Research has shown that physical human touch, particularly positive and supportive touch, is necessary for a healthy emotional state. While many people may be familiar with babies needing to be held and cuddled to develop healthily, humans in general must also receive and give positive physical contact to maintain a healthy emotional state.
Many adults, even those with numerous family and friends may be lacking in positive physical contact. However, incarcerated people are not just among the most socially isolated in our society, they are physically isolated — specifically, isolated from positive human touch.
While it may be common knowledge that violence — including sexual violence — occurs in prison, the gravity of the issue may not be as widely considered. Whether at the hands of their fellow inmates or of prison staff, incarcerated people may only know for years what it’s like to be touched by people who either have no interest in their wellbeing or outright wish them harm or death.
Some prisoners may be lucky enough to enjoy the spontaneous, positive touch of fellow inmates who are also friends. However, when some nonviolent touch occurs it may be calculated and particular. Friends or allies may shake hands or even embrace. But every moment of physical contact may be measured in some way to initiate or preserve alliances, or break them, in order to maintain the inmate’s status or survival in prison. And if inmates do engage in nonviolent, consensual sexual activities with each other, it is always illicit, per prison rules.
Incarcerated people are, of course, also denied the ability to touch their loved ones: their family and friends. While some prisoners can touch visitors, if they have visitors at all, some are separated by thick glass. Others still might find visiting hours cruelly unaccommodating. Additionally, highly invasive strip searches are standard procedure before and after a prisoner receives a vist. Millions of opportunities for positive physical contact are poisoned or vanish altogether as soon as a person enters prison.
Shrinking visiting hours and poor opportunities for communication plague inmates and their families. Private companies provide prisons with services for phone calls, video calls, and email (at a profit) and there is growing concern that these extremely expensive digital and phone connections are replacing in-person visiting at some facilities, further distancing prisoners from positive human touch.
While many prisoners may have the dogged support from and frequent contact with family and friends, there are many who do not. Some prisoners, for a variety of reasons, receive few or no letters, phone calls or visits. This can have a devastating effect on the person in prison.
Solving the issue of the lack of positive human touch and supportive human contact for people incarcerated in the United States is a matter of a greater scope than this post can address. But there are ways individuals and institutions can support prisoners within the current context of incarceration even as organizers and activists resist against a system that so thoroughly dehumanizes millions of people.
Writing to a prisoner, for example, is one of the easiest ways to give support. Receiving their calls, sending supplies and books, or visiting them in person is vital to any given prisoner, too. But a letter is usually the easiest way for someone on the outside to reach in. And while letters cannot replace face-to-face contact or ease the lack of positive touch prisoners face, letters can provide an emotional lifeline to someone in dire need of one.
Adopt an Inmate facilitates the connection between incarcerated individuals and the people who wish to lend their support. AI is always looking for compassionate people who want to be there for someone who may have no one else on the outside. Submit this form to start the process.
Natalie Korman is a poet, writer, and editor living in Northern California. She is the author of the poetry chapbook Heliotropics (dancing girl press). In 2017, after being introduced to Adopt an Inmate by a former classmate, Natalie began correspondences with two people through the organization; both are now meaningful friendships. In the spirit of Adopt an Inmate, Natalie believes ongoing healing from institutional and interpersonal harm is a necessary part of the struggle for a more just and peaceful world.
I cannot tell you how many times I have witnessed or have heard about men in this situation either meeting a woman via a pen pal website — or otherwise — and developing a strong relationship or even getting married, only to have it go awry. The euphoria of knowing someone in the outside world cares enough to write, answer phone calls, and visit can be enough to propel someone in prison through a 10-year sentence with a positive outlook on life. I have also, however, seen the opposite happen, where someone has been served divorce papers served from his long-time wife and grew embittered, angry, and pessimistic toward everyone around him throughout the remainder of his sentence. Both scenarios affirm the need for and importance of being loved; of knowing there is someone outside of these thick despairing walls who values what you have to offer them, despite your current circumstance.
Of course I would never criticize someone for deciding to divorce or leave their incarcerated spouse/partner because they have every right to do what they feel they need to do; I’m only asserting how vital it can be for a prisoner to receive love from outside, and how that sense of security can shift one’s entire outlook on life, which ultimately influences how they do their time.
When we come to prison, our need for compassion, understanding, and love is heightened because we are essentially deprived of intimate (emotional and physical) human contact. We have a need for validation that our lives still matter, that we are worthy of the same attention and love we received prior to our incarceration. This is also the reason why many men (and women) who are incarcerated will pay less attention to physical standards in order to receive the love and attention they so desperately desire from someone they may not have looked at twice before. This is not to disparage those whom they will court, but merely a fact of the desperation of those in prison to have a basic human need met. I have seen relationships like these thrive both inside and outside these walls. Through them, many men have learned it is not what someone looks like, but rather the essential qualities of the person that lead to true happiness.
Of course I would be remiss if I ignored the darker side of this dynamic, which is the all-too-common result of an unsuspecting woman (or man) being manipulated into a relationship with someone in prison, only to be abandoned the day the prisoner is released, confirming he was only in it for what he could get while incarcerated. This happens because the criminality with which the prisoner has operated for so long is still very much active; he or she has no desire of changing or ridding themselves of the deviant nature they’ve relied on for so long to navigate the world. Unfortunately, well-meaning people are ensnared in their vicious trap of relationship deceit and taken advantage of for their money, time, and most importantly their emotional investment.
Family and friends, and society in general, are often critical of those who enter into a relationship with someone in prison, but this not unexpected due to the possibility of the aforementioned scenario. But there are relationships on the opposite side of this coin, that are genuine, mutual, and built on the pillars of a healthy union. Therefore, if you are someone in a relationship with a prisoner, allow me to first commend you on being able to look past the fences and barbed-wire to see something special in your partner. Allow me to say good for you for being able to exhibit a level of strength and internal fortitude to not be beaten down and discouraged by the attacks of those who think you are crazy for sticking by your incarcerated partner. You are a special person for understanding and doing what it takes to weather the storms of committing someone who is incarcerated, knowing that prisoners are simply people who need love too.
Many have exclaimed, “Addiction is NOT a disease — it’s a choice!” A disease, they’ll say, is something that you have no control over; it suddenly afflicts you when you least expect it and wreaks havoc on your life. People don’t do anything to bring about disease in their lives. Addiction, on the other hand, is something that people choose to engage in. No one makes anyone drink their first drink — or any drink thereafter. No one is forced to do drugs at any point in their life, yet drug addicts, they’ll point out, choose to participate in drug-seeking behavior, hang out with other drug addicts, and repeatedly make irrational, counterproductive decisions that invariably result in self-destruction. How can this possibly be tantamount to someone who has a disease that they didn’t ask for?
As I noted in my previous blog entitled Understanding Addiction, addiction takes root in the midbrain — otherwise known as the limbic system. The limbic system is home to what is known as the pleasure pathway — receptor sites that release chemicals that make us feel good when we engage in pleasurable behaviors like eating, sex, playing, etc. What differentiates an alcoholic/addict from a non-addict is the way in which this neural pathway is activated and affected by drugs and alcohol. What causes this is extremely complex, but what is consistently found lies in genetics.
Studies show that between 40 – 60% (DSM V) of the variability in alcoholics comes from parents where at least one has also suffered from alcoholism. When it comes to drug addicts, this variability hovers around 50% (DSM V). These findings were substantiated by countless identical twin studies that showed, despite being adopted into different homes where the environments were nurturing, wholesome, and drug/alcohol free, twins whose biological parents were addicted to alcohol were still more likely to develop alcoholism than others reared in those environments who were not born to such parents. The variances in studies are endless, but the result was the same: genetics play a profound role in addiction. But what does this have to do with it being considered a disease and not a choice?
Let’s look at diabetes, for instance, when we consider the affliction of disease. Diabetes results as a malfunctioning of the pancreas, which produces insulin. Either the body stops producing it altogether or in such low amounts that it is rendered ineffective to take in the nutrients from the food we eat. But what underlies diabetes? Why do people develop it? Well, a scant amount of unfortunate people are born with it or develop it as a child — this is known as Type One diabetes. But the vast majority of people develop Type Two diabetes as adults, which is attributable, in large part, to poor diet and lack of exercise. In other words, unhealthy lifestyle habits are predominately to blame for their disease. As a result, they go to a doctor who tells them to lay off certain fatty foods, start exercising, take a pill or insulin shots, etc. If they comply, they can go on to live good quality lives; if not, their condition will likely worsen, and death may ensue. Are choices involved in their prognosis? Did their lifestyle choices have anything to do with their disease onset? Yet, we don’t demonize and vilify them like we do an alcoholic or drug addict — why?
What I failed to mention in speaking about people who have diabetes is it’s not solely their poor lifestyle habits that doomed them to acquire a deadly disease. Think about it, some of the worst eaters and laziest people we know have never gained weight and will likely never get diabetes, congestive heart failure, high blood pressure, or any other dreadful health affliction — but why? Again, we find ourselves back at the genetics argument. People who are born to parents who have had a history of certain diseases are inherently susceptible to developing those diseases during their lifetime, but the key determinant is one’s lifestyle. The lifestyle choices they make will either stave off the genetic predisposition or allow it to take root and fully manifest.
To compare, in the same way one’s pancreas has changed when diabetes sets in, an addict’s brain chemistry has been permanently altered. In the same way one goes to a doctor and is prescribed insulin and instructed to change lifestyle habits to live more healthily, an addict is prescribed Methadone, Antabuse, Suboxone, etc., and ordered to enter treatment to develop healthier lifestyle habits. In the same way, there is an onset and progression that can lead to death if diabetes not managed well — and so there is with drug and alcohol addiction. With so many similarities and congruency between the two, why do we criminalize one and sympathize with the other? Why do we hold firm that one is a choice that deserves punishment and the other a disease that deserves sympathy?
We receive returned mail almost daily, refused due to various mail violations. Postage is one of our biggest expenses, so because postcards stamps are cheaper than regular first class stamps, we have an assortment of postcards that we mail for various standard purposes. The first postcard we created and started mailing is an adoption notice, letting an inmate know that someone has selected them as an adoptee and will be writing to them. We’ve received some very touching letters in response to these notices, when a prisoner gets the news that he or she has a new friend.
With Florida being one of the states that does not allow prisoners to have a penpal, mail rejections from Florida are common – they often will not allow our inmate surveys into the prison.
We’ve become aware of a new violation in Michigan, when the following was returned in yesterday’s mail:
(Note – the prisoner’s name was redacted by us for this post, all other markings are from the prison mailroom.)
It is common for prison mailrooms to reject mail with stickers or tape on the envelope or letter, including address labels. (The explanation for this is that drugs can be smuggled in on the adhesive.) We purposely print all our postcards with the return address, and hand address each one for this very reason – which takes a considerable amount of time versus printing out labels.
I had to call the mailroom of the Ojibway Correctional Facility to find out what the problem was with this postcard, because the address label was affixed by their mailroom, not us. I’ve never understood why mailrooms use black markers to cover over what is written on the envelope or card – and it makes it challenging for us to know who it was sent to, since we send out so much mail.
First, they inked out out our (correct) hand-written address, then affixed their own address label with the same address over the top of that, stamped it RETURN TO SENDER (x2) with the notation “No Stamps,” and returned it. Wtf, Ojibwe?
And if it doesn’t seem at worst malicious, and at best obnoxious already, take a look at what is commonly done to the other side of our adoption notices when they are returned (note – the adopter name was redacted by us for this post):
Curious what they felt was necessary to black out there at the bottom?
The call to the mailroom enlighted me to the reason for the rejection. No postage stamps are allowed on postcards. Friends and loved ones are allowed to send letters with postage stamps affixed, because the prisoner is not given the envelope. Instead, the contents are removed, scanned for contraband, and put into a new envelope provided by the mailroom. I didn’t think to ask if the inmate is charged for the envelope (I looked it up later*). Because they “can’t” remove the stamp from postcards, they refuse the entire card and return to sender. I asked if they could cut the stamps off postcards. “No.” I checked their website regarding mail rules (short version, long version), and this rule specific to postage stamps on post cards was nowhere to be found.
Yep, you heard it here. Michigan DOC does not permit postcards with postage stamps affixed. If you want to send a postcard to an inmate in Michigan, you must purchase metered postcards from the post office.
Here are some other interesting bits from MI DOC’s mail policy:
The clerk I spoke with checked to see if the intended recipient of the adoption notice had received a rejection notice. He had not. It appears they are not adhering to their own stated policy.
If you have your own hate mail stories of rejected mail, share them here.
I was on the yard today simply enjoying the 75-degree weather. I’d taken a seat on one of the metal benches located on the inner edge of the track when a guy walked up to me, took it upon himself to sit down and start chatting. Now, I’m one of those people who thoroughly enjoys his solitude, so I’d be disingenuous if I said I wasn’t somewhat annoyed by his presence, but I was not going to be rude.
I’ve known the man for a while and assumed he wanted to talk about something in particular, so I greeted him, “What’s up?” He responded, “Ah, not too much, man; I just got done running and thought I’d see what was up with you.” At this point I’m feeling myself become slightly perturbed because if there’s nothing pressing he needed to talk about, I could be enjoying my alone time, but I didn’t let him sense these selfish thoughts. Instead, I allowed him to continue and he told me, “Yeah, I’m going to turn forty-eight tomorrow, man.” Now more engaged by this revelation, I said, “Oh yeah, and how does that feel?” Initially I could sense he was mildly perplexed at my inquiry and stumbled for a satisfactory answer, so he began, “Um, well, I guess I feel alright. I just ran a couple . . . ” and I instinctually (and rudely if I’m being honest) cut him off and probed: “No, I mean how do you feel about your life at forty-eight?” Realizing this would require some thought, he paused for a few seconds and stared distantly to figure out how he was going to articulate his thoughts, then he responded, “Well, to be honest, I feel like I’ve wasted so much of my life.”
This man went on to lament the things he’s done wrong in his life and tally how much they’ve cost him. He highlighted some positive things he’s done as well but spent much more time focusing on the negative consequences of his actions throughout his life. When he got done speaking, I offered him one phrase only: “It’s only a complete waste if you’ve learned nothing from them.”
In my humble opinion, too often and too easily we find ourselves bemoaning our losses, failures, and the litany of mistakes we’ve made. But what good does this do? If we are fixated on the hardship of an adverse situation and its challenging consequences, we will miss the invaluable learning lessons that are embedded. In fact, I would comfortably venture to say that life’s most valuable lessons, wisdoms, and insights are derived from life’s most arduous circumstances, its most trying times. But how can you see them if all you can muster in the midst of struggles, are complaints?
When I came to prison over 14 years ago, you would have been hard-pressed to get me to admit there was anything good that could come from this dreadful existence. I could not have conjured one thing that I could learn from this situation that I didn’t already know — or so I thought. Yet, here I am over 14 years later and can say I have evolved into the best version of myself possible — not despite this situation but because of it.
Sure, I could sit here feeling sorry for myself for 17 1/2 years, or I could choose to make the most of it. In choosing the latter I have learned what I’m passionate about, what life’s greatest joys are, where I derive fulfillment, what I want to do to maximize my potential in the future, why I lived the life I did, and so much more. Most importantly, I have learned what I’m capable of enduring. I now know I can take life’s most potent blow and still stand. Knowing this, there is nothing life can throw at me to shake me, discourage me, defeat me.
I believe there is always something to be learned from our mistakes and regrets. For instance, when we come out of a relationship that continued longer than it should have, we typically sulk for a while and spend countless hours hating our ex or badgering ourselves for allowing it to go on for as long as it did. But hopefully after all the wasted time and energy (that’s really what it is), we can take valuable lessons from it. We should come away knowing what we want and don’t want in a relationship, where boundaries need to be set, and be more perceptive of what others show us going forward so we can detect and address issues before it’s too deep into the relationship. There are indeed many things we should learn from even the most piercing heartaches we suffer — but we have to be willing and open to do so.
Again, if all we do is gripe over how our life has not gone the way we would have liked, we rob ourselves of unique opportunities to learn and grow in substantial, life-changing ways. We can therefore either go through life complaining and wasting time, or we can learn, grow, and become better people for having gone through them and come out wiser and stronger on the other end.
Human brokenness is a universal aspect of the human experience, right. I mean, we are all messed up a little. It’s the common denominator that links us all and levels the playing field to a certain extent. There are countless variations, but we all feel it with great depth, each one of us. The great American poet, Ernest Hemingway wrote, “The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.” That is a simple yet profound way to frame the human condition, but it leads to so many questions, especially for the incarcerated.
Are the strong those who have never allowed their own brokenness to harm others? Or are they those who overcome their own brokenness despite having harmed others? One cannot come to prison for taking a human life without being broken mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, and I don’t mean broken as an effect of incarceration. I mean broken as the cause of my violence, the very impetus for my horrible crime. The depth and reach of the type of brokenness required to take another man’s life during a physical altercation in which I was the aggressor must be pervasive and complete, leading me to wonder … does my brokenness break me? Am I so psychologically disintegrated that I’m incapable of truly overcoming my brand of brokenness in order to move forward and effectually impact the world in a positive way?
Of course, some broken things retain a degree of functionality, still able to do some good. Most people have heard the proverb about the woman with the cracked pot. The pot was depressed because it was unable to hold water. It slowly leaked as the woman walked home from the local well each day, and constantly compared itself to the pot the woman carried in her other hand which did not leak. One day, the leaky pot said to the woman, “You should discard me and get a new pot that functions as it was designed, like your other one.”
She responded to her broken pot, saying, “I’ve been aware of your flaw these many years, and I’ve used it to my advantage. Notice along your side of the path the abundance of flowers blooming in this desert, which could not be watered properly if you did not leak so perfectly.” The leaky pot looked and saw the beautiful variety of flowers along only one side of the path, the side on which it was carried, and was astonished. From that point forward, that leaky pot never felt insecure again.
On the other hand, that story, while comforting, remains somewhat of a fairy tale. Most broken things are discarded in favor of fully functional new things, things that function as they were designed. Household appliances, car parts, phones, these are all things that are quickly replaced when they cease to function optimally.
Yet, I am not a thing. Things are simple. I’m a complex human being, and for the first 23 years of my life, my brokenness manifested in ways that hurt others and negatively impacted my environment. I spread darkness, decay, and pain through my self-centeredness. The question that haunts me is … can a bad person become good?
However, I remain a man who took a life in anger. I’ll never be able to change that. A character that Ben Affleck played in a movie, Doug McRay, said, “No matter how much you change, you still gotta pay a price for the things you’ve done. So, I got a long way to go.” I connect with that sentiment so deeply, and I cannot help but lament the possibility that my past may disqualify me from ever being a good man.
I’ve worked extremely hard to become a better person, to achieve balance and reciprocation in my relationships, to appreciate and even celebrate the differences between myself and others. I’ve grown into a man who cares about the humanity and dignity of others, who understands that I’m not entitled to special treatment or to violate the rights of others in order to meet my own needs. I’ve learned the value of working hard to earn something and waiting my turn because I’m not more important than anyone else. I’ve increased my education level, my capacity for critical thinking, logical reasoning, and associative thought, my emotional control, and my spiritual understanding.
A good man is authentic, trustworthy, and loyal. He does not seek accolades. He helps others easily, and avoids doing harm whenever possible. He is reliable, honorable, and strong-minded. He is humble, caring, and teachable. He operates with integrity, carries himself with dignity, and treats others with kindness. He pushes back when pushed too far, but never looks for trouble. He stands up for the helpless, but understands when to remain seated. And perhaps most importantly, he takes responsibility for his actions, admits his mistakes, and offers a genuine apology when necessary.
I sincerely strive to uphold these ideals every day. Yet I fall short more often than I’d like, and I worry it’s because I’m irreparably damaged. I mean, it’s not just the fact that my violence removed another human being from this planet that is deplorable; it is the fact that I was capable of such an act.
I have been incarcerated for 18 years for something I did when I was 21-years-old, but I honestly do not believe I have paid for what I’ve done. How can I quantify the value of a human life? Was he worth 25 years? 50? I can never pay for the life I took. All I can do is use the actions of my past to shape the direction of my future. I can do my absolute best to make sure I strive to be a good man, readily admit when I’ve made a mistake, and purposely impact others positively, in one way or another, every single day. But I’m not sure it’s good enough.
I get calls from inmates all over the country, all day long. Many of them are collect calls, and as much as I wish I could, I can’t accept them – we’ve no budget for it. Each state’s prison phone system has its particular recording, typically announcing whether it is pre-paid or collect, sometimes including the inmate’s spoken name, as is the case with Sean in Illinois. Several times a month, I answer the phone to hear the following:
“You are receiving a collect call from: <in Sean’s voice> Sean,” followed by instructions to set up a pre-paid phone account to receive collect calls. I knew in my heart he kept calling just so someone would hear his name. Eventually, Sean wrote to me, and finally I knew his last name and location. I looked him up and, as Illinois is one of the states that provides pictures, saw a young face staring back. He had been barely of legal age at the time of his crime — now 20 years into a long sentence. What happened, Sean? How did you end up there?
I wrote him back. He responded, “I got mad respect for you, Melissa,” and that he would continue with the unanswerable calls, so that I would know he is alive. Each time, I listen to his now-familiar voice uttering a one-syllable word, his name, and pour every ounce of love and peace I can muster through the line hoping he feels it. I hear you, Sean.
Illinois state inmates occasionally receive a free 20-second call, and we use those rare 20 second opportunities to quickly say hello. He was adopted by one of our volunteers a few months ago, and used his next 20 second call to tell me he had heard from his adopter. Now someone else knows his name, too.
Lesson: There is always a soul behind the call.
A few weeks ago I answered a pre-paid call from April, an inmate in North Carolina.
The conversation began as most do, an inmate who — after seeing our ad in one of several prisoner resource lists — inquires about our services and how to participate. I explain that we are currently taking a hiatus from new inmate requests, while we focus on catching up with a huge backlog, and to wait a few months before checking in again.
April’s voice is young, but thoughtful and determined, and exudes warmth. She shares a little about her story with me. Now 42, she has been in prison for 26 years – more than half her life. Quickly doing the math in my head, I ask if she was a juvenile charged as an adult. With a barely audible sigh in her voice, she confirms my suspicion. April was born to teenage parents who were in and out of prison themselves, and unable to properly care for her. Her grandparents adopted her in their sixties, when she was still a baby.
Fifteen years old and pregnant, under the influence of a man twice her age, April made a terrible decision that resulted in the death of her grandparents. They had given her an ultimatum: abort the child, or her boyfriend would face statutory rape charges. “I always grew up feeling unwanted because I knew my mother had given me up for adoption. I didn’t want that for any child. It was never a matter of us wanting to kill them, it was just like ‘gosh, what can we do to scare them, to just get them off our back,'” recalled Barber. April received two consecutive life sentences. An article by Amanda Lehmert tells the tragic story.
April with her son Colt
She gave birth to her son, Colt, in prison. He is now 26, and attends Appalachian State University.
“April,” I stop her, “forget what I said about waiting. You have a story that needs to be told.”
I ask about her eligibility for resentencing, based on Miller vs. Alabama (which applies retroactively). In the decision, the United States Supreme Court ruled that imposing mandatory life sentences without the possibility of parole on juveniles violates the Eighth Amendment of the United States Constitution. The law invites the defendant to submit mitigating circumstances to the court related to the defendant’s age, immaturity, exposure to familial or peer pressure, and other potential mitigators. An attorney is working on her case, but as those who follow such things know, it’s a very slow process.
“I believe in giving back,” April tells me. The irony in her statement struck me. “If my story helps others from going down the same dark path that I walked, then my journey has not been in vain.”
April has completed every educational opportunity available. She has a handful of certificates and diplomas — is a certified personal trainer, nutritional specialist, and licensed cosmetologist. She is 13 credits shy of a BA in interdisciplinary studies, and a semester away from an AA in business administration. Due to budget cuts, she is unable to finish either degree.
As an alternative, she hopes to find a sponsor for an accredited Paralegal Certificate Program offered as a correspondence course. The total cost is $826 – or about $30 a month.
Education is a critical factor in success for incarcerated men and women — before and after release — and is proven to reduce recidivism. 123
I may never know Sean’s story — but I do know April’s.
Please consider sponsoring April for one or more months of education. Click the donate button in the sidebar. Share this post with your social networks. I’d love to give her some good news the next time she calls.
… for they had loved the praise of men more than the praise of God. — John 12:42
Marriage has always been sacred to God. Unfortunately there have been people in every generation who have their own ideas about marriage. One of these ideas involves purity of race. That people who call themselves lovers of God can sometimes be seduced by these notions is a shame but it has been going on for millenia. Yet God has always considered skin color a non-issue, even when His chosen people got the wrong idea.
Then Miriam and Aaron spoke against Moses because of the Ethiopian woman whom he had married; for he had married an Ethiopian woman. — Numbers 12:1
Moses married a black woman and Miriam and Aaron tried to use this against Him. God’s response was to repudiate their racism swiftly and unequivocally.
In prison you see all sorts of tracts by organizations professing to be sources of Godly wisdom. Some of these claim to reveal the truth of “identity,” teaching that white is the race of Christianity, and black and other colors of skin are marks of inferiority. This brand of religion — it can never be considered Christian — was preached most fervently by the Dutch Reformed Church in South Africa when the policy of apartheid took hold there.
The marriage in 1948 of African heir Seretse Khama to Ruth Williams — a white English middle class woman — threatened such putrescent ideas, preached from pulpits in many parishes.
Two books, A Marriage of Inconvenience by Michael Dutfield, and Colour Bar by Susan Williams, tell the story of their marriage and the shocking efforts that several governments took in an attempt to destroy it.
Ruth and Seretse’s triumph is to my mind a testament to God and to marriage itself. Marriage as an institution proved in their case to be stronger than several governments, including the once-greatest empire the world had ever known. Of course it required a near super-human commitment by today’s standards, but the notion that love conquers all is no better demonstrated than in their union.
I also think their triumph speaks to the power of Christ’s utterance in the Gospel of Mark, a promise of sorts which should give great comfort to couples who face outside agitation to their relationships.
Therefore what God has joined together, let not man separate. — Mark 10:9
To start with, at the behest of the regent of Bechuanaland, Seretse Khama’s home country (now Botswana), and officials in South Africa, British statesman attempted to personally interfere in the wedding, going so far as an effort to disrupt the very ceremony itself. When that failed, the British government came down on the couple with all of its authority. It finally, with the approval of the celebrated Winston Churchill, exiled Seretse from his own country.
Both books recall these events in great detail, in some cases highlighting the same statements of government officials. Dutfield’s book, published in 1990, ends his narrative earlier in the couple’s history. Williams gives us more of a detailed view of the couple’s life after exile and the events that led to Seretse’s election as Botswana’s first prime minister.
Two things stand out and result in great hope. One, the time and expense that the British empire spent trying to destroy a puny little marriage by comparison to the might and power of their institutions. Even when Seretse’s own tribe lovingly embraced Ruth as their “Queen mother” and worldwide moral outrage threatened the careers of top politicians, they persisted in their unholy attack. Two, even Winston Churchill, a man who had overseen ultimate victory over the nazis, couldn’t manage to prevail over Ruth and Seretse.
The British government was seeking to appease South Africa and perhaps even the U.S., which eyed South Africa’s phosphorous deposits, rich in yellowcake (the name given to uranium oxide), with relish. To governments, power and glory is to be bestowed by men. This story is a great testimony that the praise of men contains no real value.
Neither author is a McPhee or McCullough (do you need a “Mc” in your name to get the Pulitzer?), but both treat their subject with great respect and care. Both should be required reading in our high schools, and recommended to anyone who thinks that the institution of marriage can be threatened by any outside force.
Both books relate different events which appear to confirm that God’s hand was over their marriage. In Dutfield’s book, he tells a beautiful story of Ruth and Seretse’s reunification the day their first child is born.
Williams shows us the improbable rains which fall at times that only the most jaundiced reader would misinterpret as coincidence. I leave readers to discover these miracles for themselves. The word “pula” in Setswana means rain, a scarce and extremely valuable commodity in landlocked Botswana, and as such is also a shout of blesssing. Pula to all of you.
This short Seretse Khama documentary features an interview with Ruth’s sister, Muriel Williams, who talks about how Ruth and Seretse met and the difficulties they endured because of their interracial relationship.
As of 2018, I have a little over eight years left before I go before the board of parole and potentially release back into the community. Although I’m admittedly a bit apprehensive, I do feel prepared. I’ve put in considerably effort improving myself not only psychosocially and spiritually, but also relationally. It is extremely important to me that I not impact others negatively.
Previously, I was ludicrously self-centered, focused only on what I could get in life and out of life, with very little regard for the struggles and feelings experienced by others. Rather than positively impact the lives of others, I was hurting virtually everyone with whom I came into contact. Once I finally realized how I was affecting the people around me everyday, I was able to choose how I impacted others. It was because of this revelation that I decided to pursue a career in counseling.
I’m currently enrolled in a Ph.D. program (having earned a Master’s degree in 2017), and by the time I go before the parole board, I will have my Ph.D. in Counseling. For my certification, however, there are some additional requirements. I must complete 300 CEUs (Continued Education Units) in counseling and log 4000 clinical hours of actual counseling. While I have met the required 300 CEUs by taking several counseling courses in addition to my degree program, I have been unable to log any clinical hours. But I do have an opportunity to do so, which presents a dilemma.
I expect to finish my Ph.D. program by mid-2021. At that point it will be possible to transfer to another facility and participate in an alcohol & drug treatment program that will help me log my clinical hours, allowing me to secure a CADC I or II (certification) prior to going before the parole board, and, I believe, increasing my chances for release. Having my certification will also make it easier to enter the workforce with a felony conviction on my record.
On the other hand, once I complete my Ph.D. program I could go to work in one of the industry jobs that pay around $150 per month, allowing me to save a considerable amount of money for my release, and, I believe, increasing my chances for successful re-entry into society. Money is a critically important aspect of security as I acclimate to a totally new culture — I came to prison prior even to 9/11! Being able to save around $2500 can go a long way toward helping me get established.
My dilemma lies in the fact that I cannot do both. If I enter the A & D program in order to log my clinical hours, I will be unable to save any significant amount of money for my release. And if I go to work in a job that pays enough for me to save real money, I’ll be unable to log any of the clinical hours I need for certification. It’s a difficult decision, and I haven’t made up my mind yet. I still have a couple of years before I have to decide, but it’s still an ever-present, anxiety-producing hurdle in my path that I know is coming. I think about it often. I’d be lying if I said I don’t long for some guidance, but in prison, rehabilitative guidance simply does not exist.
I won’t lie, I was shocked to see ABC cancel their highest-rated sitcom over its star Roseanne Barr’s racist tweet against former Barack Obama cabinet member Valerie Jarrett. In this day and age, where money seems to rule the day, it was both courageous and refreshing to see a Hollywood entity that is in business to make gazillions of dollars actually sacrifice the Almighty Dollar to uphold its principles.
Roseanne Barr is a staunch supporter of the current president — that’s her business. She has aligned herself with many of his views on race; again, that’s her prerogative. She has peddled in racism and bigotry for years before this costly tweet and has gotten away with it because, well, she made a lot of money for the networks she worked for. She then re-established her larger than life character with the reboot of her record-breaking sitcom this year and received a boost of support from the president the day after her relaunch success. Roseanne was untouchable — or so she thought.
In the current climate, some people now feel empowered to spew bigoted comments — once reserved for private conversations — publicly on social media. The impetus for this can be debated — but not with me. The point I’m making is although people, especially those in the highest positions, feel they can unleash their intolerance and hatred toward others without consequence, they may want to think again. Our society still has much work to do, obviously, but due to the evolution of race relations and treatment of people in general, there are now many in high positions that will not tolerate such primitive behavior. With this in mind, I don’t think it was a coincidence that this groundbreaking decision was made under the watch of Channing Dungey, the first African-American (woman) to head programming at a major broadcast network. The more diversity there is in powerful positions, the more we will see unambiguous messages sent that intolerance of people based on race, religion or other biasses will not be tolerated – even if it costs millions of dollars. This was not about political correctness, it was about values over money, right over wrong.
I made the case in a recent blog post that the NFL’s decision to ban its players from kneeling during the national anthem was not a First Amendment violation. The same is true in this case, but what we say and do in public can have severe consequences. If you post something on social media that your employer deems offensive and antithetical to the company’s values, he or she has every right to fire you without recourse. In the same way, Roseanne found out the hard way she is not above others who espouse such rhetoric on social media. The only difference is she had more to lose – a lot more! Many will inevitably complain that her First Amendment rights were violated — good luck with that argument. The fact of the matter is she exhibited abhorrent behavior that violated her company’s model of inclusion, equality, and values of diversity.
So, what does this mean for our culture going forward? Does it mean people will now carefully consider the consequences of their actions and refrain from publicly stating their personal views about others? Does it mean we will collectively demand a higher standard from those with large public platforms? I don’t know the answer to either of these, nor does it matter. The most important thing I took from this news is that no amount of celebrity or money justified such intolerable behavior. In the past this may have been acceptable; and had there been someone else heading ABC today, perhaps Roseanne would still be employed. But she crossed the line. She and those who choose to publicly espouse their offensive opinions about race and religion will likewise have to live with the consequences. I strongly applaud this decision as it was great for ABC, reflective of America, and well deserved for Roseanne.
Natalie Korman is a poet, writer, and editor living in Northern California. She is the author of the poetry chapbook Heliotropics (dancing girl press). In 2017, after being introduced to Adopt an Inmate by a former classmate, Natalie began correspondences with two people through the organization; both are now meaningful friendships. In the spirit of Adopt an Inmate, Natalie believes ongoing healing from institutional and interpersonal harm is a necessary part of the struggle for a more just and peaceful world.
