Kindness is Not Weakness, Even in Prison

 One saying commonly used by prisoners is, "Don't mistake my kindness for weakness." Ironically, this is exactly how many prisoners view kindness -- as a weakness that can be exploited. Whether the kindness comes from another prisoner, a corrections officer, or a family member or friend, some prisoners are quick to exploit it. 

This was a struggle for me when I first entered prison, because I believe that people should be treated with kindness and respect. I quickly learned that kindness can be a weakness if it is not accompanied by awareness and confidence. It took me some time to find the right balance so that the risk of exploitation did not harden me to the humanity of each person I encountered throughout the day. This is a delicate balance that requires emotional intelligence to get right. I still get it wrong sometimes. 

Few prisoners or officers make kindness a practice in prison, but there are exceptions. The majority of these exceptions are because of the expression of someone's genuine faith. Whether faith or something else is the motivation, though, kindness is simple, and it may make the difference in someone's life. 

Kindness doesn't have to be complicated or costly. Sometimes kindness simply means greeting someone with a smile, saying, "Please" and "Thank you," recognizing when someone is down and encouraging them, or praising someone for a job well done. 

Cleaning bathrooms is one of the least desirable jobs available in prison. When I see someone doing a good job cleaning a bathroom, I thank them and tell them I appreciate their work. This simple act of kindness goes a long way in an environment where people complain so much, even when a prisoner's job (like cleaning) inconveniences them. 

Some people may view kindness as weakness, but I see it as a powerful tool that tears down walls and builds foundations, and that has the potential to change the culture where we live. And let's be honest, this world could use a lot more kindness!

The next time you're in the grocery line or in a restaurant, for example, try being kind. Greet the clerk with a smile and genuinely ask, "How are you today?" Thank them for their service, too. At restaurants, write, "Thank you for your service!" and leave a tip that shows you mean it. Choose kindness even when the food or service disappoints you. 

You might be surprised by how much it brightens your own day when you choose to be kind to someone else.

"Those in Prison" poem

 I recently came across this poignant prose about prison that made me say, "yup, that's right!" I thought I'd share it. Enjoy!

"Those in Prison," by Susan Zalatan

We want them to be responsible
So we take away all responsibility

We want them to be positive and constructive
So we degrade them and make them useless

We want them to be trustworthy
So we put them where there is no trust

We want them to be nonviolent
So we surround them with violence

We want them to be kind and loving
So we subject them to hatred and cruelty

We want them to quit being the "tough guy"
So we put them were only the "tough guy" survives

We want them to quit exploiting us
So we cage them where they exploit each other

We want them to take control of their lives
So we make them dependent on us

We want them to be a part of our community
So we separate them from our community

You want us to have self-worth
So you destroy our self-worth
And call it "corrections."

Prisoner Testimonial--He's Got My Attention Now!

 

A few years back, I sat in a prison church service feeling bored and slightly frustrated by the disorganized progression and unpreparedness of the volunteer leading the service. I had no experience with this volunteer, so I didn't know if this disorganization was the norm or an anomaly. 

My mind wandered to all the more productive things I could be doing rather than seemingly wasting my time there. Little things that normally miss my attention suddenly captured it. The lights were too dim, the seats were old and uncomfortable, another prisoner behind me sniffled annoyingly. I wished I could get up and leave without being rude. Then the volunteer said, "We have a little extra time. Would anyone like to get up and share a testimony?" 

I groaned inwardly because invariably, someone would take far too much time telling us his life story, and it would sound very much like the last one I'd heard. I struggled to keep perspective and remember that each man is a person who wants what we all want -- to be loved and accepted by others. 

A quiet young man with a chubby face who is seated at the end of my row stood up and moved to the front. My curiosity piqued a little because he wasn't your typical ready-to-share prisoner. I found myself now wanting to stay and hear what he had to say. 

He got to the lectern and adjusted the mic down so it pointed to his mouth, while he shifted uncomfortably and looked down at the floor, terrified to speak. When he does, his voice is so quiet, and he is mumbling slightly.  

"Hi. My name is B____. Today is my birthday."  

I groan again inwardly. Attention seeker! The young man continues, oblivious to my internal dialogue.

"I almost didn't have this birthday because one month ago, I tried to commit suicide." 

I stopped talking to myself, my mind suddenly silent, jolted from its judgmental narrative. I'm ready to listen now, completely unaware of the distractions of moments before. 

"I can't even tell my mom," the young man continues, "because I don't want her to know that she almost lost her son. I didn't die because God saved me when the C.O.s found me. I know it was wrong to try to kill myself, and I'm glad God gave me another chance." 

He shuffled back to his seat, and I sat there feeling condemned. I came to the service looking for what I could get from it, not what I could bring to it. This young man, the same age as my oldest child, was sitting four seats away from me, hurting, and I barely even noticed him.

I sat quietly, my mind still silent as I let the moment sink in. I was surrounded by hurting people, each one with his own burden of guilt, shame, and longing for significance. I felt ashamed for my own selfish focus. 

A few minutes later, I left the service, soberly reminded of what Cornelius Plantinga, Jr. said in his book "Engaging God's World":

"The way to thrive is to help others to thrive; the way to flourish is to cause others to flourish; the way to fulfill yourself is to spend yourself."

How to Write the Greatest Story You'll Ever Tell

 

Some of the greatest story tellers I've ever met are in prison. If all the stories I've heard are to be believed, I've met crime bosses, hit men, real gangsters, multi-millionaires, and hundreds of incarcerated innocent men.  Now, to be fair, there is a small chance that some of the stories I've heard are true. Undoubtedly, prison holds some truly innocent men, and others who, while guilty of a crime, were nevertheless railroaded by a vigilante prosecutor who overcharged the offender and fabricated evidence to make a case. I know I've met hit men, serial killers, and true crime bosses. But these are the stories you hear from others, not from the ones who lived it. Those men have no need to recount their stories -- they have nothing to prove.  What strikes me as ironic is that with so many men who can tell a good story, why are there so few who can write a new chapter in their own lives? Why are there so many inventive story tellers, yet so few intentional authors?  We all write the story of our own lives, and perhaps because some men feel their stories are dull and uninteresting, they fabricate and embellish their pasts. But the most compelling stories are not fictional accounts of one's criminal exploits. They are the stories lives out by those who reformed from a life of crime and wrote a new chapter, a new ending, in the story of their lives. The most compelling stories are those that begin as a tragic drama but that end with a spark of hope, igniting a flame of compassion in those who believe in redemption.  The story of Chuck Colson's life took a tragic turn when he was sent to prison in disgrace for his role in Watergate, one of this country's most famous political scandals. But rather than sit around recounting stories of his influence on the most powerful man in the world, Colson decided to change the narrative of his life. He used his worst mistakes as a catalyst to build one of the largest prisoner advocacy and prison reform organizations and ministries in the United States and around the world: Prison Fellowship.  Chuck Colson wrote a new chapter in the story of his life that ended up impacting millions of people in a positive way. We may not all be able to reach the level of influence and impact that Colson did, but stories are not written a chapter at a time. They are written one word at a time.  Every day presents a new opportunity to change the narrative of our lives, and that takes looking forward with purpose, not behind us in nostalgia.

Thirsty for a Little Peace and Quiet in Prison

"What did they just say over the radio?" someone asked during a recent count time. We were locked down, as usual, for one of our several daily prisoner counts. All seemed as usual until we heard over a corrections officer's radio, "The water is contaminated and should not be consumed."  Over the next thirty minutes, we waited for the announcement over the loudspeaker warning us against drinking the water. We hoped for more information as to why we were not to drink it. And we kept waiting, but all we heard was silence from the officers.  As the time dragged on without any official announcement, prisoners shouted back and forth. "Don't drink the water! It's contaminated!!" Others added their unhelpful two cents, proving that their input was worth about that much. The anxiety in the unit grew palpable as the continued official silence led us to rather dark conclusions.  Finally the loudspeaker crackled to life, "Attention in the unit. Attention in the unit. Do NOT drink the water from your sinks. We have been informed that the water is contaminated due to a water processing plant issue. We will have more information for you soon. Meanwhile, do not drink the water!"  The officer had not even stopped speaking before the "animals" in the unit began hooting, hollering, and literally barking as they shook their barred doors vigorously. The unit erupted in screams and so much noise that anyone who missed the announcement was probably highly confused.  Eventually, we learned that the contamination problem was city wide and had begun the night before. We had been drinking and using the water all day. I don't know why we were not alerted sooner. Perhaps it was a city wide communication problem. It's hard not to believe, though, that as prisoners we were not valued enough to protect earlier.  Whatever the case, I will say that since the announcement the prison officials have fastidiously renewed their warnings and provided us prisoners plenty of bottled water. We have picked up fresh bottles at each mealtime, two or three at a time.  This water contamination problem is only supposed to last two or three days; however, I imagine that even after things are back to "normal," it'll be difficult to tell if I live in a daycare of kindergartners, a zoo of wild animals, or a prison of emotionally immature men.

 

Prisoners are Measured By Our Worst Choices

"No one deserves to be measured by the worst thing he has ever done." 

A prisoner advocate friend of mine made this powerful statement to me several years ago as we discussed the subject of advocacy, yet the truth is that as humans we tend to define people by their worst choices. 

Think about it: former president Bill Clinton is remembered largely for the Monica Lewinsky scandal, Jim Baker is remembered as a womanizing cheater, OJ Simpson as a murderer who got away with it, and Bernie Madhoff as a greedy scam artist. All the other achievements and the good qualities of each of these men are overshadowed by the stain of their bad choices. 

Certainly, some people are characterized by a lifetime of wrong choices and bad character. Others, either in a moment of weakness or through an unrestrained passion, erased a lifelong reputation of trustworthiness in a single act.

All of the guilty men in prison fall into one of these two categories. Some are lifelong losers who either can't figure out how to make good choices or who refuses to out of rebellion. Others are suffering the consequences of a single bad choice, or even the accumulation of a series of bad choices. These choices forever altered their lives and often the lives of others. But must these choices forever define these men? Must one forever remain a drug dealer, a robber, a rapist, or a murderer? 

Politicians, celebrities, and wealthy and influential people often hire public relations firms to remake a tarnished image; however, most criminals have neither the resources nor the wherewithal to conduct such a makeover. Instead, they must fight a constant uphill battle to show their commitment to new and better choices. 

Bad behavior should have consequences, but if we are to become a society that embraces restoration over retribution, we must stop measuring people by their worst choices; instead, we must begin to define a pathway towards wholeness so those who regret their worst choices can use them as sign posts for where their change began, not as edifices to where their lives ended. 

Giving someone a chance at redemption can be scary. Some who attempt to redeem themselves will fail miserably. But fear of another's failure should not keep us from embracing grace. Grace might just be the only antidote for failure, and who couldn't use a little grace from others?

A Prison Saga of Bedroll Bedlam

"I WANT MY ****** ******* BEDROLL, NOW!!!"

Across the cell from mine, the prisoner in administrative segregation (the hole) shouted loudly. He followed this with more expletives and railings against the corrections officers and loud banging against his metal locker. He'd been sitting in the cell for several hours without any linens for his bed, or even a roll of tissue in case he needed to use the toilet. 

For the next several hours, the same prisoner threatened prison guards, other prisoners, and even family members of both. Other idiots in the housing unit mocked him loudly, egging him on and hyping him up with their mockery. He responded by throwing urine out of his cell onto whomever was passing by on base.

In response to his antics, the officers talked to him, trying to negotiate better behavior from him. It didn't work. He talked quietly with them while they stood at his door, but as soon as they left, he called them every name he could think of and resumed his threats against everyone in the housing unit. 

This prisoner had the gall to even demand that other prisoners provide him with snacks to eat, the same people he had just thrown urine at. One would think that he had gone crazy, but apparently it's worked for him before. 

Continuing his theatrics, the prisoner then "barricaded" himself in his room, covering his bars in front and back with his locker and bedframe. The officers had difficulty seeing him in his cell at all. Soon, other officers were called, and more negotiations continued. After thirty minutes or so, he "surrendered" to the officers, only to be put in an observation cell, where he was stripped to a suicide watch outfit and afforded no linens at all. So much for his earlier demands. 

Other prisoners continued to antagonize and harass the man, for no reason other than their own childishness. I feel like I'm surrounded by a daycare of man-children sometimes. 

In retaliation for the mockery, and because of his anger in general, the prisoner now in observation decided to keep the entire housing unit awake all night. He repeatedly kicked his plexiglass covered cell door very loudly every ten minutes or so, all night long. Every time I would start to drift off to sleep, I would be startled awake by the loud banging and yelling. 

Fortunately, this prisoner was transferred to a higher security level the next day. He had been playing a crazy role to try to get to a prison for prisoners with acute mental illness. It didn't work, and now he's on his way to a high security level. His threats against the officers (not us prisoners) and his flashing of female medical staff earned him several misconducts that likely increased his security level. 

I do not understand why some prisoners intentionally make their prison time difficult with such behavior. I suppose they have their reasons, but I just don't get it. If it is intentional and an act, like this guy claimed it was, at the very least it demonstrates an inability to abide by social norms. It shows a marked lack of social awareness and decorum. 

This prisoner will complete his maximum sentence in three years, so he doesn't care. He'll leave prison and enter society, with a record of prison behavior that will undoubtedly be repeated in society. He is highly likely to return to prison within the first few months of his release, if he even survives that long. 

It's sad, but it's a reality in prison. Some prisoners are entrenched in their antisocial behaviors and have absolutely no interest in conformity to any sense of normalcy. They think only of themselves and have no concern for anyone else. 

I don't know what the answer is to dealing with prisoners like this, and clearly the system itself has no clue either. They can try to coerce behavior changes, but Michigan has no incentive for prisoners to change. Even if they did, I doubt this prisoner, or others like him, would place much value on the incentive. For some, prison is about the best they can hope for in life, and that's tragically sad. 

Tonight, I hope to sleep a little more soundly, until the next prisoner with uncontrollable behavior shows up. I wonder how long that will be? 

"Go and sin no more"--How Self-Forgiveness Leads to Change

 In my fourteen years, so far, in prison, I have encountered numerous prisoners who appear to have no remorse for what they've done. I suspect that many of these do, in fact, regret their past crimes and the harms they've caused, but they feel it'd be a weakness to display regret or remorse. A few, undoubtedly, actually have no regrets. 

Yet, as I look around me, at the sea of men on every side, I'm struck by the amount of pain and hurt weighing these men down. It's difficult to carry around the pain of causing others pain. When we hurt others, even indirectly, we damage our own souls too. It's no wonder some of these men cannot break the chains of their addictions. It's no wonder some of them live into the belief that they are worthless and will never amount to anything more than a criminal. 

When society and many of our victims want us to rot in hell, it's difficult to do the inner work that is required for change. It's difficult to forgive yourself when others think you don't deserve forgiveness. Sometimes it's easier to wear our shame like a mantle and to embrace our brokenness rather than to have the courage to say to ourselves, "I forgive you. Now, go and sin no more." 

If we're not careful, forgiving ourselves can feel like and be perceived as dismissal of the pain we've caused. It can look like justification or absolution. It is neither though. Forgiving ourselves begins with honesty and responsibility. It means committing to only deal with the truth and to be willing to say with all sincerity, "I did that." 

Forgiving oneself is a necessary tool to battling the insidious and crippling power of shame. But self-forgiveness is not a one-time thing. It is an ongoing action, a necessary action in the journey of healing and redemption. 

It's difficult to look at oneself honestly and to believe forgiveness is possible. Some things feel impossible to forgive. How can you forgive yourself when the people you've harmed are still suffering? It can feel a bit arrogant to even try. It might be easier to sit in the shame instead.

Self-forgiveness, though, is critical to change. And those we've hurt deserve us to change. They deserve us putting in the difficult and heart-wrenching work of admitting to ourselves and others the truth of our actions and their consequences. Without that honest output of self-reflection, I don't believe we can truly change. We remain, instead, bound to our past, increasing our chances of repeating it. 

Although I long for the forgiveness of others, I know I have no right to ask for it. Forgiveness is a grace, and grace is undeserved. I'm quite certain that I don't deserve forgiveness. But knowing I don't deserve others' forgiveness does not mean that I should resign myself to brokenness. Even if others may never forgive me, I can begin by forgiving myself. 

I'll always hold regret for my past--it is the guardrail that keeps me from driving off the same cliff. But I can live with regret while still forgiving myself. It's necessary, in fact, if I'm going to be the man I should have been all along. 

I offer myself forgiveness for my past wrongs, but I do so responsibly. I only do so after committing to deal only with truth, to accept full responsibility for the harms I caused, and by recognizing that I have failed to live up to the dignity and divine image God has given to each one of us. 

I know I can do better, and I am committed to. But in order to live into that reality, I have to learn to let go of the shame and condemnation that works to keep me bound to who I used to be. I forgive myself.

Senseless Prison Practices Silence Free Speech

 The United States Constitution protects First Amendment rights of free speech. This protection has been applied in various settings in a variety of ways, including in a prison context. The United States Supreme Court has held, in important rulings over the past several decades, that prisoners enjoy First Amendment protections, too, though understandably limited in some circumstances. 

An important Supreme Court case critical to the protection of prisoners' First Amendment rights is Turner v Safley (482 US 78 (1987)). This case sets a five point standard by which First Amendment questions are evaluated for prisoners. The problem is that the State of Michigan, at least, has essentially ignored this standard when evaluating prisoners' First Amendment rights. 

In particular, some Michigan prisons have begun, especially in the last few years, to adopt a very strict practice of censorship. Prisoners who write books or articles are being prevented from receiving copies of their published works. Entire publications are being censored at prisons where a prisoner author resides, if his work is in the publication. Even books of poetry authored by prisoners are being censored. 

Nowhere in Michigan's prison policy are prisoners prohibited from receiving copies of their own published works, but that doesn't stop the Department from enforcing an unwritten policy to suppress prisoner expression of free speech. Prison policy specifically prohibits censorship of material that is deemed controversial or even repugnant, but prison staff censor all prisoner writings anyway. 

Prisoners who disagree with such decisions have access to a grievance system. They can file a grievance against the decision maker, or even challenge the basis for such a decision. But for years now, Michigan's grievance system has been useless. Grievance coordinators and other staff have conspired to ignore policy requirements for proper grievance processing, but stringently require absolute adherence to policy by prisoners. 

Grievances are not investigated, prisoners are not afforded their rightful hearing, and policy requirements are routinely ignored, or worse, blatantly violated. There is virtually no oversight that holds the Department of Corrections accountable to follow the rules. 

The Michigan Legislature has an "Ombudsman" whose job it is to review complaints about department violations of law and policy. The current Ombudsman has held his position for decades, and his department routinely ignores or brushes off patterns of abuse by the Michigan Department of Corrections. There is in practice almost no accountability to ensure prisoners are being treated fairly and according to firmly established law. 

Constitutionalists are deeply concerned about the growing practice of censorship in America. Education, business, and politics are not the only realms where free speech and free exchange of ideas are under fire. Prison officials, too, are systematically silencing the voices of prisoners, perhaps seeking to protect a system that is marked by rampant failure and shockingly deep apathy.  

It's a sad, sad day in America when prisoners are not allowed to receive even a notebook of blank lined paper. God forbid should they journal about their prison experiences or write down their own thoughts. What exactly are prison officials trying to protect with such severe, senseless, and unconstitutional censorship practices? 
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Why Some Prisoners Borrow, Beg, or Steal

In some prisons around the country, prisoners can go most days to their commissary and purchase food, hygiene items, and OTC medications, providing they have money in their prisoner account. In Michigan, we use a bi-weekly ordering system, ordering the products we wish to purchase through a kiosk system in our housing unit. Every two weeks, "store" is delivered to the unit. We cannot simply go to the commissary and order more when we run out. It requires planning ahead and conserving what you've already ordered. 

Because many prisoners are compulsive, they either owe most of their store out to the store man (or "corner dealer") in the unit. The store man charges 50% to borrow goods until the next store day. Many other prisoners consume most of their food in a few days. Every store day, the microwaves are very busy with lines of prisoners waiting to do their "cook-ups," often elaborate concoctions that should not take the hour or more they often use to cook. 

Some of the recipes people come up with in prison are pretty creative. Recently, I saw rice patties rolled in pulverized nachos. I'm sure there was more to the recipe, but I didn't ask. They did look delicious. But I also know two microwaves were used for more than two hours to cook the darn things. 

The few days before store comes, prisoners are often heard going around the housing unit asking to borrow noodles (Ramen noodles), chips, or some other food item. "Enterprising" prisoners will loan soups out, two for three. Borrow two, pay back three on store day. Others simply loan the soups out from the kindness of their hearts. 

Recently, three days before store day, I settled in for the night after returning from facilitating an evening class. I made some tea for the next day, put my books away, cleaned up my cell a bit, and settled down for a little TV entertainment. That's when the first prisoner stopped and asked, "Hey, have you got a soup until store?"

Normally, I'd say no, because people start thinking you're okay with loaning stuff out frequently. Kindness is often abused in prison. I gave this guy a soup because he'd never asked me before, and I knew him. I settled back down, only to hear my name called again. Another prisoner called up from the floor below, "Do you have a couple of soups until store?" I told him no. I know he gets high, and I didn't want to support his habit, even if it meant making up for what he'd already spent to get high. 

Three more times in the next ten minutes, I had people stop and ask to borrow soups. One more asked for a shot of coffee. I don't know what got into the housing unit that night, but it was crazy! I don't think I've ever had five people in less than fifteen minutes ask me to borrow soups. If I didn't mind dealing with the terrible hassle of it, I'd open a store myself. I'd probably do pretty well for myself. But it's against the rules, so I avoid the practice. 

I sent each additional person, including those who don't even know me, away empty handed. Had I given each guy a soup, I'd have none in my locker and I'd have to chase down soups on store, or write them off. Some people conveniently "forget" who they owe. In fact, store day is often referred to as "story day." The excuses don't get very creative, either. 

The longer I've been in prison, the more I recognize how impulsivity is a major problem for many prisoners. Impulsivity doesn't have to lead to crime, but it often does. When you're impulsive in one area of your life, you often are in others too. Impulsivity means ignoring future needs in favor of present "happiness." It means eating your entire store bag in two days and then begging, borrowing, or stealing to feed yourself until the next store. 

It's curious to me that no class that I know of in prison teaches prisoners how to reduce impulsivity. Now, THAT would be a good idea! 

Some Corrections Officers Deserve to Be Thanked

The month of May is law enforcement month, and as you may have read in past posts, I think many cops get a bad rap. Theirs is a thankless, dangerous, and low paying job. 

Perhaps it surprises you to hear a Michigan prisoner say he's grateful for the police officers that keep our communities safe. But I am! Just because I am in prison does not make me an anarchist. I believe community safety requires law enforcement. 

Of course, I have been critical of law enforcement officers when they abuse their power. Just because they wear a badge does not mean they can violate the rights and dignity of the people they serve. Too many very public law enforcement abuses have occurred in recent years, and many good officers have suffered because of these bad apples. That's very unfortunate. 

As part of law enforcement month, the week of May 8th was National Correctional Officers Week. As a prisoner, it's even harder for me to express gratefulness to corrections officers, probably because I see and experience abuses of power every day. Nevertheless, just as many cops are good cops, so too are many corrections officers. Many do their very thankless jobs with as much grace as they can muster in their grossly overworked conditions. 

Some are heartless, merciless, corrupt, and downright criminal themselves. But others, too, are wonderful people who treat prisoners with dignity, earn our respect, and seek to restore our desire to do right. That's a very difficult heart to maintain when you experience constant disrespect and verbal abuse as many of them do. 

I would never want someone I love to work in a prison. It's a sometimes dangerous, more often incredibly boring, job that provides very little sense of purpose or joy. Prison is very difficult on the emotional and mental health of prisoners, but it also strains the same health of corrections officers. It has to be very difficult on their families too. 

It's tempting as a Michigan prisoner to take an "us against them" approach to viewing corrections officers. They aren't my friends, for sure, but they have an important job to do, even if it likely feels unimportant and thankless most of the time. 

I'm grateful for the handful who have demonstrated compassion to me over the years, and who have treated me and my loved ones with dignity, despite how other prisoners (and some visitors!) treat them every day. 

One Shouldn't Have to be Told--Take a Shower, Man!

 Prisons are, by their very nature, dirty and stinky places to live. Whenever you pack hundreds of people together in the same living space, it's bound to be noxious. Yep, the showers are free, and they'll even give you some cheap soap for free if you need it. But despite the need, some men just refuse to shower on a regular basis. 

I get it. Prisoners have been hit with skyrocketing store prices, just like everyone else. Deodorant is expensive. Toothpaste is expensive. Still, you'd think those essentials would be a higher priority for prisoners than a ramen noodle or a bag of chips. Sadly, for many, they are not. 

A little more than a month ago, a man rode into the housing unit where I am housed. He locks just a few cells away, and I have to pass his cell anytime I leave my cell. And he stinks, very, very bad. He's also a bit older than I am, so he ought to know better. Frankly, anyone who calls himself a grown man should know better. 

After several days of holding my breath every time I passed his cell, I couldn't take it any longer. 

"Excuse me," I began, speaking to him for the first time ever. "I'm not trying to be disrespectful or rude, but you really need to take a shower. I have a bar of soap down here that you can have if you need it."

I can't believe I'm actually having to tell a grown man to take a shower! It's embarrassing, for me, but probably also for him. He assured me he had things under control and didn't need my soap. I was highly skeptical because it didn't smell like things were under control, but I did what I could. 

The next day, to my surprise, the man showered, shaved, and changed his clothes, for the first time in over a month. The stench wafting from his cell disappeared, and I was pleasantly surprised that he'd turned a corner. He also started a job in the kitchen the day after that, making me doubly grateful for his recent shower. 

My joy was short-lived. 

The stench is again wafting from his cell. I'm not sure, but I think that shower a couple of weeks ago was the last he took. And I'm not sure he's changed his clothes since then either. His kitchen job lasted only a day or two. Rumor has it he was fired for his stench, but that could be just a cruel prison rumor. Though, sometimes rumors are based in an element of truth. 

It seems pointless to tell the man again to shower, but I know I'm not the only one who holds his breath when passing the man's cell. In the past, corrections officers would have made a man take a shower if he smelled that bad. The ones here don't seem to care. 

Sadly, this man is not the only one who is shower-phobic. Every day, at least once a day, I am overcome by the stench of someone's B.O. And when it's not B.O., it's the unflushed toilet downstairs, the gaseous emissions from dozens of men, or the smell of burning ramen noodles. 

I never thought I'd say this, but I miss my lack of smell after having Covid. 

A grown man shouldn't have to be told to shower. Or to give a courtesy flush. Or to be considerate in a myriad of other ways to those around them. Perhaps I'm simply asking too much. Or maybe some men just need to be re-parented.

Newly Proposed Michigan Legislation Targets Criminal Justice and Prison Reforms

 Recently, I was researching newly proposed legislation in Michigan that affects prisoners and the criminal justice system in general. Quite a few bills have been proposed, including: 

* Second Look legislation (bill numbers unknown). This would give offenders sentenced to lengthy sentences the ability to petition for a second look at their sentences after ten years. This could allow prisoners who demonstrate tangible markers of rehabilitation the opportunity to have their sentences reduced. 

* Good Time legislation (H.B. 4468-4471). This would give prisoners the ability to earn good time sentence reductions off of their sentences, only in months where they receive no misconduct tickets. Prisoners could earn up to half the time off their sentences. 

* Productivity Credits legislation (H.B. 4450-4453). This would allow prisoners to earn time off of their sentences through engaging in educational opportunities, both mandated and voluntary. Prisoners could earn up to twenty percent off of their sentences; however, some restrictions on charges limit who is eligible for productivity credits. Murder convictions and any criminal sexual conduct convictions are ineligible. 

* Freedom of Information Act legislation (H.B. 4427). This legislation seeks to resolve a miscarriage of justice by allowing prisoners limited access to FOIA requests. Prisoners have had to depend on others to make requests that are necessary for legal appeals. Prisoners will only be allowed access to FOIA requests involving themselves or their children, if they still maintain parental rights. 

Several other bills seek to codify sentencing limits on juvenile offenders and protect against disparities in the criminal justice system's sentencing practices. 

The Michigan legislature will also consider a bill (H.B. 4384) that renews and modifies the mandate of the Sentencing Commission. This sentencing commission has been an important development for Michigan, which has the highest average prison sentences in the United States. The Sentencing Commission is tasked, in part, with reducing mandatory minimums in sentencing, as well as looking for other modifications that aim to make Michigan's sentencing more just. 

One thing I found interesting in this bill is the language that clarifies the commission's purpose: "To achieve offender rehabilitation, general deterrence, incapacitation of dangerous offenders, restoration of crime victims and communities, and reintegration of offenders into the law-abiding community." 

These are laudable goals, but I wonder who makes up the sentencing commission? What philosophies of incarceration are used to achieve these goals? Right now, the Michigan prison system is so understaffed that the effectiveness of offender rehabilitation is questionable. Furthermore, many studies on philosophies of incarceration have demonstrated the absolute worthlessness of deterrence as an aim. It simply doesn't work. Nevertheless, I suppose there's nothing illegal about beating a dead horse. 

Many people are hopeful that this newly elected Michigan legislature will accomplish many criminal justice and prison reforms. So far, that has not been a top priority of either the legislature or Governor Whitmer. We'll see if that changes. I know many prisoners and their families are hoping for well-thought out and effective reforms. 

It's difficult to balance the needs and desires of victims of crime with the reforms necessary to make prisons effective at rehabilitation, and cost effective. Nevertheless, both parts are necessary -- honoring victims' needs and effectively dealing with offenders so they are no longer a threat to their communities.

Some Prisoners Lack Basic Social Courtesy and Self-Awareness

Recently at work, one of the prisoner students showed up and began studying on the computer for one of the tests he's required to take. Like other mornings, this 50-something year old prisoner, who has been in prison since he was a juvenile, sits at the same computer after vigorously wiping everything down first. He's a germaphobe. One of the worst I've seen in prison.

Soon, he has his headphones on as he listens to the videos he's watching. Completely oblivious to the other prisoners and a staff member in the room, he yawns loudly. This is the first of several very loud yawns he will make each morning. He also "clicks" his throat repeatedly in a loud and annoying way. He's oblivious to anything he is doing that is irritating, but he's also highly sensitive to anything someone else does that irritates him. 

This prisoner, like many others, lacks appropriate social awareness. He lacks at least two of the three markers of emotional intelligence: Self-Awareness, Emotional Self-Regulation, and Empathy. 

Self-awareness involves awareness of one's physical and emotional being. It includes spatial awareness of one's body, including awareness of how things like one's volume of noise affects others. Many, many prisoners completely lack awareness of how loud they are being and how that noise level affects others around them. Spatial awareness also involves understanding that one does not "own" space, and awareness that oneself is in the way of others. Far too many prisoners lack this basic awareness. 

Self-awareness also affects how some prisoners perceive others, causing them to have distorted perceptions of others. Minor infractions are blown out of proportion because prisoners without self-awareness falsely believe they are above reproach. Others' infractions are endowed with malicious motives, even if done without awareness of their effect. 

Prisoners lacking self-awareness perform very little self-evaluation. Things happen to them and are usually the fault of others. If one's fault is evident, it is often dismissed as no big deal. These prisoners minimize their blame for nearly everything. They also have very distorted perceptions of themselves. 

These distorted perceptions are why the prisoner above is hyper critical of others without any awareness of his immaturity or annoying behavior. It's also why the biggest clown in my housing unit recently fumed, "I've never seen so many clowns in all my life!" or why others constantly complain about other prisoners' behavior while their own frustrates and annoys everyone else. 

I like to think that I am particularly conscious, both of myself and others. I think that belief is based largely on truth, but I am open to others pointing out when I lack self-awareness. It's important to me not only to be aware of myself, but also responsible for myself. It's also important to me that I am aware of others and how I affect them. 

I suppose we're all growing, but it's difficult for me to have much hope for some prisoners who have failed to learn these basic skills after decades in prison. One should not have to be told that scraping a chair across the concrete floor at 5AM is loud and wakes people up. Nor should a grown man have to be told that his yawn is annoyingly loud. It's just basic common courtesy.  

We Need Prison Advocates Now More Than Ever!

 A few days ago, a friend of mine in prison was talking to another prisoner about the frequent mailroom censorship issues we have at this prison (Parnall Correctional Facility). This other prisoner had experienced several problems with mail and books being rejected. Although he had appealed these rejections, as my friend and I both have our own censored mail, the rejections were upheld. The Michigan prison system, and Parnall especially, has staff members that interpret policy in extreme and often unconstitutional ways, resulting in severe First Amendment restrictions for prisoners. 

My friend tried to encourage this other prisoner to continue his appeals, but he expressed reluctance. He stated that he would be leaving prison in less than a year, and then he could put this behind him. 

I totally understand his sentiment, especially because the fight for our constitutional rights is SO difficult in a system like the MDOC that doesn't follow its own rules; however, his sentiment also expresses one of the problems with advocacy. Many advocates are active only because the system affects them or an incarcerated loved one. 

Of course, it makes sense that people would spend their energies in areas that affect them. It's the same reason mothers who lost children to drunk drivers formed M.A.D.D. It's also why mothers who lost children to overdoses are in the front lines of offense against opiates. 

Advocating for criminal justice reforms, and especially for prison reforms, is especially tough because of the revolving nature of prison. By the time any traction occurs on change, people are worn out from the fight. When no longer directly affected, it's easy to lose the drive to continue. But we need advocates! We need people to stand up and communicate to the Michigan legislature that the current system is not just and is too costly. 

Michigan's status as having the highest average prison sentence length and one of the highest cost per prisoner prison budgets ought to drive Michigan's residents to demand change. Michigan's high budget isn't because we prisoners eat lavishly or have privileges paid for by taxpayers. Our food is horrible, our health care extremely ineffective and low quality, and Michigan's prison budget is still very large. 

I get it. Prisoner advocacy is tiring. It's discouraging. Michigan depends on its incarceration industry to keep many small Michigan cities supplied with jobs and tax revenue. There's a lot of resistance to change. But the fight is worth it, and whole groups of resilient people are fighting for change. 

On April 20th, yet another good time bill was proposed in the Michigan legislature. Good time is not the answer to every problem in Michigan's prison system, by far. But it's a good start to reduce the strain on the system and free up funding, space, and staff needed for true reform.  

Perhaps you're tired of the fight for reforms, and like some prisoners maybe you have lost hope that good time legislation will pass. Please don't give up! You might not be able to do much, but you can at least send an email to your legislators asking them to seriously consider passing this important legislation. The email is even mostly written for you already. Just go to www.MiJustice.org/2023 to send an email to your legislator, then ask someone else to do the same.

Michigan Justice Advocacy has been at the forefront of this important fight, and I'm grateful for their volunteers who put in so many hours to educate legislators and the public on the reasons why good time legislation is good for Michigan. I hate to borrow a phrase from my favorite baseball team, the Chicago Cubs, but maybe this'll be the year.

Good Time Legislation in Michigan's New Legislative Session

 Throughout the last several years, Michigan legislators have introduced several bills that would reinstate some form of good time for Michigan's prisoners. Each time, the bills have died in committee, despite having some support among legislators. 

But many Michigan prisoners are hoping this year will be different. For the first time in more than forty years, Michigan has a democratic majority in both legislative chambers and a Democrat governor. But democrats are not the only party supporting some form of good time for Michigan. Republicans, too, understand the financial strains of our current system, and they some see the value of also encouraging and rewarding good behavior among prisoners. 

Michigan ranks number one in the nation for the longest average prison sentence, at 6.5 years. It also has one of the highest cost per prisoner budgets in the nation--despite abysmal food and healthcare quality. The Michigan Department of Corrections also still has a critical shortage of corrections officers, so it is paying exorbitant overtime costs and wearing out their current staff. 

It's time for Michigan to make a significant change in its approach, especially since much research has demonstrated that longer sentences do not reduce recidivism rates. 

Michigan Justice Advocacy (MJA) has been leading the push for good time legislation, and on April 20th, Representative Amos ONeal (Saginaw) will introduce a good time bill in the current legislative session. 

The same day this legislation will be introduced, MJA will hold an event on the west lawn of Michigan's Capitol building. The event goes from 1-4 PM, though it officially starts at 2 PM. They are encouraging as many people as can to attend and show support for this critical legislation. You can also express your support to your legislator by visiting MiJustice.org/2023 and sending a personalized support letter. 

Good time legislation not only encourages prisoners to behave in positive ways in prison, but it will also save the state money, relax the terrible pressure on overworked prison staff, and allow the department to focus its efforts more efficiently on rehabilitation. 

Prior to the introduction of this new legislation, MJA will have an informational Zoom meeting on April 15th at 2PM. Please see MiJustice.org for more information. 

Additionally, after ONeal introduces this important legislation, on April 24th, he will host a town hall meeting to discuss the legislation's details. This will be held in Saginaw at the UAW, 699 hall building (1911 Bagley Street). 

If you are able, please join MJA in Lansing on April 20th, and either way, please go to MiJustice.org/2023 to send a letter of support for this legislation to your Michigan legislators!

Thank you to MJA for all their tireless work on this issue! And thank you for supporting their efforts. It's time for Michigan to join the rest of the nation in offering prisoners time cuts for good behavior. 

Prisoner Deaths Highlight Undignified Treatment

Death occurs in prison, just like it does outside of prison. Sometimes prisoners die because another prisoner assaulted them, or because they experienced neglect or abuse at the hands of staff members. Still others die because of disease or old age. But for many of us prisoners, the death of another prisoner is a stark reminder of our own mortality. It also causes profound anxiety as we desperately hope to leave prison before we ourselves die. 

Dying in prison is an even more lonely prospect than living here. Who is here to grieve our passing? Who will treat us with dignity in our death? Who will tell the best parts of our stories? Who will inform our families, and will it be with compassion? 

This past week, two prisoners in my housing unit died in 24 hours. It's unclear to me what caused either of their deaths. One was quite sick, and the other had a long history of substance abuse, so they likely both died from health complications. But the cause of their death does not diminish the tragedy of it. At least one of those prisoners apparently had nobody, no family, outside of prison. He'll likely receive a pauper's burial by the state. 

When a someone dies in prison, other prisoners react in different ways. Many are somber and anxious. Others are calloused...and probably anxious. As if the lack of dignified treatment we receive by staff isn't bad enough, some prisoners deal with death by mocking it, and the prisoner who experienced it. Some get angry because of the disruption it causes them. God forbid they should have to be locked in their cells for a few hours instead of playing cards or whatever fills their day. Compassion is foreign to some prisoners. 

Staff, too, respond differently to the death of a prisoner. Many of them resent the added paperwork and scrutiny that comes when a prisoner dies under their watch. All prisoner deaths are investigated by the State Police. Some staff express compassion to the rest of us prisoners, while others take their stress out on us.

But when the first of the two prisoners died last week, I witnessed one of the most disturbing treatments I've seen. A half dozen or more staff members and investigators gathered around the prisoner's cell as they prepared to bring his body out of the housing unit. They'd already wrapped him up for transport. Yet, when it came time to transport him, instead of two or three people carrying him, one officer simply dragged the body down the gallery walkway like a sack of garbage. They only carried him when they came to the stairs. 

I sat on a bench watching the whole episode, shock reverberating through my body. The realization that the indignities we experience in prison even extend to our deaths hit me hard. And I wasn't alone. Other prisoners are still talking about it almost a week later. It boggles my mind how prison staff could think that was okay! Especially while the rest of us prisoners watched.

I didn't know either prisoner who died, but I believe every human deserves to be treated with dignity, including prisoners, regardless of their crimes. It saddens me deeply to know that even in death we are nothing but garbage to some prison staff. 

Century Old Prison--a Relic of Times Past, a Mausoleum of Wasted Lives

Parnall Correctional Facility, where I am currently housed, is a mishmash of old and newer structures. Little planning went into the logistics of the prison. Buildings were erected wherever there was room, so the flow is haphazard at best. Some of the housing units are "modern" pole barns. Others, like where I live, are multi-level buildings, constructed using a design that is more than a century old. 

When you walk into my housing unit, after passing the officers' station (an office), you walk onto what is called "base yard." Here, nine steel tables are bolted to the concrete floor, and benches face a TV at the end of the roughly 250 foot long corridor. Nearer the officers' station are steel countertops for "cooking" with four microwaves and two hot pots for water. 

On the same level are roughly 60 cells, mostly for prisoners who are unable to climb stairs on a regular basis. Just beyond the TV and benches are the showers, which offer minimal privacy. Beyond the showers is a doorway leading to the next housing unit, which is similarly constructed. Only officers and staff are allowed to use this door. 

Back on base, one can look up to see two rows of cells facing each other on each level. In between is an air space opened from the base level to the ceiling. Sadly, too many men over the years have chosen a brief dive to the base to end their suffering. In my short eight months here, so far, I've only seen it once--but even once is enough to cause one trauma. 

The floors rise five levels, from base to tier four through a series of stairs. The tiers above base have roughly 75 cells split between two sides (approx. 350 cells in all). Each cell is roughly ten feet long and six feet wide with bars on each end and concrete walls between each cell. 

Inside the cells is a metal bunk with a thin mat, a standing locker, a school sized desk, and a metal toilet and sink. Roughly twenty inches separates the bed and the desk, just enough to slide in a plastic chair. 

The construction of this prison housing unit is different than more modernly constructed prisons. The location of Parnall Correctional Facility, in Jackson, Michigan, is adjacent to Michigan's oldest prison--known as "behind the wall," or "The Big House." Though no longer housing prisoners, many of Jackson prison's buildings still stand, monuments to a bygone era and the thousands of lives who suffered there. The back wall of my housing unit abuts the yard of Jackson prison. 

The Big House was built in the 1830s, one of the early adopters of the Auburn system of total isolation. My housing unit was added several decades later, in the early 1900s. It has had various "upgrades" over the years, but the infrastructure is still quite old. It remains open, at least in part, because it is one of the few Michigan level one prisons offering single man cells. Some prisoners, mostly in the housing unit next door, require single man cells because of their gender identity or sexual orientation. Consequently, that unit is pejoratively called, "The Doll House." 

Modern prison designs, whether the "pole barns" found at this prison and in others around the state, or others like those seen on TV in other states, have made a drastic diversion from the old system of total isolation. In these other housing units, one is hard pressed to find a few minutes of solitude, or even a moment of silence. 

Even in my housing unit, where we enjoy the "luxury" of single man cells, the noise level is sometimes deafening. Many prisoners, including myself, use music we've purchased to tune out the noise. It's sometimes still not enough, even though we use ear buds. But one can enter his own cell and shut the barred door, providing a modicum of solitude. I'll take what I can get!

As I write this, it's count time, so the unit is relatively quiet. But once count clears, the noise level will rise precipitously. Men will rush to stand in the phone line (6 phones), to use an email kiosk (4 kiosks), to use a microwave (4 microwaves) or to grab one of the nine tables, all available for 350 prisoners. The old Jackson prison might have been called "the Big House," but as I look around all I see is a madhouse.