What's the Point of Prison?

I used to work in a facility for juveniles, one step out of juvenile hall, and one step away from the California Youth Authority (kiddy prison). I was the enemy, and I'd never experienced the kind of hatred that I experienced at that job, the threats on my life that occurred regularly, and the lack of compassion from my coworkers, for me, or for the kids.

I quickly became a part of the system. I didn't understand why they hated me; I thought they were just bad kids who needed kind, but firm, discipline, and stable adults. I tried to embody that idea, but I got lost in the wasteland of souls. I became so disillusioned, so quickly, that I had to quit before the whole thing swallowed me whole. I became convinced that that place was going to kill me, and that if my life was going to be worth anything to anyone, I had to stay alive. I also had to figure out how to thrive in the midst of a broken and ugly world.

There was a man executed in Texas last week, Mark Stroman. After 9/11, he went out and shot a few middle eastern-looking people, because he said that his sister was killed in the towers (which could never be verified). One of the men survived, forgave Stroman, and sued Texas governor Rick Perry, claiming that Stroman didn't know the difference between right and wrong when he committed the crime, and didn't deserve to die. Rais Bhuiyan, the survivor, said this:

I strongly believe what Mark Stroman did, that it was hate — I mean, that it was [sic] hate crime because of his ignorance, and he was not capable of distinguishing between right and wrong. Otherwise, he would not have done what he did. The way my parents raised me, and my Islamic faith teaches me, that he is the best who can forgive easily. And my faith teaches that no one has a right to take another human life.

-Democracy Now

Hundreds of prisoners in the California prison system began a hunger strike this summer to protest solitary confinement practices, and other inhumane treatments commonly practiced throughout the system. One woman said that her brother had been in solitary confinement for twenty years.

One of the prisoners interviewed, Todd Ashker from Pelican Bay, said this:

We believe that this is our only option of ever trying to make some kind of positive changes here, is through this peaceful protest of hunger strike. And there is a core group of us who are committed to taking this all the way to the death, if necessary. None of us want to do this, but we feel like we have no other option. And we’re just hoping for the best. 

-Democracy Now

Oftentimes, even though Jesus spoke about the good of visiting people in prison (Matt 25:36), we don't do it. Why not? Because prison is ugly and smelly. It is dark and depressing. We don’t go because of the way it makes us feel. It reminds us of what we are capable of, and that is the most terrifying thing of all. It’s easier to make a barrier between “us” and “them”.

But you know different. You know that there are ugly parts to you, those parts that you may not show to anyone, but you always know are there. You like to keep them safe and locked up. This makes it easier to get through the day. But then they creep up on you, so slowly that you are overwhelmed; by the time you realize what has happened, you are overtaken. Maybe it’s sin; maybe it’s demonic, but it’s in you however you spin it. It’s a part of YOU.

The reason I quit my job is because I couldn’t get to the point where I understood that there was no difference between me and them. In reality, I would have suffered less had I been able to accept the darkness that I felt surrounding me, not to accept it as okay, but to accept my own humanity. I needed to accept that the difference between me and those kids was just grace. They weren't worse people than me; God wasn't punishing them. I didn't get a better lot because I was a better person.

We let ourselves throw people away when we forget that we are those people. They are us; we are them.