Shaped by Our Memories and by Those We've Loved

For every prisoner certain dates hold great significance, and often great sadness and longing. These dates might be special holidays that the prisoner shared with family--the cherished memories and realization of lost opportunities cause regret. The dates might also be significant because of a lost loved one, the birth date of a child, or even the anniversary of one's crime. Each special date holds meaning, and prisoners respond to these dates in different ways.

Some holidays in many of the ten-plus years I've been in prison have been particularly difficult for me because of the precious memories I hold of those holidays with my family. Only in recent years have I been able to celebrate these holidays, using memories of times with my family as moments of celebration. I choose now to celebrate with others, when appropriate, and to hold dearly the memories of the past. My celebrations are still tinged with deep regret, but I choose to focus on how my life is better because of those I've loved and built memories with.

Sometimes prisoners completely ignore holidays--the memories they trigger are too difficult to bear. I know many prisoners who do not want anyone mentioning their birthday. For them, their birthdays are filled with deep regret and feelings of hopelessness. Some have even told me their birthdays are not celebrations because they wish they'd never been born.

I've also known prisoners who use the anniversary of their crime to fast and spend the day in memory of their victims. Others have done the same for significant losses in their lives--the death of a mother, a wife, or a child. Some even tattoo significant dates on their bodies as a memorial to those they've lost.

Whether we admit it or not, our memories, and those in our memories, have shaped us to who we are today. I know my life is more complete because of how I've been shaped by those I've loved. Even ten-plus years in prison, my life is still shaped by people I've cherished. I struggle every day to overcome the mistakes I made in my past, to become the man I should have been all along, and to make my life a story of redemption. That is the gift I offer to those who have made such an impact on me. That is how I celebrate those who remain special in my heart.
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Michigan Courts Drag Their Feet on Complying with Supreme Court Ruling

In 2012 the US Supreme Court ruled in Miller v. Alabama that mandatory life sentences for juvenile offenders were unconstitutional. In 2016 they ruled in Montgomery v. Louisiana that their prior decision should be applied retroactively to juvenile offenders already sentenced to life. At the time of the ruling, Michigan had the second highest number of juvenile offenders serving life next to Pennsylvania. We also had an Attorney General (Bill Schutte) who determined to fight tooth and nail against the ruling of the highest court in the land. 

Today, three-and-a-half years after the Montgomery ruling, Michigan has only re sentenced less than half of its juvenile lifers. By contrast, Pennsylvania's Philadelphia County, which had almost as many juvenile lifers as all of Michigan, has re sentenced nearly all of their juvenile lifers. The difference lies primarily in the approach Michigan has taken to conform to the Supreme Court ruling. 

In its recognition that juvenile brains are not fully developed, the Miller decision required courts to consider five factors when re sentencing juvenile lifers. These are:
1. The circumstances of the homicide
2. Environmental vulnerabilities the offender faced at the time of the crime
3. Evidence around rehabilitation
4. Information around the original case (i.e., an offender's ability to interact with law enforcement, and how his attorney handled his case)
5. The age of the defendant at the time of the crime

Unfortunately, some prosecutors are heavily weighing some factors while virtually ignoring others, contrary to the Court's intentions. To be fair, every case is unique and requires a close look to determine a proper sentence when re sentencing these offenders. But Michigan prosecutors have requested continuation of life sentences for two-thirds of its juvenile lifers. This hardly comports with the intention of our country's highest court. 

Part of the reason for such a high request for continued life sentences is that the Michigan legislature made it impossible for prosecutors to modify their requests from a term of years to life if evidence pointed in that direction. Instead, prosecutors are only able to modify their recommended sentence down from life to a term of years. Consequently, many juvenile offenders are waiting, many of them for years past the date they could be released, for Michigan's courts to move on re sentencing them. 

Re sentencing hundreds of defendants takes time, but Michigan needs to stop dragging its feet. It's not fair to the defendants, and it's not fair to the families of their victim. While the Supreme Court's ruling finally brought sentencing laws (concerning juveniles subject to life sentences) into line with science, victims' families face uncertainty. They have a reasonable expectation of finality, and it is unfair for the Michigan courts to be dragging their feet on re sentencing these offenders. 

Because science has shown that juvenile brains are not fully developed, it's reasonable for our society to expect that kids who commit terrible crimes are able to positively change. As the Miller decision clarified, it should only be the rare  juvenile offender, who has shown no ability to positively change, who is re sentenced to life in prison. Instead, Michigan continues to thumb its nose at the Supreme Court. Something's got to change.

Hurry Up and Matter!

The story is all-too familiar. The gavel slams as the sentence is handed down. Within days, the long and lonely trip to prison is punctuated by a razor wire topped gate slamming shut behind the prisoner as he steps into another world. He leaves behind a different life, often taking nothing but memories with him. At first, family and a few friends write, visit, or put money on the prisoner's books. But within a couple of years, the letters slow down, the money stops, people return to their busy lives, and out of sight out of mind becomes a mantra for the prisoner. Soon, his fear that he doesn't matter is reinforced. If he's self-aware, the prisoner blames himself for his predicament. He did the crime, he must do the time. It's not the fault of friends and family. They have lives to live and bills to pay. But secretly, deep in his heart, he still longs to matter. He wants to be remembered, to have value to those he left behind. Prison has stripped so much from him that he struggles to find a purpose for his existence. If someone would just show that they remember him. So, he anxiously waits, sometimes standing at his cell door as mail is passed out. Will he get some mail today? He races to the kiosk multiple times a day to check his mail. Will someone send a picture or a message? Again and again he is disappointed. An occasional message stirs up hope in his heart again, but it quickly fades. He's been forgotten. He doesn't matter anymore. He turns his attention, instead, to prison volunteers, trying to impress them and prove his worth. Or maybe it's a staff member he tries to impress. He asserts himself in programs, becomes a legal beagle or prisoner representative, or pushes proposals that will give him a sense of purpose. Somehow, someway, he will prove his relevance. Society will know that he isn't a throw-away, and the family and friends who have forgotten him will regret turning their backs. Unfortunately, for most prisoners this rush to matter ends in disappointment. Many will resume filling their sense of emptiness with addictions and other harmful behaviors. This hurry to matter, to be relevant, is purely human. It's not unique to prisoners. We just don't have access to all of life's distractions to prop up a shaky facade that our lives have significance. We are social creatures who base our self-worth on others' estimations. But in our rush to matter, we often ignore the importance of simply being present where we are. When we choose presence over relevance, we see others who also long to matter. To be fair, it's difficult to be present in prison. It's so much easier to imagine a different reality, a better future. For those who are facing a lifetime in prison, chasing significance might be the best way to avoid deep depression. But even for lifers, feeling like you matter is almost always tied to helping others discover their own value. It means leaving the chase for significance and simply choosing to cultivate a contemplative life, fully aware of people and their needs, whether they are inside of prison or out. Choosing presence over the hurry to matter is not easy--even in prison. It is a moment-by-moment choice. The longing to matter never really goes away, but we can find some solace in the knowledge that we can offer our presence as a gift to others right where we are--even in prison. (This posting's title comes from David Dark's *Life's Too Short to Pretend You're Not Religious*)

Can Someone Who Commits Murder Reform?

On September 7, 2019 NBC aired a special with Lester Holt on Angola prison in Louisiana. Angola is the largest prison in the United States, and it used to be considered the most dangerous, too. But a lot has changed there over the last two decades. Now, Angola, which houses predominantly offenders who have been sentenced to LIFE in prison, is a place of transformation and rehabilitation. Many, but not all, of the programs offered at Angola are religious-based. Its now retired warden, Burl Cain, implemented many changes that recognized the importance of giving purpose to the prisoners. He believes in the importance of transforming broken lives, not simply throwing them away. 

Angola is now well-known for its prisoner-run rodeo, its farming and cattle, its craft fair, and its religious and educational programs that transform the lives of the criminals sent there. When Lester Holt visited the prison, he also experienced some of the stark realities of life behind bars. Some prisoners, mostly black, worked the fields for two cents per hour--the same fields that a century before were a plantation run by slaves. Today, the fields are still operated by slave labor, but slave labor that is still legal under the United States Constitution. The irony is hard to ignore. 

Holt also met several prisoners who have been incarcerated for more than 50 years, two of whom were sentenced to life in prison as juveniles. One prisoner's appeal to the United States Supreme Court changed the law for how juvenile offenders are sentenced. However, during Holt's visit to the prison, this offender was once again denied parole by the Louisiana parole board. 

The subject of giving offenders, particularly those who are guilty of murder, a chance at life outside of prison is difficult. It is fraught with a lot of emotion, hurt, pain, and anger. Why should someone who took the life of another person ever have the chance at freedom again? The conversation has gotten easier (but still not easy) when it comes to juvenile offenders. After all, science has proven that young brains are not fully formed. They don't have the capacity for judgment like adults do. 

But what about adult offenders? Should someone who commits murder never see freedom again? Some would argue fervently that they should not. Others believe in the power of redemption and believe these offenders should have the possibility for freedom again. The question really gets to the heart of what prison is for. If it is simply for punishment, many of these offenders should never be released. If it is to protect the public, we have to recognize that many of these offenders are no longer a danger to society. If it is for rehabilitation and reformation, then we have to allow for the possibility for a reformed offender to be free again. 

Mass incarceration has many causes, but tougher sentences, including a growing population of aging lifers, is at the root of the problem. If, as a society, we determine that redemption is either not possible or not available, we'll continue to see our prison population grow, no matter what other reforms we enact. But if we can see our way to believe in an offender's ability to change, we must make a path for redemption possible. Easy, no. Possible, yes. We can hold people accountable for their crimes while still believing in the possibility of redemption. If the most dangerous prison in the United States can transform to what it is today, a model to other prisons and states, then the people, including murderers, in that and other prisons can also reform.

Social Isolation Contributes to Reoffending

No society that fails to protect its citizens from exploitation and harm can long survive. So, crime has a stigma to it, and right it should. Citizens should be protected against crime. When citizens suffer because of the crimes of others, offenders should be held accountable. Nevertheless, a tension exists between stigmatizing crime and harmful actions, and stigmatizing the people who commit such acts. 

Harming another person, whether physically or in some other way, ought to be shameful. Our response to a person who harms someone else should be to shame them, but in a constructive way. Shaming an offender ought to be directed at reforming the offender's actions. John Braithwaite, an expert in restorative justice, calls this "reintegrative shaming." Holding someone accountable for bad behavior necessarily involves shame, but properly done, shame is restorative. It compels an offender to reform his behavior and to constructively contribute to society rather than harming it. Reintegrative shame leaves open the possibility of restoration to society's favor after proper reform has taken place. 

Unfortunately, very little constructive shame occurs today. Rather, shame is used as a weapon to isolate and ostracize people. It is used to divide people of different political ideologies. It is also used to stigmatize people based on religion, sexuality, race, and a host of other "identities." In the criminal justice system, toxic labels are applied to offenders with the sole intention of causing social isolation. Offenders who serve their time are released back to society stigmatized and ostracized. They face discrimination on many fronts, including housing, employment, and government benefits. They are even sometimes restricted from participating in the rights and privileges of everyday citizens. 

In his book, *Cannery Row*, John Steinbeck aptly notes, 
"There are two possible reactions to social isolation--either a man emerges determined to be better, purer, and kindlier or he goes bad, challenges the world and does even worse things. This last is by far the commonest reactions to stigma."

With a failure rate that would have long shuttered profit-seeking businesses, the criminal justice system sees 66% of its charges return to prison within three years of being released. *That* is shameful. The reasons for such a failure are many, and not all these reason belong on the shoulders of the criminal justice and prison systems. Offenders bear much of the weight of their own failure. However, the criminal justice system does bear some responsibility for its utter failure to reform its charges. 

Society, also, bears some responsibility. Until returning citizens are provided a true path back to social inclusion, to real belonging, many will continue to do, as Steinbeck put it, "even worse things." No one can long bear the weight of stigmatization, of social isolation, without eventually deciding to live up (or down!) to the expectations of society. 

Let's keep crime a shameful thing. Anyone ought to be ashamed for harming someone else. But let's also commit to making social ostracizing a thing of the past. Let's clear a path of redemption for those who, by reason of their shame, determine to emerge "better, purer, and kindlier."