Right to Write

cross post with my LJ (shut up):

so, prison meeting.

for some reason it made me really angry. people have all sorts of misconceptions about prison, prisoners, and what writing will do for them. i'm sure i was the same way, but at least i knew enough to admit that this would be unlike anything i'd done before.

(likewise i'm sure my anger is due in part to probably being the one who'd done it most recently and not being asked for any input. i'm not mad Corey is leading the program this year; i would only have to leave if i were in charge. but if you're trying to describe what this program IS to people who don't know, having Irene King talk, who's never done it, won't really help. listening to regina - the founder of the program - is great, but she hasn't done the program in at least five years, and she's become a dean since then. she sounded . . . condescending and out of touch, to my ears.)

the general attitude among students was one of, this program sounds like it's really good for THOSE PEOPLE. THOSE PEOPLE need things like this. THEY need "creative outlets" and WE are the ones to provide "creative outlets" for THEM.

i have news for you. walking into prison changed my life. these women were all older than me, all gobs more worldly-wise, street smarter than me. my books and my theories and my social science 101 courses didn't matter one whit in there, nor did my workshop experience. and, i'll admit, i don't think one woman started identifying herself as a writer by the time i left. i just don't. i don't know how much that comments upon my teaching skills, but the group i had just wasn't as . . . i don't want to say advanced, but didn't have as strong a grasp as some of the basics of literary vocabulary. if i'd gone in there to teach a class on simile, i would've lost them before 10 minutes was up. and, it may come as a surprise, but there WERE groups where you could teach classes on simile or metaphor and engage them. but that just wasn't my group. my group was reading the poem slowly and explaining it to each other as they went. only about half my group wrote on any given day. but, honestly, these women could talk. there are disagreements among us volunteers about how much the talking is useful versus disruptive, but i think it was important for *them* (god i hate that word sometimes) to feel heard by someone outside prison. to tell their experiences to someone who'd had different ones.

teaching in prison is probably one of the most humbling experiences of my life to date. every arrogant undergrad should be sent into a correctional facility. you can't not treat *these people* with respect - their conditions are so dehumanizing, and they do have the well-honed skills to take you down a notch, at least verbally, should the need arise. but you find yourself wanting to respect them, to treat them well, to be less dehumanizing in this hellish environment. and the women absolutely return it. they were respectful of us, and once they felt comfortable enough to rib us, we knew they trusted us.

one thing people really miss when talking about prison: my group cared about Lea and I. Lea came back from spring break with a nasty sunburn, and everyone offered her sympathy, recommended salves, and inquired the next week as to whether it was healing. one week i had a particularly nasty cold, and one of the women went to fetch me tissues. these are sweet, caring women, most of whom are (or would be) wonderful caregivers.

i miss them. as hard as it is, i can't wait to get back to prison. i feel so privileged to get to do it, because not only do i get to be acquainted with these smart, funny women, but they send me home with lots of interesting food for thought every week. in a weird way, prison nurtures me.