A Boy Named Freedom

A Boy Named Freedom

There was a boy, his name was Freedom

A funny name of sorts

His parents, Law and Justice

Never really knew him

His father stoic, dry and lacking warmth

His mother blind.

There was a boy named Freedom

Like every young boy

In search of who he was.

Defined by others perceptions

Liberation was as foreign as his father acceptance

There was a boy named freedom

Who stood on the shore

Looking for the girl he loved-

Hope.

Reconstruction

Reconstruction

Rebuilt in a more beautiful and breathtaking design.

A design that never could have been imagined in a different place and time.

This is your blueprint:  use color

Be fearless and draw your lines askew

Outside the box.

Hell, draw a circle if you want.

In your canvas use texture and never forget its feeling.

Appreciate the Cool, rough and bumpy

Imagine. Despite all you think you don’t have.

There is always more in the art of life we don’t see.

Cusped in your hands

Is warmth.

Create a beautiful and breathtaking design.

In the sanctuary of education, you don’t have to be a prisoner:

 

In the sanctuary of education, you don’t have to be a prisoner:

Recalling defining moments of our visit to the Prison University Project at San Quentin State Prison

 

“There is a resilience of human spirit that even a small number of those men and women in hell of the prison system survive it and hold on to their humanity. “ –Howard Zinn

 

 There are many of us who have seen stories of San Quentin prison depicted on “reality” television shows whose claim to fame is to bring outsiders a “truthful” look inside a notorious institution. An institutional juggernaut of violence, addiction and gangs.

My goal here is to not discount everything that is depicted. There is some truth to the conditions of prison life. It is not a place to be or to call home.  Prison is painful, exclusionary and sad.

Try to imagine it.

The lack of human affection; of love.  The absence of the warmth of your lover’s body wrapped around you at night, the inability to hold your child…these are all lost human connections. Sometimes replaced with actions of violence, against oneself and others; feelings of vulnerability, shame, fear and anxiety to conceal the maddening loss of autonomy, respect and loving connections that compose our humanity.

There are gangs.

 There is violence.

There is addiction.

 There is mental illness.

 There is death.

There is despair.

 There is sadness.

 There is remorse.

 There is guilt.

 There is shame.

And there is regret.

There is also something else.

Hope. Courage.  Determination.  Strength.  Resilience.

This is the story within the walls of San Quentin I want to tell.

That despite its conditions and limitations the inmates in general population at San Quentin find themselves in, there is an unyielding journey of repair, self-discovery and determination to not let mistakes define who they are.

Our visit to San Quentin Prison was to see first-hand the structure, dynamics and interpersonal relationships that occur and develop within the Prison University Project (PUP).   We were nothing short of blown away.

Jody Lewen, Executive Director of the Prison University Project, met us at the gate before escorting us through the prison clearance routine. Meeting Jody was like reuniting with a long lost friend. I had corresponded with Jody through several emails and telephone conversations prior to our visit out to the West Coast. Jody wanted to ensure we were all aware of the rules and dress codes at the prison but also extended kind gestures of transportation, food and networking. She was even more warm and welcoming in person than she was over the phone.  After exchanging hugs, Jody thanked us for visiting and thanked us for our pursuits advocating for education within prisons.

Truly a warm welcoming especially compared to the intimidating infrastructure of historical Spanish architecture that now housed thousands of California citizens under state correctional supervision, towering in the background.

Several guards dressed in dark-green military style uniforms met us at three different identification check points and security scan before we could even actually enter the prison. Not to mention slamming prison gates that mimicked infamous Californian earthquakes.

Despite the warmth and kindness of Jody, all the intimidating factors started weighing in.

How does one truly prepare their psyche to encounter what is a reality to so many but so far removed from outside society?

After all, this was the notorious San Quentin Prison! I think I can speak for myself and my colleagues, that walking through the corridor of the prison, down the descending pathway and around the corner of the long prison wall we were expecting to see a scene of "thugs" ballin' it up in the yard, lifting weights and pockets of racially segregated groups.

We approached the yard and nothing could have been further from the truth.

What we did see was amazing and a powerful testament to the value of the Prison University Project. We saw men lining the outside walls of the educational trailers.

Armed with books.

 Books in white mesh book bags thrown over their shoulders. We saw a table set up to encourage other inmates to participate in a democratic dialogue of concerns and community building within their walls. We saw staff writers and editors passing out the current edition of the San Quentin news; one of the only newspapers in California, possibly in the nation written entirely by inmates.

We saw men approach Jody, bid her good evening and strike up conversation as if they had been friends for a lifetime.

Their attitudes were contagious. At every corner, there were not rival gangs defending their yard territory, there were men engaging in conversation and debate about what social psychology theory best applied to the anticipated night’s lesson, men sitting independently proofreading papers to turn in for class, men reviewing notes from the last class.

During the several days we visited San Quentin, we had the opportunity to sit in on higher education classes all taught by professors and graduate students from Stanford and UC Berkley, some of them driving over an hour to and from to teach….voluntarily.  The dialogue was challenging and thought-provoking. The PUP students were held to the same academic parity as fellow graduate students from Stanford or Berkley.

During a break in one of the seminar classes I had the privilege to speak with a PUP student, Kenyatta (what I didn’t know at the time was that Kenyatta was the valedictorian of his graduating class for his Associates Degree). He inquired about our visit and relayed to us that the PUP was literally a lifeline for him.  He said that “education was the most worth having possession he could have.”

In our time we also had the opportunity to attend the preparatory reading, writing and math classes. I have sat for weeks trying to find the right words to express how sitting in those classes watching grown and sometimes frail, old men struggle to read or do simple multiplication made me feel.

Is there a word for sadness so deep it burns a picture into your being? I will never forget those men. Struggling but remaining hopeful. Frustrated yet persistent.

Each time we left the facility during our visit there was an array of emotions to sort through. Whether we travelled back into the city by car, train, cab or ferry our conversations were filled with reflections about the classes and social dynamics within the program that trickled out into general population.  

Documenting mentally and on paper the stories behind the Prison University Project has helped me further advocate for the benefits of educational programs in prison. Furthermore, our visit has empowered me with greater knowledge and a deeper understanding of the dire importance to aid in the deconstruction of social misconceptions of those incarcerated. Misconceptions generate a fear; creating an unhealthy divisionary reaction of seclusion from one another and our communities; placing members of our society into categories of us and them; the worthy and the un.

I want to make clear, prison is no playground and there is definitely a need for reform. It is sad and painful. There is little rehabilitation and in some pockets, breeding grounds for further criminalization. But understand this; there are more people than not who are holding on to hope and doing the very best they can in their circumstance to change the course of their lives. There are men incarcerated at San Quentin who do community fundraiser to help at risk children, they organize walks, runs and prison baseball games to raise money for fellow inmates with cancer. They are not all bad people; some have just made mistakes (or been in the crossfire of bad law and policy). They are human beings who work against our societal grains of letting their mistakes define who they are. It is ridiculous and sad that these stories are not what we see in the news and media.

I am thankful to Jody for all of her inspiring work and relentless dedication towards stimulating public awareness and meaningful dialogue about higher education and criminal justice. The Prison University Project at San Quentin is one of the guiding models the Guilford College Higher Education in Prison Initiative hopes to learn from.

 

The following link is a video reflection of the research and visit to San Quentin and the Prison University Project. Enjoy! https://www.dropbox.com/s/t2tf87247m46etc/Prison%20University%20Project%20-%20SQ.m4v?n=145957607

For more information on the San Quentin Prison University Project and the San Quentin newspaper please visit: www.prisonuniversityproject.org and www.sanquentinnews.com

Reflection on the visit to Lunenburg Correctional Facility

Visit to Lunenburg Correctional Facility

 

 It has been important to me to whole-heartedly dive into the research of established higher education in prison programs.  I genuinely believe that to understand something you have to completely immerse yourself into its depths; its strengths, its weaknesses, vulnerabilities, hardships, successes…everything.

The purpose of each visit myself and my colleagues will make to various prisons is to afford the  individuals associated with the Guilford College Higher Education in Prison Initiative to observe and participate in hands-on, experiential learning and teaching methods with students and administration in a correctional environment.  The information gathered at each facility will be fruitful in establishing a well-rounded and diverse approach to best practices and sustainability in our efforts.  

One of the most enlightening experiences I have had has been the opportunity to see  the unmasking and pure human connection of individuals within the classroom. There is a sense of belonging, a healing element that education brings to everyone involved in its dynamics; students feel the power of the greatest weapon is their spoken word, that the bleeding of their pen pumps life into their mind, reaffirming their own existence.

And the most beautiful element of education is its reciprocity. I have found in each visit, each conversation, in each lesson holds the power to transform. The students I have met have inspired me, they have been my teachers. They continually push me to test my own assumptions of perception and to challenge others to test their own. It is amazing that so many people tend to believe that inmates are so removed from the outer society that they have nothing to contribute to the greater good because they are surrounded by fences.

Nothing can be further from the truth. Sometimes the ones closest are the ones furthest removed.

At Lunenburg, the students involved with the Campus Within Walls Program are earning degrees and certificates to successfully enter back into society with academic and hands on know-how.  The students enrolled into the program live in a dormitory style housing unit where they have the opportunity to live, study and learn with fellow students who see the same value in education. Once having successfully completed courses some of the students move on to tutor other students. The principal of the Campus Within Walls program, Dr. Ann Cavan, has been so impressed with the knowledge and efforts her students have shown ,she has even hired a few to be in house teaching assistants and paid tutors.

Subsequently, a program within the Campus Within Walls program developed designed to target at risk youth in the surrounding Virginia area community. Make it Happen is a mentoring program aimed at bringing in students at the Southside Virginia Community College (SVCC) to Lunenburg Correctional Facility. The partnership between SVCC and Lunenburg opens up dialogue between students. Components of the program includes monthly meetings at the correctional facility, book reviews from selected authors and guest speakers who were once inmates, now living in the community. Students at the Lunenburg Facility are active members involved in their community, even behind the obvious barriers of razor fences and iron bars.

The impact of participant involvement from the program has had tremendous effects to moral, social and rehabilitative aspects of community problem solving and community building on the facility campus, college and surrounding community. Make it Happen program participants consistently meet and exceed anticipated program outcomes related to academic achievement as measured by grade point average, retention, and persistence towards goals. Because the inmates are in a confined environment and cannot be involved in day to day efforts on the larger community, per se, it was decided they could contribute to community service projects that could be channeled through the Make It Happen on-campus students.  Bird houses, bat houses, coloring books and writing anthologies are produced and sold for fund raising efforts for numerous Virginia community-related issues.

The intention of this component is to give Make it Happen students and inmates the opportunity to give back to the community, foster a sense of connection and slowly eradicate the misconceptions that all people in prison are “bad” people.

Connection is the reason why we are all here; it is what gives purpose to our lives. Shame, fear of disconnection, and the sense of unworthiness haunts everyone in a daily struggle, these elements try to pry us away from connection to one another. I have found it a sense of obligation to myself, my generation, my community, my children, those who are victims and those incarcerated to bring awareness and advocate for methods of personal and social revival by means of education; to have the courage to face our imperfections, to connect through authenticity, to fully embraced our vulnerabilities and to have compassion for not only ourselves but others.

And with education as our tool, we all have the opportunity to learn and grow…and pay it forward.

 

“Those having torches will pass them on to others” -Plato

 

The below link will take you to a video reclection of the visit! Enjoy

https://www.dropbox.com/s/90n9qmswsqp9kga/FinalEditLunenburgVisit.m4v

On Forgiveness

 

On Forgiveness

Prior to the meeting and dialogue between my intern, Chad Davis, former police officer Greg Nash and myself, I had prepared to answer an array of questions about what the Guilford College Higher Education in Prison Initiative is. I was prepared to defend statistics, research, evidence and even my compassion. I was prepared to be strong, and to defend the very morals that surround my integrity around this program’s purpose.

To a small extent the conversation explored dynamics of the initiative but more so, it developed into themes of very real human emotion and condition.

Compassion.

Fear.

Skepticism.

Hope.

Greg came to speak about his personal stories, insights, and interactions with people while he was a police officer and did so with poignant, powerful conviction.

There was a point in one of his stories about a nineteen year old boy when I noticed a dissonance. Sitting there, I saw a man conflicted with compassion to want to see those in prison flower; transform through education. Yet a soft skepticism was apparent in his eyes and bowed head when he recalled the story of how he had tried so much to help so many young men just to see them continue to make the same poor choices.  

He questioned themes of worthiness, punishment and forgiveness towards those who have committed acts that he personally found to be unforgiveable.

Many arguments he raised were sound opinions that have been expressed in several forums against providing higher education to incarcerated persons. I found it compelling to hear these arguments in a different tone, with a softer but nonetheless strong sentiment. They were not just ignorant statements; they were real emotions expressing a desire for hope and compassion for rehabilitation for victims and offenders but skepticism and hesitation towards a holistic process of transformation, reintegration and forgiveness.

In my developments a comprehensive understanding of victims, offenders and the community’s perceptions of this initiative has been a strong driving force to its blossoming. This initiative’s main objective is to provide an education to those incarcerated although I am convinced that a greater culmination of transformation will transpire.

In order to heal; as a victim, an individual, an offender, a society: in order to restore victim-offender crimes and social ills that often-time provide systemic foundations to crime, it is with great importance and care to hear varying degrees of perspectives and work towards reconciliation and reparations…towards forgiveness.

For the rest of the day after the interview, questions of forgiveness and redemption stuck in my head.

To be sure, forgiveness is a very complex matter, and “just forgiving” can’t be tantamount simply to extending forgiveness in response to an offender’s confession; nor can “just forgiving” be tantamount to a victim’s generous offer of mercy to an unapologetic offender. There are many moving stories of offenders seeking and finding forgiveness in the course of truth and reconciliation proceedings, and there are profound stories of victims unilaterally forgiving their unremorseful, unrepentant, unmoved offenders. While some of these very one-sided stories eventually reach good outcomes, many are left unfinished and unresolved. However, even when incomplete, one-sided forgiveness seems better than no-forgiveness at all. Forgiving someone seems to open a tiny crack in the wall of human indifference, injustice, and violence that lets the light of redemption get in – even if the offender turns away.

What I am realizing more and more through stories, in myself and providing transformation through restorative justice by such practices as education is that forgiveness is not an entitlement or something we may or may not deserve-it is only a gift that you or I can give. Forgiving is offering that gift in response to people who directly or indirectly offend, insult, or injure us, so that we and they might find redemption and that our bruised and broken relationships might one day be restored, in ourselves and our communities.

I am grateful to Greg and those willing to share their stories; for allowing the opportunity to hear truthful convictions of the heart. It helps to conceptualize the very real fears and apprehensions people have when trust, in any relationship is broken, and how the road to redemption, reparation and forgiveness may be sought but is not one that is easily traveled.

Yet, necessary for healing.

 

Letter of Apology

I apologize to my victims and my family because my criminal behavior changed their lives unfairly forever.

To the victim(s) of my crime(s)

As I sit down to write my apology I find myself overwhelmed with guilt, shame, and uncertainty. I must admit that when I was first incarcerated I felt sorrier because I was caught than I was about what I had done. I truly did not connect with the pain that I had caused my victims.

While sitting in maximum security, a man that was assisting my lawyer with my defense came to see me. He had been interviewing my family and what he found out about my mother’s death shook me to my core. My mother died when I was 7 years old. I was told that she had died from cancer.

So, I grew up believing that my mother died from cancer. My visitor told me that some members of my family believed that my mother may have been murdered, I became very angry. I wanted to know why my family had never told me this. When I called home my grandmother told me that she was sorry for not telling me but because of my fragile mental state after my mother’s death they(my family) thought it would be best not to tell me until I was older. As I got older she said that the timing was never right.

My grandmother went on to tell me that a man that I had known all of my life as “Uncle Sonny”, may have killed my mother. I was so angry that I wanted to kill him because he had taken my mother away from my brother, sister, and me.

Later that night when I was alone in my cell it hit me. The rage that I felt, the anger I felt, the loneliness I felt, all of the emotions I felt made me cry uncontrollable. All of the days as a child, that I had wished God would wake my mother up and send her home to me came flooding back. I knew then that my victims must have been feeling the same way. I knew then that I had become like that piece of garbage that took my mother away. I knew then that my victims must think the same of me.

I wish that I would have never committed my crimes that caused so much pain to so many and for that I am truly, truly sorry.

I pray that my apology gives my victims some comfort in knowing that I accept full responsibility for my actions. In addition, I reject the criminal lifestyle that poisoned my mind.

Therefore, with that being said, let me ask you now to forgive me for the pain that I have caused you. If I could I would not hesitate to take this back and I will never ever do anything like this again.

To my Family

I apologize to my ex-wife, children, parents, grandparents, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, and cousins for the hurt, pain, shame, and embarrassment that I caused all of you through my criminal behavior.

There are no words strong enough to express how regretful I am for committing my crimes. My behavior was inexcusable and totally contrary to the way I was raised.

I can only hope that one day I live up to the expectations you have of me.

Please forgive me.

Meeting Day

Meeting Day
December 21, 2012   


There are moments in our lives that will forever leave their footprints embedded in our memory. Visions of no particular significance to others than yourself; or to more than we recognize.

Suspended in time. Never changing but forever changing the being within us.

For me, the day was bitter cold. The wind beat the breath from my words. It was so forceful; one might think it was pushing me; holding me back from where I longed to be.

I can confidently say, many don't long to be inside a prison.

But this is the day I have worked for. A meeting. An opportunity to articulate through words the plight my heart has gone through to advocate for those incarcerated to have the opportunity to achieve an education.

I do not think my heart has beat any faster or harder than on that morning. I could feel my footsteps in my shoes but only feel my heart through the rest of my body.

I looked ahead and saw the American flag; symbolic freedom.

I looked ahead and saw concrete poised in bleak defiance; a guard towered within its stone wall, stood picturesque at his post

I looked ahead and saw the quintessential fence; an infinite iron guard bound by razor wire. A reminder that upon passage all dreams are deferred; a labyrinth where souls separate; the time served is merely a hurry up and wait.

Where displacement begins to feel like home.

The razor wire reflected the sun on that cold day. An ironic reminder, of what light can do to the most dismal circumstance.

Closer still. My mouth was dry. My eyes were wet; by the bitter wind that showed no mercy or the heavy anticipation, I have yet to decipher.

Inside, the facility was no warmer.

There were no smiles to greet you at the door or cheerful hellos.

The keepers and the kept displayed the same disposition; dutiful and irritated complacency.

The walls spoke an institutional beige

The floors an eerie, shiny clean; mirroring the fears and faults in the bowed faces of its trespassers.

My colleague and I stood waiting; anxious to meet, and collaborate our long awaited efforts with the Man in charge. The superintendent in charge of the facility met us after we passed through metal detectors, a pat down and inspection of our personal belongings. We shook hands and exchanged introductions. We were led down a corridor, again after showing identification two other times.

It was quieter than I expected. Only the soft humming of fluorescent lights and the wind howling against the windows.

There was small talk to fill the awkward walk and silence.

"So how was the drive...?"

"Greensboro huh...?"

Past office cubicles and doubtful looks of wonderment

we reached the meeting room.

Here was the moment I had been preparing for.

Reviewing notes, conversations, emails, letters

Reflecting to the stories of men and women and their families

Harboring sadness and fire to make smooth a dent the gavel of justice left in its wake

In my own way; to fight for reformation, transformation, reconciliation, education

The dialogue which occurred was draining. There were points, I felt that he only wanted to argue as to why it was impossible, regardless of the research, regardless of the ready professors wanting to drive an hour to teach, a willing academic and rigorous institution, funding and any and everything in between.

He sat stoic, back in his seat, arms crossed, looking dead at us for almost thirty minutes of what seemed like a losing negotiation.

Then something changed.

He relaxed, grabbed a pen and paper and started to take notes, asking us questions.

He seemed to come alive in the description of courses such as Restorative Justice and Community Problem Solving.

What was the particular phrase, or word? What reached in and touched him to open up and see our dedicated intent?

Maybe I will never quite know. Or maybe I already do. We did not shake under pressure; under scrutiny. We shook his hand, smiled and looked him in his eyes, and when we wanted to cower in the presence of intimidation (intentional or not) didn't.

I remembered who this was for. This was not a time for me to be afraid in my uncomfortableness. This was not about me, and it will never be just about me. It's about the people who need my help in anyway I can give.

After an hour more of speaking of the logistics of the initiative, we were given a tour of the possible classroom. On the way through the corridor, to the right there was a board with pictures of men wearing their caps and gowns, having attained their G.E.D's. The smiles in those pictures were the only ones I saw that day.

Education is transformative bringing light to the darkest places, empowering the person deemed voiceless with words strong, loud and brilliant.

I had the opportunity to speak with one of the incarcerated men sitting in the classroom. (Whom, configured the data system for the technological backup!)

At the end of our short conversation, he thanked us for our efforts and expressed extreme interest in enrolling if the site is approved. He left us with this:

"In prison, in life too, but especially in prison, you need two things: God and an education. One for the soul, the other for the mind. The two places they can never lock-up."

I left that day, more anxious than when I arrived, believing more in something I thought I could believe no stronger in.

The wind met us at the door again and

In the impoverished glow of cold times; like the sunbeams through the panes in December I felt the heavy reminder of brightness, luminous hope...

warmth, compassion and love.

And we keep moving forward.

Wellsprings

Wellsprings  

  
Plow ignorance from its roots to sow seeds of transformation.

Bloom of aspirations; hold your head up enough to see the sky and feel the breeze kiss your lips. renewing caged words, written across the heart

Warmth is the nourishment; weathering the blunders of your heavy heart of time and its terms

Do not lay subdued in the capture.

Lift your head higher and kiss the sky with knowledge and imagination: it is only simple bone, blood and flesh they keep.

I speak with breath that is true; there are ones that keep on fighting. Empathetic to your plight, of Oppression and culturally deprived minds.

Those who are foot soldiers for reform; the peacekeeper in chaos.

Allow yourself to be deserving of your dreams, fill the air with light and fire and ideas, these cannot be arrested.

And in solidarity, the stance is strong to educate and erradicate the callousness of injustice

Know that inside, your mind strengthens beyond the bars that confine you.

On the outside your life will be lived in the years your children learn of your struggles, demons and the myths of social darkness

That sacrifice made of humanity, to be numbered; to count the tic tic ticking of your youth building a home in your memory

will not be in vain

For eyes that are forgiving, acknowledge who sings the song of heart for reconciliation against those who air the dust to dirty the panes....

for peace in chaos

　

(Fellow contributor to this piece is Veteran United States Coast Guard, Good Conduct Award Recepient and current Communications major at University of North Carolina at Greensboro (UNCG), Chad Davis. Mr. Davis is currently an intern through a consortium with UNCG and the Higher Education in Prison Initiative at Guilford College.)