11.04.09
Colbert jokes privatization
Last night on Stephen’s Colbert’s the Colbert Report in a segment he calls The Word (typically the funniest part of the show for me) he did a piece on Arizona’s upcoming privatization of nine of its prisons. The segment is funny, at the same time that is is cuttingly horrifying. Touching on issues of prisoners for profit, the state’s effort to balance their budget by way of the criminal justice system, the history of private enterprise to always “do the right thing” and the implications of running a prison for shareholders gains.
An interesting question posed during the segment: how will private prisons ensure a steady “supply” of inmates to insure their business’ success.
When people, whether prisoner or not, become a commodity we all better be concerned.
The segment starts about 4 minutes into the show.
10.25.09
Know Thyself
Annual training today at the prison. I’ve heard the presentation three times now, and it doesn’t change much. Though the woman leading the training today, I thought, did so in a manner that was more true to reality, as well as more sanity and compassionate based than the others I’ve attended.
The first two trainings I attended seemed mostly to focus on scaring the shit out of volunteers. Maybe that’s a necessary step in the initiation process. First you fear them, then you understand how to work with them. It never worked like that for me. I don’t worry about the men manipulating me (though some of the trainers would say that’s a sign you are being manipulated). I don’t have irrational fears about the men finding me on the outside or asking their family or friends to find me. I don’t have nightmares about prison riots (though when they said today that our emergency contact would be the person they would call in case I a) had a heart attack while inside or 2) if a riot broke out — and I thought, crap, don’t call my mom if a riot breaks out!).
At these trainings manipulation by inmates is typically the topic we spend the most time on. Trainers go through a lengthy list of all the ways the men will try to manipulate us. First by befriending us. Second by being a star student, so as to garner our attention and admiration. Third by asking for favors. Fourth by asking to correspond with us outside of the program. And so on and so on. All of these things do, of course, happen. It can be difficult to know if an inmate is simply a good student or is in the process of trying to manipulate you. You never know, unless something obvious does happen (such as a request to call a family member and relay a message). Even if the obvious happens though, there’s a part of me that has always thought–can you blame these guys?
The prison culture is one of manipulation, power and control. That’s how you survive. It’s also how you entertain yourself in an extremely myopic universe. Their world on the inside is small. They have an abundant amount of time to think about what they want and how to get it. I never assume that any attempt to manipulate me is malicious or ill intended. I always assume this is how they have learned to survive (probably before they even arrived in prison). Which means it’s up to me to be clear about my boundaries.
Sometimes I think this issue of boundaries is part of my reason for working on the inside. I often struggle with boundaries on the outside. Saying yes to too many people. Rescuing friends and family in that way therapists always tell you not to do. Having too much empathy for people I barely even know. But on the inside I have no choice but to maintain boundaries of all kinds. It’s the professional way to run a program and to manage a classroom. Boundaries keep expectations and roles clear. I have to be able to say no at times, otherwise the guys would have me taking home entire novel manuscripts to read and critique and I don’t have that sort of time to offer. Boundaries let them know what I can do for them and what I can’t do for them. If I’m clear, then no one’s feelings get hurt, including my own. So far, it’s worked.
I’ve never wanted to rescue the men in prison. Maybe being a part of a program other than a religious group or AA makes that easier. I’m not out to redeem anyone’s soul, or forgive them their sins or cure of them of an addiction. I’m there to help them look at their life story and write it down. The work is their own and they can choose to do with our program what they will. Right now, for example, we have a guy who on the first night told us he was only there to watch (which basically means he’s trying to pass time, but isn’t all that interested. It’s happened before, we don’t mind). At the last meeting though (our third visit with this group) he was silent for almost the entire meeting and then, as another inmate discussed his story idea, this “silent” man was suddenly participating. Something had touched him and there he was giving feedback. We don’t make a big deal out of it in the group, but we certainly notice. It just works best to let them decide what they want from our program. While I hope that what they want is to re-examine their life and choices, putting them in a new context and thus experience some growth or enlightment about who they are (and can be) as human beings. I haven’t found it difficult to let go of any attachment I might have to that outcome for each of them. We are all a work in progress, right? And we are each on a journey. It’s not my job to rescue them from what they need to experience.
What I most appreciated about the trainer today was that she kept reminding us that manipulation is not a phenomenon unique to prison. People on the outside manipulate. None of the previous trainers ever pointed out this obvious fact, but in doing so she reminds us that inmates are human, using reliable survival skills that we all learn along the way. So, the message I took away today is, know yourself–both inside prison and outside. Know yourself and you will not compromise yourself or your program.
10.12.09
Happy Day to All
Happy Day to All is what it reads on the sign in the lobby at the prison. I’ve written it down twice now in my notebook, as it has struck me as out of place on both of my first two visits to WSR. I wonder who the sign is directed toward? The staff? Perhaps it is meant to serve as an out-of-place sentiment to jar custody officers and prison staff out of the heaviness of their day-to-day efforts to earn a paycheck. Or maybe it is a hopeful wish that staff will carry a sense of happiness and possibility into their day, perhaps infecting the prison population, so to speak, with optimism. Did the person who placed the tiny white letters on the sign intend for the message to reach the general prison population? When the writer got to the “to all” part of the slogan did he actually pause and think of the men behind the bars? And if so, did he continue on with the sign out of a true sense of compassion or out of eagerness to mock the reality of bars, razor wire and guard towers?
Happy Day to All might be a sign that someone on the prison staff shares a not-too-shabby dark sense of humor. One that I can relate to. As in “happy day to all of you not stuck in here” or “happy day to all of you foolish enough to believe in happy days” or even, “happy day to all of you innocent, ignorant volunteers who think you understand prison life because you come in here once a week and spend time with the men when they are on their best behavior” (which actually makes the sign a big fuck you, and I sort of appreciate that).
What I imagine it is that the sign is one more contradiction of the prison system itself. A system that can’t seem to decide if its primary reason for existence is to punish or rehabilitate. So, happy day to all who read this post. Take from it what you will.
09.25.09
Last Words
Published in the New York Times Op-Eds on September 19, 2009. A listing of “last words” spoken by inmates before they were executed. The friend who sent it to me called it “pretty grim” and the man who forwarded it to her described it as a sort of “grim poetry.” I guess I don’t call it grim, as much as I call it a concise presentation of reality. We all come up on the end of life, one way or another, and there are atonements to be made, forgiveness to be sought, or final pleas to be rendered. The issue of whether or not executions themselves are grim (never mind morally or ethically right) is another matter. But for now I think I’ll let the listing of these last words stand on their own. Make of them what you will. At a minimum these quotes remind me that these are real men we are putting to death. Maybe what is grim is that up until this moment, we so easily dismiss them as nonhuman, or subhuman. Until they remind us of their mortality, and perhaps our own.
09.24.09
Mom is worried I’m going to marry a con
My mom talked to a woman a few weeks back who used to work in the medical ward of a prison.
I’ve learned it’s not usually a good thing when someone who loves you starts a conversation by saying, “I was talking to X, and she used to work in a prison and she says…”. Because typically what is said is 1) all inmates are cons 2) they are always conning and 3) tell your daughter to be careful.
I feel bad for my mom sometimes. Since I was a teenager I have been talking about wanting to work in prisons. She remembers having long conversations at dinner over the death penalty — me vehemently opposed, setting out my arguments over pasta and sauteed vegetables as if I knew everything there was to be known about the issue at all of sixteen. But, like many things I wanted at sixteen, my mother believed this desire to work on the inside would pass.
But it didn’t.
And that’s how we ended up on the couch this past weekend with her assessing my “mental and emotional state” in regards to my work at Monroe. Here is the list of things she wanted to check in about:
How close is the nearest guard to my classroom? Answer: right down the hall, and there are cameras in all the classrooms.
What happens if there’s a riot? Answer: You wait for the guys with guns to show up. The longer answer: for the most part, I’ve been told, and I truly believe, that in the event of a riot or other violence breaking out while I’m in the prison the guys in our group would do what they could to protect the volunteers. It’s hard for me to imagine being taken hostage (my mother’s worst fear). The men don’t see us as bargaining chips. DOC staff they might see that way. But not volunteers. I hope I’m never wrong about this.
What happens if one of the men asks me for a favor? Answer: You say no. It’s against the rules, and, even more so, you don’t want to create a situation where appear to be playing favorites with any of the guys. However, just because one of the men asks me for a favor doesn’t mean he’s trying to manipulate or con me. It’s a limited existence in prison. Having access to someone on the outside–someone who can look things up on the internet, make a phone call, etc–is an opportunity (and not always to do evil, commit a crime, order a “hit”–whatever people thing they are trying to con me into doing). I don’t know that you can fault a guy for asking for a favor occasionally, even if he knows you have to say no.
Am I careful not to say where I live or give out personal information? Answer: Yes, of course. However, I do tell them I had cancer, that I’m a writer and that I just graduated from school. It’s hard to ask them to trust me if I don’t trust them in return with a bit of personal information. You don’t build relationship by treating them like inmates 100% of the time.
Do I think it would be a good idea if I took a self-defense class?Answer: Sure, why not. I’ve been looking for a winter exercise anyway. Though I don’t think I’d ever be able to convince myself I could out muscle any of the guys in our group (I didn’t tell my mother that last part).
Please remember, my mother says, there’s a reason the word “con” is in convict. I know, Mom. I know. And I promise, I’m just as careful with the guys in the group as I am with people I meet on the outside. (More on this idea that all inmates are con men in the next post.)
And if my mother ever reads this–thank you, for your concern, and even more so, for never telling me I couldn’t do exactly what I wanted to do.
08.03.09
Endings and beginnings, part 2
Something ought to be said about moving our program to the Washington State Reformatory. Sometimes I think this move, more than anything else I might have written in the last posting, is the main reason I haven’t written here in so long. I do not like to write about goodbyes. Well, that is not true—my collection of short stories in fact titled, Leaving—so maybe it’s more that I’m tired of writing about goodbyes. Or maybe it is that I find this particular goodbye particularly difficult.
The last meeting we had with our group at TRU was to tell them we were thinking about moving the program after our short summer break. Our reasons for moving the program are valid enough. We’ve done a year of the program with the same group of men. Attendance is dropping as we cycle back through the material, and when a new guy does show up it is difficult to bring him into the fold when all of the other men are so far ahead. As program leaders we are growing anxious for new faces, new voices, new men to teach.
But regardless of the validity of any of our reasons, the simple fact is this: the men at TRU do not want us to go. And they told us as much. Remember, these men are nothing if not honest.
Even more difficult for me is now that we have made this decision there is no final meeting with the group at TRU. When we go back to Monroe in the fall we will begin our program at WSR. There is no final meeting with our original group of guys. No final goodbye. They simply won’t see our program advertised on their bulletin boards and they will know we are not coming back. It seems cruel to me. For there to be no real closure for any us.
The guys are used to this. Volunteers coming and going. Programs coming and going. Forming relationships with people from the outside and then never seeing them again. They are used to this, but I still am not. Maybe the longer I do this work, the easier it will get, these endings and beginnings on the inside. But for so many reasons I doubt it.
08.02.09
Endings and beginnings, part 1
I’ve been silent here on the blog for several weeks now. Not good for consistent readership, I know. Perhaps not even good for continuity, maintaining that “dream” that Gardner says is so essential to a well-told story. Yet, the pause I’ve taken here, reflects a pause I’ve taken in my life in general. In the language of the hero’s journey, I suppose I’m back again at the Threshold—between what was my ordinary world and what will become my new world. Ordinary being graduate school and all that came with it. New world being life after graduation. Ordinary being the work I’ve been doing with the guys in the Twin Rivers Unit at Monroe. New being the discussions about shifting our program over to the Washington State Reformatory (a different holding unit at Monroe) beginning in September. Ordinary being the guys I’ve gotten to know at TRU. New being the guys I will get to know at WSR. Ordinary being having the excuse of “homework” to bail out on dinner parties I didn’t want to attend, weekend activities I didn’t want to participate in, etc. New being how to hold onto the space I created for my writing time without the respected excuse of it being school work. Ordinary being always having a looming deadline to force me to my desk. New being having the responsibility of imposing my own deadlines.
Two weeks ago today, I graduated. I haven’t written much, telling myself it is okay to take a small vacation. But while I haven’t been writing, life has been quickly filling the hours I once spent at my desk and just like that I find myself having promised too much time to things other than writing, and now I’m struggling to take them back—those precious hours. I’m getting “twitchy”, as a writer friend of mine would say. That terrible state for a writer, when you want to write, but don’t write and then suddenly find yourself yelling at the checkout girl at the store, at your boyfriend, your mother or some random news anchor on the television for no reason other than you’re not writing and it’s driving you crazy.
Perhaps that’s the thing about being at the Threshold—where you are one foot in what was the ordinary world and one foot in what will be the new world—it’s a little maddening. The old rules don’t apply and the new rules haven’t been set yet. The old schedule that once worked, doesn’t fit with the new life, but the new schedule hasn’t been created. So, it’s limbo. A writer’s purgatory. Without being too overdramatic, I hope, I am the guy who has just been released from prison, trying to make it through his first day on the outside.
I told myself I’d take until my birthday in early September before I worried about getting back on a writing schedule. I’m not sure I can hold out that long. Not because I’m anal, or hard on myself, or incapable of resting, but because I’m incapable of not being a writer. Two intense years of school have not set me up to take a break from the writing, they’ve set me up to write. So I must. This is the first significant piece of writing I’ve done since graduating, and already I feel better reading over these words, watching the white space on the page fill.
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
