One of the most interesting parts about my job is that I get to travel to various parts of the state and meet people in settings I would not normally be in, such as high schools and detox centers. The last time I talked about a business trip was in June, when I got to go to Disneyland! This past week, my job brought me somewhere that could not be more different: prison. My colleague and I spent almost 2 full days working with a special group of inmates at the Central California Women's Facility in Chowchilla. This was not my first time at a prison, but it was my first time at a women's facility. I am very privileged in that I do not have any personal experiences with friends or family being incarcerated. Having no firsthand knowledge, my only point of reference was Orange is the New Black (which I love!). I didn't know what to expect, but what I got was one of the most rewarding teaching experiences I have ever had.
As I have talked about before, a big part of my job is training health providers on problem gambling, including what it is, how it is similar to and different than other addictions, what we know about treatment, and what resources exist. In my past role at NICOS, I also led cultural competency trainings for health providers. My organization has worked with Options Recovery Services for many years to bring various trainings to inmates that are in the process of getting certified as addictions counselors. Last year I visited San Quentin State Prison twice, once to do a training on working with AANHPI (Asian American Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander) populations, and another on working with LGBT populations. Both were just a few hours long. This time we were asked to devote a full day to problem gambling, and another full day on cultural competency.
I don't know how teachers do it day in and day out, but talking for several hours, in a way where people are supposed to actually learn from you, is tough. But this time I was blown away. These women made our job a breeze. They were the most attentive, participatory, appreciative students ever. They listened to us talk for 7 hours in one day and at the end were still taking notes, engaging with the material, laughing at our jokes, and asking us questions. I would like to take credit for being such a great presenter, but we do presentations all the time with many diverse audiences and rarely get this kind of response. Even the inmates joked that it was because they were a "captive audience", but over the days, it was clear that it was more. Many of the women shared pieces of their pasts, stories of lives torn up by addiction, violence, abuse, abandonment, guilt, and shame. This opportunity, to not only be supported in their own recovery, but to be empowered with the knowledge and tools to help others, was a second chance that these women clung to with so much hope. They held onto it with such determination and pride it seemed to burst out of them. They thanked us dozens of times, and told us in very specific ways how our work, our stories, and our time with them touched them in profound ways. Over those two days I felt a sense of purpose that I hadn't felt in a while. For that and more, I was extremely grateful to them.
In our cultural competency training we talk about a phenomenon where humans are able to recognize more diversity within their "in-group" than in the "out-group". (This is why some people think all Asians look alike...) I lived this lesson in the prison, in that I was scared at first of not being able to connect well with these women because of our differences. I imagined they would all be tough and no-nonsense, and not really interested in hearing about bias and discrimination and such from someone like me. It's hard NOT to feel a distinct division, when you are confronted with a sea of blue (not orange!) and you clearly are from the outside. I was afraid that this obvious boundary between "us" and "them" would make training difficult, but turns out I was the only one who seemed to care. I quickly realized these women were fairly ordinary, in the sense that they seemed just like all the other women I have trained. Some were quiet, some were boisterous, some wanted to talk a lot about their personal experiences, others were more reticent to share. Some were tough and no-nonsense, but they were smaller in number than I had expected. One thing they all had in common though: purses packed with snacks, lip balm, lotion, a sweater, markers, photos, etc. It gave me a chuckle to see that women inside and out are the same--we like to have our stuff! As I should have known, there is no way to generalize incarcerated women. They are about as diverse as any group. I am glad that my biases were challenged; I am better for it.
With the exception of a few who mentioned their crime in passing, I have no idea what most of the women were in for. Given their long sentences (some mentioned being in since before the advent of cell phones), I know they must have committed very serious offenses. Part of me is curious, but at the same time, it doesn't matter to me at all. Not knowing allows me to see them as they are today, people trying to better themselves and the world. I am there to educate, not judge. I noticed that all of the women spoke of their time in prison with a high degree of accountability and acceptance. Even while sharing the terrible, ugly, heart-wrenching parts of their past, none of them ever suggested that they were excuses. It made me think hard about what it means to change, how one can tell when change has taken place, and what purpose change even has when ultimately the past cannot be undone. These are questions that all the societies of the world and their criminal justice systems have long grappled with, and for which there are no real answers. The answers rely on faith, which comes from such a deeply personal place in our hearts. All I can conclude with certainty for myself is that I believe change is possible, and that humans have an indomitable capacity to transform themselves.
As I have talked about before, a big part of my job is training health providers on problem gambling, including what it is, how it is similar to and different than other addictions, what we know about treatment, and what resources exist. In my past role at NICOS, I also led cultural competency trainings for health providers. My organization has worked with Options Recovery Services for many years to bring various trainings to inmates that are in the process of getting certified as addictions counselors. Last year I visited San Quentin State Prison twice, once to do a training on working with AANHPI (Asian American Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander) populations, and another on working with LGBT populations. Both were just a few hours long. This time we were asked to devote a full day to problem gambling, and another full day on cultural competency.
I don't know how teachers do it day in and day out, but talking for several hours, in a way where people are supposed to actually learn from you, is tough. But this time I was blown away. These women made our job a breeze. They were the most attentive, participatory, appreciative students ever. They listened to us talk for 7 hours in one day and at the end were still taking notes, engaging with the material, laughing at our jokes, and asking us questions. I would like to take credit for being such a great presenter, but we do presentations all the time with many diverse audiences and rarely get this kind of response. Even the inmates joked that it was because they were a "captive audience", but over the days, it was clear that it was more. Many of the women shared pieces of their pasts, stories of lives torn up by addiction, violence, abuse, abandonment, guilt, and shame. This opportunity, to not only be supported in their own recovery, but to be empowered with the knowledge and tools to help others, was a second chance that these women clung to with so much hope. They held onto it with such determination and pride it seemed to burst out of them. They thanked us dozens of times, and told us in very specific ways how our work, our stories, and our time with them touched them in profound ways. Over those two days I felt a sense of purpose that I hadn't felt in a while. For that and more, I was extremely grateful to them.
In our cultural competency training we talk about a phenomenon where humans are able to recognize more diversity within their "in-group" than in the "out-group". (This is why some people think all Asians look alike...) I lived this lesson in the prison, in that I was scared at first of not being able to connect well with these women because of our differences. I imagined they would all be tough and no-nonsense, and not really interested in hearing about bias and discrimination and such from someone like me. It's hard NOT to feel a distinct division, when you are confronted with a sea of blue (not orange!) and you clearly are from the outside. I was afraid that this obvious boundary between "us" and "them" would make training difficult, but turns out I was the only one who seemed to care. I quickly realized these women were fairly ordinary, in the sense that they seemed just like all the other women I have trained. Some were quiet, some were boisterous, some wanted to talk a lot about their personal experiences, others were more reticent to share. Some were tough and no-nonsense, but they were smaller in number than I had expected. One thing they all had in common though: purses packed with snacks, lip balm, lotion, a sweater, markers, photos, etc. It gave me a chuckle to see that women inside and out are the same--we like to have our stuff! As I should have known, there is no way to generalize incarcerated women. They are about as diverse as any group. I am glad that my biases were challenged; I am better for it.
With the exception of a few who mentioned their crime in passing, I have no idea what most of the women were in for. Given their long sentences (some mentioned being in since before the advent of cell phones), I know they must have committed very serious offenses. Part of me is curious, but at the same time, it doesn't matter to me at all. Not knowing allows me to see them as they are today, people trying to better themselves and the world. I am there to educate, not judge. I noticed that all of the women spoke of their time in prison with a high degree of accountability and acceptance. Even while sharing the terrible, ugly, heart-wrenching parts of their past, none of them ever suggested that they were excuses. It made me think hard about what it means to change, how one can tell when change has taken place, and what purpose change even has when ultimately the past cannot be undone. These are questions that all the societies of the world and their criminal justice systems have long grappled with, and for which there are no real answers. The answers rely on faith, which comes from such a deeply personal place in our hearts. All I can conclude with certainty for myself is that I believe change is possible, and that humans have an indomitable capacity to transform themselves.
Chowchilla, CA
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