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.Â
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 â 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 â 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 â 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.Â
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?Â
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.”Â
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.Â
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.Â
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?Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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 â 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 â after seeing our ad in one of several prisoner resource lists â 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. âI always grew up feeling unwanted because I knew my mother had given me up for adoption. I didnât 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 defendantâs 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 â 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 â before and after release â and is proven to reduce recidivism. 123
I may never know Sean’s story â 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. â 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. â 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 â it can never be considered Christian â 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 â a white English middle class woman â 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. â 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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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 â 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.Â
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 â thatâs 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 â or so she thought.
In the current climate, some people now feel empowered to spew bigoted comments â once reserved for private conversations â publicly on social media. The impetus for this can be debated â 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 â 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 â a lot more! Many will inevitably complain that her First Amendment rights were violated â 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.
In our youth obsessed culture, Jewels: 50 Phenomenal Black Women Over 50 by photographer Micheal Cunningham and novelist Connie Briscoe is an inspiring treasure. This book of photo-essays contains portraits of celebrities andnon-celebrities alike, who overcame tremendous barriers to successfully raise children (some as single mothers) and have careers. These are warrior women who have fought for equal opportunities in education, business, and society as a whole.
With age comes wisdom, but it is much more than that that makes each one of these fifty women attractive. It’s the strength of character, the “I am my own me,” that gives each one their regal bearing. This differentiates between true beauty and petty prettiness that is sold by many media as the epitome of feminity.
I found myself personally drawn to MĂźtter Evans, the second black woman to purchase a radio station in the U.S., and the youngest at age 26. Ms. Evans speaks of the fear and challenge of coming up with the funds in the 1970’s, dealing with not just racism and sexism, but a whole host of other isms. However, she knew the impact the media would have on her community. Then there is Ruby Davis-Jett who started her own online travel agency as well as a real estate conglomerate, despite getting pregnant at the age of 16. A few other jewels are actresses Ruby Dee and S. Epatha Merkerson, singer/songwriter Nona Hendrix, television news executive and author (and the great-great granddaughter of Madam C.J. Walker) A’Lelia Bundles, and Representative Alma Adams. You can judge a society by how it treats its’ women and mature members, as well as the feminine participation in said society. Like with many groups, America still has a ways to go; however, with Jewels one can see the many beautiful stitches in this great American tapestry.
The NFL has easily been America’s favorite pastime for the past couple decades. The Superbowl is by far the largest televised, most profitable sporting event every year, and its players offer the greatest athleticism and skillset in the sport around the world. We love our football, but we cannot tolerate the players we love to watch display personal opinions on the platform they built. Shut up, play football, and entertain us!
The NFL is a private corporation that is free to do what it pleases so long as it operates within the United States constitution â fair enough. When its owners voted to now sanction players with a fine for kneeling during the national anthem in protest of a flag that doesn’t represent a “land of the free and home of the brave” for millions of its marginalized citizens, it’s well within its right to do so. But what message does that send to those players and the millions of black and brown people they are kneeling for who suffer from police brutality with impunity? What message does it also send to those who wish to maintain this abhorrent status quo of bias and unmitigated prejudice that permeates our penal system, education system, and unfair employment practices? I’ll tell you what the message is to both groups: none of those issues matter; all that matters is that you players perform at a high level, entertain our country, and be quiet.
Remember when I said the NFL has a right to do anything they want as a private corporation as long as no constitutional rights are trampled on? I’m referring to the same constitution that also protects one’s right to freedom of speech. Now, before I get lambasted by those constitutional experts out there, let me explicitly say I understand the difference between one being sanctioned by their employer and one facing penalty by the government for their peaceful protest. I’m not asserting that the players’ rights are being violated â they are not. But when they take a knee to peacefully protest injustices occuring in this country they love, are they not acting within the spirit of the First Amendment? Are they not exercising their civic right â and many would argue a duty with such a large stage at their disposal â to protest in the manner the constitution encourages when they feel aggrieved? Oh, this only applies when it doesn’t infringe on our Sunday afternoon entertainment? I’m sorry, I failed to read that portion in the constitution â it must be in the fine print section of the First Amendment.Â
Granted, I understand with all the political backlash and public outcry from those who, frankly, are not subjected to being beaten and killed on a daily basis for the mere color of their skin, the NFL felt the pressure to do something. And they could have done many things â other than what they did last week in an attempt to silence their employees and ignore the critical issues that plague our society daily. They could have met with the players and come to a compromise to alleviate the issue. They could have partnered with the players’ initiatives to address some of the issues the players care deeply about. They could have hosted a solutions-oriented forum that included many who have an interest in the subject, then put forth some of the capital from their massive account (the commissioner makes 40 million a year!) to fund some of the smartest solutions-oriented initiatives. Instead, they ruled with the iron fist that most powerful entities do when they want to silence an “unruly bunch” who dare to make their audience or clientele uncomfortable in order to make a valid point.
I purposely did not assert whether I personally think the form of protest is agreeable, proper, or preferable â thatâs not my point. I will also not entertain the argument that the players are purportedly disrespecting the military by taking a knee â I have no interest in that either. I am merely stating that what the NFL did last week in changing its policy to sanction its players for kneeling in protest during the national anthem was a contradiction of the principles it claims to uphold: inclusiveness, equality, fairness, and many more ideals that apparently are easier to espouse than to practice. Instead of acknowledging their employeeâs grievances and working collaboratively with them to find solutions, it jettisoned all its supposed values and deferred to the use of punishment to suppress the First Amendment right of its players. With so many alternative options and plentiful resources at its disposal, the NFL failed to explore any of them. It failed to treat its employees like citizens; it failed to rise above the pressure from those who will oppose change at all cost; it failed to exemplify the values and principles it claims to operate under; and it failed to exercise the same leadership it expects its players to uphold on and off the field.
These days people can be quick to tell you what’s wrong with our society, and we all have canned solutions to almost every problem â just add water and simmer for 15 minutes… problem solved. I do it myself all the time. Give me a half-an-hour, and I can tell you how to solve healthcare, poverty, mass incarceration, you name it, and I have no doubt you have some good ideas yourself. But being passionate in the abstract is easy. What counts is how we deal with them when we actually are blessed with the opportunity to do something real.
See, doing something about the seemingly insignificant injustices we encounter in our immediate environment is risky, and therefore … more difficult. Affecting change universally brings negative blowback, whether from skeptical friends, ignorant or frightened colleagues, or the generally unforgiving social environment. However, the question for all of us echos throughout time: Do the changes we seek in our country matter more than any potential repercussions we may experience as a result of a decision to challenge the injustices we see? And if the answer is no, then stop telling people what’s wrong with the world. The opinions of those unwilling to change the world when given the platform and opportunity are like the sound of flatulence â humorous at best, but generally disgusting, unless of course, they’re your own.
Let me give you an example. This prior week, I was at work when another inmate, a young, black man and co-worker, asked me for advice. He then described a situation that made him uncomfortable (and me somewhat angry): One of his supervisors, who is not incarcerated, made an inappropriate and racist comment to him, framed as a joke, but in front of several other guys of all races. He explained that the comment not only perturbed him because of its inaccuracy and stereotyped underpinnings, but also made his job more difficult because he still was required to work with all those who heard it.
I gave him what I thought was sound advice. I encouraged him to speak with a staff member I know to be generally receptive and sensitive to issues like this. However, the person whom I thought would be willing to stand up against racism … simply wasn’t. The staff member described feeling uneasy about disrespecting the other staff member (the one who made the racist comment) by getting involved. In fact, in this meeting the young man was actually accused of a prior lack of professionalism, implicitly suggesting he somehow deserved the racist comment. Basically, the young black man was told to go to someone else if he wanted help, which saddened me, but I’m not naive about the prison environment.
Yet, I can’t help but find it disheartening. Picture a dog kennel, rows of dogs in cages and several dog handlers performing the duties of their jobs, feeding, cleaning, and otherwise caring for the animals. If one dog handler were verbally abusing one of the dogs, the other handlers would not hesitate to speak up. But incarcerated human beings apparently are often not as worthy of advocacy as dogs. Unfortunately, the very concept of rehabilitation will remain a farce until the men and women in prison are viewed and treated as human beings with inherent dignity and worthy of respect, regardless of their past mistakes, and dealt with as people who will one day return to the community.
I could allow myself to feel depressed and wallow in the injustice of it all, but I’m very mindful of the fact that I put myself here. I’m not the victim; I’ve hurt a lot of people. But even still, I can learn from those unwilling to use their power and platform to make positive change when called upon by the powers of fate.
The same night I experienced that unfortunate situation at work, I saw a gay kid being picked on by someone I know. I thought of what I witnessed at work as an example of what not to do, so I stepped in to stand up for the kid. Sure I took a little heat, and I’m sure it won’t be the last time that kid is picked on. And I certainly can’t be there for him everytime he has a problem. But I was able to help him that time. I did the right thing because I could, even though doing the right thing ain’t easy. But changing the world will never be easy, even if we all pitch in, which clearly … we don’t.
It’s no secret that most of us in prison (about 80% in fact) have been involved with and/or addicted to drugs and/or alcohol for many years, eventually leading us to where we are today. Manyâ if not virtually all of us â neglected our familial responsibilities, job obligations, parole or probation requirements, and essentially any expectations one would have for someone who desires to live a quality life in the free world.
For the myriad loved ones who have suffered unspeakable pain as we have continually let them down â most notably our children â while chasing and abusing our drugs of choice, it is often thought that we “chose” drugs and/or alcohol over our loved ones; after all, they’ll say “Why would you do it when you know it’s going to cost you everything?” They’ll reason that anyone can quit anything “if they really want to.” On its surface, this makes perfect sense, but underneath â in the realm of addiction â it’s much more complex.
Without getting too scientific, allow me to make a basic distinction: our rational thoughts (i.e. considering consequences, planning, goal-setting, restraining from instant gratification for delayed gratification, etc.), occur in the prefrontal cortex part of our brain. Addiction, however, manifests in the lower, most primitive part of our brain known as the limbic system. This is where our fight-or-flight system is, where our sexual appetite derives, and where our “pleasure pathway” is located. A hamburger is enjoyable because when we eat it, chemicals in this part of the brain are released, and the connection is made that hamburgers taste good. The next time we see or smell a hamburger, this part of the brain is ignited, and we feel drawn to eat the hamburger. We are inclined to engage in behavior that yields pleasure, thus we have a chemical/neural circuit known as the pleasure pathway.
This primitive part of the brain is where addiction becomes deeply rooted. The chemicals released from drugs and alcohol flood our pleasure pathway and have a very strong impact on the limbic system, but for the person who is more likely to become addicted due to a genetic predisposition, for instance, this reinforcement is much stronger. The reasons we use (i.e. to be more sociable, numb negative feelings, etc.) also factor into our likelihood of becoming addicted. What this reinforcement looks like in the brain of a non-alcoholic person who drinks an alcoholic beverage is, say, only four parts of the limbic system will be affected, whereas the alcoholic who drinks will experience a much stronger effect because nine areas of the brain are affected. Moreover, once the disease (it is a medical disease because 1) it has an onset, 2) it’s progressive, and 3) it can kill) sets in, the addict is triggered in the craving part of the limbic system when they see, smell, or are reminded in some way of their drug of choice. This is tantamount to someone who is very hungry being intensely stimulated when they walk down the street and smell barbecue smoke. Again, the pleasure pathway in the brain is more sensitized to drug and alcohol cues than someone who is not an alcoholic or drug addict.
Back to the rational part of the brain. When our “addicted brain” (limbic system) has been triggered by stimuli, our rational brain is chemically suppressed, severely reducing our capability of making logical decisions. Studies have shown the more emotional we are (taking place in our fight-or-flight system), the less we are able to use our rational brain. Therefore, when we’re angry we often do and say things we later regret. In the same way, when our addiction is ignited, we don’t have full access to our rational brain. Bypassing that liquor store in order to be home to eat dinner with the wife and kids makes all the sense in the world, but the brain chemistry that has been aroused by passing that liquor store makes that decision much more complex. Getting high to avoid stress spurs our brain in a way that makes us ignore any possible consequences that may come tomorrow or next week. Make no mistake, this is not to skirt responsibility or accountability for the damage and harm we’ve caused countless people who love us, but merely a brief explanation into what is underway in the brain that makes decision-making processes for the addict much more complex than the non-addict.
