Chapters 32–39 of this book draw substantially from my five-book memoir series Bearing the Cross: A Gringo Political Prisoner Exposes the Injustices, Indignities, and Vexations of the Chilean Criminal Justice and Prison System. The narrative material in those chapters appears in both works; the theological framing and prison-ministry focus are unique to Behind the Walls.

Cast of Characters

This book recounts events involving many recurring individuals. The brief identifications below may help readers track them across chapters. Some inmates and a few public figures appear under their real names; others are identified only by first names or descriptive nicknames, both for narrative simplicity and because Chilean prison populations frequently included multiple men with the same first name.

Family and supporters

Pamela—my wife and homemaker since March 2010; the faithful weekly visitor (except when she was prohibited from coming due to Covid-19 lockdown or prohibition of non-vaccinated people for over two years) whose presence sustained me through five years and five months of imprisonment. Like Job’s wife, who lacked faith and proper theological conviction and perspective, she learned more from her husband’s ordeal than he did. She still struggles with the concepts of (1) loving one’s neighbor and doing good, even when risky, and (2) doing the right thing can never be wrong, regardless of the circumstances. Still, jail separation and trials made us grow closer than ever, and our marriage is better now than before I suffered unjust imprisonment. She was instrumental in finding key evidence of my innocence of two charges from the District Attorney’s own forensic evidence, especially the lack of an exit hole in Luis Ahumada’s thigh and pants. She became an ardent Libertarian after seeing the reality of government failure damage her life. She never suffered financially thanks to the generosity of my son David, to a lesser extent my cousin Dan, and 148 of my close friends and supporters.

Valentín Navarrete Urbina—my co-pastor at Bautistas Históricos; based in Casablanca during my Casablanca incarceration; visited me more than 230 times and brought sacks of supplies more than 250 times during my five and a half years of incarceration. (One reason I sought transfer to Casablanca was proximity to Valentín, who could help Pamela with deliveries; visitation procedures at the Casablanca jail were also markedly more humane than at Valparaíso or Rancagua.)

Bob—a former 2017 client with a strong Roman Catholic ethic and a desire to do good, later a close friend and business partner in artificial intelligence consulting, publishing, gold arbitrage, and other ventures; he called me nearly every day during the periods when I had a cellphone (I was without one for a year at Casablanca, plus several months at Valparaíso and Rancagua).

Joe—a former Baptist pastor and close friend; a graduate of The Master’s Seminary; immigrated to Chile in 2014 and left in 2022 in disgust at the Covid lockdown and mask restrictions.

Martín—a libertarian acquaintance who translated Bearing the Cross volume I into Spanish, correcting the initial work by Hermógenes Pérez de Arce; introduced through libertarian friend Dusan Vilicic, who regularly sent reading material to my cell. His translation was later improved by Sebastián Izquierdo.

Jana—Alejandra Nadia (her real name), a childhood friend of Pamela’s who brought encomienda, visited me dozens of times, and frequently helped Pamela at our home in Viña del Mar.

María—a faithful Pentecostal Peruvian housekeeper with a second-grade education and a heart of gold for good works; she stayed on to help Pamela for six years at well below normal wages, working one day a week, and brought food to the prison and cooked meals for my disciples.

Obed and Edwin—Reformed Baptist pastors in Santiago and Curacaví, respectively, who had known me since 2008.

Bautistas Históricos—our small online Reformed and Baptist congregation; meetings during my incarceration were primarily online (Zoomcasts twice weekly), with Valentín leading on-site at Casablanca. He later took an active role in discipleship in the prison via visitation.

Inmates at the Valparaíso Penitentiary, módulo 118

Miami (Miguel Correa Navarrete)—a Chilean-born former naval flight engineer with more flight hours than any other officer in the Chilean Navy; later owned a city bus line (route) in the Valparaíso and Viña del Mar area; the most disciplined, capable, and self-sacrificial man I encountered in nearly five and a half years of incarceration; the hero of the February 2021 fire described in chapter 38.

Sergio (the longstanding 118 mozo, also nicknamed “Chuncoco”)—kiosk-run organizer for the módulo; a former low-rank navy sergeant or corporal; convicted of sexual offenses against minors as a fireman; the trained firefighter who shouted the saving headcount during the February 2021 fire.

Sergio (newcomer from 118B)—a mentally limited inmate with rough but non-predatory affection; persistently called me “George”; befriended me through the daily BBQ chips I provided.

Rubén—a retired gendarme with thirty years of service, rank of suboficial mayor, who was delighted to be saving up his pension of 1.5 million pesos per month (USD 1,700) while in jail, convicted of sexual abuse with two girls; a frequent chess opponent until he falsely accused me of cheating. One of the most selfish men I met in prison, along with Leonardo, Raúl, and Andrés.

Ismael—a former police officer accused of assisting his girlfriend’s suicide; the gunshot-residue evidence against him was light (such residue is normal for any cop), and he maintained his innocence convincingly; veteran of the Antofagasta penitentiary. His strong Christian faith eventually gave way to a stronger desire to fornicate.

Guillermo—a merchant marine cook; my former cellmate, transferred to módulo 111, where he faced extortion threats described in chapter 34. He was my favorite cellmate in Valparaíso, along with Alfi in Casablanca and Ítalo in Rancagua.

Cristián—an artistically gifted inmate, publicly identified as an armed robber to conceal a sex offense (later discovered); he encouraged my political leadership prospects.

Marcelo (the mozo)—a fellow inmate who slipped me peaches and yogurt, and other vegetables and fruits, through the cell portal.

Alexis—my Christian cellmate from late 2020 onward; a serious Bible reader and Church of God member, jailed for defending himself by almost killing a home intruder with a board to the head, which he said was wrong. He never shook his pacifism.

Michael—frequent dinner companion; opinionated but largely uninformed; afflicted with a chronic toothache. Talked incessantly and was fluent in the flaite dialect, neighbor of Luis Ahumada.

Delfín—an ornery former merchant marine; so hated that no member of his family would take him and his wheelchair when he was offered release at age 87, so he simply stayed in jail.

Moroni—kidney-dialysis patient in 118A; absent during the February 2021 fire because he was at the hospital for treatment. He one time asked me to pray with him. Another time, he tried to stab me and made my life uncomfortable afterward until he was transferred out.

Carlos (the near-midget mozo)—a former naval low-rank sergeant or corporal (equivalent in rank to Chuncoco, lower than Miami’s higher sergeant rank); imprisoned for filming for his WhatsApp audience his eight-year-old daughter performing oral sex on him (and for rape and penetration of her); held a personal grudge against me for disclosing his crimes in volume I of Bearing the Cross, putting him at risk among other inmates who consider sex offenders against children fair targets. He threatened me often. Early on, he had attended my Bible studies.

Luchito—a Pentecostal whose love for his daughter took the form of incestuous sexual relations with her, fathering children by her—grandfather and father in one—yet still professed his Christian faith; the quasi-slave administrative and computer service worker in the gendarme officers’ section who helped Miami open cells during the February 2021 fire.

Jorge—the one-legged inmate who set the February 2021 fire; transferred to 118A from a general-population módulo. An armed bandit, he lost his lower leg in a shootout with the cops.

Marcelo Bonilla—fellow inmate in Valparaíso and later at CDP Casablanca (October 2022 onward); died from what appears to have been relapsing polychondritis—a degenerative cartilage disease that had stolen most of his sight, given him a flattened, broad nasal deformation, and made breathing difficult enough to require portable oxygen; came to faith in Christ shortly before his death.

Gendarmes (prison guards) at the Valparaíso Penitentiary

Castro—petty-tyrant guard in charge of módulo 118; the source of much daily friction described in chapters 32, 36, and 37.

Cabo Cisternas—guard with whom I had a relatively friendly working relationship; recipient of formal English lessons (alongside Necúlman); arrested some months later for bringing a kilogram of drugs into módulo 102 (where the mozo informed on him), and sentenced to five years of home arrest.