Dwayne “Bim” Staats is currently incarcerated in the Delaware Department of Corrections. Out of his 21 years of incarceration, Staats has spent nearly 17 years in solitary confinement in prisons across Pennsylvania and Delaware. Staats represented himself and other individuals against the charges associated with the 2017 uprising in the Delaware supermax facility James T. Vaughn Correctional Center, which landed him another sentence to die in prison on top of his original life sentence. Currently, incarcerated people in Delaware and their families are organizing to close the solitary confinement unit, also called the Secured Housing Unit (SHU), at Vaughn. A petition and more information about the inhumane conditions and human rights violations in the SHU can be found here.

The following is a creative piece written by Staats from the perspective of his nephew when he was three years old, drawing from Staats’s personal experiences, conversations with his family, and stories shared with him over the years. This story captures both the brutal realities of visiting a loved one in solitary confinement and the enduring strength of familial connection. Staats is on Instagram @_bim_21 and @_rebellious_hearts, and has a YouTube channel here. He can be emailed on GettingOut by adding him as a contact using his name “Dwayne Staats” and number “467005,” or reached by mail at “Dwayne Staats 467005 Delaware DOC – 1101, PO Box 777, Las Vegas, NV 89193.” —Lena Massengale

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“Come on lil Dev, let’s go. We can’t be late for the visit with Uncle Bim!” The year was 2008, and I was three years old. My Aunt Shaunda was taking me to meet my Uncle Bim for the first time. Before this visit, I’d only known about him from stories my dad and his friend told or through letters my dad read to me that he said my uncle sent. Occasionally, I’d hear someone yelling throughout the house, “Bim’s on the phone!”

Auntie and I drove for about an hour. Then we turned onto a road that led to a main building with a bunch of other ones beside and behind it. They sat in the middle of a huge field of grass. I noticed that most of the main buildings were surrounded by two sets of barbed wire fences. As we entered the parking lot of the main building, Auntie read a sign that warned the staff not to drink the water in the prison. She said, “What the hell,” and shook her head as we pulled into a parking spot. There was another sign that said, “Cars are subject to be searched at any time.” I got confused when Auntie started taking off her jewelry and emptying her pockets. Then she reached over and took my Spider-Man watch off my wrist and put all the items inside the glove compartment. 

We exited the car and walked toward the main building. There were towers that sat a little distance away. Guards were up there leaning on a rail, staring down at us. We walked into the building and stopped at the receptionist desk. When the lady asked who we were visiting, Auntie responded, “Dwayne Staats.” I thought to myself, “That’s the same name as my cousin, who is four years older than me.” 

Next, Auntie was given two orange passes, and we clipped one on my shirt. That’s when another guard came over and ushered us through the metal detectors. Then I saw people standing in line with their arms stretched out. The guards began touching all over them. I could tell by the look on everyone’s face that they were uncomfortable. This invasion of privacy was known as a “pat down.” They even gave me one. 

Moments later, one of the guards and a visitor started arguing because he said her jeans were too tight. She yelled, “This is some bullshit, I hate coming here!” while storming out the front door. At the same time, another woman entered, but the CO at the receptionist desk said she was too late. The woman responded, “The visit isn’t until 10:00a.m., and it’s only 9:16a.m.” 

The guard told her, “You must be here 45 minutes early. No exceptions.” The woman explained that she drove two and a half hours and was sorry for being late. Her eyes were pleading for leniency and mercy. Sadly, none was given. She just dropped her head and left. As we sat in the waiting area, which consisted of a few rows of chairs, one of the guards started conversing with a visitor like they were friends. Come to find out this lady had been coming to visit her husband every week for the last ten years. Another thing I found strange was outside of me and another young child, all of the visitors were women. 

Now it was almost time for the visit. When a group that had their visits before us came back, I didn’t know what to think. Some had happy expressions on their faces, but what got my attention were those who had tears in their eyes. They looked like they’d just left a gravesite. I asked myself, “What goes on in a visit to make someone feel like that?” I went from being nervous to anxious. Now I was scared. 

Before we left the waiting area, the guard made us go through the metal detector again. Then we were told to line up single file and stay to the right side of the walkway. We were led outside the building and had to stop at a gate. It had a huge sign that warned us not to touch the fence or we’d be electrically shocked. (To this day I have a phobia about touching fences.) We waited ten seconds for someone to buzz the gate open. We walked through two more gateways, then we reached another building. Auntie signed a book that was sitting on a table. 

Next, we entered the room with the visitation booths. The guard warned everyone not to sit on the counters or leave the booth that the person we’re visiting is in front of. This room was narrow with six booths on each side of the aisle. Once the guard closed the door, we were basically trapped inside. People started walking down the aisle looking into the booths. Once we passed the second one, I heard Auntie yell, “Look at you!” Then a voice responded “What’s up, sis!” 

When I came into view, Auntie picked me up so I could stand on the metal stool. That was the only thing to sit on. The booth was cramped with cinder blocks stacked on the sides. A small counter extended from above the stool to the plexiglass partition. “Look nephew, this your Uncle Bim,” Auntie said. I just stared at him, mainly because he looked like a bigger version of my cousin Dwayne. 

I noticed that his side of the booth had a door on it. The top half of the side wall was plexiglass and the bottom was cinder block. Back then I just thought he was trapped in a clear bubble, so I reached across the counter to pop it. The surface was hard so I started hitting it with two hands. “Shaunda look, he’s tryna bust me out of here!” Uncle Bim excitedly yelled. He was sitting on the counter with all orange clothes on. I thought to myself, “Why does he have chains around his waist, cuffs on his wrist, and shackles on his ankles? Why were they treating my uncle like a wild animal?” 

All of our attention turned to a woman who was walking down the aisle. The guard stuck his head in the doorway and said her visit wasn’t coming. Uncle Bim asked the lady if she was there to see Meir. She answered, “Yes.” Then he told her that the guards denied him this visit as a form of retaliation for writing grievances on them. She thanked Uncle Bim for telling her that. Then she exited the room. 

The more I interacted with my uncle, the realer our connection felt. He asked me questions like: what my favorite color was, what cartoon characters I liked, and how far I could count. He also taught me how to say, “Uncle Bim” and to play Rock, Paper, Scissors. 

Suddenly, the guard stuck his head in the doorway and told everyone the visit was over. My auntie and uncle said, “I love you” to each other. Then Bim put his hand on the window and said, “Gimme some ‘lil man!” I instinctively put my hand up to his. He said, “I love you, nephew,” while Auntie was letting me off the stool. We left the visiting room and headed back to the gates. 

I wondered why Uncle Bim couldn’t come with us. How long were they keeping him here and when would I see him again? I started feeling my eyes get watery and wiped away a tear that slid down my cheek. I wasn’t sure if Auntie was paying attention until she put her hand on the side of my head, moved me closer, and said, “Everything’s gonna be alright!”

We got back to the main building. The next group of visitors was staring at us when we walked in. There were a few kids my age, and I wondered if they had the same thought I had when I’d seen that first group return.

Anyway, over the next 17 years, I’d only see Uncle Bim two more times—once when I was seven years old and, believe it or not, last year when I was 19 years old. So throughout the years, we built our bond over the phone. That’s mainly because they’d house him in the Hole most of the time, or in some form of indefinite solitary confinement. Being in solitary confinement restricted the frequency of his visits and restricted his visits to always be behind that plexiglass. Then he was sent to indefinite solitary confinement in Pennsylvania for five years and was prohibited from having any in-person visits the whole time. Now he’s back in Delaware, still in the Hole.

Through it all, our bond got stronger because he never let the system break him. That is why I will never let them break us either. Free Uncle Bim!

Banner photo: Non-contact visiting room at James T. Vaughn Correctional Center in the 1980s / Delaware News Journal Archives