Social Isolation is a Matter of Life or Death

 Incarceration is one of many institutions that lead to social isolation, and in the case of incarceration, that is the aim. Social isolation is not necessarily the same thing as physical solitude. Rather, it is, as author Daniel Goleman notes, "the sense that you have nobody with whom you can share your private feelings or have close contact" (Emotional Intelligence, p. 178).

Many prisoners experience social isolation because of the physical isolation of prison and the pervasive lack of trust between prisoners. It's an irony of prison that while surrounded by hundreds of other prisoners, some prisoners can feel profoundly alone. 

A study conducted of 37,000 people found that social isolation doubles the chance of sickness or death (Goleman, p. 178). This study also found that men are affected more than women by social isolation. In fact, men are two to three times more likely to die from the effects of isolation than woman are. 

Rumor has it that prison preserves people, but that rumor is only partly true. While many people leave prison looking young for their age (some due to careful exercise routines), the unseen health dangers of isolation leave many incarcerated men and women vulnerable to early disease or death. That's a sobering fact, especially since prison healthcare and food are often so atrocious.

Significant relationships and close ties matter for human health. Close ties have actually been clinically proven to offer healing power for people. But it's not the close ties themselves that offer that healing power. It is the benefits that come with close ties. 

When people experience fear, pain, and anger, they need to create a narrative that provides an explanation and outlet for those feelings. Close ties offer the opportunity for someone else to listen empathetically and without judgment. But close ties require trusting relationships, and trusting relationships are difficult to find in prison. 

These past two weeks as I've processed the loss of my father without the benefit of processing it with family, I've been very fortunate to have a web of close ties, significant friendships, in prison who have kept me from feeling alone in my grief. It's a remarkable blessing in a place as destructive as prison. I'm truly grateful. 

Nobody should be alone in their fear, pain, anger, hurt, and grief. Despite my own experience, I know most prisoners are profoundly alone in these painful experiences, and that needs to change. Victims of crime also often feel alone in their pain, so I'm grateful for compassionate people who provide victim services. We need more of that. 

It is difficult to address systemically caused social isolation (such as caused by prisons), but we can individually make a difference right where we are. Taking a compassionate stance towards victims might be easier than having that same compassion for offenders. Nevertheless, knowing what to say to victims or how to help, and understanding how to make a difference in the life of offenders starts with compassion. Providing emotional support takes many forms, but each requires action. 

I have been fortunate to have the love and support of people around me during my recent loss, but incarceration (and being a victim of crime) is a loss itself. Whether it is towards a prisoner, a victim, or someone in your own backyard, compassionate support that says "you are not alone" can go a long way to saving or extending someone's life.

May You Rest in Peace, Dad

 My father died this past week. It's pretty tough to lose anyone while locked away in prison, but it is especially hard when it is a parent. I'm no exception--it's been a very tough week. 

Having a loved one die while one is incarcerated leaves one feeling incredibly powerless. My dad and I were, sadly, not close, but he's my dad and I Ioved him. I'd like to be at his funeral, to grieve and process the loss with family. Unfortunately, I am in prison where I have to observe my loss from afar, like an outsider who is informed of the death of some passing stranger.  
Processing grief while separated from others who knew and loved my dad is hard. It's largely a private grief. But I don't really grieve alone.
I'm very fortunate to have a community of men around me who care about my grief, who have offered their sympathy, a listening ear if I need it, and comfort and support through my loss. They've been amazing, and I'm truly blessed. While I cannot grieve with my birth family, I have many brothers (Christian brothers and fellow college students) around me who make sure I know I'm not alone. I'm fully aware that many other prisoners do not have that same experience, instead suffering silently and alone. 
It's so strange to experience such strong love and support in prison. Most other prisoners either do not trust others with their grief, or they simply suffer in silence while other men awkwardly distance themselves, not knowing what to say. "I'm sorry for your loss" just doesn't seem like enough. 
Over the years, when I've learned of others who lost a loved one, I have waited for the right time and then asked them to share cherished or funny memories of their loved one. It's a way I've found to help people process their grief, while honoring their loved one. 
This week, someone offered me comfort by reminding me of the comfort I had given him a few years ago by listening to him talk about his father who had been murdered. I had forgotten what I'd done, but it meant a lot to hear it meant so much to him.
I don't have many recent memories with my dad to share, but I have some fond memories from my childhood. My dad was an amazing roller skater, and he used to take us kids roller skating with him. I loved watching him skate backwards effortlessly, something I never learned to do well. I also fondly remember camping and fishing trips with Dad, collecting baseball cards together, and my dad as a practical joker. 
I'll never forget a joke he told us that sounded like an outrageous but true story. It was so engaging and really "got us going," until he hit us with the punch line: "And there I was, just pulling her leg, and pulling her leg, just like I'm pulling yours." I also remember when he snuck around our tent while we were camping, just waiting to scare the pants off of us. Until one day he didn't scare us. He didn't say a thing. The next morning when we woke up, it wasn't Dad's tracks we saw, but a bear's. It had snuck around our tent, while we yelled, "Dad! We know you're out there! You can't scare us this time!"  
My dad was kind, could talk for hours with strangers, and worked hard his whole life. I wanted a close relationship with him, but for some reason he couldn't offer that. Still, I loved him, and I'll miss him dearly. 
I love you, Dad. Until we meet again...may you rest in peace.

Breaking Bread with a Surprise Easter Meal

 I don't usually participate in large cookups in prison because they are often stressful, costly, and not as tasty as when no more than two or three people cook up together. But I made an exception on Easter morning. 

Beginning at 6:15 Easter morning, a group of fifteen or so Christians in my unit got together to make two "burrito wraps" for every prisoner in our unit. Altogether, we made 480 wraps in less than two hours. This unusual activity was designed to be a blessing to the men in our unit and to let them know that the Christian brothers care for them. After all, it is Easter, the most holy holiday on the Christian calendar. 

It was remarkable to participate in making this food. I'm a bit of a logistics nerd, so to see how smoothly our operation went, how well we worked together to pull this thing off was amazing. And we had fun while doing it. We shared some laughs, developed and honed our teamwork, and in the end prayed over the food that it would be a blessing before some of the men passed the wraps out with packs of cookies and Koolaid later in the morning. 

Undoubtedly, some prisoners kindly declined the food, some for religious reasons (after all, Christians made it), and some because they won't eat food others cook in prison. But the vast majority received the food with thanks. 

Breaking bread together, as it is called, in prison is one of the best ways to build and strengthen relationships. This is true outside of prison as well. That's why Christianity and other religions, and many ethnic groups, have long histories of sharing meals with others, including with "outsiders." For Christians, breaking bread together is one of the most holy sacraments, that of Communion (also known as the Eucharist). 

While sharing wraps with other prisoners is not the same as celebrating the body of Christ in Communion, it is still an act of worship. Christian brothers pooled resources to pay for the food, for the simple purpose of sharing love with people who seldomly experience random acts of love and kindness. 

It's not always possible to pull off something like we did Easter morning. I've been in prison for twelve years and have only seen this done one other time. But the impact can be huge. Even the unity required to carry out such a large project is a testament to other prisoners who are used to suspicion and selfishness so common in prison. Unexpected kindness has a way of softening people's hearts, and there're a lot of hurting hearts in prison. 

Celebrating any holiday in prison is difficult, but even razor wire fences can't stop some celebrations. A surprise Easter meal isn't an basket of chocolates or an egg hunt with the kids, but it is a simple way to share just a bit of the love of Christ Christians around the world celebrate on Easter.