Forces of Evolution

On July 3^rd, 1863, after two days of horrendous fighting in the small Pennsylvania town of Gettysburg, the Army of Northern Virginia began to form up behind a tree covered tract. Directly in front of it, on a gradual hill almost two miles away, lay the Army of the Potomac. Confederate General Robert E. Lee surveyed the battlefield. For two days, his rebel army had fought, bled, and died in an attempt to defeat the Union army, march on Washington and gain peace and independence for the Confederacy.

            Lee ordered General George Pickett to lead a grand charge across the open hillside and attack the dug in Union army at its center. A clump of trees sat at the Northern army line’s mile-wide center. “Aim for the copse of trees,” Pickett urged his officers as the 15,000 strong division began the long march forward.

            The troops marched as cannon fire and small bore canister shells tore gaping holes in their ranks. The men reformed and pressed forward moving in an orderly, disciplined march into a furious wall of fire. Barely half strength, they reached the front of the Union line. During furious hand to hand fighting a small number of rebel troops managed to breach the Union defenses and pour through at the copse of trees. For a few dramatic moments the battle hung in the balance with those few Confederate soldiers on the cusp of victory. But, a rapid Union counter-attack overwhelmed the rebel soldiers. In less than six hours the haggard Army of Northern Virginia retreated from the battlefield. They were badly beaten and would never again threaten an invasion of the north. Within two years, the Confederate States of America would cease to exist as an independent body. They foolishly marched into a withering fire and were slaughtered. For a few brief moments at the copse of trees they could sense victory. It was their high water mark. It would never return.

            I thought about that army as I watched the Presidential election returns with ninety other inmates, almost every one of whom had their TV turned on as the news broadcast the results. The vast majority of men in this place saw the re-election of President Obama as a wondrous event. They cannot separate race and economic status from a campaign. Obama, they believe, is just like them. They don’t understand that the President abhors gangs and crime, and that he is part of the “one percent.”

            For me, as I watched more states go “blue” I couldn’t help but think I was witnessing the high water mark of the GOP. Never again, I fear, will they muster sufficient national strength to win. It is ironic that so many in the current Republican Party reject evolution, because evolution explains their predicament. They either evolve or die off. I believe they will choose the latter.

            I spend a great deal of time each day explaining history, philosophy, politics, and economics to my fellow convicted felons. For many in here, I’m the most educated man they’ve ever met. And, as the election approached I found myself explaining the Republican’s positions on virtually every subject. Most of the time, however, I found myself serving as an apologist for the party of Lincoln, a party that has lost its identity and its way.

            Some reading this may wonder what an inmate, a convicted felon, is doing advising anyone. Good question. Perhaps, more than most, I know what it means to lose one’s way. Perhaps, more than most, I know you can change. But staying inert means ruin.

            Republicans lost both the popular vote and the Electoral College vote even as they took more than 59% of the white vote with sizeable majorities in those ages 35 to 64 and over 65. If the United States was all married, white, church-going families with children, Mitt Romney would be president. The problem the Republicans have is that’s not America in 2013.

            Thirteen percent of all voters were Black. Romney got 7% of those. Eleven percent of all voters were Hispanic (more in some of the crucial swing states). Romney lost that block 71% to 27%. Young voters (18 to 30) accounted for 19% of the votes tabulated. Romney lost them two to one. You will not win many elections where you start out conceding one of every three votes.

            Why doesn’t the party of Lincoln have more sway with minority voters? After all, both Black and Hispanic voters match white marital and church demographics so prized among the Republican establishment. Could it be because of the harsh rhetoric and outrageous social positions taken by Republicans smack of racism?

            I have learned a good deal during my incarceration. Here are a few basics. First, any rational parent, regardless of color, wants their children to have a better life than they do. Second, people come to America for opportunity. In spite of this nation’s faults, it is still looked at as the one place where dreams for a better life can come true. It’s what drove white Puritans here in the seventeenth century and what drives Mexicans, Columbians, Sudanese, Chinese, and people from a hundred other countries to come here.

            In many ways, I now accept that my time in prison has made me into a better man. I’ve become a born again Christian. I don’t say that lightly. I never believed in such a thing. Life, however, when it tears at your gut and you wonder, “Can I survive tonight?” brings you face to face with the Almighty. I was an ordained Deacon, Elder, and Sunday School teacher in my church. And from all appearances, I was a “good Christian.” But I wasn’t. It wasn’t until I sat alone in a cell and had nothing left that I turned to God. I evolved. Perhaps that’s the place the Republican Party now finds itself.

            A good deal will be written about this election. Fault will be assessed. “Romney was the wrong candidate” some will argue. Others will blame the Tea Party for their intolerance on issues such as gay rights, abortion, and birth control. But, like inmates coming to grips with their crimes and atoning for their wrong doing the Republicans must be open to change.

            Abraham Lincoln came to believe that the Civil War, the earth shattering bloodletting the nation underwent was divinely required to end the scourge of slavery. But Lincoln also saw the future. He knew those same battling people could eventually find “the better angels in ourselves.”

            You either evolve or you die. That is the crossroad the Grand Old Party stands before.

Moral Disconnect

There was a heated outburst between me and two students in here over another inmate.  It all began when a recently released inmate – who these two guys regularly telephone – announced he’d looked the other student up on the internet and found out the man was in on a sex charge (specifically, he’d engaged in sex with a fifteen year-old girl).

I try to take guys as they are in here.  It’s too easy for me to make instant assessments of a man’s makeup without getting to know the man.  And, quite frankly, I am in no position to judge someone else’s criminal failures.  I had a seemingly perfect life which I recklessly risked.

The problem came about when the two “purveyors of virtue” decided everyone needed to know and everyone needed to ostracize the other man.  My friend DC came to me with it.  DC, never one to beat around the bush, told me “this is f---ing me up Larry.  He’s a good guy.  We can’t sign on to this.”  My thoughts exactly.

So I was sitting in my cut, USA Today crossword in hand, when the two approached me.  “We hate snitches, homos, and molesters”, they told me.  “That’s the way you’re supposed to roll in prison.”

Funny, I told them.  I knew at least three of the guys they run with are in on rape charges, and at least one puts the moves on young inmates in the bathroom.  Can you guess how the tension level rose?

The truth is this:  when drug dealers, or murderers, or even embezzlers think they’re better than someone else’s criminal failures they can’t see the biblical lag in their own eyes.  It’s like declaring half the country doesn’t like you because they like government handouts (sorry Mitt but that was butt dumb!).

I’m not an apologist for sex offenders.  They – like all of us – have to atone for their sins and bear consequences for their actions.  But, my faith tells me to be more Godly.  And that means seeing others as He sees me.

Living in here is tough.  It’s demeaning and lonely and at times dangerous.  Still, right is right and sometimes forgiveness matters more than anything.

Two Reentry Tales

This is the story of two different reentry experiences.  These are real men who did their sentence, “completed their bids”, and returned to society.  The conclusion, “how should we handle reentry?” will be apparent.  It’s a shame the politicians don’t see it.

Ten months ago “Wolf” left Lunenburg.  Barely thirty, Wolf was completing his third prison sentence, all centered around his drug use and his quest to find money to support his habit.  And it wasn’t one drug with Wolfe.  Though he used crack regularly, he also had a taste for ecstasy, crystal meth and just about anything else he could get his hands on.

Wolf lived with his mom.  He couldn’t hold down work.  How could you when you spend your daylight hours passed out and your nights chasing a high?  He was barely literate having never completed his GED.  He’d be forced into a class for a month or two, quit, lose “good time” for a year and then repeat the cycle.  But what does good time matter when you’re only doing 36 months and you’re going home to the same life?

I met Wolf through Big S.  Big S had gotten him enrolled in a vocational program.  “You need job skills Wolf, a trade”, Big S would tell him.  Wolf, just a big, goofy looking white man-child would just shrug his shoulders.

He had artistic talent and was considered one of the best tattoo men on the compound.  But, could you trust him to do your tattoo?  He let a guy tat him up and didn’t even notice that his name was on backward (“Flow” instead of “Wolf”).

No education, no job skills, Wolf resided in 3B, the “transition” dorm.  When he was in there they hadn’t completely instituted Governor Bob’s reentry regimen, the touchy feely “therapeutic community” program where guys are paid to be “cheer managers” and “word of the day managers”.  What, you may ask does that have to do with returning to society as a productive, rehabilitated citizen?  Only Governor Bob knows.  But, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he built the program knowing it would fail, just so he could say “I tried, but nothing will change these guys.”

Some people did care about Wolf.  The vocational instructor gave him the name of a man who owned a lumber yard in a rural county not far from Richmond.  “He’ll hire felons.  Just go see him and promise me you’ll work hard.”  And of course, Big S tried to keep him on the right path in here.  “You only get so many chances Wolf,” he’d tell him.

Wolf completed “transition”, was released and went home to live with mom.  He even got a job at the lumberyard.  So far, so good.  But drug addiction is an insidious devil.  And a ten week, feel good “drugs are bad” program put on by DOC and administered by one of their “treatment counselors” is doomed to fail.  Want a new oxymoron to toss around besides “jumbo shrimp”?  Try “prison counselor”. 

For nine months, Wolf kept his job and functioned.  He wasn’t drug free, just on the days he was urine tested by his probation officer.  Urine tests, drug treatment, costs money.  But prison costs more.  So why does Governor Bob – and all his predecessors – spend over $25,000 per year to keep a man locked up, but only $2,000 per year to ensure he succeeds?

Around Christmas the lumberyard told Wolf they were letting him go.  The economy was tough.  Wolf’s source of funds for his habit dried up.  Within a month the Richmond morning news had Wolf’s mug shot on air.  He broke into an elderly woman’s home, beat her, forced her to drive to an ATM and give him money.  He then pulled off to the side of the road and put her out, returned to her house and set it on fire.  A short while later, he was arrested, still driving her car.

Wolf is facing six felony counts.  Every guy in here knows Wolf will probably never see the streets again.  He’ll pull thirty, forty years maybe even life.  And, every reasonable thinking guy in here knows every time a released inmate reoffends it makes it that much tougher on the rest of us still doing time.  Recidivism, you see, plays to society’s base fears and prejudices.  “Inmates are vicious beasts, incapable of rehabilitation.  They aren’t like law abiding folks.”

As I have noted numerous times in this blog, the Governor’s reentry program, the very mission the Department of Corrections espouses, is doomed to failure because it addresses the wrong core issues.  Drug and alcohol abuse issues are not treated in prison.  Mental illness is even worse off.  And Mitt Romney and all the other political pundits are wrong when they tell you there’s “a safety net”.  Folks, the safety net has a huge hole in it.  You take people from broken homes, with parents having limited schooling, limited resources, you have them live in poor neighborhoods with inadequate housing, schools and access to medical care; and they pour through the huge holes in the safety net.  We have a society where there is a caste system with millions and millions of folks who don’t have a shot at “the American Dream”.  Instead, they cycle in and out of prison, feeding a corrupt system that lines the pockets of a select few while sapping $60 billion annually from the nation’s coffers.  And the politicians return to the same tired programs (Governor Bob’s reentry program is the same “therapeutic plan” used and discarded by DOC in the ‘80’s and the ‘90’s because it proved ineffective).

A nation that accepts 2 ½ million people behind bars, a nation that accepts 15% of its citizens living below the poverty line, is a nation on the cusp of collapse.  There has to be a better way, a saner way.  There has to be a way to break the cycle. 

Is it hopeless?  No.  Because as badly conceived as Governor McDonnell’s reentry program is, some good, some success is happening here.

Five men who’ve been educated under the IT grant program have been released over the last five months.  All five, with the daily help and encouragement of staff at Goodwill Industries, have found stable employment.  All five have residences that they are paying rent on.

Sure it’s so soon after they left.  But the key is they worked for a goal in here.  They believed education and community support would give them a second chance.  And isn’t that what “corrections” is supposed to be about?  Over 90% of the incarcerated are going to go home.  Society could shorten sentences and prison by prison set up programs like the “campus behind walls” community we’ve built here.  Let us earn our way out.  Inmates don’t need fancy brochures touting “reentry”.  Sorry Governor Bob.  What inmates need is education and a chance to succeed.  Do that and they’ll be less stories like Wolf’s. 

Graduation Day

Yesterday forty-one men, convicted felons, failures, losers, refuse; graduated Southside Virginia Community College.  In a ceremony conducted by the college with four members of the House of Delegates present, a dozen senior administrators from DOC, the Assistant Director of the State Council of Higher Education, the head of the Department of Correctional Education and 150 to 200 family members and friends, these forty-one men were conferred degrees and program certificates.  I have been incarcerated over three and one-half years.  Yesterday was the first day I felt joy, true joy, as I contemplated my experience in prison.  It was a day I felt truly blessed and loved by God who has opened my eyes to so much.  It was an extraordinary day.

The day before graduation I was in an IT class with a wonderful professor.  Class had concluded and I was busy packing and recharging the students’ laptops and preparing the room for that evening’s American History class.  The instructor – a woman I have worked with for over a year – was packing up her satchel.  We were talking about her son – a senior at Virginia Tech – and the students, gauging how they were doing.

Ms. T looked at me and spoke.  “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I remember when you were arrested, how do you remain so upbeat?” She asked, not in an accusatory or morbidly fascinating way, but in a caring way.  And I told her briefly about the struggles in jail, receiving, the pain and regret of my divorce.  But, for some reason - and I’m not even sure why – I said “I think God’s been trying to tell me something.”

Ms. T’s smile broadened.  “Oh Larry.  Do you know why I love teaching here?  My faith tells me I’ve sinned.  I’m no better than any of these men in here.  I have to be merciful.  We’re all God’s children.  He’s blessed me with this teaching opportunity.”

Graduation Day.  Usually mornings in the building are quiet and slow.  There’s a small morning “crew” - Craig, Saleem, DC, Mike and me – who are up around 4:00 and maneuver through the showers, iron shirts, and the like all before 6:00.  But, this day was different.  By 5:30 the building was alive, every shower, every sink in use.  Guys were six deep for the iron.  Everyone wanted to look their best.

And there was some disconcert in the building.  The graduation, originally scheduled for December, had been moved to January to accommodate the Governor’s schedule.  The Governor, who regularly talks of offender re-entry as a cornerstone of his administration, suddenly “remembered” the General Assembly was in session.  He was too busy with the legislation to drive out.  And, if the Governor was too busy, so were his Director of Public Safety and his Director of Corrections.  Governor McDonnell, it seemed, could take time out of his schedule to endorse Mitt Romney for Republican candidate for President.  He couldn’t spare a few moments for the incarcerated.

At 8:30, the call came across the intercom, “college graduation participants head to program building”.  The 4A and 4B doors popped and off we went; forty or so men heading down the boulevard and around to the visitation room and gym.  The soon to be graduates headed to the library to dress in their caps and gowns and hoods.  Craig, DC and I headed to the VI room to help Ms. C, our principal, and the woman who along with her husband, Dr. C – President of Southside Community College – had dreamt of this program and this day and by their determination secured the grant and the blessings of the powers that be to make the college dream a reality. 

The three of us got to VI expecting the hassle, the pat down, the sneers of the shift officers assigned to clear us.  That wasn’t what we got.  The dayshift captain was there.  Normally a stern, abrupt officer, he was relaxed.  “Let’s get these fellows in”, he said and his officers gave a light pat down.

We helped assemble our grads in the VI room as dozens of family members and friends of the grads walked passed heading to the gym for seats.  I saw Big S’s brother step through the door with his daughter who gave a big wave to her daddy in his cap and gown.  Faculty from the college joined us and began putting their academic regalia on.  Photos of the class were taken.  And, promptly at 10:00, the processional began.

The sound system began the pre-recorded strains of the theme from “Chariots of Fire”.  I love the movie and the music.  For those not familiar with it, “Chariots of Fire” was an Academy Award winning movie based on the life and friendship of two of England’s greatest runners before the First World War.  One, Eric Liddell, was the son of Protestant Missionaries.  He was a beautiful gifted runner who moved with grace and fluidity.  Asked by a reporter to explain his running ability Liddell simply said “God smiles when I run.”  I think of those five simple words often, how when we do the seemingly effortless things, when we are both relaxed and focused, God smiles, knowing we sense the gift He’s given.

And so it was with our graduation.  On a morning which began with wind and rain, the sky cleared, the sun shone, the graduates proceeded forward and I felt God indeed smiled.  The ceremony was brief:  one hour.  DOC’s Regional Director, an early forties soft spoken black man, told the students Harold Clarke – the Department Director – believes in education for prisoners and, more importantly, believes in second chances.  And then came the conferring of degrees and certificates.  Each man stepped forward and received his diploma.  The academic aides were then called forward individually to receive recognition.  A photographer snapping photos, family members applauding, it was a real graduation; for those moments there was no “campus behind walls”. 

At the conclusion of the ceremony Dr. C rose for a final few words.  In a heartfelt gesture, he thanked the men for making his dream come true.  He reminded them they were unique, “the only program of its kind in America”.  And then he added, “And on Monday we travel to accept the prestigious Bell Award for outstanding innovative program in a community college.”

Recessional and then a meal.  The food?  It was the best meal I’ve had since August 18, 2008.  Provided by the college – and prepared and served by the men working in the prison kitchen – it was simply delicious.  Thick slabs of roast beef, real chicken breast, mashed potatoes, green beans, buttered rolls and salad – yes, fresh greens, cherry tomatoes – with homemade peppercorn ranch; heaping bowls of fresh fruit:  three kinds of grapes, cherries, pineapple, apples, honeydew, cantaloupe.  Plates were piled full and everywhere faculty members ate with the men and their families.

And something altogether unprison-like occurred.  There was no “count”.  The officers merely counted ID cards and then grabbed plates and ate with us.  For those few hours there were no “us” and “them”. There was only “we”.  “We” celebrated the achievements.  “We” felt part of something special.  “We” felt blessed.

A number of the grads asked me to get in pictures with them.  I was introduced to parents and wives and kids and it was always the same.  “This is the man I told you about.  He helped me get through the classes.  I couldn’t have done it without him.”  I felt overjoyed.  I felt blessed to be a part of this experience.  And, I felt God smile.

Later, surveying the room the Regional Director and one of the members of the House of Delegates waved me over.  “Thank you for all your efforts”, the Director told me.  In a polite fashion, I told him the efforts we – the offenders – needed to see from Richmond.  “If you really believe in re-entry, you’ll create incentives – more good time earning – for guys like these who are busting it every day to turn their lives around.  We need early release.”

Surprisingly, the Director agreed with me.  “We do need it Larry.  But this man is who you have to convince.”  The Delegate looked at me then with a smirk said, “And even in this tough economy, the crime rate has dropped.”  “In my humble opinion, and you know the studies as well as I do, sir, your policies have nothing to do with the crime rate.  It’s time Sir that you and the other delegates speak honestly about the prison system”, I responded.

We continued to speak for another fifteen minutes.  “You gave me some things to think about”, the delegate said as we shook hands and parted company.

Later in the afternoon I returned to the building.  I lay on my bunk, and drifted off to sleep.  I dreamt of a time years ago when my family was at Hilton Head.  It was a glorious summer day and we were boating on the Westside of the island.  My wife and sons smiling, sitting back enjoying the warm breezes.  We approached the end of the island and I could see where the Inland Waterway merged with the Atlantic.  And the sun gleamed on the Atlantic and the water appeared to go on forever.  And I looked at the water and felt free, at peace and blessed.

I woke from my dream with my heart full.  I was free.  I was at peace.  I was blessed.

Teaching Assistants

January 17, 2012