Remembering Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr

My earliest political memory is of Dr. King’s assassination. I was 7 years old. I didn’t understand the enormity or impact of his death. All I knew, as a child, using the adults’ sentiments as a barometer, was that the world we knew had changed, forever, and in some ways had remained the same; and that there were some in society who wanted the world to stay the same or not be too far removed from slavery and segregation.

As the son of a father born in the segregated South in 1926, a father who, despite his very young age, enlisted and served in the segregated U.S. Army during World War II, this history and struggle was alive in the life of my father who ended up in New York to escape the legacy of slavery, segregation, and to live a better life, that pursuit of a better life as proclaimed by the forefathers of this nation.

Dr. King’s assassination was one more death in a long line of deaths, even more evidence that the pursuit of those American ideals came with a price, that one simply couldn’t walk into a store with this promissory note and think that it would be honored; that the pursuit of liberty might even cost one his or her life.

As we remember and honor the life and legacy of Dr. King, we should not forget his enormous courage and steadfastness to the principles of nonviolence, that is, he was a man that proclaimed how he would fight this struggle, that it would be fought through the principles of non-violence, and he never wavered from those principles.

Today, with the upcoming presidential election in November, candidates proclaiming this and that should look at the life and legacy of Dr. King, his courage, his steadfastness, his belief that America could be better if everyone lived up to her ideals.

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In Memory of Reentry

My life, my job, has brought me in contact with both famous and infamous people. Not surprisingly, the infamous ones have been far more interesting than the famous. And perhaps this has more to do with the “take-aways,” what I have learned from them, than anything else. Makes me think of something I read in one of Clive Barker’s books: “What do the good know, but what the bad teach them by their excesses?”

The people I have met, briefly encountered, read about before and after meeting them, would be included in a Rogues’ Gallery of 20th Century Crime in America. And there are lesser knowns, but their stories, what I have learned from them, are just as valuable.

The other day I was talking with an individual who had spent 24 years in prison, from age 16 to 40. He has been home more than ten years. We were talking about memoirs, about writing memoirs, and he began to tell me what he remembered about his first year out of prison.

“I entered this ‘Not So Brave New World,'” he began, “and immediately realized that I did not exist.” He went on to explain that he did not exist in the “free world” on paper. He had a birth certificate and social security card; evidence, he said, that he had been born, and that his mother had the good sense to get him a social security number practically at birth. These were the only two “public” documents that validated his existence in the free world on paper. He went on to say that as soon as he realized this, he thought of Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man, but felt more like The Brother from Another Planet.

I work in the field (industry) of reentry — for an organization, the Osborne Association, that is doing remarkable, cutting-edge work transforming lives, communities, and the criminal justice system (to learn more about Osborne, visit its website at http://www.osborneny.org) — working with people reentering and making a transition from prisons and jails to their families, communities, and society, and I am almost always thinking about this work and this world, and how to bridge the gap between what is essentially two worlds as people who have been in prisons and jails understand them: the “free world” and the “not free world.”

This individual and I talked at length, and he told me that the first year out, everywhere he turned, everything he did or tried to do, provided more evidence that he did not exist, at least not on paper. And then he talked about the process of becoming “documented,” as if he were an “illegal alien” (his words), despite being a born and bred American. And once he did this, he said, an unfathomable sadness descended upon him. He then realized, he said, that he had practically no life and no history in the free world — he discounts the first 16 years of his life, which he said he barely remembers because he willed himself to forget and can’t even access that part of his memory anymore — and that the process of reentry, for him, would involve creating a history and memories outside of and not connected to prison.

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Youth Shackled

At the Halsey Street train station in Brooklyn, four teenagers are shackled and seated on the hard wooden bench. Two police officers in plainclothes, who do not look like cops, stand near the youth. One is on his walkie-talkie. The other stands watch. I look at the teenagers, not knowing why they are shackled and seated on the bench, but they are smiling, saying something that evokes laughter. I want to tell the plainclothes officers to tighten the cuffs, to bring some pain if not gravity to the situation. I hate seeing youth shackled. I hate seeing that being shackled is not taken seriously, and even evokes laughter from those in shackles.

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What is it with cops and donuts?

The sun is shining brightly. Sitting in Dunkin Donuts this morning on a high stool, looking out the window where the sun is shining in onto Halsey Street, right off Broadway, in Brooklyn, USA, eating an everything bagel, slightly toasted, with cream cheese. Brought my own drink, green tea. There are no Starbucks in this neighborhood so Dunkin Donuts will have to do, to sit and jot down notes.

A cop cruiser, carrying two of New York’s Finest, pulls into a No Standing Anytime zone. One of the policemen exits the cruiser and enters Dunkin Donuts. He has on sunglasses and enters with a swagger, stands in a line of about ten people waiting for their Dunkin Donuts fix.

Shortly, the cop gets his order and exits Dunkin Donuts with his coffee and donuts, gets into the cruiser and speeds away. To fight crime or to find a nice safe street to eat their donuts? What is it with cops and donuts? The sugar rush? I always thought it was about the thrill of the chase in crime-fighting that they got their rush.

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There is always a story…

Just the other day I was walking by the Dunkin Donuts on the corner of Broadway and Halsey in Brooklyn when a man, probably my age plus twenty years of hard living on the streets, limped up to me and asked me for a dime in order to get a cup of coffee, shaking the change in his hand he had already collected. I told him to come with me into the Dunkin Donuts, and had him order his coffee once we navigated the line and made it to the register. He got his coffee, thanked me and went on his way.

When the individual had approached me, I recognized him, having seen him begging in downtown Brooklyn, so he gets around, despite his limp. I swear, though, I’ve seen him before, before this, in another lifetime. Whenever I see someone begging, I wonder what his or her story is. There is always a story, what landed people on street corners, and I think I am wise enough never to judge.

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Remembering Attica

Today is the 40th Anniversary of the Attica Rebellion. For far too many, it is an event not remembered, and is overshadowed by 9-11, the 10th Anniversary of 9-11. But when it happened, in September of 1971, the repercussions of it reverberated not only in New York but across the country as well as the world. At that point and time in history, it was the bloodiest rebellion in American prison history, and it forced America to take a hard look at its prison systems and institute some fundamental reforms.

Attica symbolized many things, but I want to write briefly about something that existed in 1971 that does not exist in 2011. Then, there was this inside/outside connection, that is, political movements on the outside were connected to political movements on the inside. Now, prisons are for the most part apolitical, though there is the politics of crime and punishment. The NAACP, the Black Panther Party, Workers groups, etc., were involved in some shape, form or fashion in prison, in a political context, because it was a political era and people saw the connection between the inside and the outside. And there was a degree of solidarity between those on the inside and those on the outside. The insiders had not yet become the hated “other.” It was somewhat more obvious then that the criminal justice system was being used as a tool of social control. When Richard Nixon stated that Lyndon Johnson’s Great Society was lawless, and declared a “war on crime,” it was so obviously connected to the uprisings in our urban areas, most notably after the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.

Prisons were political. If you were in prison then, you got a political education, a political education that went beyond basic civics.

I remember reading Tom Wicker’s account of the Attica Rebellion, “A Time to Die,” and was deeply disappointed when Wicker wrote about a quote from one of the banners of the Attica Brothers in the yard and didn’t know it was from a famous poem. Maybe it’s because I’m a poet, but I automatically recognized the famous words from Claude McKay’s “If We Must Die,” which was written after the Black Summer of 1919, when Whites stormed into Black neighborhoods and killed innocent Black people. McKay wrote, “If we must die let it not be like hogs, hunted and penned in an inglorious spot….”

Today, let us remember, and hope that not one life was taken in vein.

Let us remember…

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Remembering 9-11

Everyone in New York City has a 9-11 story. Mine begins nearly two months before that fateful day. I was in the World Trade Center with my ex-wife, who is originally from Jamaica. (I am a born and bred New Yorker.). After a day of shopping downtown, we found ourselves in the World Trade Center, because I had suggested that we go up on the Observation Deck, something she had never done. We stood on the line and were nearly at the front when my ex said that she was tired and wanted to go home. We left and went home. We could go on the Observation deck another day, she said.

Two months later, the Saturday before 9-11, I was on a boat on the East River. I snapped a picture of the World Trade Center. It is date-stamped 09/08/2001.

On 9-11, at 8:46am, when the North Tower was struck, I was on the #4 train, heading to work. I got off at the Nevins Street station in downtown Brooklyn and immediately got a phone call from my ex. She was talking fast, asking me if I knew what had happened. Of course I didn’t. I was underground when the North Tower was struck.

I walked the block to work. Shortly thereafter, the South Tower was struck. Then, we knew for sure, America was under attack.

From Brooklyn, from Fulton Street and Flatbush Avenue, I could see the smoke from Lower Manhattan rising to the heavens. What seems like a very long time ago, what seems like just yesterday, I remember the hordes of people trekking across the Brooklyn Bridge from Manhattan to Brooklyn, covered in ash. It seemed…post-Apocalyptic.

A co-worker, who had been in Lower Manhattan for a court appearance, found her way back to Brooklyn. We had interviewed together and had started the job on the same date nearly a year ago. She didn’t know how she had made it back to Brooklyn. She was obviously shell shocked, and we ended up sending her to the hospital.

Days later I thought and told my ex that now she could never go out on the Observation deck.

Today, I went to Church. It seemed like the right place to be. A number of firemen were present. Fitting for this 10 Anniversary. We all clapped for them, thanking them in this small way for a job that takes extraordinary courage.

It seems like only yesterday, but it’s been ten years, this 10th Anniversary, a day that changed everyone’s life in America, not just in New York City.

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On the Dock

We are moored to the dock
Supine
Stargazing
Lost in the Milky Way

I feel so far away from home
Where we can’t see the stars

We oooh and aaah at shooting stars

This is better than the Macy’s
Fourth of July fireworks

Like a child
I want to wish upon a star

So many stars are twinkling
I am lost in the Milky Way

I feel so small
Under this vast celestial canopy

I want to sleep outside
Be embraced by this
But then someone points out
Ursa Major and Ursa Minor
And I’ve already heard too many tales
Of black bears
They are on the ground here

And then someone howls like a coyote
And it echoes across the cosmos
Soon
I will pine for this place

We share this brief history of time

And I think of the big bang theory
And I imagine a great explosion
And stars scattering across the galaxy
And I want to travel
Into a black hole
For this moment tells me
That I won’t be destroyed
That I’ll live among the stars
And that one night
Someone
Moored to a dock
Supine
Stargazing
Will see me
A shooting star
Shoot across the galaxy

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My September 2011 Editorial from The Deuce Club* –“The Re-entry World Just Got a Little Larger”

There’s this joke among insiders inside the re-entry world, that when you go to these re-entry conferences and the like, that you see “the usual suspects.” This speaks to the fact that there’s a small passionate group committed to doing work within the re-entry world, many of them formerly incarcerated.

As we all know by now, re-entry became a buzzword in the latter part of the 1990s. As a society, specifically from the government’s point of view, at the federal, state and local levels, because of fiscal issues — we were spending too much money to maintain ineffective prison systems that yielded high returns of recidivism — and tough economic times, we had to seriously look at the feasibility of spending so much money locking so many people up for so long with such diminishing returns. And in locking so many people up, since Richard Nixon, campaigning for the presidency in 1968, inaugurated the modern “war on crime,” in the 1990s we had to face the fact that many of the people we started locking up in the late 1960s and early and mid-1970s were completing their sentences and were being released, whether we liked it or not: they had served their time, paid their proverbial debt to society, and now it was their time to re-enter society; and most people return from prison. More recently, in New York, we began with reforming the draconian Rockefeller Drug Laws, something advocates had unsuccessfully been trying to do for as long as the Laws were on the books, since the early 1970s. Academics even began to write that there was a way to safely release people from prison without compromising public safety. And, lo and behold, at the same time, the prison population in New York State was dramatically decreasing. Many politicians, from former New York Governor George Pataki to former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani to the current Mayor, Michael Bloomberg, take credit for this reduction in crime and, whether they like it or not, the reduction of the prison population. (The current efforts to reform the parole law in New York is directly related to former Governor Pataki’s parole policy not to release people who had the lowest recidivism rates of all people confined in prisons because of the “nature of their crimes,” mostly homicide-related offenses which, not so coincidentally, began with the reduction of crime and the many people who had served their time becoming eligible for parole, and serious talk of reforming the Rockefeller Drug Laws which, since the 1970s, as well as the 1980s with the explosion of crack, exponentially filled our prisons with people convicted of drug crimes. One could argue that Pataki’s parole policy kept people in prison who perhaps should have been released in order to artificially keep prisons filled to capacity for our prison-loving politicians.) Now, for the first time in the State’s history, we are talking about closing prisons. In the 1980s, the First Cuomo presided over unprecedented prison construction. Now, in the New Millennium, under the current Governor, the Second Cuomo, we are going to close prisons. Ironically, the “war on crime” in New York can claim a victory, reduction in crime and the prison population, yet the old guard politicians who campaigned on the politics of “more prisons” and “longer prison terms,” who have a vested interest in an expanded prison system we no longer need, because they locked themselves into the “tough on crime” politics, and locked their constituents into depending on prisons for employment, looking at prisons as economic engines for their districts, do not want to close prisons we do not need, at least not for the confinement of people convicted of crimes. But that’s another story.

From the re-entry world, we have three major events on the horizon: one, The Think Outside the Cell Symposium on September 24th; two, WORTH’s (Women on the Rise Telling HerStory) seventh Anniversary on October 20th, along with its inauguration of the Susan Hallett Reentry Award (see Page 8); and Citizens Against Recidivism’s Annual Citizens Awards on October 29th. Significantly, all three of these events, and these entities, are spearheaded and was created by people impacted by the criminal justice system, namely, the wife of an incarcerated man, with his assistance from behind the wall; formerly and incarcerated women and women (family members of the incarcerated) impacted by the criminal justice system; and the wife of an incarcerated man and the incarcerated man himself.

At the Think Outside the Cell Symposium, there’s a cast of characters in the lineup that we can’t consider the “usual suspects” in the re-entry world in New York, namely, The Rev. Al Sharpton; Newark, NJ Mayor Cory Booker; Michelle Alexander, author of The New Jim Crow; CNN anchor Soledad O’Brien; “Chef Jeff” Henderson of the Food Network; Randall Robinson; CBS 60 Minutes correspondent Bryon Pitts; Terrie Williams, youth advocate and author of Black Pain: It Just Looks Like We’re Not Hurting; Dr. Khalil Gibran Muhammad, Director of the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture; El Diario La Prensa publisher Rossana Rosado; Marc Lamont Hill, Black Enterprise TV; and of course some of the “usual suspects,” namely, Alan Rosenthal, Center for Community Alternatives; Julio Medina, Founder and Executive Director, Exodus Transitional Community; and Jeremy Travis, President of John Jay College of Criminal Justice and author of a journal article entitled: “But They All Come Back: Rethinking Reentry.”

At the Think Outside the Cell Symposium, there’s a cast of characters in the lineup that we can’t consider the “usual suspects” in the re-entry world in New York, namely, The Rev. Al Sharpton; Newark, NJ Mayor Cory Booker; Michelle Alexander, author of The New Jim Crow; CNN anchor Soledad O’Brien; “Chef Jeff” Henderson of the Food Network; Randall Robinson; CBS 60 Minutes correspondent Bryon Pitts; Terrie Williams, youth advocate and author of Black Pain: It Just Looks Like We’re Not Hurting; Dr. Khalil Gibran Muhammad, Director of the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture; El Diario La Prensa publisher Rossana Rosado; Marc Lamont Hill, Black Enterprise TV; and of course some of the “usual suspects,” namely, Alan Rosenthal, Center for Community Alternatives; Julio Medina, Founder and Executive Director, Exodus Transitional Community; and Jeremy Travis, President of John Jay College of Criminal Justice and author of a journal article entitled: “But They All Come Back: Rethinking Reentry.”

Anyone in the criminal justice field, anyone impacted by incarceration, needs to attend these events, beginning with the Think Outside the Cell Symposium.

The more people that attend this Symposium, the more the re-entry world will get a little larger, in a good way.

Let’s make it a new day, a new way.

*The Deuce Club is the newsletter of The Coaliton for Parole Restoration (CPR). To learn more about CPR, visit our website at http://www.parolecpr.org.

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Revisiting The Summer of Capri

I just re-read the first six chapters of my novel, which is still waiting to be born, and I am committed to working on it, to having a full draft by the end of the year. After all, the whole “story” is in my head. I just have to get it out of my head and onto paper.

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