What Do They Call You?

"Hey bro, what do they call you?" I first heard this odd question my first day in prison. I was tempted to ask the question, "who are 'they'?" or to sarcastically respond, "Oh, they call me all kinds of things..." Nevertheless, I was quickly learning that when you live in a culture not your own, it's wise to begin to understand the language and customs. It just struck me as odd that people who have been stripped of their entire lives would willingly be stripped of their identities too, identifying themselves instead by what other people call them.

Prison officials give incarcerated people number identifiers, called "prison numbers," that are unique to each person. Like product codes, it makes prisoners, and all that relates to them, easier to track. To be fair, corrections officers don't often refer to us by our prison numbers, although back when our prison numbers were painted on our clothing they would. "Hey! 739416! Come over here for a shakedown!" Now, since the officers no longer have painted numbers to refer to, we are called "you in the blue coat and orange hat!" or "you with your pants sagging!" or some other visual identifier. But to many officers, we're still just a number. 

In a society that is, in some ways, hyper-sensitive about how we label people, it is a sociological anomaly that incarcerated people are somehow exempt from the anti-labeling campaign of the post-modernists. It is socially acceptable to negatively label prisoners with names like "convict" or "ex-con," "felon," "sex-offender," "murderer," "thief," and other negative identifiers. Somehow, if someone commits a crime, it makes it socially acceptable to use that crime, the worst decision of their lives, to forever identify them. Somehow, more than 250 years after Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote The Scarlet Letter, society still approves of using negative labels to shame people. But only certain people--like incarcerated people. 

This brings me back to how incarcerated people label themselves. Some of these names follow a person to prison from the streets. I've heard names that tell where someone is from: Eastside, Benton Harbor, New York, Mac (for Mac Ave in Detroit), Flint, Jacktown, and many others. Others, like Nut, Joe Dirt, Mo Mo, Big D, Preacher, and more, usually have stories behind them. Maybe they are childhood or neighborhood nicknames, or they might be religious nicknames or names given within prison (like "Professor," as I've been called). But some nicknames are clearly related to a person's criminal history (or the reputation they want to have). I've heard people call themselves Murder, Killer, Shank (a prison knife), Pimp, AK (for the gun), and others. Occasionally, people actually use their real first names, but others get angry when someone uses their first name, insisting, "Don't use my government name!"

Within the last few years, I've taken to asking people what their name is rather than what people call them. Sometimes I'm given their real first name, and other times I'm given a nickname. It's important to me that people see themselves for who they are, not for what they've done in the past or the image they feel they need to project. Some incarcerated people aren't ready to see themselves for who they are or for their future potential. Instead, they too are stuck in a pattern of negative labeling, of themselves and others, and they aren't used to people seeing them as people and respecting them for their humanity. Maybe calling an incarcerated person by his first name doesn't seem like a significant thing, but it reminds us that we are human. It reminds us that we are not a number, or where we're from. It reminds us that we belong to someone (where we got our name), and that we are still humans with potential that goes beyond the sum of our worst choices.

The Prison Admission Scandal?

The recent College Admissions scandal has everyone up in arms. The liberals are angry and pointing fingers at conservatives because this scandal highlights the inequities (apparently the fault of conservatives) endemic within American society. Liberals claim the rich and powerful have advantages, both legal and illegal or unethical, while the poor or middle class suffer unequal access to opportunities. The conservatives are angry and pointing fingers at liberals because wealthy entertainers (i.e., the "liberal types") are the ones currently caught up in this most recent scandal. Conservatives claim the same people crying wolf at injustices are the very ones taking advantage of the unjust system. In other words, at a prime opportunity for our country to experience real growth and positive change from this disgraceful lesson, politicians and newscasters are, instead, using this scandal to cause further division. 

Finger pointing and partisan vitriol will do nothing to solve the problems of inequalities that are apparently prevalent within our college admissions system. As is the case in nearly every area of America today, if you have money or political power you will benefit in many ways that others cannot. Economy based inequality is by its very nature self-perpetuating. When you can buy access to power (and let's be honest, a degree from an ivy league school means power), you also get to write the rules that end up further benefiting you. It's a system that limits life chances to some while increasing access to others. 

Economic inequalities are not new for the 2+ million Americans in prison and jail today. Every day court systems around the country detain and keep locked up hundreds of thousands of poor people who cannot afford even a modest bail. These are pre-trial detainees who have not even been convicted of a crime. Wealthy arrestees don't stay in jail for long; they are bailed out within hours, keeping their jobs, cars, children, and all of the other things poor people often lose because they cannot afford even a few hundred dollars in bail. Add on to this indignity the fact that poor arrestees cannot afford good defense attorneys, and soon they are products of an unjust and grossly overworked indigent defense system. 

Many wealthy people who are arrested for drug-related crimes can convince judges to send them to expensive rehabilitation centers rather than to jail or prison. Poor people do not have that luxury. Wealthy people can hire expensive experts, private investigators, and legal sharks who find evidence or create loopholes. Poor people don't have that luxury either. I'm not saying wealthy people don't end up in prison. What I'm saying is that it's a rarity--and that's not because they don't commit crimes too. It's simply a matter of injustice that occurs every day, no, every minute in this country without the same outcry leveled at the recent college admissions scandal.

People who abuse their power and wealth need to be held accountable. We need reforms that level the field of opportunities. But we need these reforms in the criminal justice system too. We need bail reform that treats pre-trial detainees equally. We need indigent defense reform so that poor people accused for a crime have as solid a chance at defending themselves as wealthy people do. I'm not sure if it has the same ring or whether it will draw the same ire, but perhaps we can call the scandal of criminal justice inequality the "Prison Admission Scandal."

Crushed Under the Weight of Loss

The theme of loss is a normal part of prison. When people are convicted of (and sometimes simply accused of) a crime, they lose their freedom and often lose family, friends, jobs or careers, homes, cars, savings, reputation, identity, and so much more. Victims of crime also experience significant losses. They may lose their sense of safety, valuable property or heirlooms, financial security, innocence, identity, families, friends, dignity, and so much more. Sometimes victims even lose their very lives. When a person is guilty of causing someone else these losses, that too is an added burden to their own losses--knowing they caused harm they cannot repair. 

This week, two of my friends, and fellow prisoner students, lost a parent. This all-too-common occurrence--losing a loved one while being locked up--is another added loss onto the already heavy burden many prisoners feel. Some prisoners turn to friends for support, prayers, and comfort when they experience losses, while others choose to bear their grief privately. Worse yet, some choose to repress their grief, only to express it in violent or other harmful ways. Anniversaries of losses and random reminders can trigger this grief to well up without notice. 

Various dates throughout the year are always difficult for me. My children's birthdays, certain holidays, my former wedding anniversary, and the date I was arrested are just a few. These dates especially remind me of my own losses and the grief I bear daily because of my terrible choices. March sixth is also a difficult day for me. Ten years ago that day was the last time I have seen or talked to my youngest daughter, who is now nearly seventeen years old. I didn't know at the time that it would be the last time I'd see her for all these years, so I never got to say what I would have liked to. I still hold out hope for a restored relationship with her (and others), but ten years has been a long time of unfulfilled hopes. 

Learning to live with loss is a difficult thing. It can be a heavy weight to bear. The multiplicity of losses and the pain that results from someone committing a crime is simply not worth whatever one seeks to gain. It's a cost none of us counted--for ourselves or our victims. I'll spend the rest of my life working to repair the harms I caused, but I can never get back the years I've lost with those I love the most.

Does a "Police State" Reduce Crime?

This past week I heard a news story about a remarkable crime statistic. Chicago, which has been the murder capital of the United States for quite some time now, is reporting a drop of around 40% in its murder rate from this time last year. Given last year's 800+ murders in Chicago, this means more than 50 fewer murders than this time last year. This startling statistic ought to make criminologists perk up in interest to discover the cause of such a swift drop in murders. Unfortunately, the news outlet was quick to attribute the cause of the decline to increased police presence and changes in police tactics. While it is entirely possible that increases in police presence or changes in tactics may contribute to a drop in crime, such a significant drop undoubtedly means other weighty factors are also at play. 

I find it remarkable that in a country that is increasingly progressive, we are still jumping to the foolhardy conclusion that a strong police state reduces crime. Less than a year ago, Chicago's murder epidemic had the President of the United States threatening to send in federal troops to "solve the problem." Now, local law enforcement is being credited with causing this drastic change. Unfortunately, this leap to conclusions fails to consider all of the many people and organizations tirelessly working hard to mediate the violent gang conflicts in Chicago. Instead, it perpetuates a belief in the power of a police state. 

Local and federal law enforcement serve an important purpose in protecting the safety of American citizens. I am not diminishing the importance of their roles. But concluding that increasing police presence causes a reduction in violence, to this degree, is insulting to many other hard-working people who also serve peace-keeping ends. Crime prevention starts long before the police are involved, and it extends long afterward. Preventing crime often starts in the very communities affected by crime. It also involves the community members who are suffering the harms and who have an invested interest in a solution. Police presence only serves a limited role in deterring crime. In some cases, it may actually increase the anxiety and fear of community members, leading to an increase in crime rates. 

Perhaps most disturbing to the claim that law enforcement presence is responsible for a drop in crime rates is the assumption that Chicago's citizens are irresponsible moral agents. In other words, without the intervention of the police state, Chicago's citizens would be incapable of maintaining peace. This demoralizing notion fails to recognize the important role a community's own citizens have in maintaining peace. Instead, it looks to government intervention as the "savior" of an embattled community. Given the historical over-reach of law enforcement, especially in communities of color, crediting a drop in crime exclusively to law enforcement serves only to disempower Chicago's residents. 

As a country, we must be careful to avoid justifying the use of a greater police force to solve social problems. Social ills, like a high murder rate, do not happen because of a lack of police presence, so addressing these problems with more policing avoids the problems entirely. Let's hope that criminologists discover the real reason for Chicago's dropping crime rates, that way we can focus on supporting those efforts rather than throwing more power at the problem.