For those of you who did not link to the Wehonews article, here it follows.
A Darker Shade of Grey
Before I embark on the subject of chronic recidivism, I need to explain how it is that I’m familiar with the topic.
I spent 286 days in the California Penal System in 2004. This because a crystal meth addiction led me into drug dealing, and I was eventually arrested by West Hollywood detectives and sentenced to 16 months in prison. With “half-time,” I spent 9 ½ months incarcerated, and after my release, 13 months on parole.
All that is a whole ‘nother story, one that I hope will appear in book form. But the experience did bring me in close contact with hundreds of men who were chronic offenders—I’d say at least 85% of those I met. (I can actually count on one hand the inmates I met who were first-timers like me).
I had known this statistic intellectually, but the reality of it gradually came to shock me, for as the days stretched on, the only way I found my relatively brief sentence endurable was my inner certainty that I would never do anything that would cause my return there. But as I got to know the histories of my co-incarcerated brethren, I discovered they were often intent on resuming the same illegal activities that had gotten them arrested, and at the very least sure of getting high again as soon as they could. Most were resigned to the prospect of coming back to prison eventually, unless they’d convinced themselves they wouldn’t get caught again. Very few seemed willing to embrace the only surefire routes to staying out of prison--and yet, none of them seemed to like it there any more than I did.
The popular myth that inmates are “coddled” is just that—a myth. To boot, in California, prisoners are forced to identify with their racial group, and participate to some degree in the racial politics. (For example, it was out of the question that I ever boycott a meeting of the “woods,” or whites.) The threat of violence is constant and exhausting—though oddly enough, coming mostly in the guise of discipline from members of your own race.
Apart from the problem of violence, prison is a soul-numbing, depressing experience. And though inmates hide it, there is also far more remorse and self-reproach than outsiders imagine. As for rehabilitation, it has become a joke; education and vocational training are bare bones at best. (And no, there is no internet access in prison. The blog I wrote from inside existed because my sister typed up every entry from my handwritten letters.)
Even if conditions were as “soft” as the conservative media would have us believe, the bottom line would remain that it is miserable to be deprived of one’s freedom, to have every move dictated by others, to be separated from one’s loved ones. That alone would seem to be enough motivation to go “straight” once out of prison—it certainly was for me. And yet I met men who seemed incapable of successfully rejoining society long enough to even be discharged from parole. Why?
Part of the explanation is simple human nature. Deterrence is a lousy motivator--people don’t generally do good things because they are afraid of bad things happening to them. And not doing bad things is not the equivalent of taking positive action, either. Before my drug addiction took over, I had a history of making good choices. Most of the men in prison have almost none.
Offenders are paroled directly into the same milieu and locales where they got into trouble in the first place. With a criminal record and spotty work history, the jobs they find usually entail low wages doing unskilled labor for little recognition or respect. This makes it hard to support a family, feeding a sense of frustration and inadequacy. Not surprisingly, it doesn’t take long before the boys are being bad again.
Invariably it starts with alcohol and drugs, to be expected when most drug “treatment” consists of peeing in a cup once a month. (Twelve-Step program participation was never even mentioned, much less encouraged by the three parole officers I eventually had.) Almost instantly after picking up, the resumption of illegal activity assumes a powerful logic, then momentum. There is suddenly no boss to answer to, and money available to play host and provider to “friends” and family. And though it is an admittedly insane lifestyle, there is a perverse structure and purpose to an existence whose chief goal is the obtaining of money for drugs. (Drug dealers and thieves can be some of the most committed small businessmen on the planet—trust me on this one.)
Inevitably, the ex-offender violates parole, or lands a new case, and it’s back to prison. He’s not happy about it, but it doesn’t compare all that badly with the bleak life he feels he has to lead on the outside if he is to stay on the right side of the law. Prison is a darker shade of grey, perhaps, but it’s the price that he has to pay in order to have the “vacations” of easy cash and popularity on the outside. (The idea of going to college and transforming one’s life is so rare if you swing it it’ll land you on Oprah.)
My proposals on what to do about this mess will have to await another column. The point of this one is to illustrate that as foreign as it seems to an educated member of the middle class, there’s a sad logic to the path of recidivism so many take. For most of these guys, “straight” life on the outside is only marginally better than life on the inside. And that’s an American tragedy.
