fire to the prisons until all are free
Activate your sigils – (A) /// FttP
Carry out your attack
Get away without looking back
Leave your tools at a crossroads
Discard ritual attire
Thank the spirits
the web, the wild ones,
the city itself,
and starry night
Full Moon: August 26th
New Moon: September 9th
Sun in Virgo—the sign of careful planning
You can download a printable copy of these rituals to distribute widely. We’ve designed it to fold in half as a booklet.
Simply download the file: Rituals Against Prisons. Then, print the two-paged document on one piece of 8.5×11 (“letter”) paper. Make sure to follow instructions on your printer or copier for duplex printing if you have not done this before. Then, fold in half (with the title on the outside right).
“The police are an increasingly militarized arm of an increasingly fascist state, hired thugs for capitalist oligarchs, the modern-day version of slave catchers, a terrorist organization. When I came to see this, then abolishing the police didn’t seem so crazy anymore.”
From John Halstead
“In England, a century of strong government has developed what O. Henry called the stern and rugged fear of the police to a point where any public protest seems an indecency. But in France everyone can remember a certain amount of civil disturbance, and even the workmen in the bistros talk of la revolution—meaning the next revolution, not the last one. The highly socialised modern mind, which makes a kind of composite god out of the rich, the government, the police and the larger newspapers, has not been developed—at least not yet.”
— George Orwell (1932)
On a cool Saturday morning in September, about 75 people gathered in the parking lot of the Hoosier Prairie Nature Preserve, situated in a mostly White, mixed-income neighborhood in Northwest Indiana. There were people of all ages. Parents with children, some in strollers. Retirees and students. Self-described activists and people who had never been to a protest before. There were some people of color, but we were a mostly White group. Several people were drawing on the blacktop with sidewalk chalk, messages about climate change and pollution.
A police officer on an ATV passed by on the road. Overhead, the sheriff’s helicopter circled.
“Are they here for us?” someone asked, looking up at the helicopter.
“They’re not here for you,” my friend responded. “They’re here for you.”
We laughed nervously, as the double entendre sank in.
The reason for the gathering was a pipeline walk organized by a local chapter of 350.org. It was not a protest, per se, but an educational walk. Ten kilometers, starting at the terminal of Enbridge Line 6A in Griffith, Indiana, and walking north toward the BP refinery in Whiting, Indiana, the largest tar sands refinery in the country.
The Enbridge terminal sat adjacent to the nature preserve that we were standing on, about a quarter mile away. The massive petroleum storage tanks were visible through the trees in the distance. The pipeline carrying tar sands oil ran directly under our feet, directly under the nature preserve.
When we left the preserve, we followed the path of the pipeline, marked by high-pressure pipeline markers, by people’s yards, two elementary schools (including the one my son attended), a high school, a municipal playground. We walked over several waterways. Throughout the walk, the police were as ubiquitous as the pipeline markers.
The goal of the walk was to draw attention to the existence of the pipelines in such close proximity to our everyday lives, and to activate people who might not come to a more confrontational event. No one carried any signs, and no one shouted protest chants. We stayed on the sidewalks. I think we were as non-threating as any group that size can be.
And yet, all the while, the helicopter circled above. Everywhere the police presence was visible: on foot, in police cars, on ATVs, in ominous black vans. At least four different police agencies were present. It was hard to estimate the numbers, but there must have been one police officer for every two walkers. All of that for fewer than a hundred people walking on the sidewalks in a suburban neighborhood. The size of the police presence was all the more remarkable for the fact that the organizers of the walk had met with the police prior to the event, explained it was a non-confrontational, educational event, and even provided a map of the route.
Throughout the walk, the police were courteous and obliging. They helped us negotiate the more dangerous road crossings. And some of the walkers expressed gratitude and even relief at the presence of the police. But for many of us, their presence was oppressive.
We couldn’t help but feel that they were not really there for our safety. Did we really believe they were there to help us cross the street? No, they were there because we were assembled in close proximity to a piece of major fossil fuel infrastructure. They were there to protect Enbridge and BP.
I also couldn’t escape the suspicion that they were also there to intimidate us, to remind us of their power. None of the officers acted aggressively toward us. (The press was present.) But the sheer number of armed state actors in our vicinity had a psychological impact. And I don’t think it was unintended.
Growing up White, I had always believed that the police were there for me, to protect me. With the exception of some minor adolescent law breaking, the most I ever had to worry about from the police was getting a speeding ticket. And I never really had to worry about getting shot by the police when I was pulled over.
But as I got involved in street activism, I found myself in a more confrontational relationship with the police. And I began to see that the police are not there to protect me, at least not principally. They are there to protect the social order. As long as I was playing my part in that order, I was protected by the police. But as soon as I stepped just a little bit outside of that order (by exercising Constitutionally-guaranteed rights to assemble and speak), it became apparent that they weren’t there for me; indeed, they never had been.
For most people of color, LGBT folk, and other underprivileged persons, I’m sure this isn’t any revelation.
I understood rationally that, rather than making Black and Brown communities in Chicago safer, the Chicago Police Department actually make them less safe. And so abolishing the police makes perfect sense. The police may make most White people feel safer, but the fact is that they do so by carrying on a campaign of terror against Black and Brown people. I understood that rationally, but when marchers called for the abolishment of the police, my socialization as a White person kicked in, and I couldn’t help wonder, “Who would protect me?”
Several months later, I drove into the small airport in Gary, Indiana for a protest against ICE deportations being conducted at that airport. I had been to a previous protest at the airport and there had been just one police officer present. On that prior occasion, a group of frustrated protesters had broken off from the main group, opened an unlocked gate, and walked out onto the runaway. That single police officer had remained calm as organizers talked to their fellow protesters and convinced them to return to the main body of the protest. There were no threats of arrest and only a minimal expression of police authority.
So this time, when I arrived at the airport, I was surprised to find a large contingent of police in SWAT gear herding us into a fenced-in area. I had volunteered to be the police liaison for the event, so it was my job to find out what in the hell was going on. The officer in charge brusquely informed me that we were being put in a pen “for our own safety”. He claimed that they had received reports of the possibility of counter-protesters (who never showed up, of course). I was also informed that no one was allowed to enter the airport building (which was usually open to the public), even to use the restroom, and if we left our designated area, we would be arrested.
When the buses with the windows covered up, carrying undocumented immigrants who were shackled hand and foot, drove into the airport, there was no ambiguity in my mind about the reason for the presence of the police. They were not there to protect us from counter-protesters, real or imagined. They were there to protect the system, an unjust system which, at that moment, was deporting people who had committed no major crimes, and which included parents with children, tax-paying workers and business owners, and even veterans.
None of this should come as surprise to those who have been paying attention to the growing body of video documentation of police violently assaulting and murdering people of color. And, of course, none of those will come as a surprise to people of color or many poor people, who have always been on the business end of the police baton.
“The police are simply the hired enemies of this population. They are present to keep the Negro in his place and to protect white business interests, and they have no other function.”
But it did come as a surprise to me. I’m White and economically privileged, and so its perhaps not too suprising that, all my life, I have thought that the police were protecting me. But my recent encounters with the police helped me see that that what they have really been protecting is the gilded cage I live in. I’m protected because I’ve stayed in the cage. But if I so much as rattled the bars of my cage, the police revealed themselves for what they are: an increasingly militarized arm of an increasingly fascist state, hired thugs for capitalist oligarchs, the modern-day version of slave catchers, a terrorist organization.
The more I realized this, the more the calls for abolishing the police made sense. I’m now convinced that imagining a world without police means is part and parcel of imagining a just society.
“To a population domesticated from the moment it fell out of the womb such a question seem ludicrous. All our lives we’ve been told cops, judges, and prisons are the pinnacles of civilization, needed to keep our innate savagery in check. …
“We do not need cops and we do not need prisons. We cling to these institutions not because they are necessary but because we can’t imagine a world without them.”
“But who would protect me?” the old voice still comes. But now, there is another voice as well, with new questions: “Do the police really protect you now? From whom? Why do you think you need to be protected? Where does that belief come from? Who taught it to you? What unspoken assumptions is it based on?”
Recently, my Unitarian church invited the local police department to give an active shooter training to the congregation. The officers began the training by playing a 911 recording made from inside Columbine High School during the 1999 massacre. There was no pedagogical function. They didn’t refer to the calls once throughout the presentaton. As far as I could see, the only purpose of playing the recording was to make us afraid … and thus, more dependent on the police themselves. The police could not justify their existence, or the violence they perpetrate on us, without our continued fear of a world without them.
But the fact is the police don’t make us safer. For most White people, they only provide the illusion of safety. And for most people of color, not even that. About 90% of police time spent penalizing infractions of administrative regulations. As David Graeber has observed, the police are essentially bureaucrats with guns. Of the remaining 10% of their time, during which they are responding to violent crime, they are largely ineffectual, or worse.
Crime is a natural and predictable result of inequality and injustice. If we really want to reduce crime, we should invest in full employment, universal healthcare (including mental health), free university education, and comprehensive sex education (including education about consent), and we should decriminalize drug use. These things would be far more effective in reducing violent crime than the police. But when we call for these things, the response we get is more police.
I’m not suggesting that abolishing the police is a simple answer. Imagining a world without police requires unlearning a lot of conscious and conscious beliefs. For one thing, it means White people like me unlearning the fear of Black people. The mystique of the police is sustained, in part, by racist stereotypes of the Black male “thug” or “super predator”, stereotypes which have historical antecedents dating back to the times of slavery.
“To end capitalism, we have to end capitalism both within and around us. When we liberate our relationships from patterns of thought that replicate the inequalities built into our social systems, a great love can exist that gives us a new feeling of freedom.”
This means learning how to relate to each other on the basis of cooperation, rather than competition. It means building community, spending time with people, and getting to know them. It means and taking responsibility for our communities, rather than abdicating that responsibility to the state. And, of course, it means finding ways to reintegrate those who violate community norms, rather than just warehouse or punish them.