Justice?

I’ve spent a good deal of time the past two weeks working with guys in the American Lit (pre-1890) class.  They have research papers due in another week and have been laboriously reading works by Emerson, Thoreau, Whitman, Melville and Douglass.  The paper assignment is to identify a significant cultural change in America that took place in the 19^th century and discuss various writers in context with that change.  It’s a rather heavy topic, especially for guys who’ve never before been exposed to writers of that era.  So many of the young guys in here see life solely in terms of their experiences.  History, other places, other ideas, are as far away as the sun.

So I had a few guys gathered the other afternoon to discuss a couple of their topics.  I explained the philosophical basis for Thoreau’s essay titled “On Civil Disobedience”, how Thoreau refused to pay taxes to support a war against Mexico and instead willingly went to jail.  Your conscience, your moral compass, Thoreau argued, requires you to say no at times even when everyone else says yes.  It was Thoreau’s challenge to the “band wagon” effect:  right and wrong are not defined by popular opinion.

We read Lincoln’s second Inaugural Address where the 16^th President noted both sides believe God supported their interpretation of His word regarding slavery.  And Lincoln went on to note the bloodletting arose from those firm positions.  Yet, he said, no country could survive where one out of eight were enslaved.

We read Frederick Douglass who quoted the Declaration of Independence and then simply asked – how does America espouse such ideals and then fall so short?

Unfortunately, the disconnect these writers saw in America is not confined to the 19^th century.  Thoreau, Lincoln and Douglass are as relevant today as they were in the 1800s; perhaps more so.

This week the Obama Administration announced that a CIA drone had killed a wanted terrorist in Yemen.  Shortly after the announcement Congressman Ron Paul issued his comments.  He said the dead terrorist was a United States citizen (true), who had never been arrested, tried or convicted (true) of any crime.  And he said it was wrong for America to sanction assassinations.

Ron Paul may be a lot of things, but he is clearly a man of conscience.  He may be the only courageous politician in Washington today.  His comments go against everything this country has espoused and committed since September 11, 2001.  That his comments about justice and law are so rarely heard today should give anyone pause who believes in American exceptionalism.

An exceptional country does not kill – assassinate – with drones.

An exceptional country does not put security ahead of justice.

This week I read an interview with the recently released hikers home from prison in Iran.

“In prison”, they said, “we lived in a world of lies and false hopes”.  I found those words ironic.  Everyday 2.3 million men and women languish in prison cells around the country.  Everyday they – no, we – are subjected to violence, filth and degradation.  Everyday in prison is a battle against lies told by officers and treatment counselors.  Everyday is a battle against hope.  And nothing these two male hikers experienced is any different than what the incarcerated in America go through every day.

An exceptional country would not tolerate a prison system as corrupt and poorly managed as America’s.

As I spoke to the guys I saw the power of Thoreau’s words, the intellectual truths of Lincoln and Douglass’ words register.  What those men wrote is not confined to the 19^th century.  Their words are relevant today.  America can do better.  America cannot be a county that approves of assassination in the name of national security.  America cannot be the country of 2.3 million incarcerated and 46 million living below the poverty line.

As Thoreau wrote, “Let your life be a counter friction to stop the machine [of injustice]…do not lend yourself to the wrong….”

I Don't Need To Read No Damn Books

I had an incident this week in one of the creative writing classes I teach. For those that don’t know, last February I asked the school principal for permission to begin a writing program. I learned shortly thereafter that one of the teachers I worked for had tried, unsuccessfully, five years earlier to develop a writing program here.



We outlined a writing course with heavy emphasis on reading great authors. Over a fourteen week period, three hours each Wednesday afternoon, I lectured on a “nuts and bolts” issue (grammar or story development) and in group discussion covered the “genre” of the week: two weeks devoted to poetry; two weeks for short stories; six different genres in all.


Our initial class had twelve students. I was the “front man”. Ms. “W” helped with syllabus development, editing student works, and getting the class materials. From that small group we expanded to two classes; the basic program and an advanced class with more emphasis on writing material fit for publication. We now have 30 students enrolled and a winter term waiting list of another 30. The guys enrolled love the class, love to hear my stories, and love to read and write. It is an all around success.


My reasons for proposing the writing program were not all altruistic. Yes, I saw a deep need for guys in here to open their minds and express themselves constructively. But, I was looking for a way to present my own story. A week after my arrest I began keeping a journal. In these two plus years of incarceration I’ve written over 900 pages. My soul, my heartache, my hopes, my simple observations about days, are contained in those pages.


I’ve written in excess of 200 pages of my story centering on my arrest with flashbacks of trips to Vegas, the Caribbean and Atlantic City. I’ve written the first three chapters of a legal thriller. I’ve completed ten short stories. I write daily. It keeps my grounded and sane.


Back to this week’s class and “GT”. He was a student in the writing class. I say “was” because he quit the class.


GT is 34. He comes from Camden, New Jersey. His mother was a crack addict and he moved repeatedly from public housing unit to public housing unit. He never met his father.


He’s had a difficult life. He’s halfway through a ten year sentence for dealing heroin. He “decided” six months ago that he would write a “Gangsta novel” about life in the ‘hood. He signed up for the writing class to get editing help and feedback on his book.


Each week I ask the guys to read handout copies of short stories, poems, chapters from novels. We’ve put a reading list on reserve in the library and ask each student to commit to read three books during the term. The list includes works by Steinbeck, Hemingway, Harper Lee, Jack London, Melville, Wright, Hughes and Crane to name a few. Each week GT comes in and refuses to read. “I ain’t joinin’ no book club; I ain’t here to read no damn book. I wanna write my book, make money, buy a Benz, get me a ho’ and some ‘Henney’ and live.”


I switched tactics. Ms. W and I found essays by black writers, poems by Nikki Giovanni, Maya Angelou, Langston Hughes. All to no avail.


This week I tried a different tact. I edited a section of his book. I pointed out all the misspelled words, the sentence fragments, and improper punctuation. I showed him how his story was just one cliché after another. I came in with facts and figures on writers’ income and the unemployment rate for African-American males lacking college degrees. I handed out articles on publishing tips indicating that being well-read and writing properly matters. It fell on GT’s deaf ears.


Ms. W told me afterwards “you can’t make him do what everyone knows he needs to do. He’ll stand and fall on his own.”


I thought about both my sons and our family. When our oldest was about five (he’s now 22 and in law school), my wife began reading him “Where the Red Fern Grows”. It is an amazing story about a boy’s love for his two dogs - “Dan ad Little Ann” – and their love for each other. That story, I thought for a long time, captured the essence of the love my wife and I shared. After our divorce I can’t help but choke up as I think of “Dan” and “Little Ann”.


I took turns reading the story to my son. At the story’s tragic climax I was asked to read. I remember I began describing the scene and then reading about death, and devotion, and grief, and love. I felt tears roll down my cheeks as I read aloud what became of “Dan” and “Little Ann” and the boy. My wife sobbed. Our son sat transfixed, listening intently to the words, gauging our emotions.


Reading was always a part of our family’s life. Each night, my wife read to our sons when they were small. Our youngest heard aloud the “Harry Potter” series. Vacation driving featured books on CD. Both boys came to expect regular stops at Barnes & Noble. Books, magazines and newspapers were always present in our home.


Terry McMillan, author of “Waiting to Exhale” was recently interviewed on TV. When asked to give advice to upcoming writers she simply said “read, read, read”. I wish GT understood that.


So many men that end up behind bars do so out of ignorance and the pitiful circumstances of their lives. Mine was a crime of opportunity. I knew right from wrong but miscalculated – through pride and arrogance – the true cost of crossing the line. Of 1200 inmates here, around 50 are college educated, 50 enrolled in college, five with advanced degrees. Over half the compound lacks a high school diploma or GED.


Reading matters. Writing matters. Education matters. Perhaps someday GT will realize that, before it’s too late.

Karma Gets Me Again

Every time I begin feeling like the guys I’m locked up with are decent, intelligent men who’ve just had a run of bad luck, I get bombarded by a series of really stupid conversations and situations that make me remember why there are prisons. This week, I had run-ins with a number of guys who convinced me, once again, I’m the biggest idiot out there, because I risked – and lost – the most.



There’s Chris – a teacher’s aide – who is a college grad and, oh yeah, back in prison a second time for an assault conviction. He clearly has an anger issue. So how does he address his issue? He decides, in a fit of rage, to go after his bunkmate with a ballpoint pen. Now his bunkmate is a 6’5” 250 lb. black guy who bench presses right at 400 pounds. Chris is 5’10”, 190 lb. He didn’t get within two feet of his bunkmate before “BAM, BAM”, down goes Chris. He’s in the hole with a black eye, busted nose, fighting charge (which means automatic loss of job and good time). Good move Chris. Way to keep your anger in check?


There’s GT, a guy in my writing class. GT tattooed his neck with the “@” sign. Why? “It’s ghetto.” The guys in class call him “at”. He doesn’t get it. He thinks he’s going to write the greatest “gangster novel” ever, full of “pimps and ho’s, crack and bling”. When I pointed out to young Hemingway that it is “which” not “witch” he replied “spellins for white mo fo’s”. I can see it now: “and the 2025 Nobel Prize for Literature goes to At.” Problem for GT: he refuses to read. Dostoevsky, Hemingway, Hesse, Melville? “Who they?”


I had a serious discussion with Will the other day about the 1st Amendment and censorship. At issue: Will was denied access to his September issue of Playboy (men’s magazines are allowed, but particular issues are censored). Will is an absolutist when it comes to the 1st Amendment. “Anything I can read on the street, I should be able to read in here.”


I tried to explain to him that the U.S. Supreme Court has ruled that inmates don’t have an absolute right to any books or magazines they want. Security, discipline, and rehabilitation are more important than an inmate’s access to porn.


That’s not acceptable to Will. Censorship is wrong. He’s an adult and if he wants to look at porn, that’s his business. Did I mention Will’s entering year six of a nine year sentence for “carnal knowledge” of his own seven year old daughter? I’m sure this is what the founding fathers had in mind when they debated the First Amendment.


Perhaps nothing showed how inane these guys can be than the uproar over the new DOC guideline on 5% mandatory withholding.


Every inmate owes something: court fees, fines or restitution. I owe no fees or fines, but the $1 million plus I owe in restitution is a real debt. DOC has now mandated that 5% of every inmate paycheck be set aside in a forced savings account. Six months prior to your release, DOC will contact the court you owe and make arrangements to send your withheld amount to them. Don’t owe anything? The money is yours on release.


Guys went ballistic! “They stealin my money. I already work for only 20 cent an hour.”


Here’s reality:


1) The 13th Amendment outlawed slavery except involving inmate work. They don’t have to pay us.


2) Work is required to earn good time.


3) Inmates owe the fines, fees, and restitution. Paying is a requirement of probation.


If DOC want to take $2.70 a month out of my check to pay down my $1 million plus restitution order, more power to them (forget the fact it will cost more than $2.70 to account for it – ah, the joy of bureaucracy!).


Guys need to get real. Want people to seriously consider prison reform, act responsibly. Setting up a payment plan while incarcerated is a step in that direction.


Karma, you’re killing me!