Life After Prison is Hard

I haven't written in a while...and this is not originally what I had planned to post on my first blog back. But, I "friended" one of my "kids" on Facebook when I saw that he made a comment on his brother's page. I haven't talked to him in quite some time. After he accepted my friendship, he wrote and asked me how I was doing. I gave him a quick response and asked about him. This is what I received in return:

Well i just relized... life as an adult is hard. I so missed the days at camp and comin to ur house to play around.everything now is just so complicated u know.i went to the pen. For sellin drugs. Did 3 & a half years. Now im out.have been 4 about 2 months and lookin 4 work. Its so hard u know.ur suppose to come out with this view of how the world is so beautiful and anything is possible when thats not the way it is at all. I want 2 work and no one will let me when i didnt want 2 work everyone offered me jobs!! For the first time since i was a kid im strugglin. I dont know what to do.i do know that if i return to my old methods of gettin money i will make plenty but at what cost.so most days i pray until i cant knees hurt and other days i think until my heart hurts.but pain is growth so im growin.but im bleesed and i know this just waitin 4 my miracle.and im full of joy it may not sound like it but i am. Ive seen a lot and didnt close my eyes heard a lot expanded my mind hurt a lot but grew stronger with time

He is probably in his mid-20s now. He grew up with a mother who was always either strung out on drugs, looking for drama, or looking for the next way to get drugs. He was raised by his dad. I don't know the full extent of his environment there, but I know it wasn't probably the best or easiest home situation either.


It is because of people like him that I feel second chances are important. It's because of statements like these that make me realize that being a part of a system that does everything in it's power to prevent people from voting, getting a job, living in an apartment, isn't a just system. It doesn't mean that after 15 years of doing the wrong thing, he would all of a sudden be the perfect citizen. But when he has paid his dues as deemed by the courts, he should at least get an opportunity to try to do it right. Unfortunately, our system makes it extremely hard to do that.

On Lecturing in a Prison, Where Minds Are Free

A friend brought this article to my attention. It resonated so well that I thought I'd share it.

I, too, have had experiences like Mr. Cowie. I've never taught in a prison, but I have often taught classes and engaged in conversation with people who are not formally educated and/or from low-income neighborhoods where deep, theoretical conversations are unexpected. Yet, when we start talking about books or movies or news that has a concept that affects people in these communities, I have engaged in conversations, mostly with young people (teens and college students) that would stimulate any intellectual's mind. I'll try to write about one of those conversations in a future post.

On Lecturing in a Prison, Where Minds are Free
By Jefferson Cowie
On a sweltering afternoon last August, I had the professional thrill of giving one of the kickoff lectures of Cornell's New Student Reading Project, an annual effort to knit the entire campus together in the shared intellectual experience of reading a single book. The uncomfortably hot crowd of thousands of students and faculty members assembled in the field house was the largest gathering I had ever addressed, complete with big-screen projections of the lecturers, like academic rock stars, floating over the stage.


The topic was close to my heart: my favorite character, Tom Joad, grappling with the teachings of Preacher Casey, from one of my favorite books, John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath. The issues of migration and family, environment and social crisis, economic calamity and occupational justice, it seemed to me, made the book extraordinarily relevant to the problems of today.


Then in October, I gave the talk again. I shivered more from nervousness than the cool autumn air as I entered another strangely cavernous space—an almost 200-year-old maximum-security prison, Auburn Correctional Facility. Behind fortresslike walls rising above the small, historic town of Auburn, the state of New York incarcerates its murderers, thieves, and gangsters; put the first electric chair to use; and still stamps out license plates. As I worked my way through security to the prison chapel, I couldn't help recalling that the central characters of my talk had done time for murder and spent much of the book in violent scrapes with the law, much like those people I was about to address.


On the Cornell campus, every time I'd attended the huge opening of the reading project, I was struck by the students' indifference and boredom. Whether the book was by Sophocles or Garry Wills, F. Scott Fitzgerald or Jared Diamond, the students seemed incapable of engaging with the lectures. A colleague blogged: "I saw students asleep, milling about, talking on their cellphones, texting, talking and laughing with others, and what seemed to be a precious few engaged by the presentations." The students' restlessness led him to ask them, "What are you doing here at Cornell?"


The inmates who filtered into the prison chapel, on the other hand, knew exactly what they were doing at Auburn Correctional Facility: hard time, often for violent crimes they had committed when they were quite young. I arrived skeptical that my presentation would mean anything to them; I was motivated more by curiosity and civic obligation than grand pedagogic hopes. Clearly, these guys had bigger problems than literature and history.


The 60 inmates enrolled in the Cornell Prison Education Program were, in contrast to the Cornell students, hardly bored, restless, or indifferent. They were on fire. They sat attentively without PowerPoint photos to keep them entertained, autumn walks through the gorges to look forward to, or fancy careers to anticipate. They occasionally tossed questions to me during my talk, testing my mettle. Then, when I finished, their hands shot up. For the next hour, I got a vigorous intellectual workout—an exhausting barrage of questions any teacher would relish.


The questions came from every direction. How could Tom Joad, asked one, be the quintessential American working-class hero (as I had suggested) if Steinbeck had ignored the Asian and Mexican workers who had done most of the agricultural labor in California? Another, responding to how land got used in Oklahoma and California, asked if the constitutional system functioned in a way that enforced inequality. When I showed how Okie iconography was used in advertising and television in the postwar era, another asked if advertising and consumption were designed to prevent popular revolts. An inmate even asked whether the dollar was grounded in human labor, and whether human labor can be considered a commodity like any other.


One prisoner asked a multipart question that I did not fully grasp. I dismissed part of it and moved on, but his hand went back up. Though it was rough around the edges, in academic parlance his question was this: Was the type of civil society that Preacher Casey struggled for ("Maybe all men got one big soul everybody's a part of") possible, given the social atomization brought about by computers and technology?


I turned my head to the program's director, Jim Schechter, with an incredulous look—was this for real?


Before the night was over, the inmates' questions had me delving into constitutional theory, Lockean property rights, spirituality, political dissent, the tensions between civil rights and economic rights, and the use of state power. Granted, there were a lot of grandstanding, polemics, and semiarticulated ideas floating around, but these guys were serious about what they were doing. At one point, carried away with the moment, I even delivered a spontaneous mini-lecture on Antonio Gramsci's Prison Notebooks, which had been scrawled on scraps of paper while he was imprisoned in Fascist Italy. Gramsci tried to figure out, I told the prisoners, how market culture creates a common sense that ensures the consent of the governed. They murmured. They nodded. They got it. Rarely had I felt so alive as a teacher.


After each of the big panels at Cornell, a small handful of the several thousand students would come up to ask the panelists follow-up questions. In fact, the open-mike question period of previous years had been eliminated because the bulk of students used the opportunity to make a quick exit. After the prison talk, in contrast, the men filed up to introduce themselves, thank me for coming, and ask if I'd teach a class in the program. Most simply looked me in the eye with affirmation, shook my hand, and headed back to their cells. Their humility was humbling.


I wondered if it was simply the boredom and constraint of prison life that had the prison students so motivated; the well-prepped Cornell kids, of course, had every media device and distraction imaginable to draw them away from us droning professors. Maybe the Cornell students had worked so hard to get in that they now felt complacent, having made the grade. Maybe the Cornell kids were indifferent because the reading project was not a graded assignment.


Yet the prisoners had also studied hard to get into the prison-education program. They were not simply looking for ways to pass time. They had other things to distract them if they chose, and they attended graded classes as well. My lecture had been purely voluntary for them.


The experience at Auburn got me thinking about entitlement, motivation, and the life of the mind. It forced me to ask troubling questions about status and reward in our academic system. It made me wonder what I was doing with my life and my career, now in midpassage. The contrast between the free minds of the imprisoned bodies at Auburn and the imprisoned minds of the free bodies among some of the nation's most gifted college students could not have been more stark.


Marcus Rediker, a visiting scholar at Cornell last year, also gave a lecture at Auburn, on slave ships. I heard that he rocked the house (the inmates do, after all, call Auburn the "slave ship"). Summing up his experience, he reported: "Most of all, I was impressed by the intelligence, the thoughtfulness, the engagement, the curiosity—in short, by the life of the mind—that I found among the people inside Auburn Prison. That mind, I am pleased to report, cannot be imprisoned."


I wondered what the bars were made of that seemed to imprison my Cornell students, and what it would take for them to begin emancipating themselves.

Jefferson Cowie is an associate professor of history at Cornell University. His latest book, Stayin' Alive: The 1970s and the Last Days of the Working Class, is due out from the New Press in September.

Guilty...until proven innocent

Think about the last 27 years.

If you're my age, that's the majority of your life. In my younger years, we used to talk about the changes our grandparents had seen over their lifetime. But, truly, the last 27 years have been no less amazing.

We now have cell phones...3-D video games...high speed (and small) computers and laptops...ipods...Internet...email...and those are just the technology advancements.

Along with all of the new technology, of course, jobs have changed as well. Even jobs at fast food restaurants require a basic knowledge of technology. What you have to know in order to get a job is very different than it was 27 years ago.

Imagine being frozen in time for those 27 years. What do you do when you wake up today? What kind of clothes do you wear? How do you quickly acquire new job skills in order to work and survive? If you knew anything about computers at the time, they were probably large main frame computers that filled an entire room. How do you learn to function in a world that most jobs require online submission of resumes and applications? How do you even know where you're going...since major land development has restructured the entire landscape since you were last familiar with it?

Some people are in that very situation.

James Woodard served 27 years of time in prison for a murder charge...a crime he didn't commit.

Billy Smith served 19 years for sexual assault...a crime he didn't commit.

Charles Chapman was misidentified in a photo lineup and served 27 years for rape...a crime he didn't commit.

How can I be so sure? Because DNA evidence cleared them.

In Dallas County, DNA evidence has cleared these three men, along with 15 others. The Innocence Project, Dallas DA Craig Watkins, and Dallas Judge John Creuzot are working tirelessly to reclaim fairness and justice in our "justice" system.

So far in Texas 33 people have been exonerated on account of DNA evidence...a total of 427 years of innocent time served!!

How did this happen?

• 82% were misidentified (supposed eye witness accounts)
• 18% convicted on false forensic testimony
• 15% convicted on "snitch" testimony
• 9% gave false confessions to reduce their time
• I didn't catch the percentage, but others were simply prosecutorial misconduct (despite our "justice" system)

Finally, there are people in office who are listening. Finally, there are people in office who recognize that our system isn't always "just" to everyone. But more than that...they are not just listening. They are using their position in our goverment to create change...to create fairness.

Saturday evening, Texas Congresswoman Eddie Bernice Johnson convened a panel including Chairman of the House John Conyers, Houston Senator Rodney Ellis, DA Craig Watkins, co-founder of the Innocence Project, Jeff Blackburn, and the exonerees.

Part of their purpose was to listen. They wanted to know, "Where do we start? How do we dig in?" ...and they wanted to hear from people who had been directly affected.

Several spoke about moving our prison system from a punishment system to a restoration system with one person explaining..."because they will be out eventually."

Judge Creuzot brought up the fact that we need a process that will allow formerly incarcerated individuals to move on once they are released. (currently, convicted felons who have already served their time have little ability to get jobs or even find places to live...yet we expect them to come out and be productive members of society and are irritated when they aren't...without realizing why).

An attorney thought it was necessary and crucial that our system begin to fund well-paid, criminal defense, court-appointed attorneys due to the fact that low-income people are many times provided with the least competent attorneys (since more capable attorneys want to profit from their expertise).

In combination with that, others talked about the need for federal mandates to fix the system because we don't have the will to do it on our own.

Evidently some people are angered by the efforts to reform the system. Evidently, it sounds better when prosecutors, judges, and politicians talk about being "tough on crime"--the more convinctions, the better we feel. However, it's also important to realize that for every wrongful conviction, the real criminal goes free.

This is an issue that affects all of us...not just in Texas. Dallas happens to have kept more evidence over the years than most places...which has now allowed for 18 wrongful convictions (to date) to be overturned based on the evidence. Other states and counties have not been immune to these wrongful convictions...but may not have the evidence needed to overturn the cases as readily.

This is an issue we would all be better for if we educated ourselves and got involved. Unfortunately, most of the cases are having to be re-opened by people outside of the system. The lack of will of our political system, at this point, has not provided the funds, despite the mistakes made.

If you would like to help this effort continue, donate to The Innocence Project, write your congressperson, and do what you can to help fix the system.

Wish for '08

I love my friends.

I used to live in the apartment above Lisa's mom, Flo. Flo pretty much raised Lisa's three kids while Lisa was in prison for 7 years. Her kids ,to this day, still call her, "Lisa."

Flo never seemed to like me and I was never quite sure why. Despite that, when Lisa came home from prison and moved in with her mom, she always said hi to me and spoke when I would come in from work each day. Lisa and I became friends. I am convinced Lisa's friendliness toward me eventually won Flo over to be my friend as well.

Eventually, we needed a cook for our summer program. Lisa had cooked for large numbers in prison so we hired her as our cook. (aside note: as I write this now, I think about all of the background checks and such we do before we hire anyone nowadays. I wonder if Lisa would've made the cut. I kind of doubt it. That makes me sad. Despite her past record, she was/is a great person. Though she joked about the kids being "little monsters," I knew she really enjoyed being around them.). After working at our summer program, she started working in fast food (which she was very happy with simply because it's so difficult to get a job coming out of prison).

After several years, Lisa, Flo, and the kids moved. We didn't stay in touch very well, but every once in a while I would see Flo or Lisa would call. About a year ago Lisa's middle daughter decided to enroll in college. As we've all worked together on that process, I've been in a little more contact with them, but mostly with Ashley.

Tonight Lisa called. I hadn't talked to her in several months. She was calling because she was down and her year was already starting off wrong. Evidently she was irritated at a guy at work who was giving her problems. She explained to me that she had just gotten "off papers" December 7 and had no intention of doing anything to jeopardize that. Though I wanted to be sypathetic, I couldn't help but change the focus...I had no idea she had gotten "off papers!" I wanted to celebrate that with her!

I know the last 10 years haven't all been easy for her. I asked about her motivation and wondered if it started the day she was released. Her response? Her motivation started with her concern about her mother's health and knowing that if she went back to prison she wouldn't get to spend time with her. Her motivation increased when her grandkids came along.

I think that's interesting...and so true for all of us. When our life is meaningful we want to stick around. When we mean something to someone else and they mean something to us, we have purpose and we have a reason to move forward.

.............................................

I've decided I have wishes instead of resolutions for '08:

One of my wishes is that more of the kids and adults I know find meaning in their life and know that they are meaningful...and I hope that, if needed, we (our After-School Academies, our Educational Outreach Center, our efforts with college students, etc.) can help people discover that meaning.

Saddled with debt and expected to prosper

Why is it we think that tightening the screws on people will somehow make them recover? In actuality, I believe it does just the opposite.

It wasn't until I started talking to people who were getting out of jail that I realized serving a jail/prison sentence doesn't make you "free" when you're done. Instead, once you get out, you continue to have to make weekly visits to a parole officer (sometimes for years later), along with paying monthly fees...despite the fact that you have no job and you now have a record so most people won't hire you.

From what I've heard from parolees, most of them aren't given support by their parole officer. They need leads for viable jobs, guidance, etc. Perhaps the parole officer has too many on his/her caseload...but the other big problem is that few people are hiring ex-offenders.

Last year, a job fair for ex-offenders was highly promoted. After it was over a man came in my office looking for employment. I mentioned the job fair. Very bitterly, he explained to me that only about 2 people showed up to offer jobs. Wrongly, I doubted his sincerety. Later, however, I heard that, sure enough, only 2-3 businesses had showed up to the tune of over 200 ex-offenders looking for jobs.

Still believe that ex-offenders don't want to work?

There are many other issues that exist with the prison system...a major one to me being that we spend more to house prisoners than we do to try to educate them while they are still children...which would often prevent them from going to prison.

Ted Koppel presents more about this tonight on the Discovery Channel. You can go here and click on Inside Prison Exclusive Video to see a preview of what he will be talking about. Click on the heading of this post to read a New York Times Opinion article on the debt that one has after coming out of prison.

Convicted...but not guilty

What could it possibly be like to be accused...and convicted...of something you didn't do?

In today's New York Times, there is an article about our very own Dallas County--A 12th Dallas Convict is Exonerated by DNA.

I can remember when I used to work at a gas station in college. The lady who owned the gas station was extremely particular (anal might be a more fitting word) about everything. I used to dread picking up the phone at my apartment...yes, this was before the days of Caller ID...for fear she would call. I knew if she called it wasn't good. Most of the time it was because she wanted me to work on my day off. But I can remember a time when she called me early in the morning to tell me that the cash drawer was something like $2 off and she wanted to know what had happened. To me, it sounded and felt like an accusation. It was only $2! Besides that, it's not like I came up short every time I worked! I knew I hadn't taken $2. Perhaps I miscounted someone's change, but I hadn't taken her $2! The point is, I was being accused of something I didn't do. I didn't like that feeling and dreaded being around her after that.

The situation in Dallas County is much worse. In Dallas County, at least twelve people have been accused and convicted (!) of something they didn't do. ...And these are just the innocent cases they've discovered since 2001! How many more are there??? Twelve innocent people are a LOT of innocent people to be serving behind bars for a false conviction! The sentences aren't short either.

James Waller just lost over 10 years of his life to a false conviction. He says he's not angry. I can't say that I would feel the same way. The fact that they convicted him (albeit, falsely), his name and reputation have been, are, and probably always will be questioned. A good name and a reputation is a hard thing to get back.

I understand that jurors have to make a decision based on the information they are given (though in this particular case it seems like they made a decision based on way too little evidence!). Is this "tough on crime" bravado that Texas shows off really working? Twenty four people were executed in Texas last year. How many of those were innocent? Does legally killing people and wrongfully convicting people really deter crime--especially considering what we are finding out about how many of those people are innocent? Or does it just give us a false sense of taking "bad" people off the streets?

I'm glad that The Innocence Project is out there advocating for people and challenging courts to go back and test DNA evidence. I would like to think that their findings are beginning to change some of the ways we handle situations in our court rooms.

I hope it makes us all question the assumptions we sometimes make about people.