To remind you, in the course of my day I have to walk across the length of the yard. I walk past all the housing facilities, medical, chow hall, etc, at least twice daily when all the guys are out and about. Because we are a low security prison, there is much freedom to move around the grounds during the day when your schedule does not have you assigned to be elsewhere.
Initially, this trip was a bit daunting. I was a new female on the grounds, and a lot of watching was required. Life is boring; gossip is a commodity, besides, I might do something entertaining. As an act of defense, and because I am my mother’s daughter, I just started to talk at people who caught my eye as I made my way to work. The no-touch rule means I effectively own the walkway; everybody has to move aside if I want to be fierce about it. Shooting energy at people enforces my space without being clearly aggressive. Quickly, it stopped being a defense, and became an adventure. I never knew who would say what, and after the first weeks, and a couple of nasty under-the-breath comments, it became pleasant.
The guys from my caseload always at least acknowledge me, sometimes just with eye contact. The very weird thing is all the African American guys on my caseload always engage me in some way, and many of those I don’t know do the same. The men of European descent less reliably do so. There is a contingent of older white guys I think of as the ZZ Toppers – they would die rather than even recognize my existence. My fringe-Harley-Davidson-riding-Vietnam-Vet friend explains this is because I’m a “screw.” It is tempting to torture them by spraying cheerful energy at them as they pass, but this is just rude.
-- Early in my experience, I am called to by an individual standing in a pod of guys, none of whom I know. “Hey, Psych… You walk through here like you own the world.”
What do I say to THAT?
“I like that, you keep it up.”
I smile and nod acknowledgement, pretty nice compliment.
--I leave late one day. Count is over for the evening, and usually I leave before the guys are back out, but I had a bunch of stuff to do.
From 50 feet away, somebody I either don’t know, or my nearsightedness is keeping me from recognizing who this is. “Hey, Ms. L., you’re here late!”
“Yup, I had things to do….”
“Hey, you be careful driving home.”
--“Excuse me; you’re one of the psychs, aren’t you?
“Yes,” I don’t recognize him. He is a pretty generic looking white guy, maybe mid-20’s, probably somebody considered “fair game” by the more experienced men.
“I’ve been reading these psychology books, and what you do is pretty interesting…”
“Well, I think so.”
“I’m thinking this is what to do when I get out of the joint…”
Most, if not every state, is not interested in giving a license to practice therapy to an ex-felon. What do I say? “What are you reading?”
He tells me, and I give him a few suggestions….
-- Some guy I don’t know is dressed for the kitchen, and walking in my direction as I walk out. We engage in small talk, for 300 yards, and then part. “You just made my day…”
I made his day?? Just by a few seconds of walking and chatting?
--I’m trudging in through the snow one morning, and one of my guys, who believes he is here under a false name meets up with me. He suffers from Schizophrenia, so it has never been clear to me if his “real” name, really is his real name. It doesn’t matter, I use it nonetheless. Each time I do he brightens up. We walk side by side a few feet, me in my enormous insulated boots, worn in case I end up off the road on my way driving here.
“Ms. L., you need to walk in front of me in the path.” Not walk in the deep snow, not yet cleared.
A courtesy my own husband would probably not have thought about.
-- Each morning as I come in, there is one guy who works beyond the perimeter, usually outdoors. This morning he was shoveling. I always greet him. Today I asked him if he was keeping warm. He stopped, looked at me and thanked me for asking. Who worried about him last?
My boss guy was walking in with me after lunch recently, and as we walked, I was calling out and responding as I normally do. He expressed some surprise (I’ve given him the address of this blog, today, and it is weird to think of him reading my thoughts about him).
I know he worries about me getting too attached, being sucked in…
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5 comments:
W said...
WOW, my dear! I am amazed, saddened, haunted, amused... I don't think you're getting attached / sucked in. But what you are doing is giving these inmates some basic human dignity. And why not? They aren't animals. And while I don't agree with giving them the cush life after committing a crime, I DO think they should be treated with respect. As long as they are behaving respectfully, why should they not have that in return...? You're awesome!
(I had to remove her comment as it had my name. Sorry W!)
This is fascinating. As a joke, I have often said "Prison Reform Begins at Home". I thought about making bumper-stickers. But the reality is more than I can imagine.
I can't help but feel that prohibition - especially of marijuana - is a major factor in drug related crime. Pharmaceutical cocaine, which doctors use for nose jobs, sells for about a dollar a gram - instead of $80 to $100 a gram on the street. Marijuana grows (without pesticides) in all fifty states.
What would happen to drug related crime if users could get their drug of choice at cost instead of black market prices? I predict the violence that enormous black market drug prices provoke would dramatically diminish. After all, no one is getting shot in drive by shootings for moving cases of merlot around Mendicino county.
Yes. My answer to you is yes. I am a child of the 70’s, where we were told cocaine was a “safe” drug, unlike LSD or marijuana which would make us jump off of buildings or grab the beautiful flames of a gas stove. (What a pile of crap). If I had my druthers, instead of nicotine or caffeine, I would allow pot to be the drug available in the facility. It simply does not drive the rage.
Clearly our prisons are clogged with drug users and abusers. People who tell me they have set aside their morals to get their drug of choice. It is not clear that prison helps this; it can’t even ensure a drug-free environment.
I’ve seen enough in my private and professional life to know the horrible addictive qualities of cocaine or crack. The cycle of physical/emotional response is frighteningly addictive. It is a drug I’ve consciously avoided since high school as it sounds way too appealing.
Recreational drug use is not of interest to me. It occurs. It is recreational. The point where it becomes a problem is when it allows avoidance of problems. Instead of growing and adding positive energy to the world at large, it removes huge portions of our population to a non-functional level. And on a micro level, it stunts the ability to find health and contentment.
My wish, my goal, my intent, part of what brings meaning to my life is to help people find a place of safety, contentment and self-awareness. I understand, on some level, this is naive. But when I look out on my groups or on the individual guys in my office, I don’t want to see rage or fear or numbness. I want them to find love and caring. I want them to end their days feeling they have created something, made a difference, not that they have checked out. To spend your life anesthetized is not to live.
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