I had been eager to get back to the prison last Thursday. Been thinking about what I would say to the custody officer who checked us in—wondering if it would be our regular guy and if that would make it easier or harder to say, “I’m sorry for all you guys up here must be going through since the murder.” It occurred to me I’ve never known anyone who has been murdered. I’ve known people who have died, a few even tragically in car accidents or by fast and furious diseases for which medical science had no answers, but never anyone who was murdered. I didn’t know the custody officer who was murdered at the prison either, but perhaps because the prison community is small and whether you know a certain staff member or volunteer or not you feel connected to anyone who goes in and out of those steel slamming doors, I feel a deep awareness of the complex grief and anger likely permeating the prison and its employees right now.

It occurs to me that I know more murderers than murder victims thanks to the make up of our prison group. It occurs to me that this is odd.

We didn’t get to go into the prison on Thursday after all. On Wednesday, another inmate in the special offenders unit (SOU) attacked a mental health worker. According to the paper he claims to have wanted to add another felony to his record in an effort to stay in prison longer. He’s likely succeeded in his request.

I feel I could spend a lifetime going to the prison, reading about prison, getting to know prisoners, prison staff and prison volunteers and never understand what motivates a man to violence any better than I do now. In fact, I wonder if the longer I do this work the less I’ll understand.

The prison is now back on lockdown, or at least the areas of the prison that had come off lockdown or been on a modified version of lockdown are now back on the full program. The guys we meet with have never come off full lockdown on account of the murder happened in their section of the prison. Weeks now they’ve been locked in their cells all day, all night. Is it fair? Punishing the whole for the inexplicable action of one other? Probably not. But as much as I wish for their lives to return to normal (or what constitutes normal within a prison) I understand that the lockdown is likely not about the inmates at all, but about the needs of the staff who need time to grieve, time to decide if they can continue to do their job, time to decide if they can forgive the whole for the actions of the one. Even I have had to stop to consider, is it worth continuing to do this work when there is no way to discern which inmate at which time might decide you will be the target for the rage (desire?) boiling inside?

I want to go back inside. I want our guys in our group to know that we are not afraid of them, even if I now harbor a new respect for the caution I should have in getting to know them. I want to be able to reassure myself by the sound of their voices and the way they will (I hope) still meet my eyes that these men I have come to know are not capable, any longer, of such a random, act of violence. I want to know they would protect me, not harm me. I want to know they respect the life in me, not fantasize about the ways in which they could take it. That’s what I want. What I know, however, is that prison is not the place to go to get what you want. At best, prison is controlled chaos. At best, we are all lucky the inmates, staff and volunteers play along with the illusion of order and control as well as we do. That’s what I feel the prison is waiting for…the illusion of order to settle back in behind the walls. When that happens, however it is one decides peace in a peace-less place has been restored, I will go back inside and I will tell the officer who checks us in thank you and I’m sorry for your loss and then I will go and shake the hand of each man in our group as he comes into our classroom.

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Comments
  1. PJ says:

    I see that I have a lot of catching up to do with there writings. I just read this out out of sequence. Wow. It sounds like a horrible situation there, which I guess prison often is. I liked your last line about shaking hands and acknowledging loss. But I guess I’d be more wary of the situation, too. Do keep writing.

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