Aaron, 35

Aaron, 35

Meet Aaron…

I now stand for a cause I have dedicated my life to – making a difference in the lives of others, and I am unashamed of the God who reached into the pit of hell and salvaged my life. I no longer act out of insecurity of what others may think. Living to impress others isn’t my goal, and my identity is not found in substances, crime or what delinquent peers may say.

Incarcerated: 16 years
Housed: Washington Corrections Center, Shelton

The Department of Corrections refers to me as Offender #327076. Locked up since 2006, I was sentenced to 51 years to life for terrible crimes I committed as a youth. I stood for nothing – a stain on my community. With little hope of redemptive quality, I was condemned to a life behind bars. I’ve done horrible things and had them done to me. Sadly at 35, I am still reaping the consequences of my actions as a teenage drug addict. I grew up in poverty, overcoming fatherlessness, mental illness, addiction and hopelessness. I survived amputation and severe burns in a traumatic explosion. I’ve been shot, stabbed, pepper sprayed, robbed, mauled by dogs, jumped, kicked and stomped. I endured brain damage, riots, attempts on my life, long stretches in solitary confinement, and hundreds of dehumanizing strip searches. I’ve been afflicted by suicide, betrayal, plagued by depression, banished from society, and branded a sex offender for the rest of my life. Hey, who hasn’t been through a few things? I was called a monster during my criminal trial. At the time, I believe the title was a fair assessment of my character, or at least an accurate description of the acts I was responsible for. My sentence was not imposed for the purpose of rehabilitation or recovery; It was meant to remove hope, incapacitate dreams, and cripple my ability to have a family, rejoin society or have any possibility of a second chance or meaningful life.I grew up in a prison. I became a man in prison. I developed purpose in a prison. However, it is not prison I credit for who I’ve become today. I represent a small fraction of incarcerated individuals who have chosen to excel while living in squalid conditions. We have rehabilitated in spite of a failed blueprint of “corrections”. Oppressed, abused, and forgotten, we are housed in the belly of the beast, longing for the opportunity of freedom, and the ability to live a life of meaning, beauty and positive impact. We wait for the chance to give back to the communities we once caused trauma to; A chance to right the harms we inflicted. For me, that day is April 23, 2053. I will be 67 at my earliest possible release date, barring a resentencing.

Shortly after my arrest, I was determined to become a Difference Maker. I confronted my demons, focused on accountability, and forged a new legacy. A legacy that changed my life and path, and assisted others struggling to face the harm they’ve caused. Weeks into my jail stay, I read my first book – yeah, the first book I had ever read from cover to cover. Today, I am a mere few credits from receiving my first degree. As a special needs mentor, mental health coach and prison preacher, my message is simple, “while there is breath in your body, there is hope for your life.” I now stand for a cause I have dedicated my life to – making a difference in the lives of others, and I am unashamed of the God who reached into the pit of hell and salvaged my life. I no longer act out of insecurity of what others may think. Living to impress others isn’t my goal, and my identity is not found in substances, crime or what delinquent peers may say. My life is driven by what I give and add the world in a positive way, not what I extract from it. My path is not a popular one. It is beyond rare in prison, but any decent person can see that our society is in dire need of such Difference Makers – transformers, individuals willing to change themselves and help those around them lost to the same battles. While I wait for this freedom, it is a small token of satisfaction, being able to help others. Many will soon be released, and it is my expectation that they will pay it forward – allowing their ripples to spread in the very community I so desperately want to be a part of. I’ve intentionally structured my life in a way that every activity I engage in is either investing into the lives of others, or equipping myself to better do so, and be of greater service. This is a service I owe to society, in the form of daily installments for the rest of my life. Some investments take time to bear fruit, while others are immediately rewarding. I especially enjoy the ones that take time to grow and develop. My favorite by far is the service dog training program I volunteer for.

I work with dogs that will eventually go to disabled vets, people with PTSD, children with autism, and those in need of emergency alert assistance. It is an understatement to say that this program has impacted me. Reduced stress, anxiety and depression, with increased peace, joy and purpose has been my experience in a nutshell. I also garden, exercise, give regular messages in Church, and create content on several platforms, all while working a fulltime job as a workforce development assistant, helping prisoners prepare for release. So, behind this razor wire, King Kong size walls, guard towers, and an ERD of 2053, why should I care? Why not say FU%K IT!? Many do. In this school of criminality, filled with loathsome activity, violence and bitterness, why do I try so hard at being the best man I can be? Because, I now love myself, and who I’ve become. I understand God’s plan and purpose for my life. Knowing that makes me want to teach others to do the same. That’s where true change takes place. If you learn to love yourself it is impossible to do anything that could harm yourself and others. Even though I was 18 – an adult according to the law – I was lost, troubled, and an addict to drugs since age 12. I was not a real man, nor did I have the ability to love myself. I’m not speaking of the world’s image of a man, full of bravado, but the type of man and human being representative of a permanent spot in society. A person who seeks to make his community a better place to live, and pours his time, resources and life into those around him. A real Man does what is right, no matter the opposition of others. A real Man doesn’t give up, even in the face of certain defeat. When we’ve erred, and done wrong, we make every effort for as long as it takes to make recompense for such wrongs. I do not know when my opportunity for freedom will come, but when it does, I will make the most of it, continuing as a Difference Maker. In the meantime, there is much to do, and many to help.

 

Raymond, 42

Meet Raymond…

When he stopped I was prepared for the worst. The guard says, “I didn’t know you played guitar.” I exclaimed, “Neither did I,” and we both had a laugh. This wouldn’t be the last humanizing moment paying guitar brought, nor the last time music broke barriers in my life. I treated learning like a fulltime job. I played every moment I could. 

Incarcerated: 16 years

Housed: Washington Corrections Center, Shelton

I want to play my guitar. I hear of  places like Austin and Memphis, filled with dimly lit, seedy jazz and blues clubs – the echoes of great music soaked in the wood and rafters. I want to stand where greater musicians have plucked strings and had the approval from strangers. I crave that stage. I have something to say – even if I don’t always have the words – I can bend the note, I can make it sing, but there is nothing diatonic about how I found my music. Like many, I always “wanted to learn guitar” and just “never got around to it.” I remember the moment when desire turned to decision and my life changed forever. I was 32 years old. It was 2012 and I was sitting in my cell in Walla Walla. PBS was showing the Joe Bonamassa concert. I thought to myself, “I want to be like him when I grow up.” A kind of joke for a near middle aged man. Still, I knew this was my vibe, he had something I was missing, and that something needed to get out. Getting a guitar was my first obstacle. I had a job in the prison making signs for the community; I saved my money for months. I got a little Epiphone Special II, color – heritage cherry sunburst. Honestly, it was horrendous. Probably what I get for telling the company to send me whatever color they had. Still, I was proud of that guitar. The humanizing effect of music started for me right away. One day after I got the guitar, a guard stopped at my cell. I had tablature of some song taped to my wall; I’m squinting trying to make sense of it all. I looked startled. Here is this guard in my window – a real hard ass, the kind that says nothing to prisoners unless he is barking an order. When he stopped I was prepared for the worst. The guard says, “I didn’t know you played guitar.” I exclaimed, “Neither did I,” and we both had a laugh. This wouldn’t be the last humanizing moment paying guitar brought, nor the last time music broke barriers in my life.

I treated learning like a fulltime job. I played every moment I could. I bought books, learning CDs, anything I could to improve. I wish I could say it came easy. It did not. Have you heard of people playing until their fingers bled? That was me. Six hours of straight practice will do that. But battling through the pain and frustration was a good outlet for me. I found freedom in the notes and a sense of accomplishment as my capabilities increased.

When I became good enough to construct songs they flowed right out of me. I’m now 42 years old and have written a lot of songs. I wrote a song for my son titled Outlaw Man wherein I caution him, “Don’t be the man my father was, running and shooting guns and drugs -ya just like – like I’ve done… overcome the gene – of the outlaw man.” Many of my songs serve to tell my stories and help me work through the broken pieces of my life. I found songwriting very therapeutic. It turns out that music was the outlet that I needed since I was a child. It is a hell of a thing to realize in your thirties you have a talent that – if cultivated earlier – would have changed the trajectory of your life. The cliché “better late than never” comes to mind here. I know there are youth today with untapped talent, hard lives of their own, and unmet needs for outlets of expression. Another cliché I connect with, “music calms the savage beast.” Music did more for me internally than any of the prison programs or classes I took. Through learning guitar I have become less violent and less impulsive. Because of music I share joy and connection with all kinds of people in prison – people I might not have spoken to otherwise. I found that music in prison lets people see past the barriers that divide us. When the music feels good, there are no guards and prisoners; there are no blacks or whites; there is no Other of any kind. There is only the beat, the rhythm, and harmony, Well, unless you miss a note. But even side-eyes from band mates after misplaced notes in practice is a form of growing together often unavailable in other venues of prison. During my time inside, I outgrew the need for my confinement. Music is a huge reason why that growth was possible. Now, I just want to leave this prison – I want to share my music and my experience with the world. I don’t aspire to be famous – rather, only present. I want to be there; on the scene; learning and sharing with other good musicians; entertaining in some smoke filled blues or jazz club. Where there is this community of good people with open hearts and good rhythm – that is where I belong. I just want to play my guitar.

Eric, 52

Eric, 52

Meet Eric…

And you know, I like to get A’s. I’m an A student. I work hard and I started having this pride about submitting my work, I’m eager to know how I did. I say, “I know I perfected, I got this, I aced this.” So now I understand why the recidivism rate is lower. You develop character, you change your thinking.  And you’re escaping, like I said earlier, the ills of prison and you’re removing yourself from that environment. And you become mature.

Incarcerated: 10 yrs

Housed: Sing Sing Correctional Facility, Ossining, New York

Diane: Tell us about your family.

Eric: All my family members pretty much dwindled during the course of my incarceration. My mother has passed. She’s a 9/11 survivor. She worked at Meryl Lynch across the street from the towers. She inhaled the polarized glass fumes that subsequently caused fungus in her lungs. She passed from COPD due to complications of 9/11. I do have a brother. He’s out of state in the Navy. He’s touch and go, though. I’ve pretty much been all on my own during most of this bid. Despite all that, I’ve had to kick off the dust and move forward. College was definitely a way to escape the ills associated with prison. I don’t hang out too much in the yard. I only socialize with people that are like minded and want to go in the direction of making the best of this experience. We try not to go out the same way we came in.

Diane: Is there anything you want to share about your mom? 

Eric: Before she passed I remember being at her deathbed. I was able to get that visit. She said, “I’m very proud of you.” She knew that I was pursuing my education. She said, “You know, I’m sorry that I failed you.” 

I said, “No, you did not. It was all on me.” She did nothing for me to move in that direction. I said, “Mom, I’m gonna be okay.” And she passed like that. 

Diane: What made you enroll in school?

Eric: The parole board looks at education as a way to lower the recidivism rate. I wanted to assure them that I’m not coming back. I went to school solely for that purpose. It wasn’t that I had a passion to learn about things, right? But as I started, my thinking started to change and I started to have to critically think. I had to be responsible. I had to do my papers. And you know, I like to get A’s. I’m an A student. I work hard and I started having this pride about submitting my work, I’m eager to know how I did. I say, “I know I perfected, I got this, I aced this.” So now I understand why the recidivism rate is lower. You develop character, you change your thinking.  And you’re escaping, like I said earlier, the ills of prison and you’re removing yourself from that environment. And you become mature.

Leonard, 35

Leonard, 35

Meet Leonard…

This situation can take your lust for life away, what I use to like or intrigue me, I find myself despising. The person I used to be thought of love as something real, almost tangible. To view human nature in this form from within prison I now believe people as a majority don’t care about people. Because the prison I am at is such an attack on human nature- love of any type, form or meaning almost doesn’t seem real. Grim reality.

Incarcerated: 10 years

Housed: Wabash Valley Correctional Facility, Carlisle, Indiana

I was raised in a household where we’d move every year. I switched many schools. My mother would pick me and my sister up every other weekend. I had no father but my uncles on my mother’s side taught me how to be a man. During my teenage years, I was rapping like and being very unfaithful to my son’s mother and justifying it by thinking in terms of money. I loved money, cars, clothes and my family. But, the most important of the four I neglected to love them properly. I thought I had it all together. I was able to hold jobs in the free world for long periods of time, although I was hustling and soliciting women to fulfill my addiction to drinking and gambling.  I am here for someone being disrespectful to me and the female, while at a restaurant, and I regret it all. I had no idea what prison was like. Nobody really does until they are in one or someone truly tells you what it’s like to be inside a prison. Now, looking back on my younger years I wish I had someone who would have put more conscious reading material in my hands. Where I am at is an oppressive farm. Since my incarceration I’ve seen the pain I’ve caused my victim’s family and my own and I’ve rebuilt mentally since then. I immersed myself in true history, business, and economics. I’ve came up with many inventions with the hopes of helping and not hurting people. This is how I spent my time, as if I am about to go before a venture capitalist for an investment at any day. But now, I feel like I am in the twilight zone because now that I have all I need to be successful, I can’t get to it.

This type of oppression has made me an angry person, and I’m always angry. This prison is like a daycare, they treat and talk to you like little boys. They take you as a danger if you carry yourself as a man or a man with dignity. Many lawsuits against medical, our pictures get copied in black and white (even obituaries), no fruits served, all controlled movement, no non-white employees (male or female), and not allowed to see rated R-movies.

This situation can take your lust for life away, what I use to like or intrigue me, I find myself despising. The person I used to be thought of love as something real, almost tangible. To view human nature in this form from within prison I now believe people as a majority don’t care about people. Because the prison I am at is such an attack on human nature- love of any type, form or meaning almost doesn’t seem real. Grim reality.

LaShae, 35

Meet LaShae…

No one cared about me and the hollowness I felt. No one cared to stop and listen to my story. No one cared because I am an African American woman who was treated unjustly.

LaShae, 35

Incarcerated: 4 years

Housed: Jean Conservation Camp, Jean, Nevada

I am a veteran who proudly diligently served this country for over five  years. I am an African American woman who is unjustly imprisoned for a heinous crime I did not commit. I want you to hear my plea, listen to the tragedy that unfolded in my life and to implore you to hear my story.

When I was medically separated from the Army I went through my own personal trauma but I refused to allow my own pain to conflict with my desire to provide assistance to others. I worked long hours so others could spend time with their families. I helped friends and neighbors financially so they could provide for their children and when I separated from my ex I still try to help provide for my ex and her kids. Despite my own health concerns I gave from my heart to those in need and helped others as much as I could.

My plea of not guilty fell on deaf ears. No one cared about me and the hollowness I felt. No one cared to stop and listen to my story. No one cared because I am an African American woman who was treated unjustly. I was committed to a sentence of 8-20 years although I am appealing my case. My life and the police records are an open book for anyone to read. I want to share my story because this is unfair. There are people in prison who have committed murder and are serving less time. People who sell drugs to children, run from and attack the police, who are serving less time. Yes I have a victim. I have no contact and I pray everyday. I would never put anyone or child through what I have been through. I want to expose a small sliver of the corruption within the Nevada judicial system. 

My sincere desire is to share my story with you.

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