99% Invisible - 530- The Panopticon Effect

Episode Date: March 29, 2023

The “panopticon” might be the best known prison concept in the world. In the original design, all the cells are built around a central guard tower, designed to maintain order just by making prisoners believe that they are constantly being watched.  Over time, the panopticon has turned into something way bigger than just a blueprint for penitentiaries. It’s become the metaphor for the surveillance state. Philosopher Michel Foucault had probably the most popular take on the panopticon concept. He used it to warn society that what actually keeps all of us in check isn’t necessarily that someone is watching you. It’s just the feeling that someone might be watching you. But very few actual prisons were built around this idea. Breda Dome is one of them.The Panopticon Effect

This is 99% invisible. I'm Roman Mars. In the Netherlands about an hour and a half south of Amsterdam, there's a city called Brayda. Like many Dutch towns, it has cozy narrow streets, canals and plenty of bicycles. Last year I moved all the way from an island in the far east of Russia to the Smyd-Evil Dutch city. Here's producer Tatiana Cam. I'd never been to the Netherlands before, moving to Europe was exciting. The contrast between the thousand-year-old Dutch town and the young city in Russia that I came from

is striking. Instead of grey Soviet structures, I'm now surrounded by Gothic churches and narrow red brick houses. Something you see on the past cards that your friends sent from Europe. There is one historic building right in the middle of town that's really caught my eye. A beak, cylindrical structure, four-story stone, capped with this massive greenish grey dome, nearly 125 feet up. And then, stepping inside the building, there is a wide open circular hole the size of half a football field. With this rolling dome overhead, you feel like an ant trapped under a giant rice bowl. Along the curved brick walls, there are heavy orange doors. More than 200 of them spread out evenly across the four floors.

And behind most of these doors are small rooms that were once prison cells. When this place was first built in 1886, it was a penitentiary. But not a typical one. This was a penitentiary. But not a typical one. This was a panopticon. The panopticon might be the best-known prison concept in the world. In the original design, all the cells are built around a central guard tower, designed to maintain order just by making prisoners believe that they are constantly being watched. The panopticon design is more than 200 years old, and it still shows up in

popular culture like Star Wars and Guardians of the Galaxy. If we're gonna get out of here, we're gonna need to get into that watch tower. Look, it's 20 feet up in the air and it's in the middle of the most heavily guarded part of the prison. But the Panopticon has turned into something way bigger than just a blueprint for Penitentrius. It's become they met a fore for the surveillance state. George Orwell's Big Brother, the Hunger Games, and the Handmaid Stale, they all been described as Penoptic. In real life, when social critics talk about what it means to have cameras everywhere, the Penopticon is always the metaphor of choice.

Micheal Foucault had probably the most popular take on the panopticon concept. He used it to warn society that what actually keeps all of us in check is it necessarily that someone is watching you. It's just the feeling that someone might be watching you. But, as popular as it has become as an idea and a metaphor, relatively few real life prisons have come close to their regional panopticon design. And one of the oldest is right here, in the middle of my new city. This giant cylindrical building that locals call the Kupel Fandbreda, the dome of Breda.

It closed as a prison back in 2014. Since then, Breda's dome has been repurposed and rented for hackathons, musicals, and wine tastings. On the building's website, there are pictures of the giant circular hole filled with smiling people dining by candlelight. The tables and chairs are covered in crisp white linen, surrounded by the heavy metal doors of the prison cells. When this building was completed more than 130 years ago, it was on the cutting edge of

European penitentiary construction. This may seem hard to fathom today, but dutra farmers and architects believe that they had created a humane way to prevent people from committing crimes. But instead of improving the prison system, it quickly became one of the cruelest forms of incarceration. The whole idea of mass incarceration began around the 16th century. Located people up was seen as a vast improvement on the old system of public vlogging, hangings and beheadings.

Netherlands was one of the first countries to introduce prisons actually in the world as an alternative to torture and to capital punishment and to corporal punishment. René Vonswan again teaches criminology at Arrasmus University, Rotterdam. He says, in the Netherlands at the time, reformers and politicians argued that idleness was a major source of criminality and social deviance. So the obvious cure was hard work, which would eradicate one's quote-unquote inner criminal. In 1596, the Dutch began building what they called tooth-housen, or houses of correction.

These were hard labor prison camps. They were based on the idea that work would correct the inmate by instilling discipline and morality. The philosophy of these prisons were written on the entrance gates, while beasts must be tamed. But the goal of actually rehabilitating inmates was quickly lost. The houses of correction devolved

into just convenient sources of very cheap labor and they were miserable places. People, criminals, they were locked up in big groups. Ross Flore is a sociologist who has studied Dutch prison architecture. They had big rooms where they ate, where they slept, where they worked. And in that period, the prison got the name, the University of crime. Since everyone was mixed together, these prisons became places where younger inmates were easily influenced by more seasoned criminals. Diseases spread quickly.

The jails were so awful, mothers would bring their misbehaving kids to have a look, just to scare them straight. There was not no individual cells. It were big cages. And like we go to the zoo, you could buy a ticket to go and watch people locked up. By the mid-19th century, it was clear that the houses of correction were not getting rid of crime. If anything, they were making it worse. And so Dutch reformers began looking for a new way to design prisons that wouldn't just punish inmates,

but fundamentally change them. They found just the sort of idea they were looking for in the work of a French diplomat. Alexis de Tocqueville had traveled to the United States to study its penitentures. He visited one prison which at that time was based on a whole new model of incarceration. It was run by Quakers who believed that instead of locking prisoners up in huge cages, each individual should be kept in complete solitude. Only by being alone in their own cell would each prisoner be transformed into a pious

citizen ready to rejoin society. This novel approach was called solitary confinement. In today's prisons, especially in the US, solitary confinement is pure punishment, a prison within the prison. But in the 1800s, the Quaker thought that solitary confinement could actually be a key to healing and true religious penitence. Kind of like a monk, it was believed that isolation would bring the inmate closer to God. So you would be locked up with one book, guess what book? The Bible obviously, and you were not allowed to talk, but you were to reflect upon your

sins basically. Back in France, Tocqueville co-authored a small but influential report about what he'd seen in US prisons. His European readers saw this American model as a big improvement on their current system of locking people up together on mass in giant cages. They said, well, they do things more in a more humane way. And this was one of the lessons to feel to back from the states. And then it spread all over Europe.

Across the continent, solitary confinement got really popular, which led to a major design change, the rise of cellular prisons. Those buildings were very different. In the old type, you needed big rooms. And in the new type, you needed small cells for one person. And they thought by that way, it could be possible to make people repent to their crimes. The Netherlands was part of this wave of redesign. Solitary confinement was the new philosophy and cellular prisons were its realization.

That approach gave Dutch prison reformers the road map they needed in order to overhaul the nation's prisons. There wasn't enough space in the existing prisons to retrofit them with individual cells, so they'd have to build something completely new. In 1870, the Dutch government turned to one of its most experienced architects to help realize this vision. His name was Johann Frederick Metzelar. Metzelar was the head engineer for the Ministry of Justice.

He had already designed and built multiple prisons and courts throughout the Netherlands. For these new penitentures, Metzelar had to create a design that would fit a lot of inmates, but give them each an individual cell and enough supervision. And each cell had to be strictly isolated from each other, allowing zero interaction between the inmates.

He was drawn to a prison design idea that originated outside of the Netherlands. It was called a Panopticon. Credit for the Panopticon concept typically goes to British Reformer Jeremy Bentham. But Philip Steadman, who has research Panoptcons, says that's not quite right. His brother Samuel was the man who actually invented the idea. We think of Jeremy Bentham as the inventor of the Panopticon, but he always says, I got the idea from my brother. Samuel Bentham first thought of the concept as a way to keep an eye on the man who worked

for him. He told Jeremy about his idea for a circular workshop with a central tower where the manager would have a 360 degree view of his workers. Samuel's theory was that if the laborers even thought they were always being watched, they'd automatically be more productive. And you'd need fewer supervisors down on the shop floor. The idea that we're under constant surveillance seems familiar to many of us now. We just kind of accept that there are cameras and CCTV everywhere, and that we're always

being tracked on our computers at work. But back in the late 1700s, a design for watching so many people all at once in a way that Bentham hope would make everyone more productive, this was a major innovation that could bring big economic benefits. Jeremy Bentham saw huge potential in panopticans. He envisioned circular schools, hospitals, and silums, and of course, prisons. But he wanted his panopticon to be different from his brother's idea. Jeremy was a social and legal reformer.

He envisioned something that didn't just suit the needs of those who ran the place. Jeremy imagined a prison that would make inmates' lives better. Ben for the month that they could opt to come to be placed where prisoners were trained and craft, which they could then carry on when they left the prison itself. So it was a reforming institution. In 1787, Bentham published a series of letters detailing how he wanted his panopticon prison to be designed and operated. First of all, he said it should be circular.

And of course, he called for a guard house right in the middle so that jailer could see each and every prisoner at all times. Bentham hoped that this kind of constant surveillance would keep things orderly inside the penitentiary. He was very taken with the central idea of observation from the center. He thought this was a key idea, a very profound and powerful idea in architecture that would have a lot of influence. But Bentham was interested in more than just this centralized surveillance point that has become so synonymous with the Panopticon. In his letters, he stressed another critical design feature, individual prison cells. He believed that isolating inmates was key to a functioning panopticon prison. Individual

cells kept prisoners from fighting or conspiring to escape. It was easier for guards to keep an eye on inmates who were alone, making sure they did nothing but repent for their crimes. For Jeremy Bentham, isolation and centralized surveillance worked hand-in-hand. He said that inside a well-watched cellular panopticon, jailers would see the inmates as a multitude, though not a crowd. And the prisoners would be, he wrote, solitary and sequester individuals. Bentham hired an architect to drop the design,

which showed a building with large windows, a lot of light, and lots of internal mechanisms, which allowed the whole prison to operate like a well oiled machine. You could think of the panopticon as a gadget. It was meant to have a lot of quite advanced technologies, not as the CCTV, but the inspectors had speaking tubes. There was a supply of water to all the cells. There were laboratories each of all the cells. They had means of getting hot meals up from the basement, kitchens to the cells and so on. It was a very advanced building. It would have been. It would have been because as passionate as he was about his circular prison and as hard as he

tried to get the British government to build one, Jeremy Bentham died in 1832 without ever seeing his Panopticon prison completed. But several decades later, Dutch architect Johann Metzelar picked up Bentham's ideas. He was drawn to the Panopticon because it solved several practical concerns. One of the things Metzelar liked most was the emphasis on individual cells, an ideal design for solitary confinement. Since the cells were arranged in circles, inmates would have minimal interaction. It was important to isolate the prisoners from each other.

And in the round prison, your opposite neighbor is about 15 meters away from you. And it's very difficult to make a conversation then. Also, the Panopticon was a cost-saving design. It would require less construction than a typical prison, because there be no need for a separate church. The priest could just deliver his sermons from a central structure without the inmates ever leaving their cells.

Plus, the prison was designed, so it would take fewer people to run it. Today, you would call it the business model, right? In the sense that you would try to economize on guards. You wouldn't need as many guards as the typical prison, because just the specter of constant surveillance would do a lot to maintain order. I always saw the panopticon as a very, let's say, economic measure, try and construct a prison

with a maximum of overview of on the cells and a minimum of staff to manage the prison. But Metsalar wanted the new prisons to be more than just practical. Throughout his life as an architect, he often looked for ways to integrate art into his buildings. As strange as it may sound, he hoped to do the same thing with this prison. Metsular wanted to create something elegant. He pulled these artistic and practical considerations together and drew up plans. And in 1886, Johann Metsular finally managed to achieve what Jeremy Bentham could have only dreamed of. The 68-year-old Dutch architect completed Braddess Panaptican.

The domed prison became the first part of a large complex that grew to include a courthouse, a detention center, and a women's prison. Today, the buildings are still full of original details. Floral patterns carved into wooden panels. Intricate metal work and stone archways. The gate house looks like a castle. As soon as the Panopticon was finished, prison officials opened it up to tours.

The town's bourgeoisie would pay to go inside the circular building and stare up in amazement at metallur's magnificent domed roof. By the end of the 19th century, prisons in the US and across Europe were being built with an emphasis on individual cells. These were expected to be penitentiaries in the truest sense. And the dachua among the first to take that concept and pull it off in the form of real, working panopticans. Three of them actually, including breda. When breda's prison first opened, it filled up quickly. In the 19th century, just smuggling some butter across the border could land you a few days behind bars. There were 205 cells. Each one just slightly smaller than an 11 by 11 foot room.

The prison was very modern. There was central heating and even electricity. The inmates spent almost their entire days in their cells in complete solitude, eating, sleeping, reading their bibles, and theoretically repenting for their crimes. In a very early presence, you had one cell to yourself and you were not allowed to their Bibles and theoretically repenting for their crimes. The Dutch believe that this form of punishment was the best way to make criminals more fit for a God-faring society. The Netherlands enthusiastically used solitary confinement to both discipline criminals and prevent crime.

But by the early 1930s, about four decades after the bread-adome prison first opened, people were realizing that this whole theory of rehabilitation was nonsense. The expensive ground-breaking panopticon experiment in the Netherlands was actually a torturous disaster. Dutch researchers were finding that isolation wasn't rehabilitating anyone. Instead, it was causing severe mental illness and death among prisoners. Although this was a panopticon building,

the main issue wasn't surveillance. It was solitary confinement. People do not really improve if you lock them up solitary confinement with the Bible, they got crazy. It's been very hard to find personal accounts of the inmates who experienced the horrific conditions inside Breda. But prison administrators for reporting what we all know today. That solitary confinement is one of the cruelest and ugliest forms of punishment ever invented. And they say that there were quite a few numbers of suicides in those prisons. So the criticism of the system, they were growing in numbers through the years.

But the Dutch government had spent a lot of money building prisons like Breta, and wasn't eager to give up on them. So they stayed open. And then came World War II. When the sun rose on a faithful day, the Nazis invaded the Netherlands. Without warning, all the slightest provocation, they unleashed upon their innocent name.

When the Nazis occupied the Netherlands in 1940, they turned many Dutch penitentries into prisons for those who resisted the occupation. Most of the Dutch elites who do not want to collaborate with Germany, occupy with the Nazis, ended up in prison. State officials, judges, and lawmakers were all put behind bars. Obviously a pretty unusual situation, but those Dutch elite got to experience firsthand the sheer awfulness of prison. And people said, oh, what a hellholes these are. And it said, well, if the war is over, we're going to reform drastically the prison system, try to humanize it.

After the war, Dutch leaders once again called for transformation of the nation's prisons. This time, criminal law reformers pushed false alternatives to incarceration. De-criminalizations, certain things were decriminalized. Also, sure to send the thing, why send somebody to 20 years if five would do as well. The Dutch were also, once again, rewriting their laws to emphasize rehabilitation. This time not by trying out a new and untested design theory, but instead by reducing the number of penitentiaries around the country.

Because prisons are not inherently good, so you want to be creative and do something else. Starting in the early 1950s, the Dutch also began decreasing their use of solitary confinement. Inside of Breda, they got rid of strict isolation. They built spaces where inmates could interact, including a library, a gym, and several workshops.

Formerly they slept, they ate, and they worked in their cell, but later they had rooms for eating, for sports, and for working in different buildings around the town prison itself. More recent changes in Dutch law have led to an overall drop in the National Prison Population. In just 10 years, starting in 2007, the number of prisoners in the Netherlands fell 20%. Bredas prison was emptying out, and the building was fallen apart. With so many vacant cells and a giant maintenance bill, in 2014, the Netherlands finally moved

all remaining inmates out of the 130-year-old prison. A deafening silence, but that prison is empty of inmates, like so many others in the Netherlands. After breads has been intentionally closed as a prison, Dutch leaders hope to repurpose the entire complex. They begin rebranding the space with its giant fanopticon dome as the crown of breeder. The Dutch government put out a call for proposals for ways to reuse the entire facility. The place is huge, nearly 400,000 square feet, about 7 football fields. And it's on prime real estate, right in the middle of downtown. While waiting for a buyer, it was rented for lots of things.

Easily one of the most shocking was where you'd show up to the dome, but on an orange jumpsuit and join hundreds of others in an immersive prison escape game. In this rotten place, they will rule you and you will obey. You're nothing in here. Last September two companies with bigger ambitions for the space bought the entire complex, which covers more than eight acres. The new owners are planning to turn it into a small village with green space offices and concert halls. But making any changes will not be easy.

The prison has been designated a national monument, which seriously limits how much the structures can be modified. And city officials have asked the new owners to hold off on any renovations so that the space can be used immediately. Not as some weird escape room, but as a shelter for Ukrainian refugees. Just outside the dome, there is an entryway decorated with welcome science in Dutch, English and Ukrainian. Inside the large circular hole hole there is a glass floor and that epic dome roof.

That is why it was so big. From outside it's hard to tell the dome is so big and impressive. It's just massive. It makes you feel really small, really. The Panopticon building has preserved some questionable elements from the past. There are still bars on the windows, and the doors to the rooms where the refugees sleep cannot be locked from inside. But this space is actually pretty inviting.

Today, there is a dining hall in the center, sand, pours, and through the domed skylights and falls on cozy armed chairs. There is a gym in the basement where refugees get together for yoga lessons and volleyball. I met one of the domed residents, a Ukrainian athlete named Kaica. She's sharing her room with another woman from Ukraine. I asked her, if it's weird to live with someone you just met. She smiles and she says that having a roommate makes you feel less lonely.

When Jeremy Bentham first designed the Panopticon Prison, he said he wanted it to be a place where people were treated well, where their lives might even be improved. But the failure of Brayda's Panopticon shows that there is just no such thing as a humane prison. As Bentham himself once wrote, all punishment is mischief, all punishment in itself is evil. So much thought went into ensuring strict solitude in the bread of prison. So it's ironic how much effort is going into using that exact same space to achieve the opposite goal? Bringing people together and helping them feel safe and connected. Despite the cell doors and old iron bars and gates,

Radistpanopticon has finally managed to become a truly humane place, but only after it stopped being a prison. The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The The the The� The� The� The� The� The�� The We're back with Tatiana Kim, who reported this week's episode. Now she's going to tell us about a famous prison escape from Brayda. So Tatiana, what's the story you found? It's about a woman named Hulga Kiel, or the way she addressed herself, and everybody else is calling her Tatiana.

Tatiana, okay, what happened to Tati? So she had this family feud going on and one day in 2006, when she was 32 years old, Tati came to visit the family and her brother and your new sister-in-law happened to be at that family gathering. So, Tati in the middle of the feud stabbed her sister-in-law, and according to the judge, she also tried to hurt her brother with the same knife. As a result, she was convicted of double attempted murder and sentenced to eight years in prison. So what happens to Tati and Brayda? So as soon as she got to Brayda, she started to think how to get out of the prison from the very beginning.

She's quite a smart person. She understands that in order for plan to succeed, she needs to know more about the environment. And she noticed that in the breeder there is a rule that the most well-behaving prisoners are separated and rewarded by leaving in the so-called cottage. Oh, okay. So describe the cottage with this. So this is like outside of the dome. Yeah, we mentioned in the podcast that breeder prison is not just the panopticon itself, but it's also several buildings on the complex. And so one of the structures is that cottage. It's the closest to the fence, actually.

It's like a separate house. So it's much milder rules. They are checked upon only twice a day, and that's it. For the rest of the day, they pretty much leave on the old. And so of course, Tottie noticed that and she saw a great opportunity in that. She behaves her best. And she got to the point where she's transferred to the cottage. And she's going around her duties. She's mopping the floor and she puts the mop on the floor and she hears the sound and she immediately thinks of the emptiness below her.

Okay. She notices that the floor underneath her is hollow. So there's something to go to. Right. And so she explores. She goes and she stumps them up. She follows this hollow sound, which leads here to the kitchen. The kitchen she's looking for, the opening. And she eventually finds behind the laundry baskets a hatch, which can be opened easily. And there is some kind of a crawl space underneath that quite big, but there are all kinds of pipes and valves in there. Okay. And she goes inside this crawlspace, but she finds out that it's enclosed. So in order to get out, she has to dig tunnel from that under the fence and out in the street. So the crawlspace affords her a place to secretly dig a tunnel underneath the wall, which is pretty nearby

the cottage. Right. So now she thinks about the tool and she found the perfect tool for herself a paint scraper from the workshop. Okay. So even with the paint scraper, how long did it take her to dig a tunnel? Oh, it took months. She only could do it on the night while everybody is asleep

Mm-hmm. So Tati keeps digging and digging and she Understands that once she's out She will need an escape car to get away car Right, right because there has to be someone to meet her because obviously like you can get yourself out of prison But getting away from the prison is another huge hurdle. Right, and she has this friend and they met. There was a prisoner's visit where they could talk and Tauti told her about the plan

and she said, they agreed on the coat. She said, once I'm close, I'm gonna call you and tell you, hey, my cousin has a very big fight with your husband, can you go to this neighborhood house and come here and be with her? Be there at this hour that night. And that was their code word. And in order for Tority to understand how close she is to getting out, she used the crush-hitting needle to poke around.

Oh, wow. Okay. So she had access to crochet needles, which are, you know, long metal. Right. And you know, in Europe, you have all of this cobblestones on the streets, all of this cute, nice rocks in the surface of the streets. Yeah. And she thought if she pokes the needle up above her and she feels something hard, that

must be the surface. It must be that feels something hard. That must be the surface. It must be that cobblestone. That makes sense. And so she could tell that she was pretty close and could get out maybe that night if she kept digging. Right. So she's checked how far she is away from the surface with her needle, if she has her getaway car.

So there must be just one night that becomes the night to get out. So what happens on her final night? one night that becomes the night to get out. So what happens on her final night? Yeah, that was the night of adventure. She was ready. She was spoken with her needle and she found out, yes, there, the hard rock. I'm really close. So she rushes in, she makes a call to her friend and woman said, yes, I'll be there at 3 a.m. just like you said Toda iraash is in and Diggs and then she made it she comes out in the middle of their night in 3 a.m. In actually the middle of the city I have to remind you that the bread of prison is in downtown

Okay, Prada She gets out and nothing there is no getaway car. Oh, no, what happens then? She gets out and she figures that she needs to, if there is no getaway car, schedule, then she needs to find one. And she gets a taxi and asks the taxi to take her to another city. But then she admits to the driver that she doesn't have any ID, she doesn't have any money to pay him and she's also just escaped the prison by now. Well, that's one way to do it, I suppose.

Okay, so... Surprisingly, the driver didn't freak out or get her out of the car right away. He actually, after some convincing, he managed to get her to another city, to the safe place, and one of your friends finally gave her a shelter in his cafe. So she sleeps few nights in the coffee shop, but she's bored. She knows that she cannot go out to see people, but she's bored. She's finally out and she cannot go out to see people, but she's bored. She's finally allowed and she wants to talk to people. So she goes down and she meets nice men sitting and sipping coffee and they really heat it off. They start to talk. They really like each

other. And she moved to live with him. Okay, so she's escaped from prison. She hides out in a coffee shop. She meets a man in the coffee shop. What is her life like? I mean, is she really, you know, on the run and, you know, does she manage to enjoy her freedom while she's out or, or is she kind of paranoid and, and, you know, figures that they're looking for all the time? She actually enjoys her life and her freedom for three full weeks before the SWAT team of the Dutch police kicks in the door of the apartment of your boyfriend and harass her as a fugitive and they put her back in prison not to bread her to a different prison where she served the remaining of her years. In the Netherlands, at least of that time that happened in 2010, the prisoners who escaped

did not have added time to their prison sentence. So she serves as the rest of her sentence for two years? Yeah. And then the guy whom she met and whom she lived with continues, even although he discovers the truth about her, he doesn't abandon her, he continues to visit her in prison, bring her little cakes and things that are not really allowed to be brought, and then she telling him how to bring it to her, how to hide it. You're gonna let Tati be Tati.

I guess. That continues. After she's released in January 2012, she's officially a free person. And once she's a free person, she is living life to the full potential. She's back with this man. She's having a kid, and she's trying to reach out to Hollywood now and try to make yet a movie done about her. Well, this is so great, a little addendum to the story. Thank you so much, Tatiana. It's been so much fun. Thank you, Anna. ["Sing the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, the Lies, Facts checking by Graham Haysha. Jolani Hall was our senior editor, Kirk Cole State is our digital director. The resident includes Vivian Leigh, Emmett Fitzgerald, Chris Barube, Jason Dillion,

Losh Mdon, Jacob Moltenon Omedina, Joe Rosenberg, Kelly Prime, Sophia Klatsker, and me Roman Mars. The 99% of his below goat was created by Stefan Lawrence. We are part of his teacher and serious exam podcast family, now headquartered six blocks north in the Pandora building. And beautiful. Uptown, Oakland, California. You can find the show and join discussions about the show on Facebook.

You can tweet at me at Roman Mars and the show at 99PI Ork. Want Instagram, Reddit, and TikTok too. You can find links to other Stitcher shows I love, as well as every past episode of 99PI at 99PI.org. El ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, el ca, God, He will.