Human Trafficking is big business, both legally and illegally in the world. Today I will speak on my personal experience of the federal prison trafficking business when it comes to transporting inmates to different locations throughout the Bureau of Prisons.
On July 7, 2023, I was transferred away from Beaumont’s Federal Prison Camp located in Southeast Texas, to Texarkana’s Federal Prison Texas Camp that borders Arkansas and Texas. It was a 6 month arduous process, but we were able to get it done. Now I will be only 2 hours away from family and friends, compared to an 8 hour drive each way to Beaumont. This will allow me to be able to see my family more often and helps me with my transition back home soon when released.
The transfer process is an experience that I was not prepared for, and therefore it truly kicked me in the rear end. In Beaumont, I was teaching a class mid-morning when I heard my name over the intercom to come to the R&D (receiving & discharge) department. Getting a call here means only one or two things, you are in route to go home, or you are being transferred. I walked to the door, and the officer directs me to go “pack out”, and lets me know I am being transferred. I asked when am I leaving? She states immediately, to have all my property to her department by noon. I go to my unit to pack up. I get two large trash bags to put all my belongings in, get a rolling cart from the front, place my bags on the cart, and head to R&D to do an inventory. They will pack my boxes to mail my property to the next location.
At 2:00 a.m., the correctional officer comes through my unit in Beaumont, walks to my room and tells me to come with him. I’m headed out! It was with three other men who got the same visit to their cubicle. As we made our way up to the front, I’m half asleep, but ready to get on the bus and leave. As we sit and wait, I hear officers coming through the front door with a very loud noise. That sound was long chains and handcuffs, and it became abundantly clear we were going to, “catch chain”, as they call it when inmates have to be cuffed and chained when moving facilities, no matter what your custody level. This was the first time I experienced. After the cuffs went around my ankles, I instantly wished I would’ve had two pair of socks to ease the discomfort. That wasn’t an option, so I turned within and told myself that I can endure it. With wrists and ankles cuffed clanking as I walked, I slowly made the hobble onto the charter bus beginning the journey to a new facility.
One thing no one ever told me when being transferred, is the federal system doesn’t let you know where they are sending you! I was fortunate, as we were getting ready to load the airplane from a small airstrip outside of Houston, that a correctional officer was nice to yell out our names and give us our destination. He yells out “I’m only going to say it once, so if you miss your name and location, it’s on you”. The bus was very loud, so a lot of men missed their chance to hear where they were going, and the officer stood on his word of not repeating himself. My ears were super conscious to hear “Hudson, TDX” over the commotion. TDX is the abbreviation used for Texarkana.
I was pleasantly surprised and super grateful that I was awarded the location I had requested. To bring that point home, there were 2 other men from Beaumont on the bus with me. Both men had asked for certain destinations, but both were sent to different places than requested. I ultimately believe that our creator places us exactly where we need to be, even if we do not understand it at the time. I told my family throughout the long, arduous process, to remain non-resistant to where I may end up. They never wavered on Texarkana, and I rode the vibrational wave with them.
As we waited for the large airplane to land, it was raining really hard. The correctional officer plugged up his iPhone to the speakers, on the filled to capacity charter bus. He began playing a rap song called “Going Back In” by rapper Finesse2Tymes. In the midst of our behinds hurting, from sitting on hard uncomfortable seats, and being shackled down for hours, all the men on the bus began rapping the lyrics to the song out loud and leaning from side to side. All you heard was the sound of chains clanking together, and a wave of pinned up energy being released through hip hop music. If someone would have told me that a bus full of federal prisoners on an airstrip, chained to their seats, were listening to Finesse2Tymes on a charter bus, before boarding “Con-Air”, I would have said they were lying. From my world to yours, this is a true story.
As the large plane landed to pick us up, what I qualify a frequent flyer of Con Air yelled out, “yep that’s her, I know how her wings look”. I thought to myself, really? Have you really been to prison that many times, that you can spot Con-Air as it approaches landing? As I looked at the side of the large jet that says United States of America on the side, I did notice the wings had an unusual curve at the end. I guess he was right, because this was our ride. As soon as the plane landed, our charter bus began rolling alongside the plane, parking close so we could load.
We awaited the plane to unload inmates coming in, before we began to file out of the bus. Before exiting, we first had to give our name and prison identification number. I yell out “Hudson 02021-509”. I am then clear to unload the bus and then load onto the plane. As we board the plane, I quickly realize that trafficking inmates is big business for the government and the officers that work these assignments. The back of their shirts read “Air Police” or U.S. Marshalls. Overall, their dispositions are pleasant, but I assume they feel that way because we are handcuffed at the wrists and ankles while on the flight. The flight took us from Houston, then so San Antonio, next Midland Texas, and finally to Oklahoma City’s transfer center.
I had the most excruciating headache from the time we boarded the first flight until we landed. When we departed the plane, I was having a full blown migraine episode and there was nothing I could do about it. My head was pounding!!! My vision was blurry and my mouth was dry heaving as I was forcing myself to not throw up. There were over 200 men with me, all chained and filing in a line. I didn’t want my situation to spill over and affect them. I was incessantly praying that God ease the pain from the migraine that I was having. After we were detached from hand and ankle cuffs, we were placed in a large room known as the “holder tank”. I would estimate that it can hold 200 plus men. It has 3 long benches lining the walls that were quickly filled with prisoners. The air conditioning was freezing cold! I had on thin pants, and a white t-shirt. My headache continued to have me out of sorts. I could do was sit on the dirty, cold floor of the holder tank, that was covered in God knows what. When experiencing a migraine, you really lose all sense of what’s going on around you. The pain is extremely intense.
When the pain continued to increase, I said to myself, Glenn pull yourself together. I thought, if I have a stroke in this place, I will be dead as a doorknob. Even the other two men who lived in my unit from Beaumont, wouldn’t be able to help me. I chose to stand up to see if it helped, but it didn’t. Myself, and another person in this big room, went to the plexiglass window and began beating for the guards to get us out. It had been over 2 hours and we hadn’t had any food or water since lunch time. It was now close to 8:00 p.m. Also, there was one toilet in the open area of this room, with one roll of toilet paper for 200 men. I banged on the door as hard as I could, which didn’t help my headache, but soon after, the guards started to come and let us out in groups of 10.
The twist in this, is that I was let out in the second group, but I forgot my paperwork needed to check in. The guard said “I’ll let you back in to get your documents”. He lets me back in, and while I’m running over to get my paperwork, he gets a call on his walkie talkie and slams the door shut. I am now locked back in this damn room! I could not believe this just happened. Now, it’s down to about 50 men in the tank. This one big guy comes over to the toilet in the room, turns around, facing everyone and says, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to take a dump!” I thought to myself, oh hell no, you are not. There’s not any soap in this place, so how in the hell is this guy going to wash his hands? I guess he was not concerned.
As he sat down to relieve himself in front of the group, one brave soul jumped in front of him and stated he would provide him some privacy. What a hero! I was clear on the other side of the room, not witnessing this event unfold. He finished and hopped up with a smile on his face, grabbed the cane he was walking on, and stood by the door preparing to exit. All I could think about was for this man not touching the door handle. Please do not touch the door knob.
Finally, after we went through the check-in process, the nurse at the station saw me and said “you don’t look well, what’s going on?” I just pointed to the back of my head, signaling a headache, and she immediately gave me 3 extra strength Tylenol. Before stepping away, I took the medicine and swallowed it without water to get it into my system as quickly as possible. It eased some, but I knew I would have to sleep off the headache until the next morning. I made it to the unit, was assigned a cell and entered room 325. I had zero energy for a shower this night and I passed out.
As I reflect back over the day of being trafficked to the transfer center, I asked myself, what did I learn from this experience? First and foremost, I learned I will never come back to prison again in my life. This experience for me is a once in a lifetime event. Introspectively, I learned that I am resilient in uncomfortable circumstances and know how to thrive in harsh conditions. I learned that my acuity on reading people and assessing situations are razor sharp. I learned that in the midst of dealing with the worst headache I’ve endured in my 42 years on Earth, I can push through the pain and make it to the destination. This experience didn’t provide an easy way out. The environment is harsh with men of all custody levels and the byproduct of those environments they have lived in over the years inside these prisons. Locked up inside the highest security prisons in the country, they are accustomed to letting someone lay on the ground helpless, and to look out for themselves. I learned that my willpower to succeed, despite any circumstance, will push me through.
Upon my release from prison, I know I will face difficult circumstances being labeled as a felon. The inner callouses, developed through struggles, have equipped me to face any situation with the belief that I will overcome all obstacles. I will use my story to help others with my ministry of coaching and teaching life skills through our boxing program. I will display what’s possible through the literature I am currently producing while being incarcerated. I will distribute this literature to all the souls around the world who are interested and looking for guidance. If there is ever a time in my life, where there’s a choice to choose right or wrong, it will be very easy to quickly reflect back on my time here. I will reflect back on when I allowed my freedom to be taken from me, with a wrong choice. Any flashback about prison, is one that will shift me to always make the right choice. It is my heart’s goal to help others do the same. I want to help guide them to make better choices through learning about my experience and the effects in can cause on your life, your family’s life and all those around you.