07.01.09
All’s Fair? Questions from the Madoff sentencing
Bernie Madoff has been sentenced. 150 years.
I confess I haven’t been following the case all that closely. There are several reasons for my disinterest. First, it’s hard for me to relate to people who have lost millions of dollars. I know not all of Madoff’s clients were millionaires, but still, to be on the inside of the lucrative investing world is such a foreign idea to me it’s hard to relate. Second, I confess there is a small part of me that feels like people who knew their return on investments were too good to be true, but didn’t ask questions are as guilty of greed as Madoff was himself. But, even as I write that, I think it is perhaps not fair. Maybe when faced with something too good to be true we all are more inclined to ride out the good until we are forced to face the truth. Third, I don’t understand the language of the situation so it’s hard for me to talk participate in any meaningful conversations about it.
Still, as I listened to the reports of Madoff’s sentencing, I started to feel as if I must have some sort of opinion. At least about the sentencing. 150 years? That’s a hell of a long time, particularly given that it’s all for show. Madoff won’t likely live another 20 years. So, really, the 150 years is about “sending a message” to…who, exactly? The other half-dozen men out there who might be capable of pulling of a similar scheme? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Safer? And safer from what exactly? When your power—whether real or imagined—becomes as big as Madoff’s was you stop thinking about whether you will get caught or not because you believe you won’t. Think of all the politicians who think there’s no way they will get caught having their various affairs or eclectic deviant activities. Absolute power corrupts—even if the absolute power is ultimately imagined. So, I don’t know that I believe future Ponzi-schemers will be deterred. They’ll simply come to believe they are smarter than Madoff—that they won’t get caught. Until they are and we repeat the whole show all over again.
What then is the real purpose of the 150 years? To prove that the court takes stealing from the rich seriously? You could murder someone and not get that long of a sentence. What does that say about our society? Not that I’m advocating more sentences of such excessiveness, but it does make you wonder doesn’t it?
That’s the thing about this sentence—it’s got me asking questions. Once again forcing me to look at my beliefs about right and wrong, good and evil. Who deserves to be punished, why and for how long? Before my work at the prison I would have been more inclined to say good riddance to Bernie Madoff. Let the rich man be punished. It doesn’t happen often enough. Take him down. There is after all, a certain sick satisfaction in seeing the powerful fall, in having them be reminded they are just as fallible as the rest of us. But now?
Now I wonder there’s got to be a better punishment for Madoff than rotting away in prison. What does it really accomplish to send a seventy-year old man to prison? What if instead he were sentenced to pay his retribution by working with low-income communities, teaching them about financial management, investing on a budget, etc? He a crook, sure, but he’s clearly not stupid. Let him use his evil for good, so to speak. What if he were to have to help a church or a women’s shelter to raise capital funds for a new building? What if he had to help those he stole from recover their losses? Imagine Madoff spending his last years giving back to society instead of continuing to take from it, which is exactly what he will be doing in prison as our tax dollars pay to wait for an elderly man to do what elderly men do naturally—die. Imagine the lessons he might learn as a contributing, instead of thieving, member of his society. Imagine what a working mother could teach him about life and living, money and saving. With any luck, before he dies, Madoff would change for the better. Rehabilitation, right? Isn’t that what say we want?
150 years feels like bloodlust to me. It’s not about punishing Bernie Madoff, it’s about appeasing the masses. It’s about reminding us all that money is power and you better not dare mess with either. And that’s no way to run a judicial system in my opinion. Madoff should have to work to repent for his crimes. That would be justice.
06.12.09
Webb proposing major reform
For those who don’t know Senator Jim Webb has been championing new legislation–the National Criminal Justice Commission Act of 2009. From a recent Huffington post blog by Sen. Webb, “This legislation, which I originally introduced in March, creates a Presidential level blue-ribbon commission charged with conducting an 18-month, top-to-bottom review of our nation’s entire criminal justice system, ultimately providing the Congress with specific, concrete recommendations for reform.”
Here’s to hoping that if passed the Act isn’t only 18 months of review, but actually a catalyst for major reform that can be realistically implemented as soon as possible.
To read Sen. Webb’s full post and to link to testimony given at a hearing on June 11th regarding this legislation go to: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/sen-jim-webb/why-we-must-reform-our-cr_b_214130.html
06.11.09
Frozen
Listening again to the KUOW interview (link in yesterday’s post) about Stevan Dozier, the man in WA state awarded clemency last month, I was struck by this comment from Silya Talvi, investigative journalist (with a recent book out from Seal Press, Women Behind Bars), “When a person commits a heinous act that moment is not frozen in time, that person is not frozen in that moment for the rest of their lives, unless we force them to be frozen.”
Of course, in many cases “we” (society, generally) do force people who commit a crime to remain frozen in the moment of that act. Arrested and sentenced to however many years in prison, a man is released as an ex-prisoner, forever branded as a violent man, or if not violent, a criminal nonetheless. Someone to never be trusted. Someone to be afraid of. Someone who doesn’t deserve a job or access to decent housing. Once labeled a prisoner it seems there is not way to shake the title. You are summed up as one act (or even several acts), as opposed to as a sum of your parts. And unlike those of us on the outside who also do terrible things to people, but seem to be granted the decency of forgiveness, once you serve time, you are no longer able to be both a good person and a person who has done bad things.
Sometimes I think the question to be asked is do we actually believe in redemption? Because it seems to me that it is one of those things that you can only either believe wholly or not at all. There can’t only be certain people capable of redemption. It can’t be possible that only a few of us are entitled to it and capable of achieving it. Either we are a species that makes mistakes and then is capable of redeeming ourselves, or we are not. Not that some of us won’t struggle our entire lives to be redeemed, but still, don’t you want to believe in a society that takes redemption seriously? The more I read, experience and learn about the correctional complex in this country the more I wonder what it says about us as a people. That we would allow so many (and there are 2 million citizens currently incarcerated in this country) to be frozen in time, as Talvi says, should make us ashamed. Indeed the men and women serving time (not including those who are innocent of their charges) have committed acts for which they owe retribution, but if we do not give them the opportunity and if we refuse to believe that they can learn from their mistakes then we might as well just go ahead and give them a life sentence. For behind bars or not they are sentenced either way.
Having said all of this I want to mention that Dozier was sentenced to life in prison in the eighties for three unarmed robberies under WA’s 3-Strikes Law. Read a statement of Dozier himself at www.osculatrix.info@dozier.html
06.10.09
A conversation on clemency, three strikes and prison reform
My local NPR station, KUOW, aired this conversation this morning on Stevan Dozier, who recently won clemency in Washington State. He is perhaps the first prisoner to win such clemency in the country, and definitely the first in WA state. His release sparked this interesting conversation on the efficacy of WA state’s Three-Strikes (your out) Law, prison reform and prisoner redemption. It’s an hour long conversation, well worth the time. I will respond to some of what was said in a longer post shortly (I want to listen to the conversation one more time).
06.05.09
Prisoners bike in France
Interesting story on NRP’s series The World about a bicycle race in France for prisoners. Definitely out of the box thinking.
Click on the link and then scroll down. Second to last story.
06.03.09
Article on race, incarceration and shame
This article by Helen Epstein in The New York Review of Books is worth a read, particularly her discussion of race and rates of incarceration. Statistics such as, “nationally, one black man in nine between the ages of twenty and thirty-four is incarcerated, a rate six times higher than for whites in the same age group” are sobering. Also of interest is her discussion of “shame” as it relates to violence.
America’s Prisons: Is there hope?
06.02.09
Most often the stranger is…someone you know
In his April 21 posting, Better Man writes about something close to my heart as a former advocate for victims of sexual assault and abuse. He writes, “That’s the truly scary aspect of all this—it’s the men you love that are offending your children.” This is such a difficult message to get out. Better Man is correct. It was a rare occasion (if I can even think of a single incident, which, off the top of my head, I cannot) when a victim of a sexual assault came to our office because she had been assaulted by someone she does NOT know. When I was working with victims it was most often a relative—a father, grandfather, uncle—or someone in a position of power—a teacher or babysitter—who was the perpetrator. Typically the assault was the culmination of months of “grooming”, a process by which an individual develops a relationship with the victim so that reporting the crime becomes more difficult. Who wants to send their father to jail? What child would want to say that the man who is supposed to love and protect her is also harming her? The process of grooming is meant to confuse and shame the victim. Perhaps Better Man can speak more to the process of grooming in an upcoming post as I’m sure it’s a topic he discussed in his own therapy.
I’ve been working on the lecture I will give on my experience working at the prison when I go back out to school in July. I want to speak to the reasons why it is easier for all of us, myself included, to be able to quickly deem people good or bad, but how such a system ignores the obvious. Good people can be responsible for terrible acts (and bad people are often capable of goodness). This is often the case with sexual violence. “Good” fathers are abusers. “Good” uncles are abusers. Think about how many times you have heard when a sexual perpetrator is exposed, “I never would have suspected him.” It is so much easier to perpetuate the myth that the man to fear is the stranger lurking in the bushes. It’s easier because in such cases it is much clearer who is good and who is bad. It is easier because it is also easier to point our fingers at strangers than it is to look within our own social circles, let alone our own families.
What the perpetuation of this myth of the stranger in the bushes really does is limit the conversation on sexual violence in this country. It makes the story of sexual violence more Hollywood and less reality, which alienates victims who think maybe they are the only one out there experiencing what they are being put through.
I thank Better Man for writing about this important subject.
05.24.09
From the ferry: 5/20/09
My commute to and from the prison includes a twenty minute ferry crossing plus however long I get to sit in line to wait to board. It’s a good time to reflect on the night at Monroe, to record first impressions and document those moments that are resonating with me the most before I have a chance to filter them or make them academic. I’ll post these thoughts from the ferry each time I go to Monroe.
A good night tonight at the prison. The guys were in a good mood. The guards were in a good mood. Pulling into the prison and stopping at the speaker that connects to the guard tower I was thanked me for volunteering after being asked if I had an firearms, explosives or pets in my car (no, I’m not particularly certain how pets fits into that list. I sometimes feel thrown back to childhood, watching Sesame Street when they do the skit, one of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn’t belong). It’s nice to be thanked. Our normal custody officer processed us through the first security point and got us all squared away with our form, ensuring we had the right box checked this time so we wouldn’t be hassled further down the line. And we weren’t. We were late getting in because, well, because they were serving filet o’ salmon for dinner. We didn’t get any further explanation, but apparently it was slowing up chow, which was slowing up the guys getting to where they needed to be, which means we had to wait to go into the prison. What can you do but shrug your shoulders and say, okay, filet o’ salmon, sure, I get it, we’ll wait?
We talked about the archetype of the threshold guardian tonight. A seemingly small character in the course of the hero’s journey until you really start talking about it. Threshold guardians are the people who stand in front of us as we are about to make great change or embark on a new journey and test our resolve to see it through. Are we sure we don’t want to stay where it’s comfortable, familiar and safe? Are we sure we are ready? Wouldn’t it be easier to not go? Parents, police officers and teachers all serve this role often. Sometimes out of love. Sometimes out of fear. Often with our “best interests at heart.” And yet, we must still push past them if we wan to continue on.
I learned tonight that one of my favorite guys in the group has been down for seventeen years now for attempted homicide on his girlfriend. Not necessarily an easy thing to learn. I hadn’t pegged him for being in for so long, though I had suspected his crime was violent, mostly because I didn’t sense that he was a sex offender. They are talking about releasing him to “work camp”, which is like a holding pen before being released and he’s afraid to go. I would be too if I had spent seventeen years on the inside. I asked him if he thought he was still a threat to this woman and he said no. I believe him. I don’t know if I buy the whole story about his crime. He says he wasn’t trying to kill her, but the truth is if he could have then that’s probably bad enough. I don’t like having to think of him this way. He’s a funny man. And smart. A damn fine writer whether he’s ready to believe it or not. My background in working with domestic violence victims made me wonder what his girlfriend’s version of events would be and the terror she must have gone through. I wondered what her life has been like these past seventeen years. I’m fascinated by getting this “other” side to the story, the perpetrators side, and yet somehow the story still feels incomplete, like I still have to fill in the why and how. Now I wish I could talk with his girlfriend. But maybe that wouldn’t even be enough. Maybe this is part of the reason I write at all—I want to understand what makes people do what they do inside of relationships. What turns love into violence? How thin is the line between the two? And why?
05.20.09
It’s all story
Tonight I am prepping to go up to the prison on Wednesday. I’ll be presenting two archetypes found in a hero’s journey, the Threshold Guardian and the Shapeshifter. I’m chuckling about how both describe so well our encounter with the custody officer last time, the one who was so particular about our paperwork. As a guard, he is clearly a Threshold Guardian, a character who stands between the ordinary world and the special world of the hero’s journey, trying to convince the hero to turn back, give up, lose faith in his mission. As a Shapeshifter, he morphed from a guard who is typically welcoming and easy to work with to one who is controlling and penalizing, thus keeping us on our toes, adding tension to our story of being volunteers in the prison. It helps to be able to see the experience this way—as elements of a story. Wednesday night, when we return, we’ll know to be prepared for him to shift again. No experience is the same up there. No rule or procedure firm (as much as they’d like you to believe it is). It’s intriguing to consider that my own personality tends to be one that works to please, not make mistakes, follow the rules and receive praise for not being a trouble maker, so of course I was shook up by the guard’s dissatisfaction with our paperwork. And when our argument that “this is how we’ve always done it” failed (i.e.—reasoning with him failed) I felt as if I had personally failed. But it’s all a game. A constantly changing game. And, strangely, I think it’s good for me. Like the heroes our guys are trying to write about, like heroes who have walked this journey through the centuries, I have to learn to expect the unexpected, to be challenged just when I’m getting comfortable, to be knocked back when the road gets too easy and familiar. That’s tension. And tension is story.
05.16.09
An overdue “from the ferry”
It is time to start making plans to go up to the prison again this coming Wednesday. How do two weeks go by so quickly? At this moment, I am sitting outside, taking in some much anticipated sun and thinking, maybe I need to lock myself away for a few days. Disconnect from the constant hum that is my life as of late and have time and space to think, time to reflect on my evenings at Monroe, time read more books on the prisoner experience and time to work on my own essays about working with the guys at Monroe. It all feels so important and yet seems so impossible to get to. Perhaps this is just the typical whining of a writer — there’s never enough time. Or perhaps once I graduate in July I can truly reorganize my writing priorities and make a real decision about where the work at Monroe falls on the list. Perhaps I just put too much pressure on myself to be able to be everywhere and do it all. It is hard when I have a heightened awareness of the gifts my freedom grants me to feel at times like I am squandering those gifts. I read the postings by Better Man and think — what hell am I bitching about? You want struggle, Erika? Get locked up for two years and then try to survive your release. It’s all perspective, I know. And my experience with cancer taught me that you can’t really compare one person’s life to another’s. It is what it is, and right now mine is full and I don’t feel like I have 100% to give to the guys in our group and I am sorry for that. The work remains no less important to me. It’s just that no one seems to be willing to figure out how to get any more hours into the day, and so I must recognize my limits. Which is maybe one of the lessons of working at the prison. Learn what you can’t do and focus on what you can do.
Our last visit to the prison was frustrating. Or at least, getting in. Suddenly, it seems, we have been filling out our entry paperwork wrong and the guard at the second security station, who checks us through almost every week and knows exactly where we are going, almost refused to let us in because we had not checked one little box. It’s maddening sometimes how the rules change. And sometimes, it’s not even a rule but a particular officer who wants something done differently and apparently thinks you were supposed to read his mind and know it. The trick is, much like the inmates, volunteers are one down, at least, on the power ladder at a prison. If you argue with an officer he can easily tell the community services director that your group has become a problem and just like that your entire program can come to an end. If you don’t fill out your paperwork right (never mind that you’ve been filling it out the same way for a year and a half and no one, including this guard, has ever said a thing) they can deny you entry for the night or send you back to start the security process all over and thus delay your group. As a volunteer you have to make nice. If an officer says you filled out your paperwork wrong, you apologize. It’s frustrating. No one likes to feel stripped of their power, not me and not the guys in our group.
Gloria and I tried to let it the incident rolls off our backs, but there’s no denying we were upset. We work to do everything by the book because we know how the game is played and we want to be certain we can continue run our group. But if I had been anywhere else but in the prison and someone had treated me like that guard treated us I would have been asking to speak to his supervisor. When I read Better Man’s April 14th post in which he writes about the lights of a cop car and the panic attack he experienced simply trying to help a woman get directions I think of our incident last time with that officer. And then I think about safety vs. power and I wonder how much we sacrifice in order to have safety, or at least the illusion of it. Do I believe the officer that night was just trying to do his job? Yes. Do I believe he might have just been having a shitty day? Yes. And I also believe that with great power comes great responsibility (who said that?) and all too often I see those with power forgetting that their first job is to serve, then to protect.
