I sat down to write and all the thoughts within me faded to an indistinguishable blur. But I will try to make myself write anyway, because those words are packed away somewhere. I started reading Hell is a Very Small Place: voices from solitary confinement. My interest in the movement to end solitary began several months ago, when I came across the Campaign for Alternatives to Isolated Confinement. I am jarred and anguished that this form of torture is occurring in our country and people are not just turning a blind eye, but also encouraging it. We continue to build Supermax facilities specifically designed to house people in solitary units so we can continue this form of degradation and punishment that severely violates Geneva Convention standards. Our legislators continue to ignore proposed laws that will change this barbaric, ineffectual, and counterproductive treatment of prisoners -- not excluding children, pregnant women, people with mental illness, and elderly prisoners -- despite evidence that it costs more, leads to higher recidivism, generates violence among inmates, exacerbates and even creates serious mental problems, and has been deemed cruel and unusual. I am deeply disturbed and mortified by the practice of solitary confinement. If you think it is "radical" to fight for basic human rights of prisoners, it is time to wake up. Here is a blog post I wrote with a little more background.

I'm sure my friends find it irritating when I try to relate to their troubles or suffering through my own experiences. But today, as I began Hell is a Very Small Place, I couldn't suppress that tendency of mine. It is a tendency that allows me to feel and understand, very deeply, the problems of our criminal justice systems and the current human rights violations we are allowing.

​My transplant experience woke me to everyone's ultimate lack of control of what will, what is, and what isn't; my utter humanness and fragility; the horrible reality of human inaccuracy -- how wrong our perceptions can be and how easily the human mind can be altered by experience, environment, and exposure. I could not speak with the ventilator, and just for that amount of time I lost my sense of personhood, and it left me to internalize much of what I was experiencing. I tried to scream once just for the sake of expressing how restless I felt, but all I could do was open my mouth.

One night a week after surgery, in that hospital bed in the ICU, where I was confined by my weak body, chest tubes, and IVs, I imagined myself, so vividly, sliding out of the sheets and walking down the hall. I was only able to wiggle my right leg over a few inches before I realized I couldn't even sit up on my own. That night I had a tangible nightmare that I crawled through a rainstorm and found a silver crucifix in a puddle, and a voice said, "FIND JESUS," and I was so thirsty but could not catch the rain in my mouth. Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink. I am completely blocked and unable to believe in god; I'm just not wired for it. After a hopeful and ardent stint in sixth grade, I discovered faith like that just didn't work for me. Anyway, I don't know what that nightmare meant but I think of it from time to time. I think it was my brain preparing for a void that was going to occur after the transplant, after all that medical trauma, after I had come to terms with death and had to become so indifferent to loss in order to cope. Or maybe it was my body complaining that my mouth was terribly dry. Either way, I emerged from my transplant experience restless, unsettled, and unable to sit still long enough to recall these details much.

I know that my experience with powerlessness, immobility, loss of self, uncertainty, loss of memory and loss of a sense of reality did not come close to what it is to be in solitary confinement, and not just because I had many things that someone in solitary does not (a loving family sitting with me all day, an end in sight, an unbroken trust that I would be taken care of, a far more comfortable and sanitary environment, people who wanted me to stay alive, to name a few differences). But simply reading the Foreword and Introduction of Hell is a Very Small Place was enough to unearth a feeling that I had long forgotten: I know what it is to not feel human anymore. To feel oneself disappearing, knowing that "self" is a construct that can be torn down more easily than we realize. To brutally comprehend one's own insignificance. To face the arbitrariness of that sliver between life and death.

There must be something that you, too, have experienced that can act as a magnifying glass, a translation; something that will give you a deeper understanding rather than a simple recognition that our prison system is currently violating human rights. You must have something in your arsenal of experience that you shut your eyes to, that thing you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. Now multiply it; imagine experiencing it at the same intensity and uncertainty for days that turn to months that turn to years, and you may have a glimpse of what solitary confinement is.

In the chaos of Penn Station, anxiety set in. People hustling in all directions, the buzzing lights, whirl of perfume and color, and screeching train rails caused a man newly released from five straight years of solitary confinement to curl into an immovable ball. A homeless person eventually approached him and offered a compassionate hand. “You must be right out of prison. Let me help.”

This is one of several accounts Amy Fettig, Senior Staff Counsel for the American Civil Liberties Union’s National Prison Project, shared of her clients dealing with Special Housing Unit (SHU) Syndrome. Last Saturday, she spoke on “The Emerging Consensus to Stop Solitary Confinement” at St. Philip’s Episcopal Church at a modest yet passionate conference held by the WNY chapter of the New York Campaign for Alternatives to Isolated Confinement (CAIC).

Fettig, who is also a lawyer and directs the Stop Solitary campaign, litigates federal class action prison conditions cases through the ACLU.

SHU Syndrome, Fettig explained, is one of the many negative mental health outcomes of solitary confinement in prisons – a place that goes by many names, such as special housing, special management, isolation, segregation, and “the box.” This practice is used widely in U.S. prisons as a disciplinary measure and control mechanism for inmates. It involves confining individuals for 22 to 24 hours a day in a cell smaller than six by nine feet, providing limited contact with other human beings for days, weeks, months, and even decades. Time outdoors is limited to a caged area the size of a dog kennel.

Displaying a photographed row of steel-clad doors, Fettig described the continuous screams that echo through the pod day and night – the sounds of people losing their minds, an anguished “expression of their soul,” Fettig puts it. No physical contact is allowed during family visits, and phone calls are rare. Not only is medical and mental health care severely lacking, but prisoners are also subject to frequent abuse.

Brother Baba Eng of Prisoners Are People, Too detailed his survival through solitary in a brief talk as well. He gave a vivid, distressing description: Guards beat you naked and defecate in your food. They taunt the prisoners with barking.

Solitary confinement is, by definition of the United Nations and Geneva Conventions, a form of torture. The Mandela Rules state that isolation beyond fifteen days is cruel and inhumane. In fact, the global norm is fifteen days – but U.S. prisons far exceed that in practice.

The U.S. exceeds many global norms when it comes to imprisonment. While we make up only 5% of the world’s population, we house 25% of the world’s prisoners, or 2.3 million people. On any given day in our country, it is estimated that 80,000 to 100,000 people are held in solitary confinement. Those figures are considered an underrepresentation, as they do not include the confinement of children, people in county jails, or detainees in immigration facilities.

This is not an accurately recorded practice either, Fettig explains. A large part of the problem is that there is little to no oversight or accountability in our prisons. The public does not have access to seeing SHU pods or monitoring their conditions, and even the ACLU needs a court order to view them.

“I’ve sued states that say, ‘We don’t know who’s in solitary or how long they’ve been there,’” Fettig tells.
             
The Effects
We all know that our need for human contact is innate. It is necessary for normal socialization, stability, and – frankly – our sanity. Over thirty years of research on the effects of solitary confinement have highlighted that it’s not only detrimental to the individual but to the prison environment and community at large as well. Self-mutilation and suicide are common. A recent study of 8,000 records from Rikers Island revealed prisoners in solitary are 700 times more likely to take their own lives than people in the general prison population.

Fettig relayed a story of a client of hers who kept refusing to return his food tray to the corrections officers. The officers would drag him out of his isolation cell and beat him as punishment. Fettig asked her client why he wouldn’t just return the tray, and the man replied that it was the “only time he gets contact.” The effects of being alone are so severe he would rather be beaten than have no contact at all.

Confinement leads to confusion, memory problems, myopia, deep anxiety, PTSD, and physical and neurological damage. Brain function declines within the first seven days of isolation.

Despite this evidence, we expect to release prisoners after solitary confinement and witness successful reintegration with society.

Solitary confinement emerged as a way to control excessive prison populations. As our number of prisoners surged beginning in the 1980s and overcrowding and poor conditions led to violent outbreaks within facilities, states built Supermax prisons specifically designed for mass solitary confinement.

The theory behind solitary, however, was not vetted. Fettig warns that solitary confinement was a “gut” instinct policy, rather than one based on empirical evidence. In fact, empirical evidence shows solitary confinement makes prisons more violent and less safe for prisoners and C.O.’s. There is even a 20% higher recidivism rate for people released into society directly from solitary as opposed to being released after re-acclimating to the general prison population.
 
Myth Busting: Who Is in Solitary?
Some proponents of solitary might argue that the alarming violence and higher recidivism amongst those in solitary is self-fulfilling; it is due to the fact that “the worst of the worst” get placed there. But is this true?

Fettig’s answer is, “It’s not the people in solitary confinement; it’s the practice.”

The idea that only the most dangerous, unruly prisoners are isolated is a myth. While prisoners can be sent into confinement for fighting or breaking serious rules, only a minor infraction can in fact be reason enough to send someone there for long stretches of time. Fettig cited actions that have put her clients away such as talking back, having “too many legal documents” in their cell, and even something as benign as possessing “too many stamps”. Even more alarming, many C.O.’s are not trained to deal with mental illness, so often it is dealt with in this manner.

People with developmental disabilities, aging prisoners (over 70 years old), pregnant women, and children under the age of 18 are not excluded from this population, either. In other cases, members of the LGBTQ community who are being sexually abused by other prisoners are put in solitary as a safety precaution.

In 2014, New York State passed a bill to exclude people with mental illness from solitary confinement, instead recommending obvious alternatives such as health care and proper mental health treatment. Still, it is estimated that 20% of people in solitary suffer from mental illness. The legislation also banned isolating minors, pregnant women, and people with developmental disabilities. However, legislation is not the only step required to enforce these much-needed reforms.
 
Progress – but not fast enough
In December 2015, the NYCLU reached a historic settlement in the class action suit Peoples v. Fischer. The agreement has prompted New York State to limit the length of solitary confinement, reduce the number of people placed there, and increase rehabilitative efforts.

Still, our state has the highest percentage of people in solitary confinement. More oversight and accountability from the public is a must if this practice is to truly be corrected, Fettig recommends.

Furthermore, in an unprecedented motion this past January, President Obama announced a ban on confining juveniles and inmates serving time for low-level violations in federal prisons. While attention from our president indicates positive movement, unfortunately this executive order does not hold power over state and local prisons and jails.
     
Our legislators are in need of a harder push. The Humane Alternatives to Long-Term (HALT) Solitary Confinement Bill is a long way from getting passed through the New York State Senate and has yet to be added to the floor calendar. Organizations such as CAIC urge the public to sign a petition in support of this bill, call or write to their representatives, and voice their support.
           
At the very least, people are growing more aware. In New York, a ban on the infamous “loaf” stirred discussion on how we feed inmates. Recently, The Guardian released a 3-D virtual experience of solitary confinement on their website. But is discussion leading to action?

It appears easy for people to dismiss our prison conditions with a wave of the hand and an assumption that if they deserve to be in prison, they deserve to be treated poorly. But pragmatism and evidence have eroded this logic to a dull nub; we cannot continue to address crime with inhumane acts. By turning a blind eye to this revolting form of torture, this clear violation of human rights, do we not lose a part of our own humanity as well?
 
 
 
 
Further Reading:
 
“Historic Settlement Overhauls Solitary Confinement in New York.” (16 December 2015). New York Civil Liberties Union. http://www.nyclu.org/news/historic-settlement-overhauls-solitary-confinement-new-york
 
Panetta, Francesca. (27 April 2016). “6x9: a virtual reality experience of solitary confinement.” The Guardian. http://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/apr/27/6x9-vr-virtual-reality-experience-solitary-confinement-faqs-explainer
 
 
“Solitary Confinement Facts.” American Friends Services Committee. http://www.afsc.org/resource/solitary-confinement-facts
 
Quandt, Katie Rose. (26 February 2014). “Is This the Beginning of the End for Solitary Confinement?” Mother Jones. http://www.motherjones.com/mojo/2014/02/children-pregnant-women-developmentally-disabled-solitary-confinement-reform-new-york
 
Shear, Michael D. (25 January 2016). “Obama Bans Solitary Confinement of Juveniles in Federal Prisons.” The New York Times. http://www.nytimes.com/2016/01/26/us/politics/obama-bans-solitary-confinement-of-juveniles-in-federal-prisons.html?_r=0
 
Senate Bill S2659. The New York State Senate. https://www.nysenate.gov/legislation/bills/2015/S2659
 
Casella, Jean and Aviva Stahl. “Opening the Door: What Will It Take to End Long-Term Solitary Confinement in America’s Prisons? Colorado Could Be the First to Find Out.” Solitary Watch. http://solitarywatch.com/2016/04/29/opening-the-door/
 
“Think Outside the Box.” New York Campaign for Alternatives to Isolated Confinement. http://nycaic.org/legislation/

In Criminal Justice Ethics, Cyndi Banks takes a multi-pronged approach to analyzing punishment. How do we define punishment? What are the end goals and purpose? What values should it promote? These questions reach a broad scope of opinion, depending on who is asked. Regardless, restorative justice fits into the theoretical framework of punishment.

​Punishment should first and foremost serve the function of protecting society. This can be done by incapacitating those who cannot be rehabilitated, and restoring those who can into productive, beneficial citizens. Restorative justice is built on the belief that a supportive community can transform negative behaviors.

Restorative justice aims to heal victims, offenders, and the community. For victims, this may involve restoring property, healing injuries, and bringing back “a sense of security” (Banks, 2013, p. 128). Victims are involved in the justice process and given a voice; they are encouraged to tell their story and have the offender and/or community respond with empathy. On the other end, offenders are supported and controlled by social management, rather than a punitive, detached system. This means they are given the tools and resources to restore their bonds with the community and make better choices. To accomplish this, the community must stretch beyond stigmatizing criminality and adopt a supportive mentality for the victim and offender. True restorative justice occurs with all three entities: victim, offender, and community.

While restorative justice is not a “punishment” in the traditional sense, the way incapacitation or the death sentence is, it falls under this category because, based on Banks’ descriptions, it 1) involves the community showing disapproval (in that an offender must accept responsibility); 2) allows offenders to make amends for the harm they have caused; and 3) will stop offenders from committing crimes again (2013).

Where does restorative justice fit into the justice system? First, one must acknowledge the role of incapacitation and retribution. Some sociopathic tendencies cannot be treated or amended, the crimes so heinous that there are no solutions but incapacitation and retribution. These forms of punishment are important because there is no other leverage in the criminal justice system for protecting against individuals who sincerely do not care about society, law and order, rehabilitation, or the value of life itself. They feel no remorse, so the punishment should treat them with the same indifference. In other words, retribution is a “fight fire with fire” technique; it is concerned with justice and justice alone. Such is the case with someone like the notorious Ted Bundy, who murdered an estimated forty victims, believed killing was a divine experience, and never admitted remorse. He received the death penalty for his crimes, which, given the number of lives he mercilessly took, was the only fitting punishment that didn't violate the constitution...

In the average case, however, the trouble with judging whether someone is capable of rehabilitation or restoration is that remorse is not always easy to discern, especially not in a court setting. There are conflicting ideas of what constitutes an indicator of “genuine” remorse, which makes such a judgment call so subjective (Zong, 2014).

Aside from the extremes, which do not currently make up the majority of our prison population, punishment should be reparative, designed to amend wrongs and prevent further harms to society. These concepts flourish with restorative justice.

There are also aspects of retribution in restorative justice (Banks, 2013). An offender may be ordered to pay reparations to a victim or victim’s family or complete community service. While some advocates for restorative justice argue that punitive tactics like reparations have no place in this method, reparations can serve as a bridge to healing the damage to the community and victims. It might go toward repairing a broken window, replacing a stolen item, helping to rebuild a burnt house, assist with a victim’s medical bills, and so on. This goes toward allowing offenders to make amends.
Opponents to restorative justice argue that victims might feel the crimes they suffered are taken less seriously than those that result in a prison sentence, and it may suggest that “society has a different attitude toward certain kinds of behavior” (Banks, 2013, p. 129). This is not necessarily so; it might just suggest that certain offenders are easier to work with and “restore.”

Additionally, there is always the possibility that telling their story or having an offender reach out to express remorse (which won't always be part of the arrangement) could trigger victims and cause them to relive trauma. However, restorative justice, when done correctly, is supposed to be on the victim’s terms. An offender is approached first to ensure that he/she will cooperate in apologizing and expressing remorse before asking anything of the victim (Sherman & Strang, 2007).

Another argument in favor of restorative justice is that it produces results; in other words, it stops certain offenders from committing crimes again. Punitive measures may or may not have a deterrent effect. For instance, there is no difference in deterrence for crimes that bring about the death penalty versus life in prison (Banks, 2013). Some criminologists argue that the criminal justice system has a deterrent effect; others state that “the criminal may well fear the law but still break it” and professional criminals do not experience the same shock at getting caught (Banks, 2013, p. 119). To truly prevent future crimes, then, we must employ more than fear. Banks points out a perspective that law-abiding citizens act within the law not out of fear but because of “moral inhibitions and norms of conduct” (p. 119). Restorative justice can aim to change these norms of conduct for an offender. Through proper treatment programs and personal management strategies, as well as a supportive community instituting these norms, an offender’s moral mindset may be influenced. This idea draws upon Sutherland’s theory of differential association, which posits that our interaction with others teaches us values, attitudes, and motives. Furthermore, analysis on restorative justice found that it “substantially reduced repeat offending for some offenders,” reduced post traumatic stress for victims, “reduced crime victims’ desire for violent revenge against their offenders,” reduced recidivism, and lowered criminal justice costs (Sherman & Strang, 2007).

Restorative justice is not flawless. It is a difficult task to engage victim and community, especially if the majority believe in a traditionally punitive approach. The process requires everyone to buy into the belief that interacting with offenders will improve the entire situation; otherwise, cooperation from all three entities will be nearly impossible to achieve.

Furthermore, this process does not require families of offenders to participate, though this support system can be critical for an offender to amend behaviors. Incorporating the family could bring about a much larger success rate. Finally, drawing a line between what to be punitive toward and what to be rehabilitative toward can be problematic; who makes these decisions? Who decides which criminals can be “restored” and which are beyond reach?

Not all convicted criminals are “dangerous or dishonest people.” Restorative justice allows people to rejoin society as better citizens, less likely to commit crimes again. When an offender feels a supportive community around him, and a "light" at the end of the tunnel that says a new path is possible, he will be less likely to want to harm that community.

Sources:
Banks, C. (2013). Criminal justice ethics: Theory and practice. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications.

Sherman, Lawrence and Heather Strang. (2007). Restorative Justice: the evidence. The Smith Institute. http://www.iirp.edu/pdf/RJ_full_report.pdf

Zong, Rocksheng, MD., Madelon Maranoski, et. al. (2014). “So You’re Sorry? The Role of Remorse in Criminal Law.” Journal of the American Academy of Psychiatry and the Law 42:1:39-48. http://www.jaapl.org/content/42/1/39.full
​

The United States currently over-incarcerates its citizens, and it is not morally justified because it is unsustainable, inhumane, and the product of unethical policies. Approximately 2.3 million people are currently incarcerated in state and federal prisons, juvenile correctional facilities, and jails (Wagner & Rabuy, 2015).
​
Before continuing a practice that affects such a large number of our citizens (not just those in prison, but their families and communities as well), we need to ask the question: Is this working? Is it ethical to continue a practice that may be doing more harm than good?

Studies on whether mass incarceration has decreased crime rates have been conflicting over the years. Snyder & Stinchcomb found a study that examined data from 1972-2000 and concluded that “the effect of prison growth on crime diminishes as the scale of imprisonment increases” (2006). Tough on crime policies that lead to higher incarceration rates might have an initial impact on decreasing crime rates, but there is a point where these numbers level off. Furthermore, in more recent years incarceration rates have not had as much impact on violent or property crime rates and has led to certain dynamics that may even cause crime to increase (2006). Based on this research, it would be unethical to continue a trend of mass incarceration when we know that not only is it not working to the extent that it should, but it is also harming communities. This is the main reason that over-incarceration cannot be morally justified.

Secondly, mass incarceration is unsustainable. On average, it costs $31,286 annually, or $85.72 per day, to incarcerate someone in state prison, though costs vary state to state depending on certain factors such as overcrowding, overflow of state prisoners to local jails, and incarceration rates for low-level offenders (Henrichson & Delaney, 2012). This is significantly more than the cost of having someone on probation supervision, which costs an average of $3.50 per day, according to a Pew Center research study (Banks, 2013). As US government debt grows, spending issues become a debate of economics: what are we creating for future generations? Are we operating in a sustainable way? What will be the consequences of unchecked spending? Addressing mass incarceration would be a significant step in addressing such concerns.

For the same reasons that over-incarceration is unsustainable, it is inhumane. When the system is overloaded and prisons have pressure to operate on set budgets, logic would have it that they would cut costs among the prisoners first – from health care to food quality. Standards in prison have to be just good enough to keep prisoners from revolting against guards and administrators; therefore, prisons will budget just beyond that threshold. In California, the US Supreme Court ruled that overcrowded prisons violated the constitution’s amendment against cruel and unusual punishment (Banks, 2013). Prisoners crowding into cells, suffering from inadequate health care, and receiving inadequate nutrition are the effects of over-incarceration. There is furthermore a question of how overcrowding affects mental health, and whether this affect might contribute to high recidivism rates. By providing inhumane conditions in prison, are we simply perpetuating a cycle of violent crime by turning out prisoners with mental health problems?

Finally, mass incarceration is immoral simply because it is the product of unethical policy making. The public has a large influence on criminal justice policy, but it is often driven by hysteria rather than empirical evidence. Moral panics are an “irrational response to that panic that was out of proportion to the actual threat offered” (Banks, 2013, p. 188), and they are driven by media images that are not wholly representative of the truth. Cullen, Fisher, and Applegate argue that “policy making based on what citizens want is unfortunately constrained by the ignorance of the public on many aspects of crime and crime control” (Banks, 2013, p. 193). This shows that mass incarceration has not furthered any objectively good ends, but rather has been the product of irrational behavior.

Moral panic is fueled by media images. News outlets and TV shows choose which stories are worthy of relaying to the public, which is inherently a subjective process; since media rely on viewership ratings, they may be more apt to air stories that are either highly emotional or out-of-the-ordinary for the average viewer. Reiner, Livingston, and Allen point out that crime stories tend to focus on “special” and “discrete” cases (Banks, 2013). This does not enhance people’s understanding of their safety but distorts their image of true criminality, which in effect will cause an irrational approach to policymaking. When people view highly volatile yet “special” crimes on television or the internet from the safety of their living rooms, they begin to perceive the risk as higher than it actually is. As Surette posits in the “law of opposites,” the “nature of crime, criminals, and victims portrayed in the media is generally the complete opposite of the pattern shown through official crime statistics or victim surveys” (Banks, 2013, p.249).

Instead of morality policymaking, we need to look at the solutions empirically proven to work best. For instance, instead of incarcerating people with substance use disorders, drug courts and rehabilitation services could be a more humane, effective (and cost-effective) strategy.

The harm of mass incarceration is tantamount. Aside from the reasons listed above, there is a breakdown of the individual: prisoners learn to function in a system that aims to have total social control, which breaks down their ability to function outside of that system. They are separated from their families and limited in their communication to the outside world. Prisoners in maximum security facilities are restricted from socializing, such as in Pelican Bay, where all meals are eaten in the cells and outdoor time happens in tiny yards confined by 20-foot-high walls (Banks, 2013). These practices all have the effect on the socialization of prisoners who will have a more difficult time returning to society. In a word, they are dehumanized. In such confinement and limitation, they are not gaining soft skills, job training, or interpersonal skills that will help them thrive “on the outside”; instead, they may actually be losing those skills as they adapt to the environment they are in. This in turn exacerbates the problems that may have landed them in prison in the first place, such as lack of socio-economic opportunity, lack of education, anger management problems, absence of respect for human life, and so on. (That said, there are low-security prisons and jails that offer programming of this nature that I will analyze at another time). If we plan on sending millions of individuals back into society after exacerbating root problems that may have led to the initial crime, how can anyone pose the argument that prison protects the public?

In conclusion, mass incarceration is unethical because: it is too ineffective to justify the cost; it is too costly to provide humane conditions; it is perpetuating societal ills rather than solving them; it is the product of unethical policymaking; and it is unsustainable for future generations.

Sources:
Banks, C. (2013). Criminal justice ethics: Theory and practice. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications.

Henrichson, Christian & Ruth Delaney. (2012). “What Incarceration Costs Taxpayers.” Vera Institute of Justice. http://www.vera.org/sites/default/files/resources/downloads/price-of-prisons-updated-version-021914.pdf

Wagner, Peter & Bernadette Rabuy. (2015). “Mass Incarceration: The Whole Pie 2015.” Prison Policy Initiative. http://www.prisonpolicy.org/reports/pie2015.html

A friend of mine is planning her wedding and has reserved a night at a country club in Buffalo. We were talking a bit about the blemished history of country clubs in our area, and how it wasn't that long ago that they were turning people away because of the color of their skin. We're talking the 1990s, not the 60s. Even today, it is questionable -- most clubs have a few black members but still there is an arduous screening, networking, and "sponsorship" process that continues to raise flags for me. Someone cracked, "I hope they won't turn any of our guests away" -- and then there was a pregnant pause -- "Wait, do we have any black guests?"

They concluded that, yes, out of the 200 guests, there was one. That's 200 of the future-bride-and-groom's most important family, friends, parents' friends and clients, business partners, coworkers, schoolmates, and neighbors, and only one is black.

I know this is awkward to talk about, and it's not meant to shame anyone in my life; this post is more to observe the current composition of Buffalo. Large weddings are emblematic of our social networks, and our social networks say a lot about the opportunities we've had in life. Anyone who is realistic about the power of networking can affirm this -- that our opportunities sometimes come prepackaged based on who our family members and family friends are. Many of my former high school classmates got their first jobs out of college through networking, whether it was networking through their families or through the resources of their privately-funded education. (Somewhere, there's someone reading this with a mouth full of Cheetos snarling, "Yea, yea, and hard work apparently doesn't get credit anymore, does it?" Of course hard work matters, but it is not the secret sauce to success. I think the topic of privilege has been written about plenty and I don't need to weigh in more. This post is about opportunity, and that is a different mechanism altogether.)

Based on the last Census, Buffalo is the 6th most segregated metropolitan in the country. It is also an impoverished, high-crime city (with a lot to offer! Sorry, had to represent) because when it comes to mobility, people's opportunities are quite limited: one, to whether they can access jobs with mobility, and two, whether they have built relationships with people or institutions who have the power to connect them. And yet, even for people of color who have high incomes, studies have shown they typically still live in neighborhoods of lower income that are predominantly black. Many studies have concluded that this has to do with steering in the real estate market, and others argue that this is a choice to stay in neighborhoods where they don't have to live with racial tension. This isn't to say black communities don't have powerful networks of their own that continuously reach out and help each other, because they do; however, the majority of wealth in Buffalo is concentrated in white populations.

White suburbanites do not typically branch out of their networks to meet people in positions of less power, i.e. any people of color who are living in cyclical poverty, lest it's through charity work, which creates a large gap in their ability to cross-network and promote real diversity in our neighborhoods and workplaces. While white suburbanites are disposed to benevolence and charity, and absolutely full of a great amount of compassion and altruism, their position stops there; they don't step out of their own comfort zone and collaborate with groups that, only on the surface, don't share their problems. Further, when predominantly white organizations and nonprofits bring in "diversity" to their boards and committees-to-save-Buffalo, they look for straight-laced perspectives, people who will represent approval rather than challenge the status quo. This is not a state of progress.

This brings me to the Dunbar number. Robert Dunbar was an Oxford anthropologist and psychologist. He studied how the neocortex relates to the size of primate social groups, and then he moved his hypothesis to humans. He concluded that, judging on homo sapiens brain size, the number of people any person can reasonably fit in a "friend" group is 150 (this doesn't include acquaintances, or people whose names you know). He then studied this from a social level; he asked people to break down their Christmas card recipient list according to levels of closeness, such as family, close friends, neighbors, and work colleagues. That magic number - one hundred fifty - remained pronounced even through the experimental phase. It continues to be relevant, even in the age of social media.

So a wedding of 200 people can often represent the hierarchy of your Dunbar number - especially when you have to narrow down your guest list, you are etching away at that hierarchy to determine who you are closest to. This is an important statement of whom we have opened our hearts to, reached out to, or simply who we have been exposed to in our little bubble lives. It is a snapshot reflection of not only the opportunity that is available to us, but may not be available to others.

What does the Dunbar number tell you about opportunity? We all have a similar networking threshold but different access. It comes down to who is in that network. When people are unwilling to navigate from their circles, their comfort zones, and even their self interests, they turn a blind eye to people who are marginalized. To me, this is an opportunity missed; our city could thrive through collaboration.

In yesterday's issue of Le Monde, Turkish Islamic scholar Fethullah Gülen wrote about his reactions to Islamic extremism. Like most Muslims, he is frustrated - not just with those who have masked their violence with the name of his religion, but also - I sense - with the fact that all Muslims are now tasked with assuring everyone they don't prescribe to these "perverted ideologies." Worldwide, Muslims are standing up for the true meaning of their faith. In the US, this conversation is nudging its way to the front of a boisterous crowd. As anti-Islamic rhetoric bubbles to the surface of the Melting Pot, and the loose cannon spewing this hateful rhetoric (his name won't be mentioned here) still leads in Republican polls, and mosques are subjects of vandalism, and everyday Muslim citizens are vulnerable to harassment, American Muslims are in a precarious position. It is not the same position as the privileged American, who has the luxury of saying, "I am what I am, and this is a free country, so deal with it." Rather, they are put in the position of defending themselves over something that has about as much to do with them as Timothy McVeigh has to do with me (you know, he was from Buffalo too, and white, too, and came from a Catholic background, too, like me). It is a travesty that the air has to be cleared on that front.

There are two powerful quotes I want to point out from Gülen's op-ed. For one: "Our civilization will not progress until we treat the suffering of humans regardless of their religious or ethnic identity as equally tragic in our empathy and respond with the same determination." This is a thought I have been toiling with since San Bernardino, though he puts it more eloquently than I ever could. I can't find a way to express the sorrow of what happened in San Bernardino without being cliche. How can evil like that exist? Yet when I mourn for this, I'm slapped with a bitter realization that this is only the tip of the iceberg. In the U.S., we selectively grieve. After the Paris attacks, people changed their Facebook profile pictures to the French flag to show solidarity. Forget Beirut the day before and the thousands who have died in Iraq and Syria. This year alone, do you know there have been hundreds of lives lost to attacks in Tunisia, Nigeria, Turkey, Lebanon, Egypt, Niger, Somalia...?

​What about solidarity of mankind? People talk about mourning tragedy and in the same breath say our government shouldn't let refugees resettle here. I say it is time to start acknowledging the pain of mankind, as it is our own. While most Americans don't directly experience the same carnage as other places in the world, we are not separate from it. We're all breathing the same air. We are all closer than we acknowledge. 

Next quote:

We believe in the dichotomous narrative. That is, the narrative of "East versus West." For ease of discussion, I do use these terms of Western/Eastern, as there are cultural tenets and attitudes that have distinctly sprung from each region, but I don't believe in the separateness. It is imaginary. We are not in a separate world, creating a separate history. We are in fact very involved in other governments and conflicts, not as mediators but as participants, and have been for a long time. It is brutally insightful how Gulen points out that this hypothesis could have come from "vision or desire." Some people stand to benefit from this "clash," this idea of separateness. That is enough for me to bridge into a concluding question: Does your perspective contribute to disruption or peace?

African Americans represent 26% of juvenile arrests, 44% of youth who are detained, 46% of the youth who are judicially waived to criminal court, and 58% of the youth admitted to state prisons (Center on Juvenile and Criminal Justice). This might cause one to think that African Americans simply commit more crimes, but African Americans only represent 12% of the total population of drug users yet 38% of those arrested for drug offenses, and 59% of those in state prison for a drug offense. They are sent to prison for drug offenses at ten times the rate of whites. African Americans serve virtually as much time in prison for a drug offense (58.7 months) as whites do for a violent offense (61.7 months). (Sentencing Project)

Now consider that over 95% of elected prosecutors are white, and according to the American Bar Association, so are 88% of lawyers. How does this influence sentencing outcomes? Well, I don’t think I can say it as eloquently as this piece of research from The Sentencing Project (2005).

No matter what race, we need to acknowledge the racial disparities of mass incarceration and stand up to the issues behind it; otherwise, we are complicit in systemic racism.

Recently I have been learning through an internship with a local organization called It Takes a Village, a job-readiness program for people on probation or parole. It is a faith-based organization, and though I'm not a religious person, I see a lot of merit in their character-building curriculum that preaches forgiveness of one's past. I listen in quietly so that I might learn how Beverly, the CEO and founder, reaches people and effects change.

Today Beverly held one of her weekly classes. As she spoke, her assistant wrote several Biblical names on a white board. 
Paul = persecutor, murderer
Joseph = adulterer, poor father
Judas = betrayer, thief; and so on.

Beverly then said, "These are all people who followed Jesus. Who do you have the most in common with?" 

From the moment I met her, I recognized Beverly as a woman of deep inner peace. She has something inside that I want to learn for myself. Especially in this line of work - assisting former offenders and people facing serious life obstacles - you need an inner peace to return to at night, or you will go crazy. Her message to her program participants is consistent - it doesn't matter who you were; it matters where you are going. Change is possible, but it first must happen from within.

Her question - Which sinner do you have the most in common with? - struck a chord with me because I think about the stigma of ex-prisoners and the source of that stigma. General society marginalizes ex-offenders (it is currently legal to discriminate against people who have been in prison on any platform - housing, employment, government assistance, etc.) on the premise of, "Hey, I'VE never been to prison, so that makes me inherently better than those who have." The problem with that belief is that our justice system is not currently operating justly. Further, we cannot even say law is always tied to morality or ethics. The same unlawful action in two similar contexts may be treated completely differently based on who the perpetrator is: We make exceptions for war, for profit, for land acquisition and Manifest Destiny, for someone who affords a good lawyer, or for "affluenza". Not only is the racial makeup of prisons disproportionate; so is the economic makeup.

Michelle Alexander in The New Jim Crow argues that statistically, an individual's convictions have more to do with the color of their skin and their socio-economic standing than the crime committed. For instance, it is a myth that a larger number of drug users and drug dealers are people of color; they are just prosecuted at a higher rate. This is partially an effect of War on Drugs policies that created huge gaps in sentencing for powder cocaine (500+ grams = 5 year minimum sentence) versus crack cocaine (5+ grams = 25 year minimum) - by empirical evidence, both forms are equally addicting, both with similar effects, but one type was more prevalent in white society and the latter was more prevalent in black society. Imagine.

But policymakers during the War on Drugs also viewed "white" crimes differently from those committed by blacks, and they were combatting an image of criminality that was wrongly formulated. This is true of current society: our view of the prisoner is largely constructed by media and political agenda. But when people of privilege commit serious crimes (i.e. drug possession), they tend to make moral exceptions for themselves; they believe they "aren't as bad" as people in prison, since they believe people in prison, unlike themselves, are inherently deserving of that position in life. Just take a look at how many times people have tried to reform War on Drugs policies; yet, reforms have not been granted until recent years, when attention to upperclass opiate addiction has entered the limelight. Now our policies for drug possession have taken a more rehabilitative approach. The reality of the mass incarceration of our poor and our minority populations is, instead, a symptom of a system that favors the wealthy upper class. Just a few years ago in my area, a well-known doctor was driving drunk and hit a girl who was skateboarding. He left the scene of the crime. She lost her life; he did not go to prison. He had an excellent lawyer.

There are crimes that are heinous and unfathomable, and these are so much at the forefront of media that the public has built a vision of what a "prisoner" is. But not all people in prison have committed heinous and unfathomable acts. And not all people are prosecuted and sentenced equally. A divide exists, and that is where people need to take a hard look at their judgment. Our humanity does not separate us as much as we believe.

Can we care for victims of crime while simultaneously fighting for the rights of convicted criminals? It's a paradox - that we want to punish those who do wrong to the community, or to our loved ones, or to ourselves, so how can we possibly want to improve the conditions of their punishment and return to society?

The answer to that first question is a resounding YES. We can care about and attend to both. Victims deserve justice. But even "criminals" deserve basic human rights. Solitary confinement, labor abuse, and physical & psychological violations from prison guards are all examples of human rights violations occurring in US prisons. When basic human rights are violated, prisoners become the victims, too.

The answer to the second question is more complex - How can we possibly want to improve the conditions of their punishment and return to society? 

I recall a discussion with a friend on state-funded college in prisons, in which he said, "Well how is it fair to victims, that someone hurts them in irreversible ways, and then that person gets to go to a place where he gets a free ride through college?"

My response was that there is a zero percent recidivism rate for people who earn college or higher degrees in prison. (And still, whether or not you have reform programs at your disposal, prison is an ugly place). I feel deeply for victims of crimes, which is why I believe prison should be a place where offenders can change, so when they get out, they won't create more victims.

First, one must understand this basic concept: Most offenders will get out of prison, and if they are not quote "reformed," then they are likely (70% likely) to re-offend. So victims and society stand to benefit from encouraging reform - such as making family visitation easier, allowing education and job training programs, stopping excessive solitary confinement, and promoting better support systems for a person's return home. This has all proven to reduce a person's tendency to re-offend - which means fewer victims and less suffering. A system that works is better for society as a whole.

On a final note, I think people find this conversation to be easier when we rule out the vilest of crimes - rape, torture, pedophilia, serial murder, etc. So the difficult question here, especially when it comes to human rights,  is: People who commit heinous crimes don't respect humanity, so should we respect theirs? Perhaps people who commit crimes like that should be in a separate discussion from people who are in state and federal penitentiaries for drug offenses, petty crime, mental illness, poverty-related crimes, and crimes related to education (68% of state prison inmates did not receive a high school diploma) and behavioral issues. I'm not a psychologist, but I don't believe psychopathy can be fixed. The "heinous" crimes also make up a small portion of actual offenses of those incarcerated; therefore we should not use heinous crimes as an excuse NOT to address the serious issues occurring in our justice system. We need to focus on how to protect society from people who can't be reformed, and enhance society through the people who can.

What makes it so hard to talk about prison reform? It's not just sympathy and respect for victims. It's that society groups all offenders into one category: criminals. Less than citizens. Less than human. That label will stick with them the rest of their lives, no matter what their offense. But I have seen people change, repent, reconcile, and rebuild - and shouldn't that be the point?