Building New Communities, One "Hello" at a Time

In the hallway where I live in prison, most of the cells are occupied by other prisoners who are also in the same college program I am in. A few others who are not in the program are dog handlers who raise puppies for Leader Dogs for the Blind, and a handful of other Vocational Village students who have been in our unit for quite a while. We're all familiar with each other, and to some degree we trust each other. Most of us even leave our doors unlocked much of the time when we are in the unit, which is unheard of in most other prisons. Normally, leaving one's door unlocked (and even one's locker within the room) is an invitation for thieves to steal whatever isn't tied down. Although the security cameras in our unit help stop most thieving, the fact is that most of us don't fear being robbed by others in our hallway. 

Earlier this week, I noticed that a new person had arrived in the unit from another facility. He now occupies an empty bed recently vacated by another prisoner. Because of the community we have in our unit, especially in our hallway, I greeted this prisoner, introduced myself, and asked his name. His response was aggressively restrained and suspicious, although he did give me his name. At first, I thought the guy was just being rude and hyper-suspicious, until I reminded myself that he probably came from a prison where it paid to be suspicious. I greeted him anyway and moved on. He has continued to eye me suspiciously, which I expect probably won't change until he feels more comfortable and gains a better understanding of the culture in this unit. Friendliness is generally not common in prison. 

I'm very grateful that the prison where I am currently housed generally has far fewer problems than most other prisons in Michigan. There are very few fights, thefts are mostly confined to a swiped soap dish from the bathroom, and people are generally learning to practice good citizenship. That doesn't mean this isn't still a prison where people manipulate, lie, cheat, fight, and fake good behavior for the administration. That still happens often, but many many men are genuinely trying to transition into a life outside of prison. When you put people who want to be good citizens together, they encourage and support behavior that is respectful and responsible. Some of the others who are perhaps not sold on changing their lives yet will see good citizenship modeled and may still decide to change after all. But not all will. 

Despite the stories we hear of people leaving prison just to commit another crime and get sent back again, I still maintain hope for the rest who want something different with their lives. It's exciting to hear of a prisoner who leaves this prison and gets a great job because of his education in the Vocational Village. He's able to provide for his family and to perhaps change the future stories of his children. It might be easier to be pessimistic and to treat every prisoner with contempt and suspicion, but I'd rather encourage good citizenship, even if the investment doesn't bear fruit 100% of the time. After all, what investment ever pays big dividends all the time? Maybe helping someone with math problems, or explaining budgeting, or even greeting a new stranger to the unit isn't the "Ah-Ha!" moment people need to want something different with their lives. But it could be. Unless we're willing to make those small investments in the lives of others around us, whether in prison or not, we can't expect our communities to change for the better.

Entering the Stories of Others

At our recent meeting of our bi-monthly Restorative Justice Club, our members broke into groups of three for our small group exercise. Each member of our group selected a full-sized picture of a person or couple from the table in the front of the room. On the back of each page was the story of that person's (or couple's) experience with the criminal justice system. The featured people were victims or family members of victims of crime. Each participant silently read the story of the person/couple they chose and then as small groups we discussed what we learned. We focused on what justice meant to each victim and whether we agreed or disagreed with the victim's description of justice and why.

After our small group times, we each went around the room and very briefly summarized for the whole group the story of the person/couple we had chosen. We also noted the most surprising part of their stories. It was this large group sharing that had the greatest impact on me. As each person's story was shared, the participants held up the picture for everyone to see. The mood in the room was rather somber as we entered into the story of each person, even from afar.

The story of every person, whether victim, offender, or a third-party who is also affected by crime, is unique. Each story has surprising features and also elements that we can identify with. But unless crime affects us directly, and even sometimes when it does, we often fail to enter into the stories of others. Instead, we are quick to write off offenders as unredeemable, and worse yet, we uncomfortably avoid the pain of victims.

Entering the stories of others helps us to appreciate the circumstances and struggles of their lives. It builds empathy and compassion as we seek to understand the social influences that led offenders to commit crimes. It also builds empathy and compassion as we grieve with victims or family members and struggle to help them heal from their trauma. Sometimes entering the stories of others is risky. It might mean getting our hands dirty, risking our reputations, exposing ourselves to pain, and opening our eyes to systemic problems that lead to crime and prevent healing. Sometimes, it means becoming a part of the solution--and that can cost us time and money (or more!). It's so much easier to stay on the peripheries, to observe from afar, to be aware without getting too close to people affected by crime.

The story of the couple I chose was tragic. Their son was murdered by his brother-in-law. They struggled with hatred and unforgiveness, and their tragedy almost cost them their marriage. Despite the pain they live with every day from the tragic murder of their son, they found healing in entering into the stories of other offenders. Those stories have given them compassion and helped to heal their hurt, but their own story has also softened the hearts of hardened offenders and led some to grieve their crimes and seek healing too. Entering the stories of others has tremendous power for mutual healing and building connections--but we have to get close to truly enter those stories. As author Brene Brown says, "People are hard to hate up close. Move in."

Who is Modeling Good Citizenship to Prisoners?

"He's back!" someone called out in the day room. Those of us within earshot looked around.

"Who's back?" someone asked.

Motioning to the officer walking the perimeter of the fence, the announcer called out, "Officer so-and-so." A collective groan went up from every prisoner in the day room who had begun to believe this officer's month-long absence meant he was gone for good. The rumors concerning his absence were numerous, and often humorous. 

"Well, everyone better tighten up when they go to chow tonight," another prisoner warned. "You know he'll be stalking everyone. He's probably been itching to get back and harass us again." Others sat around nodding their heads in agreement. 

As I listened in to this conversation, even participating in the collective groan, it struck me how the presence or absence of a single officer can have such a major effect on the stress levels of prisoners. Whether it is the presence of a particular yard cop, or a non-regular officer working in a housing unit, prisoners don't often deal well with the stress that results. All of the corrections officers have jobs to do, but some take pleasure in being especially rude and treating prisoners inhumanely. Others know we have to live here, and they enforce important rules while relaxing some of the flexible ones. 

For example, prisoners are not allowed to wear their long john shirts without a t-shirt or "blues" (the state-issued dress shirt) over them. Sometimes, intentionally or not, prisoners may throw on a coat and go to chow without putting on another shirt over their long john shirt. Most officers don't care about this slight infraction. It's under a coat, so what does it matter? But a couple of officers perch with eagle eyes at the entrance of the chow hall to catch these offenders and make them return to their housing unit to change. These same officers also take pleasure in loudly berating offending prisoners for their stupidity and for refusing to follow the rules. It is rule-enforcing gone rogue. 

As psychology researcher P. Zimbardo demonstrated in his famous 1971 "Stanford Prison Experiment," some people cannot handle having power over others. When some perfectly healthy-minded people are given positional power over others, they devolve into practicing brutal and dehumanizing behavior. In this experiment, the guards' behavior was due to the (perceived) rewards of identifying with their assigned group (prison guards) and the status and social power they received. Because of the abuse of power, the two-week experiment was terminated in just six days. 

The point of this experiment was to prove the "situational hypothesis" that one's social context influences behavior more than individual psychological characteristics. I tend to agree. I have seen officers who are respectful and treat prisoners with dignity completely change into dehumanizing jerks within a few months, simply because they were partnered with a miserably angry and hateful officer. Surely one's psychological makeup does influence one's behavior, but it's amazing to me how strongly social influences also impact a person. 

If corrections officers are under social pressure to treat prisoners inhumanely, imagine the social pressures prisoners face when housed with others who are committed to their criminal mindsets. I've heard it said that prison makes people worse, and I have to believe that this is generally true. After all, when you force people to live, twenty-four hours a day, under tremendously negative social pressure, you can't expect them to miraculously become better people. Especially when some corrections officers aren't even modeling decency, respect, and good citizenship.

Fear of Reoffending Reveals Low Confidence in Prison Rehabilitation

On June 5, 2002, Elizabeth Smart was abducted and sexually abused by Brian David Mitchell and Wanda Barzee. After Smart was found with Mitchell and Barzee, the couple was arrested, convicted, and sentenced to prison. Recently, Barzee was released from prison, and is subject to five years of federal supervised release. Nevertheless, her release has caused a bit of an uproar in the media because she apparently now lives within a ten-minute walk from an elementary school. Barzee's new neighbors have reportedly expressed that they are fine with her living near them, but her participation in the crime makes it a sensational news story anyway.

Mitchell and Barzee's crime was tragic for Smart and her family. This couple stole her innocence and subjected her to physical and psychological trauma that has, undoubtedly, taken her years to heal from. It's remarkable to me how, against all odds, Smart has turned her tragedy into a platform for reaching others who have also suffered similar abuse. I'm always moved by the strength of people like Elizabeth Smart who, despite the horrors they have suffered, demonstrate extraordinary strength and character. 

I imagine Barzee's release from prison is scary for Smart, even if she is not in any danger. Nevertheless, the justice system sentenced Barzee for her participation in the kidnapping and sexual abuse, and she has served her time. She is still under federal supervised release, and under numerous restrictions during that five years. She will also be subject to lifetime registration on the sex offender registry. Barzee's release may make for a sensational news story, but it begs the question about whether or not America believes in redemption for the people its justice system sends to prison. 

My concern is less about Barzee's release and her presence within a ten-minute walk from an elementary school. Rather, my concern is that our criminal justice system has no credibility in its rehabilitation processes. Clearly, if the criminal justice system was concerned with Barzee's likelihood to continue being a danger to the public, her sentence might have been longer. Additionally, the system would have provided treatment, beginning early in her sentence, to rehabilitate Barzee's criminal thinking and behavior. The unfortunate fact is that the criminal justice system rarely does its job of rehabilitating prisoners, often beginning the process of "rehabilitation" only within a year of a prisoner's release. That's far too many years of leaving prisoners in their criminal thinking patterns to expect much change before their release. 

It's easy to think that the cure for a re-offense rate of over two-thirds within five years of release is to increase prison sentences. But longer sentences are not the solution to an already broken system. What is being done is not working, so let's think about trying something new. Barzee's situation is a perfect example of the broken system. She should not be implicitly trusted just because she's served her time, but if we had more confidence in the criminal justice system's ability to provide effective rehabilitation, we ought to be willing to let people who have served the time for their crimes have a chance at redeeming themselves. Restricting where they can live and work, and other restrictions that make it difficult for them to rejoin society serves no legitimate purpose in a country that supposedly believes in second chances. 

I don't know if Barzee is ready for a second chance or not. What I do know is that the criminal justice system did little to nothing to prepare her for that chance. Perhaps rather than being vilified by the media, she ought to be surrounded by community members who care to ensure that she has the help she needs to be a safe and productive citizen.