Humans of San Quentin logo
Anthony “David”, 41

Anthony “David”, 41

Stories

Meet David…

Life is the biggest test, the only way some people learn is from making honest mistakes, and learning from them.

Anthony “David”, 41
Incarcerated: 4 years
Housed: Sing Sing Correctional Facility, Ossining, New York

I started rapping as an outlet to express my feelings. I am the type of person that holds most stuff in. Not much bothers me. I learned when I get emotional or feel sad, I have the power to decide “the decision moment” by acknowledging it then moving forward. The key is “recognizing it” then making my decision. I love positive energy. It is easy to be negative so I pride myself in making others happy more than making myself happy, if that makes any sense. When I was home, I didn’t give myself a chance to grow professionally because I put others’ needs before my own. I don’t want to be a waste of talent, I am very educated, and my passion for music has not died. I still write and have hopes of taking care of others. To dance. I attract people and money without trying. I always wanted my whole family to have the best life possible. We have been through so much together, it’s only right. I could be a billionaire, if I had recorded my family on a daily basis. They are all musically inclined, and multi-talented. Life is the biggest test. The only way some people learn is from making mistakes, and learning from them. My advice: Life inside here is not what anyone who has never been incarcerated thinks. You can promise yourself that five negative seconds can get you 50 years of misery. One hour, one minute, one second can put you somewhere you don’t want to be, with someone you don’t know, and won’t ever see again. Trust me. Being humble will pay off. Get that 9 to 5 and establish yourself as an honest citizen. The streets don’t love nobody. The friends come to an end. You will be in a cell starving, afraid to eat what the people responsible for your life are giving you. The people that love you won’t reach out because they have their own life, you will be lucky if you are their last priority. Some people have no one! I pray that all of us make it home in one piece. God will show you light in a dark situation. We can change the world we live in by changing how we think, and not being selfish. Don’t blow your blessing.

Michael, 50

Stories

Meet Michael…

As an openly queer person, I wondered if it would matter to the audience. Performing in prison can be like performing in front of the audience at Showtime at the Apollo. They will let you know in an instant if you are off- key. Would their toxic masculinity afford me the moment of performing as Nero and tell the story of love between two different-sexed loving people?

Michael, 50
Incarcerated: 28 years
Housed: Sing Sing Correctional Facility, New York

Singing in prison is tricky. Sing out loud and proud and you are guaranteed at least twenty people within earshot yelling “Shut the f*!@ up!” from the confines of their cages. But that wasn’t the case when I had the opportunity to sing with multi Grammy-Award winning mezzo soprano, Joyce DiDonato, and acclaimed American pianist, Howard Watkins. Singing taps into a voice that is uniquely yours, and on December 2, 2022, I got to use my voice as one of three tenors, singing opera. Two weeks prior, Carnegie Hall Weill Music Institute notified me that I would be in the concert along with two other incarcerated persons. The nerves immediately set in. We would be singing Pur Ti Miro from Monteverdi’s final opera, L’Incoronazione di Poppea written in 1642. For the first time, this opera would be performed in the notorious maximum security prison of Sing Sing. We would be performing for people, like me, who did not have exposure to opera. I tried to dampen my voice by singing under the covers or when the noise from the company would overwhelm any sounds I could make. I don’t have a great ear and hoped I was singing the correct notes. I imagined myself as Nero, the character who sings to his love Poppaea. As an openly queer person, I wondered if it would matter to the audience. Performing in prison can be like performing in front of the audience at Showtime at the Apollo. They will let you know in an instant if you are off- key. Would their toxic masculinity afford me the moment of performing as Nero and tell the story of love between two different-sexed loving people? The day of the concert came quickly. I only wanted more time to practice. That afternoon we met with Joyce and Howard. They were kind and generous. We also found out that we would be singing in a chorus for the folk song “Shenandoah.” Joyce described the writer of the song as using music to remember their home, the Shenandoah Valley, from the Ozark Mountains in Missouri. That struck a chord with me. We were nearing the holidays- a tall Christmas tree with garland, multi-colored lights and ornaments was in the corner of the Catholic Chapel where we were performing. We were performing for some people who have not been home in decades. In fact, some people have lost all of their family members and what they thought of as home does not exist anymore. Literally, buildings have been torn down with new buildings in their place with gentrification and other forces reshaping what used to be “home.” The only home they have, that I have, is the home in our hearts and memories. The opera piece came and went. I was not even thinking about it. I was focused on singing my heart out on Shenandoah. I wanted the audience to know we were their home for that moment and that home was filled with warmth and love. Something they could take back with them to their cold cages.

Jonquil, 36

Jonquil, 36

Stories

Meet Jonquil…

I’m a self-titled hopeless romantic. I see love as the most exhilarating thing any person can experience.

Jonquil, 36
Incarcerated: 13 years
Housed: San Quentin State Prison

I’m a self-titled hopeless romantic. I see love as the most exhilarating thing any person can experience. Throughout my 36 years of orbit on this blue marble we call home, I’ve rode the roller coaster known as love. In past relationships, I’ve given all of me only to be handed the muddy end of the stick, time and time again. Women who claimed they wanted honesty, loyalty, and love – proved they preferred men labeled as “dogs.” By 24, after one heartbreak too many, I was on the brink of being jaded. I figured if I went down to the level of “dog” then I could have a woman stay loyal and truthful. I struggled with myself for the first three months of incarceration. The stain of incarceration does not make it easy to be looked upon as a candidate for love. Most women who learned of my incarceration assumed that I wanted them to take care of me; this was furthest from the truth. I was looking for someone to spend the rest of my natural life with, and as a Muslim, I wanted a wife that could help me complete half of my religion. It took 11 years of supplicating to Allah to provide me with my rib, and my prayers were answered. A beautiful and gentle soul that I knew, appeared after 13 years, and we’ve been stuck like glue ever since. Sure there are ups and downs because we’re human, but our love grows stronger daily. It took both of us to go through failed relationships to appreciate when true love is given. I thought I could slide over to the “darkside,” when I realized that it wasn’t me and I couldn’t allow a few bad apples to spoil the bunch. And look what Allah did – he gave me my equal!

Shawnda, 43

Shawnda, 43

Stories

Meet Shawnda…

I became addicted because it made me comfortable in my own skin.

Shawnda, 43
Incarcerated: 2 years
Housed: Wyoming Women’s Center, Lusk
It didn’t help that my mother died when I was 10, she was shot by my step dad, then he shot himself. I saw the aftermath and it traumatized me for life. I grew up institutionalized, in group homes, juvenile detention centers and foster homes. I never belonged anywhere. I was shown how to alter my mind with many different chemicals. I became addicted because it made me comfortable in my own skin. I had my first baby at 17, and still knew nothing about God. The moment I realized there was a God, I was fasting with the Arapaho people and a pipe. My son’s father prepared me and told me to “pray through that pipe.” For three days I fasted and prayed. I thought “Why can’t I just pray to God myself, why do I have to go through the pipe?” That night it was raining, and I got rained on in that teepee. I remember covering my head and crying. I asked God why I was raised so poor, and to help me get ahead for the sake of my kids. Then lightning struck right outside my teepee. My vow was fulfilled. I got a nice apartment and my children their home, but I messed it up with alcohol. I was the driver of the car wreck where my two babies passed away. I passed out at the wheel under the influence and in the heat. I went to prison. Then their father tragically overdosed and died. I got out of prison, tried to go to college, built a family, and lived a straight life. Yet again, I allowed alcohol to destroy everything. No one ever says: when you give your life to Christ it’s going to be easy, but why has it been such a rollercoaster for me? I’m so tired of the ups and downs. I’m doing a 15 year sentence for aggravated robbery under the influence. I violated rich peoples’ homes because I was envious. I stole a vehicle with a gun and jewelry in a bag. Getting money to shoot up dope was all that was on my mind. The family I made is very unforgiving to me, it breaks my heart everyday and it’s been two years. I know He’s a forgiving God. The question is: will I ever forgive myself?

Ronald, 48

Ronald, 48

Stories

Meet Ronald…

No matter how others may look down upon me because of my mistakes that put me in prison, they can never take this memory away from me. Trophies and medals become old and tarnished but love never loses its shine!

Ronald, 48
Incarcerated: 3 years

Taking care of my daughter Faith, who was born two months early, is my greatest accomplishment. She weighed less than three pounds and had meth in her system causing her even more complications. She was hooked up to hoses and wires, too many to count. I’ve always considered myself a pretty tough guy, but I cried like a baby at the sight of my daughter. She was so tiny and frail looking. Every breath was a struggle. With every visit I was expected to take on more duties. Feeding, bathing, diaper changes, and most important, I had to learn about machines that monitored her breathing and heart rate. It wasn’t any of those things that were a challenge. Not even learning CPR. It was stimulating her to eat no less than three ounces of formula every three hours. About two weeks into learning all these things, a light went off in my head. Faith would get extremely pissed when I changed her diaper. She fussed like mad when I used cold wipes to clean her up. So, I’d change her first thing instead of after her feeding and she’d eat like a little piggy. I can’t remember how many of the different nurses stood by to watch me begin what felt like the absolute scariest journey I would ever take. They each gave me a hug as I walked out the door. They actually clapped for me like I had won a medal or trophy in some sporting event. Things weren’t any less stressful, but she was eating what was required and going one and two on the regular. At home, the scariest part of it all is that no one would come to help me due to the fear that Faith might not make it. Looking back at this trying time in my life gives me such appreciation for the help I got along the way. I can’t give you the percentage of  the good and bad I’ve done in this lifetime, but without a doubt, if I’m ever having a bad day, I remind myself of this moment I am so graciously proud of and thankful to have had the strength to overcome the greatest feat of my life. No matter how others may look down upon me because of my mistakes that put me in prison they can never take this memory away from me. Trophies and medals become old and tarnished but love never loses its shine!

Receive more inspiring stories and news from incarcerated people around the world.