Michael, 41

Michael, 41

Meet Michael…

“Unless you want a better criminal, stop sending kids to prison. There has to be a better option if we want a brighter future for our youth.”

Incarcerated: 4 years

Housed: New Jersey State Prison. Trenton

For the past five years, I’ve held the same job inside New Jersey State Prison. I’ve seen inmates come and go, some even multiple times as they seem to come right back on a minor parole condition they can’t help but violate. I’ve seen hundreds of faces but one, in particular, I will never forget.

I remember his first day. He was so young, just celebrating his 18th birthday he barely had any peach fuzz on his face. He looked scared and he answered every question with “yes please” or “No thank you”. His name was simple, Gabe. No nickname, no street swagger. Gabe was just a kid that got caught up in an assault with three co-defendants, one who happened to be his older cousin.

At the moment of arrest there were two paths the State of New Jersey could have taken with Gabe. Making these major decisions lies with one person and one person only, the prosecutor. Even though Gabe had no criminal history, the prosecutor in his case felt this child deserved seven years with a mandatory minimum of 85 percent.

The first few months were not easy. I watched Gabe struggle with bullies and cell mates. I offered him the best advice I could and even went as far as asking some of the older guys to keep an eye on him. Tired of having his commissary taken he finally stood up for himself. His moment of bravery ended with him getting beat up and sent to the hole for six months. Once he was back I noticed he was much more detached.

Solitary has a way of sucking what life you have left in you. Still he was eager to sign up for classes and wanted more than anything to get an education. Unfortunately for Gabe, there were no options for him in NJSP. He required more than a worksheet education and New Jersey makes it very difficult to even sign up for classes.

I noticed him just wanting to do something, to be someone. He was alone and was looking to feel like he had a purpose. Since Gabe didn’t live on my unit I couldn’t show him a better path and eventually he would be shipped out to another prison filled with younger offenders we call the Gladiator Camp.

Two years passed and he was back. After just finishing another bid in the hole for fighting, the mental health department wanted to keep an eye on him before they shipped him out again.

This time he was more rough around the edges. I noticed right away he started to get some prison tattoos on his arms and neck. His beard was starting to come in and he even grew in size. I asked him if he was finally able to get some of those classes he was asking for and he shrugged his shoulders and moved on to the next subject. He was different.

A few weeks later he would get into another fight with a different bunkie and this time he would spend even more time in Adseg.

Years passed and the COVID era began. Word had gone around that inmates were being sent home early to ease the overcrowding inside the joint. Days before the big release Gabe, who now calls himself Vicious, would be back as he was included in the executive order to be released. It’s been over five years since we first met and he was finally graduating from Criminal University.

It would seem that he did end up making new friends as his face was now covered with gang tattoos. He was a scared little kid. He was a fearless man wearing his prison sentence like a badge of honor. He kept his head up and proud and no one was ever going to ever push him around ever again. I asked him about school and he just answered “F— that”. Instead he talked about how he was going to scam bitcoin and make ‘cook up’ (Crack cocaine).

Most 18 year olds go to a college and earn a degree. I literally watched this young child grow up into a real criminal. I hate to say it but his chances of success are not looking good. Yet if he commits another crime society will blame him for being a bad person.

Unless you want a better criminal, stop sending kids to prison. There has to be a better option if we want a brighter future for our youth.

 

John, 47

John, 47

Meet John…

“One thing I have noticed during my walk is the more I submit to God’s will, the more blessings I receive. God is clearly guiding my footsteps.”

Incarcerated: 17 years
Housed: Stateville Correctional Center, Joliet, Illinois

I was one of ten men selected to be a part of a music program constructed by Ari Williams and Common, the rapper. Common had a music studio built right here inside the prison. Nine guys and I record music once a week in the studio. But God wasn’t done blessing me. Not only did I meet Common the day the studio opened, but I was able to rap for him, talk with him for several hours and even record a song with him. Which I hope will be out soon. I have been blessed to even record music. One thing I have noticed during my walk is the more I submit to God’s will, the more blessings I receive. God is clearly guiding my footsteps. I am a God fearing man who lived a very sinful life. I was a gangsta rapper who sold drugs and took life for granted. I dated several women at the same time and when two of them had a physical altercation in my apartment that ended fatally, my life was changed forever. I was wrongfully convicted of murder. After I was sentenced, I accepted Christ as my Savior. I am mindful of how cliché it sounds to find God in prison, but actually God found me. My spiritual transition was gradual. I stopped swearing, being disrespectful and reinvented myself musically. I threw away all my old raps and began to write Christian raps, inspirational poetry and the spoken word. The Holy Spirit kept inspiring me to minister through my music. I believe one day he is going to guide me right out of prison. I am 47 years old and I compose better music than I did when I was 27. I have a powerful testimony for whoever is willing to listen. Every day above ground is proof that God gave me a gift and why I now have a record deal. I was called to be an ambassador for Christ, a world wide evangelist. Not an inebriated gangsta rapper with an appetite for sins of the flesh. It took the injustice of a 75 year prison sentence for God to get my attention. But boy does he have it now. Looking at how far God has brought me is proof of how far he is willing to take me.

Brandon, 38

Brandon, 38

Meet Brandon…

“It’s unreal to feel the hatred that a person has for you and they don’t even know you. It’s sad. I have mastered being patient in these past years.”

Incarcerated: 5 years
Housed: Augusta Correctional Center, Virginia

Prison has opened my eyes to the strong racism that lives here in Virginia. I know it’s always been here, but I didn’t really see it, I didn’t care about it and wasn’t looking for it. This time here I’ve witnessed it first hand. It’s unreal to feel the hatred that a person has for you and they don’t even know you. It’s sad. I have mastered being patient in these past years. In here it’s a waiting game for everything. Getting food, phones, showers, commissary – everything, even mail. I had to learn quickly in order to deal with it. It wasn’t easy, because I was so used to doing what I wanted when I wanted. Then you have the younger guys acting crazy, gang members that want to run everything. Patience is a great tool to have. It helped me sit still so I could learn how to make money in the stock market. Something I don’t think I would have ever taken the time to learn about when I was free. Being patient and trusting in Yahweh has given me the ability to go home and make good money legally. I have met and grown to love a beautiful woman, since I have been here. I know she loves and cares for me a lot. She motivates me even more to learn, so I will have the know-how and means to take care of us and make money legally. I have two and a half years left and I’m trying to take in everything that’s benefitted me. I have learned to appreciate the little things that I took for granted because in here they are not little anymore. The free will to do what you want when you want is a blessing, I didn’t know how special it was. I now look at life differently. Once out, I will take every opportunity that comes my way. I’m going to be scared to try new things that are positive and good. 📸 Brandon’s

Quayshaun, 30

Quayshaun, 30

Meet Quayshaun…

“I was able to impact him in a profound way and it never would’ve happened if I didn’t choose to make the most of a negative situation. This is my twelfth year in prison and after that day.”

Incarcerated: 12 years
Housed: Stateville Correctional Center, Joliet, Illinois.

I kneeled in my cell digging through my correspondence box until finally pulling out the manuscript to my self-help book. An acquaintance of mine had recently gotten his life sentence reversed and was projected to go home in a few more years. He’d been incarcerated since he was 16 and in his mid-thirties. This concept of life as a free man was so far in the past and his experiences so limited that he was unsure of whether he could make it on his own. Prior to getting locked up he’d sold drugs and robbed to support himself and wasn’t provided any programs to help him develop life skills that would prepare him for his return to society. “I don’t want to go back to my old ways, but I don’t know nothing else,” he told me when I asked him what he had planned for when he got out. It was then that I mentioned my manuscript “Snares Of The Trap.” I wrote it specifically for people like him, who wanted to transition from the streets to a legitimate career but don’t know where to start. I passed him the large manilla envelope containing the loose pages then he disappeared down the gallery and into his cell. After he started reading it we began walking to the chow hall and the yard together talking about what he learned. As intended the book was helping understand how to apply concepts that he used when hustling, such as budgeting and marketing, in his legitimate business pursuits. And the more he read the more I started to see alight in his eyes and hear a hope in his voice that was previously not present. About a week later I exited my cell to go to chow and heard him call my name. “Ay, I’m done with it”, he said handing me the manuscript. Then, the moment I’ll always remember, he shook my hand and said, “Thank you.” By compiling my knowledge and experiences I was able to impact him in a profound way and it never would’ve happened if I didn’t choose to make the most of a negative situation. This is my twelfth year in prison and after that day I can say that, despite how hard it’s been. It wasn’t all for nothing.

Jerry, 47

Jerry, 47

Meet Jerry…

“I shot and killed a man. No matter how much I’d like to change the past, I cannot. But I can strive to be better.”

Incarcerated: 26 years
Housed: Thumb Correctional Facility, Lapeer, Michigan

I shot and killed a man. No matter how much I’d like to change the past, I cannot. But I can strive to be better. My first ten years of incarceration, I refused to accept responsibility. I blamed others. I was a drunk idiot. I began to attend AA. A volunteer asked me, “Do you feel you have a drinking problem, young man?” “I guess,” I replied with a shrug. “What do you mean, you guess?” I shrugged again. “Have a seat, we’ll do our best to figure it out.”

Now I train service dogs for Paws with a Cause. Today, it hit me how much these service dogs’ lives parallel our own. The incoming dogs come in young and wild while the outgoing dogs are well trained and mature. Like Digit, a new dog, as soon as my youth was over, I was caged. Convicts are yanked away from their loved ones, loaded onto transfer buses and shipped to strange places. Both groups are rewarded for good behavior. “Good boy, Digit, you’re doing a great job!” “Good job, inmate Jerry, your cell looks so clean!” We are punished for bad behavior “Bad dog, Digit. Down. No jumping. Go to bed!” “Damn it, inmate Jerry. Get out of my f***ing face and go to your cell!” We learn how to follow commands without question no matter how ridiculous. We come to rely on our masters for our health and happiness.

In prisons across America people slave away for pennies per hour, cooking, scrubbing toilets, cutting grass, farming, working in factories, building roads, digging ditches, the list is endless. Unlike the dogs, we are not loved and nurtured. Though in the end, many of us do leave prison better than when we entered. I can’t imagine how much better our system would work if the US treated its prisoners with respect and dignity. If we started with giving a little love, nurture, and the chance at hard work, how many of us would leave prison rehabilitated, the way the dogs do?

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