Photo: J Scott Park, M Live |
What follows is a selection from my talk at the annual LAND Conference this past February in Grand Rapids. It is the genesis of my new book, "Life beyond the Bubble" a collection of stories from my years teaching at the prison.
The college
where I teach, Jackson College, has a long and storied history with prison
education. The stories from the academic campfire tell of buses full of dogs
and guards showing up at 1 am to secure the buildings for the classes. The
faculty were brought in shortly thereafter and secured in their classrooms at
that ungodly hour of the morning.
For me, my
CPAP and I are singing the songs of my people at 1:30 a.m., but these hardcore
faculty apparently main-lined Red Bull and were ready to greet the buses full
of prison students lining up along the college each morning.
Flash
forward several decades, and we are once again back in the business of teaching
the incarcerated. It was a big decision for me to do this. My husband I have
two young kids and I have seen Oz on HBO. (fun fact: I dated the brother of the
show’s creator in college). I also have two strikes against me, I’m gay and a
teacher. Things didn’t work out so well for either of those demographics on the
show if you recall. But seeing that I had been judged pretty much all my life
as a gay man, I talked with my spouse, double-checked my life insurance and
threw my hat into the ring to teach art history.
Due to the
nature of the corrections environment, very little personal information is
shared, in the classroom, or even with the Correction Officers (COs) and staff.
A designation of “over-familiarity” can end up with the prisoner being
transferred out of the facility. So in my prison classes, my sexuality is off
the table, whereas on main campus, I am out and proud and don’t hide who I am.
Each week when I enter “the Bubble” that space between freedom and
incarceration, I also step back into the closet and hide who I am as a gay man. With that in mind, I had to ask myself why I wanted to teach
at the prison. Why would I risk my life and well-being to teach those that
might not ever step foot outside the perimeter of the prison again? They find solace in the artwork and the stories of its creation and creators. One
gentleman remarked that he’ll never leave the facility as a free man, but
through my classes, he traveled the world and saw things he could never
imagine.
Last winter here
in Michigan was one of the coldest on record with many days in single digit and
below zero readings thanks to the Polar Vortex. As I walked with my CO escort
to my classroom inside the prison to teach my art history class one day last
winter, I remarked how quiet the prison yard was, even with the wind howling in
our ears. The yard is
typically filled with prisoners and guards, walking, lifting weights, playing
soccer or just sitting, but today, with the temps in the single digits, it was
a barren tundra. The garden that I watched grow and bloom the previous summer
was mowed down flat, buried in a snowy blanket of white.
“Yeah, said
the guard, we have to keep the inmates in when it’s this cold. These fucking
animals don’t know when to come in out of the cold.”
I was
stunned by his description of the prisoners but held my tongue. We continued across
the yard and arrived at the modular classroom set up next to the soccer field. As
he fumbled for the key to unlock the classroom he muttered under his breath, “I
don’t know why you’re teaching these assholes. They don’t learn, they don’t
listen, they’re just fucking animals, plain and simple. They need to be in
cages, not classrooms.”
Photo: J Scott Park, M Live |
I have
learned that you only engage in pleasantries while in the prison, anything
deeper than “nice day, eh?” can lead to much more than you’ll ever want to hear
(from both sides of the prison wall). I thanked the CO and began to set up my
classroom as I do each session. The students
are excited and motivated to learn, even if it’s something they know nothing
about or will probably never use while incarcerated. I have had many “lifers”
as students, men who will never see the outside of the prison due to their
crimes. I was initially worried about reaching this group as I wondered what
was left for them.
Why learn?
Why care?
Why do
anything if you know it’s hopeless.
But it’s not
hopeless and the lifers are prime examples of this.
One of the
men remarked that he couldn’t wait for his release as he wanted to go back to
Art Prize (in Grand Rapids, MI) and finally be able to talk about the art and
not feel stupid. One of the men, a gifted artist, eagerly shared with me his
work and humbly asked for my opinion as to what pieces he should consider
submitting for the annual University of Michigan Prisoner Art Show. His artwork
was exquisite and showed maturity and mastery and I was thrilled to offer him
my critique.
So why do I
teach these fucking animals each week? It’s easy, they’re not animals, they’re
humans and they’ve made bad choices in life, we all have. They’re doing their
penance, and they’re making better choices than what landed them behind bars.
It’s not
easy work, teaching never is, but its rewards are often more than you can ever
imagine.