Purpose, a Gift Forged in the Hardship of Prison

Many people are busy this time of year, rushing around, trying to finish last minute shopping and cooking for Christmas. Yes, inflation might make people tighten their belts a little bit, but Christmas will go on. 

But for some people this year, Christmas will be a little sadder than normal. One of the places at the Christmas dinner table will be empty, and one of the stockings over the fireplace will remain untouched. I'm talking about families with a loved one in prison this year. 

I know it's hard. Trust me. I've lived through 14 Christmases in prison now. My family has been on the other side, with me away all this time. I truly get it. 

So, on the behalf of all of us knuckleheads who worked our way into prison, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you have to experience this loss too. But I also want to leave you with hope. Incarceration does not have to be the end. It does not have to be one's final identity, even if one never leaves prison. Even behind these razor wire fences, hope is alive. Hope is the fertile soil in which purpose grows, and every one of us can find purpose, even in the hardship of prison. 

It's not much I offer you, but I long for this seed of hope to inspire in you the will to hold fast and to find joy, even in the midst of heartache. 

Merry Christmas to all the loved ones of incarcerated people. You who love us through our worst of times are one of the greatest gifts we could ever have. 

May God richly bless you this holiday season! 

I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas...Outside of Prison

 While walking the small yard between sets of working out, I mentioned to my friend and workout partner that I've been listening to Christmas music lately. Looking at me like I'd just said something crazy, he responded that I was probably the only prisoner in this prison listening to Christmas music. I doubt that's true, but his response reveals a common attitude in prison about holidays and special dates, like birthdays. If we don't acknowledge them, we can avoid the feelings of regret, nostalgia, and longing that accompany these special occasions. 

Besides the obvious reality that ignoring something doesn't make it less painful, I believe that resisting the inevitable pain only amplifies it. I've both tried to ignore reality and leaned into it, and by far, when I try to stuff pain, it only makes it worse. 

Prisoners cannot recreate, in prison, the joys of special occasions, like Christmases past; however, we can, and I argue should, find our own ways to create new joyful memories. Simply wallowing in self-pity and regret does nothing to honor those beautiful past memories. Nobody can take those from me. But when I am future focused, I recognize that today I can create new memories of joy. 

Newly created memories do not diminish the specialness of other memories. They only add more memories. We don't have to make value judgments about which is better. I can love the times I spent with my family in the past, for I treasure those memories with all that I am. But I can also love the times I've spent playing Euchre or Scrabble on a holiday in prison, or the joy I felt when another prisoner gave me a carefully wrapped gift of simple things from our commissary. 

I can love the times I've sat around with other prisoners in the chapel, singing Christmas carols together. I can smile when I remember the times I played Christmas songs on guitar alongside other prisoners on their guitars and keyboards. In fact, I can remember the first time I played a Christmas song on guitar, and how proud I felt. 

Yes, Christmases, and other holidays, are painful for most prisoners. But that pain doesn't have to be our only reality. Christmas songs develop new meanings. Christmas meals are uniquely prison: "noodle-dos," "bagel sandwiches," "wraps," and "nacho dos." And the true meaning of Christmas is less likely to get lost in the material "stuff" that consumes American consumers today. 

So, yeah. I'm listening to Christmas music, even as I write this. And while I do, I'm feeling longing, nostalgia, regret...and hope. I remember the beautiful moments of Christmas past. But I also look forward to creating new memories, both in prison and out. These things don't have to be mutually exclusive. 

I'm profoundly grateful for the blessings I have, even in prison. I'm grateful to still be loved by few, to be peaceful, and that joy can invade even one of the most depressing times and places in America: Christmastime in prison.

Authoritarian Censorship Policies - Alive and Well in Michigan Prisons

 Although their rights are curtailed by the very nature of prison, prisoners are still afforded Constitutional rights. For example, prisoners' First Amendment free speech rights are protected. They are even allowed, by the Constitution and Supreme Court, to criticize prison officials - as long as that criticism is truthful. However, they are not allowed the freedom to speak insolently to corrections officers, or to stir up dissent among prisoners (both earn a misconduct ticket, or worse). 

Prisoners are also allowed by the Constitution to write, and to publish their writings. Of course, some limitations exist. For instance, prisoners cannot profit from their own crimes or disparage or threaten their victims. However, even constitutionally protected conduct is often restricted or prohibited in prisons. These restrictions are sometimes challenged in the courts, both successfully and unsuccessfully, but lawsuits are expensive and difficult for prisoners to file. 

Recently, I have seen a significant increase in censorship within Michigan prisons. Prisons have always censored materials they feel are a threat to the good order and security of an institution. The Supreme Court has allowed that, and probably for good reason. Nevertheless, Michigan prisons, and others around the country, often abuse this privilege, using senseless arguments to censor some material. 

Another prisoner told me, just this morning, for example, that he emailed his brother a recipe for the fudge he makes in prison using commissary items. His outgoing email message was censored. Prison officials claim that the recipe could be used to operate a business and to generate profit. By whom?! People in the free world are allowed to do just that, but the prisoner lost his appeal to completely illogical justifications. 

This past week, a family member sent me a book on entrepreneurship. It, too, was rejected because it allegedly might be used to operate a business. The real catch is that within the same prison facility, Jackson Community College teaches an entrepreneurship course to prisoners. Apparently learning this material in college cannot be used to operate a business, but reading a basic book about entrepreneurship can be. It's completely nonsensical. 

My own book, Insider's Guide to Prison Life, was also rejected by the mailroom. I wrote this book to help prisoners' loved ones avoid facilitating bad behavior that some prisoners continue to practice in prison. Of course, I describe some of this bad behavior, which is common in prison and known about by every Michigan prisoner. My book's entire aim is to help loved ones encourage rehabilitation and transformation so prisoners successfully leave prison and stay out. 

My book has been rejected for multiple reasons. First, it was rejected because I allegedly might be using it to operate a business enterprise. Although I do not own the publishing rights, one prison felt that writing a book is enough to be "operating a business." This claim contradicts US Supreme Court precedent. Second, it was rejected by another prison because its content allegedly might "facilitate illegal conduct." Because I simply reveal what happens in prison, prison staff believe I am encouraging that behavior, even though the entire premise of my book, and the context of the material, contradicts that claim. 

Unofficially, prison staff have also claimed that prisoners are not allowed to receive copies of their own published works. This is not a prison policy (and it is very likely unconstitutional), but when has that mattered? Neither logic nor constitutionality seem to matter much when censorship decisions are made in prison. If a single prison staff member objects to written material for any reason, BAM! Stamped censored. 

That's a lot of power for a prison mailroom employee.

Embracing Hope, in a Sea of Hopelessness

 A couple of weeks ago, another prisoner in my housing unit made a serious effort to end his life. Though he was not successful, he will never be the same, physically or likely psychologically. His attempt rattled many of the men in this cell block, because many of them also suffer from despondency, depression, and desperation. 

Some of the men responded, as expected, with an emotional armor of tasteless jokes or apathetic remarks. It's a disgusting coping mechanism I've come to recognize in both prisoners and corrections officers. Others were moved with compassion for the man, wondering out loud what drove him to such a desperate action. 

Prison is an emotionally weighty place. So many of us men suffer from tremendous losses, multiplied by the knowledge that we are responsible for those losses. For some prisoners, this burden is just the foundation. On top of that is the knowledge that others have suffered because of us, and that waiting for us after prison is a society who not only rejects us but fears us too.

America is supposedly a land of second chances, but many people in society, and many of our laws, contradict this fantastical idea of American ideals. The burden of the harms we've caused is enough to crush many of us, but add society's total rejection on top of that...it's no wonder some men can no longer face that reality. 

I have no doubt that some people, including people I love, may never forgive me, may never be okay with me leaving prison some day. And that's deeply troubling to me. I'd like for an opportunity to make things right, to prove that I am not the man I used to be. But I understand some may refuse me that chance. 

That hasn't stopped me from, though, from putting in the work to transform my thinking and behavior. It won't stop me from attempting to repair the harms I've caused, even if I can never actually repair them. Even if that work has to benefit those I did not personally harm. It's a responsibility I bear, a debt I gladly work to repay. 

America may never give some of us second chances, shackling us forever with the guilt of our past. But I refuse to let those shackles hold me hostage to the man I used to be. I may be locked up, but I won't be buried by hopelessness, or by bitterness. 

Prison has changed me, without a doubt. I would never recommend it, as there are much less painful ways to affect change. However, I determined from day one to be corrected by this experience. It's never been easy, and it's come with a lifetime of suffering, but it is bearing fruit in my life. 

Whether or not some will ever allow me to demonstrate that fruit, I'll be content to live out how I've changed, whatever my circumstances. And I'll hold onto hope for redemption, refusing to give into hopelessness or society's rejection of me.

Finding Hope in Prison's Sea of Despondency

 As I've written about before, the holidays, particularly Thanksgiving and Christmas, are very difficult for men and women in prison. It's a time of year where the loneliness of prison is especially acute, and where prisoners' regrets are especially heavy. 

The holidays often mean gatherings with family, cooking delicious meals, and giving and receiving joy. But in prison, these things are lacking, deeply missed, and replaced by desperation. Now, the prison where I am currently housed is on Covid-19 outbreak status (two housing units so far). This status only increases the isolation, loneliness, boredom, and desperation. 

Suicides and attempts rise during this time of year for everyone, but especially for those in prison. Not being able to visit face-to-face with family during the holidays because of a Covid outbreak only worsens things for many prisoners. Thankfully, though, we do have access to video visits still. But it's not the same. 

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, and especially because of the terrible weightiness in prison during the holidays, I'm beginning to make a list of things I'm thankful for. This practice is helpful for keeping depression at bay. 

During an especially depressing time in my prison sentence, I spent 15 weeks journaling every day about something I was grateful for. It was very difficult some days to see anything clearly enough to be grateful for, but soon that changed.

After a few weeks, I began to see things I'd never noticed before, little things mostly. I began to notice a butterfly floating by, or a small flower blooming in an unusual place. I began to notice small acts of kindness I'd overlooked before, and my appreciation for people around me grew. 

Now, as I feel a heaviness permeate my housing unit, I'm wondering how I can help others find hope in the midst of hopelessness. I don't expect I'll be able to help everyone, but just like I looked for things to be grateful for every day, I feel the draw to look for opportunities to encourage the men around me who are wallowing in what Paul Bunyan called the "Slough of Despondency." 

If I can make the difference in the life of one person, THAT will be something for which I can be grateful. 

Happy Thanksgiving, ya'll!

Sexual Harassment Was Not Part of My Sentence

 The very nature of prison is that there is an imbalance of power. Prisoners are stripped of power when they are sent to prison. They are under the authority of prison administrators and corrections officers. They must follow rules, and they must operate within the the boundaries of behaviors that are approved by these authorities. 

Of course, within the prisoner population also, power is used (and abused) by prisoners who impose their will over other prisoners. Often, this abuse of power is ignored, and sometimes even tacitly sanctioned, by prison officials. But prisoners aren't the only ones who abuse their power. Corrections officers, like anyone endowed with the type of power they have over other humans, routinely abuse their power. 

A recent example: In the housing unit where I live, at Parnall Correctional Facility in Jackson, Michigan, cleaning supplies are kept in the officers' office. Prisoners must leave their ID cards when they "check out" supplies to clean their cells. On a recent day, I asked permission to check out cleaning supplies and was told I could. 

As I left my ID on the desk and gathered a broom, dustpan, and cleaning spray, one of the officers asked me a rather odd, but seemingly harmless, question. When I replied to his question, he laughed and made a grossly inappropriate sexual joke out of my answer. His "joke" was not only inappropriate on the surface, but since he is in a position of power over me, it was an abuse of power. 

Now, prisoners in these sorts of situations are faced with multiple options. They can play along with the joke, yucking it up with those who hold power over them. (Some do this.) They could cuss the guard out and leave it at that. (Some do this.) They could threaten to write the guard up, or actually write the guard up for abusing his authority and for conduct unbecoming. After all, this behavior is against their rules of professional conduct. (And some do this, usually with no consequence for the offending officer.) 

But, each of these prisoner responses have consequences. Those who join in on the frivolity give officers approval to abuse their authority. They mistakenly think that by joining in the fun, the officer will give them preferential treatment. I've been in prison long enough to know that's not likely, nor is it preferred. Those who cuss the guard out or threaten to write the guard up put a giant target on their backs. They essentially invite the officers to further abuse their authority by conducting excessive shakedowns and writing frivolous misconduct tickets. 

All of these responses place prisoners in impossible situations. That's why conduct like this officer's is an abuse of power. They ought to treat us prisoners with dignity, but they are not our friends. Their job is to ensure the safety and security of a prison institution, not to sexually (or otherwise) harass their charges. 

Though I did not choose any of these options, I don't know if my response was necessarily any better. While I would have liked to call out the officer's abuse of power and inappropriate conduct, I also do not want unnecessary attention from the officers. I just want to do the best I can with my circumstances and leave prison a better person than I came in. So, I reverted to a passive aggressive response that was neither particularly threatening to the officer nor conveyed approval of his conduct. 

"That's what you're on today?" I responded. "Yeah, I'm just trying to have some fun today," he replied, laughing. "Well, it's good to have fun I guess, and if you need to revisit your middle school years to do that, you've gotta do what you've gotta do." My voice dripping with sarcasm, I turned and left the office with the cleaning supplies. 

Keeping my cell clean should not be this difficult. I shouldn't have to expose myself to sexual harassment just for doing the right thing (keeping my cell clean). Actually, even if I was doing the wrong thing, I shouldn't be subject to sexual harassment by a person in a position of power. But it happens in prison, and with far more frequency than one might think.

Should the Parkland Shooter Have Been Put to Death or Not?

 Recent news stories on TV have left me feeling a wild mix of emotions, and a clashing of values I hold dear. The stories I'm referring to are those concerning the recent sentencing of Nikolas Cruz, the Parkland, Florida shooter who killed 17 people at a school. 

Long before I was sentenced to prison for my own crime, I philosophically opposed the death penalty. Although I am a Christian, and some professing Christians are the most ardent supporters of it, I believe the death penalty is contrary to Jesus' teachings in scripture. Some people argue that Old Testament laws included the "lex talionis," the eye for an eye, life for a life principle. True, but this principle, common in ancient Near East societies, was designed to limit punishments, not to proscribe them. 

Furthermore, my opposition to the death penalty is informed largely by Jesus' New Testament teaching in the Sermon on the Mount. He specifically turned lex talionis on its head, teaching us to use mercy and forgiveness as our guiding principles, not a punishment limiting principle. 

I do believe people should be held responsible for the harms they cause, but correction and restoration should be our goal, not retribution and revenge. Yet, some cases, some crimes, are so heinous that correction and restoration seem like a fantastical goal. Some crimes are so horrifying that they almost cry out for eliminating the source of the harm. 

Such is the case with Nikolas Cruz. My compassion for the families of the 17 people he killed in cold blood, and for others whose lives were irrevocably changed that day, cries out for justice. Even when I believe true justice seeks restoration of victims and offenders to wholeness. Some things can never be restored. Only retribution seems a fitting response to such horror. But it goes against all I believe and hold dear. 

So, I find myself in a philosophical, and perhaps even theological, quandary. It is what psychologists call cognitive dissonance. My compassion is bumping against itself. Though loathsome to some people, I have compassion for Nikolas Cruz. I don't know what causes someone to choose to murder others, especially children, but something must be seriously broken in him, and that drives me to have compassion for him. 

Yet, my deep compassion for the families he devastated, for all they lost and can never regain...it leaves me feeling deeply troubled. Even if our prison system were able to help Cruz get to the root of his troubled psyche and emotions (a task I seriously doubt they are capable of), it could never undo the devastation he caused. It will never bring back those he murdered. 

Though my circumstances differ, nothing I ever do will restore the damage I caused. I didn't murder anyone, but no transformation in me, no matter how significant, can ever heal the harm I caused. It's a depressing thought that leaves me feeling troubled. 

The reality is that only forgiveness and mercy can begin the healing process. Cruz does not deserve forgiveness, and neither do I. Nor should either of us demand it from those we harmed. We have no right. Yet, Jesus knew that revenge (thinly disguised in our culture as "retribution") does not lead to healing. It might provide temporary satisfaction, but it can never heal. 

Though I've never suffered the level of devastating loss and pain the Parkland families have suffered, I hope that I would be able to find a place in my heart for forgiveness. Cruz will die in prison, suffering the death penalty over a lifetime of years, and he will suffer daily, too. But even if his heart changes, he'll suffer even more, unless someone shows him mercy and forgiveness. 

Sadly, the families of Cruz's victims will continue to suffer too, even more so if they let hate and anger consume them. Yet, who of us has any right to deny them the only emotion they may currently be capable of feeling towards Cruz? It's a no-win situation, no matter what way you look at it.

The Heavy Weight of Prison's Oppressive Energy

 Someone outside of prison recently told me they were surprised to hear about an assault I'd witnessed in prison a few months ago. It stunned me a bit, mainly because prison has been my reality for nearly 14 years. While witnessing assaults is jarring, it's also "normal" in prison. Too much "made for TV" depictions of prison life apparently lead some people to believe prison is not really a dangerous place. 

But it is a dangerous place. One must develop a sixth sense about pending dangers, always alert to what's happening around them, even if they themselves have no beef with anyone else. Some prisoners are quick to develop this sixth sense. They can sense changes in the mood in a room, quickly pick up on abnormal gatherings of people, and sense when something is just "not quite right." 

I'm guessing that the more empathic of us find this sense especially strong. Having this strong sense has helped me to avoid being around when things have happened that could have put me in danger. But having this strong empathic sense also makes it difficult, at times, to separate myself from the negative energy that permeates the prison environment. 

Earlier this past week, shortly after I woke up around 5AM, two corrections officers began to harass and antagonize a prisoner who was in the hole (which is across from my cell). The prisoner had acted out the night before, late at night, and had been moved to a new cell. I don't know why he was in the hole, or what had precipitated his behavior the night before. But regardless, I was deeply disturbed to hear the officers abusing their authority, "geeking" the prisoner up and trading insults with him. 

The prisoner's behavior was absolutely wrong, but it did not justify the officers' abuse of their authority. Their antagonism amped up other prisoners to join in the fray. Soon, the entire unit was humming with a negative energy, stirred up by abusive corrections officers. 

Usually, it's prisoners who are largely to blame for prison's negative energy. Gang violence or threats of violence, thieves, a deeply persistent sense of entitlement, and loudly voiced feelings of injustice stoke prison's blanket of oppressive energy. 

It's no wonder depression and suicidal ideology are common in prison (among prisoners and officers). Sadly, some prisoners are unable to navigate this oppressive energy, and they try to end their sentence early. Fortunately, the young man in my housing unit who tried to end his life this morning was unsuccessful. 

The moment I returned from lunch, I could sense the energy had shifted, before I even knew what had happened. Anxious energy permeated the air, worsened by a deeply troubling lack of empathy. 

It's no wonder so many people leave prison worse off. Many crumble under the heavy weight of such negative energy. Triumphing over it, instead, requires significant positive energy. And that's exhausting to generate sometimes. It sure takes a lot of prayer and power beyond my own.

What Happens When "Mistakes" Define Us

 I do not come from a family or community where incarceration is a normal part of life. My own life has been fairly sheltered from arrests, jails, and prisons, until my own arrest. I had the luxury of seeing law enforcement primarily in a positive light. But that is not the experience of many, many Americans. When one's friend or family member is arrested and goes to prison, it's simply not that unusual. 

But about ten years ago, a friend of mine was arrested, charged, convicted, and sent to prison. His crime was not against me, but the betrayal I felt because of his behavior led me to turn my back on him. I never contacted him or visited him because I felt like he had made his bed and now had to lie in it. 

Sadly, this attitude is all too common in communities where crime and prison are not a normal part of life. 

Now that I have had my own experience of rejection by most of my former friends (and even family), I realize how wrong I was to abandon my friend. He made some poor choices, for sure, but he owned those choices and worked on fixing the issues in his life that led to his crime. Still, I had left him to do that work alone, unsupported by me who once cared about him as a friend. 

Shimone Peres, Israel's Prime Minister in 1985 also faced a similar conflict when someone he considered a friend made a choice that hurt Peres, a choice that hurt many Jews. President Ronald Reagan had accepted an invitation from Germany to visit the Kolmeshohe Cemetery at Bitburg, Germany, where dozens of SS officers had been buried. This visit was prompted by post-war reconciliation efforts, and Reagan believed his visit would promote reconciliation. But Peres saw it as a betrayal of their friendship. 

Germany, and especially the SS officers buried at Kolmeshohe, had done unthinkable harm to Jews. While Peres supported reconciliation, he believed Reagan's visit to the cemetery was a big mistake. Remarkably, when asked about this conflict between his friendship with Reagan and his disagreement with Reagan's choices, Peres responded, 

"When a friend makes a mistake, the friend remains a friend, and the mistake remains a mistake." 

I don't believe my poor choices, or the poor choices of my friend were "mistakes." They were much more serious than simple lapses in judgment. But the moral of the story remains the same. I should have supported my friend, should have walked alongside him as he worked to repair the harm he'd caused by his choices. I'm so grateful that a few people have had the grace to do that for me, though I'm saddened by the other relationships I've lost due to my choices. 

By a twist of what I can only see as an act of God, a few years ago I did get to ask my friend's forgiveness for abandoning him in his time of greatest need. I wish I had let him remain a friend and his mistake remain a mistake instead of tying the two together. We all make bad choices at times, some worse than others, but a true friend will walk with you through the worse choices you make and urge you back to being the best person you're capable of being. 

Many of the prisoners who thrive and leave prison changed (for the better) do so precisely because they have people in their lives who can separate a person's bad choices from who they are. We all need these true north friends who can help light the way back to where we belong.

Immature, Toxic Behavior - Prisoners Don't Have a Monopoly on It

 Today, I walked around our small yard with a friend, and we were both struck by how much anti-social and immature behavior we were seeing among the prisoners around us. We both just came from a prison facility where more prisoners were engaged in education and were, by self-selection, more mature than the typical prisoner. Now, I am in a level one prison where some prisoners are serving very short sentences. Many of them have been in prison for less than three years. And it shows. 

Gang bangers flash gang signs to each other and hold phones hostage, keeping anyone but their homies from using them. Others stand in the way of people walking, chests puffed out like they're tough. It's just posturing, but they think they're actually making a statement. Mostly young prisoners call each other names that only a decade ago would have gotten them beat up. Today, these names are terms of endearment. 

Even older prisoners, who ought to have grown out of their foolishness, stand around talking about the "glory days" when they were beating people up or getting high. Not recognizing that they are celebrating the very things that have stolen their lives and freedom, they long to return for just one more hoorah!

It's discouraging at times, and a little daunting to realize that I'm trying to help these same people improve their lives. It feels a bit hopeless, like I'm trying to plug a hole in the side of the Titanic. I have to imagine that the few prison administrators who believe in prisoners' capacity to change feel immensely discouraged at times too. It's hard to hold onto that belief when there's so much evidence to the contrary.

But as much immaturity and toxicity as I see in prison, if what I see on the news is any indication of reality, it's not much better outside of prison. It concerns me. I wonder how the few prisoners who want to change will make it when they leave prison. They already have so much working against them, but to return to a world as chaotic, immoral, and self-centered as it appears to be...it's no wonder our recidivism rates are high. 

When our nation is as fractured as it is, when politicians are more concerned with holding onto or gaining power than solving problems, who is modeling good citizenship? Why should these prisoners become moral citizens when our nation's leaders are crooks of a different ilk? I guess we prisoners are not the only ones who need a morality check, a thinking and behavior change.

New, Reduced Phone Rates for Michigan Prisoners

 The 2022-2023 Michigan budget Governor Whitmer recently signed into law has affected the cost of phone calls for Michigan prisoners. The new budget eliminates the "special equipment fund" that the DOC has used to purchase cameras, tasers, bulletproof vests (why?), and other "special equipment." Despite a Michigan law prohibiting the MDOC from receiving "kickbacks" from phone calls and other costs imposed on prisoners, they have been doing just that for years. Of course, they called it a "special equipment fund" instead of a kickback, but that's just semantics. 

As a result of this fund, the contract price for phone calls (four-and-a-half cents per minute 10 years ago), has been over twenty cents per minute for years. The extra cost has been used to fund prison "security" items like those listed above. 

Now that the new budget eliminates this fund, the cost of phone calls for prisoners has been cut in half. I don't know why the cost isn't less than five cents per minute, but even nine cents per minute is half the cost it used to be. That's something to be grateful for!

Research has shown that when prisoners maintain contact with their families and communities, they are much less likely to re-offend upon release from prison. Lower phone costs make maintaining contact with loved ones easier. Just as the cost of groceries has been drastically rising outside of prison, commissary costs in prison have also been rising, up by 50% in many cases. These lower phone costs are extremely timely for many prisoners. 

Incarceration is expensive, for states, for prisoners, and for prisoners' families. But unnecessarily burdening families and making it difficult for prisoners to maintain family and community ties doesn't serve the aim of public safety. If the goal of incarceration is safer communities, then policies that promote lowering recidivism, like cost-effective family contact, ought to be a priority. I'm grateful that in this case, at least, we're headed in the right direction. 

Now, if legislators could just stop hurdling sound bites that make it seem like they care about prison reform and reducing crime (but really don't), our state might actually begin to create safer communities. Data informed action, not sound bites, are what lead to effective reforms.

"All Convicts are Liars," and Other Myths about Prisoners

During a recent visit to our prison medical services, I had an interesting interaction with several staff members. After the corrections officer made a big deal about me wearing state issued shoes instead of tennis shoes to medical appointments (this hasn't been a problem in nearly 10 years), the nurse asked me why it mattered so much to me. I explained that changing my shoes was not the problem. Overzealous officers enforcing personal preferences was. I also said that I don't like being lied to by corrections officers (in this case, about what prison policy allegedly says or means). 

The nurse's response not only revealed her personal bias, but it also reflected a common sentiment among many people outside of prison. She said, "Well, that's ironic since convicts are known to be liars."

After explaining to her that her statement was a gross overgeneralization, I reflected back that in my own experience, I've been lied to by prison administrators as much as I've been lied to by other prisoners. Her response? "Touche." Apparently, she's also been lied to by prison administrators.

The reality is, neither all prisoners are liars, nor are all administrators. But some prisoners do routinely lie, and some administrators, including medical staff, routinely lie to prisoners. It's simply unfair to generalize those realities to the rest of the population, whichever population we mean. I know some wonderful prison administrators, and I know some who could probably never get a job outside of corrections. The same goes for prisoners. 

Sadly, many people outside of prison think of us prisoners as liars, thieves, violent, and rapists. And those labels certainly describe some prisoners, but they don't describe all prisoners. These overgeneralized labels have taken on a mythical quality. Furthermore, what someone may have done to put themselves in prison does not define them for the rest of their lives. 

While the belief that "past behavior is a good indicator of future behavior" does hold some validity, it fails to account for people's capacity to change. I personally know many prisoners who were once very violent who are now peaceful people and who condemn violence, including their own past violence. The same goes for those who were once liars, thieves, or rapists. 

I'm sure the nurse I interacted with has had her perspective on prisoners reinforced by negative interactions while doing her job. Some prisoners do lie about medical conditions to get medications for various nefarious purposes. But many more prisoners are terribly frustrated by the lack of proper medical care in prison, for legitimate medical needs. 

As a prisoner, I take offense to being categorized as a liar simply because I am a prisoner. Wearing a prison uniform (with tennis shoes or state issued shoes) may make me look like other prisoners, but it does not mean I fit the preconceived notions of prison employees or of the general public. 

I recognize that prisoners have an uphill battle to disprove these preconceived notions, and I work every day to dispel these myths about me personally. But I'm also working with other prisoners to help them not only present themselves in ways that counteract these myths, but also to live up to their claims that they are different. It's an often frustrating endeavor to fight against prejudices held by so many, but it's a battle worth fighting. I refuse to live up to the negative expectations people have of me. 

Is Simply Surviving a Prison Assault Enough?

 For the last six years, I had been at a prison that was very focused on education and programs. Though prisoners used to refer to that prison as "Gladiator School," the entire prison population there had changed, and it was a fairly safe place to serve time. It had its problems, for sure, but fights and violence were uncommon. 

Yet, the day before I transferred to the prison where I am currently housed, a really violent assault occurred in my housing unit. It was the worst assault I had seen in nearly a decade. What's worse is that the person assaulted was a young guy I had been quietly encouraging to start making better choices with his life. 

His involvement with gangs and nefarious activities in prison was contrary to the goals he claimed to have for his life. He had already experienced a remarkable blessing, receiving a short five years for a crime that normally earned more than a decade in prison. But he still felt the pull towards what were poor decisions for his life. 

After the assault, the scene left me believing that he had been hurt really bad, perhaps even experiencing permanent disability. I prayed for him and worried for him, but leaving the next morning, I was in the dark as to his condition. 

So, imagine my surprise when I saw him in the housing unit yard next to mine, just a month after his attack! He was doing well, and recovering well from his injuries. Other than some permanent scars, he suffered no long-term injuries, a remarkable reality given the scene I'd observed. 

We had a good opportunity to talk, for me to encourage some major changes in his life, and for me to tell him how God must have His hand on his life. I also expressed my relief, knowing that he is doing okay.

The reality is that these kinds of assaults are fairly common in some prisons, and many of them are gang related. Sadly, gang life does not end at the prison gates. In fact, some prisoners actually believe that joining a gang in prison will keep them safer. As my friend discovered, that's simply not the case. I would argue that, in fact, it increases one's danger. 

These are complex decisions for young people in dangerous circumstances, so I don't condemn their choices. But I do wish they believed there were better options. I don't know if this assault will change the course of my friend’s life, but I hope it does. He has too much potential to sacrifice it to prison cliches.

Maintaining Family Connections May Have Just Gotten Easier for Michigan Prisoners

In Safe & Just Michigan's (S&JM; www.safeandjustmi.org) Summer 2022 newsletter, their Policy Update section reported potential changes to the phone fees for Michigan's prisoners. 

Currently, phone fees are around $0.18 per minute; however, historically more than 2/3 of that rate has gone to the "special equipment fund" to pay for video cameras, tasers, and protective vests for corrections officers. Despite a legislative prohibition for "kickbacks" on prison phone rates, this fund has accounted for a large portion of the cost of phone calls for Michigan prisoners and their families. 

S&JM reports that the new state budget signed in July eliminates the special equipment fund. This elimination should result in a significant reduction in phone call prices. No announcement has been made yet telling us what the new rates will be, but the new fiscal budget begins October 1st, so we should expect an announcement soon. S&JM reports that the elimination of this special fund will save prisoners and their families over $11 million per year. 

Additionally, House Bill 6363, introduced by Rep. Tenisha Yancey (Harper Woods), would fully eliminate all fees for phone calls made from Michigan prisons. It's unclear how much bipartisan support she has for this bill, but it's refreshing to note that at least one representative recognizes the importance of family connections to reducing recidivism rates among prisoners. 

Yancey's bill also aims to guarantee that more phones are available for prisoner use and that prisoners would be guaranteed up to two hours of phone use per day. Currently, phone availability varies widely by facility and housing unit. The prisoners at some facilities have more money (or their families do), so the phones are always busy. Other facilities, or some housing units, the phones are often available for use. 

One major problem with phone use in some prisons, including where I am currently housed, is that gang members control who can use certain phones at certain times of the day. This practice, which goes unchecked by prison staff, makes phone usage tough for some prisoners. However, Michigan's policy, implemented just over a year ago, now requires prisoners to wait fifteen minutes in between their own 15-minute phone calls. This has freed up some phones that were once controlled for hours at a time by a single prisoner. Some prisoners have found work-arounds to this limitation, but it is still better than it used to be. 

I'm happy to see that phone calls will be cheaper in the short term, and perhaps free in the long term. Although I am in the last stretch of my prison sentence, I am a staunch advocate for supporting the maintenance of family and community connections. It's a no brainer for helping to reduce the likelihood that prisoners will return to prison after their release. 

For more information and insider tips about how to strengthen connections with an incarcerated loved one, please check out my book, Insider's Guide to Prison Life at Amazon.com. 

Corrections Officers - Time Punchers, Bullies, or Difference Makers?

 In my last post I broadly categorized prisoners, despite preferring to avoid over-generalizations. Nevertheless, categories do help to explain some things. It might help to understand typical corrections officers through broad categories too. Again, not every officer fits into one of these categories neatly. Some move between categories, and some start their careers in one and end in another. Others are difficult to categorize at all. 

Most corrections officers fit into the first category, Time Punchers. These officers come to work simply for the paycheck and benefits. They are the officers who, were it not for mandated overtime due to staff shortages, would work an occasional overtime day, but prefer to do their eight and out. They'll write prisoners misconduct tickets if necessary, but they prefer to do their half hour rounds and be left alone the rest of the time. They'll answer prisoners' questions if the answer is readily available, but don't count on them putting in much effort otherwise. 

Time Punchers take their jobs seriously, but only seriously enough to preserve the appearance of doing so. They'll almost always have their coworkers' backs, if necessary, but they don't relish prison drama. This job is just a job to them. Sometimes these officers have an, "I don't give a crap" attitude, frustrating prisoners who need something. -- What? You just rode in and need a pillow? Yeah, I don't know what to tell you. -- Otherwise, these are also the officers who don't usually go out of their way to make prisoners' time difficult. 

Another category of corrections officer, thankfully a minority of officers, is the Bully. Every prison has Bully officers, but they seem to be in greater abundance in higher level prisons. Perhaps the greater violence among prisoners in these levels appeals to the Bully? Whatever the motivation, Bully officers come to work each day intent on making prisoners' lives miserable. Sometimes they target specific segments of prisoners, like young gangbangers or prisoners who are working to better themselves. Who they target depends on their own motivation. 

Bully officers are eager to write misconduct tickets, confiscate property, make a prisoner leave the chowhall before eating, or simply degrade and disrespect prisoners. I've known Bully officers who have planted shanks in prisoners' cells, and lied on misconduct tickets (which almost ALWAYS stick). These officers are almost never punished when their their own misconduct is discovered. They may simply be transferred to another housing unit within the same prison. Often, Bully officers are promoted to a supervisor role so they are less likely to engage with prisoners. 

The final category of corrections officer is the Difference Maker. Sadly, this is also a minority category, although there does appear to be a larger number of these officers among the Gen-Z population of officer. Perhaps it is their higher social consciousness than previous generations? Either way, difference makers are not necessarily advocates. They simply come to work prepared to see people as individuals. When they see prisoners who are working to improve themselves, they encourage that behavior. They take an interest in listening to prisoners and helping them problem solve. 

Difference Maker officers often unofficially counsel prisoners, helping them think through decisions by asking questions. The primary indicator of a Difference Maker is treating prisoners with dignity. Believing one has dignity makes all the difference in the world when prisoners think about their futures. Those who believe they have worth are more likely to live into that belief. Difference Makers focus on encouraging good behavior rather than antagonizing prisoners to behave their worst. 

To be fair, being a Difference Maker officer in prison is difficult. Some coworkers think you're wasting your time, and some prisoners might attempt to take advantage of these officers' kindness. I have to imagine it is quite difficult to maintain this posture under so much pressure and such frequent failure. 

Though I aim to keep the power differential between officer and prison in perspective, keeping appropriate distance, in my 13+ years in prison, I have encountered several officers who I just had to thank. A few of these officers I had an opportunity to thank for how they treated me and others as they retired. Several others I simply thanked when I transferred or moved to different housing units. It must have felt foreign to them having a prisoner thank them, but Difference Makers are too rare to go unappreciated. 

In a recent commercial seeking new corrections officers, the MDOC hints that they, too, like Difference Makers. Their commercial states that they are looking for compassionate officers, not unfriendly ones. I couldn't help but laugh at how preposterous that sounded. I only wish it were true in practice. Prisoners could, for sure, use more reinforcement of their inherent dignity.

Prisoners are Almost Always Users, Survivors, or Thrivers

 While I normally resist putting people into broad categories, I've noticed over my 13-plus years in prison that prisoners generally fall into three different categories (with exceptions and crossovers, of course): Users, Survivors, and Thrivers. 

Users are not just those who have addiction issues, though it often includes these. Users are those who use other people, usually with no shame, to fulfill their own desires. Prison predators are the most glaring example, but they are also the minority within this group. Prison predators might use other prisoners for sexual favors, store goods, or access to something else another prisoner has. Sometimes these predators use direct forms of pressure, but more often they use subtle manipulation. 

The larger subgroup of Users are those who manipulate and use people without a clear predatorial element. They simply see other people as a resource that they can manipulate to achieve their desires. This could include borrowing food, never intending to return it, "stealing" someone's time or expertise without recompense or apology, or simply pretending to be a friend but having no loyalty. 

The second category of people, Survivors, are those whose primary aim in prison is survival. They can focus on very little other than making it through another day. These people might be what the Michigan Department of Corrections call "Potential Victims," those most at risk of becoming a victim of some sort in prison. It's fairly easy to spot these prisoners, because they are often young (usually small) white guys, or old white guys. Not all young or old white guys are Survivors, but many Survivors come from one of these two subcategories. Since they are easy to spot, they are often targeted by Users, because Survivors usually have no way to defend themselves. Survivors often lack social capital or social intelligence needed to avoid the many clever traps Users employ against them. 

Another subcategory of Survivors are those who join prison gangs or religious organizations, mainly for the protection they provide. While these prisoners often appear to be Users, and sometimes are Users as well, many of them are, in fact, Survivors. They simply hide behind the cloak of "protection" afforded them within their chosen group. The group not only affords them social credibility, but it also teaches them how to become a User instead of a Survivor. 

The final category of prisoner is the Thriver. Most prisoners do not start out as Thrivers, but after a turning point in their incarceration, some grow into Thrivers. These prisoners rise above the petty politics of prison, as much as possible, rejecting the institutional behavior common among prisoners. Instead, they focus on bettering themselves. They might pursue education, develop skills to earn money (painting, crocheting, cooking, etc.), and/or become a mentor to other prisoners who are seeking to change. 

Thrivers are also fairly easy to spot among prisoners. They carry themselves differently, looking a bit out of place in the prison environment. Other prisoners are quick to seek out Thrivers when they need help, like help interpreting a new legal case, filing a commutation, signing up for college classes, tutoring for vocational trades, or even counsel and guidance about family/relationship or prison issues. Thrivers are not always experts in these areas, but they often know who is, and they act as a kind of broker, pointing prisoners in the right direction, and doing so without expectation of anything in return. 

You see, for Thrivers, thriving is not a singular pursuit. It's important to Thrivers that all prisoners find purpose in their lives, that they make their lives count for something. And Thrivers will do nearly anything in their power to assist someone else who is serious about rejecting the status quo in prison and embracing a whole new way of life. Thrivers know that prison is a trap and prison culture is a parasite that slowly drains life and purpose from anyone who isn't laser focused on avoiding its vicious infection. 

Sadly, the majority of corrections staff don't appreciate or promote Thriver mentalities. Instead, they see Thrivers as a threat to institutional normality, because they reject pat answers and the classic "spin," and demand more than the status quo from staff. 

But doesn't society want prisoners who Thrive, who leave prison better people? You'd think so.

Prison Punishment Worsened by Administrative Ineptitude

 Transferring prisons is an exhausting and frustrating experience, but the frustration does not end there. 

Upon arriving at Parnall Correctional Facility in Jackson, Michigan, I had not showered since the night before, nor brushed my teeth since the morning. I felt dirty, sweaty, and tired. But I had none of my property, including a change of clothing and hygiene items for showering. "You should get your property tomorrow," we were told. That night, I slept in my sweaty clothing, after washing up as best as I could in the bathroom sink. 

The next day, the other two prisoners who transferred with me were finally able to make phone calls and access their emails. Mine was still not turned on at the new prison facility. We waited all day for our property, only to be told that it had not arrived with us. We would have to wait through the weekend and into the middle of the next week to get our property. 

Fortunately, after several requests and complaints, we were given temporary changes in clothing and a travel hygiene kit so we could brush our teeth and shower. We had to find our own shower shoes to borrow, and since I knew nobody to borrow from, I showered in my socks. It's a risky thing to go barefoot in a public shower! Still, a shower and brushing my teeth made me feel MUCH better!

All weekend, I tried to make phone calls to let my loved ones know where I was, but my communication options were cut off, at the mercy of some bureaucrat who didn't do his or her job properly. 

Finally, on Tuesday, five days after arriving at this prison, my phone and email were turned on, and I received my personal property. In the meantime, another kind prisoner, whom I'd never met before, had given me a spare pair of shower shoes so I didn't have to shower in my socks. It was a kind gesture not uncommon in prison, if one pays attention. 

The housing unit I was assigned at Parnall is a pole barn setting. I had spent 4 1/2 years in a pole barn at Lakeland Correctional Facility, but I had hoped to never have to bear that again. Fortunately, I was placed in a bunk away from the hallway, near a window. But then two or three days later, fortunately before I received my property, I was inexplicably moved within the housing unit. "Nobody" apparently knew why. Now, my entire bed lines the loud and bright hallway. 

The speaker right over my head blares numerous times a day and late into the night with officers calling this prisoner or that, or warning of pending count times and announcing when count is clear. These loud disruptions start just before 6AM and end after 11PM at night. I wonder how the prison administration expects prisoners to be rested for their classes. One of the first things I dug out after receiving my property was my earplugs. I hadn't had to use earplugs at the prison I just transferred from. 

Thankfully, the housing unit I am, at least temporarily, housed in is mostly calm and not especially loud (except for the officers shouting over the loudspeaker). Most of the prisoners here are in mandatory classes, like substance abuse and domestic violence prevention classes. Many are very close to paroling from prison. 

It didn't take me long to find a couple of guys to play Scrabble with, and I've already started a routine exercising each morning. Although I don't anticipate being here long, exercising is an important part of my routine that keeps me mentally and emotionally healthy. It's an outlet for stress that might otherwise leave me anxious all the time. 

Anyone who thinks American prisons are too easy on us prisoners ought to experience a day-long transfer in shackles and belly chains, the frustration of being unable to communicate with loved ones, and the nearly week-long loss of all one's property. They ought to experience living in a large, mostly open pole barn with only half walls with nearly 200 other prisoners. They ought to try sleeping while a loudspeaker over their head wakes them just as they start to doze off. They ought to try sleeping with their entire vulnerable body lining a hallway where dozens of other prisoners (including with violent pasts or currently mentally ill) walk past throughout the night. 

Yeah, prison is still punishment, still a tough experience to endure.