What a Memorial Service in Prison Looks Like

 Maybe the title of this post is a little misleading. You see, I've been in prison for over 13 years now, and I've never once even heard of a memorial service for a prisoner who died, let alone attended one. Until this past Friday. 

Normally, when a prisoner dies, other prisoners talk among themselves. "Did you hear so-and-so died?" one prisoner will ask. "Yeah," another will respond. "That's messed up." And that's about the extent of the grief processing. Because prison staff treat us with such little value, we learn to treat each other the same way. Because we've experienced so much loss, we've become desensitized to it. Any processing we do is done internally--alone. 

So when Trice, a member of the prison community to which I belong died, some of us decided we needed to do things a little differently. Although Trice belonged to the Nation of Islam (NOI), he belonged to a larger community made up of Calvin Prison Initiative students and vocational trades students in the same prison facility. So, a few of us in leadership within the Protestant and NOI communities decided to organize an inter-faith memorial service for Trice. 

We planned out a service, complete with prayer, two songs sung and played by a few men, and ten speakers who shared memories of Trice. As the time for the memorial began, people from the prison community poured into the auditorium. Members of the Protestant and NOI services, CPI students who belong to neither faith, and others from the broader community found their seats. Soon, attendance grew to over 100 prisoners.

After an opening introduction and prayer, several prisoners played and sang "It's So Hard to Say Goodbye," by Boys to Men. The tissues came out in droves as men connected the lyrics to the recent loss of Trice, and to other losses they've never processed fully. My mind immediately went to the death of my father just over a year ago, a death I still haven't fully processed. 

Following the song, ten men took turns sharing their memories of and experiences with Trice. As we all shared our memories, similarities emerged, and Trice's personality shown through. We had some laughs at his quirks, and we shed some tears over missed moments. One especially gripping moment for me was when one prisoner shared how he helped hold Trice when he experienced his medical emergency. He broke down as he shared, "If I would have known it was the last time I'd hug him, I'd have held on a little longer, held a little tighter." 

This entire experience was probably the most profound experience I've had in thirteen years in prison. It was painful, but cathartic. It was gut-wrenching, but healing. I'm proud to have been a part of it. I'm proud to belong to a community who rallies around each other, who honors each other's dignity as human beings. This isn't really how a memorial service in prison looks like, but maybe it'll be a model for future memorials, should they, God forbid, be needed.

Prisoner's Death Leaves His Community Shaken

 Several days ago, another prisoner, whom I've known for eight years, experienced a medical emergency that had him leave the prison in an ambulance. He had a similar emergency several years ago that left him rehabilitating for months afterwards. We just weren't sure how bad it was this time, and so we prayed. 

For two or three days the Calvin Prison Initiative community to whom he belonged, along with some other prisoners, prayed for him and his recovery. Yet, on May 19th we received the very sad news that Trice had passed away from complications he experienced with his medical emergency. His death has left many people feeling shaken and deeply saddened.

Trice did not share my faith, and he made a point of irritating me from time to time. But he considered me a friend, and I considered him a friend. One thing we shared a love of was playing Scrabble together, and though he rarely beat me, he kept coming back for more. He liked to claim victory over a game that we had to quit half way through because we ran out of time. He felt like he needed that win on the books, but I wouldn't let him count it as a win. 

We both shared having spent parts of our lives in California and Chicago. We often reminisced about the places (especially food!) we loved in Chicago, and we both were big fans of the Chicago Cubs. We couldn't have been more different in many ways, but it was refreshing to find commonality and shared meaning with someone from a completely different walk of life. 

Trice recently graduated in the class of 2022 with his bachelors degree from the Calvin Prison Initiative (CPI). Some from his family attended to celebrate the momentous day with him, sharing in his (and our) pride in his accomplishment. He and I had talked about sharing a graduation celebration meal, but we ran out of time to make it happen. 

Trice was a good writer who enjoyed helping others write better, even serving in our Rhetoric Center in CPI. He also loved discussing ideas and sharpening his ability to debate different sides of an argument. He often asked me to read through his papers for different classes, and I learned a lot by reading his work. 

Sadly, Trice was only weeks away from a decision he's been waiting for in the courts that would have likely made it possible for him to leave prison. After serving nearly three decades in prison, his life sentence may have been reduced due to a court decision on young lifers (18-21 year olds). I know he was anxiously waiting with anticipation for that decision, a decision that came too late. 

Trice, we'll miss you, but we'll also remember you with fondness. And my brother, I'll let you have that win after all.

Graduation Ceremony Goes off with a Bang

 Blam! Blam! Blam! The sounds of staccato gunfire rang loudly in the background. If you didn't know better, you'd think you were in Kharkiv, Ukraine or maybe the Southside of Chicago. It sounded like a war zone. But it wasn't a war zone. It was in the middle of our graduation ceremony on May 9th, a ceremony three years in the making. 

Covid had tabled the first two years' graduation ceremonies for the Calvin Prison Initiative (calvin.edu/prison-initiative) graduates, but finally we walked with a few family or friends in attendance. Three cohorts graduated with their bachelors degrees, and two with their associates. Every student was anxious with anticipation, not only for the ceremony, but also for the brief time allotted to spend with our family members and friends after the ceremony. 

Sadly, disgruntled corrections officers and administrative staff had other ideas. Some staff are disgruntled because they don't believe prisoners deserve anything good, even if it costs taxpayers nothing. Their attitudes reveal that "corrections" or "rehabilitation" is not their goal at all. Nevertheless, while they could not stop the ceremony from happening because the corrections director was in attendance, they certainly made their pettiness known. 

The loud, raucous gunfire that erupted from the nearby gun range in the middle of the ceremony came from some of the dozen officers who called in "sick" that day. The next day, they bragged and laughed about it at the officers' desk in the housing unit. They also bragged about how they'd planned on delaying the ceremony. A normal "count time," which occurs several times throughout a 24-hour period, takes roughly 30 minutes. But the morning of the graduation ceremony, count time took three times that long. Their second count time later that day also took three times the norm. 

After the ceremony, graduates were supposed to have 45-60 minutes to mingle with their loved ones, but because of the planned delays, we had less than 20 minutes. The officers' and administrators' petty plans robbed us of some of our anticipated joy for that day, but they couldn't take it all. 

Graduation day made dozens of prisoners and families proud, some prisoners being the first in their families to earn a college degree. They couldn't take that accomplishment. One of the two keynote speakers, fondly known as Mother Jerline, gave a profound talk about authentic forgiveness, moving many hearts with her love. She was there to celebrate the graduation of her son's killer, a man she now calls her own son. They couldn't take that demonstration of God's radical grace at work. They also couldn't take the dozen or so positive news stories that resulted from that tremendous day, splashed all over the TV, newspapers, and internet. 

It's tempting to be angry about the pettiness on my graduation day, but then I remember my hero Malala Yousafzai. She persisted in her education despite being actually shot and having her life continually threatened. I suppose I can put up with the childish antics of corrections officers having a tantrum on a gun range.

Prisoner Honors Mother After Her Death

 Every year on Mother's Day, I like to honor mothers of prisoners by highlighting how important they are in the lives of many prisoners. Sometimes, only Mom sticks with you through the consequences of your worst choices. For some, sadly, Mom isn't around any longer, but she's still a motivating factor on turning one's life around. 

This truth is evident in my friend Hank's life. Hank was one of three children born to his mother. Though both of his siblings graduated from high school, Hank dropped out, ran the streets, sold drugs, and committed crimes that landed him in prison. His mother lamented to him that she had beautiful graduation pictures of her other two children, but none from him. 

In 2017, Hank applied for and was accepted into the Calvin Prison Initiative. He told his mom, "I'm going to earn that graduation picture for you!" She was thrilled, and proud, that he'd begun to turn his life around and make better choices. Sadly, Hank's mom died a couple of years before he graduated from college. But on May 9th, Hank will walk with his class of 2022 to receive his bachelor's degree. With every step across that stage, he'll be thinking of his mom and dedicating his success to her and her unconditional love and support for him. 

Hank is just one of many prisoners who are now seeking to make something positive out of their lives. They (we, I should say) chose the wrong path earlier in life, but rather than let those poor choices forever define them, they are now seeking to transform themselves, to form a new identity. For some, that motivation is strengthened by the desire to make loved ones, like mom, proud of them. 

I'm sure Hank's mom, were she alive today, would be deeply proud of her son. Though he did all the work to earn his degree, he did so, at least in part, because his mom believed in him and wanted something better for his life. His success is a big THANK YOU to his mom. 

Not every mother of a prisoner can stand in pride next to her son or daughter, but every prisoner should strive to make that so. I hope that in the thirteen plus years I've been in prison I have made my mom proud of me. She, and so many other mothers, deserve far more than we could ever give them for their many sacrifices and unconditional love. 

So, to all you moms of prisoners, THANK YOU!

Prison Industries Profit from Excessive Fees

In a recent article published in Prison Legal News (www.prisonlegalnews.org), Stephen Raher from the Prison Policy Initiative (www.prisonpolicy.org) writes about his investigation into the excessive fees charged for sending prisoners money. All fifty U.S. states charge a fee for loved ones to send money to a prisoner. Yet, these fees are excessively high, compared to industry standards seen in services like Venmo or CashApp. The rates Raher found across the country vary, from 5% to 37% for online transfers. The average fee, he found, is 19% to send $20 and 12% to send $50. 

Michigan, like many states, only offers one option to send money electronically, essentially eliminating competition with its sanctioned monopoly. Michigan contracts with Global TelLink (GTL), one of the top three services nationwide. GTL charges $3.95 (20% by percentage), for transfers starting at $20. Starting at $50, their fee is $6.95 (14% by percentage). In states with competitive options, the transfer fees are less, on average, though still significantly higher than industry standards. 

Some states (I could not confirm if Michigan is among them) receive kickbacks from the services to whom they offer these monopolies. As with excessive telephone and email rates and high commissary prices, excessive money transfer fees are just another example of predatory profiting among some of the most vulnerable populations. Many prisoners come from families who have little to no financial stability. 

While some changes in telephone pricing in prisons and jails has occurred over the last few years, many states are still charging exorbitant fees for families to keep in touch with their incarcerated loved ones. Excessive money transfer fees only worsen the exploitation of families of incarcerated persons. 

Until state governments (and the federal government) stop seeing prisons as job security and profit-making ventures, this sort of exploitation will continue. Legislatures have no incentive to change the rules, and courts have little incentive to enforce existing laws when prisoners and their families are viewed as gap fillers in state budgets. Prison industries ought to be compensated for their services, but their compensation should be reasonable and in line with industry standards, not exploitative. Furthermore, prison industries ought to have competition so they cannot use their government sanctioned monopolies to force consumers to use their services. 

One other major consequence of no competition in prison services is that providers, like GTL and JPay, have little incentive to improve their services. When JPay, the provider of email services to prisoners in Michigan, uses a completely useless problem resolution service, for example, they have no reason to fix it. When their system steals "stamps" or provides the wrong songs that prisoners purchase, they have no incentive to fix the problem. When prisoners are forced to agree to completely unreasonable terms of use agreements just to use the service, it's exploitative. 

GTL provides both phone services, money transfer services, and is now responsible for managing visit scheduling. Yet, their service is antiquated and spotty, at best, and completely broken at worst. Where are these excessively high fees they are charging going? They aren't going to improving their services, that's for sure. 

If prison industries cannot responsibly manage the services they offer prisoners and their families, without exploiting their government sanctioned monopolies, they ought to be replaced. It makes one wonder who else is profiting from these exploitative services that allows them to continue operating under conditions that would shutter their businesses were they to face real competition. Is accountability too much to ask from a department whose job it is to hold people accountable (us prisoners)?