In a Sociology 101 course in rural Washington State, the first I’ve taught on my own, when discussing culture, I receive a disturbing paper from one of the quietest, most respectful students, Matt. In it, he calmly, non-maliciously, describes Hispanic culture as involving low riders and gang banging. I’m only a handful of years older than these students and myself still connected with mainstream media. I know about stereotypes, of course, and patterns of inequality, but this level from a nice kid astounds me. He’s white, but no supremacist, and a dedicated student. When I call him in to discuss in person, he explains that he grew up on one of the region’s enormous, isolated farms. He’s never known anyone Hispanic personally and only has to go off what he’s seen on TV.

Now, flashback to 1993. George Allen is running for governor of Virginia, largely on being “tough on crime.” He repeatedly describes a need to “reform” criminal justice and lock up “thugs” for longer. In the spirit of Bush defeating Dukakis by plastering televisions with Willie Horton in ’88, he sold his opponent as soft on crime for not wanting to abolish parole entirely. In the process, he repeatedly references the killing of a (White) Christian college student by James Steele, a paroled African American. Certainly he must have accidentally overlooked the thousands of people with records successfully NOT murdering anyone while on parole, supporting and loving their families. After his election, he immediately commissioned a special group to write a report on the issue. This group was hand-picked to agree, heavy on conservative cops and prosecutors from lily white areas and entirely lacking anyone with a record or prisoner advocates. Their “findings” reflected not unbiased public policy but intentions, including references to “one study of CRIMINALS,” and concluding “the cost of inaction is likely to be a criminal reign of terror that will make our current violent crime seem tame.” Their recommendations became law within a year, more than tripling the sentences for many crimes in this state overnight and abolishing parole. As a result, I am here on a first time nonviolent conviction without any victim, and no matter how much I serve, help, and obey, I can only reduce a fifteen-year sentence by two years, max. If I was even guilty of all the trumped-up charges, that would be ridiculous.

In 2012, Trayvon Martin, an unarmed teenager in his own neighborhood was shot to death by a security guard without probable cause. Florida’s “stand your ground” law prevented prosecution, as his assailant claimed that he feared for his life. Why? Not action, but simply because a young man of color in a hoodie after dark conjured up one-dimensional images of violence.

Even if the least problematic explanations are to be believed, such stereotypes are the justification for so many police and civilian shootings of unarmed men of color. Philando Castile. Eric Garner. Jemel Roberson. E.J. Bradford in a suburban mall, just last month. The list goes on and on. Tips of icebergs, those. That same unidimensional presumption of criminality is behind the pointless stops, searches, arrests, prosecutions, and sentences.

Here, I am surrounded by mostly African American men in a predominantly White state, and nearly to a man they have such personal accounts. In my job as law library clerk, I encounter another case every week in which a human being has been presumed guilty and sentenced absurdly despite clear case law and evidence in their favor. My old cell partner was convicted of rape without any evidence except a recanted accusation and despite a medical doctor testifying that a medical exam showed it impossible for the alleged victim remained a virgin.

Now, project such discriminatory treatment to the job market experienced by my peers when they do return to communities. I have yet to experience this, but I have heard from many friends. One of the best men I’ve known with a perfect work ethic became a master plumber while incarcerated and has been repeatedly denied even probationary hiring in this field begging for workers–and his crimes occurred over 30 years ago.

Even the devotedly progressive remain mystified by such imaging. After I finally left the jail and made it to the state prison system, I was able to have better, in-person visits with loved ones. During one of the first, my lifelong activist mother said to me about my new digs, “Be careful. I know you see the best in everyone, but you don’t belong here. You’re different than most of these guys.” My sister, the kindest woman, an urban special education teacher, followed a couple of months later with, “That guy over there looks like he’s really dangerous. Do you know him? Should you just stay in the cell? I know you love to teach, but is it worth it?” A good friend who abhors conservative judgementality asked, during his first visit in a room primarily full of men of color behind bars, “This place looks rough. You’re, like, badass now. How often do guys here get beaten, seriously?” Polite variations of “those people” despite my exclamations to the contrary.

One day at work at the law library, I asked my boss if I could just grab the printer to print out the cases requested by guys while she finished her conversation. She’s the best boss around here and professional to me to the nth degree, but she couldn’t do this without my help, admittedly. “No,” she tells me. When she finishes the conversation, she explains that though she knows that I’ve never betrayed her trust and wouldn’t break library rules, she cannot allow me to use it alone because they are trained that they must presume we are lying and stealing.

A couple of years ago, I’d finally gotten myself moving and feeling like I could think and write again. I’ve been occasionally published as a scientist and a poet, so not a stretch when my greatest teacher and friend and mentor of two decades asked me to review her new poetry volume. Dedicating my all for a month, honored, I crafted thoughtful, eloquent blurbs for the jacket and a full review of substance. Her publisher has a progressive reputation and she had specifically requested they send me a review copy and the request for input. I even submitted a couple of weeks early. She said later it was the best review work of anyone she read. However, the publisher told her, flat out, they would not use my words, even for free and promotionally, due to me being behind bars. My plan remains to write for a living after this, but this certainly makes the prospect of supporting myself seem more daunting.

What is the common problem here? One dimensional thinking about three-dimensional humans makes for dehumanized treatment. It is easy for the public to accept it when people behind bars are simply understood as “criminals.”

Upon finally making it to prison from a year in solitary at the jail (without any infraction on my part), I was looking forward to the greater opportunities for purpose everyone at the jail alleged would be found, but I was terrified. Sent to the largest state pen around, a gangland and me a middle-aged nerdy White pacifist, I was shocked by my experiences. In the depths of my depression, set into the worst pod of the worst building of one of the worst compounds, a diverse set of guys reached out to me, demanding that I talk, walk, get outside, call my family. Nelson, Pep, Sharif, the list goes on. A diverse group of men, Muslims, Christians, Bloods, Five Percenters, so many extended kindness in response to my simple respectfulness and penny generosity. This was a profound lesson to me, a real-world reinforcement of my previous beliefs, experiences, and learning that showed most people to be decent. Even here, men largely respond to respect with respect and principles and leadership abounded even as I saw the greatest level of ineptitude I’d ever witnessed around me on the administrative and officer level. A few good apples, but the standard was laziness so deep that people would expend energy to not do anything. It was like living in an institution invented by Kafka and Mel Brooks, comical idiots craftily creating labyrinths of inaction.

A revelation! I could continue pursuing my reform advocacy even better using my unique intersection of sociologist and inmate roles. But my ongoing depression was compounded as I found myself, previously published and outspoken, without a voice. No internet, phone lines expensive and hours long, and the only email a for-profit, censored closed network where each email costs the equivalent of at least one hour’s wages.

I am blessed with an education and strong social support network, so I started writing anyway, accounts of atrocities witnessed, sociological analysis, and poetry. I wanted to use my abilities to be a voice for change, yet nothing happened. For years, almost no one got back to me. I felt muzzled and caged. 
This lack of a voice was widespread, I found, too. As I conducted ethnographic research on positive leaders’ practices, I had the chance to get to know the best men here well. Everyone had great ideas to share with the world, yet no one would listen. No matter who they spoke with, they got brushed off or received with condescending inaction.

I teamed up with others to write and present three different proposals for small programs within the institution. All were responded to with, “Sound great, but I can’t approve it. Try….” This was a never-ending loop. When we hand-wrote positive newsletters for the pods, unit managers would take them down, even when they were approved. Our inmate advisor meetings were summarily canceled almost every month. When we actually met, the only answer even the best ideas received was, “we’ll look into it.” These men were assets to society with no one willing to invest even enough to hear them out. Hence, my research efforts intended to contribute evidence of the humanity here to the literature and policy discussion. Yet that, even with an academic coauthor, has been met with slow acceptance because of the source. Voicelessness is the death of agency and the enemy of purpose.

Early on in my bid, teaching again also sounded like a chance to elevate myself through service. After all, I was now at enormous prison where well over half the guys lack diplomas. Despite my constant prodding and enthusiasm, it took one and a half years for them to hire me to do what I did for the same state before at a 98% pay reduction.

The only reason they finally did was that federal funding was at risk when all the teachers left my cluster. They created a resident-led, in-pod “Book Program.” Enthusiastic teachers from headquarters in Richmond came to train us, promising endless resources, even (un-networked) computers, and a pod dedicated to learning. Qualified and enthused, that plan lasted two months before she retired and our dedicated local counselor took another job, neither replaced. Three years later, I’d still not touched a computer and we could not even get them to schedule our students to take the tests with any regularity. Nearly every time one pupil of ours got near completing their GED, they would move them to a classroom where an official teacher could take the credit. Meanwhile, the good students were replaced with those not wanting to work at all.

A large part of the reason was no incentive.

One guy who did complete the degree so quickly he couldn’t be moved could have been an exemplar of rehabilitation. “Ghost,” they called him. Incredibly bright and eager to learn, but from a background without love. Addicted, neglectful mother, no strong male role models, he got locked up at 18 and wanted love so he joined a gang. After he got his diploma with the highest scores this prison had ever recorded, qualifying him instantly for college credits and grant opportunities, they provided no reward except a certificate printed off the counselor’s home computer. We gave him some commissary, but he got no time off his sentence or job training or anything of real value. In fact, finished meant they took his $30/month participation paycheck and refused to even offer him a cleaning job. A month later he ended up involved instead in a financially related beating that means he’s likely to be here until old age.

I was repeatedly scolded, meanwhile, for working too hard to make something of the program. After a year of not having necessary books that we knew existed, unused, in the official classrooms, I filed complaints and sent requests to every teacher I could. I was then called in, scolded, and threatened for “going over the head” of an overburdened counselor who had told me she did not have time to prioritize our program.

Instead of actually maintaining an educational pod, as promised, we endured regular lockdowns that made study inconsistent, the result of gang fights in separate pods. One day, as they were supposed to let out the students while others were still locked down, I told the unit manager that a guy she was telling to go to the cell was my student. No yelling. Totally polite, believing I was helping so my most dedicated student could work, but she took offense. I was suspended for teaching two weeks, pay docked. Tests were nearing, so I asked if I could teach for free anyway. I received a written notice indicating that I was forbidden from voluntarily instructing my students and that if I was seen doing so on camera, I would be fired–for doing my job for free.

The common theme here is a complete lack of commitment to genuinely advancing the lives of those behind bars. Our voices are stolen with our identities, our purpose limited, and only lip service paid to offering incentives for self-improvement. This is human warehousing, not rehabilitation.

The Solution

The solution to these seemingly disparate problems appears daunting and enormous. There is likely no single fix, but I believe that the widespread implementation of an educational correspondence program between criminal justice (CJ) students and those behind bars would go far in both realms. 

It’s very simple, really: connect future CJ professionals directly and deeply with people behind bars who will answer honestly and personally their questions about the system and their experiences therein. This dialogue will provide the students practical knowledge and interesting behind-the-scenes accounts unavailable in textbooks and inherently more appealing. For imprisoned participants, this will be a voice, a purpose, and a positive educational experience that can open doors and minds. Most importantly, though, this will create ripple effects on the way to the sea change in public perception necessary to end mass incarceration and produce real reform. For these millions of Americans to be treated more humanely, they must be seen as human. Too many people see those behind bars as just “criminals.” These ongoing conversations will replace such reductionist stereotyping, highlighting the PEOPLE behind bars in the eyes of future leaders, voters, and CJ professionals.

Doing so will involve integrated coordination between the Departments of Corrections and each state’s educational institutions. A unified group must coordinate it so that every prison has a program and every public accredited criminal justice program is matched with one. Having an oversight authority is essential to overcoming the common inefficiencies of siloed agencies and to ensure this is not de-prioritized by status quo officials trumpeting “security” to avoid change.

Within the criminal justice programs, participation should be mandatory for all students receiving degrees from public higher education institutions. Other social science degrees could also be usefully included. This would invest state resources in the development of a baseline understanding for the majority of those working in the field.

The exchanges should occur repeatedly over the course of a whole semester, with a dedicated match made where a single person behind bars corresponds repeatedly with the same small group of college students, promoting deeper connections and comfort. The exchanges should be integrated in curricula and the entire class should discuss as a whole the personalized answers. Ideally this would happen twice during the degree, once at the introductory level to elucidate realities that counteract the extremely limited perspective most freshmen bring from media-exclusive understandings. Then again in an upper level course, perhaps Theory or Ethics, where more advanced students can make queries that reflect and test deeper academic notions.

Within the correctional system, this must be and involve incentives. Participation in the correspondence should be one itself, with a variety of people included across educational abilities. Ideally the group would be selected by a combination of residents and educators within the system–but NOT security officers–selecting motivated individuals from a range of backgrounds and perspectives. For those still pursuing GEDs, inclusion could be a reward for dedicated progress. For those with high school degrees and more, participation can be a way to maintain and extend intellectual pursuits. Correspondence courses offering college credits for this group involving the program should be developed.

Participation should also involve more concrete incentives, too, both immediate and long term (in line with learning and rehabilitative research). Successful completion should include meaningful recommendations and certification, as both are seen as highly valuable here. GED students should receive credit towards the Language Arts and Social Science portions of the diploma. State college systems should provide credits for extended participation and entrance recommendations to those pursuing higher education, both during and after incarceration. Leadership positions within the program can come with both prestige and pay, allowing for even more voice and purpose. Participation should include the reward of housing in an education-oriented pod or dorm where a culture of thoughtfulness can be developed and greater calm enjoyed. These settings could be even further leveraged as residence areas to place non participants with potential, surrounding them with positive mentors.

Small things like extra movies, pizza parties, and extra recreation opportunities can be provided, too, in a manner that provides individual benefits but also encourages group cohesion. Events could be organized around a roundhouse exchange of ideas and feedback to perpetually promote program refinement and intellectual dialogue.

On a longer scale, participation should come with guaranteed employment, educational, and volunteer opportunities after prison. This program could eventually be a jumping off point for recruitment into social service and community positions, even educational and mentor roles. A corresponding post-release program should be developed to extend the purpose and voice of those excelling in these roles.

This is not just a vague dream that I describe, but rather a specific program that I know from experience to be effective and popular for all involved. Essentially, this would involve the refinement, expansion, and institutionalization of a program that I have developed and coordinated on a local level for the past four years in conjunction with Dr. William Cook at Westfield State University.

We share a passion for teaching and felt that the truth I’d experienced would be a valuable pedagogical tool. A single exchange the first semester was so popular and useful, that it grew to include three or four rounds each semester plus one with the loved ones of those behind bars to understand the broader impact. It has been the most resounding and popular element of many of the courses involved. Students have demonstrated and expressed deeper knowledge and new views, while those behind bars have raved about having the purpose and the voice. The program has been so mutually valued that when I transferred prisons, my peers at the old institution kept a group going there. Likewise, as Dr. Cook retired this semester, his students independently organized for its continuation through a campus organization and new faculty sponsor. Initiative like that for both “criminals” and “future cops” to dialogue reflects the ultimate success story.

While there exists a smattering of related programs where selected college students meet with selected prison residents, this program is much more extensive and in depth. To start, the connections are deliberately more personalized to enhance the human connection. The questions are not predetermined and are consciously student-guided for greater freedom and interest. Likewise, the responses and return questions are equally unguided and uncensored from the participants behind bars, amplifying their voice and engagement. It includes a wider range of perspectives by not being limited to a few security-filtered prison voices and deliberately reaches all criminal justice students.

If widely implemented, ample direct benefits will accrue for both the criminal justice college students and their instructors behind bars.

The most straightforward benefit is improved real-world understanding for the college students. In my own experience in college classrooms, I can attest to the importance of maintaining attention, particularly in this 140-character-attention generation. The chance to dialogue directly but safely with people behind bars is intriguing and the narrative form presented is accessible and memorable. This has been described as the favorite part of many students involved already, to the point that upon Dr. Cook’s impending retirement they approached him and set up the continuation of the program. Not to mention, the information is something beyond the scope of that available from any textbook or professor, entirely authentic and unprecedented.

Dr. Cook expressed to participants, “What you have written challenges students to consider that the image they had of the Criminal Justice system based on television and movies needs to be recalibrated. Secondly, by engaging students and asking them questions, you have been teachers for them in that you helped them to ask questions and search for answers that they would not have looked for otherwise. Socrates could not have done it much better!”

More importantly, these exchanges improve the students’ perspectives, genuinely humanizing, making people behind bars of these “criminals.” As Dr. Cook expressed, “[T]heir pedagogical value is enormous as the letters express the personhood of each of the writers–something that does affect the students and causes them to reconsider some of their assumptions (like everyone must be guilty).” This echoes the students’ own words: “You helped us understand that not all people in prison are terrible people and they have just made some mistakes…when you get out you can impact the world. Thank you for everything you have taught us.” High praise, especially from today’s freshmen, and those who begin college seeking to be cops!

The extent of the broadened perspective can be seen in the evolution of the questions. Nearly every group begins with queries focused on rape, violence, and what did you do. By the end, they have shifted to questions about career aspirations, family, and hobbies. These are more nuanced. They are also the types of things you ask friends, not monsters or stereotypes. This is why the program must be repetitive with the same dedicated people, not a one off.

Practically, these exchanges also improve students’ abilities to interact with diverse populations and recognize their own privilege. As they told one participant this year, “We will take this experience through life. It has enlightened us about prison and enabled us to appreciate what we have.”

Down the road, this heightened social comfort will make them more effective in social service careers. If they go particularly into law enforcement, they will be better at their jobs. They will also be safer, as comfortable, humane interactions are demonstrably less likely to lead to violence.

Taking part in this program provides even more consequential benefits for those behind bars. To start, it offers an enormous educational opportunity, even as they serve in a teaching capacity. Being part of a college classroom is a chance to engage in dialogue and exchange ideas typically not available behind bars. The breadth of interactions goes far beyond what is normally available in this undereducated populace. Many of the men who have participated have had their own homogeneous social experiences, so they have gained perspective and knowledge even as they have shared their own.

Additionally, this dialogue is much more interesting and engaging than textbooks or GED classes, and we know that learning is quicker and deeper for minds that are excited. Even for those rare few here with college experience, this opportunity is educational, keeping minds engaged and moving forward by requiring processing, organizational, and planning skills. New ideas, otherwise unavailable behind bars, are accessible. Even just as an exchange, it encourages the pursuit of higher education and normalizes the experience. If it can become institutionalized as a formal part of that process, it will only be more effectual.

Additionally, there is purpose. Prison today is a human warehouse and the greatest downfall is from doing nothing with the time. My experience shows that, despite lip service to the contrary, the “security” primacy relegates nearly all opportunities for sake of just holding people in cages. The only existing option is to make purpose for ourselves.

This program would provide just that. Viktor Franklin (1947) posited that purpose was key to surviving trauma. He referred to the Holocaust initially, but research since, including my own ethnographic work here, has shown that the common threads for those thriving despite were daily purpose and a commitment to helping others. This has been so for participants in our program thus far, and it would only be extended by expansion. Just learning individually provides purpose, but meaningful engagement in instructing youth and future CJ leaders takes this to another level. Purpose also encourages similar peer associations, only reinforcing the value behind bars where social groups are dominant factors in behavior.

As I have seen myself, education, in general, and this specific program, improve quality of life of everyone around a few degrees. Each prison is a community and each living space within a neighborhood full of 24/7 social interactions in a setting of deprivation and isolation. There is a lot of social insecurity, little education, and less information. Hence, knowledge is surprisingly highly respected. Otherwise I would not have had such an easy time navigating this experience myself. People behind bars elevate the educated and they become extra influential socially in even a small group concentration. When this happens, it improves the culture locally by providing purpose and positive educational perspective. The clearly safer, simpler, more productive interactions of those involved in higher education discourse become highly weighted. Social learning is particularly powerful in this concentrated setting.

I have borne witness to this myself, residing for years in the most notorious building in the worst run facility in the state, where gangs and chaos typically dominated. However, the pod where this program began existed in stark contrast to that thanks to the presence of just a small group of the educated and educators. Not all best friends, but we exchanged dialogue regularly and many were part of this program. We served as community leaders despite existing in different social circles, displaying the intrinsic benefits of this mindset and experience. Thus, as the building saw a half dozen stabbings and a homicide, our pod saw no violence whatsoever. We created informal essay and art contests, funding our own prizes from commissary, meeting to discuss any conflicts inevitably arising when all these men share a small space, four phones, and a single microwave. We even managed our own social services, maintaining bags of hygiene products to provide indigent peers. None of this was because of any one individual but because a handful of people pursued education, educating, and discourse, setting the tone for everyone. As such, the expansion of this program will benefit the day to day lives of all participants and their peers, improving safety where implemented. Furthermore, the clear benefits and stark contrast imprint the lessons even more deeply upon everyone involved, while also making proud, strong leaders out of those involved.

Participants behind bars benefit in multitudes of subtler secondary ways, gaining a voice, confidence, and broader social skills. Just the chance to speak and be heard validates anyone, especially in this muzzled existence, in this population widely short on resources and network connections. Numerous participants have spoken to me about how empowered and valued they feel having a chance to share their reflections and lessons. It is also particularly valuable coming from a college professor and students. Most people here have had no opportunity to experience college settings and the entire concept has great cachet here. The letters of gratitude are cherished by participants and boasted to family. For men who have been generally dismissed by mainstream society and educational institutions but have insisted on positive, proactive existences even here, the chance to be heard and matter is its own reward. Just think how much this could provide if the voice was amplified and institutionalized even further than we’ve done.

Stemming from that, participation will bring greater overall confidence, too. To be selected, to have the highest rung of society listen, to find ourselves capable of equal communication with the privileged, all boost my peers up tremendously. Purpose, too, in such a positive endeavor has been widely shown to extend confidence.

Likewise, participation and success in these interactions provides broader socialization. The intrinsic communication skills of the exchange and the normalization of intellectual dialogue, both with students and amongst participants in an educational pod, is the groundwork for professional success. Networking opportunities and new career directions abound. These are people just itching to figure out how to help and make legitimate livings after prison. As we know, education is best way to reduce recidivism and encourage pro social participation for it opens doors and involves investment and purpose.

Finally, there are the traditional and obvious benefits: the more education and socialization into higher education, the lower the risk of recidivism and the greater economic opportunities to people after leaving prison. These are direct, via degrees and classwork, but also indirect because of the investment, confidence, and communication gains.

Again, to participate in this program or if you have any questions, whether you are a professor, a student, or a person behind bars, please email our co-founder Gin Carter at gin@thehumanizationproject.org with “HP Correspondence Program” as your subject line.