Reflections on Prison Life

The pre-school to prison pipeline

Education reform can prevent jail time

As a sophomore at Martin Luther King, Jr. High School in New York City in 1994, the male-to-female ratio in my grade was just about even. But every successive year, the number of boys dwindled. This disparity between male and female graduates was appalling. But it is no anomaly in America, it is a trend. In many cities across the nation, the male dropout rate is as high as 80 percent.

In 2005, seven years after graduation from King H.S., I was transferred on a bus from one prison to another as an inmate. During the ride, another prisoner turned back in his seat, arm and leg shackles rattling, and asked, “Your name is Marlon. You used to go to King, right?”

Surprised by his bluntness, and after a pregnant pause, I answered, “You went there too?”
“Yeah.”
“What year did you graduate?”
“I was supposed to graduate in 1998, the year after you, but I dropped out in ’96.”

That was enough conversation for me. Nevertheless, these unexpected encounters between high school alumni are common, especially among young men. By far, men outnumber women in the prison system. According to the 2005 Bureau of Justice Statistics, over two million of the 2.2 million people in American prisons are male. Coincidentally, a 2001 survey by the U.S. Department of Education found that boys were more likely to drop out of school than girls.

Gender inequality within the prison population is not necessarily a problem. But the high number of incarcerated men as compared to women deserves attention.

Are men intrinsically prone to crime? Is there a problem with how the boys are being catered (or not catered) to in their schools? Is there a correlation between dropout rates among men and the disproportionate number of men incarcerated?

Michael Gurian, a neurological expert and family therapist, observed, “When I worked as a counselor in a federal prison I saw these statistics up close. The young men and adult males were mainly uneducated…Many of them told me how much they wanted to get an education.”

Recent surveys by the Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development have found that, “Boys are 10 times more likely to be diagnosed with attention deficit disorder; and 1 million children currently taking Ritalin, three-fourths are boys.” Furthermore, “Two-thirds of the students receiving special education services in the United States are male.”

A Metropolitan Life Survey of the American Teacher study elicited disturbing statistics, indicating that most teachers think that while boys require more attention than girls, male and female students observe that they are given far less time.

Why are teachers ignoring boys? Our schools’ incompetence teaches boys that their opinions, questions, and ideas are irrelevant. As a result, they misbehave and lose focus. Hence arise labels like uncontrollable, hyperactive, juvenile delinquents, and attention deficit disorder. Here, the pre-school to prison pipeline begins.

Discouraged with school, many boys drop out. Those that graduate leave high school without understanding the practicality of education. They usually find low-paying jobs or unemployment. Without enough money to support themselves or their families, crime becomes their livelihood.

Within the prison system, the disproportionate number of men to women enrolled in special education classes is consistent with the school system. Men are also scarce in college. Less than half of full-time undergraduate students, and only 35 percent of college graduates, are male. Even more frightening, there are more men in prison than in college within the black community.

Our education system’s disregard of our boys has reached dangerous levels. We are creating a permanent underclass of men. In many states, a felony conviction bars you from voting. Therefore, with so many of our young men in prison or former prisoners, they are being disenfranchised from the political process.

How many more of those prison re-acquaintances between male high school alumni are necessary before this nation realizes that it is losing a whole gender to the pre-school to prison pipeline?

—Marlon Peterson

A student reflects

You never realize you’re getting close to Otisville Correctional Facility until you’re practically there. The drive is all open fields and big, old houses, and right before you reach the razor wire gates there are stables with horses grazing in the sparse grass. Beyond the gates, you feel like you’ve entered another world.

Before this class, I knew almost nothing about prison. I held some problematic, deeply-ingrained beliefs about the system and the people in it, without questioning my beliefs. It is easy to forget about the American prison system. Though huge and growing rapidly, prisons are geographically hidden and culturally marginalized. For the most part, we accept what we are told. We watch TV shows like Oz or Law & Order, and feel like we understand the nature of crime in America.

Many of the men I have met in prison are smart, funny, and kind. The most important thing I’ve learned is that prison is not a concept, and incarcerated men are not faceless criminals.

After we were issued a stern warning about the potential danger, they let us into the room where the program facilitators—all incarcerated men—sat in a circle on plastic chairs. They smiled and introduced themselves when we filled in the circle’s gaps, thanking us for coming. Throughout the semester, many of them have not only been straightforward about their crimes, but have shared aspects of their lives that give context to their mistakes. I am struck by how alike we are, and by their grace.

Much of this may sound naïve. Many of the men I’ve met have committed terrible crimes. But if we fail to examine the racial and economic makeup of the prison population, if we fail to see these men as human beings just like ourselves, if we continue to demonize them in the media and in our public policies, we are doing them, their families, and our country a great disservice. There are bright minds that made desperate choices in there. There are fathers who miss their kids.

The prison sits on the top of a hill, and above the fence, you can see the dusky hills, and, further up, the lovely, unbroken sky. You look up there and think about the fact that you’re free to go home afterwards and watch a movie, and maybe go to a party, and that some people aren’t. It doesn’t seem as fair to me as it used to.

—Shruti Swamy ’07

The Ride

They stand patiently before the break of dawn, on the corners in front of McDonald’s or Yankee Stadium. Small children grow impatient from waiting. Various colored shopping bags and carts are all about them. Some stay for six hours, while others stay for two-and-a-half days. The ones that are staying for two-and-a-half days seem much happier. Others look at them and calculate when their date is due to spend two-and-a-half days with their loved one. They’ve become accustomed to calculating things by days, months, and years.

When the bus or the van arrives, there is a rush for comfortable seats so they can get some sleep. Some of these places are more tolerable than others, but they all have the stench of discouragement. The novices are nervous, but the veterans are brave
examples for them, and offer advice to the first timers. The gist is to be strong, to keep your head up, to persevere. There are still those who ring the bell to quit. It is understood why they left, and that they love the person who they were coming to see. But it was the pernicious smell of despair that overwhelmed them. While they may genuinely be sorry not to be able to stick it out, the hurt remains. The veterans look at them with understanding and try to encourage them to return.

Once they arrive, there is again a rush for position, and some cheat by holding seats. Some veterans have been coming for so long that security staff greets them upon arrival.

Once I.D.’d, searched, and stamped, they proceed inside. There is another rush for seats and food items from the vending machines, for they know what type of food their loved ones like. The veterans have rolls of quarters, while the novices request change from others, or wait for the vending machine guy to give it to them—as long as it doesn’t exceed a 50 dollar bill.

Finally, the moment has come. All eyes focus on one door every time they hear a click or see a figure. The affection, love, smiles, and hugs are contagious. There are loving embraces, passionate kisses, sneaky sex, arguments, the passing of contraband, picture taking, crying, and laughter.

Then, there is the despised call, “Five minutes left.” The departing words are almost always the same, except when they know that they are not coming back. But the language is the same: “Call me,” “Write me,” “Don’t forget your package,” and the most treasured of them all, “I love you,” sealed with a kiss. A typical visiting day in prison.

—Moses “EL-Sun” White