CAN WE DO MORE?

A transgender entered our housing unit and shouted female on the floor. This was a sergeant who looked like a man on the outside, but was a woman at heart--and those incarcerated did not agree. You heard men screaming, "You're not a female, you're a man." As I witnessed this, I became disgusted by the men around me. Why? This reminded me of when African Americans were being called the N-word.

As the day progressed, I wondered how we couldn't be more than angry men who lashed out at anybody for any reason? My thoughts were soiled when I sat in a college class taught by an educated woman with a doctorate, who had a student drop the F-bomb to explain his point of view. She took it in stride, but a few of our peers turned and shot daggers at him, disturbed by this man's use of a vulgar word in college.

The walk back to my housing unit, I'm swarmed by a buzzing in my ears: curses, and aggressive discussions about N words being F'd up for always being in someone's way. This was what broadcast itself around me daily...and I'm disgusted by it.

My only outlet was to write and pour out my pain. I did this while getting some mail ready for the mailbox. What I was sending home were pictures of me from the year 2008. The reflection of the young man I was back then wouldn't have even been upset by what I'm around today. Why? He didn't have his own identity, so he allowed the environment to dictate who he was: a broad chest 30 something lifer with aspirations of tattooing his face. So, what shifted in my life to become the man I am now? A light bulb response: education.

I spent hours in my bunk watching Rap City and smoking marijuana...when I could get my hands on it. That was me, a lifer who didn't grasp the reality of perishing in this world at an old age. All I cared for was my TV, my hustle and my respect.

The sad notion was that I'm still a semblance of the individual who grew up in...hell. I have the tattoos, minus the ones on my face. I don't have Rap City anymore, but I'm a music lover with 6,000 plus songs on my tablet, and my respect is solidified by my struggles of navigating a reality in a world unlike anything the outside could ever comprehend.

There was an 18 year old that entered prison when it was truly hell. Violence was so crazy that everybody carried a weapon of some sort. This man shared those tales as we stared at him playing Scrabble. He spent 51 years in prison and is now 69 years old. Those stories didn't frighten me; it came down to the time he dwelt in this madness.

My mind drifted from his time to mine, where I'm seeing a mirror of my life...if...if I sit idle. This was why I felt out of sorts, because I picked up a book one day and developed my mind. My eyes opened, and what they're seeing is hell becoming hellish. Grown men who don't know how to think about anything but--bulls$%t.

As I became immersed in this singular thought, my comrades came and sat with me. We talked about what I'm seeing around us. They chimed in with their viewpoints, and told me I'm burnt out by growing my thinking with knowledge, and since I had, it's time I push harder because what's around me has shown me how smart I am. When my comrade told me that, I decided to explore an idea: How To Develop A Man In Prison.

I realized that when there were problems, fix them. So, I am now diving into my encyclopedia of knowledge to come up with something tangible. That would be like when I wrote a once-published book titled The 35 Laws of Prison.

My sister asked me what the laws of prison were one day. That had me pondering what they were, so I called upon the entire housing unit in Sussex One State Prison for help. I had gang members, drug addicts, lifers, and thinkers come up with 35 laws, which I turned into a book. Since I did that way back when, why not do it now for the betterment of this crappy environment?

The news of today was that there was another attack on a correction officer (CO) in Greenville Correction Center. I don't know what occurred between the offender and a CO, but I do know that neither party comes out of this unscathed, meaning more descension between the two. Instead of coming together and figuring out a solution to keep both parties safe.

I don't condone violence. Not when my hands...Jesus. I'm bothered by everything when it comes to harming others. I physically become sick and get taken back to 1998...When I stole the world from three people. F__k!!!

The men around me talk violence and I'm teary-eyed. I just lost myself in Inside Out Dad, exploring my upbringing. The trauma was raw and to think that it contributed to my lashing out and harming others...and these men glorify a freaking Drako like it's a fashion accessory that they gladly show off. This was my hell, and I'm so alone.

When you taste madness as I have, I choke and gag on it. I am disgusted by the taste, that is why I run from it. Never will I sit at that table again, not when I recognize what I am today: an educated man who recognized his shortcomings and worked to improve myself. That is why I'm alone and those who join me at the table were lost in their own madness, feeling what they're thinking was correct.

That 18-year-old, now 69, was one of them, and that's due to lack of education and not having the help to guide him ahead...but he's content with playing Scrabble. The men who ridiculed the transgender were men of faith who would rather judge than be judged, and sadly, the man who assaulted the CO probably was another ignorant man who felt he was right in using violence upon another. The sad thing about us is that we'll need the hardest hit in the world to shake our minds from what they've been since entrance into a prison: growth and development. Will it come? Sadly, from what I'm seeing around me, I'm one of the few.

Why?