Signing Off: My Time at Prison Radio

The Privilege of Listening

Dear Friend,

When I started at Prison Radio in July 2024, I took over for my close college friend Leo.

Leo told me a lot about Prison Radio: how the scrappy organization is structured, how to turn the printer on and off if it stopped working, and where to find packing tape. Mostly, though, they told me about the correspondents. They described Bambi King, Crystal Clark, Kevin “Rashid” Johnson, David Annarelli, and so many other consistent contributors to Prison Radio.

I had not heard of any of the prisoners Leo told me about. I had barely heard of Mumia-Abu Jamal. But in the last ten months, I have learned so much about the US’s incarceration system by listening to the voices of our comrades inside.

Weeks after I started at Prison Radio, Larry Stromberg called for the first time. Larry had heard about Prison Radio from a friend, and on our very first call recorded six beautiful, somber poems about his time in prison. I googled him and found additional writing–essays, plays, and poems–that poignantly described watching friends die in prison, his childhood trauma, and hopes for the future.

Listen to Larry’s First Commentary

Months and many commentaries later, I answered the phone when Kevin “Rashid” Johnson called and reported that prisoners at Red Onion Prison in Virginia were setting themselves on fire in protest of deplorable conditions and racist abuse from guards. Our reporting made the New York Times and created a white hot spotlight on the new state ombudsperson.

Listen to Rashid’s First Commentary on Self Immolation at Red Onion

Prison Radio’s strength comes from its commitment to the unfiltered and unedited voices of prisoners. Larry’s touching poems and Rashid’s investigative reporting serve different purposes and reach different audiences, but they both exemplify the unique power of supporting prisoners in telling their own stories. Both of them have expertise, artistic perspective, and political commitments informed by their resilience in the face of unrelenting violence and repression.

I am leaving Prison Radio to go to law school and handing over my role to another abolition-minded young person, Jo. As I’ve trained her, I have found myself sharing the ins and outs of the office: telling her about where we keep the extra printer paper and stamps, but also about the privilege of listening to the stories of our correspondents.

My future as a lawyer and an activist will be shaped and guided by my time working with these articulate, resilient, and powerful incarcerated people.

Jo and me in the SF office on my last day!

I know you read my repeated requests for your time, phone calls, and money over the last year, and I want to reiterate what I have often said: that none of this would be possible without your support. The money you donated did far more than pay my part-time wages for the last ten months. Together, we brought people’s stories from inside to the airwaves. This has shaped my political consciousness and will guide me as I grow. I know it will also shape every intern, volunteer, and our newest employee, Jo.

Thank you, each of you, for that gift.

As I leave this role, I remain dedicated to sustainably supporting Prison Radio’s work. I am beginning a monthly gift so that our tiny staff has one fewer thing to worry about–they know they can count on me as they think about our monthly budget. This is my last request to please consider joining me in supporting this vital work.

In Solidarity,

Madeleine Matz