Why Use A Pen?

English students of all ages learn early on what “homonym” means:  two (or more) words that sound the same but mean entirely two different things.  Think “break” or “brake”.  I’ve been thinking about that concept as I wondered this week about writing about life in here.  What does it mean to use a pen in the pen?  OK, so it’s not really a homonym, but the meaning of the two is as wide as an ocean.

“The pen”, slang for the penitentiary.  Prison, a waste land of lost lives, failed people.  It’s dirty, dangerous, hopeless.  And, for most people, a world for “them” – you know, the bad guys which we want nothing to do with. 

Then there’s the “pen”, fancy or plain, it is known to be “mightier than the sword”.  It can express our collective dreams:  “we hold these truths to be self –evident…”; a source of comfort – “fear not, I am with you…”; and love, appreciation or desire, “And I will always love you…”.

This week, I was asked why I continue to write about this place.  Why don’t I write about travel and life outside, why focus on this prison, why use my pen to write about the pen?  A friend, a guy from a world as far removed from mine as is possible and yet who has become like a brother remembered a piece I shared with our writing class.  It was about writing from inside here.

The pen quite literally saved my life.  Imagine going in a few hours from the life you’ve lived your entire time on earth and being dropped into the middle of a completely alien world.  You looked out of place; you didn’t speak the language.  It appeared dangerous, dark and hopeless.  And, there was no getting out.  Everything you knew “before” was leaving you:  family, friends, wealth, status.  You were in a brave, new world and those familiar with both sides were betting you wouldn’t make it.

So, I began writing a daily diary recounting all I saw, all I felt and experienced, to keep my sanity.  There was pain and sadness, but also notes about meals and card games, and simple acts of kindness being shown.  It was cathartic and enlightening.  And after a short while, I realized I knew very little about the world so many I saw came from.  But, at the end of the day, most had the same hopes and dreams I had.  People, I began to realize, weren’t “us” or “them”.  It was “we”.  We all want to be loved and appreciated.  We all want a chance at happiness.

I started the blog almost three years ago as a way of bringing my two worlds together.  It began as a dream to let my family – and me – heal but also explain to those out in the “real world” what prison is all about.  Many times I write about very ugly things, people not being “the better angels in themselves”, to borrow from President Lincoln.  And the longer I’m in here, the more confused I become about our collective inability to see right from wrong, to do justice, and to walk humbly before our God.

There is much to be discouraged about when living in here.  Guys do things that don’t make sense.  But, society is like that.  We all, I fear, fall short of the mark.  And even in this place I am constantly surprised by the decency, the humanity of men who “good people” think are beyond redemption.

Redemption.  Maybe in the end that’s what this is all about.  I’ve learned that society’s views on crime, punishment and rehabilitation are flawed.  We can, we must, do better.  Too many lives are being lost.  It’s a vicious cycle of hopelessness, despair, and ignorance.  Drugs, violence, prison, it repeats over and over.

Today is the first Sunday in Advent, the beginning of the “new” year for those of us touched by God’s grace.  Advent is a season of hope.  It’s a time when the word “Emmanuel”, “God with us”, stirs in our hearts and souls.  And the pen, this writing implement helps me record the hope I feel despite of what I sometimes see. 

The “pen” is a tragic, lost place.  Words, however, are stronger than any fence, wall or darkness in the human condition.  Perhaps that’s why it makes such perfect sense to read the Apostle Paul’s words of encouragement to the church at Ephesus.  “Rejoice”, he wrote, “in the Lord always.  Again, I say rejoice.” 

He wrote that from prison.

 

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….”

Conviction

Hillary Swank stars in a new movie based on the true story of a woman who returns to school, gets her high school and college diplomas, then goes to law school and passes the bar; all to take on her brother’s case and have his conviction for first degree murder overturned.



She was interviewed this past week with lawyer Barry Scheck, director of “The Innocence Project” (http://www.innocenceproject.org/). In a poignant scene from the movie, Swank’s character visits her brother in prison shortly after he attempts suicide. “I’ll go to school, become a lawyer get you out of here. I promise. But you have to promise me you won’t give up, you won’t kill yourself.”


The brother was, in fact, innocent. DNA testing proved it. In the same interview, twelve recently exonerated men from Texas, men who had served sentences from 10 to 26 years before DNA testing proved their innocence, appeared on screen. To a man they spoke of the isolation they endured, the inhumane treatment, the loneliness, the despair – almost each man had tried suicide – loss of family and friends. Yet, each man said the same thing. “I survived because I had faith. I knew God was with me.”


Until you are incarcerated, until you hear the cell door close, you cannot fully understand, fully empathize with these men. Prison changes you. You lose so much, suffer so deeply. If you are lucky, in your loss and despair you find faith and meaning. Still, there is a sadness that always remains.


I used to believe that justice was indeed just. I used to believe that you were “innocent until proven guilty”, that courts were fair, prosecutors honorable, defense attorneys dedicated, prisons places for rehabilitation. I know now my beliefs were all myths. I have dedicated myself to speaking out about what I see each and every day.


The vast majority of inmates are guilty, but they do not deserve the treatment they receive. The criminal justice system and prisons in particular, has become a giant machine with its gears being continually greased by the men and women convicted, their families, and their victims. Prisons warehouse inmates then release them feeling more bitter, more alienated, more lost.


How do you explain to a man that he deserves six years in prison for a driving violation? How do you tell a woman she must serve 10 years for embezzling $2 million, while a woman in Maryland only gets 18 months?


The system perpetuates itself. Virginia DOC maintains 22 facilities, employs 11,500 and holds between 32,000 and 38,000 (both figures provided by DOC themselves). DOC’s 2010-11 operating budget exceeds $1.1 billion. That does not include DCE’s (Department of Correction Education, a separate agency) budget, or that of Probation and Parole. Virginia has one of the ten largest inmate populations in the country, though its population is not in the top ten.


On October 18th a new director of DOC will take over. The outgoing director, Gene Johnson, on the eve of his retirement began speaking candidly about the failures of Virginia’s current sentencing and incarceration practices. His sobering statements should give all conscientious Virginians pause.


The newly appointed Director – Harold Clarke – was previously head of the Massachusetts’s Department of Corrections; he oversaw an inmate population of 9,000. Massachusetts, with a state population of 6.5 million, has only one fourth the prison population of Virginia, a state with a population of approximately 7.6 million. Why the vast disparity?


One of the men I count as a friend is “Black”. When Black was eighteen, he killed a man in a drug deal gone bad. He turns 40 in two months. He’s still under the “old system” (parole; his crime occurred before 1995). For the last ten years he has been “parole eligible”. Ten straight years he has been denied parole. Two days ago he had his annual “parole hearing”. That term doesn’t fit what occurs. Black sits before a video conference hookup. A young female investigator stares at her laptop and asks three questions: Name; DOC number; mandatory parole date. Hearing concluded.


For ten years Black has received the same parole denial form letter. Its reads in part: “parole has been denied due to the severity of the crime”.


During his imprisonment he has earned his college degree. He is active in the Rastafarian Church, a vegetarian and a pacifist. He reads voraciously and writes eloquently. He and I discuss politics, philosophy, religion, music, food. I have no doubt, however, that he will receive the same form denial letter in a month. That is the nature of the amoral system of “corrections” that lives and breathes in Virginia.


In March 2014, Black will be released on mandatory parole. As much as the system has tried to break him, this man survives. What he did was wrong. What Virginia did, and continues to do to him is worse.


DOC reported that last quarter 14 inmates were granted parole. There are approximately 6000 inmates parole eligible. That means on average each quarter 1500 inmates have an opportunity for parole. In practical terms, parole doesn’t even exist for parole eligible inmates.


Despair, loneliness, hopelessness, fear. Each day, inmates fear those emotions. Many quit. They give up. I choose not to. This isn’t about retribution or revenge. It is simply about justice. And justice is, in the end, about fairness, mercy, forgiveness. As President Lincoln noted: we, as a society are to act as the “better part of angels”.


Sometime all it takes is for just one person to believe in you, to love you, to pray for you, to fight for you. The movie “Conviction” is about that. The present state of Virginia’s prisons convicts all well-meaning citizens. Make a difference. Demand change.