Two years ago, while wearing an orange jumpsuit and riding on a white bus with barred windows, I braced myself mentally for what prison was going to be like.
A flood of questions entered my mind: Would I be jumped? Would a bunch of neo-Nazis try to force me into being a skin head like in American History X? Would they stab me when I refused? Were the guards as oppressive as in Shawshank? Would my cellmate be a jackass?
After the guy sitting next to me told me the story of how he stole a Mustang and then totaled it after taking police on a high-speed chase, the self-revealed KKK associate told me not to worry.
“It’s just prison, bro,” he started, “As long as you’re not an S.O. (sex offender) you’ll be alright and if someone calls you a bitch, start swinging on him.”
“Riggght,” I replied. Placating him with my best act while being confounded at the weird – and more often than not – illogical prison social dynamic.
When we pulled into the institution, I admit I was a tad nervous. I hadn’t gotten into a decent brawl since county, so I expected the violence in prison to be just as bad. I had shifty eyes and was readying myself for the time when I’d have to stand up for myself (for whatever reason). When we got off the bus we were led, in chains, into a dank room full of dead bugs. We were all stripped and given a change of clothes. What followed were a series of stations where we got issued everything from toothbrushes to socks to plastic cups.
After meeting with the physician for a few seconds, we headed outside and started towards our assigned units and pods. As soon as the doors opened to the outside, the institution before me seemed huge. The desert sun was beating down on the concrete and making mirages in the distance. The housing “pods” towered over us like giant grey monoliths and the ominous barbed wire fences seem to insinuate that prison was not a friendly place.
When I arrived at my assigned unit, a hallway divided the unit’s two living pods. On one side of the hallway were a bunch of colorful murals that depicted soldiers in various poses. On the other wall was a dull grey blankness. Personally, I was not convinced. I didn’t let the murals on the walls dissuade me that prison was a violent place, nor did the fact that I was entering a “veterans” pod persuade me into letting my guard down.
When I walked through my pod’s front doors, I was ready to go. In other words, I was determined not to let any group or person – no matter how tall or numerically superior – take advantage of me. Upon entering I set my bags down next to the counselor’s office as instructed. While waiting, a young guy approached me; he was about my age. The man had slick jet-black hair greased over with pomade. His popped collar accentuated his greaser look as did his silent smirk. When he approached, his brown eyes narrowed as if sizing me up.
What’s this guy up to? Is there some greaser gang here? Is he trying to hustle me?
I was in the middle of considering my first move if this guy was bad news when he extended his hand.
“Hi, name’s Cal, “he started, “Are you a veteran?”
I blinked twice, looked around again at the colorful murals. As I did, I noticed the older guys playing cards peacefully and some of the younger ones eating ice cream.
“Yeah,” I replied, still looking around cautiously while wondering where the gangs were waiting in ambush. “Yeah, I was in the Army.” I shook his hand.
“Cool, I was an Army guy as well. You don’t happen to play Dungeons and Dragons, do you?”
“Dungeons and Dragons?” I asked in disbelief, “I played with my brother a while ago. Why?”
“Well, my buds and I play it and we can always use another player. You should come over to our table sometime. We’re dog handlers but after work we usually play. Jack just got put in charge of the kittens, so he’s got a lot of free time.”
“Kittens?”
The minute I held a kitten was the minute I finally put my guard down. In those moments I realized I wasn’t going to have to literally fight for my survival. After unpacking my stuff and meeting my cellmate (who turned out was actually a down to earth kind of fellow) Calvin introduced me to a lot of the other veterans, many of whom were a part of a state-sponsored program that rehabilitates sheltered cats and dogs and readies them for adoption.
The Incarcerated Veterans Project Provides Hope
To this day I am grateful that I am a member of this institution’s Veterans Project, a staff and inmate project designed with the intention of fostering a safer and more civilized living environment, that provides incarcerated veterans with various VA-related resources (among many other forms of positive, in-house programs). Because of the Veterans Project, I got to avoid a lot of the nonsense that most other incarcerated citizens are forced to put up with, most notably prison “politics” in the form of racial division and excessive, pointless violence. Simply put, while I got to play with puppies and focus on schoolwork, the guys on the other side of the building (behind the dull grey wall) were busy knocking each other out over table space and Ramen Noodles.
Other institutions that don’t have a Veterans Project ought to take notes. Just the fact that the staff and inmates are working together speaks volumes of how far we’ve come in this institution when compared to others. It is clear that the project itself as reduces violence and fosters an environment conducive for positive attitudes and personal growth. Because of the project, myself, like so many others, can focus on living decently and preparing for release.
While obviously no system is perfect, the benefits of having this kind of resource for incarcerated veterans far outweighs the negatives. In a recent meeting between staff and incarcerated veterans, it was revealed that out of the 20 members who were released and set up with VA-supported services, only one reoffended within the last year.
In general, that aforementioned statistic is the point of this project: by providing inmates with a safe and more holistic environment and providing them with the tools for reintegration, we can reduce recidivism as well as our burgeoning prison population. In turn, this effect will not only save tax dollars but prevent more crime thus making our country safer.
In the end, the Veterans Project has helped me exponentially. It has provided me with relief and hope for the future. I sincerely hope other institutions will follow in this one’s footsteps.
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