Abstract
On June 18, 1996, a troubled past and an inexcusable series of choices culminated in a police pursuit that ended in a tragic motor vehicle accident resulting in the death of an innocent motorist. At the age of thirteen, I experienced the worst form of violence imaginable by a young boy, I was sexually abused by a friend’s father. Being molested fostered an overwhelming sense of embarrassment and shame that I was unable to cope with; as a result, I spiraled into a deep depression. I began to self-medicate in a futile attempt to escape my emotional turmoil. Following years of substance use and abuse, I finally succumbed to an all-consuming addiction. I eventually found myself compromising the morals and values that my parents had instilled in me my entire life. I began stealing anything and everything to support my addictions. On that fateful day in June, out of desperation, I committed purse snatching in an effort to obtain money in order to alleviate my withdrawal symptoms. Unbeknownst to me, the last woman that I stole a purse from was injured as a result of my actions. The police were notified, and approximately twenty-five minutes later, they observed me sitting in a stolen car, waiting in traffic. When the police attempted to pull me over, I fled. Although I never intended to hurt anybody, my actions were reprehensible, and ultimately destroyed the lives of two families. The violence I endured as a child led to my commission of violence, which led me to prison.
Barely out of my teens, I was escorted through the gates of America’s oldest and most notorious penitentiaries, Trenton State Prison (now New Jersey State Prison). My arrest and subsequent conviction forced me to face my past, and come to terms with the consequences of my actions. I walked into prison with my head up, frightened, but determined to never be a victim again.
Perhaps due to my youth, a number of the older men looked at me as the sons that they had left behind in the world outside of prison. They took it upon themselves to mentor me on prison protocol. I realize now that they also protected me by shielding me from the myriad horrors of prison life. They made it known that there was a “hands off” policy on the kid. Although I was not subject to a lot of the violence that permeates prison life, I witnessed all forms imaginable, from convict-on-convict, to staff-on-convict, even convict-on-staff. I have witnessed murders where the brutality and horror could never be reproduced in a motion picture. I have heard sounds that will forever haunt my memories. Individuals in prison are locked away in a true hell on earth, but are expected to act like angels.
After years of incarceration, I, like many of my fellow inmates either belonged to, or associated with individuals classified as members of a “security threat group,” or more commonly known as “gangs.” Even the men that looked out for me when I first arrived in prison were reputed members of the “Mafia,” and outlaw motorcycle clubs. We developed and shared a bond of brotherhood forged from shared life experiences; before and while inside prison. Violence was sometimes a part of that association, but not its purpose. We would always stand together, right or wrong, we were one.
I, like many others, had my share of violent encounters. There were fights with fists and weapons in a back stairwell, fights in the band room, and even fights in my cell. Fighting inside of prison is not like fighting on the streets. In prison, there is the very real prospect that the loser of a fight will also lose his life. I was lucky that most violent encounters that I was involved with ended without serious injury to either party. Violence in all forms just appeared to be a common facet of prison life, especially at Trenton State Prison, Rahway State Prison, and Northern State Prison, in Newark, New Jersey.
That is, until 2013, when Rutgers, the State University of New Jersey, in conjunction with the New Jersey Department of Corrections, began the New Jersey Scholarship and Transformative Education in Prisons (NJ-STEP) college initiative. The program consists of a consortium of New Jersey institutions of higher education that provide qualified members of the inmate population across the state an opportunity to attend classes, sometimes with outside students, and pursue a college degree. I, like many of my peers, jumped at the chance to earn a college degree. We were all aware that reentering society with a criminal record will be extraordinarily challenging, but we are hopeful that attaining a college education will assist us in overcoming some of the burdens a conviction creates.
Something extraordinary occurred within the walls of Northern State Prison as a result of the college program’s arrival. I, and many, many others (but not all) turned our backs on the culture of violence associated with prison life. We remain loyal to our “brothers” but we have extended our “families” to include those we shared classes with. White-supremacists, Five-percenters (God-Bodies), Latin Kings, nietas, Bikers, and Bloods all embraced education of the STG lifestyle. Sworn enemies would often be seen studying together, giving each other notes. Bloods would tutor Skinheads, and vice-versa. Muslims would explain their beliefs and tenets to Odinists and pagans while writing ethnographies about one another. Curtailing violence was as easy as providing people with an education about others as well as themselves.
The cycle of violence is like an inescapable vortex that is nearly perpetual. In my case, being the victim of violence led to my substance abuse, and that in turn led to my becoming the perpetrator of violence against others, albeit unintentionally. In prison, I was shielded from much of the violence that was occurring, but others were not. Many of those victims have returned to the streets and are coping with their victimization in various ways, possibly victimizing others either intentionally or inadvertently. The only break in the chain that I have witnessed first-hand in my twenty-five years of incarceration is through education. It is only when individuals stop and examine the whole picture and ask, what contribution can I make to the collective? that the cycle of violence will be broken. Anecdotally, the key to ending violence is education. If it can work in prisons, maybe, just maybe, it can work in the real world.