"The Power of a Felony"

Every Monday afternoon, I teach a group of kids at the Allegheny County Jail.  Termed "juveniles" at the jail, they have a separate pod than the adult population, but are still awaiting trial as adults.  Each kid is energetic, creative, and intelligent in his own way.  One student, Kenny, is somewhat shy in class, but at the end of last semester, he handed me a book's worth of poems scribbled on yellow composition paper for me to type.  I was very impressed with his work, and honored that he wanted to share them with me.  Today, I asked him if he wouldn't mind me posting a poem or two on the blog, and he barely hesitated to say I should post "The Power of a Felony."  Without further ado:

The Power of a Felony

Just brainstorming all the wrong I did in my life, and barely did anything nice, and mentally I’m broke, I can’t pay the price.  That’s why I keep a mask on with a smile, ‘cause showing my true feelings isn’t allowed in this situation by myself. 

No COD’s to roll with me cuz I’m my own hope man.

In this cold cell thinking about what this man dressed in black is going to say to me?  Wonder if he’s going to say screw me and throw away my freedom key?!

How is a man responsible for how many years another man do? 

But never took one step in that man’s shoes?

Why are reporters so quick to make you look like an animal in newspapers or on the news?

More money?  More views?  I don’t have a clue. 

And unfortunately that picture that painted about you sticks like glue—eww.

They painted a picture that made you look like you belonged in the zoo.

And to make matters worse your record follows you too and people are more likely not to hire you,

even though you have kids to feed and turned your life around and you’re trying to do good deeds but they ain't trying to hire you ‘cause you have a felony. 

Now how you going to feed your kids?  Rob a bank?

Without harming anyone but that’s not how the man in black is going to think!

Writer and Professor Joseph Bathanti Visits ACJ

         Today, we had the pleasure of hosting visiting writer and professor Joseph Bathanti to the Allegheny County Jail to speak with students from all five creative writing classes.  Bathanti is no stranger to the prison system, or Pittsburgh for that matter.  Born and raised in East Liberty, he attended Central Catholic and writes plenty of growing up in a working class Italian family.  Straight out of graduate school with a Master's degree in English from Pitt, he headed south to join the VISTA program as a volunteer in the prisons.  He continues to teach creative writing in prisons, any many of his experiences appear as material in his writing, which includes nonfiction, fiction, and poetry.  Most recently, as Bathanti told our group, he has become particularly interested in teaching veterans who find themselves behind bars, still dealing with the myriad issues that stem from PTSD.

          Bathanti read several of his poems from his most recent book of poetry, Concertina. Many of his poems were prefaced with anecdotes, such as visiting the Army-Navy store downtown to buy a footlocker with his father, to watching the inmate basketball team talk smack on the guards while handily beating them on the court.  "We all have stories that need to be told," he said to our group of blossoming writers. "My stories are no better than yours, I'm just neurotic enough to write them down." 

           He also entertained questions from our students and staff, which ranged from the mental tools he uses to write, to why he wanted to be writer in the first place, to why he continues to work in prisons. "You know, there are people serving in the military so we can stay safe at home, and I have this idea--which is mine alone--that people are in prison so I can be free." The notion that incarceration could happen to anyone resonates throughout his writing, as Bathanti repeatedly made it known that he is thankful he has never been in prison or jail, but also feels a responsibility to treat incarcerated folks as the respect any human deserves.  Bathanti currently teaches at Appalachian State University and resides in Asheville, North Carolina, though Pittsburgh still finds its place in his writing.  His latest work (and first novel) is titled East Liberty.

$50,000 Challenge Grant from the NEH!

We're thrilled to announce that Words Without Walls is recipient of a $50,000 National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH) Challenge Grant.

What does "challenge" mean?  It means we're going to be raising an additional $50,000 in order to get the full benefit of the NEH grant award. 

For more information about this grant, you can read our press release here.

And, if you want to help us meet the challenge of our challenge grant, you can donate here.

Chapbooks!

One semester, three chapbooks!  This fall, we printed over 100 pages of prose and poetry from writers in Sojourner House, Allegheny County Jail, and SCI Pittsburgh. Classes begin again, the first week of January!  More writing to come! 

Home

It was the oddest pairing, but I had a feeling good things were going to come from this week’s class. I had invited Tenzin, a classmate of mine and a Tibetan refugee who grew up in India, to be a guest speaker in my class. My class this fall is centered on the theme of home. Tenzin writes about growing up in India without Indian citizenship, never able to go to return to the land her father and mother call home. She writes about being in the US for grad school—making a semi-permanent home in Pittsburgh. She knows the multi-facets of home and that gut-wrenching longing. She has a talent for writing but doubts it. She has an important story to tell.

My students know homesickness too. They are, after all, in jail. They too are away from home, not by choice. One student came in one week with a worried brow. He couldn’t get a hold of his daughter and worries something is wrong. Another student wrote about how he misses his girlfriend. One week a student’s mother died and he wrote about his mom’s cooking that he’ll never be able to taste again. Every week they ask me what they weather is like outside. They doubt their writing abilities, and doubt that they have anything to say.

Tenzin brings a piece about a houseplant our class. The plant looks like it’s dying so she sings to it, talks to it, and begs it not to die. The plant represents her other side, the part of her that hopes for home.

“Have you published this?” the students ask Tenzin.

Tenzin laughs and says she’s hasn’t because she’s too scared to submit it.

“It’s amazing,” the students encourage her. They tell her she is a good writer and a good teacher. I beam with pride as I watch them point to specific sentences, images, symbols in Tenzin’s work that spoke to them.

Inspired by Tenzin’s piece, we do an in-class prompt: pick an object in your cell and make it a symbol for something in your life. One student writes about a cold air vent as a symbol for his terminally ill friend who committed suicide in jail.

I glance at Tenzin. I can tell she is outside of herself, absorbed in these men’s lives—too filled with empathy in that moment to think about how much she misses her home. 

This class changes teachers’ lives too.

Rachel Kaufman, teacher