Chapter II:
Managing Despair

June 2013 - Don Bosco Prison, Pisa

"The most glorious moments in your life are not the so-called days of success, but rather those days when out of dejection and despair you feel rise in you a challenge to life, and the promise of future accomplishments."

Gustave Flaubert

By June of 2013, Il Commandante had enough of me. His own prison neurologists determined that I could not be treated properly at the Sollicciano infirmary. The tingling and twitching in my right foot had turned to almost complete numbness. I was determined not to go to America and no matter what abuse he and his goons had subjected me to, it was not sufficiently evil to induce me to stand trial in that mecca of incarceration called the US justice system. After all, America constitutes less than 5 percent of the world's population, but holds over a quarter of all prisoners on the planet within its penal system.

The trip in a highly secured prison convoy took about two hours. I tried to see as much of the landscape peaking through bars. I had heard in Sollicciano that Pisa was a much more civil place, but they were only partially right. This prison was "only" running at 150 percent of its capacity rather than 223 percent in Sollicciano. This joint, however, was in even worse shape. Rat colonies were apparent throughout the jail. There water quality was akin to a Honduran slum. The heating system did not function until temperatures hit 3 degrees Celsius in November of 2013. The buildings date back to the thirties, the "good old days" in Italy, when law and order was enforced under Benito Mussolini. Mussolini's grandiose architecture translated to high ceilings, large spaces, very much like Hitler's.

Upon arrival I was stuck in a dark cell. It was about ten in the morning, but the lights did not work. There was no light. I was pissed off. The only amenity was a plastic chair. After about two hours of waiting in this dungeon I thrashed the chair and tried to damage the door, threw the chair at the ceiling trying to damage the light. Nobody cared. Nobody intervened. I was ridding myself off aggressions. Finally, I was escorted from this hole and duly registered, mug shots and medical review.

The major positives of the Pisa municipal prison were as follows: The prison was less crowded than Sollicciano and the guards were less hostile. What I loved most was that we had regular church service and even a catechism sessions on Thursday. I had never looked more forward to going to church my entire life. I had attended church and prayer groups weekly since 2011. For three months in Sollicciano, I had not been allowed to go to church once, not even during Easter.

My time outside of the cell returned to the legally guaranteed four hours per day and three of the doctors were very good and caring souls. The flip side of Pisa was another asshole Commandante, this time with a sadistic twist. During one year in that prison, he had me moved over twenty times from one cell to another. That does not sound too bad, but it is. It was difficult to make acquaintances, form alliances and settle in. There was no semblance of stability. Constant change messed with my mind. I also had to spend four months in various solitary confinement cells. I lived like a hermit and had all the time in the world for reflection and prayer. The only setback was that the light could be on for 24 hours and there was only a hole in the ground to take a dump in the same place where I took my showers. All the furniture was made of indestructible steel. Compared to living among with mad men, this was a cakewalk. Solitary confinement was harsh, but the solitude was balsam for my soul.

While the prison administration thought they were breaking my spirit by putting me in their ratholes and moving me around, it was only getting stronger. That was one method to break me. Another tactic was to isolate me from my supporters. The Pisa prison commander randomly cancelled my telephone calling privileges on several, especially during the most critical phase of my trials when I needed to consult with my lawyers. That stopped when Mario Zanchetti threatened him with a ten million euro lawsuit.

Another major negative was highly polluted water. If you drank it, you got an infection. Basta. Mosquitos were all over the place and it was not uncommon to be bitten 20 or 30 times each day, even during the winter.

Medical Abuse

"The greater the power, the more dangerous the abuse."

Edmund Burke

The mosquitos by themselves would be bearable, but at one point I was placed in a cell with the sickest inmates of the entire medical center. The guy on my right had aids and bronchitis. The fellow on my left had three forms of hepatitis. Both were located about one foot away from me. Mosquitos are known to transfer diseases. I lost my spleen and a good chunk of my left lung during an assassination attempt in Caracas, Venezuela. My immune system was therefore simply too deficient to absorb the medication used to treat these medical conditions. I get bitten by the wrong mosquito, I die. My only available defense was to bathe in anti-mosquito spray 24/7. Regardless, it was only a matter of time before I would be infected. Taking a dump was life threatening. If your dick was longer than five inches it dragged on the bottom of the toilet basin. I contracted a vicious urinary tract infection in cell 96.

It would have been a cinch to move me to a cell with inmates that did not have these life threatening pathologies. The prison's management was fully aware of my pathologies and deliberately placed me in cell 96, which contained those prisoners with the most advanced and deadly pathologies.

Thank God, a very sweet and capable doctor protested adamantly and threatened to file an official complaint. She probably saved my life by getting me moved to a much safer and more hygienic environment.

One of the cruelest forms of medical abuse is deliberately withholding life-critical medicines from a patient while observing a patient's disintegration. Doing this requires an Auschwitz-Dr. Josef Mengele type personality. The head of the clinic withheld my multiple sclerosis medicine for three months, until my lawyers probed heavily and the missing medicine was "discovered" in her own drawer.

In Sollicciano and Pisa I had been examined by four prison neurologists and two external experts. All six agreed unanimously that I needed to be moved to a specialized MS clinic to undergo immediate therapy and to identify the most effective treatment. Dottoressa de Franco, with whom I had spent less than 100 seconds since my arrival in Pisa, overruled the opinions of all six neurologists and stated in her summary evaluation that "Mr. Homm is well looked after and treated at the Centro Medico. His condition is being is well managed by our doctors and there is no need for external analysis nor any other treatment alternatives. - What a bitch. What a nasty, f...g lie," I thought to myself. The conclusion was that America can control all aspects of our lives if they want to.

I had lost seventy pounds from my ideal weight, both legs were shaking uncontrollably. My right leg below the knee felt nothing and my left arm was becoming increasingly insensitive. My hands were twitching constantly. I had received crutches and a cane to prevent myself from tripping or falling. By this time, my urinary tract infection had gotten so bad I could no longer retain my urine. Just like the MS, this condition also went without any treatment. My only remedy was to inject soap using a long straw into my urinary tract to prevent the infection from getting worse. I was taking antidepressants because I had also been diagnosed as a high suicide risk. For months I never slept more than two hours at a time.

The icing on the cake was Professor Meco, who would perform my final "neutral" medical evaluation for the Italian Supreme Court. This review was performed by one of Italy's most notable neurologists, Professor Maltone and Professor de Meco of Italy's highly regarded Sapienza medical school. Both experts analyzed me for six hours and reviewed my extensive medical records in great depth. They also exchanged information and discussed my medical condition. One week after their visit Meco and Maltone were in full agreement that I was too sick to be extradited. A 30-hour trip from Pisa to Los Angeles was out of the question. I would certainly suffer a major MS relapse. Meco concluded that I needed to enter a specialized Italian MS unit immediately. His review was supposed to be filed with the Italian Supreme Court on Friday. Maltone had seen his draft report and was certain Meco would rule against extradition for prescient medical reasons.

Meco did not file his report on time, but only on the day of the trial several days later. We were not granted access to Meco's report prior to the trial. After the trial, Meco told Maltone in a telephone call, "that I had no choice in this matter. I was subjected to intense pressure and even serious threats. I had to rule that Mr. Homm was well enough to be extradited to America. I was forced to alter the report over the weekend. I am sorry, what else could I have done."

Contract Killing

"Be bullied, be outraged, be killed, but do not kill."

Wilfred Owen

My first cell in Pisa was relatively civil. Not as hospitable as the Muslim cell in Sollicciano, but very structured. There was a clear hacking order, which is far better than a cell or cell block where the hierarchy has not yet been solidly established. Cell 94...