A prison volunteer named Janet Wolf opened her first meeting with 12 incarcerated men like this: “As we begin our circle this morning, let us go around and say one word that describes our state of mind.” As one of the 12 men, I found myself scrambling for a word. It had been years since anyone cared about my state of mind.
It was strange. This free-world lady, obviously highly educated from her great command of language, wanting to come into a men’s prison and conduct a think tank-style workshop. “Confused” — that could be my word.
No, that would make me look bad. One by one, we said our word, no one holding eye contact for more than a second or two, the normal prison conduct when addressing staff. Doing so could have you written up for intimidation.
Wolf stopped. “Everyone, look at me, keep looking at me,” she said as she looked into our eyes one at a time. “Blue eyes, brown eyes.
...
You are all beautiful human beings that deserve love and respect.” My heart raced, my cheeks filled with blood, and tears streamed from my eyes. For the first time since I got locked up, I felt like a human being.
Prison volunteers like Wolf are an untapped resource, greatly underutilized by prisons. Volunteers are community members who have undergone background checks, just like paid employees, and who want to share their knowledge and time with those incarcerated. During my nearly three decades of incarceration, community volunteers have dramatically changed my life and th.
