"I was totally ignorant about...the criminal justice system, the courts, and prisons."

When my late son,* Damon Anthony Moyler, was incarcerated in various New York State prisons for most of the 80s and 90s, I was totally ignorant about the workings of the criminal justice system, the courts, or prisons.

In retrospect, I should have questioned why most of the other visitors to Attica, Auburn, Elmira and Wende correctional facilities were black or Hispanic. Likewise, I paid little heed to Damon's frequent rants about abusive correctional officers, inept lawyers, or unfair sentencing. After all, he had committed crimes, so, I reasoned, he should serve his time without complaint.

Whenever he was angry because of what he considered the fickleness of his family or a girlfriend, he would say, "You're out there; y'all don't know what it's like in here." I would counter with, "We might be on the outside, but, we are also "prisoners" of a racist society."

Today, I regret my misguided words and lack of understanding. In subsequent years, I learned of the inequities and racial disparities in the criminal justice system, especially as they relate to individuals with mental illness, juvenile offenders, communities of color, female offenders, or those with low literacy.

The Kalief Browder  tragedy heightened my awareness of the consequences of solitary confinement. As a teenager, Browder was arrested for allegedly stealing a backpack and held at Rikers Island jail in New York City for three  years, two of them in solitary confinement. He also endured attacks by guards and other inmates (captured on video); Browder subsequently committed suicide at his home in the Bronx.

Looking back, I think that Damon's frequent detentions in the "The Bing" (a term for solitary confinement)--for one infraction or another--impaired his mental and emotional function and dampened his innate fearlessness. For example, despite his bravado and willingness to buck "the system" (by filing two suits in federal court for alleged assaults by correctional officers at Rikers Island), he was uncharacteristically docile during our visits whenever a CO approached him or gave him an order. This was difficult to watch.

Several years after his death, I began writing a book about my experiences as the mother of an inmate. In 2013, I created my first criminal justice blog, Outside the Walls: One Mother's Voice. (I no longer post to that site). I educated myself about criminal justice issues, including plea bargaining, cash bail, disparate sentencing practices, the collateral consequences of incarceration, and felony disenchanfrisment.

In 2016, I started a podcast, One Mother's Voice: In the Name of Justice. Today, I use these platforms to educate families of inmates about criminal justice practices and policies; to encourage greater involvement of families in reform efforts; and to support families with information and resources.

Lest some misunderstand my advocacy, let me be clear: Offenders should be held accountable for criminal acts that bring harm to victims and communities. Nonetheless, I believe that we must change our criminal justice paradigm from one that abuses, stigmatizes, or damages individuals to one that provides opportunities for personal development, transformation and self-healing both inside and outside of prisons.

A case in point

Five years ago, one of my grandsons, Eric, returned from prison with guarded optimism about his future and $1500 in savings. He found a single room in New York City for $500 a month. Sadly, he grew frustrated by his inability to find work but found it difficult to talk with his parents or siblings about what was happening in his life; he often disappeared for weeks at a time. Eventually, Eric divulged that he had been assaulted by COs while in prison and exhibited a smoldering anger over the incident.

In 2018, he died of a drug overdose.

In our grief, we ask, What could we have done to alleviate his suffering? What interventions might have prevented his untimely death? These, I believe, are questions for the larger society as well.

*In 1999, Damon was found unresponsive in his cell at Wende Correctional Facility; he died several hours later after being rushed to a nearby medical center.      

© 2019 wistajohnson.com (Reprint by permission only.)