An Abolitionist in Prison
How Living by my Values Got Me Framed with Murder
By Nyki Kish (Free Nyki)
How dangerous the life I led was to them, and how foolish I was for believing they would allow it. A rejection of the state of society, for five years I led a life in the fringes. A life in squats, in forests, on beaches, in buses and communes; shopping from dumpsters, growing food, driving on grease, riding trains, doing demos, tree-sits, volunteering, and denying any substantial contribution from my capable self to the capitalist system I abhor, I wore a uniform of dissent.
I was labeled many things, from hippie to autonomist, vagrant to punk, and in hindsight, I was all of them. Officially, I denied them all believing society ought not have the right to package who I am and what I believe in into a word, an ‘ism’ or an ‘ist’ to be distorted and manipulated. I rejected even the term activist, as to be an activist implied an option to not be. Everyday was a protest, of private property, materialism and inequality, and a celebration of the sub-culture I was member to. Both my duty, and the only life I knew how to lead capable of satisfying my morals and values, there was no coherent option for me to support the main ranks of this hierarchical society whose dominant values I find criminal. Non-compliance coupled with the promotion of radical change through the growth of sub-culture was my past, and I loved it. When warned, as I often was, of how I was marginalizing myself, and of the dangers in doing so, I protested that whatever treatment I received by society, kind or cruel, was only an example of the state of its health, and that I would take it as it came. Well take it I did, an example I now am, though the force with which it came tests my strength everyday.
Though the facts and details of the state’s corruption and the abuse I have suffered by its hand are harrowing in themselves, for the benefit of this perspective I will only summarize, as the larger question of why things happened as they did deserves attention.
In short, I was used; my freedom stolen and identity manipulated, no- mutilated, to form the means to the very corrupt political ends I lived against. I was framed with a murder that I very clearly and demonstrably did not commit, in the case cited (before it was tried!) to prompt the enforcing of legislation that outright criminalized panhandling, under the safe streets act.
The highly publicized, sensational story police and media doled out was that I, (a local panhandler) stabbed a tourist to death because of a denial of a request for money. I was labeled the ‘panhandler killer’ nearly instantly, and by global media, literally from here in Ontario to Malaysia.
Unfortunately for the police and media alike, their claims held no truth. Yet with the long pushed agenda of criminalizing homelessness now justifiable, the ‘panhandler killer’ had to exist. Not one party thought to consider the validity of their bold claims, and especially pertaining to police (and eventually prosecutors) – not even when strong evidence began surfacing to the contrary.
And why? How could several separate human beings rationalize the persecution of a person very obviously innocent? This question has grayed more hair on my head than the process its self, and ultimately, only one sad conclusion holds logic.
By my appearance and by my lifestyle.
My difference negated any compassion I may have otherwise garnered had I been considered the young women I was. Instead my dreadlocks, piercings, tattoos and pack evoked a dissociated mentality in them about me, plainly that I was guilty in anyway; if not of murder, then of being no good. Lead detective Gary Giroux often and openly referred to my company and I as ‘those people’ in the early stages of the case. Yet Giroux is far from alone in this fault.
Hatred is the product of ignorance and historically the rebellious, the opposers’ of blind authority, and seekers of change have always been subject to be ostracized and criminalized (both openly and under many masks of unrelated reasons). For threatened by what many personalize, people view a rebellion against parts or portions of society as rebellion against them personally. By this and along side such social conditions as judgment, hierarchy and stereotyping, disregard, dissociation and hatred are easily fostered. Intentional abuses then become more easily rationalized and as abusers disregard the humanity of others, they begin to do so under the distorted perception that it is acceptable. Acceptable in defence of ‘their’ society, and especially acceptable when there is a substantial gain or profitable end to justify their means (abuse). Needless to say, in the circumstances in which my radical life met their corrupt but powerful political influence and agenda, their ends did (to them) justify their means, even though their means involved utterly destroying my life and manipulating the investigation of someone’s death to an irreparable extent.
In hindsight, I stood no chance. The facts were clear; the evidence was exculpatory. But evidence was ignored, altered, and a substantial portion was destroyed, and after three and a half years on house arrest, by judge alone trial I was convicted of murder and sentenced to life. In his verdict, the man who embodies the patriarchy in society that I am against voiced his distaste for people like me, though in an attempt to mask his claim under the fallacies by which he convicted me. He declared with a sneer that in the name of degradation I ought to serve more than the standard time. That I was not a rebel, but a danger, and that society needs to rid its self of such people. And just as healers and midwifes past heard ‘witch!’ As they met their flames of hatred, so did I as I met mine. But to rebel is not to be dangerous (physically); just as to be hurt is not to hurt. Yet to descend from the norm, to reject all this madness is and always has been a sentence, though a worthy one to bare.
For as long as I have been opposed to anything, the institution of prison has been high on my list. Now, an abolitionist imprisoned, and wrongfully, I have joined the long held tradition of non-conformist being punished for non-conformity, and that alone.
And clearer now than it ever was is that the prison is not an institution of reform, despite all its claims, but acts solely as an insurance policy of the capitalist machine to obtain membership and revenue from all who would otherwise not contribute (in the preferable means and amounts).
Here no help is offered. Here is a constant battle to keep any dignity and strength we can guard intact. To live by the morals and values I hold is more difficult here than it ever was; for in prison, non-compliance is condemnation. With out a warrant, my actions often prompt jailers to remind me that I am no candidate for parole. For parole, one must not only be guilty and sorry, but must acknowledge the prison experience reformed or bettered them in some way. And it does not, and I will not.
They have taken everything I love. They did so intentionally knowing well that I did not kill anyone. They have taken all from me that they can, but from my bunk in my cell, where I am confined nineteen hours a day, I know that what they yearn to take the most they will never have; they will never take my spirit, nor sway my beliefs and values, which are against them.
Nicole Kish or Nyki to those who know and adore her is a talented singer songwriter, artist, poet, and dedicated community activist. Over the past few years, Nyki founded a non-profit organization dedicated to improving literacy and educational opportunities within Ontario’s correctional facilities. As well she co-founded Bound for Glory, a not for profit arts and literary magazine for talented and neglected artist. Sadly however, on March 1st 2011, Nyki was wrongfully convicted of 2nd degree murder for little reason more than that she was there and she was stabbed. Dismissing the complete absence of positive identification, the confession of a former co-accused in regards to having pulled the alleged fatal knife, the lack of any DNA on Nyki and the copious amount on others, and the two separately “lost” surveillance videos gone missing in police custody, which have been alleged to have captured the events of that night, the judge successfully undermined this country’s core judicial principal of having to achieve beyond a reasonable doubt for obtaining a conviction. In fact the defense breached that thresh hold in proving here innocent. In short, backed by a media complacent with the “official” yet inconsistent story of Detective Giroux and the crown, an innocent young woman temporarily if not indefinitely lost her right to a beautiful life. Nonetheless, an appeal is being put forth and we plea to all who have a good heart and poses a care for true justice to support Nyki through these dark times and to demand her release/ ultimate acquittal.
Please everybody, write Nyki. Nothing would be as meaningful than to do so. Her address is:
Grand Valley, 1575 Homer Watson Blvd,
Kitchener, Ontario
N2P 2C5
Max Unit
Atten: Nicole Kish
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Posted Sep 06th, 2007 01:56 PM
Originally Posted by Soapboxmom
George Dranichak outside Ontario Superior Court on Thursday, Jan. 27, 2011, where he was testifying at the second-degree murder trial of Nicole Kish. She is charged with fatally stabbing his friend and colleague, Ross Hammond.
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