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Christopher, 39

Christopher, 39

Stories

Meet Christopher…

…When a prisoner is sentenced there is another reality attached to it. The reality that their family and friends will do the time with them. You will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory, stay strong.”

Incarcerated: 18 years
Housed: New Jersey State Prison, Trenton

I was 19 years old and convicted of a robbery and weapons charges. The judge sentenced me to time greater than my mother’s age. Sixty years with a mandatory minimum of 85 percent. I have since served 18 years. Upon arriving in prison my daughter was only three. She is now 21 and has grown up without a father.

Unfortunately, when a prisoner is sentenced there is another reality attached to it. The reality that their family and friends will do the time with them. I miss when my mother used to call me asking to bring her to work, seeing my mom’s beautiful smile would make my day. It’s the small things in life that I miss so much, like watching my daughter grow up to be the beautiful woman she is today. I am grateful for my family and everything they have sacrificed to help me.

We all need a second chance at life to be a father, husband and son. I don’t think someone needs to die in prison for their past mistakes. I have since involved myself in many positive endeavors. Since the beginning of my incarceration, I have made countless efforts to rehabilitate by completing a number of programs. Yet, the state rather keeps us inside of a cell for 23 hours a day doing nothing. How does that help us?

The fact is, poverty is what led me to prison and the world needs to know that poverty is a crime. For now, my family and daughter bring me comfort. This is what still gets me through each day. By standing firm with my faith there is always hope. Finally, you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory, so always stay strong. 📸 Christopher’s

Jorge, 37

Jorge, 37

Stories

Meet Jorge…

…We always want to help when we get out, but we forget that we can help in here, like Edwin and Miguel are doing in our society in here. A lot of us don’t know how to do it and express what we are going through and need help to get it out into the world and change the image that is given to us.

Incarcerated: 21 years

Even though we have our ups and downs, I love that I was named after him, and I would name my son Jorge too if my wife is ok with it. We plan to have a baby at our next family visit…

Everything started in Juvenile Hall when I was arrested at age 16. I was not good at reading and writing, not even in Spanish. I remember I had a stack of letters from my mom in Spanish and I felt so bad I couldn’t read them. I got past my pride and asked the staff to help me read them. She started crying and I didn’t know how to react. I thought I did something wrong. She told me she would teach me to read and write, that I should have told her a long time ago, but I was prideful and I didn’t want people to know. I let my mom know, and she looked at me with a blank stare, like she thought I did know how to read and write in Spanish, at least. She just couldn’t believe it. She told me to do her a favor, “If you can draw me a happy face if you are happy or a sad face if you are sad, hearts and send it in the mail. So I know you’re ok. That’s how it all started, by doing small things for her. She inspired me to draw and all I wanted to do is keep her happy. As long as it put a smile on her face, I was willing to do it.

I got better at drawing roses and religious stuff like crosses. Early on I did a gangster praying to a virgin that turned out chubby because of the roses around her. In the drawing with the mask baby, I use crayons and mainly charcoal. I love charcoal – most of my drawings are in charcoal. I drew that as a message for people to get vaccinated and don’t be selfish because the next generation is going to be taking care of the aftermath. I understand people have their reason if they don’t take it, everybody has the right to do what they want, but I think it is the right thing to do.

We all have our moment in time when we can change, like a click. You hope it comes before you’re a wreck. We always want to help when we get out, but we forget that we can help in here, like Edwin and Miguel are doing in our society in here. A lot of us don’t know how to do it and express what we are going through and need help to get it out into the world and change the image that is given to us.

WHAT WOULD YOU SAY TO SOMEONE TO IDENTIFY YOURSELF?

I am a humble and caring person, and when it comes down to family, they’re my number one. I love my family.

I like to be judged by my actions instead of the way I look. I’m a son, a brother, and a husband. When you start speaking to people, you see that we have potential, in a lot of different ways.

It’s hard for people to approach me even here because of the tattoos I have on my face and the way I look. I’ve heard the same thing from others who are blasted (tattooed) like me. Even here, getting hired for a new job in prison-like I did in the hospital, we get attention, like we are up to no good somehow, and stand out like a troublemaker. They think, “Let’s see how long you last here.”

I take pride in what I do and my coworkers see that. We work our hours and get to interact with people from society. There are not a lot of jobs like that in prison. Who would have thought you would be in an elevator with people from society? I thought we’d be treated differently…

Robert, 41

Robert, 41

Stories

Meet Robert…

…Jennifer Lackey, a philosophy professor at Northwestern University, introduced a values class at the prison which I pursued. She told me to apply. I was accepted to something that would transform my life. My first true college course wasn’t easy because her expectations didn’t allow for less because of my situation, so I responded accordingly. 

incarcerated: 24
Housed: Stateville Correctional Center, Joliet, Illinois

A few years ago while running the yard I saw my economics teacher going towards the educational building. She was with a female visitor, being intrigued I made my way to them. I was informed that her name was Jennifer Lackey and a philosophy professor at Northwestern University. She was introducing a values class at the prison which I pursued. She told me to apply.

I was accepted to something that would transform my life. My first true college course wasn’t easy because her expectations didn’t allow for less because of my situation, so I responded accordingly. Upon completion of the class we were supposed to take her mass-incarceration class, but that got put on hold for something far more beautiful.

She informed us that Northwestern would sponsor her plan for a degree program here at the institution, and her current class would be given priority for applications. After the application process and being formally accepted to Northwestern Prison Educational Program, I have obtained my associate’s degree from Oakland Community College, and I am currently a bachelor’s degree candidate. Through her will to see those that were less fortunate given a chance, I’m one of twenty-one individuals destined for greater things.

I have also used this time to get my barber’s license as well. The growth I’ve chosen to pursue was made possible with the aid and compassion of others, those that have chosen to see more than my circumstances, like the opportunities and possibilities of hope with a little help. So many are responsible for the clarity with which I now see. So thank you all. 📸

 

Raymond, 43

Raymond, 43

Stories

Meet Raymond…

…Like many, my environment was filled with drugs, gangs, guns, violence and bad decisions. I became a product of all of it. Falling in the trap of a system designed to destroy me.

Incarcerated: 22 years
Housed: Lawrence Correctional Center, Sumner, Illinois

My upbringing was a little rougher than the average. Don’t get me wrong, I came from a beautiful loving family, it was outside the home that the problems occurred. Like many, my environment was filled with drugs, gangs, guns, violence and bad decisions. I became a product of all of it. Falling in the trap of a system designed to destroy me.

Being locked up has been an unfortunate experience, yet I didn’t let it destroy me. I did the opposite and used this time to build a better me. Just like my mother and grandmother taught me, I chased after more education and knowledge. Watching them also taught me strength. I can actually say I got my strength from a woman.

I understand that I am not in the situation I’m in right now, and God has a wonderful plan for me. Before I got here it wasn’t all bad, I had life lessons and knowledge I gained from my single mother and grandmother. They continually stressed how important an education was and how I could achieve greatness no matter what life threw at me. They saw the potential in me at an early age. I had a fondness for reading and they kept me with a healthy supply of literature. Then, I found out that my real passion was writing.

I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember, probably a few years after I learned to write a fluently constructive sentence. Simple basic poetry turned into playing with words and leaving people in awe, releasing passionate explicit emotion. A hobby that eased my mind and gave me serenity, something therapeutic to me has turned into my profession, my style, my life which I constantly try to perfect. I’ll have five books published this year, three of which are poetry books. I’m humble but overeager and anxious for people to hear my voice. God willing I’ll be home this year, ready for the world to listen to my testimony.

Crandell (Ojore), 54

Crandell (Ojore), 54

Stories

Ojore 2

Meet Ojore…

…In a place of darkness and stagnation, I shine like ten thousand suns, but it is the light and love of my fellow humans that ensure I continue to thrive.

Incarcerated: 28 yrs
Housed: California Death Row

Stripped down to my whites and state shoes, I was issued an orange jumpsuit for transportation purposes. After getting into the jumpsuit, I was placed in waist-restraints; then off we went down the tier, followed by the stairs; then out the unit. As soon as I step outside the unit, the non-descript, white,
transport van was parked outside the unit door. I was ushered inside to an enclosed back-seat compartment. Once in the seat, and before the cage was secured, ankle- shackles were placed on my legs. Yes, to prevent any escape. Just as I entered San Quentin Prison, in the back-seat of a car, twenty-two years later, I was now leaving the prison in reverse, along the same roadway that border the prison yard and followed along the looming wall that encircled the prison up to the same portcullis back-gate. Once through the gate and beyond the walls, I remained on prison grounds. As the vehicle drove along the service road I took in the water of the San Francisco Bay, next to the prison with great interest. Unlike when I arrived, it was not umber and clouded with silt, instead the rough, choppy water was an opaque
darkness. I observed the geese floating near the shoreline and enjoying a afternoon grooming. Normally, while on the yard, I would see them in v-formation flying overhead. Now I had some idea where they ended up. After leaving the grounds of the prison and the van was well into traffic, I began to sense a different vibe, energy and brightness.

During the ride to the clinic I often forgot I was sitting in the back seat of a transport van, dressed in orange, draped in waist restraints and ankle chains. My eyes and mind had not been that alive and animated in 22 years. The sun shined brighter, the sky was more pastel blue, and beautiful. I don’t remember the last time I saw so many trees? Society continued to move as I had left it, and that was the first time in decades I observed society as I knew it, unlike what I regularly saw on television. A state of nostalgia overcame me, that was visceral; my muscle memory I recalled such warm, beautiful days when I lived free and spontaneously. My thoughts drifted to my deceased mother; then to my grandchildren, with me pushing them in a swing, to enjoy ice-cream with them; then to so many others I desire to spend quality time with and would enjoy sharing freedom with. This was also the first time I sat restrained in a patrol car or transport vehicle and did not care if anyone peered at me with curiosity or disgust; nor did I feel or sense shame; or wonder what they thought of me. That’s not to say I accepted my position, nor had I become institutionalized and comfortable. I simply felt what people saw, was not a genuine depiction of who I am. W.E.B. Dubois, once wrote:

The slave walked free into the warın sun of freedom, paused awhile, then turned and returned to slavery.

Similarly, I soaked up the warmth of the sun as I wobbled into the clinic and departed. Only during those two moments did I experience a sense of freedom. Once back on prison grounds, my reality of being imprisoned returned. I was once again Crandell.

They can confine my physical body, but mentally I will remain free. 📸

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