How to Turn Hardship into Triumph

You've probably heard the cliche, "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Well, this saying is a cliche for a reason. The fact is that there are more than two possible outcomes when you face hardships in your life. This saying also fails to acknowledge the power we each have in how we respond to hardships. We cannot always avoid the difficulties life throws at us, but we can choose our responses to them. It is our responses that often determine how those hardships shape us. 

I know a man, I'll call him "Steve," who is serving a life sentence in prison. He's been in prison a long time, for more than thirty years. Steve is one of the most miserable people I've ever met. He is angry all of the time, highly critical of nearly everyone he meets, and the stress he subjects himself to is affecting his health. On one hand I feel bad for Steve because the misery of prison and the hopelessness he feels in spending the rest of his life here is a heavy burden to bear. But on the other hand, I feel sorry for him because he's chosen to respond to his toughest hardship in such a way that it has already stolen his life from him. He has surrendered his power to the hardship. 

Another man I know, I'll call him "Rob," is also serving a life sentence in prison. He's been in prison longer than Steve, over forty years. But Rob has chosen to face his hardship differently. He quietly maintains a few healthy relationships with people outside of prison, takes care of his health while in prison, raises a Leader Dog puppy for the blind, and is generally kind to others around him. Rob's burden is not much different than Steve's, but his chosen response has cultivated a positive mindset, and his life is better for it. 

Each of us, like these men, have the power to choose our responses to hardship. We don't always respond well, but here are a few suggestions that have helped me respond to hardship so that I am made better by it:

1. Start with faith--it helps if you truly believe that God has a plan for your life, even if you've "messed up" that plan with your choices. Cultivating faith in your life also feeds hope for a better tomorrow. Prayer helps too.

2. Be careful who you listen to--misery loves company, so if you want to avoid being miserable, stay away from miserable people. Listen to faith-filled, hopeful people who will encourage your desire to make the best out of difficult circumstances. 

3. Remember that others are broken too--it's easy to expect better of others around us, but they have their own hardships too. A kind response to a miserable person costs you little or nothing, but it can make the difference in the rest of your day (and possible theirs too!).

4. Look for potential in every hardship--some hardships are nearly impossible to see any good in, but your response to those hardships makes all the difference. Think of people like Malala Yousafzai, the young Afghan girl who was shot in the face and who turned tragedy into triumph. Not only has she been an inspiration to thousands of people through her tragedy, but her life has incredible meaning now. 

I'll be the first to admit that I don't get this right all the time. Sometimes I find myself discouraged with my circumstances. Sometimes the hardships get the best of me. But I have hope for a better future, and achieving that hope starts right now. It means living that hope today, even in the midst of tough times.

Holidays in Prison Missing the Gift of Presence

A friend of mine outside of prison asked me how I feel about the holidays since coming to prison. It's a good question, and one that I've addressed before on this blog. The fact is that the holidays are very difficult for many prisoners. It is a time of year where many of us are especially reminded of all we are missing out on, and of the families we have disappointed and left without us. That makes some prisoners real scrooges who get mad if you wish them a Happy Thanksgiving, or a Merry Christmas. And don't wish them a Happy New Year, or you might just hear, "What's so happy about it?!"

During the holidays, the regular schedule of movement and activities in prison is interrupted, too. Sometimes the interruptions are because of special activities, like holiday games that are designed to help people take their minds off of their deep disappointment. But the very disruption of their schedule upsets some prisoners, who just want to work off their frustration in the weight pit, or run off a little steam. Another frustration of the holidays is that although it is a time where prisoners have even more time to watch television, the networks are dominated with Christmas themed shows and movies. For many prisoners, including me, these shows and movies only worsen the holiday blues. Normally, I'd love holiday movies, but they often remind me too much of my children whom I haven't seen in a decade, or of the love I used to share with their mother. It can be quite lonely and depressing. 

I imagine that the holidays are sometimes just as difficult for the loved ones we left behind. For some families, the absence of their father, brother, son, or husband is a real damper on the Christmas spirit. Whether it is good memories shared in years past that cause a depressing nostalgia, or the pain of knowing the memories are all you have left to share, the families of prisoners also struggle during the holidays. I remember buying Christmas gifts for children of prisoners through the "Angel Tree" ministry at our church. It was rewarding to help those children have a better holiday when they had a loved one locked up. But presents pale in comparison to the gift of presence. 

Yes, the holidays are hard, for prisoners and their loved ones. The separation from those you love is the hardest part. But I'm grateful for those who have faithfully sent me Christmas cards and letters over the years, who have given me a word of cheer and shared the joys in their lives with me. I'm also grateful for my mother who has faithfully visited me in prison, especially during the holidays. If nothing else, experiencing the holidays in prison has reminded me of what is the most important part of the holiday, and that is being surrounded by those you love. 

May you, my readers, have a joyous Christmas, and may you remember that the gift of your presence is the best give you can give the ones you love.

Radical Reconcilation through a Radical Approach to Justice

Sometimes I wonder how practical restorative justice is to apply to the area of criminal justice. After all, most of the people I know who advocate for restorative justice have committed crimes. Of course, many of these people long for healing for their victims (which is a great thing), but when it comes to talking about forgiveness and restoration for offenders, it can seem a bit self-serving.

My deepest desire is that those I harmed would be healed. I'll be the first to admit, however, that I, too, long for forgiveness and restoration. I long to restore the relationships that were broken by my crime. I also long to be restored to wholeness by my community when I'm done serving my time in prison for my crime. Nevertheless, the reality is that our current system of "justice" doesn't allow offenders to return to wholeness. We might release offenders back to communities, but employment, housing, and other discriminations still exist for those who have earned the title of "Felon." Is this justice? Must those who have served their prison sentence bear the scarlet letter "F" for the rest of their lives?

Fortunately, many people who have never been convicted of a crime also believe that our current system of "justice" is broken and needs fixing. These advocates believe that not only do victims of crime need more attention for healing, but that wholeness cannot be achieved if the brokenness of offenders and communities is not also healed. These are the advocates for a restorative approach to justice.
On October 13, 2018, several hundred restorative justice advocates gathered at Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan and listened to several speakers at the second annual Michigan Restorative Justice Conference. This year's speakers included philosopher and Yale professor Nicholas Woltersdorff, PH.D., Dominique Gilliard (author of Rethinking Incarceration), Father Kelly of Precious Blood Reconciliation Ministries, Michigan Representative David LeGrand, Jerlin Riley (the mother of a murdered son), and Charlotte Witvliet, PH.D. (forgiveness researcher and professor at Hope College).
If you, like me, wonder how restorative justice can be put into practice, you'll want to check out the videos of this year's conference. They are available for viewing at www.calvin.edu/prison-initiative/resources. This year's conference theme was Radical Reconciliation, which I found especially reflected in "Mother" Jerlin's message of hope and forgiveness for her son's murderer (who is a good friend of mine). Her message fanned the flame of hope in my heart for radical reconciliation in my own damaged and broken relationships. Her message, and the other excellent presentations, also gave me hope for restored wholeness, both for those I've harmed and for me when I return to society again. Restorative justice *is* a radical approach to justice, but it's the only approach that seeks wholeness and healing for all parties harmed by crime--victims, offenders, and communities. 

Best-Laid Plans or Pipe Dreams?

Several months ago, a young man who had left prison from our unit on parole returned to prison again. When he went home, he had little to return to, and the allure of his drug addiction pulled him back into old patters again. Soon, he found himself homeless and committing crimes again as he chased his high. It was hard seeing him return to prison yet again, when I know he has so much promise and potential. It seems like such a waste. At first, I didn't want to speak to him. I was angry to see that he had wasted his opportunity. But I understand the grip that addiction, especially opioid addiction, has on so many people. Despite sometimes years in prison, living drug free, many addicts are only functionally sober. They are simply existing in an abstinence loop until they have access to their drug of choice again. I decided to show some grace to this young man and do what little I can to try to help him break free from the chains of his addiction.

Not long after the first young man returned to prison, another promising young man left our unit on parole. He, too, had a history of drug addiction, but he formulated a plan for success. He knew that the same places and people would be triggers for him, so he moved to a different county, got a job, and moved his fiance and child to be with him. He had the support of mentors and church friends he'd met while he was in prison--even having an apartment provided to him so he could avoid the traps in his old life. He did well for a time, but his drug addiction pulled on him too. Last I heard, he was sitting in jail on new charges and a parole violation for his drug use.

Finally, this past weekend another young man who had left our unit on parole just nine days before was found dead of a drug overdose. Another wasted life. Another wasted opportunity. This man also had a plan in place for successfully avoiding the addiction trap. He had the love and support of his family, despite his history of drug addiction. He had a relapse prevention plan and parole plan in place, and he had goals for opening his own business and setting himself up for a drug-free life of success. Instead, he fell right back into the old addiction, yet again, and gave up his dreams and his very life for a temporary high. 

Not all drug and alcohol addicts end up like these three young men did. Some successfully kick their habits and reform their lives. I wish I knew the key to their success, but it's different with each addict. It might be easy to judge these men for their failures--I find myself judging them at times. But the sad reality is that addiction is very complex, and non-addicts cannot understand the stranglehold that addictive substances (especially) and behaviors have on their victims. 

Nevertheless, as a prisoner who watches these men leave prison and fail, it makes me angry because so many other men, myself included, long to leave these razor wire confines, yet we can't. Some of us have years left inside, while others will never leave. When we see others have the opportunity to leave and see them blow those opportunities, it is angering and disheartening. It's also sobering to realize that regardless of the plans prisoners might make for success, the reality of reentry and reintegration is so much harder than many prisoners might think. Dreams can only take one so far.

Reframing Our Stories through the Narratives of Others

One of the most important tenets of restorative justice is the commitment to deal only with the truth. This principle might seem obvious, but truth doesn't always look the same to each party. Facts don't change, but our experiences of those facts is subjective. How we remember facts is shaped by our past experiences and by our interpretation of events. Sometimes our interpretations are colored by our past experiences, but other times other motivations change the way we remember things. For example, some prisoners may remember their crimes differently than their victims do simply because of a motivation of self-preservation. Shame sometimes also plays a role, as does fear, in how we remember things. Memory researchers call our retrieval of memories a "constructive process" precisely because we are creating a story, a narrative if you will, with how we remember events. As our lives change, sometimes our narratives change too when we begin to frame our past experiences through our more current understanding. The problem is that when two people, a victim and an offender for example, remember the same event differently, they tell different stories.

When victims and offenders tell different stories of the same event, it impedes the process of healing. Differing narratives stoke feelings of resentment and unforgiveness because it feels like someone is not telling the truth. In fact, it is entirely possible that one or the other person, perhaps motivated by fear or self-preservation, might not be telling the truth. Other cases may simply be a matter of differing subjective experiences. This is one reason why listening to the narratives of others is so critical for healing to take place. Victim-offender dialogues are designed with precisely this function in mind. When we hear the narratives of another, it often broadens our understanding. When offenders hear from a victim specific details of the harm he or she experienced, the offender gains empathy for the impact of his crime. When a victim hears the story of an offender's life, he or she may gain an appreciation for the offender as a person in need of healing too. 

In his book, Emotional Intelligence, author Daniel Goleman relates a key therapy used by some convicted criminals to develop empathy, often missing in criminal minds, for their victims. Goleman claims that when an offender tells his story from his victim's perspective, it often results in a lasting change in the offender. The reason this therapy is effective is because it forces the offender to step outside of his own subjective experience and to relate his story from the perspective of the person he has harmed. Psychologists call this "exemplary memory." Exemplary memory forces us to step outside of our world, where we seek our own good, and drops us into the world of the other. When we remember events from another's perspective, we begin to see how the event affected the other. We begin to understand the harm they experienced and to desire good for them in the future. 

My own experience speaks to how important it is to deal only with the truth. When I came to prison, I accepted responsibility for my crime, but how I framed my story, to myself and others, involved details that reduced my own responsibility. After reading Goleman's book, I began to remember my crime differently. I had thought about my victim's perspective in the past, but I'd never made a conscious choice to tell my story from my victim's point of view. When I began to do this, it changed a lot for me. At first, it opened up a fresh wave of grief and pain. Bu soon it began a process of healing in me and prompted me to have a fresh hope for my victim's healing. Now that I am committed to dealing only with the truth, I am also free to work toward healing for my victim and others, unimpeded by the burden of differing narratives. I understand now that differing narratives are sometimes simply different experiences of the same facts--and each narrative has value in the journey of healing.

A Story of Extraordinary Strength and Grace

Practicing restorative justice is hard. When someone hurts us or harms us in any way, the natural human response is anger, and often revenge. It doesn't surprise me to hear parents who have just lost a child to murder say to the offender, "I will never forgive you. I hope you rot in hell!" I would probably feel the same way if someone harmed one of my children or someone else I love. No serious proponent of restorative justice practices believes that those who have suffered harm should be able to easily "get over" their hurt and freely offer full forgiveness. That's unreasonable. Nevertheless, restorative-minded people do hope for and work towards restoring relationships that have been damaged or sometimes outright destroyed by crime. And it's excruciatingly difficult and painful work.

Recently, two friends of mine who were sentenced to life sentences as juvenile offenders were re sentenced after the U.S. Supreme Court outlawed mandatory life sentences for juvenile offenders. Although they were both re sentenced to life terms again by judges who ignored the instructions of the Supreme Court, one story in particular struck me with a powerful message of hope. 

One friend, I'll call him Joe (not his real name), was sentenced to life in prison at the age of 16 for a heinous murder of a stranger. At his sentencing, nearly 23 years ago now, the mother of the murdered man told Joe that neither she nor her family would ever forgive him. It was her desire that he would serve the rest of his life in prison--a sentence that was mandatory at the time. After the Supreme Court ruling, Joe had hope for a life again outside of prison. Nevertheless, facing a re sentencing meant re-airing all of the gritty details of his crime, and watching his victim's family suffer all over again. This prospect caused Joe much grief as he anticipated his pending re sentencing. He hoped for a future outside of prison, but he dreaded harming his victim's family yet again. 

When the judge failed to re sentence him to a term of years, Joe was understandably frustrated and angry. Yet, he later found out that his victim's mother had approached his own mother in court, hugged her, and told her that she and her family would not oppose whatever the court decided. This was a complete turn-around from the mother's expressed emotions at Joe's original sentencing. It also revealed a heart that had begun to heal and that was possibly ready for Joe's heart-felt apology and desire to make things right. This example of organic restorative justice in action infused Joe with more hope than he had felt in 23 years, not so much the hope of release from the physical bounds of prison, but from the prison of shame and grief he's felt for his heinous crime. It also gave him hope that his victim's family will find healing and not live forever with the added burden of hatred on top of their burden of a lost son. Additionally, this woman's hug and openness was also tremendously healing for Joe's mother who lives with her own pain.

I can't imagine the strength it must have taken that woman to hug the mother of her son's murderer. What an extraordinary display of strength and grace! It remains unclear if Joe's situation will eventually involve any formal restorative justice practices, but this mother's strength and grace and Joe's new found hope for his victim's family to experience healing is a wonderful, healing testimony. It gives me hope to hear these stories of healing and restoration, and hope for a future where justice begins with a focus on restoring victims, offenders, and communities to wholeness.

Where Does Justice Begin?

What is justice? This is a difficult, perhaps impossible, question for which there is no satisfying answer For thousands of years, philosophers and theologians (and others) have been trying to define what justice is. Ancient Mesopotamian laws attempted to define justice by lex talionis, otherwise known as "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth." This retributive approach to justice certainly provides some deterrent for would-be offenders, but it also leaves no possibility of healing; rather, it encourages revenge and leaves communities of blinded and toothless citizens. A Greek philosopher famously said that justice is "the interest of the stronger," meaning that whoever is in power defines justice in a way that benefits them. We can see where this might have its flaws. Aristotle, another Greek philosopher, defined justice as "the formalized conditions of cooperation, so that as cooperation increases both justice and fellow-feeling increase in proportion." This definition hints at a modern definition of justice as "making things right," but modernity leaves off the importance of relationship. I haven't found an adequate definition of justice, perhaps because of its complexity and the fact that justice often looks different for different people and situations. Nevertheless, I am in prison for committing a crime, so I am compelled to think of justice, both for myself and other prisoners and for the victims whom we harmed by our crimes. Naturally, many prisoners do not feel that their sentences (or convictions) were just. For some, this is because of real injustices and unequal treatment that runs rampant in today's criminal justice system; for others, only a reversal of their convictions and clearing their name would be justice. For some victims of crime, nothing short of the offender's death would serve as true justice. Others would be content with a literal eye-for-an-eye, tit-for-tat equivalent of the crime committed against them being carried out against the offender. Still others find their sense of justice satisfied by the offender's simple acknowledgment of the wrong committed and pledge to right that wrong. The important thing to note is that one's definition of justice is highly personal and often narrowly focused to one's own circumstances--both for victims and offenders. To me, vital justice is restorative and relational. This justice allows for forgiveness, reconciliation, and restoration. That means practicing this kind of justice in my own relationships. When someone offends me or harms me, it means refusing to succumb to the temptation to "punish" them with my silence, disdain, or vengeance; instead, it means seeking harmony and healing in all my relationships when it is possible. This is what I hope for others to give to me, so it has become what I strive to give. Because I believe that justice begins with making things right, it also means that more and more I seek to maintain a proper focus on justice for those I've harmed. I can't change the prison sentence I've been given, but I don't believe a prison sentence sets things right anyway. Instead, I believe it is my responsibility to do what is within my power to right my wrongs. It also means being a defender of the defenseless and an advocate for healing. For me, that's where justice begins.

For These I Toll the Bell

November 1st was All Saints Day, and for the first time since I've been in prison our Protestant service celebrated the holiday. During the service, a time was set aside for congregants to come forward and name the cherished loved ones who have died. An inmate tolled a bell for each loved one remembered. It was somber in some respects, but it also allowed prisoners to publicly remember and acknowledge those whom they have lost, something unusual in the prison environment.

Most prisoners grieve, silent and alone, when someone they loved dies. Since I have been in prison, I have lost two sisters-in-law, a father-in-law, a mother-in-law, a great-aunt, and two grandfathers. Others who I considered friends have also died. Most of these deaths I grieved silently because I was not surrounded by a supportive community who could share my grief. Instead, I grieved alone. 

The sad reality is that many prisoners lose loved ones while locked away, leaving them unable to participate in communal grieving. But death is not the only way prisoners lose loved ones. While I've lost at least seven beloved people to death in nearly ten years, I have lost relationship with many more friends and family alike. Some have chosen to cut me out of their lives because of my crime, some for other reasons (I am left to guess), but all have been a grievous loss to me. Again, I have been left to grieve these losses alone. 

Some people might blame God when death claims someone they love, but for many of the relationships I've lost with people I love, I have had nobody to blame but myself. It's true, I may have lost some of these relationships even if I had not committed a crime--some I never even really had to begin with. Yet, I still can't help but blame myself for these losses too. No matter what I do to change my life and try to make right the wrongs I've done, some of these relationships will probably never be healed. For those relationships, with much grief I toll the bell.

For others, I hold out hope for reconciliation, for restored relationship, for a fresh start. For some of these relationships, I refuse to toll the bell until no earthly possibility exists for reconciliation. Some people might think it's delusional to believe that these relationships can be repaired. Sometimes I'm tempted to think the same. But I believe that God is able to do abundantly above all that we can ask or think, and therein lies my hope. 

To those whom I have lost to death, too soon, some still estranged, let me say with the poet John Donne, "Never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

Should We Seek Healing or Closure?

When someone has been victimized by crime, we often hear people talk about how important a trial and conviction is to provide closure for the victim, or the victim's family if the victim died. This trite word, closure, treats what has happened to the victim as nothing more than a chapter in a book, something isolated that can be moved on from with the simple turn of a page. As in the relationship of a chapter in a book to the book's story, well-meaning people do not mean to imply that the story of harm that the victim experienced is unrelated to the victim's life story; yet, too often we expect victims (or their families) to simply find closure and move on with their lives. 

Closure has a sense of finality to it, as if that chapter is never to be reopened, never to be referenced again as an essential part of the broader story. But that is rarely the case. Crime causes deep and lasting scars on the lives who suffer from it. It is neither isolated in its reach nor final in its conclusion at the conviction of the person who caused the harm. Victims often want to know answers to questions like, "why did the offender target me?", "is the offender sorry for his or her behavior?", "what is the offender doing, besides prison time, to change so nobody else is harmed by him or her again?", and "what is the offender doing, either concretely or symbolically, to repair his or her wrongs?" These and many other questions are often left unanswered by the traditional criminal justice system. In other words, a conviction simply cannot provide closure for victims of crime. Instead, it often feels like an unsatisfactory finality to an adversarial process of "justice."

Restorative justice practices do not discount the necessity of holding an offender judicially responsible for his or her crime, but it also seeks to provide more than closure for the victims of crime. Restorative justice seeks to provide healing by recognizing that crime is first and foremost a violation of relationships and that those violations need healing, not simple closure. Victims deserve to have their questions answered, to participate in defining the obligations the offender has because of his or her crime, and to communicate the outcomes that would help to heal the harms they experienced. 

Crime causes harms, and those harms often result in life-long scars for the victim, the offender, and the communities of support for both the victim and offender. Focusing on healing the harms of crime does not mean that the scars of the harm are removed, but it seeks to repair the harms caused, as much as possible, through giving the victim a voice in the process and empowering him or her to help define what would best lead to healing. Until we begin to embrace a more restorative approach to crime, we will simply be asking victims to find closure, not true healing. 

Definition of "Juvenile" Gets a New Look by the Courts

Who hasn't done something stupid as a child, only to regret it later? I think it's pretty safe to say that nearly everyone has at least one story of a regretful decision born of the immaturity of youth. It's why laws prevent children from voting until they are eighteen, or buying alcohol until they are twenty-one, or renting a car until they are twenty-five. Scientific evidence has proven, over the last several decades, that the adolescent brain is still developing, especially in areas of cognitive reasoning and decision making, until around the age of twenty-five. This scientific evidence is one reason that in 2012 the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that mandatory life sentences for juveniles is unconstitutional (Miller v. Alabama, 132 S. Ct. 2455). 

Miller is the ruling that Michigan's Attorney General and gubernatorial candidate Bill Schuette has ruthlessly fought to avoid applying to Michigan, despite Michigan's clear violation of this retroactive Supreme Court ruling. Even though scientific evidence clearly supports that juveniles are not capable of reasoning out the implications of their criminal thinking like adults can, Schuette wants to keep Michigan's juvenile lifers in prison for life. To date, only about one-third of Michigan's juvenile lifers have been re sentenced. The rest are being dragged through the courts in endless appeals by the State of Michigan who refuses to abide by the Supreme Court's ruling and by developing legal understanding of juvenile brain development. 

Recent court cases have indicated a further development in the application of current understanding of juvenile culpability. If adolescent brains are not fully formed, meaning impaired reasoning and decision making capabilities, until around age twenty-five, why is "juvenile" defined by "under eighteen"? A recent federal appeals court ruling (In re Lambert, 6th Circuit) has opened the door for the possibility of expanding the definition of "juvenile" to include eighteen year olds. While no definitive judgment has yet been made, the Michigan courts are now even considering cases that would expand the application of Miller to eighteen year olds in light of Lambert.
Eventually, perhaps the courts will recognize that even eighteen to twenty-five year olds have diminished reasoning capabilities. This does not mean that they should not be held accountable for their actions--they should. It simply means that as the courts consider other mitigating factors when fashioning appropriate sentences, they will also be required to consider the mitigating factor that children do not have the same reasoning capacity as adults--and that should factor into the determination of how long they should be incarcerated for their crimes.

Shameful Use of Victims for Political Advantage

The recent media circus surrounding Judge Brett Kavanaugh's confirmation to the U.S. Supreme Court highlights two very concerning issues. The first issue involves politicians' use of people's pain for political advantage, and the second involves protecting the Constitutional right to the presumption of innocence.

It is no secret that most politicians will use whatever is politically expedient to get elected, but their use of other people's pain as a point of rhetorical strategy bothers me greatly. During the last election cycle, Michigan politicians used the Flint water crisis to strengthen their image. I heard rhetorical blather such as, "I acted quickly and decisively, and she didn't," or worse yet personal attacks like, "This candidate doesn't care about poisonous water killing our children." Now, the politicians are at it again. This time the victims of Larry Nassar's sexual abuse are being used as pawns in the nasty scramble for political position. Bill Schuette shamelessly parades his prosecution of Nassar as evidence of his nobility--as if that wasn't actually the job he was paid to do. Yet, he conveniently ignores the fact that for years the state and its agents (including Schutte) completely ignored the victims who complained of Nassar's abuse. Lest we forget, Michigan State is a state-funded university, and as an agent of the state, that makes Schutte a part of the problem, not a part of the solution.

Now, in a desperate attempt to stop the confirmation of Judge Kavanaugh to the U.S. Supreme Court, politicians on one side of the aisle paraded Dr. Blasey-Ford in a shameful circus of political maneuvering. Rather than caring about Ford, the politicians simply used her to their advantage, even stirring up the raw pain of the millions of #MeToo women to leverage public support. Lest I sound unfair, the other side of the aisle was no better. Allegations of sexual assault are serious, and claims ought to be taken seriously if they are reasonably credible. A short delay for a proper investigation should not have had to be forced by the party's own side.

Connected to the political use of people's pain is the deeply concerning erosion of the Constitutional guarantee of due process. It used to be that people were innocent until proven guilty. But our country's shameful history of ignoring sexual assault, sexual harassment, and abuse claims has led to a climate where an accusation is enough to convict someone. Even when accused abusers are found to be innocent, their lives are often ruined and a cloud of suspicion hovers over them for the rest of their lives. With deep insight into human nature, this country's founders ensured the Constitution protected citizens from arbitrary punishment without first being found guilty of a charge. But the founders couldn't have anticipated how cruel the media (and social media) could be, leading those falsely accused to lose their reputation and security.

If politicians really care about the pain crime victims experience, they would not use that pain for political advantage. Rather, they would protect victims' rights and privacy and empower victims to participate in the criminal justice process. They would also ensure that victims are not replaced by the government as the offended party. Furthermore, if politicians care about victims, they would preserve the Constitutional guarantee of equal protection, including for those accused of crimes who have not been proven guilty. 

A Father's day Hope Becomes a Birthday Promise

On June 24, 2001 I received my very first Father's Day card. I wasn't yet a father, but I was engaged to marry someone who had two children, so I was soon going to be a father. I remember crying (yes, I am man enough to admit I cried) when I received that card. I had dreamt of being a father, but I had never dreamt I would be a father to two children who had lost theirs. It was a big responsibility, and frankly one I was a bit terrified of. I had spent some time questioning my ability to fill that role and wondering if these children would love me and accept me as "dad." That Father's Day card obliterated at least the latter worries. It was a monument of acceptance, a symbol of trust, and one of the most loving things I have ever received. That Father's Day card moved me from filling the role of "dad" to embracing the reality of fatherhood with all of its joys and struggles.

From that day forward I was never "step-dad," but father, daddy, dad. I never thought of these children as my step-kids, but as my own flesh and blood. I didn't replace their father who had passed away, but rather I stepped into the physical place that death left empty. History will testify that I didn't get it all right. I made a lot of mistakes, but I never regretted becoming their dad. 

Today, the oldest of those two children celebrates her birthday, and I wish I could give her the same joy I felt with my very first Father's Day card. I've missed the last ten years of her life, failing miserably to live up to the hopes she had the day she and her sister gave me that beautiful card. God doesn't give us the freedom of do-overs, or I would gratefully go back to that June day in 2001 and begin afresh. I would recognize then, not just the joys that fatherhood brings, but I'd also recognize the duty and responsibility it brought and the humility and commitment it would require. It might still leave me terrified, but it'd also leave me humbled with the realization that I was being entrusted with the delicate love a child has for her father. Alongside the pride I felt that day would have been a deep humility, the humility that is required to be a good dad. 

I can't go back and change the past though. God doesn't give us do-overs. But the beauty of life is that no matter how shameful or messy the chapters are in the story of our pasts, the pages of our futures are blank, just waiting for the ink of action to write new chapters. I'm already writing new chapters, trying to change the story of my life from tragedy to triumph. These chapters are missing characters, but weaved through every page is a promise and intention to live up to the hope printed in crayon by the hand of two small children. Yes, I already failed to live up to that hope--I can't go back and be the father I should have been; however, I can go forward and be the man my children deserved, one who may someday yet experience the grace (and joy!) of again being called dad. 

Happy Birthday, my daughter.

Governor Snyder Signs Objective Parole Bill

On September 12, 2018 Michigan's Governor Snyder signed into law Public Act No. 339, otherwise known as the "Objective Parole Bill." This bill changes the way the parole board considers prisoners for parole, outlining eleven objective standards whereby the parole board may deny a prisoner his or her parole. In Michigan, most prisoners are given a sentence range consisting of an Earliest Release Date (ERD) and a Maximum Sentence. The ERD is the first date a prisoner is eligible for parole. If the prisoner is denied parole at this date, his or her sentence continues until the maximum sentence with parole reconsideration every year or two, depending on the prisoner's sentence. In the past, the parole board could deny a prisoner parole who has otherwise been categorized with a high probability of receiving parole. They could do this without giving any reason for the denial. This practice has been fairly common, leading the average Michigan prisoner to serve 120% of his or her minimum sentence. House Bill 5377 (signed as P.A. 339) limits the parole board's authority to arbitrarily deny a prisoner parole, but a prisoner's offense, institutional record, required program participation, prior criminal record, and other "relevant factors" still serve as a guide in determining the level of probability for a prisoner to receive parole. Now, if the parole board wishes to deny a prisoner when the prisoner scores with a high probability, the board must only use one (or more) of the following eleven objective reasons (paraphrased): 1. The prisoner continues to behave in ways that will put the public at risk 2. The prisoner refuses to participate in required programming 3. There is verified evidence of substantial harm to a victim that was not considered in sentencing 4. The prisoner has threatened to harm another person if released 5. There is objective post-sentencing conduct that indicates the prisoner would be a high risk to the community 6. The prisoner is a suspect in an unsolved crime actively being investigated 7. The prisoner has pending felony charges 8. The prisoner has not completed required programming and the programming is not available in his or her community 9. Releasing the prisoner is otherwise barred by law 10. The prisoner fails to provide an adequate parole plan 11. The prisoner has received a psychological evaluation in the previous three years indicating that he or she would be a high risk to public safety While some of these objective reasons are subject to interpretation (i.e.,what is an "adequate" parole plan?), the existence of a list of objective reasons why the parole board can deny prisoner parole is heartening. Unfortunately, the legislature limited these new standards only to prisoners sentenced after September 12, 2018. Nevertheless, nothing prohibits the parole board from being guided by these standards for all prisoners. Either way, this bill is a great move in the right direction for Michigan.

Michigan's New Eyeglasses Policy Bullies Out the Competition

Several decades ago, the Michigan Department of Corrections (MDOC) significantly reduced the use of prisoner labor in factory industry due, at least in part, to manufacturers' dissatisfaction with the MDOC's unfair advantage through the use of what amounted to slave labor. Industries who would normally supply goods to the state had no ability to compete against an industry that used labor with wages lower than sweatshop factories in China. Many prisoners speculate that Michigan's decision to discontinue its industrial factories that made goods for use by the state was actually motivated by the then-governor's ownership (or his family's ownership) in several competing industries. Whether or not this was a motivating factor in changing the state's policy of using prisoner slave labor in industrial manufacturing is unclear. What is clear is that the state of Michigan has since adopted a policy of state-sponsored monopolies and oligopolies. Oligopolies exist when the number of sellers or producers is limited (usually by the government) to a population of buyers. Justified by "security reasons," in the last several decades Michigan has limited its prisoners to using a single source for purchasing store goods (currently Keefe), telephone services (currently Global TelLink), and email and music services (currently JPay). It has also limited prisoners' access to only a few catalog vendors (currently Access/Keefe, Union Supply, and J L Markus) for personal electronics and select clothing. Michigan prisoners used to be able to order personal footlockers, personal coats, and shorts from private vendors, but now prisoners must purchase these only from Michigan State Industries (MSI)--a state-owned manufacturer using prisoner labor at sweatshop wages. Recently, the MDOC issued a new policy restricting prisoner access to eyeglasses, requiring prisoners to now purchase their eyeglasses only from MSI or Prism Optical, a company connected to prison industries. It makes no logical sense to restrict prisoners from purchasing eyeglasses from reputable public vendors. It is unclear what the MDOC's motivation is for this new state-sponsored oligopoly, other than increasing its own revenues through the use of prisoner labor. Clearly, incarcerating its citizens is big business for the state of Michigan. It provides many jobs for corrections officers and administrative staff, while consuming more than $2 billion of the state's budget. It is difficult to ask the state to break its dependence on the prison industrial complex, but is it moral for the state to maintain its legislative and judicial policies of lengthy sentences (currently more than 1/3 higher than surrounding Midwestern states) simply to continue its archaic and unfair practices? True prison reform includes legislative changes to excessively long prison sentences, policy changes to increase rehabilitative and constructive programming, and policy changes that don't abuse power, such as the establishment and perpetuation of monopolies and oligopolies. These senseless policies frustrate the prison population; it ought to also anger the public that the state would limit prisoner access to open markets so only the state and its partners profit.

Will Corrections Officers Ever Support Rehabilitating Prisoners?

I can't imagine it must be easy being a corrections officer. I mean, the job itself looks pretty easy most of the time--lots of sitting around, making regular rounds, writing tickets from time to time--really glorified babysitting. But other aspects of their job can be difficult--stopping violence, avoiding constant attempts at manipulation, verbal harassment--though for many officers in Michigan the actual danger from violence is pretty low, but it is still a constant possibility. That anticipation must be stressful. Of course, being a corrections officer is not exactly a dream job. No officer that I know of dreamt of being a prison guard when they grew up. Police officer? Yes. Corrections officer? No. For some corrections officers, getting this job was after another dream failed, dreams of being a cop or some other goal that didn't work out. For others, it was an easy second career, especially for former military personnel. The pay and benefits are decent--certainly not what they used to be--but it's a fairly secure job. That is, until you start talking about prison and sentencing reform, and restorative justice practices. At one time, Michigan housed over 52,000 prisoners in state prisons, but now the number is below 40,000. That's a good trend, but not if your job is on the line. Perhaps that is why some officers, not all, oppose rehabilitative programming, like college education and vocational training. It might also have to do with some officers still having to pay off their own college loans while watching some prisoners receive a free college education. Sure, the Calvin Prison Initiative is funded by private donations and Pell grants are federal dollars, but still it feels like prisoners receiving a free college education on the backs of taxpayers. I get it. It must also feel like a waste of effort and money, educating prisoners, when corrections officers see a revolving door of returning prisoners. I imagine that must leave many officers feeling highly skeptical of any claims that education reforms people. They've seen it all--prisoners claiming they've been rehabilitated, only to come back again a few months later. They've also seen people leave prison on non-violent cases, only to return having committed a murder or other violent crime. It's got to wear on one's belief in humanity's redemptive value. It's got to stymie one's hope for restored people becoming contributing citizens. Shoot, I'd not want to live next door to some of the people I see leaving prison, and I'm a very optimistic person. Let me make one thing clear: I believe that people who commit crimes are solely responsible for the choices they make. I don't think society drove them to it, or anyone else bears the guilt for a person's decision to be a criminal. Nevertheless, I do believe that society does bear the responsibility to help cure the conditions that lead many people to choose crime. It makes no sense to return people who have committed crimes back to their communities worse off than when the criminal justice system removed them from those communities. Yes, it hurts to spend tax dollars on people who have already harmed their communities, but it hurts more to continue to spend that money for the rest of those people's lives as they return to prison again and again. Frankly, I think being a corrections officer is a thankless job, and I don't know why anyone would choose that job, but I do know some corrections officers who have good hearts and believe in the redemptive value of those of us who probably don't deserve any grace. It might be unpopular (in prison) for me to admit that, but I imagine it's also unpopular for people (including officers) to admit that some prisoners are good people who have made terrible choices. Yet, I know that is the case. If I believe prisoners can be reformed (I do), then I can also believe that cynical officers can change the way they see us prisoners. I can't change their minds alone, but I'll do my part to live with integrity so that they'll see at least one example of a changed life.

How to Be Part of the Thirty-Three

National studies have shown that the average recidivism rates (re-offense rates) for citizens returning from prison is sixty-seven percent.That's an alarmingly high number and clear evidence that the industrial prison complex's methods of rehabilitation do not work. If prison is meant as a deterrent to crime, it's not working for the majority of returning citizens. Instead, prisoners are released into the same or worse conditions that they lived in before prison, often having had criminal mindsets reinforced by years in prison surrounded by other criminally-minded people. Rather than deterring crime, prison has become simply a warehouse to temporarily separate problem citizens from the rest of society. Nevertheless, hidden in this atrocious statistic of recidivism is a sprinkling of hope, for thirty-three percent of returning citizens successfully stay out of prison.

So, what separates the sixty-seven from the thirty-three percent, and what does it take to be part of this successful thirty-three? While no one thing can guarantee a returning citizen's membership in the thirty-three, as it turns out, several factors increase one's likelihood of success upon release from prison, including:

1. Strong family and community support.
Some people enter prison with little to no family or community support. Others lose much of their support while in prison. Policies and practices used by the prison industrial complex, including burdensome phone rates and excessively restrictive mail and visiting policies, have made it difficult for prisoners to maintain healthy family and community relationships. Nevertheless, prisoners who make it a priority to keep healthy relationships with others on the outside are often the most successful upon release.

2. Education and moral formation.
Prisoners who commit to reforming their thinking and behaviors are often the least likely to return to prison. These prisoners recognize the importance of education in broadening their thinking, and the necessity of reforming their moral compass so it is pro-social.

3. A serious commitment to sobriety.
So many prisoners have life-long struggles with addiction. Taking a couple of classes in prison, or even resolving to quit an addiction rarely works. What does work for some is addressing the underlying trauma that often leads to addiction, establishing and maintaining a strong sponsor relationship, and doing the difficult work of honest self-assessment required for a relapse prevention plan.

4. A change in location.
Too many prisoners return to the same communities, with the same difficulties and unhealthy relationships they had before prison. The Department of Correction's policies that make it difficult to parole to a different county only reinforce the likelihood of re-offense for many prisoners. To parole to a different county, prisoners must have a job and housing already established in another county. This is often difficult for many prisoners who have no healthy community connections.

5. A job.
For many prisoners, having a job upon release is essential for success. Many returning citizens find it difficult to transition back into society, and most have very little to return to. The stability and financial security of a job makes it easier to say "no" to the many temptations many prisoners face to chase "easy money." Successfully landing and keeping a job reinforces to many returning citizens their worth to themselves, their families, and their communities.

If states want to significantly reduce their recidivism rates and lower their prison populations, they must develop policies and programs that increase the likelihood that each prisoner will experience the above factors. Additionally, states (and the federal government) must begin to seriously address the systemic issues that often lead to crime, including inter-generational poverty and incarceration, rampant addiction, deficient housing, failing public schools, and glorification of immorality and violence, among others. While a person's choice to commit a crime is his or her own responsibility, if we as a nation are serious about reducing our dependency on incarceration and healing the causes of crime before crimes are committed, we must change our approach. As Albert Einstein once famously said, "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." A club of only thirty-three percent is far too low a number--it's time for a change. 

Twenty-Two Candles--And Just One Wish

The first time I met my second oldest daughter, she was four years old, and I was dating her mother. She shyly stepped out the apartment door behind her older sister, wet fingers in her mouth, unsure of exactly who I was. When she saw her sister excitedly running towards me, she followed close behind. Soon, my legs were wrapped in tiny arms belonging to two girls I didn't yet know, but who would later become my daughters. As the youngest of the two, my second daughter naturally lingered in her sister's shadow, but her quiet, shy demeanor didn't stop her sweet and loving personality from shining through that shadow. After I became her dad, the next seven years were filled with her infectious giggling and evidence of her gentle nature. My second daughter was twelve years old when I came to prison. Today is my daughter's twenty-second birthday. It's unfair that she has had to grow through her teen years without the father she counted on providing for and protecting her. It's unfair that the man whom she first wrapped those little arms around was not there to hold her hand through tough moments, and to guide her through the years of teenage angst. It's also unfair that now, as she forges a path through adulthood that I am not there to guide her, praising her good choices and encouraging her toward better ones when she needs it. It's not fair to my daughter that I didn't think about how my crime would affect her when I made my stupid choices. She deserved better. My daughter is not in my life, and I don't know if she will ever choose to be, but that has not stopped me from thinking about her as she's grown up and praying for her every day. It pains me to know that I've missed building more memories with my daughters over the last nine plus years, but I have held onto the precious memories of years gone by. I have rested in the comfort of those memories, knowing that as much as I might not deserve it now, at one time my daughter's infectious giggles were at my corny jokes, and her gentle, loving nature brought light into my life. I'm hopeful that someday I can make things right and rebuild my broken relationship with my children. I don't deserve it, but I'll never stop praying for that opportunity. It would be the greatest gift of grace I could hope for. Today, for your birthday, I pray that you, my daughter, will have the gifts of peace, courage, joy, and hope.

Michigan Prisoners Carefully Follow Michigan's Gubernatorial Race

Many of Michigan's prisoners, regardless of political affiliation, were anxiously watching to see the results of the recent primary election for who will be the parties' primary gubernatorial candidates. As the results came in, a collective groan could be felt reverberating throughout the institution. Normally, most prisoners are uninterested in politics, except to complain about politicians who fail to support prison reform, but as this primary election drew near, many prisoners began to realize that Michigan's next governor could very well alter the course of Michigan's prison reform trajectory.

Michigan's governor has the power to appoint the director of the Department of Corrections, so a change in governorship will likely result in a change in Directorship. The current Director, Heidi Washington, has proven to be reform-minded, implementing three Vocational Villages throughout the system in an attempt to better prepare prisoners for work upon release from prison. Additionally, it was under Director Washington's leadership that the Calvin Prison Initiative was started, and she has proven an ardent supporter of not only this amazing educational program for selected prisoners, but other educational opportunities as well. 

Some of Michigan's lawmakers are pushing for prison and criminal justice reforms because of the Department of Correction's burgeoning budget, but sentencing reforms, good time proposals, and rehabilitative programs are often unpopular with the public, many of whom have bought into tough on crime messages over the last several decades. Nevertheless, the exorbitant costs associated with long prison sentences and studies that have shown the ineffectiveness, and even long-term damage, of long prison sentences are beginning to push some reluctant lawmakers to consider reforms. Social pressure and even high court decisions have also begun to shift the tide on some sentencing issues, not the least of which is whether or not juvenile defendants should be mandatorily sentenced to Life in prison. 

In 2012 the U.S. Supreme Court ruled against mandatory Life sentences for juvenile defendants, but Michigan's Attorney General, Bill Schutte, has fought hard to keep Michigan's more than 350 juvenile lifers in prison. It is precisely this hard line view that has made many prisoners nervous about the potential for a "Governor Schutte." Clearly, regardless of the politically expedient messages Schutte might make regarding criminal justice and prison reforms, his actions concerning juvenile lifers, especially, highlight the fact that he is not in favor of smart on crime policies or correcting unconstitutional abuses of power. 

Michigan's only other likely candidate for Governor, Gretchen Whitmer, has expressed support for criminal justice reforms, but has been reluctant to specify what reforms she actually supports. Whether her reluctance is due to political maneuvering or because she does not actually support any real reforms is unclear. What many prisoners fear, however, is that whichever candidate becomes our next governor, the gubernatorial support for resurrecting good time or disciplinary credits and expanding rehabilitative programming is looking unlikely. We can only hope that social pressure and federal prison reforms will both influence Michigan's next governor to take seriously the need for both sentencing reforms and the need to reduce the prison population through smart policies, like good time or disciplinary credits, that reward prisoners for positive self-directed rehabilitation.

Prison--A Petri Dish of Prejudice

A year ago this week, hatred and bigotry made its mark on history in Charlottesville, Virginia. At a white nationalist rally, Heather Heyer was in the crowd decrying the vile rhetoric of the white nationalists and was murdered for her protest of the rally. This tragic incident, and many others, highlights the fact that hatred, bigotry, and racism are still strong in our country. It is a shameful fact that in a country with a history of strong Christian influence, a country that prides itself on freedom and equality, that racist rhetoric and bigoted behavior are still so prevalent.

As a prisoner in America, it is clear to me that some of the racism and hatred has its origins in America's prisons. America's prisons are petri dishes where ethnic nationalism, racial prejudice, bigotry, and anti-authority sentiments are fostered, fed, and fomented. One needs only turn on one of the many television programs about American prisons to see neo-Nazi, black, and Latino gangs spewing their hatred and committing violent acts against people of other ethnicities.

Michigan's prisons are not as racially volatile as prisons in some states where, to survive, prisoners are often forced to join ranks with groups of their own color. In some of these states, prisoners are intentionally segregated in different pods or housing units to prevent extreme acts of violence. In other prisons the prisoners themselves police the segregation lines in housing units in order to maintain a semblance of peace. Michigan's prisons are not to that point yet, but they do have racial division and hateful rhetoric.

White and black nationalism are strong in Michigan, where nationalistic pride is taught as a cover for hatred and marginalization of other ethnic groups. Some groups disguise their prejudices under the facade of religion, like black nationalists, the Nation of Islam and the Moorish Science Temple of America, and white nationalists like the Odinists. Other racial divisiveness is spread through non-religious, racially exclusive gangs like the Aryan Nation or the Bloods.

The unfortunate reality for prison is that these groups often seek out younger, more impressionable prisoners to whom they preach their nationalistic messages, feeding the deep fear with which these prisoners enter prison. Hatred is nearly always fed by fear--fear of oppression, fear of another's power or one's own weakness, fear of what (or whom) one does not know. Because most prisoners enter prison afraid, racist messages are easy to perpetuate, leading to greater strife, more violence, and a suspicious hatred that is then generalized to all people of one or another ethnicity or color.

The sad reality is that hatred does not need an excuse to infect the fearful. It will always find a way to raise its ugly head, but when hate raises its voice to spew its repulsive rhetoric the voices of peace, the courageous warriors of harmony must drown out the hate, not with hatred for the haters but with compassion for the hated, in defense of the indefensible, and with pity for the violently fearful. We must hold public figures, including politicians, accountable for failing to publicly condemn racist rhetoric and for feeding hate. But we must also hold ourselves accountable for failing to speak up when a friend or acquaintance uses prejudiced, racist, or bigoted language, even in jest. We must also hold ourselves accountable for adding our own voice to disunity or failing to raise it for peace. As communities, as states, and as a country, we must also hold ourselves accountable for feeding the petri dish that is the prison industrial complex. It's time to rethink prison's pipeline to prejudice.

Terror in an Imagined Nightmare

This past week, a friend of mine was told he had a visitor at the prison to see him. He hadn't been expecting a visit because he knew the loved ones that normally visited him were not able to that day. Naturally, he immediately imagined the worst. After all, as wonderful as prison visits are from loved ones, visits are also when many prisoners find out really bad news from friends or family, because some news is better delivered face-to-face. Fortunately for my friend, his worst imagined scenarios weren't true--rather, his son who he hadn't seen in eleven years came for a surprise visit. Nevertheless, hearing this story reminded me that because of our separation from those we love and care about, many prisoners, including me, naturally live with an undercurrent of worry that something bad will happen and that we will be powerless to do anything about it. Even though we would likely be powerless to do anything even if we were free, we are restricted from supporting other family members, or joining in communal grieving, and even communal celebrations in the good times. That sense of powerlessness is one of the hardest parts of prison.

In my first year or two in prison, I was busy working in the prison kitchen when an officer told me I had to go back to my unit immediately. He said the unit counselor needed to see me. Since unit counselors generally wait until prisoners are in their unit to see them on routine issues, I was rather terrified about what he was about to tell me. As my friend recently had, I too imagined the worst possible scenarios. When I arrived at my unit, imagine my relief to find out that another prisoner had gotten locked in my cell while trying to rob me of my property. I was called back to the unit simply to tell the officers if anything was missing (there wasn't). Of course, this news upset me, but I was so relieved that nothing had happened to my loved ones that my anger at what had happened is barely memorable. In fact, several years later when I ran into the would-be robber's homeboy who was supposed to hold my cell door open to facilitate the robbery, I didn't even remember him. My imagined terror at what could have happened had clouded the details of what had really happened. 

Some people might call it poetic justice that prisoners experience this incessant undercurrent of worry about their loved ones. After all, the harm many prisoners caused others often lasts for years, sometimes even a lifetime. Others might be surprised to know that prisoners even care about their loved ones--after all, they didn't put much thought into how their crime would affect them. I suppose these thoughts are valid, but they fail to consider the humanity of the prisoners themselves. Even men and women who are convicted of some of the worst crimes still love others and are loved by others. Yet, for many reasons these same people have harmed someone, often even someone they love. 

A prisoner's worry about his family is a likely consequence of crime. He can do nothing about the ravages of time while he is locked away, nor can he do anything about accidents and tragedies that befall his loved ones. Still, he goes on loving, and sometimes being loved, and when you love people you sometimes worry about them, even if they aren't an active part of your life. It's simply human nature. Just because someone commits a crime doesn't make them any less human. Broken, yes, but even broken people worry about those they love--and hope and pray for peace, health, and happiness, for them, and for those whom they have harmed.

Rewarding Positive Behavior Promotes Reform in Prisoners

We have heard it from childhood: If you do the right thing, you are rewarded. If you do the wrong thing, you are punished. We are further socialized in this thinking when we earn college scholarships for good grades, lower insurance rates for good driving, and higher wages for good work, to name a few examples. We also receive failing grades when we don't study, get tickets for speeding, and lose jobs for poor performance. 

Most people appreciate positive reinforcement and try to avoid punishments. If we make poor choices, well, we pick ourselves up and work hard for the positive reinforcement again. Few people would argue against this system--reward good behavior with positive things, and deter bad behavior with negative things. 

Prison is a negative thing meant to deter bad behavior. People who end up in prison are here because we did something that the law required to be punished. Prison itself is the punishment, but ought that punishment continue within prison? Shouldn't prison be used as a place of reform by encouraging good behavior using positive reinforcement and discouraging bad behavior with punishments? Unfortunately, people who come to prison continue to be punished for their crime once they are here, and positive reinforcement is scantily used. 

Take, for example, my friend who received five days' loss of privilege (LOP) for having a single tomato on his windowsill last summer. This was a very minor infraction that required nothing more than corrective instruction, or if he refused to correct the behavior, something more; however, he received nearly the maximum allowable punishment for the least severe class of misconduct--after going ticket-free for five years. This gross disparity for a minor infraction is a classic example of corrections staff using large "sticks" for correction--it's an abuse of power. These same staff members also complain or antagonize prisoners when they receive positive reinforcement, such as being allowed to take part in college programs or vocational training, two excellent examples of positive reinforcement for prisoners who have shown they can follow the rules. 

Prison as a punishment for crime ought to be used as a deterrent. But behavior is best changed through the use of positive reinforcement. This includes positive reinforcement within prison--praise, extra privileges, and looser restrictions, for example. The strongest incentive Michigan's prisoners had to behave well was eliminated by referrendum when good time was abolished and by legislative action when disciplinary credits were done away with. 

If prison is to be more than simply punishment, if it is to be a place of rehabilitation as well, Michigan must (re)introduce more positive reinforcements for positive behavior changes. Bringing back PELL grants (even provisionally) is a good start, but Michigan can do more to reduce its corrections budget by bringing back good time and disciplinary credits. Studies have shown that longer prison terms do nothing to lower re-offense rates, and those who show positive changes in their behavior should have that transformation reinforced with reductions in prison sentences. 

Let's keep deterring crime, but let's also reinforce positive changes prisoners make to become productive, contributing members of a free society. 

For more information about a current package of bills in the Michigan House of Representatives to reinstate good time credits, contact your state representative and ask about House Bills 5665, 5666, and 5667. You may also search these bills at www.legislature.mi.gov

Oh, What a Tangled Web We Weave!

Perhaps you have heard the colloquialism, "Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when at first we practice to deceive." It may be a pithy saying, but it has teeth in prison.. Some prison relationships are built on deception, and it is these deceptive and harmful relationships that cause many prisoners to fear running into someone later in their prison "bit." You should not be surprised to hear that, often, many prisoners have long histories of manipulation, deception, and weaving webs of lies. For many prisoners, lying was a way of life before prison, so why should it be any different upon coming to prison? Some prisoners continue to weave webs of lies by misrepresenting who they were before prison. I have heard many men claim to have been drug kingpins, or drug lords, moving massive quantities of drugs. Others claim to have money stacked high outside of prison, but they have to borrow a noodle or bum a shot of coffee from someone else. When I first came to prison, I had someone tell me that he went to school with my former father-in-law, that he grew up in the same neighborhood and visited his house often. His lies fell apart when he claimed to have gone bowling in my father-in-law's basement--which was impossible. Later, I heard him claim he had a gold-plated helicopter and had bought his niece an eighty thousand dollar "Benz" while he was in prison. These webs of lies served no purpose, other than to make himself out to be someone he was not. They were his attempts to be someone, to stand out. Some prisoners weave webs of lies about their crimes, some because they want to be seen as important, and others because they fear others finding out why they are in prison. While it is normally taboo to ask another prisoner why he is in prison, some prisoners have their family look up other prisoners, and the rumor mill spreads the information. It's hard to keep these webs of lies intact. It's far better to be authentic, even when it's ugly, and to show remorse for one's bad behavior. Prisoners that choose to lie about their crimes often find it catches up to them. Other prisoners weave webs of lies by borrowing commissary items or running up gambling debts and promising to pay the debt back with interest when they know they cannot. Then, when the payment is due, the prisoner locks up, telling the officers he feels threatened. He leaves debts and angry debtors behind, hoping against hope that he'll never run into them again. The problem is, even in Michigan with some thirty prisons and nearly 40,000 prisoners, it's surprisingly easy to run into people you've known from other prisons. These lock-up artists, as they are called, can't hide forever, so they end up in a cycle of locking up to avoid repercussions for their lies. Running into someone you've known at other prisons doesn't have to be a matter of fear though. I have been housed in four different prisons, and at each of the last three I've run into men I knew at another prison (at the first I ran into men I met in jail). Sometimes it is a tentative, "Weren't you at such and such a prison?" Other times, it is a person whom I have a friendship with, and it's a happy reunion. Such was the case this week when the newest cohort of the Calvin Prison Initiative arrived at Handlon Correctional Facility. Of the twenty new students, I knew three from previous prisons and was happy to see them. The same week, someone whom I didn't remember recognized me from seven years before at a previous prison. (He only knew me in passing.) I have nothing to fear in these reunions, for they are webs of friendship and positive relationships, not connections obscured by webs of lies.

Separating Children from Their Parents is Not a New Phenomenon

Recently, news stories have dominated the media regarding the tragic separation of children from their parents who entered the United States illegally. I would guess that most people, regardless of political affiliation, find these stories heartbreaking and feel deep compassion for the children, at the very least. Some might contend that the parents broke the law by entering the U.S. illegally and, therefore, must be held accountable. Others, many of whom would not disagree with holding lawbreakers accountable, argue that separating immigrant children (even illegal ones) from their parents is heartless. I find the subject complex, but I am moved with compassion for the children who are most affected and yet who have no culpability in their parents' decision to migrate illegally. I also can't help but think of the parallel stories that have existed in this country for several decades without any media outcry against the practice. Ever since the prison industrial complex has taken off in the U.S., it has led to more than 2.4 million incarcerated people in this country alone (25% of the world's incarcerated population in a country with only 5% of the world's population). The population of incarcerated women in the U.S., by itself, has skyrocketed by more than 700% in the last three decades. This has left more than 2 million children without at least one parent due to incarceration. Half of these children are under ten years old, and more than a third will become adults while their parent is in prison. Among minority groups, the statistics are much worse. For example, one in fifteen black children have an incarcerated parent compared to one out of one hundred eleven white children. The consequences for children of incarcerated parents are numerous, including increased school dropout rates, more adverse home conditions (and risks), increased poverty and obesity rates (and all the health consequences to go with it), lower college graduation rates (by half!), and a greatly increased risk of incarceration themselves, to name a few. Parents of both genders are being imprisoned further and further from their homes, leading to fewer contact opportunities with their children, and prison visiting rooms are not designed to cultivate parent-child relationships. Additionally, many incarcerated fathers have no contact with their children, even if they want to and they still have parental rights, because these rights are rarely enforced for prisoners. Whether or not an incarcerated father can remain in his children's lives depends on the whims of the children's mother or guardian. Increasingly, both the mother and father of many children are incarcerated, leaving those children vulnerable to the often corrupt and dangerous foster care system. This problem is not new, but it has not grabbed the media attention that has been focused on the recent tragedy of children separated from their parents at the border. These are both disastrous problems that need to be urgently addressed; it requires courage, creativity, and compassion to find solutions that keep the public safe while reducing the many risks and consequences the children of incarcerated parents face. When children are involved in their parents' lives, even parents who have made choices terrible enough to land them in prison, they are able to be known and cared for by their parents. Even a parent who is unable to meet a child's physical needs can provide emotional support and love that children need to thrive. It's time to rethink how we punish crime in America. It's time to start using solutions that focus on healing and restoring victims of crime, including unintended victims like the many children who are forcibly kept apart from their parents in prison.

Learning How to Relax in a Muddle of Noise

"Ticket-free field house!" the unit officer called out over the loudspeaker. I stepped into the hallway, joining the crowd streaming from the dayroom and bathroom where they had congregated, anticipating the call. We merged into a tentatively shuffling herd of people, bottle-necked as we exited the building, but bursting into an exaggerated speed-walk (running isn't allowed on the walks) as we emerged from the building, heading towards our one-hour gym time right after eating chow. I joined up with my yoga partners on the walk, but pulled ahead so I could grab the few mats available before other (hardened, criminal!) yogis grabbed them. We carefully laid out our four mats next to the benches against the wall, and after wiping them down with disinfectant, we removed our shoes and stood toward the front of the mats in "Mountain pose." Meanwhile, small groups of other prisoners claimed their small spaces in the gym to do their calisthenics and other workouts, all trying to expend some pent-up energy and stay in shape. A basketball game also formed, and teams clad in state-issued orange shorts and t-shirts were quickly chosen. Each of our exercise groups operated independently, but the crowded gym made it almost feel like a carefully orchestrated school of fish zig-zagging through the ocean. At first, it looks like chaos, but if you pay close attention, you can see the underlying symphony of movement. I carefully concentrated as I held my mountain pose, part of me searching for the inner Zen characteristic in a yoga routine. Walkers strutted past me, just a foot or two from my tranquil pose, and a few runners risked dodging in, out, and around the walkers in the five-foot strip of space between our exercise groups and the full-court basketball game. "Warrior One," our self-appointed yoga leader said, trying to maintain a Zen voice in the din of noise flooding the gym. Although I am right next to him, I can barely hear what he is saying, so I watch his moves and mimic them--I'm familiar with the routines by now. We move gracefully (or not, depending on experience) through the moves until we end up in my favorite, and very relaxing position, Child's pose. As I lay my forehead on the mat, my arms outstretched in front of me (hopefully nobody steps on my fingers) and my rear end sitting on my heels, I am drawn into the world of sound around me. "Flip, flip, flip," goes the quick sound of a jump rope on my right. "Phwap, phwap, phwap," a louder weighted jump rope calls out on my left, authoritatively striking the wooden floor with each revolution. The solid, less-rhythmic beat of the basketball thumps ten feet from my resting head as the team moves across the court towards the basket--"thump...thump, thump." As the sound of the bouncing basketball shuttles by my head, it is accompanied by the pounding of feet and the "squeakity, squeakity, squeak" of tennis shoes lunging and stopping, twisting and turning with each play. "AHHHHHHHH!" a player shouts, the sound echoing from wall to wall as he celebrates his basket, loudly pounding his chest in a display of primal pride. We've moved into Tree pose now, and with my back to the room I concentrate on a spot on the wall, tuning out the sounds around me, but remaining vigilant at the same time for the sounds of danger heading in my direction. At other prisons I might worry about rogue fights, stabbings, or other violence--I'd never put my head on a mat just feet from such raucous activity--but here, I'm able to relax enough to at least hold the poses, even if I can't quite relax while I'm doing so. We move through several more poses, stretching and holding each, long ago giving up trying to hear the quiet instructions given by our leader. I see him moving into Shavasana ("Dead Man's pose), and I sit up, putting my shoes and and socks back on--I'm on guard duty from stray basketballs and players who chase them while the other yogis stretch out in a final attempt at ending our yoga session in a relaxing, healing pose. It's not perfect, but it's another successful session of yoga in prison.

Forgiveness is Hard, But is it Ever Deserved?

Forgiveness is hard. Shoot, it's hard enough when the offense is personal but no lasting harm has been done. I think it's just human nature to find forgiveness difficult. First, we want the offender to be sorry, but not just sorry. We also want true acceptance of responsibility. Then, if we're honest, we also want the offender to feel a little of the pain we felt--at least until the scales have been balanced a little. Sometimes we also want a little public airing of the harm we experienced and the offender's acknowledgement of guilt in causing that harm. We feel somehow vindicated by the offender's shame. Not in a smug kind of way, necessarily, but in a "just" sort of way--or at least that's what we tell ourselves. Forgiveness is good for one's soul. In fact, if the adage is true, forgiveness isn't even for the offender; it's for the offended, to release him or her from the further harm that comes from unforgiveness eating away at one's soul. But I disagree. Forgiveness does help to free the offended from the destroying effects of bitterness, but forgiveness that also fails to seek the good, the restoration, the healing of the offender, is incomplete. No, forgiveness is not easy. It requires grit, grace, and generosity in levels that we are generally very uncomfortable with. In a recent meeting of our Restorative Justice Club, the discussion of forgiveness was raised, and the painful baring of souls ensued. Many of the men expressed the reality that they have had trouble forgiving themselves for the crimes they committed. One man, clearly tortured by deep regret, declared that he didn't have the right to forgive himself until he was forgiven by his dead victim's family--a scenario he admitted was unlikely. So, in a form of self-inflicted penance, he tortures himself under the belief that he must remain unforgiven and condemned until he meets the family in eternity. As he gave us a glimpse into his tortured soul, I couldn't help but wonder if the family hadn't already forgiven him, yet for their own healing, not for his. Perhaps he doesn't deserve their forgiveness for his own healing--after all, who actually deserves forgiveness? No amount of prison time, or other form of punishment, will ever bring a life back. As a matter of fact, how can anyone quantify the necessary amount of time or punishment one must endure to make up for a harm done to another person? It seems to me that minor infractions may be easy to quantify, but the big ones? Those scales can never be balanced. Even a lifetime of doing good can never undo some harms. That's why forgiveness, and even the chance at redemption--including a chance at freedom--is purely an act of grace. Some people will believe that those who commit the biggest crimes, who cause the greatest harms don't deserve that grace, and they are right. But grace, by definition, is not deserved. It is really hard to forgive others when they harm us, but when you've done terrible things, and come to understand the gravity of the pain you've caused, it's almost impossible to forgive yourself. Even the thought of forgiving oneself is weighed down by the guilt that by doing so it might seem like minimizing the impact of one's crime. How can one balance taking full responsibility and forgiving oneself? I would argue that forgiving oneself brings freedom to make the biggest gains in taking full responsibility, for this new freedom allows one to begin seeking to heal others. That's why extending forgiveness to the offender, for his own sake, is such an important part of forgiveness--and that includes forgiving oneself. It is not always possible to directly address the harms one caused one's own victim, but by becoming a healer rather than a destroyer, the power of forgiveness begins to work its way out through the offender's life. This may or may not result in a restored relationship between offender and victim (or victim's family), but by choosing forgiveness that also seeks the good of the offender, restoring broken relationships becomes possible. That's the greatest, and most gracious power of forgiveness.