Am I Free?

By Eddie Russell / Fall 2024

I wake up, naked, and I have on a green foam padded safety suit, it kind of resembles a turtle shell. There are food trays on the floor by the steel metal door. Where am I? How did I get here? A guard walks by, and I say, “excuse me sir, where am I?” He says that I am in a suicide tank, and I must be here for seventy-two hours, I have been here for two days, I will be released tomorrow. Laying back on the bunk with a very thin mattress, I reflect on the last couple of days, but I do not remember much.

My freedom was not taken from me, I relinquished it by committing a crime. Laws are created to keep order in society; I broke the law, so I was taken out of society. Sitting with my face in the palm of my hands, I realize the system is not on my side. Growing up in a neighborhood where drugs, gangs, and violence is what I saw every day. In a district redlined to keep people of color compacted in a small area of a large city. How did I end up in this place of criminal punishment? Am I a victim of this social system?

Looking back on my life and the struggles that I have been through made me the man I am today. My family life was dysfunctional, as seen by the rest of society. My mother and stepfather were married and living in the same home, but they fought a lot. The police never came to our home, and no one ever spoke of what happened. Seeing violence in and outside of the home gave me the belief that violence is how to solve my problems.

To me my family was not dysfunctional, just a little outside of the norm. What I believed to be normal is what was taught to me in school. The father goes to work, and the mother stays at home and does the housework like the on the television show, “Leave it to Beaver,” which was one of my favorite childhood shows. Another show that strengthened my belief was, “The Cosbey Show,” a black middle/upper class family. The father was a doctor and the mother a lawyer and they never fought. This is how I saw the perfect American family.

At a very young age I witnessed my stepfather beating my mom. It was very late at night, so I just went back to bed. The next morning everything was normal like every other morning, my mom cooking breakfast and us kids getting ready for school. My stepfather was already at work. This is not how I remembered seeing how a family should be, it was not like on the television shows. In school I did not have many friends. Being alone was more comfortable for me. I started smoking marijuana at the age of thirteen and that was one of the only reasons why I hung out with certain individuals, drug dealers and gang members to be exact. I started to fight a lot, mostly because I was protecting myself from being bullied like my stepdad taught me. (Violence as a way of solving my problems).

I was now on a road toward the system of incarceration. A system designed to warehouse people of color such as myself for capital gain. During the reconstruction era, after the slaves were freed from working on plantations and (Jim Crow Laws) segregated white and black people in public places across America, black men were arrested for vagrancy, not having a job and enough money on them. This allowed the powers that be to force these men to work on those same plantations again, incarceration as another form of slavery. The Thirteenth Amendment of the United States Constitution states, “Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall be duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.” (Article XIII, Section 1.)

The life I was starting to live was not what my parents envisioned. I am sure that they wanted me to make better choices than the ones I was making. The neighborhood I grew up in was not the best, but it was my playground. The path to destruction is wide and vast. I started stealing bikes and graduated to cars. Street life is an educational experience like no other. The one rule that must be followed is never trust the police. They are the enemy. Anyone caught fraternizing with the enemy will be dealt with according to the street code, “snitches get stiches.” 

This hatred towards authority figures (police) goes way back to the days of slavery. But it came to a boiling point during the civil rights movement. Young black men were lynched, and the police did nothing about it, sometimes they were complicit. There are historical events that prove my point, for example, the three civil right workers who were brutally murdered by the Mississippi police. Just for standing up for the voting rights of others. It is sad to say that I have never voted in a presidential election. I do remember my grandmother on my mother’s side asked me to walk her to the voting booth. I believe I was around eighteen years old. She witnesses all the brutality and segregation of our country. She said our people fought and died for us to have these freedoms.

My freedom was taken away from me shortly after that. Maybe I should say I gave up my freedom by getting caught in a stolen car. This was my first time in the judicial system. Since it was my first offence, I was released on O.R. (on my own recognizance) I really did not learn my lesson, it was all a game for me at the time. The second time I did almost six months for the same offence. I was sentenced to a year county time.

I was sent to a fire camp and the judge that sentenced me told me, if I got my diploma, she would let me out. They had an educational program there, so I went to school every day. I received my G.E.D within the first two months. The teacher was so proud of me, but I was not happy. She asked me why I was not excited. I told her I felt like a dummy for just getting a G.E.D. I told her I wanted to get my diploma and asked what I would need to do to get it. She said I would have to take a couple of more courses, so I did them. I finished in a month and a half. I wrote the judge a letter, but I did not get out right away. Then one day in the month of May I was taken to a graduation ceremony in El Cajon. My teacher gave me a cap and gown and I walked across the stage with the other high school students and was handed my high school diploma. The next day I was released from custody. That is one of the positive things that happened to me during my incarceration.

After that I told my mom I was never going back to jail again. I joined the workforce, another part of the system. I was always told if I worked hard, I could achieve the American dream. But what is it? Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream that one day his children would “live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” “That one day this nation will rise and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” That is what I was always taught the American dream was. But working to make money just to give it right back to the system is not the American dream. I had a family to support, I had to buy food, clothes, pay rent, car insurance, taxes, and a whole lot of other assets to live comfortably or at least feel comfortable.

One day out of the blue me, my girlfriend and her two kids were evicted out of the apartment we were staying in. I do not know the reason and it does not matter but we were forced to leave our home. My girlfriend and her kids moved in with her grandmother and I moved into my car. I was now a young man on my own for the second time in my life. I had to get it right this time. Sometimes the system does do some good, but does the good outweigh the bad? My life was changing fast, and I did not know what to do first. I tried to go to city college, but I had to work to survive. I had two jobs, and I was sleeping in my car, basically I was homeless. An ex-felon with nowhere to go.

So, I packed up what little possessions I had and moved to Texas. I had a brand-new start in life, and I was feeling pretty good. The funny thing about moving from California to Texas was the way people treated one another. There really is a thing called southern hospitality. Even the police officers’ wave at you when they drive by, and they are smiling. Mind you, this is a small town with a population of less than five thousand. I had entered a world that I had only seen on television. I was living with my grandmother, and she lived in the country not the town, there really is a difference.

I found a job working at a screen door factory. This was my first introduction to working on a production line. Of course, I worked at Mc Donalds before, but this was different or was it. Both companies use workers to build a product in a certain amount of time. This gives the company an account of how much money is spent on production and how much money is made and saved. Living in a capitalistic country, the one asset needed to function is workers. Of course, it feels good to make money but having enough to live is another story.

After a couple of years living in Texas, I found myself in trouble with the law once again. Evading arrest or detention. To avoid being arrested for possession of marijuana I decided to drive home. What would have been a basic traffic stop turned into a felony evading. I was put on probation for three to five years. I was back in the system. How could I escape this cycle? After completing my probation, I moved back to California. I joined the union and picked up a trade. I did three trades, plumbing, carpentry, and glazing. I liked glazing (installing windows) the most. And it paid well. I was able to take care of my family and have money left over for fun activities.

My drug of choice is marijuana, but I started to use PCP. This drug took me to a dark place in my mind. My mood changed from being a nice guy to an angry father and boyfriend. Mentally and physically my world was falling apart. One day I woke up in jail and the next thing I knew I was accepting a deal for fifteen years in prison for attempted murder. Entering the American prison system was a new experience for me, and at forty-two years old I thought my life was over.

After I was sentenced the waiting process began. The correctional system has many moving parts. Each has a specific role to play to keep order and safety. When a person is convicted of a crime, they are no longer part of society. They are under the control of the federal government on a state level. I was now part of the judicial system. Two months after I was sentenced, I was placed on a bus and sent to Chino state prison to begin my reception time. Four months later I was transferred to the California Men’s Colony (CMC) in San Luis Obispo, Ca. There I began my transition into the prison lifestyle.

I wanted to know what made me commit such a horrible crime. I am not a violent man so why did I commit such a violent act? The answer could come from many aspects of my life. Growing up in a violent household and neighborhood for example. I had to find out what triggered my brain to make me decide to try and kill another person.

I started attending groups such as anger management, alcoholics/ narcotics anonymous, alternative to violence, victim impact, and criminal gangs anonymous just to name a few. I also started meditating to keep my mind from wandering off the deep end. I became very depressed, and I slept a lot. One year later I was transferred to Donovan Prison in San Diego, Ca. There I began to train dogs for veterans and autistic kids. This gave me a chance to give back to the community that I had victimized. Part of my rehabilitation process was to learn why I committed my crime and how to make amends.

I heard Southwestern College was offering courses, so I signed up for college classes just to get some time off my prison sentence. I was told I could get one week off for each class I took. The first class was sociology, and I learned about human behavior and the difference between ethnicity and race. The next semester I took three classes. And I continued this path for the next two years. Then I met with a career counselor, and we made an educational plan for me to receive my associates degree. I never intended to get a degree I was just trying to get out of prison early.

Turns out that I was smarter than I imagined. I was getting A’s in almost all my classes. I started to believe in myself again and it felt good. I did not want to lose this feeling, so I pursued my degree with passion. Then I was offered the opportunity to go to a university to earn my bachelor’s degree and that motivated me even more. The educational system was trying to help me, and I accepted the challenge without prejudgment.

Today I am released from prison but living in a Men’s Community Re-enty Program (MCRP). Working at the same company and in the same trade I was in before I went to prison. Life is looking pretty good. Upon my release I was accepted to the University of Irvine, but I was not able to attend because I am living at this program. So, my student advisor and I petitioned for a late acceptance to the University of California San Diego. To my surprise I was accepted. Wow, what are the odds of that? I have completed my first quarter, and I am excited to start the next.

Society’s systems are not perfect. Some even work against the people, but sometimes they work for the people. I must decide for myself what side do I want to work for. I choose to help the people in any way that I can, especially the homeless. The system today is not working in their favor. This must change. I will use my sociology degree to work for the homeless and one day maybe help alleviate this problem.

WORKS CITED

Constitution of the United States of America-1787

Dr. Martin Luther King Speech, Google.