The prisoner’s philosophy is terror…
I recall the words of a man from years back. Standing outside of his cell, he was slumped over the railing, waiting listlessly for the guard to complete head-count. He was sharing advice with the prisoner beside him: ‘You will never get out of here. Sure, you may be released some day, and go home to be with your family for a time. You’ll eat well, and sleep on a soft bed. But this place will go with you. It has its hands in you. It knows you better than you know yourself, and while it may not predict your every thought, it knows the culmination of your thoughts, and leads them back here. It has stamped its pattern on your soul, and after a short stay in the free world it will direct you back home, here, with me and all these other losers.’
I do not recall the man’s name, nor anything else about him, but I remember these words. Listening to him speak then, filling the room with his dread, his words pronounced the terror. For a man to condemn himself is pitiful, but to seek proselytes was something far worse. This man spoke a prophesy over his life, giving life to a power over those around him. Yet, as the years passed, I came to realize that this was not a singular thought, but a man giving voice to a culture of thought. It is the prisoner’s philosophy.
The Prison is a terrible place. The Prisoner loses his freedom, his will is severely limited, his privacy removed entirely. He is in a place of constant, static violence, where every move is directed, and any conspicuous mark of humanity must be quickly covered up, lest it be found out. He is degraded by the guards watching over him. Any kindness shown his peers is assumed to be weakness, and swiftly tested. Eventually he gives in to the philosophy of terror and assumes his role. The man becomes a Prisoner, gives his life to the system, and society bears the brunt every time he is released again into the so-called ‘freedom’ that exists outside The Walls. Eventually, his sentence will exceed the years he has left, and the ‘free world’ will be rid of him, and no longer exists for him.
For the majority of those in prison, nothing can be done. You will not change them, and they inhabit a place that is best for them. My message is not for the majority. I am speaking to the select few who understand that The Prison is not the end, but a sojourn, where a debt is paid and a lesson learned. For these, there is no Prison. If you will journey with me, this is where the story begins..
The Prisoner
Across a field, from our yard, was the maximum security building. From my window I could see the men led into the rec yard, each into an individual cage. I was informed they received an hour each day outside of their cells, usually when the sun was going down. I would watch them as I watched the sun set each evening.
I am going to tell you the story of James. At least, the brief story that I know. I met James on the rec yard one day. Our yard was much larger than the cages allotted to max security. I was walking the perimeter, and came across a young man, sitting, arms akimbo, looking down at nothing. Turns out he was there on a relatively small offense, and was sentenced to only three years. He warmed up quickly when I asked his name. He had just arrived, and was conspicuously nervous. He talked about his home, and things and people he missed. He had made some mistakes and wanted to finish up here and get back. He was a bright kid, probably someone who had ‘a future’ when he graduated.
Things were hard for James. Fighting was hard. Waiting was hard. No mail came. Being on the alert at all times is hard on anyone, but for James it was 10 steps too many. I think a common question for someone in James’ shoes is whether it is more difficult to pretend to not be someone you are, or pretending to be someone you are not. Being yourself in a place like this, there is always a consequence.
I remember hearing about a scuffle he had in his cell. James was a smallish frame and wasn’t accustomed to fighting daily, which is a rite of passage for anyone new to a block. Apparently, his cell mate wanted some piece of property that belonged to James, and James wasn’t quick to let it go. His cell mate beat on him for about an hour, at one point beating his head against the frame of the cot.
He was still recovering the next time I saw him in the yard. He was sitting with The Prisoner.
Prisoner's Escape Plan 