- Excerpt
MY SOUL SAID TO ME:
An Unlikely Journey
Behind the Walls of Justice
by Robert E. Roberts, D.D.S., Ph.D., M.S.W.
INTRODUCTION
The excerpt, below, is from the new book, My Soul Said to Me, the
story of Robert E. Roberts and the pioneering prison re-entry program
he developed called Project Return.
Bob Roberts turned his back on a lucrative dental practice, left his family
and his hometown, to teach literacy in prison. For three years, he learned
first-hand about the deprivations and degradations of America's penal institutions.
His program was so successful at reducing inmate violence that corrections
officials conspired to shut it down and get rid of Roberts.
Roberts rebuilt his program on the outside, helping ex-cons re-integrate
with society. A five-year study by the Metropolitan Crime Commission certified
Project Return as the most effective re-entry program ever, with only 25%
of alumni returning to prison, as opposed to 75% of those not in the program.
For an investment of $5 million over five years, the Commission calculated
taxpayers had saved $209 million in reduced crime, court costs, and prison
costs.
The first part of the excerpt documents the improvement in the behavior
of prisoners and guards at Dixon Correctional Institution near Baton Rouge,
Louisiana. The second part relates one saga in the growing effort by Warden
Burl Cain to get rid of Roberts. More information about author Bob Roberts
and the book, My Soul Said to Me, follows the excerpt.
"No One Farted When I Walked By"
by Robert E. Roberts
As the weekly community-building workshops progressed, I continued to
witness a slow and steady upward curve of trust and mutual esteem in
the men of Dorm 7. Life slowly improved in the dormitory as the men began
to use the communication skills they developed in the workshop to work
out their differences. Men who had lived together in the dorm for years,
barely exchanging words, now began to share with each other, sometimes
even confessing things that formerly would have put them in positions
of dangerous vulnerability.
When one prisoner admitted that he was a former narcotics agent, the group
accepted him and did not seek retribution as they would have only a few
weeks earlier. When another man confessed that he was a closet homosexual,
no one in the group tried to rape him or put a claim on him. Even the correctional
officers noticed a change in climate, reporting that the men seemed to
be carrying on meaningful conversations instead of the usual jive.
As they explored the new experience of being a community, the men discovered
useful and productive things about each other. For example, several men
found that their parents and families lived in the same neighborhood. Since
some of the family members had cars and others did not, the men were able
to arrange for carpooling on visitors' day. Visitations increased dramatically,
which was very positive. Research has long shown that increased visitations
decrease violence and the number of infractions of prison rules. In addition,
and not surprisingly, seeing loved ones and friends on a more regular basis
had a calming effect upon men who were incarcerated.
This carpooling -- or more accurately, this type of communication -- would
have been impossible before the workshop. One of the greatest terrors a
prisoner lives with is the fear that an enemy will try to retaliate for
a real or imagined wrong, and that his enemy will have a friend on the
outside harm or kill a family member. To actually volunteer the location
of one's family took extraordinary trust.
Over the following months, even marriages increased with the men who were
not lifers (many states allow marriages in prison, the idea being that
it stabilizes the individual, both while incarcerated and upon release).
Some of the men told stories of phoning family members who they had not
spoken with in years and apologizing for old wrongs.
It wasn't a surprise that these changes brought about a considerable decrease
in violence and other major rule infractions within the dormitory. As major
infractions decreased, however, minor infractions temporarily increased.
The reason for this was simple.
As the men learned to respect themselves
and give respect to others, they also began to expect it in return.
This meant that when a correctional officer blew off at one of them,
the individual would respond by saying, "I
don't talk to you like that and I don't want you to talk to me like that." Andrew
told a correctional officer, "I don't want to be called Psycho anymore.
My name is Andrew Webster."
Since the correctional officers of Dorm 7 did not yet understand what
was happening with this group, they took these kinds of comments as insubordination
and wrote them up as minor infractions. Once I had determined which of
the correctional officers I could reason with and explained to them what
was going on, the situation improved.
The aura of extraordinary respect
so permeated Dorm 7 that among correctional personnel it soon became
one of the most coveted jobs in the prison. On one occasion, I overhead
a correctional officer talking to the warden about the change in attitude
of the prisoners. "Nowadays, during the count," he
said, "When I'm walking back up the aisle, they don't fart." I had to bite
my lip to keep from laughing. "Now, that might seem like a small thing
to you," he said, looking over at me, "but, really, it's not."
For many of the prisoners, the workshop
opened up a whole new world. Several reported feeling as if they had
been waiting for this for a long, long time. Malcolm told the group
that, for him, "The world now seems
to have a glow to it, so much brighter than I had ever thought it could
be. I can look at myself and see what a great work of art I am and the
greatness out of which I was created."
Malcolm also saw the glow on the
faces of the other men in Dorm 7. "I've
been watching men leave this workshop and go back to the cell block to
call loved ones they haven't spoken to in years. And I ask myself, 'Is
this really happening?'"
Many of the prisoners agreed that
nothing else had even come close to the natural high they felt after
the workshops, the dizzy sensation of walking two feet above the ground.
Malcolm admitted that, for him, the feeling was "greater than the high
I felt on heroin, and more intense than the euphoria I had the first
time I fasted."
Many of the prisoners were concerned how long the effects of the workshop
would continue. Many were convinced that the changes would not last.
We knew they were right, unless the community-building workshops continued.
But they were wrong about the changes within themselves. The years since
have shown that, whatever the results of our efforts, none of the men
in Dorm 7 ever really lost the intrinsic worth of that experience with
us and each other. Whatever light had been turned on inside would stay
on.
THE FINAL BLOW
During one of the ongoing community-building sessions with Dorm 7, the
door suddenly burst open and a correctional officer announced that Warden
Cain wanted to see me in his office. I responded that I would be there
as soon as the current session ended. A few minutes later, the officer
returned and said that the warden wanted to see me right away. Reluctant
but worried, I closed down the group and went to the warden's office.
At the conference table sat the warden, his two assistant wardens and
Colonel Aucoin, who had covertly been our only ally among the staff and
who had recently become the first black chief of security at the prison.
In addition, there sat the professor whom I knew from the department at
Louisiana State University that had hosted our study and administered our
grant -- the same professor who had originally talked me into taking the
study to Dixon Correctional Institution, where he was a long-time, personal
friend of Warden Cain. On several occasions, this professor had asked me
to let him use some of the money in our grant for departmental purposes
-- primarily for travel. I had refused him. As a federal grantee, we were
responsible to justify every cent we used. Still, I continued to trust
him and to follow his advice on academic matters until, in a conversation
one day, he began to refer to the prisoners as niggers. From that point,
I knew this man had nothing to teach me and, gradually, I ended all contact
with him. That is, until this meeting.
The professor announced that I was being removed as principle investigator
of the grant and that he was taking over. In addition, my salary was being
cut 30 percent and my travel benefits were eliminated. This meant that
the cost of my weekly commutes to the prison and lodging expenses would
have to come out of my own pocket.
My blood began to boil, and I could
feel my soul wanting to leap out of my body and choke off what this
man was saying. Barely able to remain in my seat, I asked for an explanation.
I was told that I had "mishandled" some
of the grant funds with which we operated the study. Without thinking,
I said, "You know as well as I do that's a lie."
Then the strangest thing of all
happened. The professor got out of his chair and started toward me.
My mind raced. I suddenly remembered the time when one of the prisoners
left his seat and walked across the circle yelling at me because I
had not answered his question. He had stopped about six feet in front
of me and shouted every four-letter word I had ever heard in my life.
I remained still except for gently nodding my head to encourage him
to get all of his rage out of his body so that he could fully participate
in the workshop. When he had done just that, he walked calmly back
to his seat, sat down and began to laugh in a manner that was in no
way disrespectful. I told the group, "That's where our
joy always lies hidden -- underneath our rage."
That strategy did not work this time. My former friend kept moving toward
me, and suddenly I saw his fist coming. Since I had waited too long to
stand up, my only option was to lean back to avoid his blow. Fortunately,
the chair was the recliner type, and it allowed me enough movement to
get out of the way. But in missing his mark, the professor lost his balance,
fell on top of me and toppled my chair backward, sending both of us crashing
on the floor.
The next face I saw was that of
Colonel Aucoin as he was pulling the professor off of me. As I leaped
up, one of the assistant wardens, Bubba McNeil, grabbed me and shoved
me against the wall. I had always intuitively believed that Warden
McNeil was an even stronger covert ally to our efforts than Aucoin.
Sure enough, under the noise and fury of the moment, I heard him whisper, "Don't do nothin'." I answered quickly, "Okay."
As I felt Bubba relax his hold, I knew in an instant that this had been
a set up to get rid of me altogether. I also knew that Bubba had figured
I might strike back, and he was protecting me from falling deeper into
their trap. Later, Colonel Aucoin verified my suspicions. To this day,
I am deeply grateful to these two men who risked their own well- being
for mine.
Copyright ©2003 by Robert E.
Roberts. All Rights Reserved. Please feel free to duplicate or distribute
this file as long as the contents are not changed and this copyright
notice is intact. Thank You.
