Dear Tom Wolfe

Dear Mr. Wolfe,

            It’s been over twenty years since I read your first novel, Bonfire of the Vanities. That is, until I re-read it here in prison last week. And I have to tell you, the story made a lot more sense to me now than then.

            Back then, during my first read, I was a young, successful trial attorney, a partner in a small litigation firm in East Tennessee. I was in the middle of a large bank fraud case pitting shareholders of a failed bank against their board members as they sought to recover staggering financial losses after their bank was taken over by the FDIC.

            I picked the book up and read each night to unwind from the day’s proceedings. Scotch in one hand, TV tuned to ESPN, I’d read a few pages and laugh at the travails Sherman McCoy created for himself. My wife was nearly full term with our first child. I’d watch her attempt to lift herself out of a chair, a petite frame with a twenty pound ball strapped to her front, and read your words and think, where does this guy in the white suit come up with this stuff?

            Those days were so long ago. I’m over fifty now, divorced from that young woman, alienated from our two sons, four years into a thirteen year sentence for embezzlement. I read your book again. This time, I didn’t laugh as much. This time, I knew what Sherman McCoy felt. I knew because I’d been there. And I wondered, how did you know what it was like: the arrest, the loss, the shame, despair, and guilt? How did you know and why didn’t I pay attention all those years ago?

            Rationalization. I guess it’s part of the deadly sin of pride, but we rationalize way too much when it comes to our behavior. We know what we’re supposed to do and yet, so often doing the right thing is the furthest thought from our mind. We’re quick to hold others in contempt for their foibles and failing, but ourselves? We kind of give a quick wink.

            I was arrested at my office. For a number of years I’d been living a lie, taking money from work. It was small amounts at first, a thousand here or there. But, as the years progressed the amounts grew. I became like Santa Claus after a while. Any friend, coworker, or family member who needed anything could come to me. And I rationalized away my behavior. After all, I’d tell myself, I was a good employee in every other way. No one worked harder. And, I was active in my church and community. I was keeping our local Meals on Wheels afloat, I’d remind myself, to offset the guilt that was starting to grow in the dark recesses of my mind.

            I re-read Bonfire and came to Sherman’s explanation for his ‘drinker’s insomnia.” He needed to tell his wife what he’d done. Instead, he acted as though all was right in their world. Then, in the middle of the night, he’d awaken. His heart pounding, his mind racing one thousand miles an hour, he would be racked by guilt, and shame, and fear of being caught.

            Those words, that description, was my life. There were the 4:00 a.m. puffy, bloodshot eyes, the six scotches before bed to help me shut down, the paranoia every day at work that “today’s the day” they get me. And, there was the pleading and the deal making with God each morning on my commute. “God, I don’t want to lose my wife and kids; I don’t want to go to prison. Get me out of this. I’m a good man. Please get me out of this.”

            But actions have consequences. As I said, I was arrested at work, denied bond (too many assets, I was deemed a flight risk), I was hauled away to jail. I turned in my navy blue blazer, khaki’s, oxford shirt with Jerry Garcia tie, and Kenneth Cole shoes for a two piece puke green jail jumper (v-neck and elastic waist) with “Jackie Chans” (cheap plastic shower shoes).

            The jail stunk. It smelled of sweat and excrement and rotten food. They threw me in a cell by “reception” (funny choice of words I thought) to “make sure you don’t off yourself.” And every fifteen minutes, in that eight by eight cell with the dirty yellow bulb staying on, an officer came by and said “You alright in there?” I’d say “yeah,” but I wasn’t. I knew it was all gone.

            I thought about that as I read Sherman tell his lawyer, “All I can tell you is that I’m already dead … your ‘self’ is other people, all the people you’re tied to, and it’s only a thread.” Sherman knew so much. He knew what it was like sitting in the cesspool that is a jail. He knew what it was like to defend yourself against men who quite frankly don’t give a shit, who will beat you senseless over a perceived snub or a twenty cent ramen noodle.

            Soon enough you too have to learn not to give a shit. Weakness is death in here, so you lash out and try and become what you’re not capable of being: unempathetic, devoid of compassion, atonement, and kindness. But some of us can’t live like that.

            Somehow, you understood that. Your words, “He ain’t got the heart for being on the wrong side of the law. I don’t care who you are, sometimes in your life you’re gonna be on the wrong side of the law, and some people got the heart for it and some don’t,” rang truer than you may know.

            I realized I didn’t have the heart for it. And, I realized I couldn’t be like most of the men in here. I lost everything: freedom, wife, sons, friends, career, wealth, and for a long time I thought “I’m already dead, my heart just doesn’t know it”. I had a decision to make: quit or fight back. I loved that about Sherman. He too was all set to quit until his “friend” tried to persuade him to leave his building.

            Friends. I knew dozens and dozens of people. I got locked up and all of them, save one small handful, bailed. I decided not to quit. It was the toughest decision of my life and there are days even now when I wonder if I made the right choice. But, I couldn’t, I can’t quit.

            This entire episode has been life changing and it’s taught me a few things. A major life lesson is you find out who you really are, what’s at your core, when you’re put in a place, an environment, like this that is (pardon my crassness) completely fucked up.

            And, you don’t have to be like every other guy going through this. Most of the men in here come from lousy homes, lousy schools, lousy economies. They’re poor, ignorant, and alienated from the American dream. And for all their bravado they quietly acquiesce to their life’s lot. They can’t see beyond this place and the shitty existence they knew before. Prison to them is just another stop on their train to nowhere.

            It’s depressing, but it also makes me angry enough to fight back. I teach, GED prep, college tutoring, and creative writing. Yes, I write. I write blogs about this experience and the complete failure of the criminal justice system. Face it, there’s not “justice” in the system and no “corrections” going on in here. And I write stories about broken people. One think I’ve learned from this is we’re all broken in some way. But, there’s redemption when you come face to face with your brokenness and overcome it.

            I write this letter so you would know that Sherman McCoy matters. His story isn’t too farfetched (just look at the headlines about CIA Director Petreaus!) I’m still not sure how you knew the nuts and bolts of jail or what guilt and shame are like. But, you do and your man Sherman lived it.

            Earlier in this letter I told you my thoughts on rationalization. It’s “the glass house” effect. We are quick to pass judgment on others all the while we cut corners and try and have things “our way.” Sherman wasn’t a bad guy. But, this isn’t about being good or bad. It’s about doing the right thing even when no one is watching.

            Thank you for Sherman McCoy and all the other characters you create with their foibles and biases, desires, and idiosyncrasies. Your books capture life, our sarcastic way we screw up and, hopefully, get it back together and go on.

State of Human Nature

It is a very dreary Tuesday in January and the Virginia General Assembly is in session.  I was off work today – Adult Basic Education placement testing was being conducted – and it poured.  They finally called rec and in a cold January rain I went outside to run and blow off steam.  News from the General Assembly was not good for felons.  I needed to get my thoughts together.  And, like so many other times when things just didn’t seem to make sense, I went out to run.

A little background.  “BP”, “before prison” that is, I thought I had a pretty good understanding of human nature.  I confidently told myself and others that I understood people.  It was easy to see the world in black and white, right versus wrong, good versus evil.  And, I had an opinion and knew what was correct about almost anything.

Then came jail, and divorce, and prison.  I found myself at one of Virginia DOC’s receiving facilities in the hot, humid days of August.  For almost five months I stayed there and I survived – barely.  I saw things in that stew of violence, filth, and despair that forever altered my self-aggrandizing sense of my knowledge of human nature.

One day, I sat locked in my cell; the temperature reached over 100°; even the roaches and ants who invaded my eight by eight rat hole moved slower.  I watched in horror as above me, on the third tier some sixty feet above the concrete floor below, a man dangled.  His legs and arms were wrapped tightly around the metal railing as he was repeatedly punched and kicked by two other men who were intent on seeing him fall to this death.

No officer was in sight.  It was not the first beating I’d seen at that place and as I processed the scene I couldn’t help but think I was in hell.  And, I wondered, does anyone really care.

Each night at the receiving center, as I lay down trying to fall asleep I would, in my prayers, tell God I couldn’t take anymore.  Yet somehow, I managed to get through the next day.  During those difficult nights there was a young inmate on the first floor.  He was mentally challenged.  Each night his medication would wear off and he would scream in the dark “Jesus help me.  I’m scared.”  His screams would be met with derision and laughter.

I carry those and literally hundreds of other stories like that with me.  What they taught me surprised me.  I came out of that experience convinced that the only saving we as human beings have from our most basic instincts is the capacity to show mercy and overcome evil with kindness.

The Virginia General Assembly.  Governor Robert McDonnell proposed that Virginia join forty-eight other states in automatically restoring voting rights to nonviolent felons upon completion of their sentences.  Currently, only Kentucky and Virginia deny felons automatic restoration of rights.  Less than a week after the conservative Republican Governor surprised political watchers on both sides of the aisle with his proposal, the Republican controlled House of Delegates rejected the Governor’s plea.

I accept that reasonable people can have different opinions on the application of punishment for crimes.  But, comments made by various Republican Delegates showed a complete lack of understanding of the nature of imprisonment and the failure of Virginia’s corrections paradigm.

Prisons do not correct.  They are horrible places.  And, for the vast majority of inmates, a stay in prison does more harm than good.  No legislator should pass judgment on the merits of any released felon until they’ve witnessed firsthand what passes for incarceration.

Each year, inmates are murdered, raped, beaten and extorted, all under the eyes of the officers charged with creating a safe, rehabilitative and humane environment.  Each year, the Department of Corrections receives over one billion dollars to mostly house the incarcerated in horrendous conditions.  No matter what you think of their crimes, they are still human beings who deserve basic human decency.

Place a man or woman in prison, deprive them of basic freedoms, subject them to violence, filth and then expect that they will magically transform – not hardly.  Then, on release tell them they are not welcomed back to society except as second-class citizens denied the right to vote and subject to warrantless searches.  It is a toxic mix destined for failure.

The General Assembly, the citizens of Virginia, can do better.  Dostoevsky understood it.   A society is judged by its treatment of its prisoners.  More importantly, people of faith are called to show compassion, mercy, and forgiveness even to those who harm us.  That is real corrections.  That’s what’s lacking in the current debate in Richmond.

If Only

Yesterday, another group of men were conferred degrees and certificates by our sponsoring community college.  As it was on prior occasions, the ceremony was joyful and uplifting with the graduates mingling with faculty and family just like graduates in the “real world”.  And, as with other college graduations I’ve attended in here, there were moments for me of bittersweet memories as my mind ran through “If only, Larry”.  More on that later.

The other weekend I was at visitation with my folks.  Every month, they make the ninety mile drive from their home in North Carolina up here.  They are both healthy, late-seventies people, and that gives me hope for a lot of years post prison.  Our conversations run the gamut of what’s going on with whom, and where people are.  Invariably, my mom will make an aside about my former church and the minister there.  At my worst, as I sat in the Henrico County Jail trying to find any reason to go on, he refused to come see me.

For a long time that treatment – by people I worshiped with and helped – gnawed at me.  How can my own minister turn his back on me?  2012 was an epiphanal year in my life.  And a fair number of issues and emotional baggage I’d been carting around slowly began to go away.  Things that had seemed to hurt me so deeply didn’t really matter too much.  In fact, I began to appreciate the pain they caused.  Call it rationalization, or maturity, or salvation, but I began to understand what the Apostle Paul meant when during his imprisonment he wrote “And in all things God works for the good of those who love Him according to His purposes.”

Paul was a heck of a writer and his words struck at the mystery that is faith in times of deep trouble.  Those words – I recited that verse literally dozens of times on my worst days as I tried to will myself into believing nothing was happening that God in His infinite power and grace couldn’t work out for my benefit.

I have a dear friend, an Episcopal minister, who regularly visited me at the jail and the receiving unit.  He has provided counsel, and support – even getting his congregation involved in my circumstances, and has listened during my Job-like periods when nothing made sense.  He stayed in touch, writing and visiting me even while undergoing chemotherapy.  His friendship is a true blessing in my life.  Here’s the irony.  I never would have met Gary had it not been for my own minister’s snub.  Another friend, one of Gary’s parishioners, asked him to come see me after my own church rejected me.  “If only”.  Somehow, I think Paul is smiling and saying, “Larry finally gets it.”

Back to college graduation – I sat there and watched our students march in and I remembered I missed my older son’s college graduation.  A wave of emotion – sadness, guilt, loneliness – hit me.  “If only”, I thought, and I felt myself growing back into the guy who struggled so long in here. I started thinking about Paul’s words.

The ceremony ended and I was eating with a few friends and two college faculty members when one of our graduates came up.  “Larry, my parents want to meet you.”  I walked over with him and said hello.  An elderly black woman with a cane stepped up, then threw her arms around me.  “Thank you”, she said.  “You helped our son so much.  You answered our prayers.”

Funny thing, that same reaction happened eight or nine times after that as grad after grad got me and introduced me to parents, grandparents, spouses, children.  “This is the guy who got me through my academic classes.”

I thought about Joseph in Egypt.  Sold into slavery, sent to prison, forgotten and then saves Egypt during a terrible drought.  Through divine intervention he is reunited with his brothers who fear for their lives.  Joseph, in one of the Bible’s great lines of mercy forgives his brothers.  “You meant to harm me, but God meant it for good.”

“If only.”  Sometimes we focus too much on the regret and not on the blessing.  I couldn’t help but think about Paul, and our graduates and their families, and my prison journey.  “In all things God works for the good….”  Even in embezzlement convictions, incarceration, and divorce that message applies.

 

The Graduation Speech

This coming Friday, January 11^th, we will celebrate our second college graduation.  Thirty-seven men in caps and gowns will march into the prison gymnasium.  They will follow approximately twenty faculty members and administrators from the local community college.  This is a real graduation with real degrees and certificates conferred.  Nowhere is there any mention of “earned while in prison”. 

There will be three to four hundred guests present, mostly family and friends of the graduates.  There will also be the usual collection of “dignitaries”, a fancy term for politicians.  Members of the McDonnell administration including the Director of DOC, Harold Clarke, will listen politely as families applaud the men receiving their degrees.  And, members of the Virginia legislature will be here.  They will tell themselves and their constituents that the Commonwealth’s “tough on crime” policies combined with the Governor’s re-entry initiative made all this possible. But they know that is a lie.  These graduates received not one dollar in state aid.  And, the results recognized by this program are more significant than any state mandated re-entry program.  This program has succeeded in spite of the state.

It’s a beautiful Saturday afternoon and I just finished working out.  Yesterday, one of our graduates was asked to deliver a brief speech at the ceremony.  As I have for every graduation – GED and college – the past three years, I agreed to write the speech.  I did what I usually do when I’m asked something like this.  I prayed.  And somewhere in that prayer it hit me.  I started thinking about Victor Hugo’s novel, Les Miserables.  It’s the story of a man sentenced to prison for stealing a loaf of bread.  It is his battle with the evil of prison set against the despair of early 19^th century France.  Ultimately, it is a story of redemption and hope.

“Whether true or false, what is said about men often has as much influence on their lives, and particularly on their destinies, as what they do.”  Victor Hugo understood prison and the human condition.

Before my arrest I knew no one who had ever been convicted of a crime.  Sure there were the guys in college picked up for public drunkenness who’d spend one night in the drunk tank at jail.  And, in my prior life as a trial attorney in Tennessee, I handled cases for folks who had “a little too much to drink” and crossed the center line hitting another car.  But that was different.  There was “us” and “them”. 

And “them” included all sorts of people.  Adulterers, no good.  Depressed?  Shake it off.  Criminals?  Lock ‘em away.  There’s a reason the adage goes “a liberal is a conservative who’s been arrested.”  Until you walk in someone else’s shoes, you can’t fully appreciate their journey.

I had labels for everybody.  A funny thing about labels is you forget how little you really know.  I’ve discovered how little my labels mattered.  Good people make mistakes.  And, those mistakes can most often be redeemed.  That it took me to come to prison to understand that basic truth has taught me why God is so much smarter than I will ever be.

“Change your thinking and you can change your life.”  That was Dr. Norman Vincent Peale at his simplest and most profound.  No one’s destiny is defined by their past. Unfortunately for too many of us, what is said about us can influence our future.   That’s why graduation in here is so important.  These men can look beyond the scarlet letter “F” of felon.  They can look at their diploma and see something else, something that may be the difference to them returning here or leading wonderful, productive lives.

Does it matter?  I have to believe it does.  Until you come in here and actually experience the hopelessness of prison you can’t appreciate what a waste this “corrections” system is.  Broken, dysfunctional lives are not made whole by places such as this.  Prisons do not rehabilitate.  They tear at your soul, they waste your time, they destroy families.  And for the vast majority of inmates, from poor families with little education and even less opportunity for a better life, they do nothing but serve as revolving door.

I reached a conclusion about my own life sometime back.  I had gone off track for a lot of reasons – and forgotten who I was and what I believed.  And when the worst happened and everything was being lost, when I needed a break more than ever, I ended up in here.  I spent a long time trying to figure out why I deserved all this.  It hit me.  Sometimes what appears to be the worst is actually God starting you on the way to something better.

Graduation Day, thirty-seven men who have done something most people wouldn’t believe they could accomplish – or deserved.  Perhaps, just perhaps, this will redefine their destinies.  I pray it does.

And here is the speech the graduates and dignitaries and guests will hear.

The Speech

Good morning ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Cavan, members of the faculty of SVCC, distinguished guests, family and friends.  It is an honor to be given a few moments to share some thoughts with you about this program in this place.  College graduation in a prison, who would have thought it possible.

On Christmas Day a new movie opened in theaters around the country.  Les Miserables, the musical adaptation of Victor Hugo’s great novel has received rave reviews and huge box office numbers.  The movie, however, cannot do justice to Hugo’s book.  Let’s not forget, his is a story of a man sentenced to prison for the theft of a loaf of bread and his quest to regain his life and his character.  I think if Victor Hugo were still alive he would applaud this program and the students who have regained their lives academic class by academic class.

“Whether true or false, what is said about men often has as much influence on their lives, and particularly on their destinies, as what they do.”  Mr. Hugo knew something about the stigma of incarceration.

Yet, the men sitting here in caps and gowns and our academic aides who live and work with us in our “Campus Behind Walls” building, are proof positive that a conviction is not a destiny.  There can be something more.  Prison can be a defining moment in a man’s life, but not the definition of the man.

Dr. John Cavan believes that.  We have no greater friend, no greater advocate for giving us an opportunity at higher education than Dr. Cavan.  And Mrs. Cavan and her staff go above and beyond to make the dream of earning a college diploma in here a reality.

Then there are the faculty members – Ms. Tuck, Dr. Yarbrough, Mr. Walker, Dr. Watson and Mr. Lassahn, to name a few who came through metal detectors and pat downs to teach here.  And to a teacher they treat us with respect and encourage us and make us believe we are no different than any other students they have.

How do we say thank you?  By using this experience, this success, to leave this place behind.

It costs the Commonwealth of Virginia $25,000 per year to keep a man in prison.  It costs $5000 to put that same man through this college program.  The economics shouldn’t escape anyone’s attention.  Earning a college degree in prison does more to defeat recidivism than any re-entry program yet devised.  Put it another way, college graduates usually don’t return.

College graduation.  I have spent a great number of years behind bars.  As my release date approached, I wondered what was out there for me.  Would I be alright?  Could I find work?  What job skills did I have that would offset the stigma of my felony record?  These are the same questions every man in this room asks himself because no one wants to return here.

More than anything, this program helped me realize I can succeed on my release.  I am not just a DOC number; I am a man with an education and certification in a nationally recognized IT program.  I am a man with a future.  I have hope.

“Dum, spiro, spero.”  “While I breathe, I hope.”  That is a great Latin maxim.  I would change that if I could.  I would say, “Even in here, education gives me hope.”

In conclusion, let me thank Dr. and Mrs. Cavan and our wonderful faculty again.  Let me make a final plea for funding.  We need more money for higher education behind bars.  More money for college means less money the Commonwealth has to spend on corrections in the future.  And that should be the ultimate goal of corrections, to return as many as possible to society as productive, law abiding citizens.

Thank you.

Getting to the Root of the Issue

This past week BET ran in its entirety Alex Haley’s “Roots”.  Originally broadcast in 1977, “Roots” was a transformative event in American television.  It told Haley’s family story from the capture of a young Gambian teenager, Kunta Kinte, sold into slavery before the American Revolution, through Haley’s own life as a successful author in the late twentieth century.  It was a moving, powerful story of a man’s search to find who he is and the relationship of that quest to this nation’s story.

I read “Roots” as a high school sophomore.  And, as a senior, I sat in my living room and watched Haley’s family saga unfold.  That Haley was criticized for “creating” dialog for his ancestors didn’t faze me.  The fact that I was a WASP with family roots traced back to the 1600s didn’t strike me as odd.  Like my own family’s story, Haley’s was as American as apple pie.

With that in mind, I watched dozens of young black men between the ages of twenty and thirty watch “Roots” and completely miss Haley’s point.  And, I became discouraged and troubled.

For starters, not one man in here had ever read Haley’s book.  “Roots” was a seminal publication.  Haley almost single handedly led Americans of all races, creeds, and national origins to discover who they were and how they tied into the quilt that is America.

As with most issues in here, they saw “Roots” purely in terms of black and white.  Slavery, oppression, failure.  “No wonder all of us are locked up.  They’re doing the same thing to us they did to Kunta.”

That’s a shame.  Prison breeds ignorance and victimization.  Too many black – and white – inmates see their situations one dimensionally.  And, that one dimension is race.  They miss the big picture.  The story of Kunta Kinte and all of Alex Haley’s other relatives is a story of triumph.  It is the Exodus story, a story of struggle and ultimate success.  And, it is a story that needs to be told especially here in prison.  Only then will the chains of ignorance be broken.

The Woodrum Effect

Shortly after the beginning of the New Year, Virginia’s General Assembly will reconvene and address a host of budget amendments to the 2012-2014 budget recently proposed by the Governor.  This country, this state, is at a fiscal crossroads.   As a nation, we take in roughly two trillion dollars each year in revenue which is meant to fund the complete operation of the government.  Unfortunately, operating the behemoth known as the Federal bureaucracy costs over three trillion dollars annually.  Simple math tells us we are spending our way into destruction.

Virginia politicians, regardless of party, can be counted on to tell the voters how this state is run so much better.  Virginia has a surplus; Virginia has low unemployment and low taxes.  What these politicians neglect to tell the citizenry is that per capita, Virginia enjoys unparalleled access to Federal largesse.  This state receives vast amounts of Federal dollars through a huge Defense Department footprint in the Commonwealth and our geographic nearness to Washington, DC.  Other states’ tax dollars find their way to Virginia.  We “get” more than we give.

The second oversight is Virginia’s retirement system.  It is currently only funded at slightly more than sixty-five percent of the required dollars.  The Commonwealth has placed “IOU’s” in VRS.  “We’re good for it”, they’ll tell you in Richmond.  Tell that to the millions of retirees in Greece, Spain and a host of other near bankrupt countries.

Spending outpaces revenues. No amount of creative government accounting can slow the inevitable crash of this state’s, this nation’s, economic engine into the wall of debt.  But, this isn’t about macro-economics (though the irony isn’t lost on me that I, and thousands of other “white collar” criminals are in prison for just the sorts of shady accounting and “borrowing” that get politicians reelected), it is about the cost of prison, a cost that is continuing to grow in both the dollars spent and the damage done to Virginia families.

Virginia has a unique piece of legislation called the Woodrum Amendment.  Passed during this state’s orgy of spending on corrections (all done with Federal grants since dried up), it required that any change in the criminal code or any capital building program for DOC which would lead to an increase in the inmate population in the succeeding six years had to be funded with real dollars in year one.  The hope was that politicians wouldn’t play games:  You want to say you’re tough on crime, fund it. 

Unfortunately, the Woodrum Amendment has now become just another economic footnote.  Language is included in all criminal justice bills under the guise of complying with the amendment’s requirements.  For example, one budget amendment currently pending seeks to change the definition of “computer network” to include smart phones and tablets when dealing with child sexual solicitation.  This is a needed change, but the Governor has only budgeted $50,000 for the fiscal year 2014 increased prison cost.  At $25,000 per inmate, is he only expecting two incarcerations in the entire year?  Woodrum means nothing.

More significantly, the Governor proposes to amend the 2012-2014 budget to include $14.3 million to open River North Prison in Grayson County.  This is a political hot potato.  Grayson County has a higher than average unemployment rate.  Locals have repeatedly called on the Governor to open the prison (it currently sits vacant and unused).  At the same time that McDonnell has announced plans to finally open the facility, he has advised DOC that he is considering an additional round of prison closings (juvenile centers have already been told they are shutting down) and officers have been advised there is no longer overtime available (funny how much disgruntled officers will tell you).

There’s more.  The Governor has also asked for $10 million to “reduce exposure from not selling Brunswick prison”.  Brunswick was closed in 2009.  It and six to ten other facilities sit vacant in rural counties with high unemployment, and ever increasing hopelessness.  Meanwhile, the remaining prisons house more and more inmates as dollars dry up for programs that actually rehabilitate.

It now costs over $25,000 per year to keep a person incarcerated in a Virginia prison.  There are thousands of DOC inmates awaiting transfer from local jails to DOC custody (local jails are paid by the state to temporarily house DOC inmates).  DOC is at approximately 125% of capacity.  Facilities such as this one built to house 800, routinely hold more than 1000.

The system is straining under the ever increasing cost for inmate medical care.  At our facility, there is over a six month wait for teeth cleanings as the dental contract provider has been unable to replace the dental hygienist.  More inmates are aging, requiring more medical care for chronic conditions.  The increase in needle drug use outside has led to an explosion in hepatitis and HIV cases behind the wire.  MRSA and other infections routinely breakout in Virginia’s prisons.

Meanwhile, Governor McDonnell visits Greensville Correction Center (home to the state’s death chamber) to tout his re-entry initiative.  He applauds the college program yet neglects to say that not one dollar of state money is used in any Virginia prison college program (even more shocking is the fact that a college degree earned in prison does more to break the cycle of recidivism than any other rehabilitative program).  And, DOC spending continues to stay above one billion dollars annually.

As in prior years, a few brave legislators will propose dramatic changes to Virginia’s prison paradigm.  They will propose increasing earned good time credits for those inmates who actively attend programs and seek education.  These few legislators will propose new sentencing initiatives that keep many, but not the violent offenders, out of prison.  And, sentence changes will be suggested that bear some relationship to the severity of the crime.

I would suggest one more change.  Give the Woodrum Amendment more teeth.  A cost benefit analysis should be required for every nonviolent inmate sentenced to prison.  Alternative sentences work effectively, especially with property and financial crimes.   The state should no longer be allowed to operate facilities above capacity without providing meaningful treatment.

Over the holidays, I have received many personal wishes of support from people I’ve met during my stay here and who stood by me following my arrest.  I have been heartened to read one uniform thought:  “Why do we allow politicians to do this?”

I approach 2013 with more optimism than ever since my arrest.  As the writer of “Amazing Grace” declared, “I once was blind, but now I see”.  There is hope.  The times, “they are a changin”.  I started this posting dealing with economic realities.  I end it with faith.  The economic uncertainties of 2012 will lead to courageous political will in Richmond in 2013.