What was it that you wanted to see?

– Looking at the Statue of Liberty

I have been home from my trip for one week now and I am still finding it difficult to write any kind of final reflection on this blog. For some reason I just can’t ‘wrap it up’. I have exhausted all my excuses now – I’ve done all my washing (almost), caught up with family and seen some friends, the baby is sleeping well in his own room – it’s all done. Yet still I can’t settle myself to sit down and write one last comment, a final few words from the author before going back to normal life. Why is this I wonder?

Because I am terrified of forgetting.

Every year before beginning to teach my module in the Arts in Criminal Justice Settings I give my students a quote – an idea really – worded by Tim Etchells in his book ‘Certain Fragments’.

What was it that you wanted to see? Did you dream of a looking that had no consequence, no ethical bind, no power inherent in it, no cost? You won’t find that here.
1999, p.65

And now I find that this is exactly I how am left feeling after my time at York CI. I am implicated in all I have seen and all that I want to explore my own community. Not so much energised but charged…

And so I have come to realise that this must be a conversation without a final thought. This is a chapter I will not close but rather continue.

I am terrified of forgetting.

In some ways this blog has followed the story of my time in the US through significant milestones and events. It has been a useful way to structure my thinking and yet it has also meant that there have been some moments, people, conversations I have not been able to recognise here. I just couldn’t find the right place to fit them in. And so now, in no particular order, and in the spirit of not-forgetting, I would like to remember the following;

– The woman who I sat next to in the waiting area of the mental health department who asked me why I thought she couldn’t keep herself out of prison. Her brother, she told me, is a really nice guy and they didn’t come from a broken home. Why was it (did I think) that she couldn’t seem to make the right choices?

– The woman who I talked to through the small crack in the door of a cell in the segregation unit where she was kept for 23/24 hours a day. And when asked if there was anything she wanted to tell the visitor working in Scottish prisons said ‘Just remember we act on the outside a different way to how we are feeling on the inside. We are actually really scared’.

– The woman who had served 21 years and didn’t really know what the internet was.

– The woman who told me that she couldn’t bear to have too many visits from her family as she couldn’t cope with the prison procedure of strip searches – having the women open their vaginas and making them ‘cough’ after every visit. It reminded her too much of her abuse.

– The silence followed by thundering applause when I explained to a group of female prisoners the concept of ‘herstory’ (as opposed to history) and art of female artists such as Barbara Krueger and Tracey Emin.

– The day I delivered a slide show of pictures of Scotland to a group of women who will never go. Two of which will never leave the prison in their lifetime.

– The moment I realised that one of the woman I had been working with was 40 years old and had a 30 year old son. When she told me she had been raped as a child I said how sorry I was – ‘It’s ok she said – I can’t regret a child’s life can I?’.

– The woman who killed a woman whilst Driving Under the Influence and who receives regular correspondence (and messages of forgiveness) from her victim’s family.

– The 74 year old woman who told me she still had over ten years to serve.

– The woman with a diagnosis of bi-polar who had a baby in prison and 3 days later had him taken away.

– The woman with children who cried when she held them because they didn’t really know her.

– The Mother who told her daughter that when she comes home they could go to England to have tea the Queen.

– That same child who asked the correctional officer when he’d be able to release the magic key that would let her mother out?

– The white woman who asked me why I though she had spent 3 years in prison for an incident that resulted in a death whilst a black woman was serving 50 for a crime with the same outcome.

– And that woman serving 50 years – a sentence she received when she was 14 – now the same age as me – just waiting for the day she turns 64.

The same woman who asked me what I thought ‘rehabilitation’ looked like?

And told me ‘ My caged bird doesn’t sing – it cries’.

I am home and I am absolutely terrified of forgetting.

The weekend the children came…

– ‘Moms and Kids’ Programme (JDPP)

It’s Saturday morning and I watch a group of children run the length of a prison corridor into the arms of their mothers. For a moment all is quiet – a sea of families clinging to each other. It seems to last forever.

This is the first day of the ‘Mom and Kids’ Weekend at York Correctional Institution for women. A yearly programme run by the Judy Dworin Performance Project in which Mothers get to spend a whole weekend engaged in arts activities with their children.

The day starts early as the families gather at the security gate to be processed. When everyone is logged they enter the compound and are ushered into a waiting area. They are not permitted to eat with the inmates (their mothers) and so are given food along with a briefing for the day. Just two minutes down the hall the women are also waiting. They know their children are in the building but they cannot see them just yet.

At the allotted time the women assemble to form a small choir to sing a welcome song as the children (aged between 0 -18) and their accompanying care-givers stream through the doors. It’s an image that takes my breath away as the women frantically scan the crowd and their children (unable to be contained any longer) run at them.

There are – as you might expect – a few more difficult moments – one women realises her son is not there and another’s family is turned away at the gate as she is no longer allowed to participate. This weekend will be full of questions and difficult territory to be navigated and yet for most it is already the most precious, positive part of the whole year. It is chance to make fresh memories with their children and try to be some kind of parent to them – even just for a few days.

The weekend has been carefully planned with many parts; the school corridor is lined with craft stations, there is a book for each family to read together with prepared questions, a shared mural to paint, games and even a small talent show. This is opened by the women singing songs they have been working on for weeks ahead of the event. In their opening number there is a specific section of the song in which each woman in turn addresses her own children by name. In the most part the children are thrilled and identify themselves proudly to the room – for others it is a natural trigger and they cry openly. They just want their mothers to come home. They simply don’t understand.

It would be easy to argue that spending time with their mothers in prison is too painful for children but ‘Familes in Crisis’ caseworker Sloane Sandler believes it is absolutely crucial; They need to know that their mothers love them and miss them. They need to know that it is not their fault that their mother has gone away and that it doesn’t mean she does’t want a relationship with them.

At the end of the first day the majority of children and their caregivers travel from the prison to a residential camp nearby where they will spend the night. During this time they will eat together and take part in other activities including a nature walk and a bonfire. It’s an opportunity for them to get to know each other and to make valuable connections with other families affected by incarceration.

– the residential camp

During the nature walk the children are facilitated by volunteers and the caregivers are offered an opportunity to sit with Judy Dworin and Sloane Sandler to discuss the progress of the weekend from their perspective. It’s an incredibly emotional discussion as most of the care-givers are grandparents whose own children are the incarcerated mothers. In this group they share their many and conflicted feelings about seeing their daughters in the prison context and difficulties in the day-to-day experience of looking after the children. Some feel angry with their daughters and weary of their making promises they cannot keep. Others struggle the sadness of the situation. Many describe their concerns for the children; they are having difficulties at school, getting into fights, flying into rages from which it is hard to reach them – the care-givers are worried and in need of advice as to how best to support them. It’s an all too familiar story;

Numerous studies have described the behaviors children exhibit following the incarceration of their parent, including crying and sadness, confusion and worry, anger, acting out (including aggression, drop in school-work, delinquent activities, drug use, sexual promiscuity, and the like) and developmental regression (such as wetting the bed).
– Cornell University Report on Children of Incarcerated Parents (Sanders and Dunifon)

The camp and it’s carefully considered schedule allows for the necessary time and space for families to share this process and creates a unique community of support. In this context the children are able to drop the burden of stigma surrounding an incarcerated parent and make friends who know exactly how they feel. In the same way care-givers are offered a moment of respite and the opportunity to meet others living with the same challenges.

The weekend ends on Sunday afternoon and after another day with their mothers the children are advised to prepare to say goodbye. The last half hour is excruciating. The children who up until this point have been bouncing around the school corridor introducing new friends and demonstrating newly acquired skills become quiet and cling close to their mothers. The tears come again as it is time to leave and the care-givers step forward to shepherd the children back through the door. Some attempt the run backwards but there is just no time left. One little girl stands pressed up against the glass pounding on the door until her case-worker finally prises her away, her cries heard long up the corridor.

The women stand looking at the empty space long after their children have gone. The reality of their circumstance weighing heavy. The atmosphere thick with powerlessness and pain.

After all the remnants of the weekend are cleared away the women gather in the library for a de-brief – they express their gratitude to the staff for the opportunity to spend this kind of time with their children. It has been opportunity to feel like a mother for a short time – to be given the space to do the ‘normal’ things, to play games and have longer conversations than are usually possible. They talk of the startling changes they can see in their children each time they visit and the regret and failure they feel about being apart for so long.

The Report on Children of Incarcerated Parents published by Cornell University (2011) offers a set of recommendations on how to work to reduce the negative impact of incarceration on children. These include:

• Making visitation areas more child and family friendly to improve quality of visitation
• Resources made available to caregivers about positive parent-child contact and preparing the children for a visit with incarcerated parent
• Education for correctional officers on children of incarcerated parents and effects of high quality visitation
• More parenting and family intervention programs for inmates
• Group treatment/support groups for children of incarcerated parents
• Increased financial assistance of grandparent caregivers who are not in kincare foster care

My experience of the ‘Moms and Kids’ Weekend with the women at York CI allowed me to witness such suggestions in action. The successes of the project are testament to partnership-working and the result of resourcing all parts of the process – of real consideration of the experience of the incarcerated mothers, their children and the care-givers that offer their support. It’s this kind of joined-up thinking that I plan to take back to Scotland and share with my own community – the kind of thinking that really matters.

Today (Sunday) was also the last day of my placement in York CI. I feel as if my head is full with all I have witnessed and the significance of this experience on my own learning journey. I am not heading back to the UK just yet and will take next week before I fly back to Glasgow to I give myself the time I need to properly process everything I’m feeling and more fully reflect on my time here and all it has meant.

After this time away I will come back to this blog with my final reflections.

Reference:

Click to access Children-of-Incarcerated-Parents.pdf

When parents do time – children do time

– http://www.ellabakercenter.org

It’s Friday evening and the women in York CI are busy decorating the prison school area for the arrival of their children tomorrow morning. They are preparing to participate in the ‘Moms and Kids’ event, a weekend of games and arts activities and the opportunity to spend a rare amount of quality time together. They are noticeably excited but nervous too as they worry about making sure everything is ‘just right’ for what is for many of them, the most important event of the year.

It’s an operation which takes a huge amount of consideration and months of logistical planning from everyone involved. Judy Dworin and her team have been working both with Joe Lea and the Department of Corrections to secure the right process for the women in prison as well as ‘Families in Crisis’ an organisation dedicating to supporting the children and their care-givers to be able to participate.

Earlier today I met with with Suzi Jenson, a teaching artist on the project and leader of the residential camp which houses the children as part of the overall weekend. She also runs a lot of the work that the Judy Dworin Performance Project does with ‘youth with incarcerated parents’ in the communities.

This is an issue close to Suzi’s heart and something that she has real and felt understanding of – as a child and young adult she would visit her own mother serving a 14 year sentence in York CI. During our conversation she shared with me how difficult this experience was for her growing up and the larger implications incarceration can have on a child.

The turning point for Suzi came when her mother started to take part in a number of prison arts programmes and producing writing around her feelings and experiences. It was through reading these reflections that Suzi felt she started to understand her mother a little better and as result began to want to begin to build a stronger connection with her. She started to work with Judy Dworin herself and developed her own creative writing in response – something which she then went on to perform with the company. On one occasion also taking it inside the prison to perform for her mother and the wider prison community.

– Suzi Jensen, ‘What I Want to Say’,JDPP

Suzi’s story is remarkable and talking with her marked a real shift in my understanding about the importance of the ‘whole picture’. As she explained;

Everybody always seems to focus on the inmate and not so much on the kids. It always struck me as unfair that my Mom was getting to do all these arts projects and I wasn’t. This was affecting me too. – Suzi Jensen

The Mom’s and Kids Programme at York CI and the work with young people in the communities is an attempt at ‘joined up’ thinking. It recognises the emotional impact of incarceration on the family as a whole and uses art a tool to engage children and their parents in this dialogue. It offers them a way to share their feelings and worries in a supported environment with plenty of professional partners equipped to scaffold the process and respond to need. It also creates a community with the children working with the same artists their mothers are working with allowing for valuable connections to be made and confidence to be built.

I include a useful video outlining the aims and outcomes of the project below:

Tomorrow a group of children will arrive at York CI to spend a few hours of pure, uninterrupted time with their mothers. I am definitely not the only one who will find it difficult to sleep tonight.

For Reference:

http://www.familiesincrisis.org

http://ellabakercenter.org/blog/2014/07/children-left-behind-parental-incarceration-in-america

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2003/06/0613_030613_prisonkids.html

A truth that needs to be spoken

– Fred with ‘Lockdown’ by Dread Scott (Cue Foundation for the Arts, NYC)

Sometimes when focusing so closely at a specific situation it helps to take a step back and take a look at the bigger picture.

Here it is…

Currently 2.4 million people are in Prison in America.

Did you know this?

Nearly 1 in every 100 adults in America are in Prison.

This gives America the highest prison population the world and a significant problem with mass incarceration.

http://www.resourcesforlife.com/

It’s an issue that (rightly) receives a great deal of attention at the moment and attracts response from various factions of the country – including artists. Chris, Fred and I went along to an exhibition (and accompanying talk) on this very theme at the Cue Art Foundation in New York. The show is called ‘To Shoot A Kite’ and features video, photography, letter writing and sculpture exploring the impact on individuals and communities. http://cueartfoundation.org
The talk we attended in the evening also included contributions from Critical Resistance, a group designed to oppose the Prison Industrial Complex and challenge the efficacy of detainment as a means of creating safer communities. For more information on this thinking visit http://criticalresistance.org.

Mass incarceration is social problem with many parts including issues of hugely long sentences, the ‘war on drugs’, privatisation of the ‘business’ of prisons and discussion on racist policies which result in disproportionate amounts of black and hispanic people in prison.

I am aware this blog has been quite text heavy recently and so I include really useful video from American television this week which lays this out very clearly. I highly recommend a watch…

Nobody, but nobody, can make it out here alone.

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

– extract from ‘Alone’ by Maya Angelou

Today I went up to Trinity College in Hartford to meet with the group ‘Women On Our Own’ (or WOOO). This is a strand of work developed by Judy Dworin and her team after recognising the need for arts opportunities on the outside of prison on release.

I met Victoria and Row (facilitated by Judy and Leslie) who make up the foundations of this group. They are both ex-offenders having served time at York CI and having rejoined society. They meet together every Monday morning to rehearse songs and spoken word pieces which they then perform in various community contexts. They do this in the name of empowerment – for themselves, other women like them and for the education of wider society around ideas of social justice.

These women are passionate about the need for their voices to be heard outside the prison walls and are committed to a space that continues to nurture their creativity. It’s a timely conversation as this is something I have become increasingly aware of in my work in Scotland. I have spent the last six years developing a culture of performance work in HMP Perth (and other Scottish prisons) and it continues to have a positive impact. However, regardless of how significant these learning experiences are for my students during their time in prison, much of it will fall away as they released back into the community. Here the number of challenges they face can be overwhelming; housing, money, employment, family and the fear of falling back into the kind of activity that sent them to prison in the first place.

I once taught a student in my prison drama class – lets call him Alex. Alex loved everything about the process of creating performance, from coming up with initial ideas, to writing his own text and deciding the right way to piece the material together. He really got it and it was his favourite part of the week. Time came for Alex to be released from prison and he admitted to me that he was really struggling with the idea of not doing Drama anymore telling me; you need to understand this is the first time I have found something I feel like I am really good at. It’s something I look forward to every week. Of course I assure Alex that he should continue with his love of Drama on his release, find a group, take part in a production in his local area. But Alex, a repeat offender, just shrugs his shoulders; Don’t worry Jess – I’ll definitely be back soon. I’ll try and get back in in time for the next block.

If the idea of it hadn’t been sad enough the reality hit me harder when Alex walked back into the classroom a few short weeks later excited to be reunited with the drama group. No – I thought. This is not good enough. There has to be a better solution than this. Although of course I knew that it wasn’t really Drama that had resulted in Alex’s recidivism, it still felt to me to be a huge problem that prison was providing something for Alex that he could not find in his own community. That he had to be incarcerated in order to find the place that made him feel most free. When the time came for Alex to be released again I was ready with a new idea – this time I set him up with a placement with a theatre on the outside, a really ‘good’ one with an excellent reputation in his local area. Alex was impressed and told anyone who would listen about this exciting new chapter in his life. My contact from the theatre came in to meet with Alex and talked through the schedule they were offering him. He seemed positive and told all who would listen how he ‘hit the big time’. He was all set. This, I felt would be a different story.

A few weeks later I received an email from my contact; Alex had not shown up to meet her at the theatre and despite several attempts to contact him she had still heard nothing. I couldn’t work it out. Alex was interested enough, seemingly committed enough and this was something that he had assured me he needed in his life. What was it that was stopping him? The question hung over me me until a few weeks later one of the other members of the class told they had heard from Alex. He had turned up to his placement at the theatre, on the first day and then every day for a week. He had been there – he’d just never made it past the bench outside.

For Alex, the entrance to this big, ‘reputable’ theatre was far too daunting. The walk from bench to the front door was just too far. It was too large a leap after leaving prison, too big an ask. He worried (or so his peers from class told me) that he wouldn’t fit in; It just didn’t seem like his kind of place.

The women at WOOO have created their own kind of space for which to continue their interest in performance. It has been Victoria assures me, a long process and one of careful steps and yet she believes it has been the key to her ability to ‘stay strong’ outside the context of prison, to move forwards whilst still being part of a community that understands where she has come from. She tells me that for her it’s all about support and having a structure of the things she has to do mixed with the things she wants to do in order to keep on a positive path.

On sharing the story of Alex and my desire to develop routes for arts practice post-incarceration in Scotland Victoria and Row remind me of the importance of baby steps. They re-iterate an individual’s need for a process of slow and sustainable growth. It is not about ‘trying to do it all at once’ but doing one small thing well and moving on from there. Right now WOOO is only two women (there was a third but she experience a back-slide) but for them it is the foundation on which they can build. As a result of their ongoing performances (for which they are paid) they were recently asked in to lead a workshop in a secure unit for young women. This Row tells me is an example of how they can get the message out there and offer valuable insight and support to other women.

As if to illustrate our conversation Victoria recites (with backing vocals from the other women) the poem ‘Alone’ by Maya Angelou;

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

In Scotland we have national crisis with a steady increase in a prison population and a rocketing reoffending rate – currently 87% of men serving time in HMP Barlinnie have been there before. When considering this statistic alongside the knowledge that in the UK (in contrast to some other countries) almost all prisoners will re-join the community after serving their time, it feels imperative that we begin to look further at how we build on the work we are doing in communities.

How can we create opportunities that make Alex want to stay out rather than find a way back in?
To ensure sure he doesn’t need to make it out there alone but instead find himself part of a community of practice that supports him in his attempt to rebuild his life outside the prison walls? To build on the thing that he has found that he loves and give him more opportunity to explore it. How can we remind him of what he is good at, of the contribution he can make – not of his previous failures and past mistakes.

We crave a different kind of worth

Tonight (Wednesday) was the final performance of ‘Journeys’ for a small invited audience made entirely of the women’s families. It is a big night and something many have been looking forward to since the project first began almost a year ago.

For most of these women this is the only time they have to spend any real time with their families (usual visits are held on either side of long trestle tables side by side with other prisoners). In contrast, tonight the women will be permitted to mingle with their visitors after the performance and refreshments will be laid on.

As I arrive (1.5 hours before start time) the women are being held in the library and can watch as families are brought through and seated in small groups. They crowd around the glass door trying to get a glimpse of their loved ones – of theirs mothers, fathers, of their children. As their group enters, one woman at a time is permitted to go into the space for a quick greeting (she cannot be long – there’s a long queue), for those whose families have yet to arrive it’s an excruciating wait. A small few are not expecting anyone.

The performance begins and it’s hard to imagine a room with more charge. Everyone seems to be holding their breath, straining in their chairs so as not to miss a second. The women are different too; tentative and careful – looking always to their corner of the room anxious for a positive response to their contribution, grateful for each applause.

There are a lot of tears. It was inevitable (there is a strategically placed box of tissues at the end of each row), this is not easy material to watch, especially when the story belongs to one of your own. Many stumble in the delivery of their text, choked with emotion but are encouraged by their peers to complete their moment. Here is the ‘ensemble’ at its best – they are in support of their work and of each other, together as they face the toughest and most tender of audiences.

As I continue to watch I am struck by the bravery required of an act of performance in this context. For these women, previous experience of the ‘spotlight’ has been a court appearance, their image constructed by the media reporting of their crime. This is the dominant narrative assigned to them now. The story that goes before them – we have already decided who they are. With this is mind it is easy to see how tempting it must be to ‘hide’ from an opportunity to step forward, to speak up, speak out and how difficult it must be to attempt to present another version of self.

This is something of what I believe performance can do here as it asks them to consider two questions at the same time;
– where have you come from?
– where are you going?
In doing so it gives the women the crucial space to imagine new possibilities for themselves. To control their own image in an altogether more positive, more hopeful light. It is the practice of the ‘social’ in the most ‘anti-social’ of spaces.

As the performance ends the women must change back into their prison clothes before being permitted to spend an hour with their family. At this moment I stand back – this is not about me and it is important I do not get in the way. As watch the children run to their mothers I am in no doubt just how incredibly crucial this is. It is vital for the emotional health and stability of these children that they are encouraged to have an active and developed relationship with their mothers (and fathers) that is more than just a few hours behind a table each month. Aside from the crimes committed by these women (and of course we need to recognise many of them are here for significant reasons) the overall picture is bigger than their experience alone.

In the ‘The Sentencing Project’ by the Centre for Research and Advocacy for Reform in Washington, USA it suggests;

Corrections systems can provide programming that encourages good parenting as well as bonding with children …..Awareness of the issue and its implications, along with action to reduce the impact of incarceration on children, is necessary in order to protect and support children when their parents are incarcerated.

Click to access inc_incarceratedparents.pdf

In this way the family performance of ‘Journey’s in York CI is much much more than just a theatre show. It is a small step to the goal in ensuring that these families feel less isolated and more supported by the system. A small move to ensure that these children do not grow up to find themselves in prison one day – that as a society we move in the right direction. This is an investment in the kind of future we want to see.

To conclude I’d like to come back to my decision to name this post ‘ We crave a different kind of worth’. The piece includes a version of the song ‘Royals’ by Lorde. Its an extremely effective piece of material as words are altered from the original singer’s description of a decadent party instead to outline the daily routine of prison life experienced by the women; lockdown, count sheets, sitting in your cell room. The chorus however remains the same apart from one line which in the original states ‘we crave a different of buzz’ – here the song goes…

And we’ll never be royals (royals).
It don’t run in our blood
That kind of luxe just ain’t for us.
We crave a different kind of worth

On this evening when the group performed ‘Journeys’ for an audience of their families I understand exactly what this kind of worth looks like.

How is this story my story?

As part of my time here at York CI I have been given the opportunity to spend time with Jill.

Jill is on staff at the prison itself and works alongside the artistic programme provided by the Judy Dworin Performance Project fulfilling a very specific and important role – one of support.

As part of her job Jill runs a series of ‘groups’ designed to provide the women with space and time each week to talk about their feelings surrounding any given subject. Right now Jill is providing optional sessions for those participating in the ‘Mom and Kids’ weekend in order to provide support for what will understandably a highly emotional experience for everyone. She also has time scheduled with those participating in ‘Journeys’ in the weeks following the performance – a classic time for a ‘come down’ after the high of a big event.

I am sitting in the circle with Jill and the mothers involved in the ‘Mom and Kids’ weekend. It’s a simple format as each woman in turn is asked to share how her children are doing at the moment and how she is feeling as she considers the experience of spending two whole days with them in the prison. It doesn’t require a huge amount of encouragement as the women (mostly) talk freely about their anxieties around ‘parenting at a distance’ and the specific challenges they face, from worrying about having to share their child with a primary carer during the weekend, to the possibility of them mis-behaving in front of new people. Jill is skilled at getting to the heart of the matter and offers valuable insight. The discussion soon develops as the women begin to relate to each other and offer advice from their own perspective as they struggle together with how to do the best for their children in the most difficult of situations.

This is when I realise that I am also a mother and this is a real moment of significance for me as I contemplate the new meaning of my seat at this table. I knew this was going to happen; bound up in a narrative larger than my designated role as ‘outside observer’ – I am standing on common ground.

As I listen to the concern of each woman for their children in the context of the chaos of their own lives and witness the support they receive from each other, I am reminded once again of the importance of ‘community’ and the necessity of ‘connection’ in the practice of being human. These are undoubtedly difficult ideas when applied to incarceration. As a society we don’t want to see these kind of people, hear of them, think about them again. We want such people far away from us, separated, isolated, we want to pretend they no longer exist, to forget them. To us they are ‘other’, not a part of our community, no resemblance to the way we see ourselves, not our problem. And yet the fact remains – as uncomfortable as it may be – they are us – this is somebody’s daughter, somebody’s sister, somebody’s mother.

Buzz Alexander, founder of the Prison Creative Arts Project (PCAP) of the University of Michigan (a project I visited in 2011) reflects on these ideas of community and responsibility in his book ‘Is William Martinez not our brother’. For context, William Martinez was a prisoner killed by a prison officer after a staged fight with another inmate at Corcoran Prison, USA in April 1989.

Is William Martinez* other? Is he, with his poverty and violence, not our brother?
Was William Martinez not our child when he was born into a crowded street and a disrupted, disrupted family, when he shared his primary school classroom with rats, tattered old text books and a leaky roof? Was he not our child when he watched his father beat his mother, when he was sexually abused by his cousin, sister, brother or father, whipped mercilessly with an extension cord, when a bullet or cop took his father, or his mother or his older brother away? When corporate leaders and politicians and policy makers decide that “William Martinez” is trash and must spend twenty years on a mandatory minimum drug conviction that is longer than any other offence anywhere else in the world, is he not our brother?
It is a very difficult question. It has all kinds of implications, however we answer it for who we are and will be in the world.
Is it the wrong question? Possibly. It may be too harsh, unrealistic. Asking it may be a failure to see the world as it is and to accept and embrace our place in it and either do or do not our piece of kindness somewhere. Still, it is one the oldest questions in the world and it seems intellectually, academically and morally responsible to go the places where the question is in our face and see how we come out.

– Is William Martinez Not Our Brother, p51 (Buzz Alexander,2010)

My friend the artist Nic Green would ask ‘How is this story my story? offering us the idea that infact there is no such thing as ‘other’. It is a provocation of our responsibility to relate, find common ground, to look for a way to empathise (although not excuse). This is a shift from the anti-social to the social. The practice of community. It is how bridges are built and doors are opened. After all, the goal here (however long the process) is rehabilitation and re-entry into society – the place where the rest of us live.

For the women taking part in the ‘group’ with Jill this culture of support is a vital part of negotiating the emotional minefield that will be the next few weeks as they prepare to host their children. In participating in this initiative they recognise that this is not a process that they can tackle alone and they don’t need to. In this space they can draw upon the support of the other mothers in their community in order to find the strengthen they need to do the best possible job they can of parenting their children – even at a distance.

This is for you

– JDP In My Shoes Preview

To witness an event is to be present at it in some fundamentally ethical way, to feel the weight of things and one’s own place in them, even if that it is simply, for the moment, as an onlooker.

– Tim Etchells, Certain Fragments, 1999 (p17)

Today (Friday) I witness the first performance of ‘Journeys’ in York CI.

The women are nervous but buzzing. They all have new t’shirts specifically designed with the name of the show and have permission to wear movement trousers usually reserved only for gym. It is an occasion to make a little extra effort in their appearance and they are excited. I am definitely excited too and it strikes me how incredibly invested I am given I have only been with the project a week.
This is what happens when something matters.

As the performance begins I realise what I have forgotten to consider – the vital ingredient that up until now has been missing from the mix – this piece needs an audience.

The education corridor (the stage) is now full of those who have come to see the work – around 60 other prisoners from various work parties from across the prison and a small group of invited guests and funders. It is framed as a ‘dress rehearsal’
but is essentially the opening of a run of 5 shows which will culminate in an evening performance especially for their families.

In one of the first pieces of text in the show the performers directly address the audience explaining;
This is for you

The atmosphere is electric. The performers, tentative at first are buoyed by the energy and support for them in the room and everything amps up. Stories become funnier, angrier, more tender. Movement more considered, songs louder and with alarming gusto as if finally having the permission to use full voice. It’s like a freight train as it builds momentum and there is no stopping it.

As each new woman takes the stage the audience shout words of support and each new piece of material receives audible response. Half way through, after the song ‘Gravity’ (originally by John Meyer) including a moment where two of the women sing together the lyrics ; Keep me where the light is, Keep me where the light is I turn to look back into the audience and I can see most are in tears. This is a performance about them and they know it.

This is for you.

Many of us working in prison continually face the question ‘why make theatre in prison?’
It is a loaded question and one which requires careful negotiating. It’s an inquiry which may of course come from a genuine interest in the efficacy of an arts practice in the context of incarceration but (and perhaps more commonly) it can also belie a mistaken (and arguably dangerous) mis-understanding of the function of art in the first place.

Maybe I can take this opportunity to use this project (a project which is not my own in a culture that is not my own) to offer something of a response to this…

It is not about entertainment –although it is important to find enjoyment in it
It is not about showing-off – it takes a brave person to stand up in front of others
It is not a soft option – it requires a huge amount of hard work to create something authentic
It is not a treat – from the beginning of time human-beings have used creativity to respond to the world around them and to reflect their experiences. It is part of who we are.

In York CI today we are reminded of the potential of performance as a radical act of community. Inspired by the ‘self’ but ‘unselfish’ at its core. In choosing to share their stories with a room full of other women in a similar position these performers are opening the space for a vital moment of dialogue. They are creating a space to be ‘heard’ ‘acknowledged’ ‘counted’ – they are being reflective, taking ownership, working together, trying to understand, telling it in their own words and listening to the words of others. Isn’t this what we want?

Mothers and…

– JDP ‘Mom and Kids’ Programme

Wednesday was my first session as part of the ‘moms and kids’ programme. This is a weekend that happens every year at York CI. During this time a specific group of women are able to have their children come to the prison to spend two whole days to take part in activities and playing games. It is particularly significant as for many of the women it is the only opportunity they have to spend any real time with their children. Some of them do not get regular visits (for various reasons) and phone contact is infrequent. For those lucky enough to see their children – physical contact is limited and if they are over the age of 12, requires them to sit on the other side of a long trestle table side by side with other families. Whichever way you look at it ‘Mom and Kids’ weekend is a big deal.

The weekend is facilitated by Judy Dworin and her team in association with the Department of Corrections (DOC) and the Department of Children and Families. The children come with an adult escort (either member of family or care worker) on Saturday and Sunday between the hours of 9am and 4pm. For those with far to travel there is the option to stay overnight at a residential camp located at a town near the prison and take part in additional off-site activities run by teaching artists.

The women in York CI meet in the weeks leading up to the ‘Moms and Kids’ weekend to plan how it will run and to prepare some of the materials ahead of time. The project deliberately relies heavily on the input of the mothers and a great deal of time and consideration goes into building the best possible experience for them to share with their children. This year the theme is ‘friendship’ and all activities will be centred around exploring this idea.

During this Wednesday session the women prepare gifts (small boxes decorated for each child framed as a receptacle of their love) and rehearse songs that they will sing as a choir to their children on arrival. There is a lot to do and a great deal of concern about ‘getting it right’. There is one opportunity to do this each year and it’s incredibly important.

As I watch the women working on their boxes; discussing favourite colours and design ideas to reflect the personality of each child, I am reminded of the impact of incarceration in my own culture and the ripples it causes in society as a whole.

In 2009 the children’s charity Barnadoes published ‘Every Night You Cry’ a report focusing on the realities of having a parent in prison. The report outlines that over 160,000 children (in 2009) in the UK have a parent in prison and the number is expected to increase (which undoubtedly it now has). It also tells us;

There is a strong association between parental imprisonment and adverse outcomes for children. The children of prisoners are about three times more at risk than their peers of committing antisocial or delinquent behaviour. – Every Night You Cry, 2009

In 2011 The Prisoner Survey in Scotland (SPS 2011) reported that 48% of prisoners are parents of children under the age of 18 (with about two-thirds of women reporting being parents). When considering this statistic alongside one of the Scottish Prison Service’s 9 offender outcomes;
Maintained or improved relationships with families, peers and community it is clear that exploring ways to bring children together with their parents in prison is a priority – whatever side of the ocean you live.

Referencing:
http://www.barnardos.org.uk/everynightyoucry_briefing_final_double.pdf
http://www.parentingacrossscotland.org
http://www.sps.gov.uk/nmsruntime/saveasdialog.aspx?fileName…1026.pdf

The Telling of Stories

The telling of stories about oneself is part of the construction of an identity for that self.

– Dee Heddon, Autobiography and Performance 2008, p.35

Today I watched the devised performance ‘Journeys’ again as the group put the final preparations in place for an open dress rehearsal on Friday.

There were lots of tears. And although up until this point I had been trying hard not to do this (it’s not really what we do in the UK is it?) I admit I also had my moment. It’s incredibly difficult not to find this material emotional. It is essentially a group of very hurt, very bruised women telling their stories and sharing their experiences. They are using the tool of theatre to give voice to their struggles, their realisations, their questions and their pain and at this moment I am the audience.

In the work I make in the UK I often steer away from the ‘issue based material’ choosing instead to focus on stories, memories and perspectives of other times and other places. This process is designed to allow them to access other versions of themselves, and in doing this to imagine other possibilities for a future outside of prison. I suppose the key difference here is that for many of these women in the context of the american criminal justice system the future is limited. There are women in this group with life sentences (and here life means life) and who will never be released.

Who wants to wear my shoes?
Shoes that pound this cement walkway, crushing pebbles into sand
Shoes that don’t carry you nowhere but circles
Right back to where you began

– extract from ‘Journeys’

For these women in prison and the women that facilitate the process (Judy, Kathy, Leslie Ann, Suzie, Tracey…) the telling of these stories – as they are – is the point. For them, this is an autobiography that needs to be heard, part of ‘herstory’ that deserves to be recognised.

It always comes back to the question of ‘what is art for?’.
For me, whatever the form, this is the way that human beings make sense on the world around them and reflect on their place with in it. So if your place is in a prison cell looking down the stretch of a 75 year sentence what else is there to reflect on? In a situation such as this it is almost impossible to transcend the context – you are the mistake you made. This is it.

This is the story you want to tell.