November 23, 2015 - 11:20
since jody had us read the chapter of her and anne’s wip, i’ve been thinking a lot about it. on the reflections that i have on our work in the prison, and the reflections that i don’t have because i don’t want to think about certain things.
the question, ‘why are we here?’ is asked, but remained/s unanswered.
i want to learn from these incarcerated individuals, but how? how do we do that when we’re the ones structuring the classroom? i want them to have the space to learn as well – and arguably that is the focus, to use our access to provide a space for learning and a space for connecting to ‘the outside’.
what does it mean to work in a space that i despise? “do what you love,” we are told, “love what you do”. “get a life, not a job.” “it won’t feel like work if you love it.” how much of this is a (capitalist) lie? how much of that is true – a sign that i shouldn’t work in the prison?
what does it mean to work in a space that i want destroyed?
Side-stepping the split between abolitionists and prison educators, Angela Davis maintains that we should work to “create more humane, habitable environments for people in prison without bolstering the permanence of the prison system” (Are Prisons Obsolete? 103). And your colleague: But making this environment “more habitable” can indeed help to make it more permanent.
Again: the problem of our being here.
‘prison programs make me a better person,’ a woman said. maybe she knows better than i do what makes a good person, or what makes a bad person. she was incarcerated, but she left. i should have asked, ‘how does ours make you a better person? what have you learned? what did you get out of all this?’
instead i fell into the trap of stagnancy that fills me the moment we step into the front lobby. the prison feels unchanging, unchangeable when you’re inside. i forgot that people are constantly in and out. i forgot that this woman might have a chance to leave at any time.
i rejoice in her having left this place, but i wish i had asked.