You see me as a monster, a danger to you and your family. But you don’t know me.
It is easy for you to believe I belong in prison. In your eyes, I am nothing more than my crime. You believe I cannot be redeemed; my endless sentence gives you comfort because it makes you feel “safe.” But you don’t know me.
You probably have heard enough to know that the prison system is failing in many ways, with the fortresses aging and falling apart. But you would rather pay higher taxes to keep me in prison than to think about other ways to deal with me. You believe I deserve the poor conditions and inhumane treatment. You don’t want to know about the substandard, if any, medical care I receive. When tell you that I’m treated as less than human, you think, “You made your bed; now sleep in it.” So, when I tell you about the black mold in the showers and the nasty black crud that comes out of the forced air vents in our cells, it doesn’t bother you.
You think it is ok that I must live with another man in a cell the size of your bathroom. I am often locked in that cell, with my cellmate, for days at a time – eating and sleeping there, and, yes, using a toilet that can only be flushed once every five minutes. Often one flush isn’t enough and the smell permeates the tiny space. But this is ok because I am just an abstraction to you.
You don’t know that I have been clean and sober for over three decades, in a place where drugs are ubiquitous – often brought in by the staff themselves – and the lure of using to ease the pain is always present. You don’t know that I take every class available to me and continue to do so, in an attempt to be the best person I can be. You don’t know that I have done the hard work to turn my life around. You don’t know that I am now a certified residential and industrial housekeeper (earned through a 4,000-hour apprenticeship). It doesn’t matter to you that I mentor hurt, angry young men so they develop into their better selves and assure that you are safer when they are released.
Does it matter that I am deeply remorseful for my crime? That I harbor a deep shame? Does it matter to you that I am an honorably discharged Marine? A husband? A stepfather to two and grandfather to five? A brother? A son?
To you, I will never be more than my crime no matter what I do, no matter how much time I spend in prison. No matter how many classes I take. No matter how much I work I put in to remake myself.
I wonder….How would you feel if the world judged you by the worst mistake you ever made? No matter what came after?
You don’t know me because you choose not to.
