Boasting Highlights Weaknesses, not Strengths

 Recently, as I sat at dinner with another prisoner from my housing unit, I felt a deep pity for the man sitting across from me, and sadness for the man I used to be. For some reason, this prisoner felt the need to tell me how violently he would respond (or has responded) to people who disrespect him or who try to "get down" on him. This sort of posturing is common in prison. In fact, it's common outside of prison too. I should know because I used to do it myself. It's a protection mechanism, against threats and against having weaknesses exposed. 

I easily recognized the insecurity in the man whom I was eating dinner with. Prisoners who metaphorically puff out their chests and paint an image of themselves as aggressive and ruthless are usually scared. Even being perceived as weak makes prisoners feel vulnerable. While I posed no threat to this other prisoner (except on the Scrabble board), his insecurity prompted his braggadocio. I assured him that while many things may prompt me to want to respond aggressively too, I am cultivating a peaceful lifestyle. 

Another prisoner recently interrupted my workout partners and me in the middle of a workout. He joined our pull-up routine, and then quickly started bragging that he had more experience working out than probably all of us combined. His bragging was a testament to his decades in and out of prison, where he spent much of his time in the weight pit. I, perhaps with a smirk on my face, asked if he'd ever competed in semi-pro weightlifting competitions. After he said he had not, I informed him that one person in our workout group had (not me!). His face marked his surprise and stopped his bragging. 

I feel sadness for prisoners who feel so insignificant that they look for ways to elevate themselves in importance over others. I also feel sadness for who I used to be, because my pride was a facade I used to both make myself feel better and to keep others from getting close. When other prisoners feel the need to boast about their exploits, acumen, or expertise, I want to hug them and say, "I accept you as you are." Trying to earn other people's acceptance or approval is exhausting. It also encourages inauthenticity. 

The problem with trying so hard for others' acceptance is that it often turns others away. Who wants to be around someone who brags about being violent or who feels the need to put others down to elevate himself? These are counterproductive to relationships. 

It is uncomfortable to live with other people's occasional misperceptions of who I am, but I have found my relationships to be much richer when I choose to live authentically. As author Brene Brown says, "Let go of who you think you're supposed to be and embrace who you are." Sure, we all have actual weaknesses, but I'd rather someone know mine and still desire a relationship than present an inauthentic me and feel disconnected as a result. 

Whatever my strengths are, I can use them to help others, and my weaknesses simply demonstrate my need for others' help. That's the beauty of choosing to live authentically. Pretentions don't get in the way of interconnectedness.

Connecting with Loved Ones through Prison Video Visits

 This past week, I had my first video visitation since Michigan prisons stopped in-person visits due to the coronavirus. Handlon Correctional Facility (MTU) is one of only a handful of Michigan prisons currently offering video visitation, although the other prisons are working to implement this option soon. 

Video visits are not the same as in-person visits, but they are a step up from simple phone calls. Under the current system, prisoners are sent to the visiting room fifteen-minutes before their scheduled visit. There, they are patted down and assigned a seat in front of a blank screen. A timer on the screen counts down the minutes and seconds until the prisoner's video visit starts. 

Prior to each video visit, the visitor checks in by logging on to the system. Once logged in, a corrections officer checks the visitor's identification and assures the visitor's video and audio are working well. The rules for video visits are just as stringent as the rules for in-person visits, and the monitoring corrections officer can terminate a visit at any time for a violation of those rules. 

My visitor had not used the system before, so she had to download multiple pieces of software or software updates before she could successfully login to the prison visiting system. She reported that the system was a bit complicated to use, and the video was a little choppy on her end. I've heard other prisoners say that they have also had occasions where the video was either choppy or not working at all. These problems are likely due to poor quality badwidth in Ionia, where this prison is located. 

Visitors schedule visits ahead of time through a scheduling portal (on a website). Video visits are only twenty-minutes long, and the visitor must pay $3.20 per visit. I'm not the one paying for the visit, but it was worth it to me. There's something powerful about seeing someone you love smiling at you through the screen, something comforting about a visual connection. 

The coronavirus has led to many people using Zoom (and other software) meetings to connect with loved ones. As anyone who has used this option knows, it's not the same as a face-to-face. There are no hugs involved, no comforting physical touch. But it's better than simple phone calls or nothing at all. It's a step closer to experiencing the actual presence of a loved one. 

The Michigan Department of Corrections assures us that video visits will not replace in-person visits permanently, a fear many Michigan prisoners have. This week, the department announced that video visits will soon be moving to in-unit, meaning prisoners will not even have to leave their housing unit for a video visit. It is yet unclear how exactly this will be managed, but I'm excited to see video visits as a continuing option. Loved ones who live across the country or are unable to travel will still be able to connect visually with their incarcerated loved ones. I'm hoping, for example, to connect over video with my grandmother whom I haven't seen in more than thirteen years.

Video visits should not replace in-person visits (when they resume) for those who can spend the time, effort, and money to visit in person. There's something special about the physical presence of someone you love. But I'm glad visiting over video is now an option for many Michigan prisoners.

The visit itself is the best part, but a close second is that we prisoners do not undergo a strip search after visiting our loved ones over video. Thank God for small blessings.

A Tale of Two Prison Housing Units

 Finally, after nearly two months in a temporary cell, I moved back to the housing unit and cell I've been in for four years. I had been moved to another housing unit during the coronavirus chaos, and like many other prisoners who were also moved, it took a while for me to be moved back to my original cell with a bunkie I get along well with. 

While I was in another housing unit, I enjoyed hanging out with guys I hadn't seen in months or hung out with for more than a year. It was nice to reconnect. I also had my own cell for eighteen glorious days, rather than having to cram into a 7' x 9' cell with another person. Every day, I practiced guitar until my fingers couldn't take any more. I also hand-washed all my clothes since I didn't have to worry about my drying clothes getting in the way of a bunkie (our water is terrible, so laundry services lead to brown clothes). 

For the rest of those two months in "exile," I had a bunkie. He is twenty-two and serving his third prison sentence, and nearly everything he did demonstrated that he's not yet ready to give up the criminal life. I wanted to counsel him, and I did attempt to several times, but he has not yet turned a corner, and my advice likely fell on deaf ears. As we say, "You can't tell him anything." Still, I'm grateful that he was one of the uncommon bunkies who was conscientious, even at twenty-two, of the other person stuffed into that tiny cell. 

I was anxious to return to my original cell and housing unit, but it wasn't until I actually moved that I realized how stressed out I was in the other housing unit. It is remarkable to me how different the energy is between housing units. One unit has rude and disrespectful officers, which contributes a lot to the stressful environment. The other unit has officers who, for the most part, treat prisoners as people and not numbers. The first unit is filled with prisoners who stay in all kinds of trouble. The other unit, well it has that element too, but it is quieter and more subtle. Just stepping into the housing unit, you can feel the different energy. 

Prisoners who thrive the best in prison learn to do their time wherever they are. Rarely are we able to select where we'll be housed. We can make requests, but we're at the mercy of the prison administration. During the pandemic, transferring between prisons is nearly impossible. So is changing housing units, or even cells, unless forced to. As a result, some prisoners are stuck with bunkies they can't stand or get along with. It's a recipe for confrontations. 

When housed in more chaotic surroundings, one must learn to adapt, to avoid the drama. We call it "staying out of the way." Doing time like that is stressful, but sometimes it's necessary. Even still, you can't avoid all the drama. You still have to use the bathroom, even if people are smoking dope, tattooing, or just hanging out there in large groups. You still have to shower, check your email, and use the phones and microwaves, even if you have to navigate the disrespectful people around you. You've got to overlook a lot and let a lot of disrespect go. If not, well, you'll find yourself in conflict that could lead to very frustrating consequences. 

Now that I'm back in a more positive environment, I already feel more peaceful. Some people like drama and living on the edge. Not me. Call me boring if you want, but I'd rather spend my energy in constructive ways than in having to always think for the next guy.

In Prison or Out: Don't Be That Guy

 Every prison, actually every housing unit in prison, has at least one person who is at the center of much of the drama. I say "person" rather than "prisoner" because sometimes that person is a prisoner, but it could just as well be a corrections officer. 

If a prisoner, he's usually loud and obnoxious, rude and inconsiderate, and he needs to be the center of attention. He picks arguments quickly, uses his body to "claim space," bullies (or assaults) vulnerable prisoners, tells outlandish lies, and nearly always belongs to a group of other prisoners (usually a gang) who will defend him if someone decides to test his phony mettle. Sometimes this prisoner is organized in his chaos, but more often, he just causes destruction wherever he is. He feeds off chaos. Anything else is boring. 

The center of the drama is sometimes a corrections officer who is much like the aforementioned prisoner. The officer is loud and obnoxious, rude and inconsiderate, and he too picks arguments quickly. This officer is quick to pick out prisoners he can bully. He abuses his power with threats and sometimes actions. He, too, has a "gang" to protect and defend him if a prisoner decides to test his phony mettle. I've seen it happen numerous times. Only, this "gang" has tasers, handcuffs, gun towers, and solitary confinement where prisoners sometimes "commit suicide" after such an incident. There's a reason Harvey Weinstein's "suicide" is suspicious. 

Sometimes, the person at the center of the drama is quiet, but highly manipulative. If a prisoner, he quietly sets up extravagant ploys to manipulate unsuspecting or vulnerable prisoners out of store goods, money transfers, or sexual favors. He might pretend to offer protection against other dangerous prisoners. He might also offer his "expertise" (usually in law, most often a false pretense) in order to "legitimize" his scheme. Outwardly, this prisoner might appear outgoing and likeable. He usually has charisma that makes naive people trust him. Sometimes, though, this prisoner simply uses quiet threats to exploit his victims. If he can discover his victim's fears, he can exploit them. 

The quiet corrections officer at the center of drama uses the pen as a weapon. He writes misconduct tickets, sometimes legitimate, sometimes not, and targets prisoners he does not like. He also quietly enlists the help of his cronies to bully prisoners. Sometimes those prisoners put themselves in the line of fire, but sometimes not. This CO quietly uses excessive cell shakedowns to disrupt prisoners' lives. When he shakes down a prisoner's person, he does so in a demeaning manner. He also uses silence, sarcasm, and snide remarks to tear prisoners down and remind them who has the power. 

For these prisoners and officers alike, it's always about power. Great disparities in power, like those in prison, are petri dishes breeding abuses of power. Sometimes those abuses are between authority figures, like prison guards, and those they control. Sometimes it's between one powerless person who assumes a form of power, like the prisoner at the center of drama, over another. 

It is impossible to avoid encountering these drama-hungry people in prison. It's an inevitablility. Prisoners with good social and communication skills can usually avoid becoming a target, or at least a victim. But not always. Too often, I've had to swallow my pride, let an insult or offense go, or simply walk away from an encounter to avoid the consequences I'd face if I took matters into my own hands. It's at times like these that I remind myself--I've been that guy. Maybe not in the same way, but I've been both the victim and the victimizer. That makes me sensitive to abuse, but it also gives me hope for the guy at the center of the drama. There's always hope he'll turn a corner and leave that guy in the past. I did, and so can he.