Sam Bankman-Fried’s Prison Diaries: A Chronicle of Discomfort, Disbelief, and Deuce
From a crypto kingpin commanding billions to an inmate yearning for a pillow, Sam Bankman-Fried’s fall from grace has been nothing short of dramatic. Now serving a 25-year sentence at Brooklyn’s Metropolitan Detention Center (MDC) for orchestrating a massive fraud through his cryptocurrency exchange FTX, SBF, as he is commonly known, is chronicling his prison experience in a diary he is currently shopping to media outlets. The diary offers a glimpse into the stark realities of prison life, from the mundane inconveniences to the more profound philosophical questions that confinement evokes.
One of SBF’s most persistent complaints revolves around the lack of basic comforts, most notably pillows. In his diary entries, obtained by Forbes, he laments the physical discomfort of sleeping without a pillow or his beloved teddy bear, "Manfred," leading to back pain and sleepless nights. His entrepreneurial spirit, which once propelled him to the heights of the financial world, resurfaces in the form of a barter system within the prison walls. He recounts trading two muffins for a makeshift pillow fashioned from ripped mattress stuffing and a t-shirt – a testament to the resourcefulness demanded by his new environment.
Beyond the physical discomforts, SBF’s diary delves into the psychological impact of incarceration. He paints a vivid picture of his cellmates, a diverse group whose lives and priorities starkly contrast with his own pre-prison existence. He describes “Harry,” a muscular, homophobic inmate with a curious obsession with the film "Bohemian Rhapsody," and observes the pervasive culture of sports betting among the inmates, noting their flawed gambling strategies with a hint of intellectual condescension. The diary reveals SBF’s struggle to reconcile his previous life of high-stakes financial maneuvers with the seemingly petty concerns of his fellow inmates.
Time, or rather the lack thereof, emerges as a recurring theme in SBF’s writing. He describes the "pathological" absence of clocks within MDC, a deliberate tactic, he believes, designed to further alienate inmates from the outside world. The disorientation and monotony of prison life are palpable in his descriptions, as days blur into weeks and months. This deprivation prompted him to spend a significant portion of his commissary funds on a digital watch, a small luxury that provides a semblance of order in a chaotic environment. The purchase underscores the value placed on even the smallest connection to the structured world outside.
SBF’s diary also provides an anthropological perspective on the prison social structure. He categorizes inmates into three distinct groups: those resigned to their fate, those consumed by immediate gratification, and a third group, which he seems to identify with, grappling with the existential questions of freedom, rebellion, and self-discovery within the confines of prison. This classification reveals SBF’s attempt to understand the dynamics of his new social order and find his place within it.
A significant portion of SBF’s narrative centers on the prevalence of "deuce," a mysterious drug smuggled into the prison. He describes its effects on the inmates, transforming them into "zombies" each night, and notes the consequences of its widespread use, leading to cell block searches and the confiscation of contraband, including his precious makeshift pillow. While claiming not to be a user himself, SBF’s detailed account of the drug’s impact highlights its importance in the prison ecosystem.
Throughout his diary entries, SBF maintains a detached, almost anthropological tone, as if observing a foreign culture. He refers to inmates as "innies" and contrasts their behavior with the “outies” in the outside world. This detached observation suggests a struggle to reconcile his previous identity with his current reality. He reminisces about his childhood teddy bear, “Manfred,” a poignant reminder of a life far removed from the harsh realities of MDC. This yearning for comfort and familiarity underscores the psychological toll of his imprisonment. His father, Joe Bankman, who provided the diary excerpts to Forbes, has hired Walter Pavlo, a Forbes contributor and former white-collar criminal, to consult on SBF’s case. While SBF’s motivation for publishing his diaries remains unclear, given that he will not receive any financial benefit due to the forfeiture of his assets, it perhaps serves as a form of self-expression and an attempt to maintain a connection with the world outside the prison walls. He has access to a computer and daily video calls with his father, a lawyer, and meets almost daily with a paralegal while preparing for his appeal. His diary offers a rare and unsettling glimpse into the mind of a fallen titan, wrestling with the consequences of his actions and seeking to make sense of his new, drastically altered existence.
