Disregard Everything: Choosing Joy: Stories from Inside

Choosing Joy: Stories from Inside (Index and Thank You)

Kathryn Destin — Fri, 01 Mar 2024 03:25:00 GMT

Index

In Case You Didn’t Know:

BID: Term for a prison sentence
BOX: Term to refer to solitary confinement
COMMISSARY: A store for inmates to purchase items (i.e., hygiene products, snacks, writing materials)
D.O.C.: Department of Corrections
GRIEVANCE: A procedure for inmates to file a complaint against prison staff
MOVEMENT: An allotted time period for inmates to leave their cells for various activities such as programming and outdoor time in the yard.
UPSTATE: Term to refer to a correctional facility not located in the city
YARD: Term to refer to the fenced in area for outdoor recreation

Resources Referenced

If You’re Interested…Check These Out

Are Prisons Obsolete? by Angela Davis
Carceral Capitalism by Jackie Wang
A World Without Police: How Strong Communities Make Cops Obsolete by Geo Maher
Prison Abolition Resource Guide
Black and Pink NYC
The Center for NuLeadership on Human Justice & Healing
"13th" Directed by Ava DuVernay
"Time: The Kalief Browder Story" Directed by Jenner Furst
"Just Mercy" Directed by Destin Daniel Cretton

Thank You

To Sean, Jennifer, Tatiana, Rakim, Dwayne, and R&B

I am incredibly grateful for your willingness to be vulnerable by sharing your story with me and with the audience. You have touched me beautifully, and I cannot thank you enough for speaking your truths and processing such personal matters with me. I sincerely hope your continued journeys in cultivating your joy be full of the light, love, and community you deserve. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

To Black and Pink & The Center for NuLeadership

Thank you to Tanya from Black and Pink and Britany from the Center for Nu Leadership for connecting me to these amazing individuals who shared their stories with me. Your hard work and steadfast dedication to supporting those in need, especially inmates, do not go unnoticed. You are greatly appreciated and valued for all that you do. I wish you all the success as you continue your fight for justice.

To Girls Write Now

This program experience has been nothing less than extraordinary and insightful into a whole new creative world. Thank you for providing me with a platform to create this project and for being flexible with me through its ups and downs. I have grown tremendously with GWN, and I would not be the creative I am had it not been for your sensational staff, resources, and community.

To Amira Pierce

Hands down, you have been the best part of GWN this year. You have been such a fantastic and supportive mentor, especially during the process of this project. I am so genuinely grateful for the encouragement, guidance, and wisdom you've readily given me from when we met to now. You inspire and push me to be the writer and creative I hope to be. Thank you!

To My Friends, Family, & Mentors I've Made Over the Years

I have felt nothing less than unconditional love and support throughout this specific journey and all the other ones that preceded this moment. Thank you for all the encouragement and comfort you've given me through the late nights and early mornings. Thank you for all the free editing you've given me. Thank you for sharing the vision I have for a world free from oppression and filled with the joy deeply embedded in all of us.

To the Audience of Choosing Joy: Stories from Inside

Thank you for asking "what if?" with me. Thank you for joining my exploration into a kind of justice that can enact accountability without hurting people. Thank you for having an open mind and heart as you interacted with these deeply personal and delicate stories. Thank you for choosing joy with me.

Bonus: The Comrade (Audio)

Kathryn Destin — Fri, 01 Mar 2024 00:02:00 GMT

I think of prefigurative politics, where it’s how can we craft, even if it’s on a small scale or in a microcosm, ways of relating to each other? And ways of having community institutions that represent what we want at large in the world. As we fight against the current system, how do we build something that is what we want? And what we want is a world that affirms life instead of premature death. And a world where people can have joy together.
~Tanya Nguyen

This interview was conducted in February of 2024. This is a bonus installment to the originally published “Choosing Joy: Stories from Inside” zine. You can read the feature article on Tanya Nguyen here. (If you have any listening issues with the audio, feel free reference the transcript.)

Content Warning: Death/Dying, Explicit Language, Grief, LGBTQ+ Phobia, Physical Assault, Police Brutality/Violence, Sexual Harassment/Abuse

KD: Thank you Tanya for meeting with me today. Can you go ahead and introduce yourself, maybe where you're from and what you do for work?

TN: Sure. I'm Tanya. She or they pronouns are fine for me. I grew up in the south of the US, but I live in New York City right now in Hamilton Heights. I have a corporate job in a healthcare company, but I am one of the chapter organizers as a volunteer for the Black and Pink New York City chapter.

KD: How did you find Black and Pink?

TN: Good question. So one summer I had a job where I had a lot of formerly incarcerated co-workers. It was in Boston. So I started to learn more about, you know, the prison system and, you know, how messed up it is. And, you know, challenging the dominant narrative, and started reading Angela Davis and all of that. And I was just curious about organizations that are fighting against that and proposing alternatives. So I found Black and Pink, which is, it was founded in Boston. That's where headquarters used to be. The founder’s from Boston, but I didn't join at the time. But that's how I found out like oh like maybe I'll get a pen pal, all that.

And then so, after college, I moved to Chicago and there was a chapter there. So I went to a meeting, got involved, eventually became one of the chapter organizers there and so that was, you know, my foray into the organization. So then now I live in New York and I'm part of the New York City chapter

KD: You mentioned Chicago. I really like Chicago. How did you like the city?

TN: I liked the city, but the winters were brutal. People were like, “oh, you went to college in the Northeast. You'll be fine. You're used to cold winters,” but it's not the same. And it's not just the cold, but also the lack of sunlight and things are pretty spread out. So I really couldn't take the second winter and I moved away. But I really like a lot of the different neighborhoods there for sure. *laughs*

KD: I really like Chicago but as a native New Yorker I'm always gonna go, like, no one will top it but then as everyone who goes to Chicago says like it's always the winters that get you. *laughs*

TN: yeah seriously like, go only in the summers.

KD: *laughs*

TN: But yeah it's nothing compares to New York.

KD: Oh yeah and I guess you said you grew up in the south so it's like that's really a staunch difference

TN: Yeah, yeah. I grew up, I was born in Virginia, you know, moved to both of the Carolinas. I went to high school in Georgia. So it's very different.

KD: Yeah. So you went on to become the Board Chair with Black in Pink. Could you talk a little bit about the national work you were doing and what that experience was like?

TN: Yeah, so after Chicago, I moved to Boston for a bit. And that was also the time when National was transitioning to new leadership. So the founder had been there I don't know for how long maybe it was like 10 or 12 years I don't know I forgot. But then it's like okay time for there to be different leadership here and so I was asked to join the transition team just because the group of like volunteers who were connected to the org to kind of help come up with different plans for that or different structures or whatnot. And then after that with the new Executive Director, I became part of the board. I was asked to join the board as well.

There was like a leadership circle before that I was never part of, but that was also when Black and Pink National wasn't a 501(c)(3), or it wasn't, like, incorporated with the state. But, there were some decisions made before I got involved that it made sense to do that even though then there were, like, other compliance requirements and just thoughts around like okay what's it mean to join the nonprofit industrial complex. But the decision was made since, like, I think having a fiscal sponsor was just expensive, and you still had to do compliance stuff for that to get grants and stuff.

But yeah, then I was on the board. And then it was a pretty small board for a while – only three of us. It was bigger at first and then different transitions happened, and then it was three of us. And then, I helped recruit some more board members. More transitions happened. The Black and Pink National moved to Nebraska because that's where the ED at the time was. Got different staff, and so I think that was… I don't quite remember, I think it was like 2020- it was either end of 2015 or early 2016 through, like, 2021 or 2022 is when I was on the board. I was Treasurer for a while, and then our Board President left, so I think she was going to go to law school or something. So then I became Board Chair. And yeah that was that.

KD: You referenced when you first started out having a pen pal while I was doing some research, I came across that you did a guest column about that experience back in like 2017. Could you tell me a little bit about it?

TN: Oh, man. Yeah. Was that the Windy City Times piece or something else?

KD: Yeah. Yeah. I think so.

TN: Okay, cool.

KD: For Chicago, I guess, right?

TN: Yeah, yeah so that was written because, we in Chicago there was a convening- so a national gathering of like people all over the country who were involved in Black and Pink's work. And, like, all the formerly incarcerated people, got, like, travel and room and board taken care of, and then, you know, organizers and volunteers who wanted to came as well. So that was really cool. It was like a lot of people in one room in Chicago. And, like, for a few days there were workshops and things like that. And so we were just trying to also drum up local press and attention to this, and, like, try to get donations and just support.

So, I think somebody had a contact at Windy City Times, and so different chapter organizers or members- I don't know. I think it was, like, four different pieces over the month or something like that. So yeah, I talked about Jimmie- or I wrote about Jimmie, who was my first pen pal. I actually wrote him for only a few months before he got released. So I got to know him more when he was out. Obviously, there were some challenges there but it was good to kind of have some community around him, as well.

He's from New York, so that's his nickname as well. But yeah, we would, like, talk to each other. You know, give him support, learn from him as well. I think a few years later, I don't know exactly, I don't remember the timing, but he did get reincarcerated, unfortunately. He also had, like, a police brutality case that he won a settlement on. But yeah, that was obviously really violent for him. But yeah, unfortunately, he was reincarcerated for a few years and I was pen pals with him again during that time. So I've known him for a long time. I've known him since the summer of 2014.

Now he's out now. I think he just started a new job. So it's just been. like, a long, a long relationship and, kind of like, the first Black and Pink connection in that way. And just really knowing on a personal level what the experiences are of being through the system in that way.

But yeah, I was pen pals with him. We bailed him out at one point. I think that was in the article that I wrote. He gave me power of attorney because I was helping him with money and legal requests and things like that. And yeah, he is in Illinois still.

KD: Could you tell me more about what that experience was of- he was your first pen pal? And then I guess the power of attorney is really interesting. Could you speak to that?

TN: Yeah, I know other pen pals who've done this as well. It's certainly not something that's required or that everyone does. But I am pretty stable in my personal life, like, I have a lot of access to a lot of things. And so, I was just able to serve as that link to different institutional resources. It was really to help manage the settlement money that he had, so that I could just keep that and then make transfers on his behalf, either putting it through his commissary, or sometimes he would give it to his friend's commissary or like other people on the outside he was supporting. His loved ones on the outside as well.

And then he also had a few cases going on like lawsuits against the prison system, against certain facilities and their health care systems. Like I think Wexford is the name of one of them. Like a health contractor who provides the medical services, because they were neglecting his conditions and, like, didn't necessarily give him the right medication or the right treatment. So he had an attorney who was- I think he joined a class action lawsuit for something maybe, and then also had his own case for something else. So I was just like a point of contact for that and could kind of keep some of the records for him.

But yeah, otherwise, we would just also just write on a personal level or talk on the phone and give support that way.

KD: Yeah. Yeah. What impact have you seen pen pals have on those on the inside?

TN: Yeah, I mean, it varies a lot. I've had a lot of pen pals for years. A lot of them have gotten released, which is very fortunate and good news. But, each of my pen pal relationships has been different.

So Tatiana, for example, who is in New York and was incarcerated upstate, I was pen pals for a couple of years with her. But we talked a lot. We wrote a lot about what books we are reading. And, like, she would give me book recommendations that I would read and then share my thoughts. I would also read her poetry sometimes. And, you know, she just said that it really made a difference to kind of have someone else to talk to – an outlet, someone who cared about her. And then she got out, and we still are in touch.

It was our birthdays recently, her birthday is the day before mine-

KD: Oh!

TN: -so we got to see each other- and yeah it's just a special connection. Because it's one thing to kind of stand for prisoner rights and abolition on like a political or ideological level. But it doesn't mean as much unless you kind of have a personal connection, and you're really learning and interacting with the most directly impacted people as humans and as their own person.

So, you know, there's a lot of different impacts that pen pals can have. Sometimes it's just another person to write to. Like a lot of our Black and Pink NYC members, or Black and Pink members, don't necessarily have a lot of family connections because they may have been rejected for being LBGTQ. And maybe not! Others still have strong relationships with their parents or siblings or whatnot. But it's still, like, Black and Pink is still kind of another family that they can have. And so, whether it's material support, like some pen pals will also give commissary, like put money on the books or send packages. Or it's just kind of like writing to each other, kind of easing the, you know, the loneliness and deprivation that prison inherently imposes on people as punishment. Also, like, political education, you know, some people will write to each other about kind of ideas- about why the prison system exists or, like, other sociological, you know forces and how we can resist.

Art is also a cool thing for sure a lot of inside members are really creative. And so they'll send art. I know for example- I think Jamie Diaz is in Texas, but her pen pal, who I've talked to a few times and met. So they got connected as Black and Pink pen pals but they have kind of their own, like, artistic collaboration going on. So they're both artists. And then her outside pen pal has supported her in getting her art out into the world. And they actually had a gallery, like an exhibit at a gallery in New York City that some of the chapter organizers got to go to.

So it was really cool. It was like- a real show, a real gallery show with like framed pieces around and people. People could buy the artwork. And they put a documentary- they filmed a documentary about her work and all that. And she's, like, featured in this new book that came out around trans history.

And yeah, like, also planning for when people get out. Right, not everybody gets out. unfortunately. But a lot of that coming home preparation, pen pals will often be involved with.

And yeah! I would say it's important to remember it's a mutual relationship. So it's not like the outside penpal is giving the inside penpal charity or something like that. Obviously, by virtue of being in prison, that inside penpal does have a lot less, no matter what your other circumstances were before you came into prison. So there's, you know, a bit of that power differential that we always tell our pen pals to be, you know, cognizant of.

But like for me, my pen pals, I’ve gotten emotional support from my pen pals on the inside as well. Like, you know, when reading a letter it's like, “Oh, like here's what's going on in my life you know. Do you have any advice?” Or like they just like send back like words of support. So it helps me too. I also learn a lot from them.

My current pen pal Demond is in New York State, and he's an artist. We're trying to see if we can get some of his designs on t-shirts for him to sell. But I also want to get better at drawings. So, I’ve written to him about like, “Hey do you have any tips or whatever?” So it's definitely a very mutual thing. It's really rooted in that spirit of solidarity rather than- I think there's other, like there's a lot of prison pen pal programs, just in general in the world. But a lot of them are, like, not as politically oriented in the sense of- this is why- we're like we're doing it for solidarity reasons. We're doing it because we don't think anybody should be in prison in this way. Whereas a lot of other prison pen pal programs, it's like to make money first of all. Because like you have to, there's a fee to get listed. And then there's sometimes like ministry ones, like Christian ministry, pen pals that's like about like promoting a religion onto someone. Which, you know, faith is definitely an important part of a lot of different people's experiences, but sometimes it's used as a tool of like charity rather than solidarity.

KD: I like that charity instead of solidarity point. That's so well said. I guess speaking to Black and Pink and its space of being a political organization as well, what angle or perspective do you think it provides that maybe some others don't, especially being oriented towards queer people in prison?

TN: Yeah, I mean I think that queerness itself has been criminalized in the past. We see it, you know, rising again, especially for trans people right now. And I think we try to kind of,

with the pen pal program, you know, humanize people on the inside. Remind people that, you know, you're not the worst thing you've done. There's a lot of people on the inside who may not have done- who are innocent of what they were convicted of. But even if they did do, you know, did commit a crime or whatever, there's ways to transform beyond that. The way to do that is not to just lock someone up and like put them in an environment that's really repressive and also can encourage even more violent tendencies. Like, literally, white supremacist gangs recruit in prison.

It just doesn’t make sense to me to rely on the criminal punishment system to try to solve issues of social justice and of protecting queer people or any other people. Right? For instance, pushing for hate crimes legislation. All that does is to try to put people who are deemed problematic, which some people might have actually done problematic behavior- but instead of taking it as a responsibility of each and every one of us in society to solve those problems, we are outsourcing it to the prison system, to the cops, to the COs. And that is just obviously not a sustainable solution. And I think, you know- in conversations with abolitionists, some of us say, “it’s not that the prison system is broken, and [that] it needs to be reformed and fixed. It’s actually working as it was designed.” There’s a lot of literature and theory in terms of why prison abolitionism is a queer issue. Everything from being gender outlaws, to the actual conditions of queer and trans people on the inside, and hormone access and mistreatment by COs and other prisoners alike.

And I'll say that not all of our members are abolitionists. There are inside members who may not be there in their journey. And so, it's not that a specific identity or lived experience by itself is political, or is kind of in the vein of the political positions that we as an organization take. But I think it's a good starting point and a common ground between a lot of our outside volunteers and our members. And we can also just learn a lot from each other as we also do political education together, which is another working group in our chapter.

I know that answer was kind of all over the place-

KD: *laughs* It’s okay.

TN: -but it’s a lot. Like your question brought up a lot of thoughts for me.

KD: Yeah. Well thank you. I don't mind if we sort of jump all over there's a lot to be said because there is so much to be said. With that in mind, I guess, has there been a few moments while being a pen pal to the people on the inside or meeting, or just in this work where it's gotten to be a lot mentally or emotionally for you?

TN: Yeah, that's a good question. Definitely a lot over the years, for sure. Definitely during COVID, it was, like, really rough. Like, people were just- nobody knew what was going on.

And it was scary for everyone. And it was even scarier for people locked inside.

I would say the most recent story I can share is that one of our members of Black and Pink NYC, he went by Panda- and se wrote to our P.O. Box. So I wasn’t pen pals with him. But he wrote to our P.O. Box so, like, you know, others on our team. I remember getting mail from him and like responding to him. And especially when he was planning for his release which was in, like, October of 2022. And so we, we also do welcome home support. Where we'll welcome people coming out. We'll give them some cash support. We used to be able to give some rent support, but it just depends on what our budget looks like. But we also- none of us are like professionals. We're not like an official agency where we have caseworkers and social workers. One of our organizers is in social work school, so there's those skills, but it's not like we're licensed to be a Fortune Society or a Housing Works or one of those types of organizations. But we try to kind of fill the gap or kind of provide the community care that some of the other bigger organizations or more traditional reentry organizations don't necessarily give, especially with the LGBTQ community in mind.

So anyway, so, we do things like a welcome home meal. So we were able to do that for Panda. His favorite food is seafood. And so we did that. And, you know, we did a beach trip. I think it was this last summer during Pride, and he was able to go to that. And that was really fun. We also give opportunities for any formerly incarcerated person to come to our Letters for Liberation Sessions which is when we answer mail to our P.O. box and do data entry and stuff like that and send cards. And we pay them for that, because that's important. So we were kind of engaged with Panda along the way. We all got to know him. He's a very gentle guy.

Unfortunately, last fall I think it was October or November, he caught another charge and was arrested and put on Rikers. So, he was in jail, and, you know, one of our organizers, Chelsea, was the most in touch with him. I think [Chelsea] talked to him on the phone. It's not as easy to visit Rikers. Well, I guess it's hard to visit prisons as well. We also do prison visits as another part of our organizing. But, we were trying to see how we could get in touch with him.

Oh- the thing with Rikers is that there's no email there. So you can't go on JPAY and send an email like we do with people in state prisons. We do a lot of snail mail. But for JPAY, sometimes if it’s more time-sensitive information, like, when his court date was, we were going to try to do court support for him. He had a date coming up I think like this week or next week or something.

But then, it was the last, it was, I think around January 20th or 21st, we saw an article um that was just about the latest death on Rikers, and it was him. He had died that previous Friday. And we found out through this article.

So that was really hard. I mean back to your original question of, you know, emotionally challenging moments or mentally, you know, challenging moments. It really was just a shock and hard to process. But yeah, the Jails Action Coalition did a rally. They didn't know him, but just whenever a death on Rikers occurs, people come together to protest that. So we went to speak at that. We also connected the family into that. And we got to meet them in person, as well. So it was, like, really sad, and just also so avoidable. Especially since, like, it's not like he was, I don't know, had a terminal diagnosis or anything. Like, Chelsea had just talked to him a few days prior. The lawyer had just talked to him. And so we still don't know what's going on. We said to the DOC and whatever other offices that do an investigation. But who knows when they'll give the answers.

But yeah, I'm glad we were at least able to go to that and give condolences to the family, and commemorate Panda in that way. But yeah, it's just, it feels different when it's someone you, like, personally know, right?

KD: Yeah well I'm really sorry for your loss and the way you found out was definitely not an ideal way to learn.

TN: Yeah

KD: How do you, I guess, care for yourself or address it within yourself when you get bad news like this or are working through maybe just hearing a traumatic story from someone who's inside?

TN: Yeah. I mean, I think, doing self-care for community care. Or also doing community care for people around, and being aware of secondary trauma as a thing is really important to us. The organizers recently kind of codified our shared principles and conduct agreements, like our community agreements. And one of the values was rage and grief, humor, and joy. Because it’s important to us that all of this- a lot of this is devastating work. In an ideal world, we wouldn’t have to do this work. But we also know that to be sustainable and to be genuine with each other, we have to be relational in our work.

And it’s not just about ‘ooh, power friendships will save lives,’ because there’s real power that’s there that we have to organize strategically and in a principled way to get the change we want. Right? But as a group of humans who are working together, we also take time to celebrate small wins or grieve together. Check in with each other. A couple of our chapter organizers had, you know, little health issues or had to go to the hospital or something, and so we were all like, “oh yeah,” obviously sending flowers or visiting or whatever. So we do that anyway- or we do that as part of being strong together. Right? And so if we show care for each other and say “thank you” and “sorry,” even for the small things, and, like, I don't know, hang out with each other for our birthdays or whatever, that also helps with dealing with the tough moments in the work. And also, frankly it's, you know, more boring stuff too or just tricky stuff of, “ugh, this annoying thing with our like air table.” Logistics stuff or whatever mundane tasks that we have to do. It's important to care for ourselves in that way.

KD: Yeah, yeah. If you remember just with the original release of Choosing Joy that was sort of a main theme that I tried to relay of, like, that joy and that positivity, even in these really difficult moments. Could you speak to maybe whether that was something you were thinking about, or just what impact that type of joy and positivity work has on you?

TN: I think of prefigurative politics, where it’s how can we craft, even if it’s on a small scale or in a microcosm, ways of relating to each other. And ways of having community institutions that represent what we want at large in the world. So like, as we fight against the current system, how do we build something that is what we want? And what we want is a world that affirms life instead of premature death. And a world where people can have joy together. So yea, I mean I think [it’s] unrealistic and unsustainable otherwise if it’s just all trauma bonding.

Another thing in the community agreements that we talked about was working on our own sh*t outside of Black and Pink, too. Like, we need to be committed to doing that, especially as organizers. Because otherwise it's just going to be messy for everyone else, and it's unfair, too, especially for our organizer who is formerly incarcerated. If I'm, you know, really sensitive to xyz or, like, feeling triggered, or I don't have the emotional, you know, maturity or strength or whatnot- obviously each of us has moments, or we can support each other, but we also have to have our support outside of the work, too.

I have to have my own friends and support network and my own good relationships with my family and people in my circles. Because our space is also not one that can handle and or should handle each individual person's problems or traumas that might exist from elsewhere. We are not a therapy space. Right? It's important to kind of realize that too. So if I'm feeling sad or depressed or mad or just emotionally activated, we can and do process that together as organizers in some ways. But we also know it's our responsibility to take care of ourselves by having good networks of support outside of Black and Pink, as well, including the joy that you mentioned, the joy and positivity. It's like, where do we do our healing, right?

KD: Yeah, it's just making me think of you talking about going to that Pride event with Panda when he was first released. Do you remember that day? And could you tell me about it?

TN: Yeah, yeah it was great. So, we had a lot of different events during Pride. We went to Dyke March, which was really fun as well. And just one of the days was, “We should definitely go to Riis, Riis Beach.” Most of the organizers live uptown, and so one of us rented a car and we all met at my place, and he picked us up, and then, including Panda, and drove to the beach. Met another organizer there. My girlfriend came because she's volunteered with Black and Pink. It was open to all other, you know- just the Black and Pink community. Unfortunately, Jen couldn't come, one of our organizers, because she lives in Jersey City and I think she had a gig that day or something. But yeah! It was really fun. We got a bunch of snacks, like, I'm big on the snack game. *laughs*

KD: *laughs*

TN: It was kind of chilly because it was pretty early in the season. We were so excited to go to the beach that we were just like, “Oh like, dude everybody, you know, here's the best weekend, like, when most of us are available this time.” But then it was kind of windy and some of us didn't go into the water. Panda loves cold weather and he was one of the first to come, to go into the waves. I went in for a bit, but it was like, I definitely needed to put on long sleeves. *laughs*

KD: *laughs*

TN: At one point, I'm like, “maybe we should just do it later or go more than once.” So that was kind of silly. *laughs* I think we played Uno at one point which is like always a fun thing-

KD: It starts fun.

TN: -you can get pretty aggro. I know exactly! But then it destroys friendships.

No, but yeah Panda was like, “Yeah, this is, this is what freedom feels like.” You know, I think there was- I forgot the exact quote that he said of how it felt for him, but I do remember him saying that it was one of the best days he's had since he's been out, in really, in years. So, we're really glad we have a few pictures from that, and it's just, it was really nice to return to those pictures. And yeah. Yeah! It was a good day.

So, like, I think that really matters. Like, another example I'll bring up is when we do prison visits. Which- I had done a couple prison visits. I've done them in Illinois, and also in Providence, Rhode Island. But for the New York City chapter, I did a few to Sing Sing and then the pandemic happened. COVID hit. And then, so obviously we couldn't do that. There's some video visits that are available. And I did do one to someone in Rikers. Going to the library and signing that up, which is good. But I also- I've seen, I've literally, like, seen instances prison- state prison systems, are like “Oh you can do televisits now, so we're going to stop doing in-person visits. So we're going to scale back in-person visits.”

KD: Oh no.

TN: Which is- that's not a replacement. You should offer it as another option. but you shouldn't do [it] as a replacement. So now, last year in August for Black August, we restarted our NYC visits program. We're going to do some more this year, as well, including New Jersey, because we serve New York, New Jersey and Connecticut. But last year we did two days of visits at a number of different facilities that were close together. A couple of women's facilities and then a couple of men's facilities that are nearby.

That's obviously a really interesting experience. Right? Because you're going into this prison. The COs are assholes. It's just unpleasant to have to go through all that process, wait around, go finally go into the visit room, wait around again, and then meet these people, these members. Some of whom we hadn't met before, others who we hadn't met before but were really regular correspondents with us in the PO box. But then, you know, spending time just talking to each other, and whatever the person wanted to talk about. Like, sharing food from the vending machine, sometimes playing games. And so there's moments of joy there. But it's within this context of just like, “wow, like you're just really in this institution,” like, you're like having a nice moment, you're joking or hearing some story and then you look out and there's barbed wire everywhere right. Or the CO yells at someone because they got too close to the vending machine. Or you have to be interrupted because they're doing count at 11 a.m. And it's just like a weird experience that- then it's also important that we have those times with our inside members. nd they really appreciate that. They definitely ask that of – I think this year number one was pen pal - but in the past, like, one of the top priorities was like, “Hey like do prison visits” because like it's not the same as just writing, which is also important.” But yeah- and so, sorry. I think I'm getting sidetracked-

KD: It's okay.

TN: -to your question about joy and taking care of ourselves and, you know, dealing with that- it's like it's kind of sad when you go in, and you're like, “man, you are living in this every single day.” But, you're still there to have a good time with that person and talk about whatever they want to talk about. And then it's sad to leave. But then in the car ride home, we can all talk to each other and debrief and share snacks in the car. And that's a good way of you know processing that together as well.

And one of the visits was great because we were able to give a ride to one of our inside members' moms.

KD: Oh!

TN: He's really close to her. Yeah, and we were- because we definitely- when we asked our inside members, like, “Hey, do you want to visit from us? Like, let us know, you know, what kind of person you want to be your visitor, or if you have any of your own family members or loved ones who we could help with on that day. Please let us know, because it's not just about, like, ‘oh, you have to be part of Black and Pink’ or whatever.” It [doesn’t have] to be, you know, someone who's an organizer or volunteer, but it's also like pen pals or family members.” So we picked, we picked his mom up. It was kind of funny because it was like, “Yeah like, I just got into a car with a bunch of strangers.” *laughs*

KD: *laughs*

TN: But obviously we all knew Tori. He's written to us a lot. And so he told her and one of our organizers [was] in contact with her. And then there was a whole story around that because apparently what she was originally wearing was not in the dress code or something even though it's a normal shirt. But I forgot exactly what was wrong with it. Something about- some stupidity of- I don't know the neckline or something stupid. It wasn't even anything offensive. It was like- oh I think it was because it was, like, a shirt and then part of it was like mesh or something. Even though the mesh part wasn't over anything- it was just, I don't know, the shoulder or something stupid. Right? Then she had to go, and walk, I don't even know how long but a good way to the dollar store-

KD: Oh wow

TN: - and then buy a shirt and then wear it. So that's just one of the parts that's just, “man, like, you really don't make it easy for people to get the connection they need.” And if your supposed purpose is rehabilitation and correction or whatever, why would you- why would you make it hard for someone to see their mom, right? So anyway, but yeah, that's just another example of it was. It felt really good to be able to give her a ride. She hadn't been able to see him for a long time.

KD: Yeah, I was, I was jokingly thinking to myself [that] you lured her in with the snacks. “You know you can trust me. Get in the van, I have some snacks.” *laughs*

TN: *laughs* Yeah exactly I was like, “hey I have got some donuts!”

KD: *laughs* “Get in the car!”

TN: Yeah.

KD: Yeah. Yeah. Especially I think with Black and Pink working with queer communities, I mean, even if you aren’t queer and in prison it's already a very difficult experience. But then the common experience of many queer people of – family is sometimes not something that you have. And so, I think that's really important work that you all are doing to encourage that family connection which a lot of queer people seem to have less of in prison.

TN: Yeah exactly. And I think it also- I've kind of noticed some moments of, like- not necessarily in this moment of this particular mom. But like, in other contexts, it's we kind of demonstrate- We've kind of maybe opened up people's minds a little bit of, maybe they're not as accepting before, but they're like “oh like all of these people are like helping the person I know. You know, maybe they aren't so bad.” Right, and it's not in a way of us trying to be “respectability politics” or whatever. It's not going in that direction for a lot of us to be oh we're gonna go and make connections with imprisoned convicted people. So I feel it's not that way but it's more. Hey we actually are exemplary of the types of care that everyone should be able to give to each other. And I think queer and trans LGBTQ people, queer and trans people actually do that a lot better than others than. You know, typical street culture or whatever because a lot of us have been forced into the corners and not given care by our families at birth. Some of us a lot more than others. Like, I'm very lucky to not really be in that situation. But we then are really intentional about the ways we do care for each other. And it's, like, yeah, everybody can learn from that. You know, why can't we have that everywhere?

But anyway, I do think that- it's been in contact with some loved ones of members who may not be really used to dealing with queer people or interacting with us because they have never been interested in that or they just thought that, “that's not for them” because they're straight. Or they have certain religious beliefs or something like that, so they're kind of skeptical, but then over time they're, like, “oh it's been years and you were still committed.” You know? And I think that has maybe changed a little bit of opinion or opened minds a little, so that's another effect I guess of the type of work we do.

KD: Yeah. And it's really important work and, I guess, do you have any thoughts or things you wish people who maybe aren't doing this work or aren't that close to the prison system would know about maybe Black and Pink or why this type of work is important?

TN: Yeah, I mean I think one is we have to save ourselves in a way. We have to get into the work ourselves. We are a really low resourced organization right. We don't have any staff. Our budget is like $30,000, and we don't know if we'll have that. I mean, I think we were really lucky that we got a pretty big grant in 2020 when another organization just got a bunch of donations because everybody was giving money out of white guilt at that time.

KD: *laughs*

TN: And so they re-granted to us, and we were able to use that to give more commissary and coming home support. But we still need to fundraise more for this year. It's like tens of thousands of dollars. Right? It's not like a human rights campaign where they have like millions and millions of dollars, and they take money from weapons manufacturers and they're like, “Look at us! We're so good at liberation without exception!” They don't do sh*t for anyone who actually most needs resources in our community. And so it's really important to look for the local mutual aid groups, and also realize that anyone could get plugged in, and there's no expertise.

Obviously, you have to be careful when you're working with and around yourself and others who are particularly vulnerable due to system experiences. You can't just waltz in and be like, “I'm going to do all this and be really good.” But also, on the other hand, you have to have 10 years of training and get a degree in order to start helping and really operating in mutual aid, if that makes sense. I didn't know anything about organizing until I started organizing. Right? So, I think that's important to remember that we all have a role in a movement, and we all start from somewhere. And it's not like you have to already be like a really radical abolitionist or come from a certain lineage or anything. Just be open to being humble and learning from your mistakes. But just kind of having that clarity of like why you're doing the work or why you want to support the work in whatever way you can whether it's financially or with your time or with your connections to, you know, whatever like space or supplies or whatever right. And then also, be open to learning. It's not about saviorship or saviordom. You know it's really about mutual aid, and knowing that it has to be [that] we want change at a system level. And we'll make that through policy changes and all of that, but also we need the interpersonal within that to kind of make sure it's not just an academic exercise.

KD: Yeah, that's so beautifully well said. And I really appreciate you taking the time, you know, telling me this and sharing it. And definitely just agree that, you know, that joy and positivity work is needed. And I also really appreciate your point of, this is also work we have to do within ourselves. You know? It's not something that we can put on other people to do for us. I really like the white guilt point. *laughs* That definitely raked in a lot of donations then.

TN: *laughs* Yeah we got a lot of donations. But I looked at the monthly donations and yearly donations and it was like, “yeah.” But you know it's a long-term thing. Right? It's a marathon not a sprint. We have to have moments of joy to give ourselves that energy, so that we can draw upon that in the moments of crisis, or just even the long-term things. You know, the work is not all glamorous. And it's not all exciting. It's not all, like, delivering a fiery speech, an action, or doing whatever high flashy thing. There's also the smaller moments, which can be full of joy as well. But just folding a bunch of newsletters to mail out- there's a lot of behind the scenes work that needs to be done as well. And a lot of care work, too. Just checking in on people having conversations. Treating people as humans. And a lot of that is feminized, I think. It's just being aware of where the labor falls and what types of labor go to which people. And realizing that we need to do all of that.

KD: That’s such a like, “damn. Now, I'm, like, oh my gosh. I want to have that whole conversation, but we'll have to do it another time.” *laughs*

TN: *laughs* I just brought up another thread of the conversation. But yeah

KD: Yes, but thank you again. I really appreciate it.

Bonus: The Comrade

Kathryn Destin — Fri, 01 Mar 2024 00:01:20 GMT

This interview was conducted in February. You can listen to the entire conversation between Kathryn and Tanya, including the transcript, here.

Content Warning: Death/Dying, Grief, LGBTQ+ Phobia, Physical Assault, Police Brutality/Violence, Sexual Harassment/Abuse

Camaraderie is absolutely fundamental to all community organizing. Coffee was brewed over the flames of fiery police barricades for the women of the Oaxaca City demanding the ousting of Governor Ulises Ruiz, who violently suppressed striking school teachers. Montgomery bus riders developed an elaborate yet efficient carpool system of hundreds of private cars and station wagons to boycott the racist public transit system. Free masks and other COVID-19 PPE are distributed to protestors marching daily for Palestinian liberation. Historically and presently, at the core of social movements that have successfully disrupted or changed oppressive systems is a spirit of fellowship and shared confidence between its members.

Tanya Nguyen (she/they) takes the job of being a comrade to her fellow prison organizers and the prisoners they support very seriously. Born and raised in the South, Tanya knew little about the prison system and its injustices until she made her way up north to the cities of Boston, Chicago, and New York. Her introduction to this reality came from a summer job in Boston, where many of her co-workers were formerly incarcerated. After hearing their stories challenging mainstream narratives about the “benefits” of prisons, she began reading abolitionists like Angela Davis and looked for organizations proposing alternative systems to carceral justice. A few years later when she moved to Chicago, her research led her to the national nonprofit Black and Pink – a prison abolitionist organization dedicated to liberating queer and HIV/AIDS-positive prison-impacted individuals.

Tanya’s organizing efforts with Black and Pink started over a decade ago after she was matched with her first pen pal - Jimmie. She wrote to him for only a few months before his release, but they remained close and continued to stay in touch. They asked each other for advice and provided support during challenging times. When Jimmie was reincarcerated a few years laters, and resorted to taking a plea deal, Tanya remained one of his biggest cheerleaders.

Most notably, she assumed power of attorney to serve as one of Jimmie’s points of contact so he could access resources and loved ones. She took on the responsibilities of filing legal requests, keeping records, and distributing funds to his commissary, friends’ commissaries, and loved ones he supported on the outside. Jimmie won a settlement in a police brutality case around the time of his reincarceration. He also filed several lawsuits and joined a class action lawsuit after experiencing medical negligence when serving time. Even though he was placed into segregation for several months, their relationship remained intact.

The connection Tanya has with Jimmie and her other pen pals is mutually beneficial. While no two relationships are the same, she loves forming a special connection based on mutual interests. Tatiana was another one of her pen pals. While Tatiana was still inside, the two often discussed what books they were reading and made recommendations to each other. Tanya would read the poetry Tatiana wrote in letters and provide a caring outlet for her to express herself creatively. Demond, her current pen pal who is also an artist, has given Tanya advice on how to improve her own artwork. He was also compensated for his artwork on holiday cards sent to inside members to spread joy. For Tanya, the spirit of solidarity goes beyond being an abolitionist ideologically to having a personal connection with the people you’re advocating for.

It’s not like the outside pen pal is giving the inside pen pal charity or something like that. Obviously, by virtue of being in prison, that inside penpal does have a lot less no matter what your other circumstances were before you came into prison…But for me, my pen pals, I’ve gotten emotional support from my pen pals on the inside, as well. When reading a letter, it’s like, ‘Oh, like here’s what’s going on in my life you know. Do you have any advice?’ Or they just send back words of support. So it helps me, too. I also learn a lot from them.

In 2017, she became the Black and Pink Board Chair. Her general membership and leadership in the nonprofit continues to emphasize the importance of niche organizing work. As violent homophobia and transphobia resurge across the US the criminalization of queerness itself becomes increasingly more evident. Therefore, it is vital that those serving time are humanized and not victimized because of their identity.

In 2022, the Sentencing Project published a report stating that LGBTQ+ adults are incarcerated at three times the rate of the total adult population and that the amount of LGBTQ+ youth in prison is double that of their share in the general population. Although it’s been nine years since the landmark decision of Obergefell v. Hodges the United States is not an entirely safe and welcoming space for queer people despite the uptick of LGBTQ+ self-identification, especially with Gen Z. A homophobic and transphobic culture is so intertwined into the nation’s socio-political systems that queer people are overrepresented throughout the carceral system. An estimated 20% of youth in the juvenile justice system are LGBTQ+, lesbian and bisexual women are four times more likely to be arrested than straight women, and those individuals on probation and parole are almost two times likelier to be LGBTQ+.

The Sentencing Project identified the drivers of these excessive incarceration rates to be poverty, homelessness, discrimination, and violence the community faces. LGBTQ+ individuals, especially Black LGBTQ+ people, continue to experience higher rates of homelessness and poverty compared to cisgender straight people despite a significant decrease with the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic. The Trevor Project also reported in 2021 on the disproportionate rates of housing instability in the queer community using data from a National Survey on LGBTQ Youth Mental Health. Overall, nearly 30% of LGBTQ+ youth disclosed that at some point in their lives, they experienced homelessness or housing instability. Within this group, 44% were Indigenous and 26% were Black. In the same report, 14% of respondents shared they had to sleep away from their caregivers’ homes, and a whopping 40% were kicked out or abandoned due to their identity.

Black and Pink does its best to bridge the gaps between queer incarcerated people and their families. Tanya recalled a fond memory where she and other Black and Pink members gave a ride to the mom of one of their inside members. Despite the pushback from the prison administration attempting to bar the mom from visiting, they still had a successful visit. It was important for Tanya to make these moments of connection possible. Reminding those inside that they are not the worst thing they’ve done and deserve love is core to Tanya’s praxis as an abolitionist.

There’s a lot of people on the inside who are innocent of what they were convicted of. But even if they did commit a crime or whatever, there’s ways to transform beyond that…It just doesn’t make sense to me to rely on the criminal punishment system to try to solve issues of social justice and of protecting queer people or any other people. Right? For instance, pushing for hate crimes legislation. All that does is to try to put people who are deemed problematic, which some people might have actually done problematic behavior- but instead of taking it as a responsibility of each and every one of us in society to solve those problems, we are outsourcing it to the prison system, to the cops, to the COs. And that is just obviously not a sustainable solution.

As if serving time isn’t enough, many LGBTQ+ people are at increased risk of experiencing harassment and victimization when inside. Although slightly dated, a National Inmate Survey of “sexual minorities” in 2011 and 2012 found that queer people in prisons and jails were more likely to be put in solitary confinement than straight men and women. In 2015, a Black and Pink survey of over 1,000 prisoners revealed a disturbing 85% of respondents were held in solitary. Further, nearly two-thirds of respondents were placed in solitary as punishment for consensual sexual activity. Lastly, around half of those who were held in solitary spent a minimum of two years there.

In conversations with abolitionists, some of us say, it’s not that the prison system is broken, and [that] it needs to be reformed and fixed. It’s actually working as it was designed. There’s a lot of literature and theory in terms of why prison abolitionism is a queer issue. Everything from being gender outlaws, to the actual conditions of queer and trans people on the inside, and hormone access and mistreatment by COs and other prisoners alike.

Earlier this year, one of the inside Black and Pink members who wrote to their P.O. Box, Panda, was victimized by this punitive carceral system. Things started off hopeful when he was released in late 2022. Tanya and her fellow Black and Pink members welcomed him with open arms and his favorite food – seafood. In the summer of 2023, they continued to make the most of their time together, attending NYC Pride and going on a beach trip where they swam in the cold waves and played a contentious game of Uno. She recalled him saying, “This is what freedom feels like,” and that it was one of the best days he had since his release.

Sadly, Panda caught another charge last fall and was placed on the infamous Rikers Island. Organizers stayed in touch with him, despite notoriously restrictive communications protocols. He had a date with court support ready to go for February. However, just a couple weeks before, when all seemed as well as it could be, Tanya and her fellow organizer came across an article in January reporting that a mysterious death had occurred on Rikers. It was Panda.

Tanya and other Black and Pink organizers attended a rally hosted by the Jails Action Coalition in honor of Panda . At the rally, they met and expressed their condolences to his family. In her grief, Tanya expressed an appreciation for the community space they were able to create. In moments like these, community care is critical. She shared that this work doesn’t need to be done in an ideal world, but for now, navigating this devastating work must be done relationally to ensure its viability and authenticity.

And it’s not just about ‘ooh, power friendships will save lives,’ because there’s real power that’s there that we have to organize strategically and in a principled way to get the change we want. But as a group of humans who are working together, we also take time to celebrate small wins or grieve together. Check in with each other…And so if we show care for each other and say ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry,’ even for the small things, and, I don’t know, hang out with each other for our birthdays or whatever. That also helps with dealing with the tough moments in the work…I think of prefigurative politics, where it’s how can we craft, even if it’s on a small scale or in a microcosm, ways of relating to each other. And ways of having community institutions that represent what we want at large in the world. As we fight against the current system, how do we build something that is what we want? And what we want is a world that affirms life instead of premature death. And a world where people can have joy together. I mean I think [it’s] unrealistic and unsustainable otherwise if it’s just all trauma bonding.

After a transformational decade with Black and Pink, Tanya realized that creating and maintaining interpersonal relationships is just as important as pursuing policy changes. While she may no longer serve in Board leadership, she remains an active organizer in the organization’s NYC chapter. She continues to write to her pen pals and does her best to cultivate moments of joy for herself and the community, like that beach trip for Panda. Sometimes, that’s achieved through small actions of care, like checking in with fellow organizers and conducting in-person prison visits.

Embodying camaraderie can and must be achieved on all scales. In the case of the prison system that consistently perpetuates violence, cultivating safe spaces isn’t just ensuring the removal of physical danger. Safety requires trust, mutuality, and goodwill from your community. As Tanya put it, achieving liberation is a marathon, not a sprint. Therefore, we cannot attempt to rush to that end goal. We must prepare and care for ourselves and those around us to ensure we can conquer the miles to come.

Bonus: The Healer (Audio)

Kathryn Destin — Tue, 27 Feb 2024 23:01:06 GMT

All of these things are human reactions. And a lot of times happen because of the environments that we're placed in. And I'm not just talking about where we live. I'm talking about what is happening in our households. What is happening around us. So, I would want people to consider that, like, let's really build. We're not living on this earth for ourselves only. We are living on this earth for each other. And the more that we begin to work with each other, for each other, and not just tunnel vision on our own selves, I think we can rehabilitate our own people.
~Brittany Smith

This interview was conducted in August of 2023. This is a bonus installment to the originally published “Choosing Joy: Stories from Inside” zine. You can read the feature article on Brittany Smith here. (If you have any listening issues with the audio, feel free reference the transcript.)

Content Warning: Racism, Grief, Police Brutality/Violence

KD: So, thank you, Brittany, for taking the time to speak with me and share more of your story and more about your work.

For the listeners, can you introduce yourself, such as your name again, where you're from and your work?

BS: Sure. My name is Brittany Smith. I'm actually from Southside Jamaica, Queens, and I am the Program Manager here at the Center for NuLeadership on Human Justice and Healing.

KD: You sing Southside Jamaica Queens makes me go Nicki Minaj in my head. Do you listen to her? *laughs*

BS: Southside Jamaica, Queens is crazy. *laughs*

KD: Can you tell me more about what you do at NuLeadership and how you ended up working there?

BS: Okay, so the easy part is how I ended up working here, right? In about 2014, I was an intern. I was just about to graduate from Berkeley College. The one that's in the city, not in California. *laughs* With my BA in criminal justice, and I needed an internship and my career advisor. You know, she was helping me with that. And she was like, “hey, have you tried NuLeadership?” Because I believe the Executive Director Devine Pryor, at the time, was close friends with the college president. And I forget his name, but so they had a relationship with them and I was like, I never heard of them. So, but she was like, yeah, they have this youth program. And at the time I was more interested in- Well, Berkeley was more focused on like law enforcement, even though it was criminal justice, it was more like the law enforcement part. And I was like, I'm not really interested in law enforcement. I'm more interested in helping the people, like, the people who are labeled as “criminals.” I want to know their background story. I want to know what happened to them. I definitely want to work with the youth, and specifically young women, because young women they don't get as enough light or support who have, you know, faced the system, the Criminal System”, they don't get as much spotlight or as much support as the young men do. So I was more interested in the young woman side.

So I interviewed with our now Co-Executive Director, KJ Rhee, and from there, I just took off. It was just, it's been 10 years now. You know, I started as an intern, then I was admin assistant, program assistant, now program manager. And I love it here. This is like, really, we was just having this conversation the other day, like, it's no longer, like, oh, work environment. This is really like, we're really like family, like, deep. We're like locked in with each other and that relationship part. Oh my God, it makes a difference. Because, because I just said, like, I just had a baby. I wouldn't be able to like, be as flexible if I was anywhere else. You know what I mean? So here they consider the fact that I have a baby, but they also consider me as a person, a human. They value me. I feel valued here. I wouldn't be here if I didn't feel like that. So I feel valued here by everyone.

KD: I’m really glad you have that.

BS: I have my tiny hands in like almost all areas. So it's nothing specific. I can't say there's a specific thing, you know, I- and it's like a family, right? So in your house, you're not just like washing dishes or, you know, cleaning the table. Like, you're literally doing, like, everything. You're cooking, you're cleaning the bathroom, you're doing this and this and that. That is exactly how it is here. So it's a little bit of everything.

KD: I'm glad you have that family system and that you can get experience in all the different facets because that's not something you have everywhere. And you said you've been there for 10 years now?

BS: Yes, it'll be 10 years. April 2014.

KD: Wow, that's so cool. And it's just I was thinking, you know, nowadays, most people don't stay at places for 10 years, right?

BS: Right.

KD: So it seems like they're really committed.

BS: Oh, yeah. They're very committed, not just in, in, I guess, the services I can help provide or that- they're committed in my ecosystem, like, not just me, the environment that I live in, my mom, my kids, my brother. When I tell you that it is a full plate of support here. I get full support here, and I'm not a participant, like, I'm a staff, but that's important for staff members so that we don't feel, like, burned out. We don't feel like you know, we're not valued and I honestly feel valued here.

Quick story, I was on maternity leave from the time I got pregnant, not because of anything, but because I had a very complicated pregnancy and I was in and out of the hospital. I couldn't really, I couldn't function pretty much. They gave me the space to like, oh okay, you can work from home, you know, we'll help pay your health insurance, your copay, like what companies help pay my full copay?

KD: Yeah.

BS: So. It makes a difference. Or when it was those hard days, okay, you don't got to worry about it, you know, you don't got to worry about it. And I was still getting my full pay, my full salary here. So when I tell you that makes a difference, when I don't have to worry about where the next dollar is coming for me to- because at the time only have one kid. I'm gonna support my kid. I'm a single mom. That makes- that makes a huge difference. So now that I'm back, it's not even a- it's no question. It's not that I feel like I owe them, but it's like, it's that reciprocation. You know what I mean? Like, okay, I got you, you got me. Like one hand washes the other and together we're able to help and work for our community. So that's the difference.

KD: Yeah. And you were talking a little bit about burnout and that this work can be a lot, I'm sure.

So what do you do to care for yourself and how do they support you when it gets to be a lot working with incarcerated people?

BS: Oh, yeah. To care for myself, you know, I'm always- I'm finding- I'm only 32. So I am, you know, I'm finding new ways. I have to remind myself, like, okay, slow down, you know. I journal a lot. I listen to music a lot. I was just saying the other day, like, I wish that I can get, like, just a hotel room for a weekend, just by myself, to myself, just to decompress. And I don't want to hear nobody talking. I want my phone to be on do not disturb. And, you know, I put my mom down as, you know, like you could have certain people where their calls still come through if it's an emergency. But, I just need a moment of peace, a moment of quiet. And sometimes that's necessary, right? So that's helpful and I know that when the time comes if I need to, like, take a sabbatical in that type of way to say like I need a moment to just breathe I know that I will be granted that.

You know, the last month we had did a 12 season series where this person, who is also known as Yogi Medicine Man. And he comes and assess all your health concerns. And it's not, you know, it's not medicinal in the way of institution, hospital, clinic. It's more so everything is just natural. And everything is like with a full breath and just relaxing and soothing and magical and revealing because the things that you tell him like- it's like revealing, it's connecting to other issues and you getting to the root of the problem so that you can like really work on yourself. And sometimes it's not even like a physical thing. It can be like a mental, emotional, spiritual. And it was just out of this world. I wish you could be a part of it. I'm gonna invite you to the next one. I really do wish you could be a part of it-

KD: Thank you.

BS: -because the more people I feel that can get exposed to something like that, the better, right?

KD: Yeah, yeah. And having that holistic approach to health is something I've seen a lot more people take into account because- not to like, you know, I'm not going to take any more of my necessary medications, but more like incorporating, you know, that with deep breathing, getting proper rest, with the foods they're eating, talking about soothing themselves, therapy, things like that. So I'm really glad that you have that.

In your bio on the NuLeadership site, you shared that you've witnessed family enter the system and struggle with reintegration in society. Can you speak to that experience and what it was like knowing there was only so much you could do?

BS: Oh, definitely. Okay, so- and I'll speak from like three, I feel like three important sections of my life. So when I was real young, like seven, eight, my uncles were entering into the prison system. And because I'm so young and innocent, I'm not really recognizing, you know, what's happening and why. It's like, oh, my uncle's here and then he's gone. And then he's here and then he's gone. And then he's here and then he's gone a few months. And what's happening? Like, so at the time, I didn't really, really understand what was happening. But as I grew [in]to an adult, I'm like, “oh, that's why he wasn't here for that,” you know what I mean? And I see how hard it is for him to, like, get his feet on solid ground.

Or like, my best friend who's also named known is also named Brittany. She entered, you know, the criminal punishment system. And her mom had just passed. And she got into different things, you know, trying to find herself and deal with her trauma and deal with her heartbreak. And it led her into a different world. And I just, she's, we're the same age, but this stuff was going on when we was like 13, 14. And she's just now, you know, being able to go, “hey, I got a job.”

Or even like my brother, who I can get be more specific about. You know what I mean? My brother is four years older than me. He got arrested and convicted. He had to do a four year sentence upstate. And my brother, now, he's a husband. He has two kids. He lives in Atlanta now, but because of his felony, it's hard for him to get employment. And it's like, okay, what do you do when you have- you’re a provider? You have to provide for your kids. You have to provide for your household. You have to provide for your family.

So I just came back from Atlanta visiting him. And I see how he's moving around. I'm like, “hey, hey, what you doing?” You know what I mean? And he's like, “I got to, you know, I got to eat. I got to live.” But these things that he's doing, is a risk, if you know what I mean, right? But it's like, what do you do? Like, I can't condemn him and I would never. But I can't condemn him for trying to survive. He's trying to survive because he can't find- employment is hard with a violent felony. Employment is hard to get. You know? His kids obviously need food on their table. They have needs. He's an adult. He has needs. He has a household. He needs a home over his head. He needs this. He needs that. And that's so hard to see because I don't have a record, but I watch my family struggle to enter into society, and be great to their full potential because of this. To access a level of peace of mind. Because a mistake that happened 20 years ago, or a mistake that happened eight years ago that he did - my brother. Why is that still a thing? Like, you know what I mean? Like, he's trying but he can't get to that fully because he has all these roadblocks stumbling his path.

So I want to be there. I want to be able to support and that's why I love the work that we're doing because we're trying to figure it out with them. You know, with the people who have faced incarceration, who has faced arrest, who have seen their family members go through the system. And it's like, how do we access generational wealth and health? How do we access freedom outside of what society tells us freedom is? Because they'll say, oh, we're all free, but, you know, there's poverty. We're living check to check. Our health is deteriorating. You know, we're not seen, we're not loved properly. So how do we really access freedom? That's a question that comes up a lot here. And we're trying to figure it out because we're trying to get there. Not just for ourselves, but for our community, our ecosystem, our family, our loved ones.

KD: You touched on a lot there. And I want to first go to your best friend who you said

was incarcerated when she was 13-14?

BS: Yeah, um, she started getting incarcerated like when she was around 16-

KD: Okay.

BS: -if I’m not mistaken, but you know, the actions that led her there started when she was like 14. Right.

KD: Okay, but I caught up with her at like 16. And then she was in and out for a while?

BS: In and out for a while. Yeah.

KD: What was it? And so I'm assuming you got you two were friends before that. So what was it like experiencing that, and, you know, especially the very first time you saw her get incarcerated knowing for a while what she was doing.

BS: Yeah, that was- it was, it was like, wow, heartbreaking, you know, if because things happen in a split of a second, right? Life changes in a split of a second. And, you know, if I would have turned left two seconds sooner, I could have been in that position, you know. So it was really hard to see. It's hard to see, especially because I've known her before that and before her mom died. You know, I've known her before she got into, you know, different things that, you know, the society looks as, you know0

KD: Taboo?

BS: -a bad thing, taboo or a bad thing. And to see how her life changed the moment her mom passed, you know, is detrimental. But that can literally happen to any of us. None of us are too good. You know, the wrong thing happens, we don't know how we're going to react because that's life to put ourselves in jeopardy in that type of way. It's a human thing. And I think a lot of times people don't look at us as humans, you know, or people who have been through the system they don't- they're not seen as humans. Which is why they pick criminal. But that we can't reach justice at the starting point, IS criminal. That's a motto here.

So, I- my interest is not it's not what you did, like because let the wrong thing happen. I could have been here, you know what I mean? It's like what happened before what happened? What made you do what you did, you know? If that wasn't in your path, would you have entered into the system, you know?

KD: That's what I was thinking. And I was going to ask, losing a parent is extremely traumatic. And to think so, you said she was like eight when it happened or a little bit older?

BS: Oh, no when she lost her parent, her mom, she was, I’ll never forget. She was 13. Yeah, because she lost her mother when she was- we are the same age. So she lost her mother when she was 13, right before her 14th birthday in May and I lost my grandmother in September the same year. So yeah, and that's around the time, like, coming of age, you know, when a daughter needs her mom. You know, a daughter needs that woman figure to help guide her through life to teach her some things that only another woman can teach you, you know?

KD: Yeah

BS: So, I believe it was very hard for her.

KD: And I was going to ask, but I feel like you start to get at that. What do you think she needed after that loss that maybe wasn't filled for her and led to what ended up happening?

BS: Right, she needed a lot of love, a lot of love. A lot of patience, a lot of grace, you know, a lot of redirection, a lot of guidance. And I don't know if her family that, you know, was giving her that, or if they just seen her as like the “bad kid,” *laughs* you know, she always getting stuff. I don't- I don't know. But if, if, if I knew her at 32, if I knew the 13 year old her, at my age, I would have wanted to give her a lot of love, a lot of grace, a lot of understanding, a lot of patience. Again, a lot of redirection. It's just a lot of encouragement to let her know, like, you know, it's going to be okay. And some days it's not.

KD: Yeah, yeah, that makes a lot of sense, and there's a lot of commentary on, you know, well, the prison system provides that structure and that discipline that, you know, they don't understand or have in the real world. I know I make that same face, but would you agree? Do you think that's something that was instilled in her through that experience?

BS: I absolutely- no. No I do not. I do not. And I say that because the same, at the same time that I have a lot of family who has entered the criminal punishment system as an inmate, I also have a lot of family who has entered the criminal punishment system as correction officers. And these are the people that is overseeing or, you know, supposed to be taking care of the people who are incarcerated. And I hear the stories from my aunts and how other correction officers is talking to the inmates. And it's not nothing that is caring. It's not nothing that will make someone feel seen. They are considered overseers. That's not somethin’- they're not being seen. They're not being welcomed. They're not being loved on. They're not being cared for. They're being condemned. They're being hated on. They’re being despised, Put down, Anything negative with a negative notion. So no, I do not agree with that statement at all. *laughs*

KD: Yeah. And I want to then pivot to your older brother. You said he's four years older than you and he went in eight years ago.

BS: Mmhm. Yes.

KD: What do you think ,just from what you've seen and what you want to share, for him as who was incarcerated later in life in comparison to your best friend? Do you think that same approach of care and structure was needed for someone who is more of an adult?

BS: Yes, absolutely. Absolutely. And not to say that my brother is not cared all out for because we come from the same mom, the same household. My brother is absolutely cared for. He's absolutely loved on. But maybe he needed more, you know, because some people require a little bit more affection. They require a little bit more love. I can't say, even though that we're in the same household, I can't say that my needs are, they equate to his needs, like they're not equal.

Maybe he needed more. I don't know, but I definitely feel like, even now, there's times where I have to be like, you know, “it's gonna be okay. Like, we're gonna figure this out. Like, you have somebody by your side.”

You know, I don't think anybody is too old to receive love. I don't think anybody's too old to receive encouragement, to receive guidance, to receive light in their time of darkness. I don't think anybody's too old for that. So I don't- I don't even think it's an age thing. I think we all need that. We're like plants and plants need light to grow. They need sunlight. They need water. You know, I think we need all of that too.

KD: Yeah. How would you think those experiences watching your brother and your best friend informed your perspective of the world and the criminal punishment system that you refer to it as?

BS: Yeah, I just knew I didn't want to be on the side that's going to contribute to their downfall, or contribute to their hurt. That's, I want to be on the side that's going, okay, let's build you up. Like, let's love on you. Let's figure out ways. Society is saying this, but we're going to figure something else out. Like, forget what society is saying. I'm one of them people. Like the doctor, I have such a huge amount of faith. Like, I go into hospitals, doctors say one thing, I'm like, “I don't believe in none of that. We gonna operate this way.”

KD: *laughs*

BS: *laughs* So, I just knew that's not the side that I wanted to be on. You know, I grew up wanting to be a lawyer and a lot of people advised me, “Oh, you should be a prosecutor. That's where the money is.” I don't care about that. I don't want to be a prosecutor. I don't want to be the one to put my people in slavery. I don't want to be the one to put my people in darkness. That's not something that I want to contribute to. I want to show them the light. I want to be there to help them. I want to hear their stories and hear their backgrounds and see what's the root of the problem. Where did it all start from? You know? Because if you're not getting to the root, okay, sending them to prison, what is that going to solve? They got to come home and deal with the same thing over again. Nah, that's not something that- I knew that I didn't want to be a part of this game that the government likes to play with our people.

KD: Can you tell me about something that you struggle with working with incarcerated people?

BS: I don't know if I have a struggle as of yet, but one of the things I feel like is a struggle is people are not always reciprocated. They don't know what love looks like. So when it's in their face, they don't know how to receive it. You know, and that's love is like literally caring for that person, wanting to meet their needs, wanting to, like, see their growth. Love is also being truthful and being honest and holding people accountable. So many people don't know that - [what it] looks like, what that feels, what real love actually feels like. So, it's just so hard for them to receive sometimes. And it's like, “Dang, baby, who hurt you?” You know, “Who hurt you?” Because it could have been your mom. It could have been the school system. It could have been like, what happened to you? Like, what's going on that you're not able to? So that part, that like psychological, mental part, that that I would say that is a struggle to see.

KD: Yeah, yeah, that makes sense. I want to jump ahead then and ask what advice do you have for those that you're working with who are trying to find their way coming out of the system and maybe are struggling to receive that love or that support?

BS: Advice I would have is to hold on. Hold on. Be consistent. Do not give up. Because whatever you're looking for that is good, it will happen. But you have to keep your faith. You have to keep the light going. Like, don't let nothing dim your light. That's one of my favorite sayings. Don't let nothing and nobody dim your light. Whatever you see at the end of the tunnel, by all means, get there? You know? Get there. And understand that people are placed on this earth specifically for you. Specifically for you. Specifically to help you. There's people placed on this earth for you to hurt you, but there's also people here to help you. And you've got to be able to learn how to decipher which one is good and which one can be bad. So, be patient with yourself, be understanding, and love yourself. Love yourself too.

KD: You recently had a baby. Congratulations!

BS: Yes, thank you!

KD: What is it like? Well, one, I'm sure there's a lot of love going around right now with an almost one year old or one year old.

BS: Yes.

KD: What is it like being a parent today in a world of well documented police violence? And have you thought about that as a parent?

BS: Of course, that's something that goes on my mind every day, because I have two Black boys, two of them. My oldest is 12, but he looks like he's 16. So he is tall, very tall. He doesn't look 12. He looks like he's about 16. You know, my youngest he's going to be tall, too. I can already see it. So is that a concern for me? Of course, that's always a concern. I have come to- I have to have conversations with my son, like my oldest son, you know, “Make sure you're looking, make sure you're paying attention. Always, you know, you can't just watch people your age. You gotta like pay attention to how the cops is moving.”

We went to Atlanta and I had bought him, I took the kids to Walmart- and as long as it's less than $20 get whatever toy you want to get. And he got a Nerf gun. I'm fine. I don't, I don't, I don't mind him playing with Nerf guns. But, it's when he wanted to take the Nerf gun outside in Atlanta. Like I was so petrified. I was like, you cannot do that. They might think that, you know, it's something else. And I don't want to have to deal with that. So that is, you know, that's always a fear in my mind.

And even like a couple of weeks ago, I had put my baby in a stroller and we had to go walk to the store and these two police officers were standing out and they were talking to him. I've never seen police engage with community members *laughs* but they were definitely, like, playing with my baby and I was getting so irritated by it. And I know that they're human too, right? *laughs* But I was just like, in a couple of years from now, you're not going to see him as this little innocent baby, the same baby that you're talking goo goo ga ga with. You're going to look at him in a whole different light. So just don't even talk, I was so irritated. And I felt bad, in a little bit. I only felt bad because one of them were Black. Because I'm like, once you take his uniform off, he looks just like me, just like me and you. Like, you know, so I felt bad in that way because he's human too, right? But I was just so vex. I was like, “Why are you talking to my baby?” You know, once he hits like 12, 13, you're going to look at him in a whole different light. You're not going to look at him as this innocent little baby anymore. Like you're going to start having your hand on your head. And like no, I don't have time for none of that.

So yeah, it gets real and I have conversations with my son, my oldest son. He already knows all the time like how to just be cautious going to the store, going to the park, just living life because it is not easy. It is not easy and I can't protect you from it. That's one thing. I can protect you from a lot of things. But that's something I cannot protect you from. So, you're just going to have to be on your P's and Q's. And the only thing I can give you is- give you knowledge. That's the only thing I can give you is knowledge.

KD: Yeah. Yeah. And while you're speaking, I was thinking Tamir Rice was 12 when he was killed.

BS: Yes, he was. Yes, he was.

KD: And it's interesting because when we first started talking, you mentioned that you have real interest in how the prison system affects women and Black women. And then you have two sons, which are two very different experiences, but both groups are at risk of police violence. Could you talk a little bit more about how you channel your interest in Black women affected by the system since you have two sons?

BS: Yes, so I'm still very much so interested in Black women, right? Especially black young women. But yeah, my focus has definitely pivoted in some type of way because I am a mom of two sons. And the same thing that I want from- for the young woman I want for my sons too, right? So it's no longer- gender is no longer a thing. Boy, girl. The youth in general, because they're our future. They are, they are our tomorrow. So, I want the best for every young person. I want them to see things that I didn't see when I was their age. I want them to have access to things I did not have access to. And I just want them to reach their full potential. So. I don't know if that answers your question, but that's really like all I got at this moment.

KD: Yeah, no, that's fine. Based on your years, 10 years of work with NuLeadership and then going to school for criminal justice, what's something you wish people who haven't witnessed the impact of the prison system knew about it?

BS: I wish they knew that that whole system is no help for us. It doesn't rehabilitate no one. *laughs* It is there solely to keep our people oppressed, to keep our people in harm. To keep our people hurt, depressed. It is there to capitalize off our people. And it's just not useful. It's not useful at all. There's other ways that we can go about finding justice for humans. And maybe people will say, “Oh, what about the victims?” We love them too! Like, we're not forgetting them. But all of these things are human reactions. And a lot of times happen because of the environments that we're placed in. And I'm not just talking about where we live. I'm talking about what is happening in our households. What is happening around us. So, I would want people to consider that, like, let's really build, Like, we're not living on this earth for ourselves only. We are living on this earth for each other. And the more that we begin to work with each other, for each other, and not just tunnel vision on our own selves, I think we can rehabilitate our own people.

KD: Yeah, and you talked a lot throughout this conversation about love and support. So, I feel like you'd agree with me saying there's an importance for joy and positivity in organizing and supporting those who are incarcerated. Could you talk about that and what your perspective is on that?

BS: I don't know. I just feel like all these things like love, joy, positivity, action. These are all action words. These are not just words that you just throw out there, right? I think as a community, we can't come in judging people. Do you know how we can make somebody day with just a smile? Oh my God, they smiled at- like sometimes smiling is magnetic. Somebody smile at you, I'll be like, “Hi, how you doing?” Like it's just, it comes out of nowhere. Like we have to show it. Like we can't just say, oh, I love you. And I'm talking about like- I'm not talking about community- because yes, but I'm also talking about, like, even in our households, like, we have to love our children. Like, we are their first teachers. We have to teach our children. We have to smile at them. We have to hug them. Like, we have to show affection. We have to show it. Like, we can't just say it no more. We can't just say we're going to do this. We're going to do that. No, we have to actually go out there and do it at this point. And it can really start with just a hello. “Hi, how you doing?” Smile. You know? That can go- it can go farther than what you think. It's something that's very small, but yeah, I think that we can do it.

KD: Do you have any final thoughts?

BS: Maybe just to show more grace to our people. We be so quick to judge sometimes, but if we was placed in their shoes, we don't know what we would do. And I'm really learning that, like, I don't know what I would do if I was placed in somebody else's situation. I'd probably act like them. I'd probably act worse. So, we do not know. So, just show more grace for people. Try to understand. Do not lean into your own understanding, but try to understand from their perspective. Listen. Hear people out. Fully see people. Make our people feel belong[ing]. Let's work together.

KD: Thank you.

BS: Thank you.

Bonus: The Healer

Kathryn Destin — Tue, 27 Feb 2024 23:00:07 GMT

This interview was conducted in August 2023. You can listen to the entire conversation between Kathryn and Brittany, including the transcript, here.

Content Warning: Racism, Grief, Police Brutality/Violence

The United States incarcerates more people than any other country in the world, with a whopping rate of 565 per 100,000 residents. This totals to just under 2 million people spread out across state prisons, local jails, federal prisons & jails, youth facilities, immigrant detention, involuntary commitment facilities, territorial prisons, “Indian” country, and the military. While that number might feel negligible compared to the nation’s ~340 million population size, as it breaks down to less than 1% of total residents, the prison system impacts more lives than those solely behind bars. 1 in 2 people in the US have been directly affected by the prison system. In other words, amongst the remaining 99% of residents who have not been imprisoned, half of them are family members, close friends, life partners, coworkers, neighbors, and others who have waited or are awaiting their loved ones’ returns.

Southside Jamaica, Queens native Brittany Smith (she/her) has never served time but is still deeply familiar with the US prison system. As the Deputy Director at The Center for NuLeadership on Human Justice and Healing, Brittany has dedicated the last ten years of her professional life to advocating for human justice through program participants’ economic and personal development. She began her career as an intern while pursuing a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice at New York City’s Berkeley College. Her internship provided an outlet and community more aligned with the vision that she had for herself than her college program oriented around law enforcement.

I just knew I didn't want to be on the side that's going to contribute to their downfall, or contribute to their hurt. I want to be on the side that's going, “okay, let's build you up.” Like, let's love on you. Let's figure out ways. Society is saying this, but we're going to figure something else out…I’m more interested in helping the people, the people who are labeled as criminals. I want to know their background story. I want to know what happened to them.

After graduation, Brittany returned to NuLeadership rather than following recommendations to become a prosecutor. The organization’s ethos of reparations, generational wealth, and community care aligned much more with her values of community healing and investment. In her eyes, the last thing she wanted to do was “put her people in slavery and in darkness” by joining the legal system that ravages communities through mass incarceration. Since then, she has advanced from intern to administrative assistant to program assistant to program manager to now director, spearheading human-justice-oriented strategy and development.

Brittany’s initial exposure to the criminal justice system didn’t begin with this Brooklyn-based organization. Long before, she began to feel its clutches back at home in Queens. Around ages seven and eight, she noticed her uncles would suddenly go missing for months at a time. At that age, she was too young and unaware to understand that she would be playing a long waiting game for their return. The instability of having family members in and out of her life for stretched out periods was jarring.

Nearly ten years later at the age of 16, Brittany took another blow from the prison system when her childhood friend, also named Brittany, was arrested. It was tremendously hard to see the girl she grew up with spend their remaining critical developmental years in and out of prison. She and Brittany were the same age and suffered tremendous loss. She lost her grandmother while her friend Brittany lost her mother. Immediately, Brittany noticed nothing would ever be the same for both of them.

And she got into different things, you know, trying to find herself and deal with her trauma and deal with her heartbreak. And it led her into a different world…I’ll never forget. She was 13…And that’s around the time, like, coming of age when a daughter needs her mom. A daughter needs that woman figure to help guide her through life, to teach her some things that only another woman can teach you. So, I believe it was very hard for her.

Unfortunately, her best friend began to walk another path and processed grief in very different ways. Going through this level of loss at such a young and pivotal age resulted in the lack of maternal love, structure, and encouragement that was so desperately needed. Brittany recognized that her best friend began to make life choices that could have been avoided if her mother was still alive.

According to 2021 Census data, an estimated 4.3% of children in the US have had one or both of their parents die. A closer look into the demographics of these ~3.2 million American orphans, reveals that almost 20% of Black children disproportionately are more likely to lose a parent than non-Black children. This was likely exaggerated by the excess death the Black community faced at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. Even before the pandemic, health and safety risks threatened Black families, such as some of the highest maternal mortality rates in the nation, the highest death rate for cancer overall, a 54% increased likeliness of death from cardiovascular disease from their white counterparts, the highest deaths from gun violence per 100,000 people, and a disproportionate likelihood of being killed by police.

Furthermore, many children continue to lose their parents not from death, but from the carceral system. In August 2022, the Prison Policy Initiative reported that nearly half of all the people in state prisons are parents to minors. About 1 in 5 of those children are four years old or younger. Children of color, especially Black children, are vulnerable when it comes to having an incarcerated parent. In the United States, 1.1 million Black men have been imprisoned, and approximately 500,000 of them are fathers. In this cycle, many of their own dads have been to prison and their children will likely follow suit. The loss of loving and active parental figures plays a monumental role in the fate and development of a child’s life. And while not all partially or fully orphaned children are destined for a life of imprisonment, travesty, and other trauma, there are undeniable setbacks.

While Brittany S. has gone on to become a senior leader in her organization, her friend has struggled to start a career of her own after spending years in and out of prison. Despite being the same age, they are in two completely different stages of life due to the setbacks tied to the label of “criminal.”

Witnessing her childhood best friend struggle to get up on her feet ignited a fire within Brittany to advocate for young Black women who’ve been in the system. For ten years, she has come across narrative gaps around the carceral system’s impacts. She especially finds that young women “don’t get as much spotlight or as much support as the young men do.” Malcolm X’s illustrious quote naming Black women as the most disrespected, unprotected, and neglected group of people particularly resonates with what Brittany has witnessed and experienced in her own life. She has even gone on to start her own support group primarily targeting young Black women who impacted by the carceral system called REIGN (Resilient Empresses Interrupting Gender Norms). These young Black women focus on self-love, care, confidence, and trauma healing in this space she’s created. Though it is temporarily on hiatus, she has successfully hosted two cycles of this group over the past five years.

Not only has Brittany seen the challenges of a criminal record for her best friend, but also for her older brother, who spent four years upstate. Her brother, who is now a husband and father of two, struggles to do his best as a provider for his family with the weight of a felony charge. Brittany worries about him, as he navigates to meet his family’s needs. It’s hard for her to watch him from the outside, yet she fully understands and sympathizes with his limited circumstances.

I can’t condemn him, and I would never. But I can’t condemn him for trying to survive. He’s trying to survive because he can’t find employment [which] is hard with a violent felony. Employment is hard to get, you know? His kids obviously need food on their table. They have needs. He’s an adult. He has needs. He has a household. He needs a home over his head. He needs this. He needs that. And that’s so hard to see because I don’t have a record, but I watch my family struggle to enter into society, and be great to their full potential because of this. To access a level of peace of mind. Because a mistake that happened 20 years ago, or a mistake that happened eight years ago that he did - my brother. Why is that still a thing? He’s trying, but he can’t get to that fully because he has all these roadblocks stumbling his path.

Based on what she’s seen happen to those closest to her, Brittany believes in the profound power of community care. On several occasions, she acknowledged that we are all human and that those of us without a criminal record should extend the same grace, patience, and support we receive to those who have been or are at risk of being incarcerated. Brittany acknowledged that she might have made similar choices to those of her best friend if her mother died when she was a young teen. She avoids being quick to judge because she understands that we all can lash out, break down, or pursue more “taboo” avenues when life throws us curveballs.

Brittany feels similar sentiments for her brother, whom she shared the same home with but ended up leading a very different life from. “I can’t say that my needs equate to his needs. Maybe he needed more,” she stated. Brittany resents the notion that damnation and penal punishment are the most productive ways to respond to the problematic behaviors all of us are capable of as human beings. In time, through the power of human justice, she believes we can all work to heal from past heartbreaks inflicted by the present “justice” system to ensure that following generations never have to experience the same painful waiting game she and her loved ones did.

Love, joy, and positivity are all action words. They are not just concepts we speak theoretically about, but they are also tangible things we can extend to others. Brittany emphasizes that smiles are magnetic and that love often takes the form of honesty and accountability. In her heart, she is confident that leading with understanding and compassion will go much, much farther.

There’s other ways that we can go about finding justice for humans. And maybe people will say, ‘Oh, what about the victims?’ We love them too! We’re not forgetting them. But all of these things are human reactions. And a lot of times [it] happens because of the environments that we’re placed in. And I’m not just talking about where we live. I’m talking about what is happening in our households, what is happening around us. So, I would want people to consider that, like, let’s really build. We’re not living on this earth for ourselves only. We are living on this earth for each other. And the more that we begin to work with each other, for each other, and not just tunnel vision on our own selves, I think we can rehabilitate our own people.

The Artist (Audio)

Kathryn Destin — Thu, 22 Feb 2024 23:01:11 GMT

I had that power. I kept that power. I did not want to hear them say anything in response because I didn’t want them to take that power I just instilled.
~R&B

This interview was conducted in April of 2022. You can read the feature article first published in June 2022 on R&B here. (Apologies for the audio quality! This interview was recorded well before I knew about the recording tools I utilize now and was edited as best as possible. If you have any listening issues, feel free reference the transcript.)

Content Warning: Death/Dying/Grief, Explicit Language, Physical Assault, Racism, Self-Harm/Suicide, Sexual Harassment/Abuse, Verbal Abuse

KD: Well go ahead, can you introduce yourself, your name, where you're from, and what you do?

R&B: My name is- My biological name is Clifton Alexander Goring, but I prefer to go by R&B. I'm from Brooklyn, New York. I am an artist. I sing. I rap. I produce my own music. And I write poetry. Yeah. That's pretty much it.

KD: Nice to meet you, R&B.

R&B: Nice to meet you, too.

KD: How long were you incarcerated for? And you're welcome to share what you were incarcerated for.

R&B: I went to prison, oh- November 21st, 2001, I got arrested. And I was released on July 21st of 2020. So about 19 and something years. 19 and change. And I was in prison for murder.

KD: How would you describe what you were like before you were incarcerated? What brought you joy then?

R&B: If I'm being honest, not much because life was crazy. I was in a messed up household. An abusive household. And I was in mental health wards due to post-traumatic stress and depression. So, not much brought me joy. Not much. Some things were reprieves, like writing music and writing poetry were escapes. Then drawing- I used to draw, but I had to quit because of trauma-related issues. So that couldn't bring me joy anymore because every time I drew, I had flashbacks of what I saw. So- my grandma taught me how to draw, and my biological brother. I don't really say "brother" and "sister." They're not brothers and sisters to me, they're just genetically related to me, that's all. But he killed my grandma in front of me. So, every time I drew, I saw it. So I just quit. I said "f*ck it." So, not much brought me joy.

KD: But you did mention your music, right?

R&B: Mm hmm.

KD: What kind of music were you doing then?

R&B: Well, back then, I was writing music about food because I was a fat person. Oh, I'm non-binary. I forgot to mention I'm non-binary. And my pronouns are they/them/their. But my music was about food back then. But when I went to prison, it became about other things. But back then it was about food because I used that as a form of escape too.

KD: Is there something specific that stands out from your experience from being incarcerated that you feel encapsulates your time there?

R&B: My vigilance, my resilience, and my fight. My will to fight. My will to just not lay down. I was abused a lot in prison by guards. The injuries I’ve sustained, and I wasn't supposed to be walking, and a lot of stuff. Now that I'm not in prison anymore, like, my body is like, okay, I can be hurt now. So now like the spinal injuries I have, like, herniated disks, acute nerve damage, bulging disks, three degenerative- I may say this one wrong- three degenerative disks, a few contusions, a few dislocated vertebrae.

I'm not supposed to lift five pounds but I do. I lift my son. He's four years old, so he's like more than five pounds. *laughs* My body didn't break down. And there were many times where I almost died due to suicidal attempts. But somehow, someway, I was meant to stay alive. And the few times I was supposed to be dead, like, how the f*ck did I survive that?

KD: And when you say you're tired, are you thinking more physically or mentally?

R&B: Mentally and physically and legally.

KD: Did you have a support system while you were in prison? I mean, you spoke a little bit about that genetic connection not really being there emotionally.

R&B: I had an amazing support system towards the end of my sentence. And that support system is still with me to this day even though I'm free. They gave me more will to continue fighting even when I was trying to kill myself a few times. But, they gave me more, more drive. They gave me something to look forward to, possibly saying- because I didn't know I was going to get out.

I went to the board multiple times and I got hit multiple times. I gave up. And the final time I went to the board, I just told them how I felt, and I excused myself: you're not going to have me keep coming to you. I have all the programs you want. I may have had a disciplinary record, too, due to your staff abusing me and me fighting back, but I'm not going to continue torturing myself through this process. With false hope. I do regret what I did. I know what I did was extremely wrong. But I'm not going to torture myself psychologically, just so you can have the satisfaction to say, I'm not going to go home. And I just walked out.

KD: And did you see the response?

R&B: I got the response two weeks later and I was approved for parole. They granted me parole.

KD: Did they have like a response right away when you spoke or is it-

R&B: Oh, no, I didn't give them a chance to. I had that power. I kept that power. I did not want to hear them say anything in response because I didn't want them to take that power then I just instilled. I kept that power. I quickly got up out the door. *laughs*

KD: What was it like taking that power after having so many attempts and then being denied parole?

R&B: I felt infuriated. I also felt proud. Because the night before I was crying for hours because I was saying to myself, “they not going to let me go.” I mean, why do they keep even doing this? Because my sentence was 15 to life. So they could have kept me forever. And to this day, I'm still on life parole. So the system still has a grip on me, so to speak. Still has its grip on me.

KD: You mentioned that at the end of your time in person, that you started to have more support then. Did that also come from a special person or a hobby or a passion or something that served as a strength during those moments?

R&B: It came as multiple people. It started from my friend Danielle, who is a trans woman. An amazing person. An amazing sister. My best friend. She reached out to one of her friends, Joss, and they were for parole prep, to prepare me for parole, for my parole board in 2016, and it just spawned from there. One person turned to two people, turned to four people, then thirty people, and I'm still meeting new people through that same support system.

KD: And you talked a little bit before about your music. Did you write music then or create while you were incarcerated?

R&B: I wrote music, but I couldn't create music, as far as produce, while I was incarcerated. But they had a piano. I played that. But when I was able to, because every prison didn't have a piano. So once in a while I was able to play it, but I was able to play it. They had a drum set and I played that. But as far as recording music, I wasn't able to do that until I was released.

KD: Was that also your escape to rejuvenate yourself or mentally when you were having your lowest moments in prison?

R&B: I want to say no because my lowest moments, like the lowest, was when I actually attempted to commit suicide, when I tried to kill myself. Those were my lowest because I gave up the will to do anything. I just said, “f*ck it.” Yeah. Those are my lowest and nothing was able to help me then.

KD: And, thinking about that, when maybe after you received treatment or follow up, what did you do or what was the process like in, I don't know, finding hope again or will to continue?

R&B: I didn't have that hope until towards the end. But, the mental health system in prison is non-existent, really. There's no real mental health treatment in prison. You have all of these programs and all these so-called people and legislations doing this and doing that, but inside the prison? No real help.

It's all violations- constitutional violations, federal and state. You have therapists talking to officers about your mental health problems. I literally witnessed my- with my own eyes an officer coming into my therapist’s office while I was in there, stand over her, finger f*ck my chart while she was on the phone. She didn't say anything to him.

He looked at me and says, “okay, Goring, you're good, you're good.”

And I'm still sitting there. And I said, “I'm not done yet, so you can stop looking at my chart.”

He said, “Oh, this is our house, you just worry about not getting any disciplinary infractions.”

And she got off the phone and said, “I don't trust you no more and I want a different therapist.”

She said, “you're stuck with me. We don't do therapist changes here.”

But that's one of the instances where it was a complete violation to my constitutional right. There's no mental health, real mental health treatment. Because I remember times when I was telling the mental health staff how I felt about certain things. I got no assistance whatsoever. And then- first thing to do is try to put you on medication that's going to turn you into a zombie. Just to set you up to slow down your motor skills.

KD: And you know what's interesting about that? For me, it's just that I feel that there's no hiding anymore, just the amount of trauma that people have while they're incarcerated or just like there's a need for mental health resources. But to hear from you that there's still such a lack of acknowledgment from the system that, you know, perpetuates that horror, that they can't even have the decency to have any ‘okay’ therapists. It's just really unfortunate.

R&B: Yeah.

KD: Are there any joyous moments that stick out to you from while you were incarcerated? Maybe people you met or times you laughed-

R&B: Towards the end, towards the end of my incarceration, yeah. I had a few friends while I was in prison, as far as people that were in prison, too. There were times where, you know, I felt elated. I want to say elated, but not joy, not happy. I never felt happy while I was in there. The moment I left, when I was released that day, I was released July 21st. I felt happy that day. While I was still on the grounds, I wasn't in the building, but I was outside the gate waiting, waiting for my lawyer to come and get me. I felt happy that day. No- my lawyer was gonna come and get me, but they had to drive me to parole. So, yeah, I was waiting on the grounds and was in this stupid van. And it was hot, and there it was two guards, and I was in the backseat of the van, and they drove me to Manhattan Parole, and then my lawyer picked me up from there. But I was happy that day when I left the prison system for- yeah- I can't say for good yet because I'm still on parole, but when I left the prison system's walls. Yeah.

KD: And that was that elation?

R&B: Yeah.

KD: So I think you gave me a date. But can you remind me just how long it's been since you were released?

R&B: July 21st of 2020. Almost two years.

KD: You were there when the pandemic hit. What was your--

R&B: Oh, my God we- *laughs* I am fortunate not to have contracted COVID. When it hit, officers were getting fired for wearing masks around the facility. That should tell you that they didn't even give us inmates masks. Multiple inmates were dying due to contracting it. Officers were coming into work giving it to inmates. They were forcing people to program. I got in trouble multiple times for wearing a t-shirt around my face. Yeah. And it wasn't until maybe like 20 people died, maybe, that's when they started, like, segregating. They didn't want to give us masks, and there was poor, um, poor management of it.

KD: So you mentioned too that officers were being fired for wearing masks and that that was definitely a sign of how they viewed everyone in the prison-

R&B: Yeah

KD: -And I'm not sure if you know, but I remember a video came out, uh, I want to say it was right around the time you were released--July or August or maybe a little earlier--where, uh, people, people in prison had a phone and they were sharing the conditions and how they showed, like, this person this person has COVID and they're, like, right next to me-

R&B: Yeah, there was, there was, it was, poor management of it. Poor management, and, it was not taken serious[ly]. The administrative staff were keeping themselves safe. But, again, I was forced to be around people that had it. I was around multiple people that- four people that died from it. And I was around them while they had it. And I didn't get it.

KD: Did they have any testing at that time? Or--

R&B: No. nah-uh..

KD: That that definitely, I'm sure was not a pleasant experience and you're--

R&B: No

KD: --definitely fortunate to not have contracted it, which is very rare-

R&B: God was on my side, and God is still on my side to this day.

KD: What are you up to now? I know you spoke about your music before. Is that what you do?

R&B: Oh, when I can, I do music, I produce beats, um, I write lyrics. I have three albums out right now on Spotify. The Unleashed: part one, two and three. See, the first album has five songs on it. The second album has five songs on it and the third album has 17 songs on it. The majority of them were songs that I wrote while inside, but I didn't have production to them. So, I want to say it took me maybe six months to learn how to use Logic Pro and produce my own beats. And then I got a beat machine, and then it was over. It was over.

KD: *laughs* Who are some of your favorite artists?

R&B: Some of my favorite artists, I would say. Okay. Rap, or R&B or rap and R&B. Because I do both. So I'm just going to give you my favorite. My top two from both genres- .from R&B would be Smokey Robinson, and Brian McKnight from R&B. From rap, it would have to be- hmm...EPMD and Grandmaster Flash.

KD: So you like the classics?

R&B: I like some of the new music, but the lyrics, no. I’m a lyricist. I like to get you to think. I like to get my listeners, my fans, to think about what the hell did they just say?

KD: I really like your flow. I hear the early 2000's influence for sure.

R&B: Yeah? A lot of people keep telling me I sound like Jay-Z. *laughs*

KD: I can hear the flow for sure. You know for a quick second- I don't remember which part- but I heard a little bit of Mos Def. Just a little bit... I like your music!

R&B: Thank you.

KD: Are there any artists that you listened to while you were in prison...or the ones you mentioned?

R&B: Yeah. I had a Walkman *laughs* I had a tape with EPMD and Grandmaster Flash on it, but I also I had Erick Sermon. It had Mos Def and it had the Beatnuts, Biggie. I had a total of two cassette tapes. Yeah, and I would just go front to back, listen to that pretty much all day, because I really didn't go out my cell much. You know, I didn't really want to be around people. Unless I had to go to program-

KD: What kind of programs were you doing?

R&B: I did. I got my GED while inside. It's pretty easy, actually. *laughs* I did plumbing and heating. I did facility maintenance. I did electrical. I did masonry. I did lands and grounds. I did commissary. I worked in the mess hall in the kitchen. I worked in a line in the mess hall. I got a haircutting certificate. And that was it. Towards the end of my incarceration, I quit doing programs. I didn't care.

KD: Mmm.

R&B: I was in solitary confinement. The box. I was in the box a lot. And it was portions where I was badly, badly injured due to being abused by guards and beat up and bones broken and-

KD: It was funny when you were listing off your, what programs you did. I’m just like, this person just could just build a house....

R&B: Oh, yeah, I can pretty much do anything.

KD: Okay, too, you said you stopped doing programs. Is that that time where you were losing hope and thought you probably weren't going to get parole?

R&B: Mhm.

R&B: Starting in 2016, I didn't have a program anymore, because 2016 was my first parole board. I didn’t program anymore after that. It was just done.

KD: You also mentioned getting your G.E.D. So, when you were incarcerated in '01, how old were you or did you drop out of high school?

R&B: Nah, I was in hospitals. Mental health hospitals.

R&B: The last time I went to school before getting arrested, I was 14.

KD: Mmm. And how old were you- were you in '01?

R&B: 19.

KD: Did you feel like an adult then? Because I know you were definitely tried as one-

R&B: No. I didn't even really- completely understand the consequences of my actions. Right? I knew what I did was wrong on a spiritual level and on a moral level. And legally, I didn't know it was like that bad. I knew it was bad, but I didn't know how bad it really was or how bad my life was going to turn out to be after that.

KD: Do you think if you knew, you would have not done it or done something different?

R&B: I honestly don't think so. I took the life of the person that was abusing me sexually. So, I do regret doing it. But in that moment when you are. Symptom-induced. Triggered, so to speak. I don't think anyone would be using their wise mind or their logical mind. I don't know.

KD: Yeah, I don't think you have to know, truly. You talk too about the box and were you put in the box more near the end of your time, was that also, again, during that hopelessness?

R&B: I was put in the box towards the middle, the beginning, and the end, but more so the middle.

R&B: But more so the middle because the abuse of guards. They were, sadistic, racist, corrupt, as well as the administrative center. Because when you bring it to their attention, they cover it up. They got rid of digital evidence, video, and audio.

R&B: In 2009, they did something to me. I needed 17 surgeries to have it fixed. They- among, you know, damaging my spine, they put a nightstick somewhere where it didn't belong. And to this day, I still want all of them to die. I, man, I don’t have much more about that. But yeah. I have, I have hatred. I don't let it consume me, but I have hatred.

KD: What did you do in the box to pass the time?

R&B: Sleep, write music and poetry.

KD: They allowed you to have your stuff to write?

R&B: Yes. It was multiple times where they came and searched the cell and destroyed my poetry books and destroyed my song books. So it's like maybe a total of, like 30 something poetry books AND 30 something- 40 something song composition notebooks that were destroyed while I was inside. And I ultimately left prison with only two composition notebooks of my music.

I don't remember a lot. I didn't have things on cap memorized either because I would just write a song and just put it away and just begin writing another one. Like, I wasn't taking the time to actually recite it. Because it was coming that fast, and it still comes that way. And I have music in my head. It's like I've always had music in my head. I just didn't know how to produce music. But I've had it in my head. I never even had the idea to produce music before I got out. But I went to the studio. My friend got me some studio tim for free. And I recorded, four songs. What the one that you heard just now, what you said you heard Mos Def in, that's one of them. And it was three more: "Tough luck", "Lock me down" and "Damn, Ma."

KD: How do you feel about where you are in your life now?

R&B: I'm happy now. I have two kids. I have an amazing wife who I can't live without. Everything is, I want to say, perfect now. Circumstances right now as far as living situation is different because I was in a shelter. Now I'm not in a shelter. I have a CityFHEPS voucher. But it's like, me and my wife are trying to get a place together because the system won't let us live under the same roof for a certain amount of time. But I'm happy now.

KD: How long have you and your wife been together?

R&B: Honestly, maybe, wait, almost a year. Almost a year.

KD: Congrats.

R&B: Thank you.

KD: And thinking about our conversation today and where you are now, what does joy look like to you?

R&B: Joy looks like, me getting a record deal. And me being on TV. Me, sharing my craft with the world. Me dominating the industry, 'cause my, my stage name is the R&B bully. Seven hyphens and the word b*tch. Because I want to b*tch the industry. Because it's so much that people don't do that I do. I won't just sing R&B music and rap. I do country music. I do rock music. And I produce everything. In my mindset, my profession, my professionalism for it. My appetite for it. My craftsmanship. You have music out right now that make you say, “What the f*ck is this dude saying?” I heard a song, that, it was nice a song. I'm not gonna lie and say it was a nice song called “Hannah Montana.” What the f*ck was that about? And then French Montana had a song where he said, I ain't worried about nothin' over a thousand times.

KD: Yeah.

R&B:Like, really? Like what? And that was a hit. They ain't saying nothing! So it's a hit. I, I'm going to. The - Oh - I almost get scammed. Someone almost stole all my music.

Yeah, it was a bogus contract. It was a bogus contract, and I stupidly signed it. But my lawyer put an end to it. She reached out to him and they wanted- they wanted to keep all of my music, the masters and the rights to it. It was a 70/30 split.

As far as money wise, they wanted three albums for three years, and after the three years, they didn't have to give me any of my music back. They could have just kept it in parted ways. But that's not how I read to me, because I'm not an entertainment lawyer.

I'm a well, I'm a, I want to say a prison lawyer *laughs* because of the litigation I was doing inside, but- I'm no entertainment lawyer, so I didn't read, it didn't read that, I didn't read it that way. But when my lawyer broke it down to me, she was like. You'd have had to start everything from scratch, stage- the whole, change your whole name and everything.

KD: No!

R&B: Yeah, Yeah. They were claiming rights to my name too. My whole brand was going to be stolen from me.

KD: I'm so glad you- How did you get out of that?

R&B: My lawyer. My lawyer, my lawyer, my lawyer, Mo, she got me out of that. She reached out to him and sent them an email with me as a CC to it. And I wasn't- I didn't consult her. I didn't take- I was just hyped up about being signed to a label. I was allegedly gonna get flown out to California and- Yeah, it was f*cking crazy.

I was deflated a little bit as far as my dream. But it didn't, it didn't put out the fire, 'cause I- After that, I bust out, like, maybe 20 songs in, like, a few days. Literally a few days. Lyrics and production. So, it comes like that to me. It may- It’ll be a time where I don't do any music for like two months. And then I bust out like, sh*t, four months ago, it was 30 songs in two and a half weeks.

KD: It's a lot of songs.

R&B: Yeah.

R&B: So it was deflating to a degree, but it didn't put out the fire. I don't think anything's going to put out the fire unless I'm not able to use my hands to make beats or use my voice to rap or sing.

KD: Then I just have the last question, which is, is there something you wish people would know about the criminal justice system?

R&B: Something that they need to know?

KD: Or that you want them to know.

R&B: Something that they need to know about the criminal justice system is that it's still broken and not fair, so to speak. I plead guilty to my crime and I didn't really go through a trial at all. But the things that I've seen, the things that I've heard, the court minutes that I've read, other people that let me read the equipment, and I'm like, “wow.” The only way to fix it is to get rid of it. Get rid of prison. And create programs. Some programs would have to be like permanent live-in forever programs, but it wouldn't be prison.

KD: Mmhm

R&B: The conditions would be completely different. There's no- I want to say there's no peace of mind in that. Because you're always looking over your shoulder. I have literally seen when someone got killed for nothing. He wasn't even involved in anything, just because someone didn't want to be in a prison.

It was this guy. He didn't want to be in that prison. He was in Attica. And he came out with a[n] ice pick, and he stabbed this guy up who didn't know him, and killed him! He stabbed him up because he- it was called pulling a stunt. I don't know the details of it, but it was said that he owed something or did something to somebody or something like that. And he didn't want to live there, but he didn't want to tell and go into protective custody. So he would be rather to go into the box by doing something really, really crazy like that to get out of the facility. He ended up killing a guy.

You always have to look over your shoulder. When I saw that, I stopped coming out. I used to come up my cell, yeah, go to the recreation and go to different programs and stuff like that. Sign up for different activities. But I stopped after that. I don't want to be around nobody. Because I couldn't trust nobody. I couldn't trust anyone.

KD: Do you think if you had the program that you're referring to or a different one when you were 19 and before your incarceration, you would be different now? Or how would your life be different?

R&B: I believe, I believe I wouldn't be as hard, I wouldn't have that much anger. I wouldn't have a lot of the trauma that I have. Yeah. Because I wouldn't have been, I wouldn't have gone through the abuse. I would have had appropriate, meaningful mental health treatment. I would have a better sense of peace.

And my state of mind towards authority would be different *laughs* like when I see a cop on the street and I'm walking, I automatically have this thing towards them, even though I don't know them. The- the lack of trust that you'd kill me, just because. Or you'd lie and set me up just because you can. There's no trust. I wouldn't call the cops if I was in real danger. I wouldn't.

The Artist

Kathryn Destin — Thu, 22 Feb 2024 23:00:28 GMT

I had that power. I kept that power. I did not want to hear them say anything in response because I didn’t want them to take that power I just instilled.
~R&B

This interview was conducted in April 2022. You can listen to the entire conversation between Kathryn and R&B, including the transcript, here.

Content Warning: Death/Dying/Grief, Explicit Language, Physical Assault, Racism, Self-Harm/Suicide, Sexual Harassment/Abuse, Verbal Abuse

There is great power in the question, “what if?” as it significantly influences our perception of the world. It doesn’t matter if the “what if” posed is focused on addressing complex matters like the experience of falling into a black hole or more mundane dealings like changing what time of day you shower. “What if” is still a profound inquiry since it hypothetically suggests a potential reality while simultaneously questioning the conditions of our current one. This investigation into our present circumstances can also remind us to get away from our complacency with them because achievements are made when we realize something greater than what we know is possible. In the case of the United States' carceral justice system, raising “what if” questions can push us beyond our current approach to justice to find other methods of accountability.

There has been a 500% increase in inmates over the last 40 years, equating to 2 million people in America’s prisons and jails today. Witnessing such an escalation over a relatively short period reveals more about the country’s sociopolitical condition than its people. Prison abolitionists and many reform advocates have attributed this to the government investing funds into bolstering a police state over institutions that encourage crime prevention (i.e., adequately funded schools, housing security, and access to affordable/free mental health treatment). What if we could stop further harm by creating a world that invests in people rather than interrogating them? What if we could allocate resources to serving those in need instead of punishing them for needing? What if we considered that creating and maintaining conditions where people need basic necessities is a crime itself?

Born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, Clifton A. Goring, aka “R&B,” (they/them) was brought up in what they called a “messed up household.” They were abused for most of their early life, resulting in PTSD and depression. Yet, in the madness of their home life, they created joy for themself through art. Writing poetry and music served as reprieves from it all and as a method of expression. Drawing also served as one of their escapes, but they were robbed of this joy early in life when they witnessed their biological brother murder their grandmother while they were drawing. After that moment, drawing was no longer a safe haven but became a reminder of their grandmother’s death.

R&B was only 14 years old the last time they went to school before their arrest. They rotated in and out of mental health hospitals for the next five years as they struggled to manage the psychological trauma the years of abuse had on them.

Sadly, they were still being abused while trying to recover from this past. In 2001, at 19 years old, R&B took the life of their sexual abuser when they were symptom-induced and triggered. After their arrest, R&B pled guilty to the charge of murder and, after virtually no trial, was sentenced to serve 15 years to life. I asked if they felt like an adult considering their mental state and age at the time. They immediately responded no.

I didn’t even really...completely understand the consequences of my actions. I knew what I did was wrong on a spiritual level and on a moral level. Legally, I didn’t know it was like that bad. I knew it was bad, but I didn’t know how bad it really was or how bad my life was going to turn out to be after that.

From November 2001 to July 2020, R&B spent another 19 years subjected to more abuse. This time, it was at the hands of the prison system. Corrections officers were especially physically violent toward them and inflicted permanent injuries. They sustained broken bones, acute nerve damage, skin contusions, herniated discs, bulging discs, degenerative discs, and dislocated vertebrae from the constant near-fatal attacks from officers. The maltreatment was relentless, and they were often thrown into the box for long stretches of time. R&B described officers and the administrative center as “sadistic, racist, [and] corrupt.” They struggled to share but eventually detailed an incident that is relatively common in prisons but no less unsettling. Justifiably so, R&B still holds deep resentment and hostility toward their attackers.

"In 2009, they did something to me. I needed 17 surgeries to have it fixed. They...among, you know, damaging my spine, they put a nightstick somewhere where it didn’t belong. And to this day, I still want all of them to die. I got so much more [to say] about that. But yeah. I have hatred. I don’t let it consume me, but I have hatred…”

Whenever R&B attempted to alert administrators about the abuse, they received the opposite of help and was further violated. Administrators consistently covered up the officers’ heinous crimes by destroying digital evidence: video and audio. The collusion between officers and other prison workers was deep and disturbing. So-called mental health “professionals” regularly disregarded inmates' privacy, including R&B’s. They did little to nothing to provide proper treatment despite the high numbers of inmates with mental illness. 37% of those in prisons and 44% in local jails have been diagnosed with a mental illness. Just a decade ago, 1 in 4 jail inmates experienced severe psychological distress, and in a 2017 report, 66% of those in federal custody were denied mental health care during their incarceration.

There’s no real mental health treatment in prison. You have all of these programs and all these so-called people and legislations doing this and doing that but inside the prison…no real help. It’s all violations. It’s constitutional violations, federal, and state. You have therapists talking to officers about your mental health problems.
I literally witnessed with my own eyes an officer coming into my therapist’s office while I was in there, stand over her, [and] finger fuck my chart while she was on the phone. She didn’t say anything to him. He looked at me and says, ‘okay, Goring, you’re good, you’re good.’ And I’m still sitting there. And I said, 'I’m not done yet, so you can stop looking at my chart.' He said, ‘oh, this is our house, and you just worry about not getting any disciplinary infractions.’ And [when] she got off the phone, I said, ‘I don’t trust you no more, and I want a different therapist.’ She said, ‘you’re stuck with me. We don’t do therapist changes here.’ But that’s one of the instances where it was a complete violation to my constitutional right…
I got no assistance whatsoever. And then the first thing to do is try to put you on medication that’s going to turn you into a zombie just to set you up to slow down your motor skills.

R&B was virtually powerless during their incarceration. They described the criminal justice system as “broken and unfair.” They asserted that the only way to fix it would be to abolish and replace it with programs that are inherently different from prisons but could still help people. R&B is confident that if they were supported earlier in their life through a program rather than prison, they would be a different person with less struggle and pain inside them.

I believe I wouldn't be as hard. I wouldn't have that much anger. I wouldn't have a lot of the trauma that I have. Yeah. Because I wouldn't have gone through the abuse. I would have had appropriate, meaningful mental health treatment. I would have a better sense of peace.

Currently, prisons are volatile spaces that are unsafe and are not conducive to proper rehabilitation. This is not because prisons are “filled with dangerous ‘criminals’ who are violent,” as many narratives will deceive us into thinking. Instead, multiple factors influence the culture of prisons - the abuse of power by officers and administrators, denial of mental health treatment to inmates, frequent use of unconscionable methods like forced isolation, use of excessive force to maintain order, and insufficient programming to provide mental stimulation for inmates.

During the early years of their bid, R&B tried to sift through all this chaos and peril by attending what programming was available. They took classes and earned their G.E.D. since they didn't finish high school before their arrest. They learned various technical skills ranging from plumbing, heating, electrical, masonry, and hair cutting. They also had multiple jobs working in commissary, the mess hall, and the kitchen. R&B ventured to make the most of their time in prison by growing and stimulating themself through work and programming. However, this proactive attitude was shot down after they witnessed an incident that reared the ugly head of the carceral system.

I have literally seen when someone got killed for nothing. He [the victim] wasn’t even involved in anything just because someone [the perpetrator] didn’t want to be in a prison [...] He was in Attica. And he came out with an ice pick, and he stabbed this guy up who didn’t know him and killed him. He stabbed him up because he...it was called pulling a stunt. So, he, I don’t know the details of it, but it was said that he owed something or did something to somebody or something like that, and he didn’t want to live there, but he didn’t want to tell and go to protective custody. So, he would rather go into the box by doing something really, really crazy like that to get out of the facility. He ended up killing a guy. You always have to look over your shoulder. When I saw that, I stopped coming out. I used to come up [out of] my cell. Yeah, go to the recreation and go to different programs and stuff like that, sign up for different activities. But I stopped after that. I [didn’t] want to be around nobody, because I couldn’t trust nobody. I couldn’t trust anyone.

They became a recluse, and R&B turned to writing poetry and music for comfort, like when they were a child. R&B filled dozens of composition books with poetry and hip-hop/rap music throughout their bid. Especially after they were thrown in the box, they wrote nonstop as the words continually flowed out of them onto the pages. This outlet was their joy and was a primary support system that pushed them to keep going. But, yet again, R&B’s joy was stepped on when officers destroyed most of their creations over their 19 years in prison.

It was multiple times where they came and searched the cell and destroyed my poetry books and destroyed my songbooks. So it’s like maybe a total of 30 something poetry books AND 30 something, 40 something, song composition notebooks that were destroyed while I was inside. And I ultimately left prison with only two composition notebooks of my music. I don’t remember a lot…

However, they did not let this adversity rob them of the joy music gave them. Whenever R&B’s music came up in our conversation, which was often, the excitement visibly lit up their face. They played several of their songs for me and explained their creative process. You can hear the intentionality behind their flow and storytelling in their music, similar to what you'd find in peak hip-hop and rap music from the late 90s and early 2000s. “I like to get my listeners, my fans, to think about ‘what the hell did they just say?'” R&B added as they pulled up to play one of the songs they wrote in prison. While I personally heard a good amount of Brooklynite Mos Def in this particular song, R&B shared between a laugh that a lot of people find them to sound like pioneer rapper Jay-Z. (To be fair, I had Mos Def's “Sex, Love & Money” and “Close Edge” in my Spotify rotation at the time of our conversation.) As a self-identified lyricist, R&B identified some of their favorite artists as Smokey Robinson and Grandmaster Flash. While incarcerated, they had a walkman and two cassette tapes with tracks from EPMD, Flash, and Biggie that they would listen to front to back for comfort.

Thankfully, things improved for R&B near the end of their bid in prison. In addition to having their music, R&B started to have more people in their corner. Some of these people were their sister, best friend, and friends of friends. These connections gave them the will to keep fighting, especially when they felt suicidal and lost all hope of ever being free. Starting in 2016, their friends helped them prepare to appeal to the Parole Board when they finished serving the minimum 15 years of their life sentence. They were denied parole many times, and it wasn't easy to be optimistic. R&B was ready to give up. They decided to appeal one final time and never to bother again if they weren't approved. The night before their appearance to the Board, they shared that they cried for hours in their cell, convinced they wouldn’t be let go.

And the final time I went to the Board, I just told them how I felt, and I excused myself. [To the Parole Board] ‘You’re not going to have me keep coming to you. I have all the programs you want. I may have had a disciplinary record, too, due to your staff abusing me and me fighting back, but I’m not going to continue torturing myself through this process with false hope. I do regret what I did. I know what I did was extremely wrong. But I’m not going to torture myself psychologically just so you can have the satisfaction to say [that] I’m not going to go home...' And I just walked out.

Walking out on the Board was a truly an empowering moment for R&B. After being locked up for nearly 20 years, half of their life, they found it best to bite the bullet.

Oh, no, I didn’t give them a chance to [respond]. I had that power. I kept that power. I did not want to hear them say anything in response because I didn’t want them to take that power I just instilled.

Two weeks after what they designated to be their final appeal to the Board, R&B was approved for parole. Now, two years after their release, R&B continues to hold onto that same power they demanded from the Parole Board and looks forward with new hope. They are currently pursuing a music career as a rapper and producer. They are also incredibly dedicated to breaking the cycle of abuse they underwent growing up by being a loving spouse to their wife and gentle parent to their two young children. The carceral system still has its grip over them since they’ll have to spend the rest of their life on parole, but R&B is still grateful to have this second chance. They are empowered by music to express themself creatively.

Joy looks like me getting a record deal, and me being on T.V., me sharing my craft with the world, me dominating the industry, ’cause my stage name is the R&B bully, seven hyphens and the word ‘bitch’ because I want to bitch the industry.

Throughout our conversation, R&B repeatedly acknowledged that they now understand how their crime was wrong and regret their decision. While the torturous 19 years after their sentencing were far from the rehabilitation the prison system claims to be, R&B has taken personal accountability for their actions and mental wellness.

In some way, R&B's regret is an amalgamation of "what if" questions surrounding the choices and circumstances that led to their incarceration. A common correlation many of us make with "what if" questions is to past mistakes and feelings of regret. We ask ourselves, “what if I did this differently?” “What if I hadn’t done that thing I regret?" However, we all know we cannot change the past. Furthermore, we are aware that we have no control over the conditions of our childhoods/upbringings, nor its possible negative impact on our mental health.

Too many systems and people failed R&B, and it was not just those who initially hurt them. They were also let down by those systems and people who were supposed to help them receive justice and support (i.e., holding their abuser accountable and providing adequate mental health assistance.)

The best we all can do now is learn from R&B: alter our perception of what is already behind us, not dwell on it, and look to the present and future. We can use "what if" questions to shape how we look forward and create better circumstances that prevent inflicting more harm on each other. We can ask, "what if we do this differently?" "What if we do that thing we'll appreciate later on?" That is what R&B is doing. They value the familial support system they have now and are working hard to give themselves everything they were denied before and during their incarceration. R&B is hopeful they can achieve a better life than the one they had and is doing the work to forge a new reality filled with creativity, love, and joy.

The Lion (Audio)

Kathryn Destin — Wed, 21 Feb 2024 02:44:49 GMT

I’m happy with waking up and coming to the job every day. I’m happy with me living in my Black skin and knowing who I am every day.
~Dwayne McCord

This interview was conducted in March of 2022. You can read the feature article first published in June 2022 on Dwayne McCord here. (Apologies for the audio quality! This interview was recorded well before I knew about the recording tools I utilize now and was edited as best as possible. If you have any listening issues, feel free reference the transcript.)

Content Warning: Explicit Language, Physical Assault, Racism, Verbal Abuse

KD: So thank you for agreeing to meet with me.

DM: No problem.

KD: You can just go ahead and introduce yourself, your name, where you from? What you're doing.

DM: My name is Rameen McCord, but I go by Dwayne. 'Cause I don't like my first name. I pronounce myself as he/him. No. I'm still at work. But everything is okay. I guess. So far.

KD: You said you're from Queens, right?

DM: No, I'm from Brooklyn. I live in Queens.

KD: Okay

DM: Yes

KD: Okay. Then you said you're still at work, do you mind sharing what you do?

DM: I'm a program participant. I make copies. I'm still going through training. So they show me like everything that's going on, being a youth organizer. So, I’m just a program participant. I just take in everything that I see, take notes. I'm still learning. Yeah, I just- I'm still learning.

KD: Are you excited about it?

DM: No, ‘cause it be a headache sometimes, so it’s just like you gotta do this again. Is it mandatory, stuff like that.

KD: Okay that's fair. It is a learning curve. Could you go ahead and share how long you were incarcerated for?

DM: I was incarcerated for six years. 17 to 25.

KD: Do you mind sharing what you were incarcerated for?

DM: I was locked up for robbery. I was locked up for an attempted robbery and a robbery to third degree. But I gave myself more time in jail.

My mom passed away. I flipped out. Not to be violent, but I stabbed somebody. They whined up pressing charges, got me more time.

KD: So she passed away while you were-

DM: She passed away while I was serving time. Her- my mother and my father.

KD: Could you share what you were like before you were incarcerated?

DM: I was in school. I was in school. I was a bad kid. But my mother always like, make sure I was doing the right thing. I was hardheaded. I was- I was participating in programs. I was in a one step away from jail school, which landed me to almost getting into college. Do you know about V.E.S.I.D.?

KD: I feel like I've heard about it. Yeah.

DM: V.E.S.I.D. I was supposed to be one of the top ten students in 2012. But I messed that up by going to jail. I was in the Big Brother program called I'm Safe in My Brother's Arms, which is SIMBA. That's downtown Brooklyn in the Board of Education Building.

I was working for my school for a stipend check. I used to work for the Parks Department, cleaning up and stuff like that. That's like where I was at before I got locked up. But I kind of let that go to my head because I felt like nobody could tell me nothing. I was getting my own check and stuff. So, I went about it like that. And you know, two months before I was supposed to graduate, I got locked up.

KD: And you described yourself as a bad kid. I feel like that has so many different meanings.

DM: Like I was a bad kid because I didn't listen. I'm a Leo, so it's like- to me, it's like you gonna and tell me I'm the best son out here. So it's like I always thought I was the person that always thought, I knew everything already. Like, I swear I knew everything already. Like, you couldn't tell me nothing. Like, oh, you told me such and such. I will make something up in the back of my mind like, “Oh I know about that, such and such.” And then it'd just be like and certain people didn't even like me, “cause you swear you know everything, like, I don't like you.” And I be like, “I understand.”

KD: That's kind of funny. My mom's a Leo and she kind of does - she's the same way.

DM: Oh yeah. We think we know everything.

KD: *laughs*

DM: We think we know everything. We never right. We like, we think we know everything. We would even lie to make it seem like we know what we talking about. Swear to God.

KD: You talked a little about what you were like before incarceration and what you were doing to pass the time. But what brought you joy then? You know, thinking about the things you were doing before you were incarcerated, were there certain hobbies or the jobs you were doing that brought you joy?

DM: Oh, I was working. I was on a basketball team for my school. I was in school. You want to know about the positive stuff, right?

KD: You can share whatever you want. You can do a mix of both.

DM: Well, you know what I was doing? I was bothering people. I was bothering people when I was younger. It's not really funny. Like I do have remorse for it because now that I work for my own money- I think we will know how you get paid. Walk down the block. You know it's so good if you don’t get paid paper checks no more. Cause back in the day we used to wait for people to come for their paychecks, to cash they checks and do our little stupid stuff like that.

So now that I be working and once I get paid, and I'll be like, “sure hope that I don't get jump and robbed” and stuff like that.

I know like what goes on because I used to be one of them dudes. So it was actually last week it happened, and a dude, “;ike 'yo, you know the time, you know the time of the day?”

I looked and said “what the hell, oh they about to rob me.” Swear to God. So I just looked at him like no. So that's when the old me come out, “Like no, I don't know the time. I don't even know you, get away from me. Dadadah”. But I do that because I know the- the movements of a person that they ask you stuff, so once you get a little hesitated, they will do whatever they have to do to get what they want from you.

Now, it’s just like, that sh*t ain't cool. That sh*t ain’t cool. Before I used to do it, but I never really needed to rob people because my mother always make sure we was good. But I also, but I have friends that I always used to look out for. That, that they wasn't- I'm not going to say we was, was healthy with money, but I didn't really need. Like, I was a baby - I had all the Jordans and stuff like that, so a lot of my friends used to be mad. And I used to tell them let's go rob somebody for they sh*t.

And they used to think about it, “like, how you gonna think like- your mom just bought you sneakers. Why would you? A'right you my man, so I might as well, we might as well think of a way to come up and stuff like that.” But they had to realize like that's not really it.

Like now that I think about it, that's not it, I'm still friends with some of my friends to this day and he's not negative. No nothing like- So it just be I was robbing people. I was pickpocketing people. But if I wasn't doing that I did do, like, curricular activities and stuff like that. I was in playing ball. I used to go out. I used to go out with my friends and stuff like that. Go to school. Take care of kids. I wasn't a dumb kid in school. I was really smart.

And a lot of people, and I didn't know that until everyone was like, “you just a dumbass dude, like you just be doing all the dumbest shi-stuff you could think of.” And it was to the point where I was like,” Oh, they really think I was dumb, let me show y’all how I dumb I am.” And I used to, I used to just pass my sh*t and n*ggas would at me, like, “Oh, he wants something. He knows how to pass grades when he wants something.” So it was always that way. It was always that way. I don't know.

KD: Was basketball something that brought you joy, then?

DM: Yeah, 'cause I actually learned how to- I had a little shot. So, I actually enjoyed it and stuff like that. I wasn't better than my brothers, but, I was better than a lot of people I was playing with. So, at the same tim, it was enjoyable, but, you know, at a certain amount of time you do that every day, it get boring and then started smoking weed. And I used to get stupid thoughts. So, once I got some weed, I used to have stupid thoughts. And just blame it on weed, like, I was high. I didn't know that was me.

KD: Just out of curiosity, were you a - you said you had a shot so were you on the wing, were you a point guard.

DM: Yeah. I wasn't- I was a fat point guard. I'm serious, I'm serious. I was a big, fat dude. Like, I used to weigh 298. I used to weigh 298. That's why, like, when my brothers would see me when I came home and was like, “Nah, you don't look the same: I said there's nothing else you could really do in there but work out. It wasn't no way, you when you in there, it was no way you were getting out unless you a snitch.

Like it was no way. Like it was a time where, like, I need to get out of jail, but the only way was to get out of jail was all negative way. Either get somebody else jammed up or you whined up being like a jail snitch and stuff like that, unless you had a loophole in your case. So- and I didn't have a loophole in my case. I was caught dead to right. I was caught dead to right. Matter of fact, I wasn't caught dead to right, I was actually told on by somebody asked me, “did I tell on them?” So when I got locked up they asked me “are you such and such, such and such?” Well, how you know my Facebook?

And there's only one person that really know my Facebook, the person I was with, that person that got away. And, to keep it real with you, he didn't get away because if you got away, you would never have to tell.

At the end of day, it come with the repercussions. Cause that's what a lot of people got to realize. That come with the repercussions. Like don't always think that you're not going to get caught. It's somebody that's going to jam you up and get you caught. So, to me, I tell people, just hustle with legal jobs.

You want to hustle, hustle with legal jobs. You get a job in the morning time that you get out at a certain time. Two hours after that, you get ready for your other job. That's how I look at it. But no matter, you going to jail.

KD: Is there something that stands out from your experience from being incarcerated that you feel encapsulates your time there?

DM: Besides learning like certain stuff I didn't learn and working out, losing weight, and stuff like that- not really. Like, you have programs during the day that used to keep you out of trouble and not away from the negativity keeping us in jail. So it was always. Jail is all negative. It's no- people will tell you, “Oh, this was a good part of jail or this was the good part of jail.” It’s really not.

Jail is not good, period. Like, you doing time. Especially, you going upstate, we got COs calling us monkeys. That’s racists. It's legally slavery, like, literally. Literally, like, See how we work for like 15 hours? 16 hours out here. We're working for $0.14. $0.07.

That’s not- and you not going to see nothing in commissary- so you're going to be hungry. I feel like it's designed for people that’s in the street.

KD: Just speaking of that, was there a moment while you were in there that you feel like speaks to that a little bit more or like a specific moment?

DM: Yeah, the racism, it is really racist in there. And like you got COs that call you baby monkeys, baby gorillas. Like, they say, mad racist sh*t like they just used to say back in the day. Like, for Halloween, I was in my cell, I was working out., and the CO came by and he was like “You don't even have to tell me what you’re going to be for Halloween. I know what you’re going to be.” I just looking at him like, “how the f*ck we going to be anything, we in jail?” And he was like, “yeah, you're going to be a baby monkey, a baby gorilla.” That's racist. That's racist.

And the crazy part is you can't do nothin'. You gotta grievance them, you can't do nothing. Because they gonna tell you, you're a ward to the state. They, they do mad like funny stuff that you are not going to agree with as a Black person. So, it's like everything in there is a reaction. Like if they get a reaction out of you, they gonna mess with you every time. Every time.

So instead of doing that, and then once you start putting your pen game down, they pull you out in grievances and beat the sh*t out you. So it's not like you gon' get- it’s not like, alright this officer is bothering me, I'm writing this because I need a paper trail so just in case something happen to me. Something will happen to you the next hour once you put that grievance out.

Once you put that grievance out on them, whatever or whatever it says they going to beat the sh*t out [of] you. I got the sh*t beating out of me plenty of time. My back is messed up to this day. Like seriously

KD: Were, so were majority of the COs, not non-black people?

DM: That's Rikers Island. That’s Rikers Island. It's more Blacks than it is.

Upstate, its white, its white hillbilly people. Not to sound racist or nothing like that. But it’s white people that they grew up racist. Like, you can tell, they grew up racist. They don't know you from a hole in the wall, but you ‘bout to tell me who I am. Dude 'bout to tell me who I am. You're going to call me a wild animal. That got something to do with race. So, yeah they were racist. They were racist.

And it was like you couldn't really beat them, though. Like, even if, you knew, you could beat the sh*t out of the CO, you was getting a new charge. Like, even when they put their hands on you and you fight them back, they have filed, they made it so unfair in jail that once they filed charges of what you did, no matter what you say or proof you got, you's getting committed of that crime.

You were getting committed of it.

And of course they didn't care if you have wounds on your body to show like they really was beating the sh*t out of you- And the only thing I could think about is defending myself. They don't care about them- I swear to God they don't care about that.

KD: And you talked about, you know, you even still have back pain from and back issues from-

DM: Yes, Yeah I still do to this day. But when you getting beat with the metal batons and stuff like that in jail. That will do it for you. I had, I had like my back was messed up for like a whole month. Like a whole month. I couldn't move, I couldn't get out of the bed, no nothing. I couldn't move. I can't get back to bed. They had to send me to Albany Meds, my brothers and sisters didn't know what was going on. Like to this day, my brothers say, like if I bring it up, like, if I bring up my experience in jail or how stuff went about in jail, they not gonna believe it.

KD: If you were to share that with them, they probably wouldn't believe you because it's so bizarre. But were they your support system or what was your support system while you were serving?

DM: Out of sight, out of mind. All I'mma say, is out of sight. The only one that I can say is Rakim. Rakim was sending me letters, he was make sure the phone was on, making sure I was okay. Oh, my brother Rocky used to send me money and stuff like that, but, when you're in jail, it's not you don't really get supporters unless you got a lover lover that she know for a fact that she love you, you love her. She's going to come and see you and stuff like that. But I wouldn't tell nobody to make they lover come and see them in jail because it's the stuff a female go through trying to see they man that's disrespectful.

Got COs on there that be lying on people. Like, “yo he was just here with a whole ‘nother of a female. He had a visit yesterday.” It's a lot of corrupted sh*t in here. Like it's a lot of corrupted stuff in there to the point where you like, “wow that's crazy. Like, Wow, that's crazy.”

Yeah, my two brothers was there. My sisters are right here and there. But I feel like out of sight, out of mind. Ain't nobody going to really gonna remember you. Even though you they little brother. I'm the baby. So. I'm a baby out of six.

So, all through it, I just felt like people out here getting their lives together. They not gonna remember what- they remembered that they need to help you every week. They don't even need to remember you. They don't even need the help. You put yourself- I put myself in jail. So, it's a lot time before l used to [go], “you know what f*ck them. When I come home, I'm going to sh*t on them.” And there's times, like, bro they aint nothing to you. They your brothers and sisters, just like my brother had to do time or whatever the case is. It was my time to do the time that I was out here doing make f*cked up decisions.

So, there was time like I blamed them. If I really did blame them, I wouldn't be here talking to you right now. Because I wouldn't want to be around- I'm like. I don't like. I'm funnystyle. I don't like being around certain people. I feel like I don't even like you around, or I don't like your energy. I'm not gonna want to be dealing with you, at all.

KD: Was there a special person or hobby or passion that served as a source of strength for you while you were there?

DM: No. No. I was engaged when I went to jail. I was engaged when I went to jail. Everybody thought it was crazy because we had puppy love. Like, we proposed to each other with a ring- ring pop. Proposed to each other with a ring popping. And I wound up getting to her promise ring. But, you know, the crazy part is, I still worship that woman to this day, but it would never be. It would never be. She liked the bad part of me. Now, n*ggas grew up. And it would never be.

KD: Was there anything else that supported you? Did you have like a hobby or something that you did to pass the time?

DM: I used to work out. Use to work out. I used to like to eat. I used to make honey- peanut butter honey bun sandwiches. Like, a peanut butter and jelly honey bun sandwich. Basically, you put peanut butter on one side. It's a jelly on the other honey bun, and put it together, eat it.

Or we used to call or we used to make like I used to make like. Like, I take like all snacks from the week, make a pie, and stuff like that. That's like- that's really about it.

Other than that, I just like, really get ready to shot at start coming home. But I didn't ever really focus on that too much due to the fact that I knew I was around people that had life. Had life in jail, like I messed up when I stabbed a dude up. They sent me behind a wall. So, once you go behind a wall, you see every, like, you see everything you see all ,all the crazy sh*t that you hear about. You will see it. Because I was going to [the] worse jails, I was in Attica, Clinton, Comstock, which is called great metal, like Comstock. I was in Elmira, Alburn.

KD: Oh, okay. So they moved around a lot?

DM: Yeah, I got moved around a lot and everything. So it was like- I had anger issues. I wasn't trying to hear nobody. Everybody thought I was a gangbanger ‘cause I was always in a box. But I really wasn't. I just don't like. I just don't like bullsh*t. I don't like bullsh*t. I have it as I took it as how I went about it. That's why I didn’t come home for a little minute.

KD: Did you make any friends or meet any special people while you were there?

DM: My favorite friends, my, my uhm boy Ty. We've been friends since jail. It's crazy you said that.

KD: Is he out now? Or is he still there?

DM: Yeah, yeah. He out. He out. He done had like two kids. I had one kid. So now, we fathers working and trying to get it together. That's how I look at it.

KD: Maybe- are there any specific moments that stick out from you- for you when you were with Ty?

DM: Ty used to keep me calm a lot. I ready- I was always willing and ready to run in somebody's mouth. Or, I always look for a reason to cut this person or do this to this person. And he used to tell me, “why you, why you act like that? You have family that love you and everything.” And I used to tell him, like, “Do not, do not, You do not walk in the path that I’m walking in. So, you don't know what's going on. You don't know why I'm thinking about cutting this person or why I want to stab this person. Or why I want to beat the sh*t out of this dude. Because at the end of the day, it's like mad spiteful things in jail.”

But what I had to realize was people will do that to you when they notice you going home. So they try to take- like my date was always taken away. Because like to me, I didn't care if you want to take my date away, there's whole point that you really think, I'm a b*tch ass dude and you could just run a scam over me because I'm young and in jail, and you older and you feel like you've been here for a minute. No, that's not how it go. To me, that's not how it go.

KD: So how long has it been since you were released?

DM: 2018.

KD: And you talked a little bit about your work. Is that what you're up to now? Is there anything else going on in your life?

DM: I'm still fine. Everybody want me to do like stand up comedy, but I'm still finding myself. Because they were like, “oh, you was a funny dude.” But I understand, I'm a funny. I get that from like a mother and my father. My brothers. And, them but it's like.

I don't even know what I'm good at to keep it real with you. I don't know what I'm good at. That's why I say, here I'm just finding myself. You know, I'm finding what I like. I'm finding out- oh maybe I want to get in this department or I want to get in this department. But, everything is a time frame right now.

KD: And how do you feel about where you are in your life now?

DM: I'm not where I want to be. I'm not where I want to be. I can't complain and say I'm homeless. I'm not homeless. I have a room I stay in. I'll make a few dollars a week. I be eating healthy, well, I eat healthy now. I'm vaccinated. So another good thing. I gotta- I gotta- I finally got a bank account. You know, just the little-ist stuff to like. So, like, I got this out the way I accomplished this, I accomplished this. I'm just waiting for a REAL job.

I will be so much better. A real job would be so much better. It’s not me being greedy or having a couple of hours a week, but it's the whole fact that, I don't like this. Like- I don't like, feeling broke. I always need. I always, I'm always a person that want to have money in his pocket. Like, I don't know. It's- it is different from like how I used to go about a lifestyle to now. Like my lifestyle before I was, I used to always have the syles, which I get money. Always going to get money, but it's like now. I'm just sticking to it because. The sun is going to shine on the other side when I get there. But it's a hassle. It's a hassle at the same time.

KD: Yeah. Yeah, I get that. You mentioned having anger issues, too. How have you been handling them now? Have you been able to address them?

DM: I've been controlling it, like- like now, I'll laugh at a person like you get me angry, I'll laugh at you and you would just think it's funny. You would just think it's funny, like, yo, he a cool dude. He didn't that no offense, if I did, I'm not talking to you again. That's just how I am. So it's like, I did take an offensive, but if I took an offense like how I used to take it an offensive way, I don't think I'll be sitting here talking to you. Because it’s the way how the world is shaped. Everything is cameras out now. So even if he didn't press charges, you still going to jail? Because the state is going to pick it up.

So. Why sit there? And go to through that, when, Imma just, why sit there and go through that, instead of me like going through that. I just laugh at a person be like. And then a person they'll say something for you like, like for you to get fidgety, and try to do something to them. But it makes no sense for it. ‘Cause I'm going to look at them. My favorite line now, “well you can't beat me. I know that.” You can't beat me, or whatever the case is in life. And I don't care what you're doing because I'm on the right track.

A lot of people- I noticed that- I said that to a person the other day, where they could usually say something to me to get me out of my skin, to see the bad side of me. But it's like, I don't let it get to me no more. I don't let it get to me no more. ’Cause I feel like, they be more madder when they see like, me mad calm, like, “yeah, I know how they get you out your skin.”

“No you don't. You don't.” And the crazy part, I learned it while being here. “Cause there's a lot of stuff you gonna disagree with. And there's a lot of stuff we disagree with, and there's a lot of stuff in life we won't disagree with. It's how you go about. To me. It's how you go about it.

KD: So thinking about what we've talked about today, what does joy or happiness look like to you?

DM: Happiness is like having a happy soul. It's like, I just want to live happy. I just want to be happy. But if I'm with a person that I say, “oh, I'm happy with them,” I'm supposed to have a happy soul and a life and all for basically her. But that don't be- that ain’t my situation right now. So, right now I'm not saying I'm sad, but at the same time, I'm not happy with a lot of stuff that's going on in my life. So for me to be happy, I got to readjust things and make sure I handle this. I handle that. Or handle this.

Because at the end of day, you not going to be happy. I'm not going to be happy. If you happy with waking up. I'm happy with waking up, coming to the job every day. I'm happy with me living in my Black skin and knowing who I am every day. I'm happy with- that I make a few dollars a week, but I'm not happy with a person. I'm not happy with a person.

And it's like for you to get there, I need [an] apartment, a real job, apartment. I know how to drive. So my license, like stuff, you know, you got to do for you, not for to make the next person happy is something I do for you- Everybody know this, for you to be happy- for you to be happy with somebody you got to make yourself happy first. And that's just how I looked at it and I'm not going to be happy until I got those things. So I know I got a full apartment to go home to.

That I know I don't have to worry about transportation, or me going broke by the end of the day. So, certain stuff like that. I'm happy with like living comfortable. I can live comfortable with a good job that's actually paying me stable. Like pay me stable, not no $500 every two weeks, not $600 every two weeks. $800 to $1,000 every two weeks. I'm cool with that, because I can budget and I can also open up a savings account, and put probably like $100 to $200 a week- and even though it’s going to hurt, and I got to put that in savings. I'm still going to do it. I have a one year old son, I call him my twin, cause he actually looked like my- my twin. So, other than that. Long as my son happy. I'm happy.

KD: So does happiness look like to you having those stable relationships and having the financial stability?

DM: For me to be happy? I have this spending habit. I love sneakers and hats. So, I would like- instead of if you want a person that is going to be happy- being happy is like, I'll work for my money. I pay my rent. You will be happy to pay it. Like, I will be so happy to pay rent and be broke by tonight. I will be so happy because I know I have a place. I know I'm taking care of responsibilities. I know I'm doing this. I know I’m doing that. I'm doing everything to make sure that me and my son is good.

So, it's like, to me that's being happy. Because it's like, if you're not doing the priorities, or responsibilities and you got values in life and stuff like that, what are you happy about? Just look at rich people. They happy ‘cause they rich. They happy ‘cause they rich. And they've been building their credit for years.

So it be like, to me it’s like, happiness is working for my own money. Knowing I have a place to go to at night. Knowing I can get in this car or this uber and not really worry about the funds. Knowing that I could get a car and drive it, cause I know how to drive. So, knowing I could get in a car and just drive away. Like just drive away, and everything like that. So it's like to me that's, that's happiness.

If you talking about with a female, you better be happy with yourself first. You got to be happy with yourself first. So you, you don't got so much hatred in your heart and your energy, that when you do meet somebody like, “yo why are you so angry? Like, what's wrong?” That's how I look at people. Like I see, somebody angry “yo, Something tragic must have happened to you.” That's how I think.

KD: Is there something you wish people would know about you?

DM: I'm a funny dude. I'm funny, dude. And I just like to enjoy myself. Like, I don't- like if you looked angry you would tell me, “alright I would need to stop joking and answer these questions.” I can't stand a[n] angry person around me. I just can't. I would say the most off the wall sh*t for you to laugh. You like “Yo, you just made my day.” That's just who I am.

Like, if I wouldn't even have to know you, I see you on the street looking angry, “pick your face up, why you so angry for?” and I say a joke. That's just not, I'm just not like, I have anger problems- but I won't let somebody see me angry. Like, where they feel like,” yeah, something's wrong with him such and such.” Like it's not too long I'm gonna be angry for, I might be angry, like if I'm dealing with it, like if I had another half and stuff like that, I'd be angry with something we got going on. But I'm not going to be angry for too long.

The Lion

Kathryn Destin — Wed, 21 Feb 2024 02:00:25 GMT

I’m happy with waking up and coming to the job every day. I’m happy with me living in my Black skin and knowing who I am every day.
~Dwayne McCord

This interview was conducted in March 2022. You can listen to the entire conversation between Kathryn and Dwayne, including the transcript, here.

Content Warning: Explicit Language, Physical Assault, Racism, Verbal Abuse

There’s so much to be said about the tender age of 17. You’re definitely still a teenager, but in many ways, you’re unrecognizable from who you were when you first became one at 13. At 17, you think you know everything and that you’ll have the whole “adulthood” thing in the bag once 18 rolls around. But that couldn’t be further from the truth; because at 17, you’re still a child figuring out the world, with eight more years before your prefrontal cortex will fully develop. In “normal” circumstances, you’re in high school, under the care of an adult guardian, and possess the metabolism of a Greek god you’ll yearn for come your 30th birthday. All of the “big and important” things you can fathom at that age are happening—prom, graduation, and college/life after high school. In the case of now late twenty-something Brooklyn native Rameen “Dwayne” McCord (he/him), those celebrations and transitions were right around the corner until he was arrested for attempted robbery and third-degree robbery two months shy of his graduation.

The youngest of six, the self-identified “baby of the family,” Dwayne was tried and convicted as an adult in New York at 17 years old. He was ordered to serve six years but would be given more time after getting into an altercation during his incarceration. Thus, Dwayne dealt with the growing pains of being in your late teens and early twenties from behind bars.

Before being incarcerated, Dwayne was in high school and kept himself occupied by participating in after-school programs and working. He was a member of Big Brother’s Safe in My Brother’s Arms (SIMBA) program and was set to be one of the top ten students for New York’s Vocational Rehabilitation Services for High School Students (VESID) program. He was a point guard on his school’s basketball team and was connected to the Parks Department to work for a stipend.

After some time of having access to these opportunities, Dwayne revealed that it started to get to his head. No one could tell him anything. He had his own money, the prospect of college, and, thanks to his mom, an array of Jordans to boost his confidence. Dwayne partly ascribed those sides of him to his being a Leo, the fiery lion of the 12 Greek zodiac signs. He described Leos as self-assured and headstrong people who don’t regularly take well to being told what to do. Although those descriptors can come off as giving Leos a bad rep, these lions are also understood to be highly loyal and protective. When you get to know his story, you can also see those characteristics in Dwayne as he went above and beyond to support his friends. But unfortunately, his loyalty didn’t manifest in the best way back when he was 17.

I never really need to rob people because my mother always made sure we was good. But I also have friends I always used to look out for…I’m not gon’ say we was healthy with money, but I didn’t really need [to rob]. I was a baby, I had all the Jordans and stuff like that. So, a lot of my friends would be mad. And I used to tell them, ‘let’s go rob somebody for they sh*t.’ And they used to think about it like [and say], ‘why would you think about it like that? Your mom just bought you sneakers.’ [But I’d say,] ‘alright, you my mans, so we might as well think of a way to come up.’

Dwayne’s perception of loyalty to his friends was costly. He identified himself as being a “bad kid” who “bothered people” and had “stupid thoughts,” especially after smoking weed. By 2012, his loyalty had caught up to him. He was arrested while trying to "help" a friend. But, little did he know, his friend snitched on him in the end.

So at the end of the day, it comes with the repercussions. That’s what a lot of people got to realize. Don’t always think that you’re not going to get caught. It’s somebody that’s going to jam you up, and [you] get caught. I tell people just hustle with legal jobs […] Get you a job in the morning time. Then you get out at a certain time. Two hours after that, you get ready for your other job. That’s how I look at it.
Jail is just all negative. It’s all negative…People will tell you, ‘oh, this is the good part of jail, or this was the good part of jail.’ It’s really not. Jail was not good. Period. You’re doing time, especially if you’re going upstate.

One of the most glaring and intolerable realities of his time in prison was the next-to-none wages Dwayne and his fellow inmates received for their work. This fact might not surprise those aware of the exception in the Thirteenth Amendment that permits slavery and involuntary servitude as a punishment for a crime: the basis for the horrors of the American carceral system. Nevertheless, the statistical facts and the stories about the conditions of incarceration are always disconcerting. According to a study posted by the Prison Policy Initiative (PPI) in 2021, New York prison inmates estimated they needed a minimum of $175 a month to get by. This minimum permits them to purchase just enough commissary food to supplement the notoriously subpar meals provided by the facility and other essentials (i.e., clothes, personal care products, and family phone calls). Additionally, being able to afford these essential expenditures is made virtually impossible for inmates due to the deplorable in-prison employment wages.

The same PPI study found that inmates reportedly earned less than $0.25 an hour on average, equating to roughly $31 a month. Thus, the only way achieving the necessary $175 a month became close to possible was through receiving extra support from loved ones to bolster their finances. Sadly, not all inmates have this additional support from friends and family.

As a result, there has been a push amongst those who want prison reform to raise the minimum wage for New York prisoners. Recently, Senate Bill S287 sponsored by NY Senator Zellnor Myrie was introduced to raise the minimum wage for inmates to be $3.00 "in order to end the last vestiges of slavery and embrace the spirit and promise of the Thirteen Amendment of the United States Constitution.” (I’m not sure how a $3 minimum wage will be the final blow to the remnants of American slavery when other human rights violations are still committed in the carceral system...but okay.)

[Prison] It’s legally slavery. Like literally. See how we work for like 15 hours, 16 hours? We’re working for $0.14. $0.07. That’s not [enough]...you’re not seeing nothing. So you’re going to be hungry.

When I asked Dwayne if he had a support system to help him combat these paltry conditions, he sarcastically smiled, pushed his hands away from himself, and immediately responded:

Out of sight. Out of mind. All I’mma say is: out of sight. The only one that I can say is Rakim. Rakim was sending me letters. He was making sure the phone was on, making sure I was okay. My brother Rakim used to send me money and stuff like that. But, when you’re in jail, you don’t really get supporters unless you got a lover [...] I just feel like people out here getting their lives together. They’re not going to remember that they need to help you every week. They don’t even need to remember you. They don’t even need to help you every week. You put yourself- I put myself in jail [...] It was my time to do my time. I was out here making f*cked up decisions.

Throughout the conversation, Dwayne displayed a sense of accountability for the actions that led to his incarceration. However, it didn’t make hearing his stories from prison any less upsetting. Right near the beginning of his bid, his mother passed away, and he had to process it under devastating conditions. While comparing his experience in prison to that of slavery, he also discussed the exuberant racism perpetuated by corrections officers. By this point, Dwayne wasn’t the first person I interviewed who acknowledged how much more exaggerated the racism is in the facilities located in rural, predominately white New York communities. Ask any native POC New Yorker who has experienced both the cities and the surrounding communities, and they’ll tell you that while “blue” New York state is famous for being “liberal,” “woke,” and “diverse,” the racism is still there and is insidious.

Dwayne mentioned corrections officers referring to inmates as wild animals, monkeys, and baby gorillas on several occasions.

They’d just say mad racist sh*t they used to say back in the day. Like, for Halloween, I was in my cell, [and] I was working out. And the C.O. came by, he was like, ‘you don’t even gotta tell me. I know what you gonna be for Halloween.’ I just looked at him [thinking], ‘how the f*ck we going to be anything? We in jail.’ And he was like, ‘you gon’ be a baby monkey. A baby gorilla.’ That’s racist. That’s racist. And the crazy part is you can’t do nothing. You gotta grievance them. You can’t do nothing to them [...] They gon’ do mad funny stuff that you’re not going to agree with as a Black person.

The most frustrating part of it all was the lack of power he had in the situation. Although Dwayne had the right and access to file grievances against the officers for their racial prejudice, creating a paper trail worked against him. Officers often beat him up for ratting them out. He was especially frustrated when he knew he could defend himself by fighting back but couldn’t because it would result in him getting a new charge and conviction that would prolong his time in this abusive situation. To this day, Dwayne still deals with back issues.

“When you getting beat with metal batons and stuff like that in jail, that will do it for you. My back was messed up for like a whole month. Like a whole month. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get out of bed. No nothing. I couldn’t move. I can’t get back to bed. They had to send me to Albany Meds.”

Through retelling stories like this one, just how young Dwayne was when he was incarcerated came up time and time again. Although this may seem trivial to many, he started talking about the concoctions he would make with the commissary food he had about halfway through our conversation. “I used to like to eat,” he prefaced. On some occasions, he’d stockpile snacks over a week to create pies to stretch out what he had. He also described slathering peanut butter on one honeybun and jelly on another before combining them to eat a “PB&J honeybun sandwich.” His eyes lit up, and he cracked a smile as he described the process both with his words and with hands that mimicked the motion of sandwiching the two halves. Although his creativity mostly came from a place of scarcity, the fondness he had for those brief moments of youthful creation through food was still there.

Dwayne’s story of those more cherished moments was quickly stunted by sharing his experience behind the wall with lifers in the “worst prisons,” including Attica, Clinton, Comstock, Elmira, and Auburn. The smile went away, and the excited pitch in his voice dissipated. He recognized his poor anger management was a factor in his moving around. To many people, including Dwayne, these were just consequences he had to face, but I couldn’t overlook how much “messing up” at such a young age cost him. He was not afforded the luxury of being a young person “figuring themselves out” or simply “not knowing any better.”

But in that darkness eventually came light. Dwayne let down his anti-social, angry exterior to begin making friends. During that time, he met Ty, with whom he is still friends, back when he struggled with managing these anger issues. Ty helped Dwayne calm down when he lacked anger control and wanted to act out. He would remind Dwayne of the loving family that awaited him, and that his return was contingent on staying out of trouble. In due time, Dwayne started to recognize that the people who provoked him were purposely baiting him to ruin his chances of leaving. He learned he was much better off not feeding into their taunts because, in the end, he would be the one facing the consequences.

Dwayne was finally released in 2018. Since then, he has established a new trajectory for his life. He has a one-year-old son he calls his twin because they look so alike. Joy for him is stability so he can provide his son and his family with a home and comfortable lifestyle. He hopes to have more steady work soon but has a newfound appreciation and perspective on earning money. Yes, the love for Jordans is still there, but he now knows that his responsibilities to his loved ones come first. Overall, Dwayne wants to be independent because that equates to happiness for him.

Practicing his anger management skills has worked well for him. Today, being around angry people makes him uncomfortable and pushes him to make sure he’s around those who possess the same or more emotional control he has. He channels his emotions through comedy and laughter, radiating the positivity he was denied during his years in prison.

I'm happy with waking up and coming to the job every day. I'm happy with me living in my Black skin and knowing who I am every day [...] I just like to enjoy myself […] I can’t stand an angry person around me. I just can’t. I would say the most off-the-wall sh*t for you to laugh [and say] ‘yo, you just made my day.’ That’s just who I am.

Dwayne is confident the future ahead of him is bright and that it will have the love and security he didn't have in prison. Most importantly, he prioritizes building himself back up to become more comfortable in who he is and enjoy what life has in store.

The Giver (Audio)

Kathryn Destin — Thu, 15 Feb 2024 23:18:10 GMT

My whole goal is to give back. I want to give back to the Black and Brown communities ‘cause a lot of people is messed up out here. I ain’t rich, but I’m alright. I’m living comfortable […] To see my people being thankful, and just me being me, and people coming out to show love and support, you know, that meant a lot to me.
~Rakim Covington

This interview was conducted in March of 2022. You can read the feature article first published in June 2022 on Rakim Covington here. (Apologies for the audio quality! This interview was recorded well before I knew about the recording tools I utilize now and was edited as best as possible. If you have any listening issues, feel free reference the transcript.)

Content Warning: Drug Use, Death/Dying/Grief, Explicit Language, Physical Assault, Self-Harm/Suicide, Verbal Abuse

KD: So could you go ahead and introduce yourself, your name? Where are you from and what you do?

RC: My name is Rakim Covington from Brooklyn, BedStuy. I'm a Field Coordinator with the Center for Nuleadership on Human Justice and Healing.

KD: Thank you. Could you share how long you were incarcerated for and you're welcome to share what you were incarcerated for.

RC: I was incarcerated for five years and I had grand larceny and attempted robbery.

KD: Could you share what you were like before you were incarcerated?

RC: I mean, I was an innocent, shy kid, honestly. But I had two sides- like, you know I was shy, but then when I was in the streets, I wasn't too shy but I was a mama's boy and things of that nature.

KD: Are you still momma's boy now?

RC: Yea, even though she's no longer here. I still think about her.

KD: Do you feel like that? How did that manifest-? I'm just curious, how did that manifest for you? Was it, you know, always looking out for her or taking after her?

RC: Yeah, I did take after her because she used to take care of everybody. So now in turn, I take care like a lot of my siblings, you know, they come to me for everything. So it's like momma all over again.

KD: What brought you joy then before you were incarcerated?

RC: What brought me joy? I got incarcerated at a young age. So, it could have been Pokémon. It could have been wrestling. It could have been many things. I got locked up when I was 17, so I was still young.

KD: Were- so I'm curious, were you put in the juvenile center were you put in-

RC: No, I was on Rikers Island. They ain't really care about that. They ain't really care about that. They charged me as an adult. Once they charge you as an adult, at that time at this point- you just- this is back in '05 '06. There was putting you on Rikers Island like, oh, like late '06- 2007. That's when I was doing the whole juvenile back and forth thing. But Juvenile typically started at like 16. So.

KD: So did you know beforehand you were going to be tried as an adult or was that sort of a surprise?

RC: Nah, that sh*t came- back, that came later because they gave me probation, and I violated [the] probation case. You know what I mean? So it was like, ok, yeah, we charge him as an adult now. I had a youthful defender for one of my cases, but for the other cases I didn't, I got charged as an adult.

KD: Oh, and then you brought up Pokémon. I'm curious, where are your siblings into that, too?

RC: Yeah, cause I got a brother of me and him is a year apart, so we used to do the Pokémon thing and then I got a little brother we six years apart. So when I was into Pokémon, when I got out of my Pokémon stage, he was just getting there.

KD: What was the other thing you mentioned again, it was Pokémon and?

RC: I forgot what I was saying. It was- oh wrestling, wrestling, wrestling, yea.

KD: Wrestling! Who was your favorite wrestler?

RC: Stone Cold. He still is to this day. I still watch wrestling to this day, and even though people say it's fake and- but, you know, the injuries be real, that's what I be trying to tell people. It's fake to an extent they really do certain moves.

KD: It's fake, but it's like people get hurt.

RC: That's why they call it entertainment. It's- they get hurt for our entertainment. You gotta think about it.

KD: This is just funny because I used to watch wrestling with my dad a lot and that was when I was really young, and then my parents had to have me stop watching it because they said I started doing the moves on the kids at school. *laughs*

RC: *laughs* I think that I was a wrestler cause my brother's one year older. I hit him with a steel chair thinking it was like, not steel, you know what I mean? So I'm like, oh man.

KD: Oh no, I know he got mad at you.

RC: Yeah, of course, I got in trouble for that one, yeah.

KD: Is there something specific that stands out from your experience from being incarcerated that you feel encapsulates your time there?

RC: While [I] was there or now?

KD: While you were there.

RC: I used to read a lot. But I was the inmate that got into a lot of trouble too, though. You know what I mean? Around that time I was - when I got locked up I was into gangs. So you know being incarcerated, is you still doing gang stuff. I lost my date- technically I was only supposed to do a one and a third to four, but I got into something on Rikers Island and that changed my one and a third to four and that ran that into a two and half to five, so I wind up doing the whole back end of it because I lost my date twice.

KD: Did you feel like you had a support system while you were incarcerated?

RC: At that time I was naive, and say yeah, but not so much. I mean my best friend, he held me down like my whole time but my family was in and out on the bid, you know what I mean? You know, life happens, you feel me? A lot of people don’t understand in them situations like, did I blame them? No. Did I feel regretful? Yeah. But as I got older it's not really their fault I’m in here. And it's serious, when you do time your family do time with you so.

KD: I think that’s a good point, that’s a good point- family does time with you. You talked about your best friend. What was your best friend like then? How did your best friend support you?

RC: He used to write me. Send me a little money here and there. If I needed a package he would send me a package. My family would send me packages too but my mother just said like “every time I’m gonna send you a package, you in a different jail” you feel me? So, it was just like I was bouncing around because I had mad tickets. In prison once you get over 45 days, they send you to another jail. You gotta have 44 days and under. 45- you can have 45 but anything over 45 days, they send you to a new jail.

KD: Is that what it's like for everyone or is that your case?

RC: Oh no, that’s for everybody. I think a lot of the rules changed now cause I ain’t step back in there in 10/11 years, you feel me? So, I know things changed but yeah that was the most part for that right there.

KD: What were the- if you don’t mind me asking- what did they send you in the packages?

RC: At that time I was smoking Black & Milds, Swiss rolls, sometimes they used to send me soap, but I had to tell them don’t send me soap because when you send out the package the soap is just sitting in the package and then when it gets to the package room it's just sitting there a couple of hours, so after I got my cakes and stuff, it used to taste like Irish Spring, you know what I mean?

KD: Noo.

RC: Like yo what the hell? But it used to be like I got tuna fish, different type of cakes and stuff like that.

KD: You mentioned reading, so was that your passion or a hobby that you did to pass time?

RC: Yeah, I used to read. I read like- in a 5 year span I read over 500 books.

KD: Oh, that’s a lot of books. Do you remember what you read? What were some of the things that you read?

RC: The first book I ever picked up was The Coldest Winter Ever, Dutch, Deadly Reigns, Be More Careful. Uh there were a couple more books. I read something like 48 Laws of Power, stuff like that.

KD: I don’t know if you got to read that one, but did you read Pimp by Iceberg Slim- uh what is it again?

RC: Oh, yeah. I read Pimp, I read Ice Cream for Freaks. The author came- at this time, the author came to Rikers Island and we were going to the Sprungs for school. We all got the books signed- signature. We ain’t really know who the person was, but years later when he got out there it was like “oh snap, that’s the dude that signed my book”. You know what I mean? So, yeah.

KD: Well, did you have a favorite book?

RC: I had a favorite author of a book which was Vickie Stringer and I came to find out she was- did she write that book?- I don’t think she did. I don’t think she wrote that book, I forgot who the author of that book was, but Dutch was a good book. That was one of my favorite books. Dutch and Deadly Reigns because it was in the cartel. It was just so much action. I think she is the au- I think she is the author of that book.

Oh it’s Terri Woods, I’m sorry.

KD: Oh

RC: Terri Woods, yeah

KD: Okay. And so was reading or something else what served as your source of strength during that time?

RC: Reading, work out here and there. I played a lot of basketball when I was in prison.

KD: What was your position?

RC: I was- I don’t even know. I still play basketball to this day so I’m more of like a power forward and I can play center.

KD: That’s what I did when I was playing basketball.

RC: Yeah, that’s where you get all the action, that right there.

KD: You get all the action and the bruises.

RC: Yeah

KD: And your family. How were they dealing with it and supporting you in that time?

RC: As I heard, it was hard on my moms, cause I’m one of, like, the baby boys and just the fact that I was always quiet, you know what I mean? And I was just quiet and I had a little savage stuff- and then it’s like- I never complained about being in prison like I always adapted to it so I think that probably was a scary turning point for her like “Damn my son is like- he’s just like- it’s like almost like a compatibility”. You feel me? Like- I really like- I’m in jail what more can I do? Complain? I can’t- you- once you get sentenced like it’s not like you go to jail and [say] judge, “I learned my lesson” you have to do whatever time they set forth in front of you. So, it was that- and then I always looked at it like, you know, when I came up in downstate I was with lifers. They ain’t never coming home. So, it’s just like it kinda gave me like a- it eased me a little bit like people going through worse sh*t than me.

KD: I wanna talk about that more if that’s fine.

KD: Yeah.

KD: When you were downstate you said you were with lifers, what was that experience like?

RC: It wasn't scary. It was just like, I'm sitting there mad at the world over with a little punk ass five years, and he got natural life. He got twenty-five to life. I still got some comrades who got time. Like, one of my bros been down since 1993, so I still write him. I still make sure he got commissary. I put the phone on and then another one of my little homies, well, not my little homie but someone I call my peoples. He been down since I grew accustomed to like him. He been down since 1975.

I had a[n] epiphany when I was in there, though. Like, I used to play ball with this old timer and he had an 86 number and I’m like, damn, next year and I would be one years old.

And I'm like, yo, this your first bid?
He like, “nah this my third bid”. He said, “I'm a persistent.”
At that time, I didn't know what that was. So I'm like, “what? What is a persistent?”
He say, “that's when you- that’s the three strike rule, and you get from anywhere from six to life.” He said, “I got sentenced to six to life and I've been down since ‘86.”

And around this time, it had to be about 2008. Either 2008 or 2009. Blue, no blue was in a midstate. It was 2009. Yes, it was like wow, I never knew what a predicate felon was or persistent.

KD: What are your thoughts on this system with the three strikes rule and being put with lifers?

RC: I mean, I'm thinking it depends on the crime. That's one. But like it was like certain crimes, I feel like if you serve the minimal, and this all this is like majority crimes, like murders and all that. I get that, you know, people want to see them suffer, but I feel, I feel like, after 20 years, just let a person go. Like, he gave you two decades. You feel me? It’s like, one day is enough, in prison, you feel me? Then like 20 years? Like- so it’s just like, damn. But you know-

And I used to read a lot of the pro se’s, the pro se’s helped a lot of dudes not me per se, but it gave me a lane to try to get a time cut. But it didn't work, but it was worth all the risk. You feel what I’m saying? So they got a book come out every month called Pro Se, but now in prison, they got tablets. When I was in prison there was no tablets, you had to, you had to write letters, you feel me? So the Pro se that's, that's what I put in for time cut off my bid. You know what I mean? But it was worth it. But by the time I started getting like some good news, I was on my way out the door. So that made no sense you feel me?

KD: I see. I see. I was just talking to someone about a month ago and he just got out in October and he was talking about having tablets and how I was just thinking, you know, not that long ago, people didn't have access to those resources.

RC: We didn’t have no tablets. We had to write ‘till your fingers hurt. And in the box we used to get these pens like this big but they was rubbery and after a while they started hurting your hand so you had to put tissue around it to make it softer. It was so much.

KD: So you and you talked about reading, too, how else did you pass the time? Since you didn't have those electronics.

RC: Reading. I read a lot. I read a lot. I would just chop it up with people and, um, playing basketball is how I would- And then also go to your programming, upstate is like a lot of programs is mandatory, so you gotta do your programming.

KD: What do you think was one of your lowest moments while you were serving?

RC: My lowest moments was, when I had to do like 18 months in the box and, um, when, my aunt, my aunt had died- my lowest moment was when my stepfather died, when I first got out there. No one wanted to tell me. You know what I mean? That was like a big secret. So when he died, it was like damn. Then my aunt died right before I came home, and that was just my low moment like- I just felt like if he held on a little bit more at least, if you were gonna pass away let me be in the streets. You know what I mean? But the streets- when I got to the streets I started losing a lot of people.

KD: How did you push through that or process it?

RC: I mean, after I had to bury my moms, it was like no more tears, it was like it was over. Because I lost my mom and my dad 45 days apart. So it was, it was a lot and, you know, to this day sometimes I'm like, “Damn how did I make it through?”. But then I know how I made it through, like I didn't properly mourn. I just took it on the cheek and just kept it moving like, you know what I mean? Like, it was just like, sometimes like, you know, at night or if I’m going through something I think about my mom a lot, it sometimes breaks me down, but sometimes I just need to be like, grind even harder.

KD: Do you feel like because you were in prison, you didn't have the chance to grieve properly? Or do you think that's just how you were at the time or?

RC: Oh no, see she was- She passed away when I came home, so.

KD: Oh okay.

RC: That was a better grieving. It was better. Well, I grieved better home than I would normally have did in prison. In prison, I probably would have take my anger out on somebody. But my aunt yeah my aunt had me messed up to the point I beat up some kid, you know what I mean? So it's like, that's that's how I lost my date too.

KD: Were there other people- you talked about, some of the people you met while you were serving, were there friends you made or people who supported you while you were in there?

RC: I mean, when you meet friends, you know, it is always you look out for each other, you feel me? Or you come up you might see somebody familiar from the neighborhood and they put you on like, yo bro don't do this, that, and the third, bro, you feel me? Like you from- [inaudible] a lot of times in prison is segregated by gangs, religion and like, just where you’re from.

KD: Are there any moments that stick out to you from when you are incarcerated that were joyous? Maybe times you laughed a lot or smiled a lot.

RC: Nah we used to joke. I used to play pranks on people and stuff like that. So it was, I mean, it was always cool. Just once you run into somebody from your neighborhood that you had some type of history with it was just cool.

KD: And how long has it been since you were released?

RC: It’s been about -my daughter is about to be 12, so it’s been like 11 years, maybe 12 about to be 12.

KD: You talked now about your new company. Is that what you're up to now? Are there other things you're up to?

RC: Yeah, I'm with my new- Well, this company, since I've been home, I've been coming back and forth. So I've been like a volunteer to part-time to full-time employee. To the point where now I opened up my own organization in memory of my moms. So the biggest thing I did with that organization was Thanksgiving. My mother used to look out for everybody Thanksgiving. We went to our old neighbor, we fed the whole community home cooked food the day before Thanksgiving, matter of fact.

KD: What did y’all make?

RC: We made ham, pot roast, yams, macaroni and cheese. All this was like- nothing from the can. This is all like me- well I don't cook like that. But my siblings, I was the one that's making everything, my siblings did it all and I just put the money behind the stuff.

KD: How you feel about where you are in your life now?

RC: I feel great. I feel great, and I feel like I'll be wanting to do more. But I'm, I'm limited at resources, and financially to do a lot of stuff we need money, money, money. So it's like, somethings I just can't do. I just gotta- I like to just go do it and get it out the way instead of like, I don't like the “Oh I gotta fundraise” and all that. It just be a lot. You feel me? Cause people don't understand or see a vision at times.

KD: What are some of the things you're hoping to do? Is it more events like what you did in the past?

RC: I want to do a back to school drive with proper bookbags, none of that drawstring BS and school supplies. I'd like to do a toy drive. I want to make the whole Thanksgiving thing like annually. We do it once a year. I want to do something for Christmas and maybe like a barbecue like in the summer. So it's like, damn if I had like a pot of money, it would be planned out way better.

My whole goal is to give back. I wanna give back to the community of Black and Brown people. Because, like a lot of people is messed up out here. You know what I mean? I ain’t rich, but I'm all right- I'm living comfortable. But it's like, sometimes you wonder like the those are the things that a lot of people need, cause I did donations that day, too. So I donated mad clothes and it was a good event. It was a good event to a point where I said, “Yeah, I want to do this more.”

KD: And is that something that brings you joy or success?

RC: Yeah. Just to see like my people being thankful and just me being me and people coming out to show love and support. And that meant a lot to me

KD: Were those kind of events available to you when you were growing up?

RC: No, not really. No. No. No. No. I wish it was. You know what I mean? My my dream goal is to have a big rec center where kids can go back to doing after schooling, keep them off the streets, build them a gym, let them play basketball, you feed them like if a lot of kids had that- Cause you know growing up, I had some of them things, but I feel like if people had them things, a lot of kids- Cause a lot of kids don't want to be outside. They want to be doing something positive. That’s when they end up doing negative stuff.

KD: Do you feel like you were one of those kids?

RC: No. I think when I first started doing stuff, it was probably to fit in, but then when I became like a leader, it's like I couldn't stop. You know what I mean? And one of my things was, I wouldn’t never take nothing in my neighborhood, I always go outside the neighborhood and do it. So I felt like I was like, a Robin Hood, takes sh*t out the neighborhood and come back to the neighborhood and sell it. *laughs* You know what I mean? So, it was a Robin Hood, but what? For me, it was like, I got something out of it. You know what I mean?

KD: Is there anything in which people would know about - Well, one about you, and then about the justice system.

RC:I feel, I'm not thanking the justice system, but I feel like the justice system kind of saved some of my youth, because you gotta understand, I got locked up at 17 and the things I was doing, I might not have made it past 21. You know what I mean? So the fact that I'm 34 and I'm still here, never got shot, never got stabbed- you know, I thank God for that. You what I mean? So, I feel like the justice system made me a little bit like I'm not going to use this [inaudible]- It made me appreciate freedom for real, to the point where I just don't want to be in this situation ever again.

The Giver

Kathryn Destin — Thu, 15 Feb 2024 23:01:14 GMT

This interview was conducted in March 2022. You can listen to the entire conversation between Kathryn and Rakim, including the transcript, here.

Content Warning: Drug Use, Death/Dying/Grief, Explicit Language, Physical Assault, Self-Harm/Suicide, Verbal Abuse

We are all familiar with loss and the immense pain that follows. No matter what form it takes, it leaves an emptiness that will either remain or be filled by something else we'll also eventually lose. Though loss is most often correlated to grieving the physical death of someone else, the kind of loss we'll experience in life the most is much more abstract—the death of a past life that we once had and will never be again. Rakim Covington (he/him) spent five years experiencing this intangible loss after his arrest in 2005 for grand larceny and attempted robbery shifted his way of life forever.

Before he was convicted, 17-year-old Rakim was a certified mama's boy with two sides to him. First, there was the fighter that maneuvered the streets of Bed-Stuy Brooklyn with a forward exterior and gang connections. Then, there was the second half which was softer and a little shy in comparison to the persona he emulated in the streets of BK. Rakim found that this side of his younger self was more innocent, with an affection for Pokémon and copying the moves of wrestling legend Stone Cold Steve Austin.

[I'd] think that I was a wrestler- cause my brother's one year older. I hit him with a steel chair, thinking it was like, not steel. You know what I mean? So I'm like, 'oh man.'

(But let's be real, Rakim wasn't the first and only child wrestling fan to get in trouble for hitting another kid with a chair.)

That childlike innocence was quickly thrown out the window after Rakim’s sentencing. It wasn’t his first encounter with the justice system, as he spent some earlier years in and out of juvenile programs. In fact, his violating probation factored into his sentencing and being charged as an adult.

From ages 17 to 22, Rakim spent a pivotal time of his adolescence going from one prison to the next, including Rikers Island. His best friend on the outside served as a source of support by sending letters, money, and a few packages. His blood family did their best to stay connected despite his constant movement to different correctional facilities. They'd send him snacks, soap, and rolling papers to boost his spirits, but the distance grew, eventually leading to a rift between him and his family.

You know, life happens, you feel me? A lot of people don't understand in [these] situations [in prison]. Did I blame them? No. Did I feel regretful? Yeah. But as I got older, [I realized] it's not really their fault I'm in here. And it's serious. When you do time, your family do time with you [...] My family would send me packages, too, but my mother just said, 'Every time I'm gonna send you a package, you in a different jail.

With this new, unfamiliar distance from his family, Rakim picked up a few hobbies to keep his head. The primary culprits were working out, mandated programming, basketball, and, most importantly, reading. He read over 500 books across his five-year bid. The books he frequently turned to in prison were full of action, serving as a source of mental stimulation in what otherwise can be a dreary, unfulfilling environment. The first book he picked up was The Coldest Winter Ever by author Sister Souljah, followed by Dutch and The Deadly Reigns by Teri Woods, and Be More Careful by Shannon Holmes.

As time passed, Rakim's perspective shifted, playing a significant role in how he coped with his surroundings. Although he went in at a young age, he did his best to take a more mature angle on his situation. Yes, he didn't want to be in jail, but it also wasn't the end of the world in his eyes. Rakim's "punk-ass five years" was really nothing to complain about when he was in the yard playing basketball with lifers who’d got caught up in the infamous three-strikes rule and had already spent 20+ years behind bars by the time he went in. They'd never know life outside of prison again, but for him, that was still possible.

I asked him how he felt about the three-strikes rule based on his experience serving time with lifers. He responded:

I'm thinking it depends on the crime. That's one. But [with] certain crimes, I feel like if you serve the minimal, and this is [the] majority [of] crimes, like murders and all that- I get that, you know, people want to see them suffer, but I feel like after 20 years, just let a person go. Like, he gave you two decades. You feel me? One day is enough in prison. Then like 20 years? 'Damn.'

Unfortunately, his loved ones perceived his coping mechanism of accepting his surroundings and making friends with lifers as him feeling indifferent or even comfortable with prison life.

As I heard, it was hard on my moms, cause I'm one of like the baby boys [...] I never complained about being in prison. I was adapted to it, so I think that probably was a scary turning point for her [thinking] like, ‘Damn, my son is like - almost a compatibility.’ [But], I really [thought], 'I'm in jail, what more can I do? Complain?' Once you get sentenced, it's not like you [can] go to the judge [and say], 'iight, judge, I learned my lesson.' You have to do whatever time they set forth in front of you. And then I always looked at it- when I came up in downstate, I was with lifers. They ain't never coming home. So it kinda eased me a little bit - [seeing] people going through worse sh*t than me.

Rakim successfully channeled his stone-cold persona when he could, but he is still human and would experience tremendous hurt he couldn't brush off. Some of Rakim's lowest moments occurred during and right after his incarceration, mostly caused by the disconnect between him and his family. While there were many less than pleasurable experiences he had to endure during his imprisonment, the one that stuck out the most was when he had to spend 18 months in the box. Solitary confinement is notorious for causing further division between inmates and their loved ones and other inmates. It is an incredibly inhumane punishment that capitalizes off of isolating inmates to an extreme by limiting access to rehabilitative or educational programming and restricting access to personal property and sources of mental stimulation. This method of torture causes irreparable harm to the mental well-being of an individual but is still heavily relied on in the American carceral system.

A study by the Jama Network investigating 229,274 individuals incarcerated in North Carolina between 2000 to 2015 found an increased risk of premature death during community reentry after experiencing solitary confinement. Compared to those who were not placed in solitary, those who were became 24% more likely to die their first year after release. The most common avenues of death were suicide and homicide, coming in at a whopping 78% and 54% increased likelihood, respectively. Even more disturbingly, these former inmates were 127% more likely to die of an opioid overdose within the first two weeks after release. Considering these statistics, the mental torture inmates undergo in solitary puts them in immense danger but somehow is still considered part of the "rehabilitation process" of incarceration.

Rakim persisted and finished his allotted time in solitary, but the adversity didn't stop there. Right before Rakim was set to come home, his aunt passed away. When he found out, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of resentment. He thought, "Why couldn't she hold out a little more until I could get back home to be with her? It wouldn't have been much longer of a wait." His frustration built up, and he took his anger out on other people, unable to process it on his own. When the news of her death reached him, he lashed out and got into a fight with a younger inmate. Just when he was about to go home, everything fell apart. His release date was pushed, forcing him to grieve around corrections officers and inmates instead of with friends and family.

The final blow was shortly after his release. Rakim lost his mom and dad 45 days apart from each other. Initially, his dad's death was kept a secret because no one wanted to break the news after he had just finished burying his mom. It was loss after loss after loss, and at that point, the pain was so deep, Rakim went numb.

When I got to the streets, I started losing a lot of people [...] I mean- after I had to bury my moms, there was like no more tears. It was over because I lost my mom and my dad 45 days apart. So it was a lot. And, you know, to this day sometimes I'm like, 'damn, how I made it through?' but then I know how I made it through - I didn't properly mourn. I just took it on the cheek and just kept it moving. You know what I mean? At night, or if I’m going through something, I think about my mom a lot, it sometimes breaks me down. But sometimes I just need to [tell myself], ‘grind even harder.’

Although he was finally free to grieve at home and not in prison, there was no denying the hole left by his mother's death. He was doing better at not taking his anger out on other people. But, the fact that he would never again experience the life he had before his incarceration with many of the people he loved weighed heavily. He found it easier to shut off his emotions and take charge of the new life laid out in front of him. That meant, as one of the older siblings of six, taking over his mom's place as a primary caretaker. Rakim acknowledged early in our conversation that he takes after his mother who previously took care of everybody and was the person people went to.

Not long after his bid ended, Rakim channeled his newfound caretaker skills into a volunteer position with the Center for NuLeadership on Human Justice & Healing (CNHJH), a nonprofit focused on advocating for those affected by criminalization and mass incarceration. Working for them reminded him of his mom's giving nature when she was alive and how she would give back. For example, she would host elaborate homemade Thanksgiving dinners for their community. Over a decade later, Rakim is still with CNHJH, now full-time as a Field Coordinator. He does his best to be a source of positivity and mentor to youth by speaking about his life experiences and lessons.

Rakim hopes to do even more for his community. He dreams of establishing a rec center to provide a space for community development and resource allocation that keeps people out of prison and at home in their communities. He also envisions organizing back-to-school drives, toy drives, and bringing back his mom's tradition of annual holiday dinners on a grander scale.

If a lot of kids had that [resources]- cause, you know, growing up I had some of those things, but I feel like if a lot of those kids had those things [they wouldn't do what they're doing.] Cause a lot of kids don't want to be outside. They want to be doing something positive. When they're not doing something positive, they start doing negative stuff.

It brings Rakim joy to see his people surrounded by love and support. This way, they don't have to turn to compromising avenues to find this fulfillment like he did. Even though he was so young at the time of his incarceration, Rakim shared that he felt like Robin Hood because he was called to give. He would take from other neighborhoods, but never from his own, and give back when he could.

In an honest moment, Rakim revealed that he felt the justice system is partially responsible for saving his youth. While it wasn't ideal that he got locked up at 17, he recognized that if he never had to serve time, he would've continued down the path he was on and might not ever have made it past my age - 21. He's extremely appreciative to be alive and free at 34.

Asserting that Rakim underwent such tremendous loss is an understatement. He has had to simultaneously grieve loved ones and the life he had with them before his incarceration. Upon his release, he had to navigate a whole new reality where instead of having his mom by his side, he had to embody her memory. The changes were challenging to accept but granted him a new perspective on life. He especially wants to provide the support he didn’t have when growing up in Bed-Stuy to underserved kids and has already started hosting give back events.

My whole goal is to give back. I want to give back to the Black and Brown communities cause a lot of people is messed up out here. I ain't rich, but I'm alright. I'm living comfortable [...] I did a lot of donations that day, too. So I donated mad clothes. It was a good event. It was a good event to a point where I said, 'Yeah, I want to do this more.' [...] To see my people being thankful, and just me being me, and people coming out to show love and support, you know, that meant a lot to me.

Rakim has transformed the pain from his loss into a purpose. He does his best to make sure his family and community are provided for just like the loved ones who have gone on would have wanted. Sometimes loss can leave us with more than what we started with, and Rakim plans on sharing this surplus his new life has given him.

The Creative (Audio)

Kathryn Destin — Tue, 13 Feb 2024 23:01:00 GMT

I’ve always sought love, but I never actually sought happiness and love together. So now, I’m trying to seek love in myself and happiness with myself so we can enjoy it elsewhere. Joy looks like success. It looks like Grammys. It looks like Oscars. It looks like Tonys. It looks like marriage and children. It looks like admiration and inspiration and creative expression.
~ Tatiana Mckenzie

This interview was conducted in April of 2022. You can read the feature article first published in June 2022 on Tatiana Mckenzie here. (Apologies for the audio quality! This interview was recorded well before I knew about the recording tools I utilize now and was edited as best as possible. If you have any listening issues, feel free reference the transcript.)

Content Warning: References to Drug Use and Explicit Language

KD: Could you go ahead and introduce yourself? Your name, where you're from and what you do?

TM: Hi, I'm Tatiana Mackenzie from New York, New York. I'm currently unemployed.

KD: Can you share how long you were incarcerated for and if you like what you were incarcerated for?

TM: I was incarcerated for five and a half years. Burglary in the second degree.

KD: Could you share what you were like before you were incarcerated and what brought you joy then?

TM: I couldn't really tell you, prior to incarceration, I was just a follower. I didn't really do much. I had a little, minor drug problem. I was working as a prostitute, call girl or whatever term you would like to use. That's basically- I remember me well, but I can't really tell you anything about [myself] because I didn't really want to be around people. I didn't really do much besides, like, go and chase money and try to keep moving from day to day.

KD: And were there hobbies or things that you did that made you happier or brought you joy at that time?

TM: Other than my drug problem? No, I didn't have any hobbies. Yet. I only had hobbies in mind. That is right now.

KD: Okay. Okay. Is there something specific that stands out from your experience being incarcerated that you feel encapsulates your time there?

TM: What do you mean?

KD: So is there maybe a specific moment or how you went through that experience that you feel like that sort of speaks to the whole experience, the five and half years?

TM: I think patience. I think having to actually wait on someone else and have to sit and wait for direction from other people. That in itself was the biggest experience the whole time. Having to actually do things on the command of someone else.

KD: And was that something that was, was that your first time experiencing that, having to wait for someone else'?

TM: Not necessarily no. I, of course, had my mother and father, so they definitely made sure to be there and direct me in whatever I needed to do. But then having to do it with people that did it in such a boisterous manner or an aggressive manner, that in itself was different for me. Having someone basically give you a time and date for everything down to restroom usage is something completely contrasting to what I've dealt with as a kid with what was my direct my mother and father.

KD: Did you have a support system while you were incarcerated? If so, what was it?

TM: I did have people. Luckily, I had someone from black and pink with the pen pal to me. I had a family member who I stayed in touch with. I had someone that was like a mentor to me who I spoke with [on] occasion whenever the time was ready. Other than that, that was my support system, other than the people that I spoke with [on] occasion or a regular, who are also inmates.

KD: Okay. Okay. What were some of the things they did for you that made you feel supported?

TM: Well, mostly all I ever needed was conversation. All I needed was the acknowledgement that, like, you're going through something, you need someone to speak with, no matter how dumb it may seem or if you just wanted to gossip. But I'm more than here for you to do that with me. And that was more than enough for me. That's all I needed. They gave me letters of support. They gave me pictures. They gave me things to hold on to something to look forward to. To see a glimpse into their happiness and hope that maybe with that you too can find that happiness.

KD: Okay. Okay. Thank you. Was there a special person or hobby or passion or anything that served as a source of strength during your time?

TM: Reading. Reading, and love. I fell in love a lot in prison. But that's because I'm a lover. But loving, reading, and, and writing. I wrote a lot. I wrote a lot of letters. I read tons and tons and tons of books on tons, tons of different genres and topics, and that in itself was just a huge, huge support to me mentally, physically and creatively. So, yeah.

KD: [You] kind of mentioned [that] you read books of different genres. Do you have any favorites? Are [there] ones that you remember?

TM: Yes. I became a big fan of historical fiction novels. I became a big fan of dystopian novels, which is one of the words that we figured out through reading about dystopian style of novels. Those are two things that I really enjoy. Fantasy novels is something that everyone tends to enjoy incarcerated at some point or another. So, I of course, use fantasy to escape. But I favored fantasy novels and historical fiction.

KD: Okay. Okay. I'm curious because I am not myself. I'm not too much [into] the fantasy, but I do like what it serves for people. But I think that's a genre that still has so much more work to do when it comes to like racial and gender representation. So I'm curious as to what your perspective is on that. Did you have good representation in the books you read or you just sort of took what you got?

TM: See, you are the second person that brought a conversation to things that I've never thought about previously. When I read the book, I just read the book. I didn't read the book and thought of seeing representation, trans representation, Black representation or LGBT representation whatsoever. That's not something I was looking for in the book, considering that the author comes from a completely different walk of life than I do, and this is his imagination, his creativity. So I didn't expect him to go and write us in there, our story lines, our lines, or our stories into his books or their books. So that's not something I ever thought about. Seeing some representation would have been good, but it's not something that I was a stickler on. It's not something I cared about. Seriously. I can't, I can't really tell you that I read too many LGBT literature books or anything on the LGBT. I've read a handful, not much. So representation in fantasy in any of the books that I read didn't matter as long as your story was cohesive and it was consistent and it just- I was able to transplant myself into your world. I'm fine with that.

KD: Okay. Do you still feel that way now?

TM: I don't read as much, but I'm pretty sure I still do. I'm not really- I care about representation, trans representation, LGBT representation in media, not as far as in books, because this is that person's point of view and their world. So, I'm just enjoying their world. I'm not looking for me to be put in their world.

KD: Okay. Okay. Are there any joyous moments that stick out to you from when you were incarcerated?

TM: Again, falling in love. I think mostly the, the, the, not even the hype. Most of the enjoyment, even though you're not supposed to find enjoyment in prison, the only enjoyment that I did find was through other people in prison. Falling in love, finding- getting relationships, not just in a boyfriend-girlfriend, type of thing, but in a friendship way. That in itself was relieving. It was helpful, especially if you don't have the strongest of support systems. It can be such a huge help. And I was fortunate enough to continuously find myself around people who I formed that relationship with.

KD: What was it about those friendships or relationships that you found fulfilling? Was it the way they or was it the way they love you? Was it the things they did for you?

TM: It was that they loved me. The amount of love they gave me. And the type -. Because in my mind. I thought I was unlikable. So for someone to gravitate towards me, being that I have this thought in my mind that I'm unlikable, that shows a lot. And for someone to show a loyalty to me, considering I have my own thoughts about me like that, that's a big thing.

KD: Could you elaborate more on that on feeling unlikable? Was that how you felt before or during?

TM: Yeah, that's something I felt was a given from prior to prison. From the type of people that I hang around, the type of relationships that I had prior to prison, it showed that I was always in the group, but I was never a part of the group. I was the punctuation to the word. I was never the word itself, if that makes any sense to you.

KD: Mmhm. And how did you feel about that?

TM: I mean, I never paid much attention to it. I was on the outskirts doing drugs watching. I maybe [did] not enjoyed all the things that we were doing, but what was I going to say? I stopped liking it and then I stopped hanging around.

KD: Mhm. How long has it been since you were released?

TM: About two years now.

KD: Okay. Okay. So were you incarcerated during the pandemic ?

TM: Once the pandemic was just like hitting the first cases in America? I was just about to be released. I got released on a leap year 2020.

KD: Okay. Okay. And how do you feel about where you are in your life now?

TM: I'm not entirely content or comfortable, but I'm getting to the point where my feet are actually touching the ground and I'm able to walk properly.

KD: Mm hmm. Mm hmm.

TM: My head has been so far in a cloud for two years, in a drug cloud that I'm finally getting my feet to touch the ground. So with every step I feel better. More things are getting done. It's not being done in a timely manner as much as I would like or the amount of things is not being done in the amount of time that I like. But it’s still being done, I'm still moving, I'm still breathing, I'm still kicking and I'm still screaming. So there's nothing much to complain about or to be unsatisfied. I'm still living.

KD: How would you describe that overall experience, or is there anything that stands out to you from it that still sticks with you today?

TM: Truthfully, I don't think, I don't think I got to the point of institutionalizing myself that some of the things from prison stuck with me after incarceration. I think some of the lingo maybe lingered for a little while. That was about that. But some of the lessons, it may have helped. It created almost like a paranoia with one, to be aware of any and everything that's going on around you. And both modes that I was in sober or high.

KD: And I'm thinking about what we've spoken about. What does joy look like to you now?

TM: Success. Happiness. I've always sought love, but I never actually sought happiness and love together. So now I'm trying to seek love in myself and happiness with myself so we can enjoy it elsewhere. Joy looks like it's like I said, success, it looks like Grammys. It looks like Oscars. It looks like Tonys. It looks like marriage and children. It looks like admiration and inspiration and creative expression.

KD: Okay. Okay. And do you identify as a creative?

TM: I do. I'm a very creative person. I'm an Aquarian through and through. I am. I consider myself to be a very creative person. That's my own thought. *laughs* I hate to toot my own horn. But I'm practically good at a lot of different things, that is all part of art and creativity.

KD: Did you try to create a lot during your five and a half years?

TM: I did. I wrote a lot of poetry. I tried to write books. I think I tried to write a play maybe. I doubt it. I journaled a bit like hypothetical journaling. I did a bunch of writing to different things. A bunch of different things.

KD: And zooming out. Is there something you wished people would know about the criminal justice system?

TM: Who? Who would be the person, who's my audience? Because then I can tailor the thoughts that they should have.

KD: Hmm. Well, now I'm curious to know what all of your responses are, what they would be, depending on the audience.

TM: If you're talking to someone who's never been to prison, but that is likely that they will go to prison, you would want to tell them to stay out of bullshit. Keep your head down and keep pushing, leave with something tangible.

Maybe you’re talking to someone that's never going to prison and never likely to go to prison but does advocacy for prison, is you need to tell them like- it's tough, but sometimes it’s quite necessary for prison to happen in someone's life? Sometimes it is needed for that person to withstand some of the struggles that can happen. Sometimes it's necessary for that person to get into some fight with them, to realize and appreciate what they have and do they have in their lives and yeah in their life. For someone who has like a parent or excuse me, a family member on the outside, but does not do any advocacy, I would tell them that as long as your child is being an adult and doing what is necessary to complete override the sh*t that got them in there initially, they'll go through with no issue. All you have to do is keep yourself strong with faith, and, and believe that your child has the sense enough to grow up from what put them there.

KD: Thank you for answering that.

TM: Thank you. I enjoy these types of things.

The Creative

Kathryn Destin — Tue, 13 Feb 2024 23:00:39 GMT

This interview was conducted in April 2022. You can listen to the entire conversation between Kathryn and Tatiana, including the transcript, here.

Content Warning: References to Drug Use and Explicit Language

When the topic of freedom comes up, what's the first thing that comes to your mind? Unlimited choices? Equal access to power? No one telling you what to do? How about expression? The interpretation of freedom as the ability to authentically convey oneself without objection or interference is very common, especially in America where the First Amendment is meant to preserve freedom of religion, speech, the press, and peaceable assembly. Unfortunately, it can be taken for granted because of how ingrained in the American consciousness the perception of freedom as expression is. Those who have never had their self-expression questioned risk underestimating how many systems in the United States encroach on the expression of those deemed a "threat.” One of the most flagrant examples is the carceral justice system. The United States, “the land of the free,” makes up only 4% of the world’s population yet incarcerates over 20% of the world's prisoners, making it the world's largest incarcerator.

For five and a half years, Tatiana Mackenzie (she/her) was subjected to this American tradition of limiting inmates' expression and well-being after she was found guilty of burglary in the second degree in 2014. Between then to her release in early 2020, she had to dramatically change her way of life to survive the prison restrictions that policed her self-expression. One of the most notable adjustments she had to make was centering her life around someone else's command. She no longer had control over how she spent her time or where she spent it. When I asked what that felt like, Tatiana answered it wasn't necessarily a new experience because her mother and father gave her plenty of direction while growing up. But, that was nothing compared to prison where direction came more in the form of demands than as guidance.

[…] having to do it [take commands] with people that did it [gave commands] in such a boisterous manner or an aggressive manner...that in itself was different for me. Having someone basically give you a time and date for everything down to restroom usage is something completely contrasting to what I've dealt with as a kid.

This fact isn't shocking information to those of you directly or indirectly impacted by the carceral justice system. Even if you are not connected to this system's impact, you likely are still aware if you've researched the culture of prisons. The most well-known restrictions of prison are limited freedom of movement and privacy. Many inmates are placed into cells no bigger than six feet by nine feet by twelve feet. (If inmates are sharing a cell, technically, NY state law requires prisons to provide a bigger space to allow for at least 60 square feet of floor space in the sleeping area.) Typically, there is only a bed, an open toilet, a sink, a table/desk space available for use at least 12 hours a day, and a closeable storage container for personal property. Additionally, these cells usually have little-to-no natural sunlight. Inmates have to ask for permission and are limited in how long they can use the washrooms where the showers are normally communal.

Furthermore, it’s not a big secret that administrators and corrections officers of prison institutions have historically been known to be abusive towards inmates. The most common justification for this culture is that self-defense is necessary when inmates threaten or assault workers. There is no denying that the tension in prisons can result in dangerous situations for administrators and officers who have to do their jobs. However, a power dynamic also exists that cannot be ignored and frequently contributes to the abuse of inmates by officers. This dynamic is exaggerated with the addition of qualified impunity, a legal precedent that allows officers to enforce the rules "no matter what it takes" in certain circumstances.

This abuse in prisons also manifests through neglect. Denial of mental health treatment and personal hygiene needs is the reality many inmates face while serving time. Based on the National Alliance on Mental Illness' (NAMI) findings, there is a disproportionate representation of people with mental illness in American prisons and jails. Nearly two in five incarcerated people have struggled with their mental health, a number two times greater in comparison to the overall adult population. States are obligated to provide proper mental health resources to inmates, yet these provisions are often unmet. Roughly 63% of those inmates reported to have a history of mental illness did not receive treatment in either state or federal prisons. Furthermore, over half of those inmates who were previously prescribed medications for mental health reasons prior to their incarceration could not access their necessary medication once they entered prison.

Tatiana left these conditions upon her release at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. Despite this “escape,” what Tatiana endured was difficult enough. She briefly spoke of the disregard by administrators when we discussed what her experience was like. She noted that she had to learn patience and self-control because of the neglectful conditions in prison.

[...] I think having to actually wait on someone else and have to sit and wait for direction from other people. That in itself was the biggest experience the whole time. Having to actually do things on the command of someone else.

Thankfully, Tatiana established a support system during this challenging time. Through Black and Pink, a prison abolitionist organization dedicated to supporting LGBTQ+ prisoners, she was connected to a pen pal. She also had a family member who stayed in touch with her, as well as a mentor who checked in on her and provided guidance on occasion. Their support came in different forms, but she especially appreciated their companionship.

Well, mostly all I ever needed was conversation. All I needed was the acknowledgment [from them saying], 'You're going through something. You need someone to speak with, no matter how dumb it may seem or if you just wanted to gossip. I'm more than here to do that with [you].' And that was more than enough for me. That's all I needed. They gave me letters of support. They gave me pictures. They gave me things to hold on to, something to look forward to. So you get to see a glimpse into their happiness and hope that maybe with that [support] you too can find that happiness.

Having outside support isn't common for many LGBTQ+ inmates. Many have to rely on finding community and solidarity amongst fellow inmates who shared their sentiments. Tatiana thankfully had both. She found enjoyment in relationships with other people - both romantic and platonic. “I fell in love a lot in prison. But that’s because I’m a lover,” she said. The love she received helped her see herself in a new light that was different from how she perceived herself before her incarceration.

[...] The only enjoyment that I did find was through other people in prison. Falling in love, getting relationships, not just in a boyfriend-girlfriend type of thing, but in a friendship way. That in itself was relieving. It was helpful, especially if you don't have the strongest of support systems. It can be such a huge help. And I was fortunate enough to continuously find myself around people who I formed that relationship with.
In my mind, I thought I was unlikable. So, for someone to gravitate towards me, being that I have this thought in my mind that I'm unlikable, that shows a lot.

For years, Tatiana struggled with addiction and was a sex worker before her arrest. The addiction and work demands made her isolate herself. Her head was in a "drug cloud" before prison, which brought up feelings of self-loathing and abandonment as she strung along the “outskirts” of her friend group. Yet, she could still receive some support from friends, even if they did things that made her feel uneasy at times. So, when she had to serve time in prison, she had to go outside of her comfort zone and get used to being around people constantly. As time progressed, she developed relationships that contributed to her self-expression of creativity and self-confidence.

At the same time she came to love other people more, Tatiana also fell in love with reading and writing. She wrote tons of letters and read a variety of books from an array of genres and topics. Historical fiction and dystopian novels became favorites of hers. She revealed that for her and other incarcerated folks, fantasies were a great escape from the physical reality of their lives behind bars. As long as the story was cohesive and consistent, she could transplant herself into the world written on the pages she read. Tatiana pulled from these books and felt encouraged to express herself through composing poems. She even tried her hand at writing a book and play. Journaling also became an outlet for her to process the surroundings she had to endure for those five and a half years. These activities continue to bolster her creativity, as well as her physical and mental health, two years after her release.

I asked Tatiana what joy looked like to her and if it involved her still being creative. She answered:

Success. Happiness. I've always sought love, but I never actually sought happiness and love together. So now, I'm trying to seek love in myself and happiness with myself so we can enjoy it elsewhere. Joy looks like success. It looks like Grammys. It looks like Oscars. It looks like Tonys. It looks like marriage and children. It looks like admiration and inspiration and creative expression.

As an “Aquarian through and through,” she considers herself to be a creative person good at many artforms. She plans to use her skills in her career with an EGOT as her dream endgame. However, she also emphasized that the security of well-being and happiness cannot be just fantasies like the books she reads. She wants to continue working on her expression and surrounding herself with love. She acknowledged that sometimes struggle is necessary to realize when a change is needed. For Tatiana going to prison permitted her to work on her sobriety and find outlets of creative expression for true strength.

I'm finally getting my feet to touch the ground. So, with every step I feel better. More things are getting done. It's not being done in a timely manner as much as I would like [...] but it is still being done. I'm still moving, I'm still breathing, I'm still kicking, and I'm still screaming. So there's nothing much to complain about or to be unsatisfied. I'm still living.

The Caretaker (Audio)

Kathryn Destin — Thu, 08 Feb 2024 23:01:24 GMT

I’m here. See me, learn me, respect me. Even if you don’t love me, I love me. I know now that that’s the love I’ve been searching for. It’s still a process. I never knew that the love that I needed was self-love, and I didn’t have that. I never had that.
~ Jennifer Love Williams

This interview was conducted in March of 2022. You can read the feature article first published in June 2022 on Jennifer Love Williams here. (Apologies for the audio quality! This interview was recorded well before I knew about the recording tools I utilize now and was edited as best as possible. If you have any listening issues, feel free reference the transcript.)

Content Warning: Explicit Language, LGBTQ+ Phobia, Physical Assault, Sexual Harassment/Abuse, Verbal Abuse

KD: So you can just go ahead and introduce yourself, you can share your name where you're from and, if you like, what you do.

JLW: Hello, everyone, my name is Jennifer Love Williams. I reside in Jersey City, New Jersey. I'm originally from South Carolina, and my occupation is an entertainer and activist.

KD: Thank you. How long were you incarcerated for? And you're welcome to share what you were incarcerated for.

JLW: I was incarcerated for well- I got incarcerated, sentenced to a 6 with a 85 and 3 years parole, which I had to do five years, one month, and five days, plus three years of parole. What I went to prison for, sadly, two armed robberies. But this is when people don't- when it comes to Black and Brown communities, oftentimes we don't- they don't want to hear circumstances or even do the research themselves upon circumstances. So now I have to deal with people looking at me as if I'm a criminal, and a robber. And in actuality, I was just sitting in the car when the activity took place. This makes me guilty by association. That part I fully accept. Because I could have got the hell out, I just wanted to get closer to home before I got out. *laughs* I'm honest.

KD: *laughs* Could you describe what you were like before you're incarcerated?

JLW: Broken. I was a mess. I thought I was together. My career as an entertainer was in high demand up and down the east coast. I had a fiancé. But my world sort of changed in 2004 when my Dad had passed. You know? And I think reality started hitting me that I no longer would be a family of four. You know?

Things started going downhill for me, and having this trapdoor in your head where you keep all bad memories, all hurtful things, things that you don't really want to deal with you store it in there. It's like that closet, where you throw everything into, but eventually you know that closet won't close. You can close it, and you can push it too, and it'll pop back open. Sometimes you can't push it too. *laughs*

It started popping open and I started unraveling. Drugs became a friend. As long as I stayed high sniffing coke and drinking like Vodka straight out the bottle. Like a bottle of vodka in my pocketbook. As long as I get to stay drunk and high, I don't have to deal with what my mind wants me to deal with the reality that was seemingly becoming- what was becoming my reality.

I didn't want to have to deal with it. So I was broken in all of this- happened. I wanted to be- with- I wanted to be- I wanted to belong. It was a lot of things in me that I didn't know how to express how to- even to myself. Talk to yourself in the mirror, or maybe the bed you talk to yourself. I couldn't even- or even in the shower- I couldn't even bring up certain things to myself. I didn't know how to- I had so much clutter in my trapdoor of a closet in my brain that I didn't know how to even begin to pull out and start to clean.

And me- leading up to me going into prison, I was out for two years on bail going through the hassle and I had gotten a lawyer. So it didn't really- I didn't really have to go back and forth to the courthouse. He pretty much handled everything until the judge was like "enough". And reality starting hitting with me- a friend of mine, a US soldier had raped me and- January 2009 I realized that I'm defeated.

I already tried to exit twice, and I'm getting frustrated with God all over again because He won't let me go. It was just draining and taxing. I've been trying to exit for the last couple of years at that time. And He wouldn't let me go. I understand now. And I thankfully- He didn't let me go, but at that time I didn't. *laughs* You know? How could my life that looks- that I deemed to be so perfect- All this snatched from me, what did I do wrong? Is what my mind frame was thinking. I was a broken soul who went into a situation that destroyed me even more.

KD: Do you feel like you were approaching- maybe understanding that clutter before you went in, or [do] you think it didn't really start happening until maybe during or after?

JLW: It didn't happen till after. To be honest *laughs*, the journey of self-discovery and healing just started happening- beginning of 2019. So- I’mma be honest, and I went to prison in 2001.

KD: Yeah, yeah, and I- it's just [like] you said 2019, my first thought: "and then we had a pandemic a year later and we were forced to stay at home." And I know I mean, I don't know if you felt that way, but-

JLW: To be honest, people asked me last year, how did I cope with the pandemic? And I had told them that- it wasn't like prison. You know a lot of people who- have been to prison, and who haven't, compared it to being in prison, especially if you actually followed the rules. I didn't.

I followed the rules, but I didn't compare it to it, because I would gladly- I don't know- I don't know any- I don't have any relatives who have died, everybody at this point in time has made a recovery. They may- they may not be the same as they were, but they're still here and could move and shake a little something.

So, I was blessed in that avenue and- feeling invincible- I had- my family all condensed to one household. And I'll be the one that goes to the supermarket and everything else, and order- order online and be there to picking it up. So I'll be the point contact nobody to touch any mail. Let me clean everything, give everything- even when we did, order food. Let me clean the pizza boxes. Stuff like that. It was just a mess. But in my mind, I knew I'm always made to be a protector and a nurturer and motherly figure. So even when it comes down to my mom and siblings stuff like that, "I got this." Surprisingly, I never caught COVID until January 2022. *laughs*

KD: Oh, wow, wow. Wow. I thought I was invincible and I got it last March. I said “no”- Jeez.

JLW: And COVID didn't do me bad. I was already vaccinated with the booster. The after effects of COVID is what tried to take me out.

KD: Yeah, yeah. I'm still dealing with [the] after effects a year later. I don't think it's addressed enough.

JLW: It's something wrong with the respiratory area. That's not the same. I'm winded a lot quicker and I find that I'm waking up every morning, every damn morning- it's phlegm coming out of me. *laughs* It is crazy, but I'm here.

KD: Yeah, I mean, I have that same attitude. I'm here

KD: But I also meant to ask what brought you joy before you were incarcerated?

JLW: *pause* Janet. Janet Jackson, since I've been 8. I'm not going to lie.

Since I've been 8- I remember- or even when I was incarcerated- there was a gentleman who had a fondness for me, but I think towards getting to know me- his fondness started to show, but he never made me uncomfortable. Never tried to force himself on me knowing what I had already been through since I've been inside- started my incarceration bid. He had to- he never tried to become one of those guys who'd forced themselves on me. And he pulled some strings and got me a cassette tape of a bunch of Janet recordings. *laughs*

So it was like a blessing, so I could be able to do my word puzzles- and- so- and stuff and listened to Janet. Listen to girl music, because at that time it was- some people had tape players. He got me a tape player and he got me some Janet and some Mary J- so I can have music that I resonate with instead of a bunch of rap.

In addition to me, always knowing that I'm meant to be a woman, I also always knew that I was going to be a mother. So this not- every little cousin of mine, I'm the oldest grandchild on the maternal side, I've literally babysat every single grandchild. And now we have a bunch of great grands. Half of them *laughs* I cater to. One of them I've seen her born. Like I'm literally holding your mother's leg because it happened so fast. And the first face she saw- she still is my world. These moments I see my nephews come up like once a month and watching them grow to become some amazing young men and women. Yeah, it was like a beautiful thing.

And those are- those are some of the things that also kept me in a joyous moment cause of what I can't do. Is when I'm asked by them-
"when you coming home?"
"I don't have much longer, I'm going to get there."
"You promise?"
"I promise I'm going to get there."

And so at that- same point in time, I don't give a sh*t what I'm being- pressured with in here. What I got to endure- I'm going to make it out of here in one piece to get back home to my babies. And plus to hear more Janet. I need to get to a concert- she did a concert while I was in prison. I was so upset.

KD: I think she'll do more. I have a feeling she'll do more shows.

JLW: I'm struggling now. Trying to get to. Cincinnati or New Orleans. All these festival(s) cause she's gon’ be performing at both of them.

KD: Do you have a favorite Janet album?

JLW: I'm going to go with the Janet album. However, the song that resonates the most with me, I will go with a song and- on the "Rhythm Nation" soundtrack and it's called lonely. I often- periodically, on my Facebook, I make it the song to play- remember back in how Myspace days and you used to be able to click on a person's page- you automatically hear the song?

KD: Yeah.

JLW: Now it ain't the same. I had that on Myspace page, oh yeah. Used to come hear that song a lot. When I was in eighth grade, when I came out and it stuck with me since then because, you know, you don't know self and- like I said- right now- even though I'm here now and I know self better and I know how to assess some things-

Keep in mind- what I want to make clear is that I don't want anyone to ever hear my story or hear me talking, want to see me talking or talking to me and to ever think like, Oh, I got it together. No. I am perfectly imperfect. I am a human, I have a psychiatrist.

What I tell you I unraveled before prison- Yes, I had already started my mental health journey, but it wasn't the one-on-one care that I needed. While incarcerated, though, the, the therapist who I had had went on break- went on maternity leave and then she had an extended leave and a woman came in. And she was a safe haven for me during my incarceration. Her sibling, her brother, was trans, which is her words. I don't know if her brother was- was born, her sister and now her brother or is her brother and her brother just came out and he is becoming she. I never asked.

You saying that, Ok, clearly you have I think a lot of officers and staff members who- they couldn't prevent harm from coming to me, but when they were covering me or they had to deal with me one-on-one I felt comfortable to not feel like I'm about to be attacked again. I know a great deal of them had family members who- have been incarcerated or who were trans or LGBTQ+ so- and they did what I would do.

I try to treat people the way I want to be treated and in a way I want my family to be treated. There's always work, but I try my best. *laughs* So, yeah, I don't want no one to think that, that- this is an easy journey.

I see a therapist. I- my last time- when I tell you the journey started in January 20, 2019. Yes. Because in the end, towards the end of 2018, like September-ish- in September-ish, I tried to- that's the last time I tried to commit suicide.

So when I got- a little better and released from the hospital, my family sent me away. They sent me on a cruise with my best friend and stuff like that. No internet plan, you got a drink package. "Keep your eye on her ass."

And it just got to be a peaceful moment and I came back and everything wasn't rosy. I did damage that- I was threatened with civil commitment. So that's how I ended up in therapy. And the first therapist wasn't for me.

But they brought someone else in. And- this is having a medical team that I had even before my incarceration, so they truly have invested- they truly are invested in me- and they brought someone else in- and it was a he. My first he doctor. Male Doctor. But he made me comfortable enough, and he's moved on. And I have my second therapist who filled his spot, and she keeps the walls down. *laughs* It keeps me comfortable enough to have these journeys- that continue this journey.

KD: That actually makes me sort of want to jump ahead and ask - what was your support system while you were incarcerated because you talked about it a little bit.

JLW: In the beginning, I had none, but it wasn't- it wasn't because of them.

When I got into custody. I signed myself out of the hospital to go ahead and get sentenced. My sentencing date was pushed back a week because I was in hospital and- when I'm being informed that, if doctors weren't ready to let me go, and so they're coming to sentence me in the hospital. Which means, I'll be cuffed to a bed with a[n] officer at my door.

My parents worked in this hospital pretty much all my life. No, I'm not going to tarnish their legacy with that. So I signed out of the hospital to go get sentenced.

So, the first like, three months I was in and out of the hospital. I wasn't in the state custody. I'm in county custody. But when I come to- when I was stable enough, health wise, for the state to take me- I'm there what? Two weeks and a half?

I'm beaten on August 8, 2009. And then I'm raped 24 hours later. I was raped on August 8, 2009 and 24 hours later, I was held down by two guys and beat, which is August 9. Held down by two guys and beat by three- with a combination- combination locks.

It took me like three months to heal. They- I received mail. I knew I was thought of, but I'm not- I don't have phone calls. I don't have visits. My mail is not going out. But at a certain point in time, *pause* my mail started getting out. I guess once I was fully healed.

But my mother- I came out of her- I don't care how old I get, a mother knows her child. *laughs* So, she kept asking me, like throughout the rest of the bid and- the incarceration, rather- "what is wrong with you? What is wrong with you? Something is wrong with you. You have a deadness in your eyes. And I don't know where there's-. “Talk to me, talk to me"- Screaming at me.

Never- Sent my brother to come visit me and he would come in some one-on-one visits- and thinking I would open up to him. And even my aunt, who I used to always confide in as a kid, thinking that I would open up to her. I never did. The family just found out in June of 2020 what happened on a live airing of what- the deadness that they saw in my eyes for all those years. It was a relief to get it off of my chest. Finally. But yeah- once I was able to get- once, I was able to heal and receive- and start to receive things that everybody else was allowed to receive visits- and actually not just received mail but to get my mail.

But at least me receiving the mail. I'll be honest. Yeah. I knew it was something that wouldn't let me give up because me receiving this letter- these letters, from my family. Birthday parties and stuff, and still sending me invitations. I'm getting- they're being dismantled because you can't send stuff with bows and trinkets and stuff on it. But that's fine. I'm still getting the- disheveled version of it. And to me, that was still fine because it's letting me know that- basically what you're telling- being incarcerated is modern-day slavery. It is dehumanizing and my family is constantly writing me. They're going to keep writing me until they hear back from me. That's letting me know there's somebody out there still values me. Still holds me as a human being. Whether you do or not.

I'm going to get out of here to them. Stuff like that. So those were the things that were my support system. And then once I was able to get the amenities of visits and everything else, now my family can lay physical eyes on me. Touch me at contact. Stay at the window visit for an hour or two and stare at me- to know that when you see me next time and you see me with bruises on my forehead, *laughs* stuff like that, or you're noticing that when it's warmer and I'm able to wear short-sleeved shirts, you're noticing that even though I'm Brown, I bruise easily. You're noticing that you see bruises on my arms. You're able to [inaudible]- you're able to know that you're not going crazy when you're thinking something is wrong.

So my mother, like would camp out in Trenton, which is the headquarters. The New Jersey capital, but the head of the DOC for Jersey is there. She would camp out in the lobby of DOC headquarters, stuff like that, expressing something is wrong and ill-treatment of me and- she started letting me know to write everything up. I have to write everything up. I don't give a sh*t. In my mind- I didn't want to write things up because they already going to stay here and be like, "Oh, well, what did you do?" Or make me feel like I'm the- I'm the villain.

But like, write it up. Give the paperwork back, wasn't regards for what they say. Least, you know- it should- be filed with your claim of officers' sexual harassment- of being put in a harmful situation or officers themselves doing physical harm to you and stuff like that. So, these things. Her- at last started getting me- applied my paperwork back, making photocopies of it.

Finding a guy or two I had to flirt with a [inaudible] who had access to copy machines, the officers in the officers' office. "Make me a copy of this, please? I'll show you [inaudible] you don't gotta touch me." I will admit I do something strange for some change, but it's for my safety *laughs* so I can get a copy and get these copies home to my mother. Send her the originals, let me keep a copy in my room and stuff like that.

So she's going to DOC's headquarters camping out with paperwork on top of paperwork in physical writing- mines, and administrative. And seeing that my child is complaining repeatedly oh, neglect, medical neglect, physical harm, and nobody's doing nothing. Nobody's even looking into it.

So- those were my support systems and those are things that kept me going, and to be honest, that's what led me to become the activist that I am because I wanted to- I know that when I was in there, a lot of people were disgruntled, they were- when you lose value in yourself, and no one is trying to make you feel valid- valued, you become a bitter evil person.

And- being incarcerated- there's some amazing men and women and people. They are talented beyond- but you'll never know it because they're in there. And a lot of people have lost- hope. They've lost hope. So let me sit out here. Let me fight for these voiceless individuals. Let me match them to some pen-pals and stuff like that so you can have a voice to- speak to pen-pals, people- I partnered with another organization to get some inside people matched. And I don't care about a person having multiple pen pals because sometimes it takes a village, even for an adult. Some people work two or three jobs, why? Because I need these two jobs or three jobs to survive comfortably. We have more than one doctor because why? You need to live. You want to try to live. *laughs*

KD: Exactly, exactly.

JLW: So that's where my mind frame was at. Those are the things that let me- I don't know.

I'm pretty sure if I didn't have the love for my family- and my family- it's very dysfunctional at times, *laughs* but- for the right reasons, oh, they band together strong as a hulk hand. They- I don't think for them like five years and some change, going on six, there was no fussing.

The family, like, held it together. Coming up on family visits, cause remember I met people for contact visits. I would come out to visit some days and I like- literally got all my aunts and uncles and my little cousins and all my niece and nephews.

You know how that feels to come outside. I feel like inundated. I feel like I'm at graduation again with my ignorant family being extra to make sure they know that I'm important to them.

These moments are the things that [inaudible]- I had some friends who- came to visit boyfriends and stuff like that, didn't know where I'd been at for the last couple years and from across the visit hall, screaming, "Jennifer! Jen!" And "Oh my God! I have to have your information, let me send you some money. I've been wondering where you've been at." "Don't worry about me, just make sure my mother is good. As long as she's good, I'll maintain." Stuff like that, though. I went left, I went way off. Sorry.

KD: No, no, no. You're good. You sort of are answering questions before I even ask them. And so don't even worry about that.

But, so you talked quite a bit about, you know, August 2009 and how that was a really rough moment for you. And do you feel like that's what encapsulated your experience while you were incarcerated or are there another- is there another time that you feel spoke to how your time was spent there?

JLW: I think that those two nights *pause* were the things that broke me. I was already broken. But it's like I was broken in a sense of, "oh, I'm the damn car who ain’t got that much more to go but you can still use it." *laughs*.

You know? I'm the- the damn- the nail that broke but you could still glue her back on right now and still- it still look good.

But when that happened- yeah, I wasn't- I wasn't usable. I wanted to die again. I- it was my- the beginning of my ground zero. I completely hated God.

"Why would you keep me here? And to allow one of your so-called children to take my body. You just allowed another one of your children a couple- several months ago before I came here to take this body. He supposed to be out here protecting our country. Now you've got me in here. Wanting to walk away with a clean slate. And you allowed somebody in here to do this to me? And then you allow five extras to beat the f*ck out of me? That is unacceptable.

In what world?- I get the whole “He puts on you nothing more than you can bear.” Well, God damn it. What do you think I'm supposed to?

I’m green as sh*t, I may have dated a lot of urban men. I will admit my womanhood rested on me feeling like if he's not the guy who walks into this neighborhood and every guy wanna dap him, give him pound, and "Yo, what's up, bro?" and every female ain't trying to flirt with him, then he ain't the man that I want. I need the crème of the crème. The creme of the crop.

I need to be- "oh, ok, so if this is- if I'm dating him or you see me with him all the time you're bound to respect me." Is what my mind- I didn't know that that also came along with me being put in this kind of situation.

And the crazy part is he just died. He just died [on] Valentine's Day. This Valentine's- it’s been a touch couple of weeks coping with his death. His burial- like I've been let hatred go for him, but nevertheless, so back in here and- at this point in time, there is nowhere to go. You are not letting me go. You wouldn't let me go at my own hand. You had them violate me and destroy me. Brutally. And you still ain't letting me go.

So at this point where am I to go? I just want to coexist, and I've done a lot of things that's not me- but I had to survive. By any means necessary. You know, I'm not a violent person. But I'm a fast learner, especially when you're- this is nothing like a Boy Scout or Girl Scout, ah, internship, this is the version of life that nothing can actually prepare you for.

You can tell me everything you want. I could see as many movies, documentaries and f*cking “Lockup” MSNBCs that you want. Nothing can prepare you for that. This is a situation where, in my mind, I grew up thinking, you go to prison because you did something bad. It's adult punishment. It's what my mind- how I grew up with it. No.

There is no way in hell you're telling me that because I sat in a car and someone robbed someone and I didn't stop it or I didn't get out the car because I know where the f*ck I'm at I deserved to be put in a situation where I am raped, where I am beaten, where I am dehumanized. I am left to heal on my own and not to mention that once I went- when I wouldn't tell you by name, my attackers. How the hell could I take them by name? I just got here. Two, what do I- if I could. Why would I? They just told on themselves. It is fifteen sheets of paper. Everybody in this facility giving you play by play. How do you think I know at what time I'm attacked? They gave you full accounts. Omitting themselves to each one. But- this person told another fourteen [minutes]. That person told you another fourteen. Ultimately, you'll have the whole story. You ain't even got to piece it that hard. So you try to put that pressure on me, knowing I'm in prison.

So the last thing I need to do is be a snitch in this b*tch. I'm just getting here. Clearly, you're not going to protect me because you didn't do your- didn't protect me now.

You put me over here with gang members. What did you think was going to happen? I'm in a men's prison. Feminine features, naturally feminine. And I have a rack of breasts. Where did you think it was going to happen? We're in a dorm.

You're either was going to hate my existence and want to kill me or you're going to sit here and lust after me, and hurt me to get your lustful desires and you let both happen to me in a course of 48 hours. All to- unmask a drug ring over here. So even DOC, used me for their gain and then when I wouldn't tell, you put me in solitary confinement for a year and 95 days.

So that's how my bid actually started. So when I come out from my bid. I've been hearing guys talk for the last year and ninety-five days screaming from door to door.

I done read- started reading my first hood books. "Urban" novels, *laughs*. Like, what is a hood book? But it's just a Black novel like an urban novel. "It's a hood book." "Whatever." I done read my first couple of those.

So me reading this and me hearing this and thinking about me seeing sh*t on odds and everything else. Oh, I'm delusional as f*ck, but b*tch I'm gonna have to pull out the hat. Pull out what I could pull out. You make me go to the shower just with a towel on my bottoms. So my breasts are exposed going to shower room.

One thing that I realized is that clearly from the rape and from the way people act with me walking down, looking at me jerking off in the doors, with me going to the shower just looking at my breasts alone.

"Ok, so I've got to find some guys who got some time in here." And I will admit, yes I found a lot of lifers to make sure I've got proper vegetables. Well, I got some actual real lettuce, and real tomatoes, and cucumbers and some actual blue cheese dressing. *laughs* I've got to have my clothes pressed. I've got to have this one, that one.

When this officer [inaudible] go on and talk to this officer [inaudible]-a matter of fact, let me be able to go take a shower. I don't even need the whole 10 minute shower. I just need like a five minute shower because it's an eight person shower. Would you have a problem coming over to the shower? You ain't gotta get in here, just make sure that I'm able to get in the shower and get out with nobody hurting me. I want you to walk through the hallways. I want you to walk with me. You have two life sentences. Trust me, when I'm in the shower, you can jerk off freely. This is our arrangement. Just don't come in- don't come in the shower with me. And always know that if you let them hurt me, I leave. If you let them kill me, clearly, I'm going to be gone.

So- I made this arrangement with like what? Four, five lifers with multiple life sentences like that. I had no choice. I needed to make sure that I was protected- protected, make sure I was protected to get out of here.

I got moved to a max prison once I got into population. And even now, when I got there, it became- with me making sure I had protection around me.

One day I was walking by myself and the officers said to me, "the sight of you makes me sick." I rolled my eyes, just like that. And he said, "you're not a f*cking woman." I cut my face, my whole eyes, and head at him. He snatched me by the throat and threw me against the wall, and they put me in cuffs. Sent me back to solitary confinement.

And you see a little thing called court line like a- court situation. And I remember telling the court line officer, "what does a regular person who was supposed to be a retired judge type sh*t. If I would have really hurt him, you'll be able to see it on camera. Everywhere except our living quarters has cameras. So pull that footage, and he's telling you that I threatened him. That man's damn bicep is the size of my thigh. What am I threatening him for? At that moment of time, it's only one of me. I've seen y'all jump on people. What would I threaten him for? Cause they clearly would jump on my ass. I'm not going to risk that- I've been beaten, bruised enough in here. Watch the- go pull the tape and watch the tape- If he pulled and watched that tape, you dead. Back to the hole. Something [inaudible] from three months.

KD: And, you know, you talked about surrounding yourself with people who had life sentences to feel protected, and you talked a little bit too about having your family come and visit you and feeling supported in that way. So it seems like you had people who were helping you in the ways that they could. But was there anything else that maybe served as a source of strength for you when you were at your lowest like whether there be a passion or reading or a hobby or something that kept you going?

JLW: Sewing. Made a lot of money. Sewing and puzzles. Made a lot of money sewing. I had a couple of older guys. They stopped making button up shirts and pullovers.

So I learned to- learn to braid. That was exciting to me. All this hair and I didn't learn how to braid. *laughs*

KD: I still can't braid myself, so I get it. *laughs*

JLW: *laughs* It was an amazing feeling for me. And then- one day I had this guy. He had this old shirt he was throwing away.

I asked him, "Can I have the shirt?"
He said, "What? It's garbage."
I said, "I want the buttons off of it." Said, "let me take the buttons off of it."

Had a little small sewing kit. And- I didn't start wearing glasses yet. And so what I had did was, I had- I cut the shirt and made it into a button up. Like put a seam in it and everything else and made it into a button up shirt.

Took my hard ass constructed uniformed pants- state pants and- cut the ass out and cut the seam out. I'm going to make these pants tapered in a way, cuff my buttocks, and make them taper to my legs with a bootcut flare. *laughs*

So immediately everybody started noticing that my clothes were altered, but my clothes were looking like I had them in the sewing shop. And I-
"Hold up. Who made that for you in the shop?"
"Made what?"
"The shirt."
"I made it myself."
"Hold up you ain't got no job-."
"No, I made it myself."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. You know how to sew?"
"I've always known how to sew."

My generation was given home economics and shop class. I did go public school early on, before my parents snatched me from public school and put me in private school. So yes, I had economics and shop. So I know how to use a screwdriver, a sander. I can't show nobody how to use a sewing machine. But I know how to cook and I know how to sew. I got my basics." *laughs*

So- and then it just started being that- I started meeting a lot of guys that way, also. And it was- the price would be high unless you were man enough to come to me yourself and say, "hey," bringing me some sweats. Bringing me T-shirts, you bringing me this, you bring me the pants legs- for the Muslims, make a couple of kufis. Some guys wanted their clothes to be embroidered with their personal logos. "No problem, I got you." But it's a difference, like if you would've came to me yourself, and you gave me two pair of pants and a pair of sweats,
“Hmm. Three cigarettes.”

“That's it? When I get it back?"

"You get it back tomorrow."

When you give it to me in the afternoon, you'll get it back the next day because I stay up all night long. At the slightest noise, "oop, I'm up." Because now I'm in a situation where I have bars, not a door. So I'll be pretty much up.

I took a nap during the day and stuff like that, and- and then I did enter a relationship. Also, and he was a father, and he didn't have a GED, so that was another task to go in and to start tutoring- I have my B.A. in mathematics secondary education. So now I'm sitting here on my own, not being paid by DOC- a state pay to tutor. Some officers gave me permission every Saturday about one o'clock to go to the old school and to go to the regular library, and I'd tutor ‘bout like six, seven guys in the math area. I'm like- I can't- I can't guarantee them that they gone walk away with high scores in the muf*ckin language department.

KD: *laughs*

JLW: *laughs* But we gone do it right. I excel in numbers. Yeah, so that was another good thing for me.

One thing I will say about incarceration- about me from me. Even though I'm not thankful that what happened to me happened to me, but being broken down to the bare minimum- and I'm pretty sure- and God, you hear me. There's better ways to break me down to the ground zero to rebuild me than the way you had me going *laughs* But- when, like I said that nothing can ever prepare you for that. There's things that I never would have thought about good and bad.

But when you're surviving in this situation, and I've met some people who are truly sick in the head. I met some people who are extremely intelligent, some people who are extremely talented. I remember- I had- Ramadan was here. And I'm not Muslim. But I was getting up and I was meditating, while they get up and do their prayers- and then that they've got to do their prayers and stuff during Ramadan. I was doing- I fasted with them and meditated during that time frame. And the guy next door to me was like, "yo, what is you doing? What you trying to- go back to your old [inaudible] or become Muslim?" I said, "oh no, we're not doing that. You know, I can't fully understand you unless I let my guard down and try to walk in your shoes." Why did I ask you that many questions?

I got to meet some amazing people who were 5%ers and I got to understand their mathematics, not for me to go teach it nowhere. But I can sit here when a person sits here and feel like, "Oh, it's stupid. Actually, is not- it's not for me, this is what I was told, and it makes a lot of sense. And I sit around them in the morning and I do the mathematics. That's insightful, and that's bonding.

Nothing wrong with looking at self as the god. We're Black. We're kings and queens regardless. And the best way to do that is to have it instilled in yourself, and instill it in your little ones. I'm pretty sure they probably wasn't told [inaudible] when they was on the streets, but hopefully- what I made in here goes home and becomes an amazing pillar of society, so to speak. You know what I'm saying?

And even though I met some gang members after the harm was done to me by them, who older or younger, even some youngers, who are in a family thing, and I want to know what's going through your mind. What makes you want to be this?

You know? So I want to I don't I tried- this was an opportunity for me to get- the meet and get to learn many walks of life that's not something I would see in everyday life.

KD: Mmhm. Mmhm.

JLW: Most importantly, I got to meet me. And I think with that, I came home in and in parole, was it- my parole pretty easy. I had had a great parole officer who had me scared at first. He was the only Black man and I thought he was going to be a d*ck to me. But he wasn't. He wasn't. He was very- gentle. Never disrespectful. Never out of pocket.

Towards the end of my parole time, someone started calling headquarters saying that I escaped. I don't know how I'm supposed to escape. I'm in my own house. I don't have a curfew. All I'm told is I just have to- I can't be in bars and taverns and I have to sleep in my own bed- my own home. That's all I was told. And I got permission, not in writing-

I'm a showgirl. So security was pretty good at the time. The only way I'm going to get any money is I have to go hit the stage. *laughs* and this most likely gon' be bars and taverns. *laughs*

KD: Yeah.

JLW: And he's like, “I can't get give you permission to go”. And I was like, “look here, I just need you to know in case some sh*t happens. I'm going to go to work, so this is the motif I do- I go out to work.” I still follow that and I'm completely free person now. I go work if I say it's showtime, five o'clock, I'm not getting there before four. And I'll get there at four o'clock- I'll probably get there like three-ish if I get there with no makeup on. I've got a bonnet on, so if you see me come somewhere and I got a bonnet on, sunglasses, and a hoodie?

Oh, yeah. I'm coming here from scratch. I'm doing makeup, eyebrows, lashes, hair, all that here. *laughs*

KD: Doing everything.

JLW: And then I'll be ready- like about 15 minutes before showtime. "Are you gonna be ready?" "Yeah, putting my lashes on now." Do the show. The show is done, take the wipes all my makeup come off. Nowadays, put a mask on [inaudible]- but back then if I come- if I'm coming fully done just gotta change the outfit. Per numbers, imma get there like 20 minutes ahead of time. I don't need a sound check. I'm good, and guess what's going to happen? When a show event is done for a callback? I'm back in my regular clothes. Take a bow. I'm in my regular clothes, and you got 20 minutes to pay me. I'm out the door. That 30 minute mark, I am already in a Uber or on the PATH train or in the car that brought me here.

I- I don't like to be around too large of a crowd. I don't like to be around arguing. And I remind people that prison has damaged me to a point where I don't want to be around anyone.

Most arguing won't make me feel unsafe. I know now to protect my peace because when you have very little and you gotta do what you gotta do to keep it. But prison has also made me value the dollar, also. I will say that. It made me value to dollar when I say that- it's because toothpaste- when toothpaste looks like this, *holds up a nearly empty toothpaste tube* a little more, a little less than this- garbage. Not now. Cause you don't have the luxury to say, "Oh, hey, this, store don't got it. Or, let me go order at another site or let me go, get the car to go to the next door. You can't do that. You got to use it to the end. And you have all the money in your trust account.

Another thing, a lot people don't have trust- trust accounts inside there, and in a lot of states it’s different. Like New Jersey, an incarcerated person should be receiving like twenty five-thirty dollars at once a month. And if you have fines and fees, still, $10 is taken out, so you'll receive like 15 or 20 dollars to go get things.

I think New York's- New Yorkers should be receiving like about six to ten dollars once a month. And these people who don't have jobs inside there. And then even if you get a job, you've got to remember a job was created for me, and that was $3.80 a day. B*tch I wouldn't even work for $3.80 an hour.

KD: Yeah.

JLW: *laughs* My last 9-5, which was in 2000, I was making what? Like $13-something an hour. That was twenty something years ago. But, it makes you- it makes you value. I know- I learned to value my dollar more. Value my dollar, means also value the dollars people give to me. I'm more appreciative when I'm performing and I'm being tipped because guess what? Somebody busted their ass for this dollar. It's like $12 an hour? So this- these $2 tips is like 10 minutes of their hour. You know? So, I'm very- much more appreciative.

Prison had broke[n] me. Prison had destroyed me, but there are parts of prison- my survival of prison that had made me stronger. A better person for it once therapy came into play. To help me pull from, this pull from that. Address this. Let's address that. So I don't have it.

Some things still make me cry. Some things still hurt. And, trust me, the way I'm telling this story now, it's- therapy is key. Because a couple of years ago, I wouldn't have talked. My first time discussing what I had to endure, anything good or bad, when it came to my incarceration was June 2020.

I started with the therapist finally in January of '19. It was therapeutic for me. I want to say something. I don't know how much the racial makeup of the audience who will see this or hear this. But as Black people, I can't speak on another race because I'm not- I'm Black. I'm African-American, so I only speak from my race. We're not taught to seek mental health.

Even in 2020, a lot of people will still shame you and say sh*t like, "Oh b*tch, you crazy, crazy." You may not mean it as a harmful way, but that's something that could make someone not want to seek the help that they need. And I admit- I have to help that I have because I had a medical team that was here prior to incarceration. You know? And so they are invested in me.

And my parents worked for the main hospital in my city. Pretty much all his life until he got ill, and my mother until she retired. And so a lot of the staff that’s still there- a lot of people have known me since I've been- I came Jersey when I was like two? So they knew me all my life. A lot of people from when I started this medical journey to have my own insurance. I'm in my mid-20s. I met a medical staff, a medical team, created my own medical team of people that already knew from being a child and interns and stuff then, have ultimately become my practitioners. Became my doctor. *laughs* So I have an amazing team that has literally known me. So they are truly invested in me. And I'm sad that a lot of other Black people, and Black queer people do not have that same luxury. And I know that I am blessed there.

But I want to make it clear nothing is wrong with mental health. Going to seek mental health is for your overall health, your overall being. I will tell you this much, when I started getting my mental health in check, my life started to make a little more sense. My life is not perfect. I know now because there's no such thing as being perfect. Trying to be the perfect girlfriend. The perfect child. The perfect sibling. The perfect employee. The perfect public figure. That sh*t takes a toll, and you eat at yourself. Never wanting to complain. It ate away at me- and there ate away at me. And I know that, if nothing else, I want to make sure that people understand that- It is nothing wrong. We are seeking the help that you need. It’s not for everybody else. It's for you. We- you as an individual, can become your greatest support system or your biggest enemy. And always choose to be your biggest cheerleader. Your biggest support system.

JLW: There's an "i" in Jennifer, let me tell you that much. *laughs*

KD: *laughs* I like that, I like that. I'm writing that down. I just have like, not too much more, but are there any joyous moments that stick out to you from when you were incarcerated?

JLW: Yes. Um, I won’t say his name. He got his GED. You know how that felt? And then to come give me it, "I went and got this, I did this for you," "No, you earned it. This is yours. So now you can go and sit here and tell your children do their homework.” *laughs* You can't be telling no damn kids "do your homework. When they come look at you, "I'm not playing around at school" when you ain't finished school. You got to lead by example, it's a whole new generation, "it's not do as I say no more." It's now "do as I do" sh*t. You know how these kids are now? So you got to do for them to do. So that was like a good moment.

And then I know that I had some amazing people who had a perception of a woman like me. People in these queer communities, so to speak. But they became my biggest protectors without having to do anything or pay anything. They like literally became my voice and loving people around me. And it feels good when you- happened to overhear a conversation and a person is saying, like, "Jen don't bother nobody. Jen is just her." "Stop saying her." "I look at her, I see a woman. She carries herself like a woman, not like a gay man. You know how many muf*kers done sat here, and out of everything that's been done to her, she still takes time to do for others in here?”

I never wake up and think about saying no damn “good morning.” This damn woman, get up here every single morning. Walking through the [inaudible] with some, “good morning. Good morning. Good morning!” I asked her why'd she'd say good morning! She said, “Because even though we in here, and it's a f*cked up situation, trust me, we're still alive.” And we still have to hope for a better tomorrow. Look at how many people over here who just lost everything- cause the earthquake in Haiti had just happened and a tsunami like two months before that, had just happened somewhere else towards that direction. This is like bad. Folks dead. I'm still alive. Plus I was taught to say good morning anyways.

KD: Yeah.

JLW: I'm still alive. You know? I may have not done a crime, but I do understand that, my parents taught me as a kid, such as "be careful who you with cause they may do some sh*t that you gon’ get in trouble with them."

So these are lectures, and then I know for myself, it's- easy to tell me something. Does it really?- I'm paying you no mind. What is the difference when you have a person who actually lived through it and you could tell me how you came- overcame it. Stuff like that motivates you. So now I could be in their shoes.

But yeah, so seeing people speak highly of- like I have a friend, he's still incarcerated. He calls me. Like I know I became his support system. And it was- we had got into an argument over- a queer person who just came on the unit. And he remembered what I asked him, "promise me any gay man comes in here, any trans woman comes in here, please- I'm not asking you to go be their best friend. *laughs* But, do your best to put them in the best situation.

Now a[n] ass is a[n] ass. I don't give a sh*t, what color or race, what gender. What identity you got, you's a ass, you's a ass. *laughs* But initially, everybody deserves the right to be able to prove themselves to be a human or an ass.

I was scared as sh*t. I don't care how stern my face was. I was scared as sh*t. I don't want my other sisters and brothers to be like that. I don't want nobody walk in here and be like that. I just want to come in here, do my time, and get out of here.

So, yeah, those are good moments. Like I sit here and I remember that conversation. It was like two days before I got ready to leave. And I remember people were prepared to buy, like, buy my television, buy like the sneakers and stuff that I had. And I didn't sell it. What I chose to do is, the people in the facility who I knew had nothing- like I cut pass this one guy's door. For the past year and some change he ain't had no TV. He had a TV for like two or three months prior to that year and some change. But it was a state-loaned TV like- it may have went into the hospital, like, the hospital, hospital, like the surgery- had to recover in a physical hospital. So you guys had let this man hold that man's TV? That man is back so now he's TV-less again. He needs a TV. I have a perfectly good-to-use TV- a perfectly new TV. It's not new, but it's four years old, but it was bought by scrap, only had one owner, and that's me. *laughs*

"Do you want it?"
"Oh yes, can I have the radio, too?"
"No, you're not getting both entertainments. You're gonna get one."
"We gon’ find somebody else- don't ask me for it because you know the answer's gon’ be no."

I know who- I know who I've been watching and seen who doesn't have. Let me make sure that you have. There was a lot of guys bought me a lot of gifts hoping for things. *laughs* So I had plush robes and stuff like that. We put it to awesome good use. We give it to the people who don't have.

I know that I was impactful. I brought my [inaudible]. My harm- the harm that was done to me, my ground- my ground zero. My rebirth- the beginning of my rebirth which is survival. Hurt, understanding, and now I'm finally growing. And I don't think I would be able to stand right here if prison didn't happen. It could have been a better way. *laughs* But yeah, after- everything happens for a reason and I'm here now helping others-

KD: And how do you feel about where you are now in your life?

JLW: This isn't how I saw my life, I'm forty-five, I'll be forty-six later this year in June to be exact. I'm supposed to have been married a decade ago. Should've had Jeil and Janae. *laughs* My son and daughter. Yes. I have [inaudible]. And that's alright. I settled. I've been engaged three times, and I've settled. And I had a fear of wanting to be- no, a fear of being alone. But right now, in life, no this isn't how I saw my life. But guess what? For once. I am myself.

This journey of self-discovery in self-understanding. This is the most confidence. The most loved that I've ever had within self. Of course I want my Mr. Right, or my right for me person. *laughs* But they may never come. I know now that I stop saying "he". “They” may never come, but that's fine. I got work to do. I got places to explore and see foods to eat, spicy margaritas to drink and- I've recently- I shared last year with some people that I hated my nose. I hated my complexion. And. I love this melanated chocolate, cocoa brown skin that I'm in.

It's got through many battles and they'll go through some more. I don't know how many more I can overtake. *laughs*. This cocoa brown, melanated brown amor have done me good. And I'm here. See me. Learn me. Respect me. Even if you don't love me, I love me. I know now that that's the love that I've been searching for. It's still a process, but yeah, I never knew that the love that I needed most was self-love and I didn't have that. I never had that.

KD: And what does joy look like to you now, considering your newfound self love?

JLW: Like do you see that smile coming to my face? That's picturing me getting on a plane, going somewhere warmer. I don't have to be naked, but warmer. *laughs* Blue skies. I think I've done- I've done my share. I know I got a lot more to do. This joy looks like good food, more music from my idol, a couple of more performances, some places and states that I haven't got to perform in yet that I want to do.

And I want to get to Africa. I think that the journey of self-discovery that I have yet to crack or [inaudible] peace, will happen organically. Getting to Africa. Why? Because I went to Memphis last year. And initially, I'm thinking Blues and barbecue. But I don't think I ever knew where Beale Street was until then. And night one was the most amazing night on Beale Street. Day two, I had the longest, most emotional six hours of my life. And that was going to the National Civil Rights Museum. And then I got to go to a[n] actual auction block.

And I said to somebody, "what were they auctioning?"
"Oh well b*tch nothing now!" *laughs* "It was slaves back then."
"Oh hold up? So you saying a slave-?"
"Yes it's there it's encased in a gate and with a placard thingy on it."

I got to watch some slave property. That's upkept to help with weather, and I believe, I believe, what it was supposed to be a stop on the Underground Railroad. I believe it is. And it ended up being so much more.

It became a trip that brought me to Memphis because the Memphis National Arts Museum had did a display of trans people on Christopher Street. And half the people in the book- got met [inaudible]

I met this guy on a block one day, he asked to take a photo of me and I said "No." I took him as being a perv, but being a photo whore, ultimately I gave in- Ultimately I gave in never to know it would become a New York Times best-seller, and in some of the photos of the book.

The first museum that wanted it to do a display was in Memphis in the national arts museum. The Brooks National Arts Museum. And so that's why I was in Memphis, because they flew me out and got me a fabulous hotel. *laughs*

Yes and I spoke there and everything and to see myself- and see my name, my picture, my name on a museum wall. And this is in 2015. June 2015, I gave this quote to this photographer, I said to him, “the woman that I am, incarceration is on my mind. And I plan on fighting for the voiceless and incarcerated." And to know that, wow, I forgot I said that. *laughs* and to- I see me on a wall with my quote next to it. And immediately, I remember saying that to him, and I'm like, "well damn." Almost like six years later, seven years later not only are you doing that, you work for a national nonprofit, you also created your own nonprofit.

And if that invoked a lot of tears out of me. And seeing physical models. Not physical people, but like a structure of a slave being how they were housed on a boat. And I sat on the shore next to one of them was one of the male figures, and everybody in the museum was looking at me. And I'm like, this is literally my size. Looking at the [inaudible], you can feel everything, it evoked something in me. And I was like, I'm determined to get to Africa more than ever. That's where my roots actually began.

So I hope now God understand me, please understand me, y'all hear me, so play that back and you need to hear they don't want a life. I'm not saying, let me get to Africa to experience this joy of Mother Earth and home starting point. That does not mean that I'm Ok to die afterwards! No, by no means! I've got a lot more life to live! *laughs* It just makes you think it makes you think about people that fought for me to have what I have. Even- during my incarceration, I know that incarceration was created because you gave me and my people- my ancestors their freedom. That means capture- captivated- of us, and you can get a Caucasian person and a Black person, both same sex, same county, same judge, and I guarantee you- the same no history, no criminal history, and I guarantee you, their sentences, is not going to be same.

KD: Mmhm.

JLW: And I'm not talking about like months, I mean, years down in. No, I mean, literally, say there is a white person right now, and she's given a year and one day to go to prison and then two years parole- a year probation. Sentence that Black person, another Black female about the same age, in the same county, that same judge a month later, you tried to give this hoe like three years and do three year parole. Parole and probation are very different. Well, it goes, a b*tch got kids- cause when white people done sat here and did some bullsh*t with their kids with them? Oh, you'll let them make a phone call and let their damn Aunt Susie come pick up the kids. But let a Black mother sit here, and god forbid see her kids wanna be with her, you ain't letting her make arrangements real fast. Go pick up junior from the school, keep them with you till we get this, take them to my mother's house. [inaudible] You ain't letting a Black woman do that.

So many Black children are thrown into foster system so fast. Thrown into the system so fast, and the little ones are immediately housed off, and they can't find them- there's women sitting here right now, they're fighting. You done hemmed them up in a legal situation and took their children, and they are fighting for their damn children. Three or four years. You know how much crucial time that is, especially with a toddler? That's all- about to get me pissed off. Ok. *laughs*

KD: I mean, that transitions to my last question, which, you know, is there something you wish people would know about the criminal justice system?

JLW: The criminal justice system was designed to keep Blacks in check. *pause* We can agree to disagree. And that's fine. And even for every Black person that's listening, who feels you are above the law- that you feel that, “oh, this would never happen to me.” Don't be no fool. Because I believed that same sh*t, until I got put in the situation first hand. I heard people complain about it. But you're never going to know until you've actually dealt with it. This whole situation is designed to keep the Black person down. And some of us do not have- some of is still in a slave mentality where it's Ok. It is not Ok

Don't worry about having a seat at the table. Make your own damn table and bring your own seats to your own table. Make your table just as equal, if not, as powerful. Our ancestors have done it. They may have came and turned around and destroyed it, and they will. But, you can rebuild. You keep on rebuilding together, united, we can do some amazing things.

Women. Don't be deluded- don't be delusional and ever think a trump situation would ever care about you. Women, before you, regardless of color, have fought hard for rights. And understand that even if someone is incarcerated, you never know the full understanding, the consequence that led them there. An incarcerated person is still a human being. They deserve to be heard. They deserve to be given a voice. They deserve the opportunity to come home and be in a safe haven that is not designed to send them right back.

Everyone, I don't give a sh*t how much money you have. How much, how much power- if it's what your family has, everyone needed someone at one point and time in life.

The Caretaker

Kathryn Destin — Thu, 08 Feb 2024 23:01:22 GMT

This interview was conducted in March 2022. You can listen to the entire conversation between Kathryn and Jennifer, including the transcript, here.

Content Warning: Drug Use, Death/Dying/Grief, Explicit Language, LGBTQ+ Phobia, Physical Assault, Self-Harm/Suicide, Sexual Harassment/Abuse, Verbal Abuse

Depending on what you hope to get out of life, eight years can be a long and opportune span of time. You can run for, be elected, and serve as the United States president twice. You can earn a Ph.D. to become an expert in your field. You can become a doctor and save lives. If you own a rocket ship (like some people), you can go for a quick visit to the rings of Saturn to snap a few photos. Or, you can split that time up to serve five years in prison and three years on parole for witnessing a crime you didn’t commit.

In March 2009, Jennifer Love Williams (she/her) was found guilty by association and was arrested for sitting in the car when someone she knew conducted two armed robberies. She was sentenced to serve five years, one month, and five days in prison, undergoing deeply traumatic life-altering events. Nearly 20 years later, she has finally begun taking steps to heal and see herself in a new light after what she endured in prison for simply being in the wrong place with the wrong person at the wrong time. She admits and accepts that she is not blameless in the situation but will never understand the punitive response that society, the criminal justice system, and life gave her.

When it comes to Black and Brown communities, oftentimes, they [people] don’t want to hear circumstances or even do the research themselves on circumstances. Now I have to deal with people looking at me as if I’m a criminal and a robber. And in actuality, I was just sitting in the car when the activity took place. This makes me guilty by association. That part I fully accept because I could have got the hell out. I just wanted to get closer to home before I got out […] I may have not done a crime, but I do understand that- my parents taught me as a kid, ‘be careful who you with, cause they may do some sh*t that you gon' get in trouble with them.’

Jennifer wasn’t necessarily “better off” before her incarceration, though. When I asked her what she was like, she described herself as broken. A mess. She was well established in her career as an entertainer in high demand throughout the East Coast. She thought she had it all together. However, she realized just how untrue that was when her father died in 2004. The realization that her family would never be the same brought up all the stuff she’d been suppressing deep down. She compared this moment to having a closet or trapdoor that could no longer be forced shut. All the “bad memories” and “hurtful things” she didn’t want to deal with could no longer be hidden.

It started popping open, and I started unraveling.

How did Jennifer handle all that was coming up for her? She pushed it down even more through cocaine and alcohol. As long as she stayed high and had a bottle in her hand, she didn’t have to deal with what her conscience desperately wanted her to address. But how could she? She didn’t know how to express herself and felt she didn’t belong anywhere. Even the idea of being in the shower too long where she’d be alone with her thoughts was too much. The only way she could get through the day was to deny herself the reality that life had laid out in front of her.

Then January 2009 happened.

A former friend and U.S. soldier raped her. Jennifer had previously survived two suicide attempts and, at that moment, never felt more defeated and drained by life. She said she was confused and angry at God for not letting her die when she wanted to and having the audacity to let something so terrible be done to her by a “friend.”

How could my life that I deemed to be so perfect- all this snatched from me. ‘What did I do wrong?’ is what my mind was thinking. I was a broken soul who went into a situation that destroyed me even more.

Shortly after the assault, Jennifer was hospitalized for another suicide attempt. Sadly, her recovery was interrupted by the impending prison time that loomed over her. Her sentencing was pushed back a week to allow her more time to recover, but she learned that if doctors didn’t release her soon, she would be sentenced while still in the hospital. This meant she would begin serving her time while still physically and mentally unstable. She additionally would be handcuffed to her bed and have an officer stationed outside her door. To top it off, she was recovering in the hospital where her mother and father, prior to his death, worked. Unable to withstand the prospect of tarnishing her parents’ legacy and embarrassing her mother at her place of work, Jennifer signed herself out of the hospital early so she could be sentenced elsewhere. She was promptly placed in county custody upon her sentencing until she became stable enough to be brought into state custody.

No more than two and a half weeks after Jennifer, a trans-woman, arrived at a men’s state prison, Jennifer was raped again and held down by two men to be beaten by three others with combination locks on August 8th and 9th, 2009. The months-long healing process from her previous assault and suicide attempt was reversed in a matter of weeks. When she was unable to identify the men who attacked her, administrators presumed that she was lying and didn’t want to be a snitch. Although that assumption was untrue, she was put in solitary confinement for a year and ninety-five days as punishment.

It was the beginning of my ground zero. At that point, I completely hated God. [To God] ‘Why would you keep me here? And to allow one of your so-called children to take my body? You just allowed another one of your children several months ago before I came here to take this body. He [was] supposed to be out here protecting our country. Now you’ve got me in here, wanting to walk away with a clean slate, and you allowed somebody in here to do this to me? And then you allow five extras to beat the f*ck out of me?’
That is unacceptable. In what world? I get the whole ‘He puts on you nothing more than you can bear.’ Well, Goddamnit. What do you think I’m supposed to [do]? - I’m green as sh*t. I may have dated a lot of urban men. I will admit my womanhood rested on me feeling like [...] ‘oh, ok, so if I’m dating him or you see me with him all the time, you’re bound to respect me’ is what my mind thought.
You [God] are not letting me go. You wouldn’t let me go at my own hand. You had them violate me and destroy me. Brutally. And you still ain’t letting me go. So at this point, where am I to go? I just want to coexist. I’ve done a lot of things that’s not me, but I had to survive by any means necessary. I’m not a violent person.

I asked Jennifer what her support system was while in prison. Her family, especially her mother, was there for her through thick and thin. But the limitations of her depression and solitary confinement made it hard for her to feel their love and support. In answering my question, Jennifer switched back and forth between referencing her perspective at the time, her mother’s perspective, and discussing the dehumanization enacted by the American prison system.

In the beginning, I had none [a support system]. But it wasn’t because of them [her family]. […] I received mail. I knew I was thought of, but I [didn’t] have phone calls. I [didn’t] have visits. My mail [was] not going out. But at a certain point in time…my mail started getting out, I guess once I was fully healed [...] The family just found out in June of 2020 what happened.
I knew it was something that wouldn’t let me give up because I received these letters from my family. Birthday parties and stuff, and still sending me invitations. They’re being dismantled because you can’t send stuff with bows and trinkets and stuff on it. But that’s fine. I’m still getting the disheveled version of it. And to me, that was still fine because it’s letting me know that…being incarcerated is modern-day slavery. It is dehumanizing, and my family is constantly writing me. They’re going to keep writing me until they hear back from me. That’s letting me know there’s somebody out there [who] still values me. [Who] still holds me as a human being.

When Jennifer was finally able to see her family for window and contact visits, they immediately took notice of the bruises on her head and body that peaked through her clothing. Their acknowledgment of the physical signs of abuse didn’t make her uncomfortable but rather validated her feelings. She was reminded that she wasn’t losing her sense of reality when she believed the prison conditions to be wrong.

She revealed that her mother spent hours camping outside the New Jersey D.O.C. headquarters lobby to report the ill-treatment and neglect. When it became too much, her mother advised her to write everything down and leave a paper trail about the abuse she withstood. In between laughter, Jennifer referenced her sometimes having to do “something strange for some change” to gain access to copy machines, solidify her paper trail, and maintain communication with her mother. But in her eyes, she could live with it if it ensured her safety.

Jennifer had no shortage of other intense experiences as a very feminine trans woman in a men’s state prison hosting many lifers. I asked what her source of strength and joy was during the low moments. At the beginning of our conversation, I learned she had a place in her heart for Janet Jackson’s “Rhythm Nation” and self-titled album. I knew music and Janet were one of the things that kept her going, but in response to my question, she shared that she also got into “urban novels” during her bids in solitary confinement. For the nights she couldn’t sleep, which was most of them, she used sewing and puzzles to pass the time. In fact, she made a good amount of money altering and making clothing for other inmates, like making kufis for Muslim inmates and embroidering logos onto pants. Her motivation to keep going also came from her love for her family and wanting to look after her nieces and nephews again.

In addition to me, always knowing that I’m meant to be a woman, I also always knew that I was going to be a mother. I’m the oldest grandchild on the maternal side. I’ve literally babysat every single grandchild. And now we have a bunch of great-grands. Half of them I cater to. One of them I’ve seen her born [...] [I’m] the first face she saw. She still is my world. These moments [in prison], I [saw] my nephews come up like once a month and [watched] them grow to become some amazing young men and women. It was a beautiful thing.

But hands down, one of the most heartwarming stories of joy Jennifer told was when the guy she was dating inside earned his G.E.D. With a B.A. in mathematics secondary education, she coordinated with the D.O.C. to tutor him and some other guys on Saturday mornings in an old school library. In her eyes, it was a great way for her to bond with other Black people, learn about other walks of life she otherwise would have never known, and encourage accountability from her fellow inmates. But the best part? She also got to meet herself. Considering that she couldn’t stand the idea of being alone before her incarceration, it was a big deal.

It’s been over 20 years since Jennifer was first arrested. She gave away most of the gifts she received and items she bought in commissary to those she saw enter state custody as she prepared to leave. Life hasn’t been perfect, but it most definitely is better. After her last suicide attempt in September 2018, she’s been going to therapy steadily since January 2019. She’s established a medical team that has supported and cared for her from even before her incarceration to now. Since her ground zero, she’s been reborn through raw "survival and hurt." In banter, she threw in:

I don’t think I would be able to stand right here if prison didn’t happen. It could’ve been a better way. [She laughs.] But yeah, everything happens for a reason, and I’m here now helping others.
I’m here. See me, learn me, respect me. Even if you don’t love me, I love me. I know now that that’s the love I’ve been searching for. It’s still a process. I never knew that the love that I needed was self-love, and I didn’t have that. I never had that.

At 46 years old now, Jennifer planned to have been married a decade ago and have a son and daughter she planned to name Jeil Jacob and Jasmine Janae. However, she expressed that she's not mad that life didn’t work out that way. Jennifer has gone on to start her own nonprofit, had a spiritual experience when visiting the National Civil Rights Museum, and has been featured in an exhibit at the Brooks National Arts Museum. She hopes one day she’ll be able to make it to Africa and that more people will understand that incarcerated people are still human beings who deserve to be heard and have a voice. With her nonprofit, The Jen Love Project, she supports and cares for those soon-to-be-released LGBTQ+ inmates. Thankfully, she’s gotten over her fear of being alone and equating her womanhood to a connection with a man. Jennifer has accepted that the “cocoa, melanated brown skin” she has is all she needs.

The Advocate (Audio)

Kathryn Destin — Tue, 06 Feb 2024 23:46:00 GMT

I’ve changed for the better and for worse during my incarceration, and since then […] I’m able to be more comfortable with myself and realize the things that I need and what I really don’t need and just want. When I was incarcerated, I didn’t have those luxuries. I didn’t have the privilege of having certain things that made me happy on the outside. I had to find joy and happiness in other ways. I guess you’d say I had to discover who I truly was as an individual.
~ Sean Thomas

This interview was conducted in March of 2022. You can read the feature article first published in June 2022 on Sean Thomas here. (Apologies for the audio quality! This interview was recorded well before I knew about the recording tools I utilize now and was edited as best as possible. If you have any listening issues, feel free reference the transcript.)

Content Warning: Explicit Language, LGBTQ+ Phobia, Physical Assault, Sexual Harassment/Abuse, Verbal Abuse

KD: So first off, just go ahead and introduce yourself, you can share your name where you're from and, if you want, what you do.

ST: My name is Sean Thomas. I currently live in Brooklyn, New York, but I'm from Corpus Christi, Texas, and I am in nonprofit.

KD: How long were you incarcerated for? And you're welcome to share which you were incarcerated for.

ST: I was incarcerated for about three years since I was incarcerated for a financial crime. For fraud.

KD: OK. What would- how would you describe how you were like before you were incarcerated, what brought you joy then?

ST: *pause* Before I was incarcerated, I felt like I was a little bit more carefree. Definitely. *pause*.

ST: So some of the things that brought me joy, which really spoke to which type of person I was before I was incarcerated, were a lot of material things. A lot of things like going out and being able to, you know, go to these fancy bars and have fun in that sense or going shopping. And at the time, it was more to see- it was more to be seen and what I was wearing. And those are the things that brought me that joy at that time. And when I look back on it, I didn't even know it was a joy. It was just what made me feel comfortable in those situations because I was trying to be impressive.

KD: Mm hmm. Did you feel like you found some of your self-worth in those material things or how you saw yourself?

ST: Oh, absolutely, because I felt like I needed validation. So a lot of times I was buying those things to feel like I belonged in the spaces that I was in, because I didn't feel like I was enough as an individual. So, I had to be a part of the whole corporate America – the "successful person". So, that meant like the way I dress, the way I spoke, who I hung out with and the places that I went to and the experiences that I had.

KD: Is there something specific that stands out from your experience from being incarcerated that you feel encapsulates your time there?

ST: I guess it'll be just the most simple thing of not really having my own freedom, or, excuse me, being able to make choices and decisions on my own. That was probably [the] thing that really stood out the most for me was the constant reminder that I really wasn't able to do anything on my own, make decisions on my own. Everything had to be accounted [for] through an officer or somebody else's- with someone else's permission, even in my own space, such as my cell. I had to maintain their expectations and maintain their rules and regulations for how I kept my cell and what I could do in my cell and so that privacy was not extended. And those are things that kind of really just kind of molded the entire experience for me and what constantly goes in my mind, even post-incarceration.

KD: And it's interesting you say that because you talked about before you felt those material things gave you the freedom and then it's like when you were incarcerated that was taken away from you. You know?

ST: Yeah, it absolutely was one of those situations where, you know. When you have these things and they're taken away from you, it's shocking at first, but then you realize how much of that stuff you didn't need, in a sense. And that's why I feel I came out a better person. I've changed for better and for worse since- during my incarceration and since then, with the positive things that come from that and the fact that I'm able to be more comfortable with myself and realize the things that I need and what I really don't need and just want. So when I was incarcerated, you know, I didn't have those luxuries. I didn't have the privilege of having certain things that made me happy on the outside. So I had to find joy and happiness in other ways. I guess, you'd say, I had to discover who I truly was as an individual.

KD: Yeah, and you know, actually that sort of leads into my next question, was there a special person or hobby or passion or just anything that served as a source of strength during your lowest moments in prison?

ST: You know, so I- in the New York state prisons, I'm going to be honest with you. They're really corny. They don't have a lot of stuff to do. And no, seriously. And even though I make kind of a small joke about it, it's not a good thing at all because, you know, you have people that are in these facilities and the intention is to rehabilitate them. It's to help them to make better decisions and choices, so that way they won't- they will change that to re-offend and these different things.

But, you limit the things they can do, the things they can participate in, things that can distract them or help them grow based off of funding, or just because of simple things such as "we don't want too many things" going on in the jail or whether or some people thinking a little bit more deeper that they're doing it intentionally to keep their recidivism level high. So that way people don't change so that when they go home, they do re-offend and come back. So we're like a revolving door.

But some of the things that I found was programming. I became a facilitator, which I taught classes, of the classes they did have, such as some of their programming like ART, which is just anger regression training and then also different other programs like AA, which is Alcoholics Anonymous, and other programmings they'd have. And that was my way of kind of staying positive and keeping my eye towards, you know, "I'm not gonna be here forever," and so I should just learn from this experience.

As far as hobbies, being in a situation that you're completely foreign to, you know, you really- sometimes you feel isolated, so you have to try new things to entertain yourself. So one of the things I really tried to do was- what do they call the game? Solitaire.

KD: Oh, yes. Yes.

ST: Yeah. And so if I was in my cell, I would just throw on music and I would just play solitary [Solitaire] back to back. In New York state, we had the privilege of buying TVs and commissary so you could buy a TV, a personal TV for yourself in your cell. So I had purchased a TV and I would watch TV whenever I wasn't in programs or when I was in my cell. And then also, we have music, so you can buy music for your tablet. So I'm a huge music head, so that was my other thing, which is my music. You just kind of use that music to kind of transport me to outside the walls and the bars.

As far as people, you know, when I was home before my incarceration, I didn't really have a strong connection to the LGBTQ community other than, you know, I live in Manhattan. You know, I had a few friends that I knew two other people that were gay. I didn't have a strong gay- or I didn't have a really strong friendship in the community outside of just the regular things that people do in the city.

So when I went to the prison, it definitely was a different experience for me because a lot of the LGBTQIA that are incarcerated or isolated or they are- and they- it's hard to explain. It really is. They're not in the best situations, so because they're isolated from their families or they don't have much contact from outside. A lot of them are struggling. They either don't have a lot of support. They don't have a lot of resources. So being upstate further alienates them from anybody, so they look to others for comfort and to be taken care of. So that's how you hear about the relationships in jail. They find dudes who- kind of like “wife them up,” or, you know, kind of keep them, like the commissary, or they’ll give them this, this, and that for certain things.

And I'll be honest with you, to be very frank, when I was incarcerated, that kind of made me- that didn't make me feel good. So I kind of never really associated myself with them on that, because of the fact that I didn't feel like it was that serious. But then again, I also realized that I came from a different situation where I still had a lot of friends and support when I was incarcerated, and I still was in contact with my family, and they helped me out. And it kind of gave me a sense of superiority in the sense that I felt like I was a little bit better than them because I wasn't in the yard, you know, trying to do the most to get a pack of cigarettes, even though I don't smoke or, you know, just super flamboyant and out of control. And that's how I felt in the beginning of my incarceration.

But then after I started to see the more and more nonsense of how much we have to deal with as a community behind the wall, there was a sense of solidarity that you know just because we don't listen- we don't have the same ideas it views doesn't mean that I should turn our back on you or that I'm better than you. And then I had to realize that we had to stick together. Because, like, how are we going to expect other people to respect us, if we don't respect ourselves or each other. So it became a really big thing for me to start to befriend, and not only befriend, but to support the community behind the wall. And that was a bit of a refuge for me.

But then the facility that I was moved to didn't have that many LGBTQIA people, and- I think that was by intention. They didn't want, they didn't really want that many people there for reasons of, you know, staff not knowing how to deal with them. They don't want any incidents of lawsuits. So they didn't want to have to deal with the stuff that comes with- which meaning like, OK, well, if someone's transitioning, I demand that I get my- my hormone therapy treatment and everything. And so there wasn't that much representation. So I- you know, I'm sorry.

KD: No, no. Don't apologize. I really appreciate what you've been sharing so far. I had a follow-up question, quite a few. But one that stuck out to me is when you were speaking in the beginning about, you know, feeling somewhat better than maybe the other LGBTQ people who were around you when you first went in - do you feel like maybe the amount of time you were sentenced had anything to do with that? Or maybe you talked a little about your background and your support system. Can you elaborate more on maybe why you felt that way?

ST: I think more so it had to do probably with my background, not necessarily the time that I had because I grew up in the very suburban home in Houston. I was born in Corpus Christi, Texas, but I was raised mostly in Houston. And I grew up in a neighborhood where we were like the only Black family. My parents were both military retired, but well into their respective careers as civilians. So I grew up pretty privileged and going to college, then from college moving to New York and living a certain lifestyle because before I was incarcerated I was in finance. That- before I even went to jail I always had the attitude that I like, I was like- I was like that guy or whatever, because I felt like I was successful, educated and all these different things. But I still made the mistake and still went to jail, which humbled me greatly.

But when I was incarcerated, it was the attitude that, "yeah, like, I'm not, not you. I'm not, you know, in the yard. I'm not doing drugs. I'm not feening, I don't need somebody to take care of me. I have people that come and see me. I have family. I have visits. I have packages. I have food. And it shows you the attitude that people have that are incarcerated by things that really matter to them. Such as OK, if I have enough money, if I have money in my account then I'm doing good. If I go to the commissary where we can buy food and stuff like that, then I'm good. Or if I get packages monthly then that means I'm good. If I have personal clothing in my cell, such as like personal sneakers and like shirts, and sweat suits in shorts. And I always look good every time I step outside of my cell and, you know, I'm doing it. And those were the attitudes that I had because I would see that a lot of times you had, it was more so in the way of interaction with others outside of the community.

So I'm not necessarily a flamboyant person, but people know that I'm gay. So I would hear things from guys, like, when they got to me know like, "you know Sean's gay, but he's cool. Like, he's not one of those other people." And honestly, that gave me a little bit of like, OK, a little bit of pride in the sense of like I got along with everyone. You're doing too much. So like me and you really can't mix because like, I'm able to interact and deal with these dudes and they trust me. So that made me feel like, OK, well, that's why I am the way I am, because, you know, everybody can get along with me and I'm a cool person.

But then I realized that the same people who were cool with me but would disrespect my people in the community, and to me, that wasn't the case after a while. Because then I began to feel like, well, if you’re disrespecting them, then you’re disrespecting me as well, because that's my community. And then that's when my attitudes are to change towards how I felt about my sisters and those who were in the community behind the wall. And also, because the Black and Pink, are you aware that the newsletter and everything they have?

KD: Yeah, I've heard a little bit about it.

ST: Yeah. So the newsletter is basically- a small portion of it dedicated to what's going on in the community outside of prison. But most of it is like other people who are incarcerated that were part of the community from different jails around the country, because it's a national organization, and they're talking about their struggles in art form and story form and poem[s]. And it really helped me to understand my background and where I came from had nothing to do with my experiences in jail.

When I went to jail, all that stuff went out the window. Me having my degrees, my career, the money I made, the people I knew, where I lived. When I went to jail, I was just a Black gay guy. And the stereotypes were- I'm a big black guy. I'm in jail. I'm gay. That's all the officers saw me. That's all other inmates saw me as, at first, because nobody's going around as people's life stories just to see what type of person they are.

So when I would read those stories, I would say, wait a minute. Other people are having experiences the same way as I am. Or, you know, how dare I'm here on my lofty perch and these people are having serious issues. People who talk about sexual assaults and, you know, violations and the neglect and everything that they received in these different facilities. And that made me realize that it's not just about it's not about me. It's about collectively all of us together and how we are as a whole.

KD: I guess I also wonder, do you feel you were treated differently from certain people who weren't LGBTQ or who weren't Black or who were just whatever part of your identity? Do you feel like how you present yourself affected how you were treated in prison?

ST: Oh, most certainly. At first when people first met me, they would just assume that because I was gay, that I would be like super extra and that's- all I was about was just looking for somebody to, you know, have sex with or whatever, just being honest, or trying to be like, you know, be seen. But that was kind of the initial thing. No matter what social setting you're in, whenever you first go into a situation that people don't really know you, they just assume they just kind of make a perception just how they see you. Like the physicality. And then you- your first impression is when you have that interaction with them.

So when I was incarcerated, when I first got into like a housing situation to where I was, I was the place people would see me and I'm six, 6'3" and like over 200 pounds. They would see like maybe the way I walked, like I was like Shanaynay, but I definitely don't walk like a linebacker. And it was too that, Oh, he's a "mook", which is the term they use upstate in New York prisons for gay, or “he's a f*ggot” or whatever.

And then once people got to interact with me, and this probably was easier for me than most other people in the community, because I was in positions where people had to deal with me. As opposed to they would just see me in the yard or they would hear me gallery talking to somebody else, because of like the positions that I took- such as my work with programs, like, facilitation, and I was in charge of certain things.

I was the head of the transitional services department. Dudes had to speak to me because they needed- the programing was mandatory, so they needed it. They needed when they wanted trainer- they had talk me to get into one of my classes. Or if they needed to get one of these programs, they were going to the parole board or some of the things they had to speak to me so they can get into one of my classes and it forced them to really say, "OK, damn I gotta deal with this dude." And then when we had that interaction, everybody be like, "oh damn- you're not even- you're a cool dude." Or they would hear other people talk to me and they would talk to them about me and they were like, "yo that n*gga, he's chill."

And kind of that's why I say my experiences- probably don't reflect the experiences of most people that was incarcerated as far as the situation that people hear, such as sexual assaults and the rapes. And, you know, the abuse and all these different things. I definitely didn't have like a walk in the park, during my incarceration, but I definitely had a lot more support. And it wasn't as violent as some of these other people's experiences were. But that's not to say that I never saw those things because I saw a lot of, a lot of crazy stuff behind the wall and I was in a maximum security prison. So these things definitely scarred me in those senses, so I can only imagine how it was for the individuals that went through that.

But because of the places that I was in, I was able to have a different relationship with other people than necessarily somebody in my community who may be trans because it's it's crazy how micro[aggressions] happen behind the wall, like, "OK, he's gay, but he's not trying to be a girl so we can f*ck with him" or, sorry, we can deal with him. I'm sorry. *laughs* Yeah. And so, but if I'm trans, that's like open. Like, he's-, "nah that man's trying to grow boobs or like, he thinks this this, and that's" more like- that's more socially unacceptable.

Like in the world today, people are more comfortable around a girl who likes girl than they are around a guy who likes guys. Double standards, but it is what it is. That's just the reality of today. So I can say that if I was a trans woman upstate, my experiences would have been 100% different than just an open gay man.

KD: Mm hmm. You talked a little bit too about the support system and how that helped you when you were spending your time. Could you describe more of what that support system looked like?

ST: Whenever I- did what I did, and I got caught and, in my case, I had a lot of people who were in my life who were like left like, "oh, no, I don't know how to do that." But I had a good group of friends who were truly there for me and really gave, gave me that grace in the sense to say that, "OK, well, you made a mistake, so I'm still going to have your back." And then also my family really had my back.

And I have a strange relationship with my parents, mainly because my father and I don't really have a good relationship, but this kind of made him step up in the sense of saying that like, "I'm not going to abandon you-. I'm going to still have your back." And show support. I'm talking about the sense of every time I called, they picked up the phone. They would send me money, so that way I could buy commissary. They would come on visits whenever they could. Then also, you know, packages, these types of things or support that kind of help me float- kept me afloat during the incarceration.

Also, just knowing that when I came home, I would have a place to come to, and I wouldn't be alone. Unfortunately, that's not the same story for a lot of people upstate. They don't know what's going to happen when they come home. They may have to go to the shelter system, DHS in the city, or they may be going back to the same neighborhoods they came from, where they committed their crimes. And it’s going to be like a repeat cycle. So they're scared about that. And so that's what I mean when I said they were supportive and they basically had my back.

KD: Maybe reflecting on them or another time. Are there any joyous moments to stick out from you from when you were there? You could think about maybe times you laughed a lot or smiled or found happiness or whatever joy looked like to you during that time.

ST: In the sense of being around, you know, my LGBTQ community, whenever I would go to the yard and we would come together and we would joke and laugh, and in those moments it was like, OK, I was authentically myself in the sense of like, I didn't have to put up for the facade or anything like that because I had to stay in my lane in the sense when I was dealing with other people. So it was that free moments, you would say the stories and the memories of the conversations were just so authentic in like, you know, I can let my hair down even though I don't have any hair. *laughs* And so these different things that kind of made me comfortable and realize why I love my community so much.

And so those times when we would get together, we had- a little about six months before I was released, I had successfully gotten a program started through the administration of a support group for the LGBTQI[A] in the facility. There were only six of us at the time when I was released. I've since been in contact with several people that are still incarcerated, and that number has grown to about like 15 people that are in that jail that are open about their sexuality, and the group is still going strong.

And those were- that was a very joyful moment we would meet every Tuesday night in the school building, in one of the classrooms. And initially, like whenever you start to develop a group or start a program, you have to present a- course, you have an agenda. And also you have to make all these different things of what's necessary, how it's beneficial and what the purpose it serves. So, originally, it was supposed to be about HIV awareness and, you know, education, but it was- that was a fraud, in a sense, for just to come together to have a safe space, to talk and talk and to kind of like in the yard we come together.

But when you're in the yard, you still feel like you're being watched by other people because everybody's looking at you. Because like you guys are a minority in the outback. Like the taboo, like all those "homos" over there. So when we were in that classroom, it was just like a great time. So, we would have, we moved to Dallas and they would vogue or they would dance or we would talk about things, sing. You have conversations, just discuss things that were really bothering us, talk about, strategize about what we intend to do when we come home. And so that was one of the things that brought me joy.

Another thing that brought me joy, which is probably, not necessarily my biggest accomplishment, but was something that really gave me a lot of pride was, you know, the work that I was doing because I was the lead facilitator for the transitional services. And due to my programs, whether it be ART, which is for the anger management, or whether it be for financial literacy courses, which people would sign up for voluntarily, or the last thing that dudes had to do before they go home, which is the last mandatory program they had to take, which is phase three, which is the reentry services.

So "let's figure out, let's get you signed up for some Social Security the card. Let me tell you how to get your driver's license. What you need to do at the DMV. Let's do job readiness. Let's build your resume. Let's talk about cover letters. Let's talk about what your tactical skills are." All these different things. "Let's put you in an interviewing simulation so we can figure out what your strengths and what your weaknesses are." And just all these different things of how to prepare you to reenter society.

One of those things that made me joyful was whenever I would see dudes and it would click, how serious this is and how they would apply themselves and how they would get on it. How they would realize, “Wow,” this is like, "I never want to come back to jail. So let me start putting in that work right now and not wait till I go home if I say, 'OK, I'm never going to jail, let me start now,'" and seeing those dudes get this stuff. And that's been such a privilege and a joy that has continued from prison to here.

Because right now, I mean, I work for a nonprofit in East Harlem. And we have a lot of people coming through our doors that are just coming home within a week or two or even some dudes the next day after they see the parole officer coming to our doors looking for services and resources. And I have seen so many guys that I knew from up north who were in my programs and to see that they are focused, coming home, wanting to change their narrative, wanting to let people know that "just because I did that, the time, you know, that doesn't mean I'm coming out here and I'm going to get right back to it. I'm going to get on my grind and do it the right way."

KD: Mm-Hmm. How was it setting up your support group? You talked about it a little, but did you get any pushback, were people excited about it?

ST: I got a lot of pushback, not necessarily from inmates, but from the administration and staffing. So one of the things about [the] Department of Corrections is they don't like change. They're very antiquated in their attitudes, they have a one size fits all attitude to "what we had beginnings we're going to have now." The only time they'd create new things, is when it's funded and when it's for the staffing.

So like "if we can create another job with this, with this program, then let's do it." So there are many things that can be done by one person or not even one person. Sometimes people can become overwhelmed, but they are creating these positions just to give people titles who are not qualified for them. But whenever, whenever inmates or as the new term that we're supposed to be calling these people, "offenders" try to develop programs because we do have that privilege to create packages of what we think we need and everything. And we have to go through so many hoops, the hurdles and forms and all these different things. All these hurdles or whatever.

But when I first presented the idea of this program, the support group, it took me almost four months for them to even look at it after I had submitted the original package. And that happened expediently in the sense of, every time I saw one of the administrations or the deputy the superintendent or anybody that was on the administration, these are people who are the different programs, that allow medical services that all these different vets who would formulate the administration of the facility, they would always come to change the services on their rounds. And I would hound them like, "have you not looked at my- taken a look at the package? Do I need to do anything? Do I need to give any amendments? And if I had been doing that, it probably would've taken well a lot longer. And I probably never would have gotten it off the ground before I went home. But I received a lot of pushback from them.

And one of the reasons being is because they said- they didn't want to feel that- they didn't want to promote “sexual attitudes” in jail. So we don't want to feel like just because you have a class of people, who now know how they can avoid giving HIV and AIDS, which to me felt like, how dare you say something like that? Because HIV isn't just transmitted through sexual interaction. And clearly, we have a huge drug problem in this jail. It may not necessarily be people using intravenous use like needles and everything, but people are getting high on like synthetic marijuana, K2, weed. There are drugs being filtered in and out of this jail.

So, you know, you need to be more conscious of the community that you're serving instead of trying to prevent this from happening. And because…I'm very articulate. …And it's like they were like, "Well, well, Mr. Thomas, you- this is why this thing can't happen." But. They listened to me, in the sense of, because they knew I wasn't going to like, shut up and I knew my stuff. A lot of times it's easy to get people [to] try to start things. They didn't know how to present themselves, or they didn't know how to speak to others, especially those in authority, because you can challenge somebody in a non-offensive way. And you just know how to speak like whenever you go to a board, you know, you need to first have the confidence that you belong in that boardroom and then articulate what you want to and the way that you feel that you can best come across.

So, the pushback mainly came from the officers. Because the administration didn't have to deal with it. All they do is approve it or deny it. So when they disapprove it, then they don't have anything to do with it other than the fact that, "OK, well, let me, just let me see like how many participants are involved." But the officers were the ones who have to when we're in the classrooms, they had to be in the hallway, just down the hall to see and maintain order or security or whatever, or just those different things, honestly. So they were like, “yeah, we don't want these gay people coming together and then having a party in there” and all these different things. And that happened for so many different reasons, and not just for this support group. But just in general.

And I don't want to be one of those people that's like, "Oh, that- they did all this stuff because they hate us." But I will say this that most of the time, anything that brought joy to people incarcerated through some way, some way, somehow they always find a way to damper that. Whether it be like dudes celebrating in the yard because [of a] basketball game, they won the basketball game. Officers come around, "You keep it down. Shut the f*ck up." All these different things.

But yet they're down the gallery at the end of the housing area with their own little television set, and they're watching football. That was [when] I was in Wende Correctional Facility, which is in Alden, New York, which is in the Buffalo area. So when the Bills had played, they're louder than anybody else. But we don't [have] the privilege to tell them to be quiet or shut the hell up. They can do that when we're in our cells and we're having conversations or watching something and we're excited. So it was always a moment where they were trying to take things from us or- manipulate the environments. And so when we first started a support group, they would always find a reason in the beginning to like, kind of end our sessions early. So like, "oh movement is about to end in 20 minutes. You guys got to get out of here," but we'd still have 30 minutes left on the schedule. So it was always something.

KD: Hmm. Are there any moments or things you'll never forget from that support group when you were hosting it?

ST: Yeah. How much nonsense people go through, and we're still strong. Our perseverance.

A quick story. We had a trans girl that I had met while I was there who decided to stay in population. Because as soon they get there, they automatically ask because of your orientation, “do you want to go to PC, which is protective custody,” because they're like, "Well, we don't want to deal with any of this, any sh*t from you. So if you don't feel safe here, we're not going to protect you. So you might as well go to PC." Dead serious.

So she decided to stay. She decided to stay in general population or go in the general population when she arrived at the facility. And unfortunately an officer sexually assaulted her during a cell search and he frisked her. It was incredibly demeaning because when it happened- she was in front of like four of the officers and they all made jokes about her and how small her breasts were because she had just started transitioning about a year before and just all of these things- and it was incredibly demeaning.

So when she went to medical to report it, it really didn't go the way she intended it to go because the medical staff ended up alerting the staff- the officers that she was complaining and was talking about she had been assaulted, which is a very common thing. There's no- there's no kind of accountability, especially when you're in these small towns and these folks because they all know each other.

So even the grievance process, like every other issue, is supposed to be a private discreet thing. But they ended up basically roping in people- the people- you understand what I'm saying? So she came a couple of days later to the support group, and despite going through all of that when she came in, she was able to laugh with us and joke and kind of just be like, "this situation happened. But thank God that you guys are here to support me."

And that was one of the things I learned from them is the resilience, like we go through so many things, and it's just reflected in society as a Black man, as a Black woman. All of the things that we go through, the stereotypes or the hurdles that we face daily, we're able to still put a smile on her face and, you know, still make it look good.

KD: Yeah, thank you for sharing that. I think that was definitely something that was necessary for someone like her who needed that community to help her when the people who were supposed to just didn't provide any confidentiality at all, which is so frustrating because you hear about that so often. So thinking about you as we begin to wrap up, how long has it been since you were released and you've talked a little bit about it, but what are you up to now?

ST: So I was released October 13 of last year, and since I've been- wow. *pauses* *laughs* That's the first time I've thought about that in a while actually. It's March.

But, you know, since I've been home, I have been so, I don't want to say like, well, I have been focused, but I don't want to say, like, I'm just running running running running running. Because one of the things that I learned from it is to have patience and to just enjoy the moment when I was incarcerated.

So coming home, I've been focused as far as work. I've got a great job as soon as I came home. I'm working in nonprofit, which is a complete about-face from what I used to do and what I went to college for. I'm in with reentry services, helping people coming home to get the resources that they deserve and they have the right to whatever because it's insane how people don't have the education and what they need and what they deserve when they come home. They don't know [about] the basic things they can get. How to apply for benefits. How to get a driver's license or if they- don't want to get licenses. How to get a New York, NYC I.D., which is something that isn't as isn't as hard to get as a driver's license or it's not a driver's license. Things like that. I've been having fun.

I'm on parole, but I had the privilege of having a parole officer who isn't a tool. I guess you could say. He respects me. Or at least I hope he does, because he sees how focused I am. When I first came home, I had plans. I let him know all my plans. I let him know all the interviews and all places. I was going to to stay focused. And I think he saw that right off the bat that, "OK, I'll let him do have because he's focused."

And since then, I've been home since October. I've only seen my parole officer three times because of the intervals between the time that I have to visit him and see him. And that's not the common thing for a lot of people on parole when they first come they gotta see their parole officer once a week. But also a lot of people that come home for parole, I think it has to do more with the first impression that you have with your parole officer. Like, if I see my parole officer and I'm like, "Yeah, I'm home I really don't have much to do but I'm home, but I'm here." I feel like okay parole officer's like, "I need to be on this dude because he doesn't seem like he has anything going for him or that he's focused. So he's gonna be out here- he might be out here doing some nonsense."

And like I said, having fun. I have already traveled to several places since I've been home. And just everyday- just doing things that I never really had time for last time. And then also just finding the sense of what's organic and isn't like,-what's the word? Like manufactured. Like, I don't feel I need to go out and drink and like, get like, fall out drunk in order to have a good time anymore.

I literally have fun when me and [my] friends, like on Wednesday, some of my friends and I were going to go see The Batman. This past weekend, we ended up going to Woodbury Commons in upstate New York. [We] had a blast all day while we were shopping. It was- it wasn't me spending the crazy amounts of money [like] I did last time because the Woodbury Commons is an outlet store, I mean, an outlet mall, but I had a great time.

And then also just being able to walk down the street and just observe and just be just impressed with, you know, the fact that I'm home. I think that that'll never get old for me is being able to walk out the door and say that, "wow I don't gotta ask somebody if I can leave." Or I'm not gonna ask somebody if I can take a shower. I can take a shower as long as I want. Or, you know, go to Chipotle right now, and get a burrito bowl or something. And so those are the things that I'm excited about. But something that's been super- like my purpose since I've been home is to continue to reach back in the sense of like, I don't know if you know Michelle Obama's famous saying, like "when you get to the top send the elevator back down."

Since I've been home, my efforts and my mind has been towards, like all the people that I left behind and how to bring some of them to where I am, which is one of the reasons why I got involved with Black and Pink. Because even though I was one of their members on the inside, now I'm one of those people on the outside- that I am helping now. I'm on the outside and I'm doing the work to help those on the inside. And so it's just incredible because so many people come home and they just try to forget the experience or they don't do anything to change or fix all the nonsense- or all of the crazy stuff that they saw. Because it's harder for people to fight, for you to fight for yourself, if you don't feel like anybody is fighting for you.

KD: Yeah. Yeah, I think that's really powerful, because what you bring up is something I've noticed with people who have been affected by incarceration where, you know, they just want to push it so far back behind that, you know, you might not be able to reflect on it to see what you've learned or how you can support the people who are still there. Once you leave-

ST: -Or even to prevent yourself from going back there because you don't even remember what, because you have to- I don't want to relive it every day, but I definitely need to keep it on the back of my mind of what I lost and what I went through in there. So I can't. I don't have that privilege to desensitize and to kind of forget it, because then I'll forget the reason why I'm working so hard. I never [want] to put myself in that situation again.

KD: Ok, I've got to ask, what's your Chipotle order?

ST: *laughs* So I love- *laughs* I love carne asada. And so any time I go I get the barbacoa and I always- I'm corny because I'll ask them to put the tortilla in the bowl. *laughs* And they'll be like, "$2 extra" I'm like, "I don't care, just do it." And then- I'm sorry. And then I love the salsa with sour cream and queso. And so that's- and black beans.

KD: Ok, ok I'm a chicken person myself, but it's really funny that you say I can- I can do extra. I love the jokes where they're like, "yes I know the guac is extra. That's why I asked for it."

ST: Yes! Yes- I swear to God every time- I'm not even exaggerating when I tell you this because I eat there at least once a week. There's a Chipotle right down the street from my apartment, and one night a week I probably go there because I don't feel like cooking or I don't feel like spending $20 for a meal, so I'll go and spend $10 for a good sized burrito and every single time- and it's even at the same place when I say, "let me get guacamole or let me get queso or let me put the tortilla in the bowl for me please." [They'll say] "Sir you know that's extra?" *laughs*

KDL I know the drill. *laughs*

ST: Like c’mon. Like-

KD: I only have a few more questions, though, I'm really happy to be hearing what you've been sharing so far, and I might take note about that tortilla thing because I get a bowl too.

ST: *laughs*

KD: So you, you sort of like talked about it already, but I wanted to just know, how do you feel about where you are now?

ST: In what sense?

KD: -Just in your life now that you're out with what you're doing, are you satisfied with it? Do you know?

ST: Oh, I mean, I can- I can say yes and no to that, I'm satisfied in the sense of, I feel like I'm on the right path to what I'm going to do. I'm not satisfied [with] where I am at the moment because obviously I want to do more. I want- I mean, I'm still in my infancy as far as coming home. But, I have visions of possibly starting my own nonprofit and being a- and doing things differently or serving a little bit more different demographics than what I'm doing right now.

But I am happy where I am as far as I'm. How many months is that? Six months out of jail. And, I am doing very well. I'm not making the money I used to when I was in finance, where I was making six figures. But I'm definitely in a happier place and when I go- leave home from work, I feel pause* exhausted, but a happy, exhausted because I know that I did something today that was purposeful, and I helped somebody.

As before when I was going home, I was exhausted because the people I dealt with- worked, the environment that I was in, the culture, the office culture and the stress of having to maintain these accounts of- it was just a stressful environment for me.

And so now when I think about it- because I think about it a lot like, when I get on a train or an Uber or something like that, I say to myself like, "Wow, Sean, like you're coming home- I mean, you're home and you're doing it." Because I heard so many people go home and they just get right back into the nonsense. I've seen it since I've been home. I see dudes went out like several times. I've been to parole. You just run into people that you were upstate with because you're in the same parole as them or whatever because I go to parole in Manhattan.

And- or in my office space where I work, you know, I see dudes coming through and they want help-
"Oh Sean, can you help me get a birth certificate?"
“Ok. Do you- do you want to help me get you a job too?"
"Oh nah nah, I'm not on that type of time right now."
“What type of time are you on right now then?”
"No. You know, I'm doing me right now, but Imma holla at you, whatever. You know I need it because I know you about this life and I don't play with you."

Ok, it's not about playing on me, it's about playing with yourself. Are you going to keep putting yourself in positions and situations where you need to hustle? You need to stick somebody up, or you need to rob. And so I mean, it's just about communicating to dudes, and that's what I'm good at, how important it is to invest in yourself. Giving yourself that personal wealth-

No, because it's weird. It's a weird thing. Well, not weird, it's a terrible thing, actually. How many Black men don't have that self worth or had that confidence in themselves beyond expectations of society?

So like, "oh, you were selling drugs, my man, you're never going to make it out of Brooklyn or I don't expect you to get a college degree, so be happy that you're alive at 25." Things like that, so those ceilings that are put over you, you don't really see yourself breaking those ceilings or getting past the ceilings because those expectations and those are cultural in the sense, because of the ways that we talk to ourselves/ Talk to each other.

Like now, I feel like the attitude, the changing of like the people that are coming up that are growing up in today's times because like- you have like kids or people who are growing up in times right now where they see like, there's so many ways to get money or so many ways to be successful because of the availability of like information and stuff like that. Like, I'm on YouTube every day or I'm on TikTok every day or I'm watching these people on different platforms talk about how to get money, how to promote myself, how to build brands.

But when you're incarcerated, and you have repeat offenses on your record. A lot of dudes only see the fact that- they're a felon. So like, "I can't get a job, and if I do, get a job it’s going to be flipping burgers." Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, sir, but if you don't have a GED, you can't even flip burgers now. So what are you trying to do? So, it's important for me to help dudes understand that they need [inaudible] themselves, whether it be them getting a trade because formal education doesn't guarantee success.

But it's about doing the right things to put yourself in positions to where you can open yourself to opportunity. Because I can tell you that you are- you have an amazing talent and cutting hair. When we were up top, you were giving everybody fresh cuts in the yard. "Alright, so you coming home. You trying to get your own shop? Well you got to, first, get a license to be a barber and then get your own chair at one of these shops. And then we can talk about you owning the barbershop. OK, let's get your finances. Do you know how to get a small business loan?" Things like that. Being honest and realistic with ourselves, but not saying that- we're not putting limits on ourselves, just being realistic with ourselves.

KD: I think that's great. That's great. That accountability is really key, especially for people who may not have had the support system that you had when they were in. They might not feel that compelled, you know, so it's nice that someone can provide it because it doesn't have to be blood or close friends all the time to help you get to where you need to go. Just people who care and want better.

KD: Upon reflecting on our conversation, what does joy look like to you now?

ST: Joy, it looks like to me now *pause*- Success- Nah I'm not even gonna say that- [inaudible] but I feel like my joy now is just being satisfied, in the sense of, just being able to be in the moment and just be appreciative of my freedom and that can be wound into almost with everything that's going on in my life and kind of boast every experience that I have now.

Because I've been on the other side, and so I know how valuable that is, because they say, you never know what you have until it's gone. So me walking down the street of Manhattan- streets of Manhattan because I live in Chelsea, me walking down the streets of Manhattan- just seeing the chaos, seeing the cabs or the Uber or seeing like, you know, people, all the different styles, all the different cultures, the people. Being on the train, seeing like somebody come on the train and start dancing to music, things like that bring me joy. Because when you're in a cell, all by yourself, Kathryn, and you have limited options- it really teaches you to appreciate the small things.

So like on Friday, a few of my friends and I went to go see Dua Lipa in the Prudential Center in Jersey. And when I tell you, I've been to many concerts, that concert was just amaz- That was not the first concert I've been to since I've been home, but it was- and I really let myself go and just had a blast. First of all, it's because I love every song by her. But it was just a great time for me to say, you know, "I'm here." I didn't [let] that situation bend or break me. I mean it bent me, excuse me, but it didn’t break me.

And that's the joy that I feel like I'm able to continue on. I didn't let that situation make me bitter. I'm still going to live my life and have a good time and do good things.

KD: She has a new song with Megan Thee Stallion coming out Friday. I think

ST: I know. I know. Believe me, I know. *laughs*

KD: *laughs* I'm a big Meg fan, so that's how I heard about it. But I love the both of them.

ST: Alright hottie.*laughs* You know, I'm from Houston. So, you know, I gotta show my love to my Houston [inaudible]-

KD: Of course, I'm sure you probably knew her before I did, but I found her maybe a year before she blew up and I was like, "I've been on to Megan, you all can't tell me anything." But I know some who knew her from the Houston cypher and I'm like, "Let me shut up."

ST: *laughs* I've definitely been, you know, I mean, I won't lie to you and tell you that I knew her when she was underground because I didn't. But I will tell you that when she first popped on the scene, before, like the remix with Beyonce when she was dropping little mixtapes, I knew about her just because people were talking about her at home. And so that was like, okay, kind of like how people knew about Nicki, when she would drop little mixtapes and, you know, in Queens before she, you know, linked up with Young Money and all of them. So like, I- I've been watching her for a while and I'm just so excited for her success.

And I'm also so excited [about] the representation of her because I'm all for the representation. She came on the scene, and she came on the scene, talking about how she's a natural woman and how she embraces herself and her curves. And she's in college. So she's all about building herself up. She doesn’t needs to do other stuff. She may be talking that ratchet stuff, but she says, I'm coming to you. I could be ratchet, I could be classy, and I could be boujee, and I'm in college. I'm about to get my degree. So I'm- I'm covered on all sides. But I just love what she represents and how she comes across and just the messages that she pushes across.

KD: Yeah. And I found out about her. I don't know if- he's kind of small, but he's a gay rapper whose name is Drebae. I found him on Twitter.

ST: Yeah, I’ve hear about him-

KD: -And so I heard their collab together. Now I'm like, “Who's this Megan chick?” Because I knew Dre from Twitter. And then I see it, I'm like- Oh, I don't think I can remember the first song I listened to from her, but the first song that had me hooked was “Freak Nasty”, and I knew I couldn't turn back. I'm like, "Oh I'm a hottie now." *laughs* I was like, “Oh!”

ST: *laughs* Yes! You know, I mean, I have so much respect for female emcees. I really don't care for the beef that they have between each other. Yeah, but it fuels records, I guess. So that's always going to be generating. But like when Nicki Minaj dropped the song with Lil Baby, the “Do We Have a Problem?”

KD: I- the Barb in me, came out- *laughs*

ST: *laughs* That's what I'm saying, everybody went crazy and I was so like, I was so crazy about the song dropping that when I saw the video. I was just over it. But because I was just- I'm a true Barb. Well, I guess I'm a Ken Doll because I'm a guy or whatever. But anyways, so- but I just was so in love with the song that I watched reaction video on YouTube of people watching it *laughs* but just listening to the music.

And I remember I saw something kind of related to the conversation that we had today about- somebody had made like a Tiktok or something - and a video of somebody getting pulled over. It was this Black girl and this Black dude getting pulled over in the car. And the white officer- because have you seen that thing on TikTok where people like we, "yeah, do we have a problem?" And they're walking-

KD: -I think I've seen a few, yeah-

ST: So the officer came and he immediately came with an attitude. And they were playing the music, this song and they turned it low. But then like they were like rapping the music and then like when Nicki's part came up, they said, "Do we have a problem?” to the officer? And he said, "No, we don't have a problem. I just wanted to make sure that your registration was current." And I think that this is that it may have been aggressive because the way her tone in the song is aggressive. Like I'm- "pull up to the opp, do we have a problem?" It's almost in the sense of- like questioning a person and like, you are checking that person- do you understand what you're doing, like is there [an] issue between us? And even though that was a fictional situation- well it's not fictional cause that happens all the time- but how we are- how we communicate with those around us and those in authority.

KD: Yeah.

ST: So me coming home, I have a whole different respect for law enforcement. Oh, but I also understand that as a Black man, like, I don't have that privilege to be like, "Oh, well, I just got pulled over. Nothing's going to happen." You know, I got to keep my hands on the thing, keep my I.D., my insurance or whatever so they can see me. And that makes me think about the women, the trans Black women, all the other people who are so screwed over in the city by these police. People don't know that more trans women get murdered than any other. It's so sad. So these are things like that just coming from all. Do we have a problem? Yeah, we got problems. All right. So we're going to challenge all these problems and maybe help bring solutions in a way these problems don't exist anymore. Almost want to play that in the background now.

KD: Yeah. And then just the last thing I had was, well, well, wait- When she's sneak peaked "Bussin" at the end of Do we have the problem? I lost my mind. I sent it to all my friends I said, "wait-" But-

ST: Have you seen the video though?

KD: Yeah, it was cute.

ST: Oh my G- I felt like the storyline was weird for me because I was like "wait a minute, what's happening?" And then- she's the rogue cop. The rogue one. But I just love the visuals, though-

KD: Yeah she's been giving good visuals.

ST: I just loved the outfits she was giving and the looks she was giving

KD: She's- my friends and I always say she's gotten prettier over time. It's, it's really wild. But then what you were saying to about, like the police officer and the tone. I mean, I definitely speak to friends and I've written about it where like, it's just also a New York thing where you just come across as intimidating and you don't realize it.

And then when you're a Black person on top of that or a Black woman or a big person, because I'm also a big person, like people think, "Oh, you know, you must be really scary because she has this tone about her. She's from Harlem. She's ah ah." But I mean, that's not really my intention. It's just, you know, me singing a song or asking you a question. But you know, it can lead to people really reading into things and then eventually causing problems. That didn't need to happen, you know?

But yeah, and then just the final thing I want to ask you is just on a more general note of is there something you wish people would know about the criminal justice system? Maybe a thing for change or what the culture is like?

ST: So like, for whoever is reading the article or whatever, or just people who want to be more involved. Because, you know, one of the reasons why I'm glad that you're putting a spotlight on this is because people- like ignorance is bliss. You know what? What people don't know, they're not going to help with. Or they don't see the problem. So the more people that know about the injustices that are happening while incarcerated are more likely to be more people to help and to fight for those causes. Right now, they're being covered like DOC. Like, they do a very good job of like sweeping stuff under the rug, settling out of court with issues and lawsuits, with covering up their- having the backs of their employees.

With these incidents, the culture is very toxic. You know? You have these people who are- not from these areas. Like inmates and offenders in areas that are like- the mentality is so different from the places that these people are from, like urban areas in Buffalo, urban areas of Albany, the city, you know, the boroughs in the city. So when they're in these places, like they're like- they're like the- it's so hard to explain. But I mean, for me, because for me, the story is more so what happened after we've gone through those experiences unfortunately, because I don't feel like it will ever stop.

But what happens when you come home? How do you change your narrative of what people already think about people who are felons or formerly incarcerated? How do you change the needle on more people understanding that we're people too.

And wanting and hoping more people getting involved with helping these people, Extending more resources. So that way when we come home, you know, it's not the immediate reaction when somebody reveals in the interview, "I've been incarcerated" "That, oh, well, all right, well, you know, we will let you know about the position. So we'll call you." And you never hearing a call back. And changing it to like, "OK, well, you made a mistake. I know that there are people out there that make mistakes. You seem well spoken. You seem that you're focused. You have a good work ethic. Let's give you a chance." Also just to people saying that, you know, we have to support the people who were formerly incarcerated, not just financially and work ethic. I mean, work wise, but mentally.

Because even though I'm home and I'm doing good things- I went through- I have PTSD. I went through some things in there. Maybe not as severe as some other people, but I still have a lot of issues. Therapy is a real thing, and I'm using that. But I need those around me or those people that I come across to see that just because I'm home doesn't mean it ended for me. Even if you are- even if you do respect me and cherish me in your life, just because I came home, does that mean that it stopped. I still have issues, I'm still dealing with things.

I'm still having the insecurities of, you know, I am a Black felon. I'm a stereotype now. If I went to go get my job back again, I wouldn't get it. Not that I want to. And not that they would hire me back *laughs* for that reason because of what I did. But just the fact that even if I want to get back into finance, the fact that those things are not available to me anymore and it bothers me sometimes because I have three degrees, two of them are in finance. So now I feel like that education is wasted. And all the money that my parents put into- for my education is void now-

So yeah, it's just important for me to communicate to others that one of the things we need to do is to realize how important mental health is. Because if a person doesn't have it, isn't handling that or putting a lot of attention towards [maintaining good mental health], then every, every other area of their life will fall out of sync.

The Advocate

Kathryn Destin — Tue, 06 Feb 2024 23:00:21 GMT

This interview was conducted in March 2022. You can listen to the entire conversation between Kathryn and Sean, including the transcript, here.

Content Warning: Explicit Language, LGBTQ+ Phobia, Physical Assault, Sexual Harassment/Abuse, Verbal Abuse

What does it take for a person to get to know themselves? The answer to this question will vary based on whom you ask. Some say self-awareness is best achieved through daily meditation in the silence of a room set to a calming ambiance. Others suggest it’s meeting with a therapist once a week to face the hard questions which may present answers you resent but come to accept over time. Whatever response you receive, many people can agree that the pursuit of self-knowledge has no singular avenue or one “right” answer. For Sean Thomas, one of those avenues was going to prison.

Hailing from the privileged lifestyle that two military-retired parents and the middle-class suburbs of Houston, Texas can provide, young Sean Thomas (he/him) envisioned himself as a finance businessman on Wall Street in New York City’s financial district. Not upstate.

Prior to his three-year bid under maximum security, Sean was living the “American Dream” that many of us are familiar with. He possessed three degrees, two of which were in business and finance, a well-paying job in corporate America, and was surrounded by other financially successful peers. Like many of his fellow Americans, Sean found comfort and security in material things. He frequented fancy bars with friends, splurged on shopping escapades, and wore expensive clothes. Sure, he had the financial security everyone wanted, but his sense of self-security was nonexistent. Sean did not know who he was or what joy looked like for him outside of the things he could buy.

I was trying to be impressive […] I felt like I needed validation. A lot of times, I was buying those [material] things to feel like I belonged in the spaces that I was in because I didn’t feel like I was enough as an individual. I had to be a part of the whole corporate America [image], the ‘successful person.’ So that meant the way I dress, the way I spoke, who I hung out with, the places I went to, and the experiences that I had.

That all quickly changed when Sean was charged and convicted of fraud. Suddenly, he found all the things he held dear taken away from him. The initial loss was distressing, but he soon realized that he didn’t need the clothes, the people, and the status that his former wealth brought him. While you never really fare “just fine” when incarcerated, Sean began to learn the difference between needs and wants and that despite his 6’3 height, he still had more growing to do.

I feel I came out a better person. I’ve changed for better and for worse during my incarceration, and since then […] I’m able to be more comfortable with myself and realize the things that I need and what I really don’t need and just want. When I was incarcerated, I didn’t have those luxuries. I didn’t have the privilege of having certain things that made me happy on the outside. I had to find joy and happiness in other ways. I guess you’d say I had to discover who I truly was as an individual.

The prison system’s “one-size-fits-all” approach to rehabilitation intrinsically deprives its people of not only material possessions but also of community, expression of individuality, and mental stimulation. Sean referred to New York State prisons as “corny” in jest but quickly clarified that hidden in his humor was honesty.

Even though I make kind of a small joke about it, it’s not a good thing at all because you have people that are in these facilities and the intention is to rehabilitate them. But, you limit the things they can do, the things they can participate in, things that can distract them or help them grow based on funding or just because of simple things such as ‘we don’t want too many things going on in the jail.’ Or some people [might think] a little bit more deeper that they’re doing it intentionally to keep their recidivism level high. That way, people don’t change, so when they go home, they do re-offend, and come back. So, we’re like a revolving door.

Nevertheless, Sean was determined to make his exit and not let the limitations of the carceral system stunt his growth. In comparison to some of the other people he shared the yard with, Sean knew he wasn’t going to be incarcerated forever and that there was an end in sight. So, until the time arrived, he turned to whatever programming was available to remain positive and optimistic. Sean became a classroom facilitator, leading programs such as A.R.T. (anger regression training), A.A. (Alcoholics Anonymous), and financial literacy courses. He even started a support group to provide a safe space for his fellow LGBTQ+ inmates. However, his endeavor did not come about with ease as he regularly faced pushback from the D.O.C., other inmates, and even himself.

The support group was initially formed under the guise of being for HIV awareness and education. Sean noted the D.O.C held antiquated attitudes as they clung to old practices and beliefs that were not beneficial for inmates’ well-being and the queer community. It took almost four months for his program proposal to even be reviewed by the administration after his initial submission. Mind you, that is considered to be an expedient response, and it was only because of Sean pestering administrators every time he saw them on their rounds. Without his insistence and privileged educational background to advocate for himself, Sean is positive his program would’ve taken even longer to get off the ground or not even happened at all. He also had to hear many homophobic remarks from corrections officers who weren’t comfortable with “promoting sexual attitudes in jail” and the prospect of “gay people coming together and having a party.” He had to play into officers’ homophobic beliefs that only queer people, especially gay men, could have and spread HIV, by claiming his program would teach group members how to avoid HIV and AIDS. Even after the D.O.C. administration approved his support group, Sean and his group members were still taunted by hypocritical officers whenever their expression became “too much.”

[…] Anything that brought joy to people incarcerated, someway, somehow, they [corrections officers] always find a way to damper that, whether it be like dudes celebrating in the yard because they won the basketball game, officers [would] come around [yelling], ‘You keep it down. Shut the fuck up.’ All these different things. But yet, they’re down the gallery at the end of the housing area with their own little television set, and they’re watching football. I was in Wende Correctional Facility, which is in the Buffalo area. When the Bills had played, they’re louder than anybody else. But we don’t have the privilege to tell them to be quiet or shut the hell up. They can do that when we’re in our cells and we’re having conversations or watching something and we’re excited. When we first started a support group, they would always find a reason in the beginning to end our sessions early. So like [they'd say], ‘oh movement is about to end in 20 minutes. You guys got to get out of here,’ but we’d still have 30 minutes left on the schedule. It was always something.

Although the fight for the LGBTQ+ support group, or, excuse me, the HIV awareness program, did not come easy, it was a saving grace for those members dealing with the traumas of the carceral system. Sean shared the story of a trans-woman inmate he met while hosting the support group. As he recalled her story of being sexually assaulted by an officer during a cell search, he paused. His tone dropped, and his playful storyteller side took a back seat to reveal that when this woman was assaulted, it was in front of four other officers who demeaningly joked about her small breasts as she had just begun transitioning the year before. The hurt and embarrassment of the story were channeled through Sean’s somber face, and his pained expression became more pronounced. He revealed that when she alerted medical staff of her assault, instead of enforcing any consequences, the officers who assaulted her were notified that she reported them.

There’s no kind of accountability, especially when you’re in these small towns [with] these folks because they all know each other. So even the grievance process, like every other issue, is supposed to be a private discreet thing. But they ended up basically roping in people that- the people- [the perpetrators] you understand what I’m saying?

Unfortunately, this massive breach of trust between administrators (i.e., medical staff) and inmates is far from uncommon. Historically, there has been underreporting and suppression of reports of inmate sexual victimization in the United States. In a Bureau of Justice Statistics (BJS) report investigating sexual victimization between the years 2011 to 2015, there were a total of 67,169 allegations made and 61,322 investigations were conducted, but only 5,187 were substantiated.

That’s a rate of less than 8%. Is it really likely that over 92% of all sexual victimization allegations by inmates that weren’t substantiated were falsified?

In June 2021, BJS reported that in 2018 there were 5,986 reports of staff-on-inmate sexual misconduct but only 338 were substantiated. When it came to sexual harassment in the same staff-on-inmate dynamic in that same year, there were over 4,623 allegations, but only a measly 105 were substantiated.

Considering this reality, the odds of the woman Sean spoke of having her assaulters be held accountable were exceedingly low. Plus, there was the additional power-imbalance of her being a trans-woman inmate serving time in a men’s prison advocating for herself against male prison staff members. So, when her bravery to speak up didn’t work in her favor, she came to a session of Sean’s support group for safety and to retell her story to a community who could relate to and support her. Through it all, Sean saw she was still able to smile and joke with the other members, inspiring him with the resilience he finds unique to Black women.

Before he created the support group, Sean shared that there was a moment during the beginning of his incarceration where he actually wanted to distance himself from the other LGBTQ+ inmates. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with his sexuality. Rather, he found the experiences and actions of other LGBTQ+ inmates so unrelatable because he had a support system on the outside that looked out for and supported him by sending him money and resources.

Imprisonment, no matter your gender or sexual identity, is difficult enough as is. It is a very common experience for inmates to undergo tremendous loss and trauma shortly after being convicted and imprisoned. In this common experience, the people they were once close to on the outside cut all ties and association with them due to the stigma around prisoners and the “inconvenience” of visitation. The pain inmates undergo is often exacerbated when they’re queer. Resultantly, having a relatively stable and strong support system on the outside is even more uncommon for openly LGBTQ+ prisoners. Stereotypes and narratives around queer relationships in prison feed into homophobia and further the dehumanization of many inmates, as well.

Isolation and limited resources may push some LGBTQ+ inmates to do things they otherwise wouldn’t have just to get by, pay for commissary, or have some protection from violence often inflicted on this community by other inmates, administrators, and corrections officers. Because Sean didn’t have this experience and had people like his parents and friends checking in on him, he shared that he initially felt a sense of “superiority.” His attitude only changed when he noticed the frequency of discrimination and harm his fellow LGBTQ+ inmates had to face. A sense of solidarity and commitment to his community grew within him because at the end of the day, no matter how much money or support he had, he was still a gay Black man behind bars.

When Sean first started his support group, he had six months left to his bid, and there were only about six people in the group. By the time of our conversation, six months after his October 13, 2021 release, the number had more than doubled to about 15 people coming together to provide the support system many LGBTQ+ inmates are often denied.

The little joys, such as hearing about his support group’s growth, are now what fill Sean with a sense of satisfaction and spark joy for him. He still likes going out with friends to movies and concerts, the occasional trip to the mall, and paying for frequent Chipotle lunch breaks, except now they aren’t what define him. Sean dedicates more of his time and career to helping other recently freed or still imprisoned incarcerated folks. He has a different sense of self and freedom, aware that neither corrections officers nor the image of the “successful corporate America person” hold power over him anymore.

I have PTSD. I went through some things in there. Maybe not as severe as some other people, but I still have a lot of issues. Therapy is a real thing, and I’m using that. But I need those people around me or those people I come across to see that just because I’m home doesn’t mean it [prison] ended for me. Even if you do respect me and cherish me in your life, just because I came home doesn’t mean that it stopped. I still have issues. I’m still dealing with things. I’m still having the insecurities of, you know, I am a Black felon. I’m a stereotype now.

Sean ended our conversation pointing out just how important mental health is and the power of being given a second chance to prove what he is capable of. Now that he knows more about himself, he hopes other people will be willing to learn who he is, too.

Choosing Joy: Stories from Inside

Mon, 05 Feb 2024 21:00:58 GMT

Dear Reader,

There’s so much to be said about the prison system and the one-dimensional perception of justice that exist in the United States. Thank you in advance for taking the first step to listen and be engaged, and please know that this project doesn’t even come close to covering everything.

The following six stories you’re about to read serve as just a tiny glimpse into an unsettling reality that many of us have been shielded from for over 100 years. Since the establishment of the United States prison system in 1891, millions of Americans have been subjected to unimaginable acts of punishment under the guise of justice. Due to miseducation, we’ve been socialized to overlook the appalling treatment of inmates. As you read these stories, I hope you will sit in any uncomfortable feelings that may arise and look past your own ego to remember the complex humanity we all have.

Before you read any further, I want to be clear on the purpose of Choosing Joy: Stories from Inside. Discussing the prison system with individuals who have experienced it and researching data was no easy task. We all, including myself, have personal baggage of past experiences, emotional attachments, and scars that we might project onto those who’ve been incarcerated. We also may grapple with conflicting feelings towards those we’ve wronged before and the consequences that followed. There is no “right” way to feel, and there is no “painless” or “comfortable” way to face it. So, please understand that this project is NOT meant to tell anyone how to feel about this matter. Furthermore, there are no intentions to judge the morality of these six individuals’ actions or create justifications for them. Rather, the focus of this project is to create a space for these six people and other formerly incarcerated individuals to process what they’ve undergone and reimagine the humanity they were denied in prison through joyful avenues. It is also meant to challenge those who have not been incarcerated to start or continue seeing people the way they want to be seen—holistically.

Please challenge the biases and subconscious assumptions, often rooted in baseless stereotypes and prejudiced narratives, that might limit your ability to have an open and empathetic mind while reading. Although I identify as a prison abolitionist in favor of redirecting government funding to our schools, a better mental healthcare system, and a social safety net, I have no intentions of telling you what to believe. It is up to you to decide for yourself where you stand. However, I hope hearing these stories can contribute to you developing a more informed position on American incarceration.

The diversity among the six individuals in this project is vast. They have different upbringings, socioeconomic classes, political identities, genders, and experiences from prison. However, they have at least one thing in common: They are all Black. When I first came up with the idea for this project, I had no intention of having all the people I spoke to be from the same racial identity group. It just worked out that way. I find that to be quite indicative of the history of the American prison system, its current makeup, and the loophole in the 13th Amendment (yes, that will be touched on later). Undoubtedly, there are stories from non-Black people that need to be heard. Still, I wanted to emphasize in this introduction that Black people are disproportionately targeted by mass incarceration and the burgeoning police state in America. This project advertently and inadvertently highlights this issue. The liberation and protection of Black lives are critical for all of us to truly be free.

Finally, please be advised that in addition to there being explicit language, the following stories cover difficult and delicate issues (i.e., abuse, sexual assault/harassment, and self-harm) that can trigger some. Content warnings are listed before each essay for you to decide what stories you feel comfortable reading.

Again, thank you for your willingness to keep an open mind as you interact with the proceeding stories. May it push you to join or continue fighting for justice that sees and values the humanity present in all of us.

In Solidarity,
Kathryn