Life in These United States: Prison rehab
At one time in my career I was the only psychiatrist in a "super-max" state prison. I had one patient, who strangely enough, would have brought a smile to Diogenes' face were he alive. This was a man of impeccable integrity, though his mind had been partially broken.
His story: arriving from a Caribbean nation where the ganja grows, he set about making his way. He'd had a difficult childhood with a strict mother, distant father and the need to become self reliant quickly. Settling in the big city, he joined a relative in the sales and distribution of a yuppie favorite. One fine day his colleague asked for his help in righting a business wrong. My guy's girl suggested he opt out. He demurred and went. After the pair had located and bound their miscreant, my guy was told to leave the room while his partner "scared" the swindler. This involved shooting and killing him. My guy, hearing the shots, ran home. Shortly thereafter he realized that as the only witness he might have become a liability to his senior partner. This realization was confirmed when he saw Big Mo coming up his stoop with a piece jammed under his sweater. When Mo burst through his door, my guy jumped out the window. Oops, broke his back in the fall. Cops arrive, put two and two together, and two go off to jail.
They charge the two identically. My guy has studied civics and believes that in America everyone is entitled to a fair trial. He spurns the D.A.'s offer of a plea bargain that would have him out in three to six because he knows he is innocent of those particular charges. He freely admits to all his actions that were criminal, but he is certain a jury will find him innocent of what the D.A. is accusing him. Wrong. Twenty to life after the verdict is in. No problem, says he. I took my best shot and the system has worked as I understood it to. I will use my incarceration to improve myself.
Wheelchair bound and incarcerated, he adopts a code of conduct. He will treat others with respect, and they, of course, will respond appropriately. He fails to understand that he has become a piece of shit. He thought the sentence was the punishment. Guards help to disabuse him by not so gentle persuasion when he tries to insist on respectful treatment. He goes to the law library for a long time after recovering from his injuries, becomes a decent jail house lawyer, wins a financial judgement, and the unlucky guard is fired. This does not endear my guy to anyone in Corrections. Another beating, another successful law suit. And when the time comes, parole is denied. And denied again. And again. The shooter goes home in the interim. But my guy remains. He still is determined to improve himself and uses some of his legal winnings to buy an electronic keyboard. He petitions the education committee to allow him to buy some of the piano music of Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart. The request is denied, and the denial is affirmed by the warden, who shows my guy exactly what the prison deems educational. There is a list of approved subjects: classical composers are not on it. Neither are modern composers or music in general. Case closed.
His story: arriving from a Caribbean nation where the ganja grows, he set about making his way. He'd had a difficult childhood with a strict mother, distant father and the need to become self reliant quickly. Settling in the big city, he joined a relative in the sales and distribution of a yuppie favorite. One fine day his colleague asked for his help in righting a business wrong. My guy's girl suggested he opt out. He demurred and went. After the pair had located and bound their miscreant, my guy was told to leave the room while his partner "scared" the swindler. This involved shooting and killing him. My guy, hearing the shots, ran home. Shortly thereafter he realized that as the only witness he might have become a liability to his senior partner. This realization was confirmed when he saw Big Mo coming up his stoop with a piece jammed under his sweater. When Mo burst through his door, my guy jumped out the window. Oops, broke his back in the fall. Cops arrive, put two and two together, and two go off to jail.
They charge the two identically. My guy has studied civics and believes that in America everyone is entitled to a fair trial. He spurns the D.A.'s offer of a plea bargain that would have him out in three to six because he knows he is innocent of those particular charges. He freely admits to all his actions that were criminal, but he is certain a jury will find him innocent of what the D.A. is accusing him. Wrong. Twenty to life after the verdict is in. No problem, says he. I took my best shot and the system has worked as I understood it to. I will use my incarceration to improve myself.
Wheelchair bound and incarcerated, he adopts a code of conduct. He will treat others with respect, and they, of course, will respond appropriately. He fails to understand that he has become a piece of shit. He thought the sentence was the punishment. Guards help to disabuse him by not so gentle persuasion when he tries to insist on respectful treatment. He goes to the law library for a long time after recovering from his injuries, becomes a decent jail house lawyer, wins a financial judgement, and the unlucky guard is fired. This does not endear my guy to anyone in Corrections. Another beating, another successful law suit. And when the time comes, parole is denied. And denied again. And again. The shooter goes home in the interim. But my guy remains. He still is determined to improve himself and uses some of his legal winnings to buy an electronic keyboard. He petitions the education committee to allow him to buy some of the piano music of Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart. The request is denied, and the denial is affirmed by the warden, who shows my guy exactly what the prison deems educational. There is a list of approved subjects: classical composers are not on it. Neither are modern composers or music in general. Case closed.
posted by bezdomny at 5:00 PM
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