16 Dec 15th–Dec 21st, 2022 phoenixnewtimes.com phoenix new Times | music | cafe | film | culTuRe | NighT+Day | feaTuRe | NeWs | OPiNiON | feeDBacK | cONTeNTs | district court dismissed an incarcerated person’s complaint that he was denied reli- gious meals. “If we think this is a choice that people deserve for their last meal, why not every meal?” said Alex Busansky, president and founder of the Oakland, California-based research center Impact Justice, in an inter- view with New Times. In 2019, Busansky launched the Food in Prison Project, a comprehensive study focused on what’s served in U.S. prisons. In 2020, he published Eating Behind Bars, which explored how prison food is used as both a punishment and a recompense, as it is on death row. In November, he authored an essay titled The Deeper Meaning of Food In Our Lives in which he explored the stark disparity between the cultural understanding of food inside and outside prison walls. In Eating Behind Bars, Busansky wrote that “food is a fundamental human rights issue,” and upholding the Salem Witch Trial-era tradition of a last meal, by contrast, highlights the many real human rights violations that incarcerated people suffer every day. “The idea that somehow one last meal will erase a history of physical abuse, abuse by the legal system, a lifetime of incarcera- tion, and somehow everyone is ending up on a positive note — I think it is a myth that is perpetuated in literature, media, and other places,” Busansky wrote. And Hooper’s case highlights this point well. It was a case mired in allegations of police misconduct. Hooper initially admitted to police he was involved but later maintained his innocence until his execution. No physical evidence tied Hooper to the scene of the crime. ‘Unappetizing and Unhealthy’ Busansky, in his New Times interview, said the contrast is especially stark because so much of the injustice people in prison face comes in the mess hall. For the last decade, people housed in Maricopa County jails have only been offered two meals a day that offer little sustenance. For breakfast on weekends, they are offered a meager peanut butter and “grape-flavored jelly” sandwich with a few cookies, a piece of fruit, and the tiny carton of milk you might associate with a kinder- garten classroom. For dinner, their only other meal of the day, people in the jails get the same thing again — minus the milk. For incarcerated people, prisons are “sending the message that they are less than human every time they sit down to a meal,” Busansky said. “Not only is the food in prison unappetizing and unhealthy by every definition, but even in crowded chow halls, meals are a solitary experience, not a communal one. People sometimes have just minutes to eat, are required to eat in silence, and sharing food — when there is anything worth sharing — is usually prohibited.” Maybe that’s why the average person on death row in Arizona requests seven different food items for their last meal, according to the records obtained by New Times. In the past few decades, people on death row have requested a variety of items, ranging from an entire block of cheese to a bottle of Rolaids and even dog meat. Some declined to make a request for their last meal, while others ordered a full menu but didn’t touch their plate. There’s a rich subtext when it comes to the final hankerings of people on the brink of death. Murray Hooper was executed on November 16. His last meal: KFC extra- crispy fried chicken, hot macaroni and cheese, a buttery dinner roll, cheesecake, two pints of Neapolitan ice cream, and a large glass of orange soda. Arizona Department of Corrections The most requested last-meal item was fresh vegetables with the most sought-after being whole jalapeños. Burazin / The Image Bank / Getty Images Crime from p 15
