San Quentin News

Written By Inmates - Advancing Social Justice

No More Tears violence prevention program originates from the heart

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No More Tears’ Lonnie Morris right) and members of Healing (center) with Mattie Scott (center for Our Families and Our Nations

As the sun was setting on San Quentin, dozens of incarcerated men and Bay Area citizens gathered in the Protestant Chapel to break bread, on Sept. 14, in celebration of No More Tears, a violence prevention program.

Mick Gardner, executive director of the program established in 2002, revealed that in the last three years, 43 participants of No More Tears returned to the community and none returned to prison.

Pointing to the incarcerated men, Gardner said, “They put it together— the idea came from the heart and mind of Lonnie Morris. The sincere passion that this man has for this organization—he deserves an award, and with that said, this certificate is for the shining success of No More Tears.”

Morris accepted the award as Gardner chanted, “We are community—stop the violence,” and asked the audience to respond with, “We’re community stopping the tears.”

The give and take was repeated several times.

“When I received the appreciation award, I felt overwhelmed,” Morris said later. “We don’t work to stop violence because we look for awards or recognition but because it is work that is de- signed to save lives. However, it’s good to know that your peers recognize the work you do.”

Morris has served more than 40 years in prison on a 7-year-to-life sentence. He was recently denied pa- role in May 2019. His next parole board appearance is scheduled for 2022.

“We recognize the unique perspective of former perpetrators and value their ability to bring solutions to the communities where they once contributed to the problem,” the event program read. “Our work is made possible by the support of community leaders, correctional staff, concerned citizens, and families impacted by violence and crime.”


No More Tears’ inside and outside facilitators with participants

Alameda County Supervisor Keith Carson, who regularly visits the program, talked about seeing people who once participated in No More Tears walking around or working in the community.

“We continue to struggle to come in here on a regular basis to provide services for housing and employment,” Carson said. “My instruction and learning is what can I do for your return to be successful. I’m blessed to work with other elected officials that listen to you to understand what you need to return you back home.”

Returning citizen Joey Mason with volunteer Chérie McNaulty in the audience

Joey Mason, a former No More Tears participant, left San Quentin to freedom about a year ago.

“One thing that struck me here is that there was a lot of empathy in this room,” Mason told the audience. “We know to keep showing up, keep doing the work. Our lives are being enriched by being here.”

Incarcerated No More Tears facilitator Dwight Kennedy added, “Doing the work—that means getting to know yourself. Don’t do it for the board, do it for yourself.”

While everyone feasted on hamburgers with cake and cookies for dessert, musical acts provided entertainment.

The hip-hop vocals of Jennifer Johns and keyboard of Kev Choice were inspired by “love, humanity, love and community,” Johns said.

Rafael Banskton on stage

Rafael “Nephew” Bankston performed spoken word, highlighting how the No More Tears philosophy affected his incarceration experience by focusing on its workshops aimed to put “a face on violence.”

What no more tears means to me, truthfully
All the workshops combined confined in my sleep Reflecting who I was— not who I be
Allow me to express my no more tears dream.

Ear Hustle podcaster Antwan “Banks” Williams acknowledged the people who inspired and mentored him throughout his incarceration.

“The way that these men have treated me has changed the way I treat others,” Williams said. “It was the people who told me that I was some- body to them. Now that I am somebody, I want to tell somebody that you’re some- body to me.”

Williams then went into a spoken word performance repeating the lines:

I never really felt like somebody
Till somebody told me that I can Be somebody
Now I’m somebody who just wanna tell Somebody that you’re somebody, you’re Somebody to me!

Big Wheels to the Big House covers victimization as well as hopes and dreams

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“The world is cold and dark…Who cares?!” That’s what’s on the book cover of Juvenile Offenders: From Big Wheels to the Big House (2018) by Rosemary Jenkins.

The page-turner is a learning journey of what it’s like to survive unthinkable victimization, learn to be accountable and then, in the process, generating personal hopes and dreams.

Juvenile Offenders is an anthology from about two dozen writers, all living in that cold, dark place called prison. That being said, it’s hard not to care after taking in their stories — each from a person directly affected by the criminal justice system. Readers get the opportunity to peek into the writers’ lives through candid commentaries that depict what it’s like to live behind bars. Articles from San Quentin News are included in the anthology, some that I’ve written.

Writer Mark Edwards Vigil is one of the strongest voices in the anthology. He navigates readers chapter by chapter, aptly called Juvenile Offenders, described as “…the collective journey through time of those whose articles are included in it. Each writer has run the gam- ut of the prison system and has come to realize that there is more to life than wasting what remains of it — lost in the grips of drugs, gangs, and criminality.”

Writer Ronald Patterson describes the grip of criminality and coming to realize it as follows: my friends and I were fascinated with players, hustlers, gamblers, dealers, and gangsters because they played by their own rules, despite the law. Ignorantly, we admired and emulated them and would eventually turn into monsters who killed people and destroyed our community.

Patterson’s ability to articulate the impact that his crimes have had on others al- lows readers to witness maturity under the most unlikely circumstances; Patterson il- lustrates the resilience of the human spirit.

Juvenile Offenders is far more than the realization of mistakes and redemption thereof. It is divided into sections that address criminal justice reform advocacy, among the examples: it touches on the benefit of offering aid to college bound incarcerated students; it looks into the “ban the box” campaign (an effort to end employers from asking formerly incarcerated people about prison convictions prior to hiring); as well as the connection between mental health and incarceration.

Here’s what Rosemary Jenkins writes about domestic violence:

“These victims are subject to constant threats, in part, because the offenders have the power to take advantage of their positions in the family hierarchy.” Her goal in Juvenile Offenders is to “define, inform, and educate about domestic violence, offering instruction in on how to recognize such cruel behavior and what to do about it.”

Jenkins’ article in the anthology, The Mentally Ill Do Not Belong in Jail, is also solution based. She writes that people with mental health and drug abuse issues should be treated with appropriate counseling, not punishment.

The chapter, “Vignettes, Poems, and Artwork by In- mates — Writings Meant to Inspire” is the most entertaining section of Juvenile Offenders. It begins with nine pages of artwork that depicts the emotional toll incarceration takes on human beings. From Big Wheels to the Big House is a drawing by A. Wilson that’s used as the book cover. The first image is of a mother holding a child and is placed next to Vigil’s piece, Thinking of You, a greeting card style drawing of flowers and roses—followed by pages of poetry and illustrations that cover subjects such as redemption, cause and effect, aging while incarcerated, and hope.

Juvenile Offenders closes with Vigil writing about get- ting out of prison after 36 years and working toward preventing anyone from go- ing down the road he once traveled. He now teaches youngsters how to recognize and seek authenticity and care from the people around them.

Two restorative justice classes celebrate completion

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Incarcerated men and community members from the local San Francisco Bay Area met in San Quentin’s Protestant Chapel on Aug. 16 to celebrate the graduation of two restorative justice programs.

The Victim Offender Education Group (VOEG pronounced “vogue”) and Next Step honored dozens of incarcerated men who completed the year- long programs, sponsored by Insight Prison Project (IPP).

“The transformation I see in so many of you is why we keep doing the work that we do,” said IPP Executive Director Leonard Rubio.

Rubio talked about the violence prevention program No More Tears, another IPP-sponsored program at San Quentin.

“It’s not about one individual, it’s about what we do together,” Rubio said, near tears with his voice breaking. “Hurt people hurt people and healed people heal people,” he continued. Rubio spent 23 years incarcerated before paroling from San Quentin in 2010.

Joyful Noise Gospel Singers opened the ceremony with several songs.

Glitches with clearances pre- vented some of the more important guests—formerly incarcerated VOEG participants—from attending. In fact, nearly half the choir, including its leader, didn’t make it to the event. The remaining members, however, recruited some community guests and renamed the choir Joyful Noise Gospel Singers plus Community.

Harmonica player Gary Harrell, an incarcerated artist and musician, rhythmically chimed in with the singing as the nearly 100 audience members kept the beat with hand clapping—two guitar players-in-blue stood stage left improvising with the upright bass player from Joyful Noise.

“As they were singing those songs, I wanted to start preaching up here,” said host Darell “Obadiah” Flowers. “VOEG has been a great experience for me. This year has been challenging,” he said. “Change and transformation has a struggle. But we are resilient. VOEG has been an intricate part of my life.”

Orlando Harris has been a VOEG peer educator for more than a decade.

“We’ve done some terrible things to get here, but they don’t define who we are,” Harris said. “If you’re serious about this work, it will change your life.”

Derrick Holloway talked about his experience attending the two-day Survivor’s Panel. The panel consists of survivors of crime who tell their stories.

“VOEG opened me up to what I’ve done,” Holloway said. “I was very scared…you know…when you’ve committed a terrible crime…when I had to share my crime is when it connected with me,” Holloway said. He is serving a life sentence for murder.

Spanish VOEG facilitator Christina Madariaga is so impressed by the program, she talks to her mother regularly about the work the men do on themselves. “Those men are so beautiful,” she tells her mother.

Romeo Bacos talked about how writing a crime impact statement and remorse letter affected him. He said the pinnacle for him was during the victim/ survivors panel.

“There is a saying, ‘You can know about Alaska, an Eskimo can tell you all about it.’ Our victim/survivor panel knows everything about pain, loss, and extreme heartache,” Bacos said. He said that during the lunch break, he asked one woman on the panel what he could do to help her on her healing journey. She replied, “Hold yourself accountable.”
In tears, Bacos said that those three words further motivated him to continue his mission to give back to all the people he’s harmed.

“It is my vision that there will be no need for a VOEG class, until then, I will not stop,” Bacos said.

One of the original out- side facilitators for VOEG, Rochelle Edwards, told the graduates, “It’s been a great honor and journey…I hope it continues.”

Spanish band Gerry and the Tornadoes played traditional Spanish music. The last song, “Blue by You” was performed in Spanish, with the last verse sung in English.

Gerry Sanchez-Muratal- la, guitar/vocals; T. Lamas Muratalla, guitar/vocals; B. Marroquin, vocals; J. Vieyra, bass

Jurists look to San Quentin

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Alameda Public Defenders seek input during forum

Prisoners seeking to understand the role of public defenders invited Alameda County Public Defender Brandon Woods to San Quentin to talk about his vision for public defense. He said he is working to make significant changes to improve defense outcomes.

The purpose of the Sept. 6 forum was to “promote public safety by building a bridge between public defenders and the incarcerated in order to develop strategies that address the social, environmental and economic conditions that foster criminal thinking and behavior,” the event brochure read.

The forum began with 30 prisoners and about 30 lawyers from the public defender’s office meeting in a large circle.

The participants broke into six small circles to discuss the prisoners’ experience with their public defenders and ways they could be better advocates.

When the groups rejoined the large circle, they talked about what they learned from each other.

The prisoners said they realized the difficulties that criminal defense attorneys undergo in performing their jobs and also the lawyers’ passion for defense work.

Woods told the nearly 30 prisoners that he takes his job very seriously.

“When we think about Oakland, home of the Black Panthers. But it wasn’t un- til 2012 that there has been a Black public defender,” Woods said.

As to why he became a public defender, Woods said, “I was born into a lower income home that was impacted by the system. I want to advocate for people so that they are not negatively impacted by the system.”

The three-hour forum included a PowerPoint presentation by Woods to explain a “Holistic Defense.” Slide-by-slide, he explained the duties of a civil attorney, the Clean Slate Program, the need for social workers and family defense attorneys as well as immigration attorneys, parent advocates, investigators and policy and community organizers.

“There are actors in the system that don’t want to see change,” Woods said regard- ing the difficulty in getting these programs running.

As an example, he pointed to changing the Public Defenders Mission Statement.

The old mission statement read, “The mission of the Public Defender is to provide a fully competent, effective and ethical defense for each cli- ent whose representation has been entrusted to the office; to conduct that representation in a manner that promotes fairness in the administration of justice; and to provide all mandated legal services in a cost effective and efficient manner.”

After reading the mission statement, Woods looked to the audience and said, “To provide all mandated legal services in a cost effective and efficient manner. What does that mean?”

He then read the new mission statement, “To zealously protect and defend the rights of our clients through compassionate and inspired legal representation of the highest quality, in pursuit of a fair and unbiased system of justice for all.”

He discussed Clean Slate, which is a program designed to assist people in obtaining or improving employment opportunities as well as improving access to housing and other services.

Of the 2,854 motions filed in 2018 for Clean Slate, 2,746 were granted. Woods said Clean Slate has a 96% success rate.

He also brought up the Social Worker Program (SWP).

To date, SWP served over 1,155 people. The courts accepted 85% of treatment plans instead of incarceration and 88% of clients who received treatment did not recidivate.

Woods is the first African American to be appointed Chief Public Defender in Alameda County and is the only Black Chief Public Defender in California.

To put the challenges that Woods faces in context, other Alameda County department budgets are:

• Sheriff – $299.5 million

• Probation – $114.3 million

• District Attorney – $69.2 million

• Public Defender – $40.7 million

The Alameda County Public Defender office is comprised of 105 attorneys, 18 investigators and 38 support staff to manage 3,300 new cases monthly.

SIDEWALK CHALK CONTEST

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SIDEWALK CHALK CONTEST
SIDEWALK CHALK CONTEST

Just outside the Receiving and Release building 40 incarcerated men sat, squat or bent over and held chalk of every color to decorate a 32 inch by 32 inch square on a tar surface with the artists’ meaning of peace. It’s all for The Day of Peace https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/International_Day_of_PeaceSidewalk Chalk Contest.

Hines, who facilitates the William James Association https://williamjamesassociation.org/prison_arts/ sponsored Arts in Corrections program in San Quentin, would determine first, second, third and honorable mention.

Hines is familiar with the sidewalk art in the local community.

“San Rafael has an annual sidewalk chalk contest, so it’s nice to have one here, too,” Hines said. “The guys are expressing personal stuff that’s related to how they see peace — it’s also nice to see all the colorful pieces, the chalk allow them to do that.”

First place was awarded color paper, watercolor paper and paint and color pencils. Second and third won, watercolor paper and paint as well as color pencils.

Volunteer Kat Morgan, from Urban Adamah https://www.urbanadamah.org/ (Earth) comes inside San Quentin every month to hold Shabat services. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shabbat Morgan looked at all the pieces and liked No. 9 and No.17.

“I’m a musician,” Morgan said about No. 9, “And music is peace.

Amy Ho and “Auntie” Jun Yamamote with artists of the Sidewalk Chalk Art
Amy Ho and “Auntie” Jun Yamamote with artists of the Sidewalk Chalk Art

“I think that if everyone practiced Loving Kindness, the world would be a better place,” Morgan said about No. 17. While watching the artists work, Morgan added, “This is a chance for everyone to participate — it’s great to have it out in public and everyone enjoying it.”

Holly Stuckey drew No. 12.

“I was trying to thread the needle between making it and deer and “Kawaii,” which means cute in Japanese.”

Amy Ho said, “I feel like there’s more people this year—it’s more diversity of artists participating—more people who are not in the art program.”

First: Holly Gustafson; Second: Eric Rives; Third: Holly Stuckey; Fourth: Myers (K47097)

Gustafson said, “It’s a butterfly with peace signs in its wings. The heart and love represents peace in here.” She added, “The colors go with peace — they are mellow pastels, rather than the bright colors.”

Referring to the Day of Peace, Gustafson said, “It nice to have stuff like this—it shows that change is coming. More prisons should do this.”

When asked to describe the day in one word, Gustafson said, “Beautiful.”

Bringing to life the personal stories of those who carry a life sentence

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Despite our politically polarized country, most people agree that ending mass incarceration is necessary. There is also wide- spread agreement that non-violent drug offenders need treatment, not punishment. However, the focus of most reform is almost entirely on nonviolent and drug offenses. Nonviolent drug offenders make up 5% of the prison population. Violent offenders make up at least 50%. If the U.S. is serious about undoing mass incarceration, the long sentences violent offenders serve must be addressed.

Two recently published books do just that: The Meaning of Life—The Case for Abolishing Life Sentences (2018) by Marc Mauer and Ashley Nellis, (Kerry Myers, contributor); and Until We Reckon—Violence, Mass, and A Road to Repair (2019) by Danielle Sered.

Marc Mauer
Marc Mauer
Ashley Nellis
Ashley Nellis
Kerry Myers
Kerry Myers

While most people know that the US has more people serving life terms than all other countries, how many more is surprising. The authors of the Meaning of Life, point to a 2016 international study of life imprisonment revealing that the number of people serving life sentences in the U.S. is higher than the combined total in the other 113 countries surveyed.

A cross-country compari- son with the U.S. disclosed that:

• The U.S. accounts for 40% of the world’s lifer population.

• The U.S. locks up its citizens at five to 10 times the rate of Canada and western European nations.

• State and federal governments in the U.S. spend $60 – $80 billion annually on incarceration.

In Meaning of Life, contributor Kerry Myers, an award-winning writer and former lifer, chronicles the lives of six people, whose reckless behavior was responsible for destroying or damaging many lives, including their own. The book, however, is not about hopelessness. Lifers in the book were able to achieve a degree of redemption but only after honestly confronting the ways in which their behavior seriously damaged their victim’s lives. Accountability is also one of the focuses of Until We Reckon by Danielle Sered.

Sered proposes that we reconsider the purpose of incarceration and argues that the needs of everyone, perpetrators of violent crime as well as the survivors of those crimes, are better met by asking people who commit violence to accept responsibility for their behavior and make amends in ways that mean something to the people they have hurt.

One of the six lifers featured in The Meaning of Life is Sam Lewis, who was convicted of a gang-related killing when he was 18 years old.

While incarcerated, Lewis took advantage of every available educational and life skills opportunity. He used his own life experience to offer gang members a way toward societal betterment.

When Lewis got out of prison 24 years later in 2008, he made time to come by the SQNews office with Scott Budnick, a movie producer and the founder of the Anti-Recidivism Collation (ARC) a non-profit that advocates for criminal

justice reform and works to prepare prisoners for life after incarceration. Budnick had just appointed Lewis executive director of ARC. In The Meaning of Life, Myers writes that Budnick appointed him because he was impressed by Lewis’ transformation and believed his experience would be invaluable to people in the same situation. Budnick may have been impressed but, according to Myers, Lewis insists that he’s not the exception to the rule.

“There are others like me who want to do good things and give back, so I try not to allow anyone to exceptionalize me,” Lewis said. This was consistent with the attitude he expressed when we talked in the SQNews room.

There is now a wide body of research that has concluded that the deterrent effect of the criminal justice system is not achieved by long sentences; deterrence is a function of the certainty of punishment, not its severity. These assumptions hold true for crimes ranging from shoplifting to murder.

Mauer and his Sentencing Project colleague, Ashley Nellis argue that there is no practical or moral justification for sentences longer than 20 years.

Myers/Nellis cite numerous studies, reports and statistics that show keeping a person incarcerated for life is not only inhumane, it’s counter-productive. Harsher sentences have been shown to have little effect on crime rates, since criminal thinking declines as people mature. Thus we’re spending a fortune on geriatric care for older prisoners who pose little threat to public.

Oakland Police Chief delivers apology at SQ Barbershop Forum

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Oakland Police Department’s Police Chief Jane Kirkpatrick with KTVU Fox 2’s Paul Chambers
Oakland Police Department’s Police Chief Jane Kirkpatrick with KTVU Fox 2’s Paul Chambers

Oakland Police Chief Jane Kirkpatrick delivered an encouraging message of respect, hope and an apology for law enforcement misdeeds to more than 200 San Quentin prisoners looking forward to freedom.

“We have a future and hope together,” Kirkpatrick said. “You will be given an opportunity for restoration and you will be welcomed home.

“When you come home, you will be home and you will have a police department that, as long as I am their chief, will address you with respect by your name.”

Lt. Bobby Hookfin, a native of Oakland, talked about the “historic mistrust” between the community and the police — mistrust rooted in “enforcing unjust laws.”

Participant Arthur Jackson speaking with a District Attorney
Participant Arthur Jackson speaking with a District Attorney

“We know that — but we’re establishing trust across the nation,” Hookfin said. “We want to recognize that there’s no finish line to public trust. It doesn’t end here, once you’re released, it continues to build to make our community better – did you hear, our community better.”

Kirkpatrick and Hookfin spoke July 26 at the second Barbershop Dialogue held at San Quentin. There have been more than a dozen dialogues held in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Barbershop Dialogues came about after a BART police officer killed Oscar Grant on New Year’s Eve, 2009.

One of those attending was Jack Bryson, whose two sons were with Grant when he was shot. Bryson said he wanted to take action about the strained relationship between the police and the Bay Area community. He teamed up with Oakland police officers Captain Michael Carroll and Hookfin to provide spaces for conversations about how policing affect communities.

A couple of years into the dialogues, television reporter Paul Chambers (KTVU) began airing the meetings. District attorneys, police officers, criminal justice reform advocates, formerly incarcerated, as well as incarcerated individuals, sat together and talked.

“It is my great honor to be here and thank each of you,” Kirkpatrick told the audience. She turned to Bryson, adding, “Jack, on behalf of police, I want to say I’m sorry and I want your forgiveness.” There was immediately a hush, followed by a collective, “Wow!”

Jack Bryson with formerly incarcerated Donald “DC” Barlow
Jack Bryson with formerly incarcerated Donald “DC” Barlow

Chambers asked Kirkpatrick why she apologized to Jack and told the prison- ers they would be welcomed home.

“We have caused some hurt and harm,” Kirkpatrick said. “Everybody in this room has hurt someone. I don’t want to forget that there are victims that we hurt and we need to learn to say we’re sorry. Then we need to make amends through actions and not cheap words. Many of you have never heard, ‘We’re sorry.’ It matters. That’s why it’s important.”

Several San Quentin prisoners responded to Kirkpatrick’s apology.

“I had no respect for law enforcement until that lady got up there and said what she said,” Troy “Talib” Young said. “At 7-years-old, I watched my father being beat up by LAPD. Her apology changed my life.”

Timothy Hicks said, “I’m from Oakland. To know that she’s the chief of Oakland, my community, and to get a verbal apology – to have been harmed – to hear that from someone of such high ranking is humbling.”

Paul Salseda commented, “That was very profound because you can’t begin a healing process without an apology. We can’t even begin to move forward in our lives until we come to some type of repentance in our hearts and say ‘I’m sorry’ to our communities, our families. For someone at the top to express that is huge. We have the chief to say that and say when you come home; we have a spot for you in the community.”

Kevin Neang gave an apol- ogy to the victims of his crime and all the people that he hurt.

“It’s not the title that made it powerful,” Neang said. “She removed the chief label and just reminded us that we’re all human. The whole world — the system — wants us to be accountable and to hold your- self accountable; you have to see yourself as a human.”

Kirkpatrick responded, “My heart and soul is to heal all of us together. I do recog- nize that I’m in a chapel and I want us to have a future and hope. I want to be a part of the change.”

She added, “I know a fake. I can smell them from afar. I have no time or energy for cheap talk. We need to heal. Thank you, Kevin, for saying, ‘I’m sorry.’”

working with returned residents through Developing Impacted Lives (DIL).” She said she would accept suggestions from “anywhere and anyone” that would help pre- vent the youth from going to prison.

Benoit said he tells incarcerated youngsters who are struggling, “There’s a differ- ent path and a different way. You don’t have to wait; check out SQUIRES and KidCAT.”

Chambers asked, “What about the hard-headed kids. How could you get in their head?”

Benoit responded, “The only people who talked to me then were still doing wrong. So, the real issue is getting them talking to former or incarcerated people.”

Kenneth Vernon, 47, proposed teaching young people “emotional intelligence.”

He said he came to prison at age 23.

“At that time, nothing would have impacted my choice,” Vernon said.

He said emotional intelligence allows individuals to “recognize what you’re feeling in your body. If I would have had something like that in school, it would have been a great help.”

Also present was former San Quentin News staffer Miguel Quezada, who paroled almost two years ago.

“It’s going to get great out there,” said Quezada to the audience that included several men who did time with him. “It’s important for people to hear your voices and understand what you’re doing to get out of here.”

After Chambers observed there were “a lot of district attorneys in here,” the conversa- tion shifted to preventing the youth from coming to prison.

Isaiah Caldwell, a father of three, asked if someone like him, who is serving a life sentence, could collaborate with programs geared to serving at-risk youth.

“Can we talk to the youth and tell them what they’re facing?” Caldwell asked. “They would listen to us because our fathers were missing, too — they’ll listen to us.”

Troy Young got up again to talk about being a reformed gang member from Los Ange- les. He offered his life experience to share the realities of prison.

“We have to stop them out there,” Young said. He turned to the district attorneys and asked,“How can we work together?”

Jill Klinge, a top district attorney for Alameda County said, “In our office, we’re working with returned residents through Developing Impacted Lives (DIL).” She said she would accept suggestions from “anywhere and anyone” that would help prevent the youth from going to prison.

Kling spoke about SQUIRES, a program where troubled youth come into San Quentin for candid conversations and intense listening sessions with selected prisoners.

“But, the first thing is getting yourself established, and then come to us to help.” Klinge said to the men.

Some prisoners asked the district attorneys about pending legislation that would encourage younger prisoners to take an active role in rehabilitation.

“This bill can change the perspective from despair to hope,” said Romeo Baca about the California Senate Bill, which would give prison time reduction to individuals who committed their crime at a young age.

Baca said he came to prison at age 16.

“It was very frightening, but I acted like it wasn’t,” Baca said. “KidCAT helped me deal with prison. When you give kids opportunities, they won’t let you down.”

Participants of the Barbershop Forum on the Garden Chapel Courtyard after the event
Participants of the Barbershop Forum on the Garden Chapel Courtyard after the event

KidCAT (Creating Awareness Together) is a support community for men who committed their crimes at a young age, often as teenagers, and sentenced as adults to life terms. The group’s mission is to inspire humanity through education, mentorship and restorative practices.

Chase Benoit said he came to prison at age 19.

Benoit said he tells incarcerated youngsters who are struggling, “There’s a differ- ent path and a different way. You don’t have to wait; check out SQUIRES and KidCAT.”

Chambers asked, “What about the hard-headed kids. How could you get in their head?”

Benoit responded, “The only people who talked to me then were still doing wrong. So, the real issue is getting them talking to former or incarcerated people.”

Kenneth Vernon, 47, proposed teaching young people “emotional intelligence.”

He said he came to prison at age 23.

“At that time, nothing would have impacted my choice,” Vernon said.

He said emotional intelligence allows individuals to “recognize what you’re feel- ing in your body. If I would have had something like that in school, it would have been a great help.”

Also present was former San Quentin News staffer Miguel Quezada, who paroled almost two years ago.

“It’s going to get great out there,” said Quezada to the audience that included several men who did time with him. “It’s important for people to hear your voices and understand what you’re doing to get out of here.”

Brothers George Grifall and Chris Koppe

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George Grifall
George Grifall

More than 60 men of all nationalities, races and origins gathered in San Quentin’s Catholic Chapel to celebrate the lives of George Grifall and Chris Koppe. The two well-known incarcerated men passed away in San Quentin in the month of June.

“I love you, brother,” was the catchphrase for Grifall. Koppe was lovingly known as Colonel Sanders or Colonel Crispy.

After the evening meal on July 18, prisoners mingled and listened to the blues, led by the smooth drumming of Darryl Moody Schilling. As the chapel began filling up, Schilling picked up the pace with a livelier beat.

“He told me he loved me, and then I climbed in my rack,” recalled Michael “Doc” Dickman, his cellie, about the night Grifall passed away. “George told me not to wake him for the Saturday breakfast — he hates CDCR pancakes, plus we had plenty of food.”

Grifall had a “bad habit” of hanging his hand over the ledge of the bed, Dickman explained. He said that the following morning he kept bump- ing into Grifall’s hand and after a couple times, Dickman yelled for Grifall to move his hand, but he didn’t respond. Dickman became concerned.

“When I felt his hand, it was ice cold,” Dickman said. “He died in his sleep. Don’t believe the rumors out there.”

Walter Sprakea talked about meeting Grifall while incarcerated at Corcoran in 1999.

“Chris told me that he’d teach me how to play rhythm guitar”

“George was my friend. He was one the most loyal people I ever knew. I could still hear him, ‘I love you, brother”

“I thought then, he was too friendly,” Walter said. “Back then, prison was harder to do time in, and you’d see him and say, ‘what’s wrong with that guy?’ He was always respectful and of course, would say, ‘I love you, brother.’”

Larry Ryzak added, “George was my friend. He was one the most loyal people I ever knew. I could still hear him, ‘I love you, brother.’ He never changed. He had good morals. He wasn’t perfect, but nobody is or we wouldn’t be standing here.”

Anthony Thomas read a poem that he wrote in honor of Grifall.

Richie Morris said that he didn’t know George well, but “his absence leaves a hole in my life. I always saw him be- ing kind.

“Now, Colonel Crispy looked like Colonel Sanders,” Morris continued. “We spend our time with people passing by us and never notice who they are. We got an opportu- nity here to record we stand among giants. I want you to recognize that.”

SQNews Staffer, Aaron Taylor talked about guitar les- sons he got from Koppe.

“One day I see this dude in the rotunda playing the blues, who looked like Colonel Sanders bending the strings,” Taylor said. “Chris told me that he’d teach me how to play rhythm guitar,” However, Taylor said that he was slow picking up the lessons. “Chris told me he wouldn’t play with me because he said he never met a Black man who didn’t have rhythm.”

The incident, Taylor said, invigorated his willingness to learn guitar, and he practiced until Koppe later agreed to play lead guitar with him at an open mic.

Chris Koppe playing his guitar
Chris Koppe playing his guitar

In between men taking the stage to talk about their friends, Quentin Blues enter- tained the audience: (Dwight Krizman (Bass), Richie Mor- ris (Guitar and Vocals), Chris Thomas (Mandolin & Vo- cals), Mark Kinney (Piano), Joe Thurson Percussion); An- drew “Boots” Hardy (Guitar and Vocal).

A recording of “Now I Can Rise”, with Koppe on lead guitar was also played.

Brian Holliday talked about his relationship with Grifall.

“Every time he saw me, he’d stop and say, ‘What’s up?’ You don’t see that in people too much,” Holliday said. “I really miss him.”

Quentin Blues closed the memorial with two songs for Koppe: “Full Tilt Boogie” and “Upward as I Fall”.

For Grifall, Quentin Blues played “Feet Don’t Fail Me Now”. Then “Boots” per- formed a song he had writ- ten the previous morning and dedicated to George.

“I dropped my pick inside my guitar and this song fell out,” Boots said. “This song is about the stories I heard about the man after he passed, the love and the handshakes.

There There depicts the story of the Native American traditions

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there-there-book-review

There There by Tommy Orange chronicles the lives of Native Americans in his hometown of Oakland, California. The result is a portrait of a community often erased from depictions of urban life.

After many years of discussing books together San Quentin News senior editor Juan Haines and Berkeley graduate, Democracy Now producer and SQN volunteer, Libby Rainey jointly reviewed There There.

San Quentin News aims to tell stories about humanity and redemption that challenge assumptions about who imprisoned people are. In discussing books not only about mass incarceration, but also about America, love and loss, history and family, we get a better understanding of ourselves.

Libby: There There takes its name from a misinterpretation of a famous Gertrude Stein quote. In 1937, Stein wrote of her hometown Oakland, California “there’s no there there.” Her words have been cemented into cultural history as a literary diss of Oakland. But in There There, Dene Oxendene, a Native American also raised in Oak- land knows Stein is referring to the far-reaching changes that Oakland has underwent over the years, however:

For Native people in this country, all over the Americas, it’s been developed over, buried ancestral land, glass and concrete and wire and steel, un-returnable covered memory. There is no there there.

Just as Dene rejects the man’s incorrect understanding of the quote, Orange challenges racist portrayals of Native American people.

In its opening Orange writes, “We’ve been defined by everyone else and continue to be slandered despite easy-to-look-up-on-the-internet facts about the realities of our histories and current state as people.”

Orange – a member of the Cheyenne and Arapaho Tribes of Oklahoma– offers a rebuke of these stories with a collage of stories about Native people across generations, classes, experiences and gender.

The novel rejects narratives of death and defeat, in- stead focuses on resistance and resilience. Orange writes, “Getting us to the cities was supposed to be the final necessary step in our assimilation, absorption, erasure, the completion of a five-hundred- year-old genocidal campaign. But the city made us new, and we made it ours.”

Juan: There There weaves Native American traditions into present-day urban life with strong over- tones of suffering, broken promises, genocide and assimilation — there’s also cultural pride as well as cultural shame.

Orange created 12 distinct characters to illustrate the conflict, tension, drama, turmoil and anguish. The story’s authenticity comes from a narrative steeped in Native American culture.

An example, when Dene Oxendene finds out that his uncle is dying and asks: “How much time—”

“We don’t have time, Nephew, time has us. It holds us in its mouth like an owl holds a field mouse. We shiver. We Struggle for release, and then it pecks out our eyes and intestines for sustenance and we die the death of field mice.”

Tony Loneman, a major character, sees himself as someone with strong intuition and street smarts… “I’m smart where it counts,” But acknowledges that is not how other people see him — they see a generic Native boy.

Native American genocide haunts this passage, but Tony’s presence on the train represents survival. It raises a question often asked in the novel: what does it mean to be Native Americans in urban America?

Libby: This question of self-image recurs in There There. The characters often catch sight of their reflections – such as Tony Lone-man in a TV screen or Dene Oxendene in the scuffed window of a BART train car.

Through their reflections, the characters confront their own images and the way they relate to their present environment. Orange writes, Native Americans, “…ride buses, trains, and cars across, over, and under concrete plains. Being Indian has never been about re- turning to the land. The land is everywhere or nowhere.”

Juan: As the story continues, Opal Viola Victoria Bear Shield tells Orvil about Native American heritage:

“…Don’t ever let anyone tell you what being Indian means. Too many of us died to get just a little bit of us here, right now, right in this kitchen. You, me. Every part of our people that made it precious. You’re Indian because you’re Indian be- cause you’re Indian…”

Each character experiences his or her identity differently. A character named

Blue’s perspective was created after being estranged from Native American culture:

“I knew I wasn’t white. But not all the way. Because while my hair is dark and my skin is brown, when I look in the mirror, I see myself from the inside out. And inside I feel as white as the long while pill-shaped throw pillow my mom always made me keep on my bed even thought I never used it.”

Libby: The novel builds to a powwow at the Oakland Coliseum – an event that brings all the storylines and characters of the novel finally into common space and time—a crescendo.

Juan: Just before the pow-wow begins, Orange delivers Orvil Red Feather’s perspective as to who he wants to be:

“Orvil looks around the room, and he sees all these men dressed up like him. They all needed to dress up to look Indian too. There’s something like the shaking of feathers he felt somewhere between his heart and his stomach.”

But, the quote that captures the spirit of the book for me:

“When you see the bubbles on the side of your grand- mother’s face you’ll know that you don’t have to struggle to find the hero, the hero has found you — ‘they’re, there’ in the kitchen of your home.”

There There is about the banality of daily life and moments that change everything and it demands to be read once, twice and then again.