For three decades, Correctional Officer Keith Davis walked the gun rails and halls of San Quentin State Prison. Now on the eve of his retirement, he says the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation still has work to do.
Davis, 57, said that in all the time he has been a correctional officer at San Quentin, it has only been in the last few years that the CDCR made strides toward creating better conditions for inmates.
“San Quentin is the flagship of CDCR, but there’s still much work to be done in the area of providing education and viable trades, so that those leaving prison will be better prepared to stay free of criminal activity,” Davis said.
CDCR needs to be more inmate-asset driven instead of punishment by incarceration driven, said Davis. This he thinks can only be done through education that is innovative, like the computer coding class at San Quentin.
“On this issue San Quentin did a great job. We are producing men who will be able to code when they parole. Now that is how it should be. Give these men a viable trade, and they won’t recidivate,” said Davis.
Davis said he learned from inmates by listening to them and by watching how lengthy prison terms shape those behind bars.
“I got the chance to see what time does to men who spend, 10, 20, even 30 years or more behind bars. I’ve witnessed the psychological deterioration of those I thought would make it through this experience, juxtaposed against others who were weak when they arrived at San Quentin but became stronger.
“Lengthy incarceration is a waste of human potential and tax money. It puts people in a time vacuum where life has ceased and doesn’t move forward or backward, it just exists,” said Davis.
Davis said the dynamics of incarceration are built on people and that no one can sit in an office and determine how to relate to people in prison. That’s why he thinks CDCR is in the shape it’s in currently.
“Being at this prison has taught me a great deal about the human condition, why people make the choices that shape their lives and those lives around them,” Davis said. “This is why a man or woman making decisions from behind a desk and not on prison grounds will hurt the department, as it already has.”
Davis said he would also use his retirement to continue to fight for justice for his son who was murdered Dec. 28, 2012.
“There are still no arrests but three of the four shooters are dead. I guess it was the life they chose to lead,” said Davis. “I know where the fourth one is. Some reliable people have told me where he’s at, but it’s not my job to take the law into my own hands. My job is let this matter unfold as it will.”
After all these years, Davis said those who can help him gain closure still refuse to come forward. The man who did this has committed similar crimes in Texas.
“The person that killed my son arranged robberies and then later kills his partners,” And he’s done this in California too. This is a pattern for him,” said Davis.
Davis said his son was killed because he looked like another young man. The perpetrator knew Davis’ son was not the person he wanted, but he used a weapon that sprayed bullets at the area where his son was sitting with his friends.
“Yeah, my son was trapped on the porch area. There was no way for him to get away from that, absolutely no way at all,” said Davis.
“Certain people, who’ve professed love for my son, know who killed my son, so how can you profess love for my son and on a daily basis you let his killer stay free?” asked Davis. “It’s really simple; he shot my son so he’ll probably do it to those protecting him sooner or later.”
Davis said while the pain of losing his son is one that he feels every day, he is moving forward and will miss several of his colleagues at San Quentin.
“I’ve met and made some good friends over the years. And I’ve learned that what makes a good correctional officer is a large dose of common sense, the ability to apply that common sense, and the willingness to see inmates as human beings, not something that’s less than human. Now a bad correctional officer is one who uses his or her position to belittle an inmate. One thing I know is anyone can make a mistake and come to prison, and that’s a fact,” he said.
From Nearly Dead … to Alive and Near Release
After 34 years in prison, Dennis Wayne Pratt is scheduled to walk out of San Quentin on Feb. 1 – a former drug addict who has turned his life in a completely new direction.
His transformation began on Aug. 28, 1988, when drug-filled balloons broke inside his body.
“I thought I was going to die,” Pratt recalls. “I yelled out to God: ‘If you get me through this, I will never use drugs or drink again!’”
Pratt ended up being taken to the hospital and later was charged with drug possession.
“I’ve been clean and sober ever since, but I’m still involved with drugs. Only this time I’m a state-certified addiction counselor. I went from one extreme to another,” Pratt said.
Pratt also gives credit to the self-help group Victim’s Offender’s Education Group (VOEG), which he says helped him understand the victim’s point of view.
“I had to become truthful and honest with myself and own up to my stuff and walk through the fire,” Pratt said.
“Prior to this hearing, every one of my parole board hearings resembled the Clint Eastwood movie ‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,’ said Pratt. “I’d go in there, sit down and as soon as the commissioners would begin asking me questions, I’d hear the theme song from that movie in my mind.”
Pratt equates his current success of being found suitable with three things: pursuing his education, taking self-help classes and the connection with his wife.
As a child he was told he was mentally retarded, and for many years believed that.
Now he has an Associate of Arts degree from Patten College Prison University Project, a diploma from Golden Gate Baptist Theological Seminary and is three classes away from getting a second seminary diploma.
He and four other prisoners earned drug counseling certificates. “We’re the first in the world to become (CADC) addiction counselors while still incarcerated,” he said.
The CADC exams were the most difficult tests he had ever taken in his life, Pratt said.
“Yet I passed. A mentally challenged individual may not have been able to accomplish that,” said Pratt. “While I attended Patten, I proved to myself that I’m not dumb, I’m not stupid and I am somebody.”
Other programs he completed were Brother’s Keepers and Addiction Counseling Training (ACT), which taught him how to identify his problems.
“Understand, when I first came to prison these self-help groups weren’t available for prisoners, and they should have been,” said Pratt. “Because years after my incarceration I was still getting into serious trouble.”
Pratt, 57, was born in 1957 and convicted of the second-degree murder of Edward Sexton.
“I was burglarizing his home at the time, and Mr. Sexton woke up and confronted me; unfortunately, I made the worst decision ever, and I took his life,” Pratt said. “I was a drug addict and my thought process was so messed up at that time I was thinking I didn’t want to get busted for burglary.”
Pratt said it has taken him years to learn how to think and take responsibility for his crimes. Now is not the time to play games with the board, especially by going in there and spouting law to the board members, he advises.
“Telling them what they can and can’t do — no way. Now is the time to go in there and own your stuff and don’t make excuses, and if it puts you in a worse light, so be it,” he said. “That shows them you’re taking full responsibility.”
Pratt emphasizes answering their questions truthfully and honestly.
“If the truth of your crime is ugly, they want to know how you got to the point in your life where you chose to take another person’s life, because it shows that you’re being honest with yourself and that you’re not trying to hide anything,” said Pratt.
His journey through CDCR has taken him from San Quentin to Old Folsom in 1981, to Soledad Central in 1983, to CMC in 1986 and back to San Quentin in 1993, where he has been ever since.
Even though he has made positive strides with his addiction, Pratt said that he would like to improve his relationship with family members.
“I’ve been disowned by my sister, and she considers me to be dead. She bases her decision on both my crime and my incarceration,” Pratt said.
Pratt also has a daughter who was six months old when he came to prison. She has three sons he has never met.
“I would love to have a relationship with my daughter and my grandsons. But I understand that will take time, too,” said Pratt.
Even without having a relationship with his sister and his daughter, Pratt says he still has found happiness with his wife, who he married in 1997.
“That was one of the most incredible experiences in my life when I saw her the first time, all dressed up and coming toward me. She took my breath away,” said Pratt. “And she still takes my breath away every time I see her, oh yeah.”
Pratt said the first thing that he is going to do is when he gets out is go fishing.
“I want to have barbecue and get my garden started and put a sign on my door that says ‘Gone Fishing,’ oh yeah.”
Rochelle Edwards Transitions Out of VOEG’s Leadership
For a decade Rochelle Edwards has counseled San Quentin inmates through her program Victim Offender Education Group (VOEG). Now preparing to move on, Edwards shared with us what she has learned about healing, redemption, insight and forgiveness.
Edwards started VOEG in 2004 with one group and has since established 28 groups across the state.
“Over the years working with prisoners who’ve been through the program and survivors, together we’ve continued to improve on the VOEG curriculum, to make it what it is today,” said Edwards.
“Forgiveness is important for everyone, regardless of the degree of the transgression. And it’s most important for the forgiver, the person doing the forgiving.”
She thinks that in a healthy society we need to figure out how to integrate members who have caused harm and been harmed, instead of furthering alienation between them. She says this is what continues the cycle of offense and alienation.
“Over and over again I’ve had the experience of people sharing events or stories from their lives that they’ve never talked about before,” she said. “Oftentimes, these stories or events were very traumatic and as a young child they didn’t have the tools or right meaning to process them.
“These men knew they wouldn’t have the chance to meet their victim, so I created the VOEG curriculum for people who wanted to do accountability work and connect the dots of their lives — to have them begin to question how they ended up in prison, and give them the opportunity to meet with survivors of similar crimes.
“I feel like this work chose me, and I’ve had some great experiences, but now my life is ready for a new transition,” said Edwards.
Her transition includes leaving VOEG in the capable hands of Sonya Shah.
Sonya Shah
In 2009, Shah began volunteering for the Insight Prison Project (IPP), which acts as an umbrella organization for several rehabilitative programs.
“Jamie Karroll [of IPP] had asked me to be on the survivor panel for a pilot VOEG program in Alameda County’s Juvenile Hall,” said Shah. “I noticed that it was a very healing experience to both talk with the youth about my past traumas and have them share theirs.”
Shah, who is the Justice Program Director for IPP, completed her VOEG training in 2010 and has been coming into San Quentin ever since.
“I was immediately drawn to the VOEG process, specifically how our past experiences, our childhood, our socio-cultural influences shape who we are, and how trauma so easily manifests into harming behavior, both harming to oneself and to others,” Shah said.
“We have groups that are in Spanish for youth and for women. So our curriculum has to adapt to the unique needs of each community.”
Shah said the work that Edwards has created with the men of San Quentin is nothing short of phenomenal.
“You can see the work the men have done on themselves through how they actively listen, like every word is important. And they respond in a manner that demonstrates you are being heard. That’s progress on a large scale,” said Shah.
Edwards considers VOEG one of the best ways to explore personal trauma and the ensuing release of such trauma through behavior that is not positive for society. It is a way to explore the relationships we have, the one with ourselves and the one with people around us and our community.
“There has to be a way for people in prison to be connected and stay connected to the community, and the best way to do that is to have people come into the prison and build both professional relationships and skilled development through those interactions and offerings,” Edwards said.
“The VOEG process is quite mutual,” she continued. “We’re all learning from each other, the men I have worked with are my teachers, my children are my biggest teachers. And all my relationships are opportunities to learn.”
She thinks that her sense of wanting to be of service to incarcerated people comes from working on a farm as a youngster.
“A lot of the people I cleaned stalls with on the farm were individuals who had been to prison. I didn’t know it as a kid, but that was a form of restoration; so helping the incarcerated just feels right,” said Edwards. “Restorative justice restores our moral compass, our morality, our sense of self, who we were intended to be before our lives were interrupted.”
Edwards said the VOEG groups emphasize creating a safe container, a safe place for small groups of men and women to come together and begin to unpack their past, to take off their masks.
“They are witnessed in their truth and learn new tools that were missing at the time of their crime,” Edwards said. “We, as facilitators, enter into a conscious relationship with the members of our group, recognizing that our interactions have the potential to be reparative.”
Edwards said her transition should allow her more time to focus her efforts toward developing The Victim Offender Dialogue Program throughout California.
She will continue running a VOEG group. “I’m just scaling back and developing other interests,” said Edwards.
Through her years with the program, Edwards says she has learned one important thing:
“Through VOEG I’ve learned that men and women in prison are more than the worst day of their lives — and they can heal and take their rightful place in society.”
Wrongful Identification Still Haunts Inmate Guy Miles
According to court papers, there is strong evidence that San Quentin inmate Guy Miles has been incarcerated for 16 years for crimes based upon a wrongful identification.
Years after his conviction, the Innocence Project lawyers report they uncovered the actual perpetrators of the robbery: Bernard Teamer, Jason Steward and Harold Bailey.
“Steward was never arrested for the robbery, but at my hearing he confessed before Orange County Superior Court Judge Fasal that he was the driver and that I wasn’t there.” Miles said. “But Steward can’t be charged because the statute of limitations has run out.”
Miles now awaits two major events, either of which could release him – a court decision or a review by Gov. Jerry Brown.
“I was sentenced to life for crimes I didn’t commit, so I’m the one who really needs justice,” said Miles.
On June 29, 1998, Miles was arrested for two counts of robbery, two counts of assault with a deadly weapon and a gang enhancement. Despite all that, Miles said he is in good hands with his legal team.
In July 2013 Miles went back to court for the second time with a team of lawyers from the California Innocence Project. One of them was Alissa Bjerkhoel, a lawyer who has been fighting for his freedom for more than a decade.
“His case came to our office in 2003; at his original trial, his alibi was really good. He had nine alibi witnesses,” Bjerkhoel said. “The judge at that trial only allowed six to testify. He said it was cumulative. First of all, it was wrong. I don’t care how long it is. I think everyone should be able to testify.”
Bjerkhoel said the witnesses prevented from testifying were not his friends. They were people who had no interest in the case.
Miles asserts that the basics of his case came down to eyewitness testimony, and the eyewitnesses were all wrong.
“It literally wasn’t me, because when the crimes happened, I wasn’t in California. I was in Las Vegas, Nevada where I was living.” says Miles.
Miles added that Assistant District Attorney John Anderson said in his closing arguments that he had received a fair trial and rejected his alibi that he was in Las Vegas when the crime happened.
However, Miles indicated that the prosecution saw its star witness, Trina Gomez, was in doubt about her identification.
“My attorney, Frank Williams, asked her to come down from the stand to get a closer look. She walked toward me and asked me to turn around. She studied my face, body, hands and movements,” Miles said. “Then she walked back to the witness stand, turned to the jury and stated, ‘I don’t think it’s him.”
Miles believes the prosecution case bled into racial profiling because, when the prosecution discovered he had nothing to do with the crime, it still pursued the case.
“I was sentenced to life for crimes I didn’t commit, so I’m the one who really needs justice”
According to Miles, D.A. Anderson paid close attention to Steward’s testimony and told Judge Fasal that Steward did not have all the facts. When these men confessed to the crime, the prosecution changed its legal theory of the case.
“At my first trial they argued I was recruited to help a fellow gang member. This time they argued that I recruited other gang members to come forward and confess to the crime.”
That was absurd, Miles said, shaking his head. He said the prosecution did not produce a shred of new evidence that he was the perpetrator the eyewitnesses saw.
“The evidence demonstrated I didn’t even know two of the men that confessed. It also showed that the eyewitness who had originally identified me was now identifying one of the men who confessed.”
Miles said he was not surprised that the jury came back with a guilty verdict at his original trial.
“Being tried in Orange County, moreover, being that I had an all-white jury, it’s no secret that racial profiling is a huge problem in Orange County, especially for African-Americans and Hispanics. It was more probable that I would be convicted than not,” said Miles
Miles said the negative images of African-American men on television might have assisted in bolstering the mistaken identity in his case. “We’re depicted either as dope dealers, murderers or gang members, so an all-white jury can’t really relate that not all African-American men are criminals,” said Miles.
On Jan. 5, Miles said he found out from his lawyer, Bjerkhoel, that Brown did not review his clemency petition.
“He didn’t deny it. He just didn’t look at. But I’m still in the arena where he can look at it in the future. Right now, we’re still waiting for the decision from the Orange County Santa Ana Central Court,” Miles said.
Miles, 48, is one of the California 12, a group of incarcerated individuals represented by the California Innocence Project. Last year they urged Brown to grant clemency to him and to 11 other California prisoners because they said the evidence of innocence in their individual cases was overwhelming.
Lawyers Bjerkhoel, director Justin Brooks and Michael Semanchik of the California Innocence Project walked from San Diego to Sacramento in April 2013 in an effort to increase awareness of the California 12.
They walked 712 miles and got there on June 20, 2013, with blisters on their feet. They walked for 51 days and gave the clemency petitions to Brown, Miles said.
In coping with these years of incarceration, Miles said, he is just trying to keep a positive attitude and thanks the California Innocence Project for fighting for his freedom and the freedom of others. He says that for people who do not have the financial resources or voice, Stiglitz and Semanchik are warriors.
“But as they say on the TV show ‘Scandal,’ Alyssa Bjerkhoel is a gladiator. She’s my gladiator.”
CRI Program Celebrates Its First Graduation
Collette Carroll, the program director of San Quentin’s California Reentry Institute, continues her late husband’s work by teaching inmates tools for a successful transition before they leave prison.
California Reentry Institute (CRI) is one of several programs at San Quentin that helps inmates prepare for freedom.
CRI provides inmates with necessary tools that they can use prior to and after being released. It requires two years to complete.
The curriculum consists of personalized parole planning and life skills training. It also offers post-release assistance to inmates after their parole.
“CRI is about helping pre- and post-release inmates by placing them in an environment that teaches them skills that will translate into a successful return,” Carroll said.
Carroll said her proposal for assisting inmates came when her late husband, Roland, recommended that she start a different self-help program at San Quentin.
“That was IMPACT, which I started 13 years ago when my beautiful husband, Roland, volunteered me,” Carroll said. “IMPACT is an acronym for Incarcerated Men Putting Away Childish Things.”
Carroll said 20 men attended her first class, so it immediately became apparent to her they were doing something good. She continued teaching the class for 11 years.
“Years later the warden gave us the go-ahead to start this program. That’s when Roland and I knew that we could do something else to cause another impact, so we started CRI.”
“CRI is about helping pre- and post-release inmates by placing them in an environment that teaches them skills that will translate into a successful return”
Carroll is proud of IMPACT, but now her sights are set on her current agenda: gearing up for a new class after a CRI graduation Feb. 17.
“I’m astonished that we had the graduation, because we got the OK from the administration at 4 p.m. that afternoon,” she said. The ceremony was held in San Quentin’s Protestant Chapel in front of inmates, guests and outside volunteers.
“This graduation was an accomplishment in small miracles, but we did it, and I’m proud of the men,” said Robert Morales, who has been incarcerated for more than 25 years.
Sentenced for first-degree murder, Morales, 44, said prison was challenging when he first came in. He had a hard time adjusting to “the way people conducted themselves racially, ethically and culturally.”
Morales was recruited by Carroll to join CRI after attending IMPACT. “She offered the invitation, and I knew her and what she represented, so I didn’t hesitate,” said Morales.
“We started out with 35 men and we graduated 25,” said Frankie Smith, who met Carroll through IMPACT. “I was trained in that group to be a facilitator, and when she decided to start this group, CRI, she asked me if I would be willing to be an instructor, and I said yes.”
Smith, 58, convicted of second-degree murder, has been incarcerated for 11 and a half years. He described the graduation as a hit.
“I was blown away by the network of outside people that support our program. They are people with immense compassion for our rehabilitation and our reentry into society,” said Smith.
Carroll said throughout the course of the curriculum, something incredible took shape. While assisting the men with their rehabilitation, she found herself gaining just as much from the experience.
“In the process of helping the men, there was an invisible, intrinsic tradeoff. As they became more aware, we found they were helping us, too,” she added.
Founded in 2008 with the help of Sam Vaughn, CRI has surpassed her expectations when it comes to pre- and post-release assistance.
“We knew that what we were doing was good work, but in reality there is still much to be done,” she said.
A native of Sydney, Australia, Carroll uses her 30 years of business management experience to guide CRI.
“We have a nonprofit called the Second Chance Boutique, which is open seven days a week. We tell everybody who enters that we are a nonprofit and our profits support our pre-post-release program,” she said.
In the past, inmates received no help after they paroled. But now prison administrations are beginning to see that “for a parolee to stay successful after leaving prison, after-care is essential,” she said.
“As a young girl, my father always told me that succeed or fail, what really counts at the end of the day is that you tried; you gave it your all and you did your best,” Carroll said. “Our program shows these men how to do that.”
Jonathan ‘Smiley’ Wilkerson Transitions Back To Society After More Than Three Decades
San Quentin’s Jonathan Wilkerson went from the juvenile system to the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation, and now after more than three decades of incarceration he is paroling to a new life.
“You think through the years that you may not get out. That thought crushes you. Then it hits your soul that you are going to get out. I’m going to be free again—and then it happens,” Johnnie Wilkerson said as he sat on the bench inside San Quentin’s North Block.
When Wilkerson, also known as “Smiley,” entered Juvenile Hall, he was one very scared kid.
“Juvenile Hall was scary being a kid in prison. I didn’t know what to expect. The first place I hit was Chino, then Tracy, from Tracy I came to Old Folsom, then San Quentin,” Wilkerson said.
This was all before 1985. He stayed at each prison for a little over a year to a year and a half. However, over the years Wilkerson said he noticed he was changing.
“It took me a lot of years, and before I realized I needed to change I went through a lot. I was a kid, and I wanted to be the big shot,” said Wilkerson. “I was holding knives, selling dope, doing things to gain attention.”
Wilkerson, 52, knows now it was the wrong kind of attention. Yet as he matured over the years, he realized he wanted to get out of prison. He saw that his behavior was not going to get him out.
“So I kicked that 17-year-old kid inside of me out, because I began to believe if I truly wanted change, I had to change in my heart first,” said Wilkerson. “So that was the beginning of my own journey of growing up and maturing. I wanted to become a man.”
A self-proclaimed B average student with no school absences, Wilkerson said he liked learning. It was after school when all hell broke loose. His advice for today’s young generation: Get away from the bad crowd and get your education.
“When you’re on the right path all you have to do is keep walking, getting your high school diploma, GED and your bachelor’s degree. Education is the right path,” he said.
Convicted in 1980, Wilkerson was sentenced to 27 years to life for first-degree murder. During his incarceration, he said he went to the parole board 10 times and was denied 10 times.
“It should be state mandated… that San Quentin’s rehabilitation model on helping prisoners and find a way to implement San Quentin’s model statewide. Because it works”
Wilkerson described all of his parole board hearings prior to this last one as “vicious,” because when he first started attending hearings, the parole board had no intention of releasing murderers.
“This last time I went was the best board because they talked to me like I was a human being, as if they really wanted me to get out of prison. They really walked me through it.”
Wilkerson believes the taxpayers of California should know the parole board suitability process needs to be improved.
“Prisoners change, especially lifers. Constant punishment, denying lifers parole by way of a rigged board, is a waste of millions of state dollars and human potential.”
They should put people from the community on the board, he added. The board should consist of peers, like the students who come into San Quentin. They see inmates first hand, and see that they are not all just bad people.
In his 34 years of incarceration, Wilkerson said he witnessed several governors and wardens come and go in California. For him, he said, Gov. George Deukmejian was the worst because he was always taking parole dates from prisoners.
“As for wardens, I would say (First name?) Vasquez was by far the best. He walked around and talked to you. He made himself accessible. That should be paramount for every warden,” he said.
One element of prison that has not changed, Wilkerson said, is the massive number of young and old African American men who keep coming into prison.
“I think it’s because we’re profiled out there — always in the negative. It’s always the black man did it,” Wilkerson said. “Racism is still prevalent in the courts, the police agencies and in prison. It’s a general societal sickness. I hope it changes because as a people we could all accomplish a lot, but I haven’t seen it yet.”
Wilkerson said what makes San Quentin prison helpful is the education and self-help programs like V.O.E.G. (Victim Offenders Education Group), Overcomers and KID CAT plus others.
“What helps us the most are the volunteers. They have a positive attitude and don’t let the media outlets tell them what and how to think about prisoners.
“It should be state mandated by Gov. (Jerry) Brown,” continued Wilkerson, “that every warden in CDCR examine San Quentin’s rehabilitation model on helping prisoners and find a way to implement San Quentin’s model statewide – because it works.”
After 34 years in prison, Jonathan “Smiley” Wilkerson paroled from San Quentin Thursday, April 3, 2014.
Judge James Lambden Visits San Quentin
Most people don’t understand the difference between the court system and the prison system, says a retired appeals court judge on a recent visit to San Quentin Prison.
“This is a real monster of a system, and it’s been my experience that because judges preside over court cases, many people believe that the prison and court systems are the same,” retired District Court of Appeals Judge James Lambden said. “That’s not true—they really are quite different systems.”
Lambden visited San Quentin to discuss the current climate of prison population reduction in California and Proposition 36. Lambden, 64, spoke to a crowd of inmates in San Quentin’s Catholic Chapel on Feb. 7.
Usually the closest a Court of Appeals judge gets to state prisoners is reading their writs of habeas corpus, Lambden told the group.
“I came here for two reasons: First I always wanted to, and as luck would have it, I was invited by the Hope for Strikers and Lifers Group. I’m looking forward to this time with you today,” the judge said.
A leader of the inmate group, Forrest Jones, said, “We wanted to bring him in to have a dialogue where we could share with him and he could share with us.” Jones said two of the founders of the group, Eddie Griffin and Sajid Shakoor, have since paroled under Proposition 36.
Jones is serving a 25-year-to-life term for burglary under the Three Strikes Law. He said he thinks Proposition 36 might help many prisoners earn parole.
Judge Lambden expressed his views regarding the future of Proposition 36 and California prisons.
Proposition 36 modifies the Three Strikes Law approved by California voters in 1994 – to impose a life sentence only when the third felony conviction is serious or violent, Lambden commented. It also allows prisoners currently serving life for a third strike to apply for re-sentencing if their crime was not serious or violent.
“Right now there are three important cases regarding Proposition 36: People v. McCloud D063459 and People v. White D063369, were denied January of this year. People v. Soto, B249197 is still pending in the courts,” Lambden said.
The main question in McCloud was the distinction between being armed and having possession of a weapon in the underlying qualifying offense. Either way, these cases are going to affect those within the framework of Proposition 36, Lambden said.
For over two decades, Judge Lambden worked across San Francisco Bay from San Quentin. During those times, he wanted to learn more about prisons, but he could not because of the way the system is set up, he commented.
“I was prevented from expanding my knowledge of prisons because when you become a judge, you lose a lot of your first amendment rights,” Lambden said.
Before his retirement, Lambden sat on the bench for 25 years, and after being sworn in, he said, his role changed from ordinary citizen to an officer of the California Court of Appeals, 1st District, Division 2.
“After that, I had to be careful when I discussed politics, because as a judge, I had influence and I wasn’t supposed to speak about any matters that came before me like politics, or prisons that involved politics,” Lambden said.
Judge Lambden was appointed as a judge to the Alameda County Superior Court by Gov. George Deukmejian in 1989. Lambden said the first two years he worked on felony cases. That “taught me a lot, and not only about criminal law, but I learned a heck of a lot about sentencing,” said Lambden.
In 1996, Gov. Pete Wilson appointed Judge Lambden to the Court of Appeals. Since then there has been a big swing in prison reform, which revolves around public opinion, Lambden said.
“There are several changes coming on the horizon since the voters approved Proposition 36,” said Lambden. “With the laws always changing, we’ll just have to wait and see.”
Native Hawaiian Religious Group Celebrates First Makahiki Event
The Native Hawaiian religious group of San Quentin made history when it performed its New Year Fertility event, the Makahiki, inside the prison.
“The Makahiki is our celebration of Lono-Ika-Imakhiki, a time of harvest, whether harvesting the land or the ocean,” said Damon Cooke, a spiritual advisor to the group. Cooke explained that the festival recognizes Lono the patron spirit of agriculture, fertility, peace and healing. It is at the time of year when Lono returns to repossess the land as his wife.
“It brings with it seasonal rains where the land renews its fertility but the underlying message is that the symbolism of the Makahiki is a time of peace, thanksgiving and renewal,” Cooke said.
The Makahiki ceremony took place December 7, 2013.
Incarcerated for 24 years for attempted murder, Cooke said the Hawaiian cultural and spiritual group represents all islands in the Polynesian triangle. Moreover, this Makahiki gives them the opportunity to embrace their culture, reinforcing who they are as the Pacific Islanders, an Island nation.
“Our goal is to spread the true Hawaiian Aloha, because our congregation has Samoan, Tongan, and Philipino members learning about each other’s cultures. We do this through song, dance and chants,” Cooke said.
As the event continued, a procession of 10 men dressed in native Hawaiian Lava-lava’s (colorful sarongs tied at the waist), danced down the aisle welcoming guests and volunteers with lei’s. Afterward, the men began the Haka, a traditional ancestral dance or challenge from the Maori Polynesian people of New Zealand.
“As our ancestors traveled throughout the Polynesian Islands, Fiji, Tonga, Samoa, Cooke Islands, Nuie, Tuvalu, Pitcarn, Tahiti, Vanuatu, Raro Tonga, Easter Island and Hawaii, they needed a way to announce their presence as they landed on each island,” Cooke said.
Originally, the Haka was a war cry, a dance or challenge.
“We do it to maintain the history of our people, and it’s now done as a form of respect for the fallen warriors,” said Cooke. “So that’s why you see the Haka performed before football games, soccer matches, or rugby, where two opposing sides are about to do battle.
“Yet today the Haka symbolizes more than war, today it’s a call for all communities to come together in unity and share knowledge so we can help each other move forward,” Cooke said.
Upumoni Ama, aka Upu, is also a member of the San Quentin Native Hawaiian Religious group. Incarcerated for 20 years for second-degree murder, Upu said that when he was a youngster his parents taught him their history and the movements through the Haka.
“I’ve used this to open up lines of communication with our younger members because, as in the free world, sometimes people feel excluded. But with the Haka, everybody is included; we make sure that everyone has a voice,” said Upu.
They do this by teaching the young men how to speak up and not to be afraid of failure. Upu added that the Native Hawaiian Religious Group of San Quentin constantly reaches out to the youth through the Haka. “It’s always been a platform to stress a message of self-worth.”
The ceremony moved forward as 15 inmates danced to their positions to perform the “I Ku Mau Mau,” a time-honored native Hawaiian call and response chant done by island workers.
“This chant and dance literally calls for us to work together, no matter what our ethnicities, because what makes any community strong quite often are those things that make us different,” said D. Kualapai, (Kuh-wa-la-pie).
Anouthinh Pangthong said that he was invited to the group to do a dance but was not expecting the camaraderie that came with it.
“I spend time with the guys on the yard, and I never expected the brotherhood and I really love it. Today was a gift; it was just a good day,” said Anouthinh.
Incarcerated for 13 years, Kualapai, 64, has been at San Quentin for about a year and is considered an elder of the group, a “Makua.” They are like the parents of the group, explained Kualapai, and as the Makua, “I’m here to offer similar support and guidance.”
“This is a miracle that this event is happening; it’s been a struggle to say the least,” said Grace Taholo, the outside sponsor of the Native Hawaiian Religious Group.
Taholo is Tongan-Fijian and a college student. Born in New Zealand, Taholo has been coming to San Quentin for two years and said that this is her way of giving back.
“I come here and do what I can to help them out, but more times than not, they’re actually helping me out. That’s why it’s good to see that they’re doing this. I want our guests to leave the Makahiki inspired about this community,” said Taholo.
Robin LeNoue, aka Maui, was convicted of murder for hire 23 years ago, and has been in San Quentin since 2010. He said this is the fourth Makahiki he has performed in, but the first he has done at this prison.
Maui is teaching the younger members what the elders taught him. “Now that I’m an elder, I’m passing down our values which is self respect, not to be involved in gangs, no drugs, and no gambling,” he said.
Hector Heredia, San Quentin’s Native American spiritual advisor, said he learned that their cultures are very similar, for instance, “we also recognize the creator and the seasonal changes through song and chants.”
Hera Chan, a volunteer with San Quentin’s K.I.D. CAT (Kids Creating Awareness Together), a program for inmates convicted as juveniles, described the event as moving. “I want to say that being in San Quentin, I never knew I could find such empowerment for myself here.”
Eliza Bruce another K.I.D. CAT volunteer, exclaimed, “The Haka, wow, I was definitely honored to see that. I felt the power. It was beautiful to see the men celebrating their culture and heritage.”
Bruce said she had seen the Haka done on TV but that did not compare to watching it in person. “You could feel the energy in the room; it was very moving.”
The Native Hawaiian Religious Group also performed the Haka at the 2013 Veteran’s Day memorial service held on San Quentin’s Lower Yard, said Cooke. “It allowed the Native Hawaiian spiritual group a platform to show our respect and to thank our veterans for their service, dedication and commitment to this great nation.”
“I’ve been incarcerated for a quarter of a century and this is the first time I’ve really felt like I’ve been able to give back,” Cooke said. “The spirit of Aloha is what we feel when we say good-bye, hello, or I love you. This is a special day for us; it means a lot to us. This day was for our ancestors, Aloha.”
‘I’ve Tried to Make Up for the Pain’
Brian Shipp’s incarceration began with him in a state of humiliation. After his arrest for kidnap and robbery, he was taken to the hospital and placed in shackles. His father, Walter, later came to visit him, and Shipp recalled seeing his eyes filled with pain.
While growing up, Shipp’s father always taught him to “work hard, be honest, have integrity, do not ever burn your bridges, and always be a man of your word in all aspects of your life,” said Shipp. But with his father looking down at him, shackled to that hospital gurney, Shipp felt as if he had failed his father in these respects.
“My dad had to get clearance to come and see me,” said Shipp. “And I could see it in his face—the pain. He couldn’t believe that I had amounted to this.”
Shipp, 55, said his father, a barber who grew up during the Great Depression, had always been a big influence in his life, but at some point, he chose to go the other way. His troubles began at age 17, when he began hanging out with the wrong crowd and not listening to his father.
“I was young, growing my hair out and getting into trouble,” said Shipp. “He would try different punishments and nothing ever worked.”
Shipp remembered one time in particular when his father brought him home after he had gotten into trouble.
“But I’ve tried to make up for the pain I’ve caused with everyone, especially my dad”
“We were inside the house and he kept on telling me ‘I’m gonna’ cut your hair, I’m gonna’ cut your hair,’ and as soon as he backed up, I took off running,” said Shipp.
Shipp stuck to his word and fled. He did not come home for a week.
“Then he heard I was next door and he came over and said, ‘You’re coming home. I’m not going to cut your hair,’” said Shipp.
Shipp returned home with his father, but the peace was short-lived. Shipp first got in trouble with the law in high school, when he was busted for possession of marijuana. It was the first of a series of mistakes that Shipp would make.
“My dad came down to the police station to pick me up. It was bad,” said Shipp.
Shipp felt as if he was a rebel without a cause—always at odds with his dad and the way that he tried to bring him up.
Shipp’s first encounter with the law was not strong enough to stop him from trying to spite his father. He still chose to go the wrong way, and several years later, he was convicted of kidnap and robbery. In 1980, he was sentenced to seven years to life—a sentence which, to this day, is still not over.
Shipp still finds it difficult to talk about how he came to prison, because of a deep regret that he still has for the choices that he made and the harm that he caused to those he loves.
“It was the worst day of my life and for all involved when I made that choice,” said Shipp. “But I’ve tried to make up for the pain I’ve caused with everyone, especially my dad.”
After sentencing, the counselor at the California Men’s Facility gave him two options: either Old Folsom or San Quentin State Prison.
“I chose San Quentin and I arrived here on Dec. 9, 1980. I started my life sentence the same day that John Lennon was killed,” Shipp said.
He entered prison with no high school diploma, but he quickly buckled down and enrolled in Bay View High School, here at San Quentin, in 1981.
“I told myself I was going to get straight A’s and show my father that I could do better and be better than what I’d done,” explained Shipp. “I graduated valedictorian of my class and gave a speech in San Quentin’s visiting room and my dad was there.”
Ship could not ever remember feeling prouder than he did on that day, not only because of his own accomplishment, but because of the pride he could see in his dad’s eyes. Growing up, Shipp’s father taught him to work hard, be honest, have integrity, not to burn your bridges, and to always be a man of your word—things Shipp finally began to feel as if he was replicating.
“I haven’t always liked what he’s said, but I’ve striven to be that man my father has always been—a man true to his word. And these are traits that I want to instill in my sons,” said Shipp.
Through the struggles of their lives, Shipp said there were many good times and many sad times. Shipp still keeps his hair long, but this is no longer a point of contention between the two of them.
“Still our relationship has grown into one that’s loving and caring and I know my dad will always have my back and that I’ll cherish for eternity. I love you pops!”
San Quentin Hosts the First Rabbi of an African Tribe
San Quentin was host to the first rabbi of an African tribe with a century-old history in Judaism.
In 2003, Gershom Sizomou was trained as a rabbi at Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies in Los Angeles, said Danielle Meshorer of Be’chol Lashon in San Francisco.
Last November Sizomou visited San Quentin’s Jewish Synagogue to speak about his journey in Judaism. “I was born and raised in a village in East Uganda, and the history of my people, the Abuyadaya tribe, can be traced back 100 years,” he said. Abuyadaya means the People of Judah.
Sizomou said he wants to share his journey of peace, hope and perseverance with San Quentin’s diverse Jewish community. “Coming in here is a lot less scary than I thought it would be. I’ve traveled all over the world. I’ve been through checkpoints in Israel and Egypt. So this wasn’t that bad.”
However, due to a security issue, Sizomou had to change his shoes. “I wasn’t going to let something like that get in the way. I was looking forward to this because I knew that it would be very interesting to meet Jewish men in prison,” he said.
Sizomou explained that as a child growing up in Africa, his tribe was already observing Judaism. “The Abuyadaya chose Judaism, we self-converted much in the way that Ruth the Moabite did with Naomi, the Israelite woman.”
“With the history of my community, being Jewish was the natural way of our lives. It was who we were; it’s who we are,” Sizomou said.
Judaism began to take root in the Abuyadaya tribe around 1919, when the British selected Semei Kakungulu to be a Christian missionary. “The missionaries gave Kakungulu a Bible to read but he was drawn to the five books of Moses. And after reading the Torah, Kakungulu gave the New Testament back,” said Sizomou.
According to Sizomou, Kakungulu studied the Torah and trained himself according to the laws of Leviticus; he began by observing Judaism straight and with determination.
Being Jewish and growing up in Uganda came with many challenges, Sizomou said.
As an example, he said, when Idi Amin rose to power in January 1971 Judaism was outlawed. People were calling the Abuyadaya, Christ Killers. They were doing everything to dissuade them from being Jewish.
“That didn’t work because we were Jewish in everything we did in our hearts and souls. We went underground, and we continued learning and studying Torah and living as Jewish people,” he said.
After Amin’s regime fell in 1976, Judaism was practiced more openly.
- 1
- 2
- 3
- …
- 8
- Next Page »