They were already at their desks when I arrived, and the seminar was well underway. Except for their garb, they looked no different from men I see walking through Wal-Mart. Each was attentive, soberly taking notes in the half-light. The next three hours would reveal that they possessed something that I wish were consistently mine.
Their faces bore little evidence of the hardness I had expected. Instead, there were smiles, hugs, and slaps on the back, manifestations of the camaraderie I would expect among the best of friends. Given the circumstances, their general attitude of hopefulness was a bit surprising.
On leaving the room, I was uneasy. Both sides of the hallway were lined with men, and I had to pass squarely among them. Some reached out to touch me, to stop me, to talk with me.
One young man told me how his anger and lust for revenge had placed him there. Others pointed to bitterness and pride as the source of their problems. We were a lot alike, I thought. I've felt all those things–and more. But there was a major difference: the extent to which we had allowed our feelings to control our actions. They had certainly reaped consequences that I had not.
These men were murderers, thieves, drug dealers… you name it. White uniforms marked them as those who had let their emotions and feelings plunge them into awful transgressions against both God and man. They were the rejects of society and failures in life. What does the future hold for them? Some will surely die in that very place.
Outside, floodlights bathed the empty courtyard in a yellow-orange eeriness. Stark, bleak buildings, razor wire and heavy gates were sobering reminders: this was a prison.
My last look at them lingers with me still. As we drove away, the double line of men was snaking its way out of the building and inching toward the barracks. Then, up and down their ranks, a remarkable sight materialized. Hands were lifted high, but not in clenched fists of rebellion. They were raised in gestures of good will and well-wishing.
I just can't shake one particular detail. Despite insurmountable challenges, some had spoken of friends and family, hopes and dreams, potentials and possibilities. They were somehow able to see beyond the cold steel of prison bars to warmer, happier tomorrows. Without vision for the future, the present withers on the vine.
Though confined outwardly, some seemed as free as birds on the inside, where it counts the most. I honestly don't understand it. Perhaps the greatest obstacles gave wings to their greatest hopes. That's the lesson they taught me… and I mustn't forget.
Copyright 2000 James McAlister
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