In this time of giving I've been thinking about the ways prisoners show their loved ones how much their care about them.  Cards are common and prisoners often spend time creating art and whatever small gifts they can muster for family.  When I taught at Framingham, Dolly used to knit for her grandkids; I knew women who sold art to make money to afford to send a present beyond the bars.  I have cards; I sent cards.  I relish every effort someone makes who lives behind bars.

What people don't often realize is that there are some innovative programs around the country that specialize in the very real need that prisoners have to make a difference, i.e. giving to others helps make their lives meaningful.  A program I came across in Washington state offers prisoners the opportunity to repair bicycles for kids.  As reported by the Associated Press on Oregon Live , they use formerly loved (used) and abandoned bikes

photo by AP/in The Seattle Times/Mike SiegeI

One of the most appealing parts of the program is that men who were convicted of heinous crimes against children want desperately to make up for their crimes through this program.  While some need training to fix bikes, others come in with experience.  As one man involved said, "I'm here trying to help other people. I believe in karma."

Another well-known program where prisoners get to give back is the Prisoner Pup program at over thirteen prisons in Massachusetts.  Prisoners train dogs to help people who are blind or deaf or have disabilities.  They make a 12-18 month commitment ,according to the National Education for Assistance Dog Services website:  The purpose is to give prisoners a real and important responsibility and to allow them to help others.  According to NEADS, "Puppies spend most of their time with the primary handler going to classes, recreation areas, and dining halls."  Each puppy sleeps in his or her primary handler’s cell.  Prisoners learn how to teach their puppy tasks, groom them and give them exceptional obedience skills. "Whether going to a medical appointment, the TV lounge, or the family and friends visiting room, the puppy is usually right by the handler’s side."

"I've been thinking about all the 2.2 million people in this country who will spend this Thanksgiving behind bars.  Yes, some of them have done pretty horrible things.  And some of them have been away from their family for years for very good reasons.  But many prisoners, the people we sentence to our darkest places — in fact, over one quarter of them according to The National Review  online — are incarcerated for non-violent drug offenses. And many of them will be saying their thanks for what they are grateful for; most of it has to do with love.

I have written much and often about how prisoners are not merely their crimes, and that their humanity is what often allows them to transform themselves behind bars whether it be through reading, programs, art, deep epiphanies about themselves and/or remorse.  While on the day of Thanksgiving, no prisoner gets the benefit of home, even the dysfunctional home, many prisons provide a turkey dinner with the usual trimmings.  Maybe not mom's home-made pumpkin pie, but nonetheless, pie.

Thanksgiving is rough on the families who are visiting their loved ones behind bars. Mary Gautier, Louisiana born and Nashville now, kicking around with over five albums, has a song that really hits me when I think of how hard it is for everyone in this constellation, the families and the prisoners.  It's called "Thanksgiving."  You can listen to it here.

"We stood in a long line waiting for the doors to be unlocked
Out in the cold wind, ‘round the razor wire fenced in cellblock
Young mamas with babies, sisters and other kinds of kin
At Tallulah State Prison on Thanksgiving Day, we’re waiting to get in

You gotta get here early, it don’t matter how many miles you drove
They make you wait for hours, jailers always move slow
They run names, check numbers, gravel faced guards they don’t smile
Grammy and me in line, silently waiting single file

Thanksgiving at the prison, surrounded by families
Road weary pilgrims who show up faithfully
Sometimes love ain’t easy, sometimes love ain’t free

My grammy looks so old now, her hair is soft and white like the snow
Her hands tremble when they frisk her from head to her toes
They make her take her winter coat off then they frisk her again
When they’re done she wipes their touch off her dress, stands tall and heads in

Thanksgiving at the prison, surrounded by families
Road weary pilgrims who show up faithfully
Even though it ain’t easy, even though it ain’t free
Sometimes love ain’t easy, I guess love ain’t free"

Mary isn't alone in thinking about prisoners on Thanksgiving.  A lot of us who have worked behind bars turn our thoughts to those who can't go home.  Jack Cashill, an Emmy-award winning filmmaker and producer, shared a letter online from a prisoner.  It doesn't surprise me one bit — the gratefulness expressed.  But I'd say it's a lesson for many of us who complain about the minutia of life (me), and even those of us (me) who are sad on Thanksgiving without our parents to share our joy and sorrow. Most of us need to stop and see how much being in the moment and appreciating what we have is a way to heal our hurts.  Of course, prisoners learn this too.  Here's a snippet of the part of the letter that I like best.  So thanks to Steven Nary who wrote it in Avenal State Prison in California:

"For everyone who has ever come into my life, no matter how long our interaction was or whether it was inside or outside of prison, I am grateful for each moment, which is a gift in itself and a blessing…"

On a day where we think both about what we've lost and what we've found, let's remember those behind bars.

Two amazing young women, Samantha Stewart and Kayla Kahn, who hail from San Diego, have a mission.  It involves an 135 mile walk for a cause they are passionate about. They want to raise awareness about sex trafficking and forced child prostitution. 

Samantha and Kayla contacted me on LinkedIn and then we talked on Skype, and once I got over the shock of how young these two gutsy Californians are, I was sold:  they are using their own lives, experience and skills to bring awareness to a subject that often sits in the dark recesses of our minds or that we reserve for sweat shops and foreign countries.  Kayla and Samantha are not interested in an academic discourse.  They want to rescue these victims.

They have already begun to create a documentary and you can see clips here  They've been at this for four years and have been the subject of over 50 articles in the U.S. and abroad.  They are determined to have safe houses in every state.

Their next step is to set out on a 135 mile walk from Belmont Park in San Diego to the Santa Monica Pier in Los Angeles, filming their 22+ miles a day, six day journey. They plan to leave on November 27th, trailing banners and posters along the way, attracting news reporters, and more importantly,  "Each step" will "send out a positive vibration for change," as they let people know that these children need to be rescued; that they exist in all parts of the country; are in need of housing, medical treatment and therapy.  A clip from their website is below:

                                                                                                                  .
Samantha and Kayla sent me a sample of what they found in 30 minutes of researching.  One escort site shows pictures of Nicole, age 21 with a cell phone number, and on other sites, they found the same girl, now called "Bianca" with new phone numbers.  This is apparently a very common way to disguise a girl's identity and hide the fact that she's been drawn into the sex trade against her will.  This is the kind of clue that would get Samantha and Kayla to dive into undercover work, partnering with local police to rescue victims.

For more info, go to WGBH's facebook page and read about the sex trafficking crisis.  This time folks, it's not in Thailand, but in Boston.  It's in major cities across the country and we need to open our eyes.  And support these terrific young women on their 135 mile walk by donating here.

So I was visiting a young man behind bars a few weeks ago and saw that there was –let's call him "the prison photographer" — another prisoner — snapping photos of a mother and her kids.  They stood near the children's area where there was a TV with a penguin cartoon and a few books and benches.  And behind the "set," because that's what it looked like to me, a stage setting, was a mural.  Murals in visiting rooms are actually pretty remarkable.  In this prison there were several murals on the walls, not disimilar to this visiting room at Graterford Prison in Pennsylvania –although not nearly as clean and without tables.

  But the images are their own kind of art.  And prison murals– well that's a subject for another day — but they are amazing. 

So I asked if we could get our picture taken, and OK I wasn't technically a family member but a few nods here and a few nods there and we were standing in front of the Project Youth Mural which was yellows and browns with a big banner across muted people representing the men who speak to schools about their lives — Project Youth.  We posed, we smiled, we looked at one shot and then another and we did what everyone does when they get pictures taken — want to make sure it's a good shot.

And then came the kicker.  There was gonna be a charge to the prisoner I was visiting.  The state was charging the prisoner and oh boy, how much did the photo on that digital camera cost?  I am anxious to see the bill to the young man I visit who makes nickels and dimes behind bars and has to buy all his toiletries at the canteen.  So, photo or bath soap?  And it wasn't exactly like I had five bucks in my pocket in the prison visiting room so I could slip the photographer some money.  Plus, he wasn't the one who would be getting the money.  I'll have to wait to find out but I'm betting $5.00.

But, overall, I gotta give props to these photo programs, called "Click Clicks" in New York.  At least if you're locked up, you can appear happy and transported to a desert isle and freeze yourself in time somewhere in space — with your loved ones. 

It struck me this past summer when I went to a hearing at the Department of Telecommunications and Cable (DTC) that communication is not a high priority for prison phone companies.  Nope, you can't expect a telephone company to care about the quality of contact when they're raking in money.

Bet you didn't know for some prisoners — after connection fees, after dropped calls, in other words, after incredible frustration — it costs an average of $30 for a 20 minute call from a Massachusetts prison to a loved one.  Bet you wouldn't guess that there's an extra charge to reconnect when a call is dropped. And this is not confined to Massachusetts.

Most of us wouldn't blink an eye about the number of people behind bars who are unemployed and can't talk to their kids or husbands or sisters or dads because they can't afford it.  It wasn't high in my consciousness and I worked in a prison.  Nope, not in this age of calling everywhere for a fixed fee; not in the age of skype.  But surprise, surprise, as if punishment wasn't enough, we now have keep-your-loved-ones-away by creating telephone policies that create more pain.  Prisoners want phone calls so much that a standard punishment behind bars has become taking away phone privileges for a week or so.

Prisoners' Legal Services was asking the DTC to investigate the phone service, both cost and quality.  And after listening to some of the testimony, I was up in arms. My cell phone dropped calls drive me crazy.  My Comcast poor TV reception drives me crazier.  Imagine being in prison and having those problems magnified by gazillions?

One woman testified that she has three sons incarcerated.  She has to get funds from family members and friends to make phone calls.  Another said she has an overdrawn bank account from supporting her friend behind bars.  An attorney testified that a 16 year-old mentally ill client of hers who had never been away from his family is in prison for life; the family cannot afford to call him every day; and he needs that contact to stay sane.

TO STAY SANE PEOPLE.  We are talking about helping incarcerated men and women become better citizens aren't we?  Or are we back to that same old conversation that punishment rather than rehabilitation is the only point of prison. 

►Here's a site to find out more about phone justice for prisoners.  And let's remember, we can only tacklie our criminal justice system, brick by brick.