San Quentin News

Written By Incarcerated - Advancing Social Justice

RISE founder helps returning citizens rebuild their lives

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Tracy Brumfield

After incarceration Tracy Brumfield did not sit back with her arms crossed when it came to her recovery and reentry: She founded RISE, a newspaper and resource guide to help Cincinnati’s returning citizens get the services they need to rebuild their lives, reported on RISE website.

Brumfield overcame drug addiction, homelessness and unemployment before running her own business. She launched RISE (Reenter Into Society Empowered) in 2017. The first edition was called the Recovery issue.

“Five years ago, I was downstairs in the holding cell after being arrested for drug possession. I didn’t know what to do, who to call or how to get help,” Brumfield wrote in the first edition. “I knew my addiction had taken over my life, and this arrest was just the first of many horrible consequences.

“I still had prison and homelessness waiting for me,” she added. Once released, Brumfield was living in her car and panhandling for money, but she knew she needed a shift in her life and found a program to get clean.

“I had to work like hell to reclaim my life. But the first thing I had to do was ask for help,” said Brumfield. “(It) seems like an easy thing to do, but for me and many others it was actually the hardest part of getting sober.”

Brumfield began to reach out to family, friends and agencies like the Salvation Army, the Center for Addiction Treatment, and the Health Resource Center. She realized that she could help other formerly incarcerated by relating to them her own experiences.

Brumfield continued to network with people and organizations. Eventually, she connected to People’s Liberty, a Cincinnati philanthropic entrepreneurial lab, from which she received a grant, reported the website.

She put together a small editorial team that consisted of a writer, a designer, a managing editor and an intern. She contracted with a vendor to print the newspaper

The newspaper then commenced its mission to provide people a pathway to new beginnings, finding purpose and hope. The RISE has published issues on recovery, housing and an issue called Community Voices.

“Every issue of RISE is about getting back up again — even at your lowest point,” said Brumfield. “Whether it’s seeking recovery, getting off the streets, or finding a job, you can rebuild your life.

“For whatever reason — we’re here to connect people with the hands of hope in the community,” she added.

The newspaper distributes more than 40,000 copies every five weeks. It’s free of charge; half are distributed to five correctional facilities in three counties between Ohio and Kentucky, according to the paper’s website.

It’s also distributed to health clinics, shelters and food banks.

“Going to jail and eventually prison was an experience I needed to have to find my humility and humanity,” Brumfield said “While inside, I realized that I was no better or worse than anyone else, and success in this life could never be defined by money or material things.

“I envied those who found peace behind bars — the ones doing real time seemed more content than those who only had a few months. It wasn’t because they had given in, but because they had found purpose,” Brumfield added.

She said she found her purpose by coming to grips with her life situations.

“I am no expert, but I found mine [purpose] through pain. The pain of living with substance use disorder — and getting arrested for it — first angered me,” said Brumfield. “I felt angry at the system and angry at myself. I couldn’t understand why I kept making the same mistakes.

“Once I began to realize I had more to do in this life, I began educating myself. For some, education might mean getting a GED or diploma. For others, it might mean going to college or trade school. But education can be just learning something new,” Brumfield added.

Brumfield is not only providing those who are system-impacted a resource guide to reentry, she continues to give back by volunteering and mentoring women in Cincinnati jails and addiction treatment centers, reported on the paper web.

“The greatest gift I can give you in these four pages is what I like to call ‘the real real,’” said Brumfield. “I go into the Hamilton County N32 G pod every Thursday and we talk about the things in life that can really change us, and how in those moments, if we listen to our gut, we can make good decisions,” said Brumfield.

“The difference in my life has been my willingness to listen to my ‘real real,’ and follow what I knew was the right thing to do,” she concluded.

Miracles do happen: The power of truth and honesty

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Tom Morgan, Jason Samuels and Christy Morgan in the SQ visiting room after the last VOD
Tom Morgan, Jason Samuel and Christy Morgan in the SQ visiting room after the last VOD

After seeing and hearing his victim at trial, Jason Samuel knew in his heart that he needed to come clean and be honest—both with himself and everyone else.

“My crime was so senseless,” Samuels recently told SQ News. “I felt so sorry for what I did.”

What he did was shoot peace officer Tom Morgan in the neck in 1997.

“Once I was convicted, it didn’t matter anymore. I mean, why lie about it?” Samuels said. “What good would all those lies do me now?

“I realized I needed to be real, be honest. It’s the only way to become a productive member of society.”

As a misguided 15-year- old running in the streets of Bakersfield,Ca, Samuel had made himself a tragic promise: if the police ever tried to arrest him, he vowed to never go down without a fight. He’d shoot to kill, if necessary.

“My mindset back then, I was suicidal and homicidal— I didn’t care,” Samuel said. “I felt like I had no purpose in life.

“If I died a legend, a hero from the hood—I was cool with that.”

Two years later, he fulfilled his personal oath. Chased and cornered by Morgan after running into a backyard, Samuels attacked the officer. Morgan went to draw his gun, and Samuels shot him with the derringer he always carried.

Samuel argued throughout his trial that the gun had discharged accidentally as a result of the physical struggle with Morgan. He testified that he never intended to shoot Morgan.

“I was trying to lie my way out of trouble,” Samuel said. Morgan, severely injured and barely able to speak, took the witness stand to confront Samuels and tell the jury his version of events. Samuel was found guilty for the at- tempted murder of a police officer.

Christy Morgan, Tom’s wife, spoke at Samuel’s sentencing. She wanted to express her pain and outrage at the devastating effects Tom’s injuries had on their lives.

“That’s when I started praying for the man—for both of them,” Samuel said. “I knew what I did was wrong.”

Jason Samuels
Jason Samuels

As the years behind bars went by, Samuel said his thoughts never strayed too far from the impact of his crime and the harm he brought to the Morgans and his community. He educated himself, earned a GED, renewed his faith in God and eventually came to San Quentin to take part in all its positive rehabilitative programs.

Samuel credits SQ’s Restorative Justice program with helping him see the big picture. He became involved in SQUIRES (San Quentin Utilization of Inmate Resources and Experiences), completed KidCAT’s First Step curriculum and became a KidCAT member.

He went to his first parole board hearing in January 2016, almost 20 years after committing his crime.

“I knew if I went in there (the parole board) with a bullsh– story, I’m never going to get out of prison,” Samuel said. “The right thing to do—the only thing to do—was just come from my heart.”

Morgan was there at that first board hearing, too. He wanted to tell them that Samuel should never be granted parole.

“That’s when the real miracle happened,” Samuels recalled.

Samuel explained to the parole board the true intent of his actions. He told them exactly how he’d lied at trial, hoping to get out of trouble. More importantly, he wanted to show them the quality of the man he’d now become.

The parole board decided Samuel was not suitable for parole.

Tom Morgan noticed Samuel’s change more than anyone else. Between that first hearing and Samuel’s next board hearing in 2017, Morgan gave a lot of thought about the boy who shot him—versus the honest man who now wanted the parole board to know the truth.

Morgan did not come to Samuel’s 2017 hearing in person, but instead participated via phone and told the board he no longer opposed Samuel’s release.

“Tom spoke highly of me. It meant a lot to him that I’d accepted accountability and that I understood the damage I caused his family,” Samuel said. “Tom realized I’m not the same person that shot him—he understood my story about growing up.”

The board still denied Samuel’s again.

But listening to him speak to the board, Morgan decided they might both benefit from opening a line of communication. The California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation directed Morgan to contact Victim Offender Dialogue (VOD), the organization that helps victims and offenders reconcile together to enable healing and restorative justice.

Through VOD, Samuel and Morgan began exchanging letters, getting to know one another.

“Tom said he’d already forgiven me for what I did, and now he was willing to come up here and give me as much insight as he could,” Samuel said.

The date was set for March 11, 2018; Morgan would meet with Samuel face-to-face, in prison.

Christy Morgan didn’t want anything to do with Samuel, nor did she want to be involved with VOD.

“For the last 21 years, I have viewed Jason as a monster,” Christy Morgan said in 2018. “He had tried to kill my husband, and I was afraid of him.”

But as Tom and Jason began to build a friendship through their letters, Christy rethought her opinion of Samuel. She wrote to him herself through VOD, and he wrote back.

Christy decided to be there on March 11 to support her husband and see Samuel with her own eyes.

Van Jones of CNN also wanted to be there. Samuel and Morgan’s story would become part of a filmed series about restorative justice and the healing power behind the VOD process.

“Walking into the San Quentin visiting room to meet Tom, I was nervous and in disbelief,” Samuel said. “The man I tried to kill 21 years ago was standing there right across from me.”

The two men—victim and offender—reached out to embrace each other for the first time.

“All the guilt and shame inside me, I immediately began to sob,” Samuel said. “I couldn’t believe how blessed I was to have Tom here to comfort me.

“To feel all that love from someone you’ve done harm to—I know that’s God at work right there. It has to be.”

Morgan and Samuel sat down to speak together as friends. Samuel opened up about his life in prison and all the rehabilitative hurdles he’d overcome.

At the end of that first VOD session, Samuel was surprised to hear that Christy Morgan had something to say to him.

“I didn’t know what to expect,” he said. “Maybe she wanted to slap me—but instead she gave me a big hug.”

Christy wrote about the experience: “I was able to witness a VOD with my husband and Jason,” she said. “Jason was humble and apologetic.

He hugged Tom and cried. This was when I knew he was not a monster, but a changed man.

Samuel and the Morgans would have two more VODs together. The second VOD in July 2018 focused on the impact of the crime on Christy.

“Thank you for really listening to my story,” she wrote to Samuel afterward. “I am excited about the changes occurring in my life. I am so much happier—and for no particular reason. I am more joyful, optimistic and carefree. Tom and I have both noticed the difference in me. I have you to thank for a lot of my change.”

Having moved past dis- cussing the crime’s impact, Samuel and the Morgans sat together at their third and final VOD in February 2019. It was an opportunity to just hang out as friends.

Tom and Christy promised to be at his next parole board hearing in person—to advocate for his release, and they kept that promise.

The board granted Samuel parole suitability on March 12, 2019.

According to Christy Morgan, “The 17-year old boy who went into prison with nothing is coming out of prison ready to be a responsible and productive citizen.”

Norco program provides more than just an education

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Prisoners at the California Rehabilitation Center in Norco are getting a higher education and earning time off their sentences through the Norco College program, reports the Inland Valley Daily Bulletin.

The new prison program started in February 2017. Norco’s original plan was to start the program in the fall of 2018, but that was not soon enough for prison officials.

“They said, ‘We want it now,’” said Jason Parks, Norco College’s interim dean of instruction.

Bryan Reece, Norco College president, added, “It’s right in our backyard and it’s in our core mission. We are trying to educate historically under-served populations. These folks just happen to be in prison.”

“Not everyone in prison is the same people when we’re released from prison,” Norman Jordan, 55, a participant in program said to the Daily Bulletin.

“64% of California’s jail population is awaiting trial or sentencing as of December 2016.” Most remain in pretrial custody because they cannot afford bail.  Jail Profile Survey, http://www.bscc.ca.gov/

Courses in English, communications and counseling were offered at the beginning of the program. For the fall semester there were 105 students enrolled. All the prisoners have less than 10 years to serve on their sentences.

“Because we’re wearing blue doesn’t mean that we’re not human,” said Osmar Castro, 39, referring to his blue prison clothing. He has four years and three months to serve on a 12-year sentence, according to the article.

“The state typically spends $71,000 a year to house an inmate. It costs about $5,000 total to help put one [incarcerated] student through community college”, reports Fast Company.

Inmates can earn time off their sentences by participating in and completing educational and vocational programs.

The faculty is equally enthusiastic about this new program. “They’re knocking on the door,” said Parks. “They’re saying, ‘Please, pick my major.’”

A Daily Bulletin reporter sat in on a presentation by students of a Communications Storytelling class.

“My presentation is on how Robin Hood became an outlaw,” prisoner Robert Beebe told the class.

The 41-year-old Beebe dropped out of the ninth grade then joined a gang. He did two two-year prison terms prior to being arrested for attempted murder in the mid-‘90s.

“This is like getting a whole new life, getting this education”

“When you don’t come out with a clear mind, you go right back to what you know. And I went right back to the area, the people,” Beebe said. “I never really looked for a job and just chose to commit crimes.”

Beebe has been incarcerated for 19 years on a 20-year sentence, and completed his GED while in segregated housing.

“I’ve been going positive since then,” he said. “I’ve dropped out of the gangs. I’ve changed where I’m living at, my whole mindset, everything’s changing.”

Beebe continued with his story of Robin Hood. How he committed a crime (killing a deer in the king’s forest) that carried a death penalty and fled into the far woods to join a group of other outcasts.

“That day was the last day of his life without enemies,” said Beebe.

Prior to enrolling in this program, Beebe earned an associate’s degree in theological studies that awarded him a six-month deduction off his sentence and will allow him to parole in a few months.

Beebe said getting a college education has changed his life.

“When I came in here, I didn’t have college on my mind. I didn’t think I’d ever make it out of prison,” he said. “I started with one course and now I do five, six at a time. It benefits me; it keeps me away from the negative out there. I am in here every day. If I’m not at work, I’m in here.”

If paroled, he plans to pursue a higher education.

“This is like getting a whole new life, getting this education,” he told the reporter.

A 2013 Rand Corp. study revealed inmates who participate in educational programs are 43 percent less likely to return to prison. They are also 13 percent more likely to become employed after released. The study suggested that every $1 invested in prison education saves taxpayers $4 to $5 after a prisoner released.

https://www.dailybullentin.com/2017/12/26/exams-behind-bars-norco-community-college-prison-unite-to-educate-and-rehabilitate-prisoners/

http://sanquentinnews.com/optionb-org-support-group-overcoming-effects-incarceration/
 

UC Davis combats prison stigmas with Beyond the Stats

Sueños Que Se Desvanecen Libertad Condicional

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“Me siento muy decepcionado con el sistema de mi país,” comentó Joe Ibarra de 85 años de edad, al San Quentin News. 

Ibarra es originario de Harlingen,Texas,  pero sus padres son Mexicanos. Ibarra señaló las dificultades que enfrentan los reclusos de edad avanzada en las prisiones de California.

  “Soy uno de los pintos más viejos en el sistema,” añadió.   

Ibarra, junto con Ramón Pineda y Antonio Mancilla, de 74 y 76 años de edad respectivamente, han purgado más de un siglo en prisión por homicidio en segundo grado.

Una entrevista realizada en San Quentin a presos de la tercera edad, reveló que algunas de las limitantes más comunes para que estos presos sean encontrados elegibles ante la Comisión de Libertad Condicional (BPH—Board of Parole Hearings) son: la falta de perspicacia acerca del crimen, el carecer de apoyo familiar como resultado del fallecimiento de la familia inmediata y enfermedades que hoy los aquejan.

El BPH le ha negado su libertad condicional a Ibarra en 15 ocasiones por falta de entendimiento más profundo de su crimen. “Me piden que haga más programas, pero ya no se me pega nada, se me olvidan las cosas.” Como prueba de su gradual pérdida de memoria, Ibarra comentó con lágrimas en los ojos, “Después de 38 años en prisión a veces ni a mi familia reconozco. Mi hermano me visitó después de largo tiempo sin vernos y no lo pude reconocer hasta que se terminó la visita. Se fue con el corazón roto.”

“Half of the state’s foster-care population is made up of children with opioid-addicted parents,” reports Bloomberg according to Ohio Attorney General Mike DeWine, a Republican.  BUSINESSWEEK.com Oct. 9, 2017

Al igual que Ibarra, existen cientos de reclusos que debido a su avanzada edad les es imposible aprender o retener información educativa que incremente sus posibilidades de obtener una fecha de salida.   

Otro de los factores que limita a este grupo de prisioneros a obtener su libertad condicional es la falta de apoyo familiar y comunitario requerido por el BPH. “Durante los primeros años hice todo lo que estaba a mi alcance para obtener mi libertad, mientras contaba con el apoyo de mi familia. Sin embargo, eso no fue posible y con el paso de los años empecé a desilusionarme,” dijo Pineda. 

En el año 2017, el BPH le negó 5 años. “Esta última vez me pidieron cartas de apoyo de mi familia. Me siento atorado en este lugar. Me es imposible conseguir el apoyo que me piden.  Mi familia ya estaba avanzada en edad cuando torcí y ya han fallecido. Me siento frustrado porque de no cumplir prácticamente nunca podré salir de este lugar.  Me piden algo que nunca podre darles,” comentó con visible frustración Pineda, originario de Sinaloa, México, y quien lleva 38 años en prisión.

Para empeorar su situación, la BPH requiere a presos como Pineda purgando una sentencia de vida comprobar por escrito un lugar de residencia (conocido en EE.UU como casa de transición) en su país de origen. Desafortunadamente, el no contar con alguna carta de éstas instituciones limitan aún más sus posibilidades de algún día obtener su libertad condicional. “Solicite una carta de aceptación a varias casas de transición y nunca recibí una respuesta,” enfatizó Pineda.

Además, con el paso de los años la salud física de Pineda se ha ido deteriorando. “Pienso que sería muy difícil pagar por mis necesidades médicas, como mi insulina y medicamento para mis reumas”.  Pineda también mencionó, “hay días en que me pongo a reflexionar y pienso que sería mejor no salir de este lugar. Ahora solo saldría a dar lástima y a sufrir, aquí por lo menos me dan atención médica”.

Por su parte, Mancilla lleva 33 años en la prisión y le han negado siete veces la libertad condicional.  A diferencia de Pineda, Mancilla cuenta con el apoyo familiar. En su pueblo natal, Colima, México, trabajo como chofer de camiones de carga y tractorista. Sin embargo, no tiene un documento que avale estas habilidades. Hoy “Me piden que les lleve una vocacional, pero como no tengo mi GED no puedo entrar a los talleres vocacionales. Se me hace difícil obtener mi GED por mis 76 años de edad, el idioma inglés y mi estado de salud física. Me enferme de cáncer en el estómago y deje de asistir a la escuela. Todavía, estoy bajo tratamiento.”

Después de ser diagnosticado con cáncer estomacal, Mancilla explicó, “se me ha vuelto muy difícil y muy cansado estar en la tabla y hablar de mi crimen. Me siento muy mal, el estrés emocional me debilita físicamente.  Esta es una de las razones por las cuales he renunciado al derecho de estar presente durante mis últimas tres audiencias.”

Mancilla anhela poder salir de la prisión, reunirse con su familia, y volver a trabajar como chofer y tractorista. Sin embargo, su enfermedad le impide asistir a clases para obtener su GED y poder ser aceptado en alguna vocacional.

Por su parte, Pineda comentó, “Cuando tenía a la familia viva me interesaba salir y hacia lo que me pedían. Tenía la ilusión de ver a mis padres y cuidarlos. Hoy ya perdí la esperanza de salir libre.”

Ibarra tristemente externó, “cuando me encontraron elegible mi familia y amigos me compraron ropa y mucha comida para hacerme una fiesta. Yo regale todas mis pertenencias pensando que ya me iban a soltar. Pero el Gobernador me quitó la fecha de salida.” Frustrado, Ibarra añadió, “Fue como si me hubieran roto una promesa. Como si se me hubiera acabado el mundo. Como un perro cuando le quitan el hueso.”

Jorge Heredia and Marco Villa Contributed to this story

Deportation Crimes Explained

Un legado de Comunicación Noviolenta


https://sanquentinnews.com/fiesta-latina-en-la-graduacion-de-trip-en-espanol/

Elderly prisoners face hardships before the board

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“I feel very disappointed with the system in my country,” said inmate Joe Ibarra in an interview with San Quentin News.

Ibarra is originally from Harlingen, Texas, but his parents are Mexican. 85-year-old Ibarra is in unique position to understand the difficulties that elderly inmates experience in the system.

“I’m one of the oldest pintos [OGs] in the California system,” he said.

Fellow inmates Pineda and Antonio Macilla, who are 74 and 76 years old respectively—have cumulatively served more than a century in prison for second-degree homicide.

In an interview conducted in San Quentin, the three elderly prisoners revealed some of the most common limitations elderly inmates face in achieving eligibility for parole: a lack of insight, lack of surviving family, and chronic illnesses.

Ibarra says the parole board (BPH) has denied him 15 times for lacking a deeper understanding of his crime. “They ask me to do more programs but nothing sticks with me anymore, I forget things.”

As proof of his gradual memory loss Ibarra commented, with tears in his eyes, “After 38 years in prison, I sometimes can’t even recognize my family. My brother visited me after a long time and I could not recognize him until the visit was over. He left with a broken heart. “

There are hundreds of inmates like Ibarra, who due to their advanced age are unable to learn or retain educational information that increases their chances of getting an exit date.

A lack of the family and community support that is required by the BPH is another factor that limits this group of prisoners’ ability to obtain conditional release.

“During the first years I did everything in my power to obtain my freedom while I had the support of my family. However, that was not possible and over the years I began to become disappointed,” said Pineda.

In 2017, he says, the BPH denied him 5 years. “This last time they asked for letters of support from my family. I feel stuck in this place. It is impossible for me to get the support they ask me for. My family was already advanced in age when I entered and have now passed away. I feel frustrated because if I do not comply, I will never be able to leave this place. They ask me for something I can never give them,” Pineda, originally from Sinaloa, Mexico, who has been in prison for 38 years, commented with visible frustration.

The BPH requires lifers like Pineda to verify in writing a ‘place of residence’ (known in the US as a transition house) in their country of origin. Without a letter from one of these institutions, elderly inmates are further limited in their chances of someday obtaining conditional release. “I requested a letter of acceptance to several transition houses and I never received a response,” Pineda emphasized.

Over the years Pineda’s physical health has deteriorated. “I think it would be very difficult to pay for my own medical needs like my insulin and medicine for my rheumatism.” Pineda said regarding future release. “There are days when I start thinking and I think it would be better not to leave this place. Now I would just go out and give pity and suffer, here at least they give me medical attention. “

Mancilla, who has been in prison for 33 years, says  he’s been denied conditional release seven times. Unlike Pineda, Mancilla has family support. In his hometown of Colima, México, he worked as a cargo trucks and tractor driver. He does not, however, have documentation that verifies these skills. Now, he says, “[The parole board] asks me to take a vocational [course], but since I do not have my GED I can not enter the vocational workshops. It is difficult for me to obtain my GED at 76 years old, because of my lack of English and my state of physical health. I got sick with cancer in my stomach and stopped attending school. I’m still undergoing treatment.

“…evidence has linked loneliness…to a host of psychological and physiological ills (including) depression, cognitive decline, hearing problems and stroke.”  Scientific American “The Toxic Well of Loneliness” January 2018

Since being diagnosed with stomach cancer, Mancilla explained, “It has become very difficult and very tiring to face the board and talk about my crime. I feel very bad, emotional stress weakens me physically. That’s one of the reasons why I have waived the right to be present during my last three hearings. “

Mancilla yearns to be able to leave the prison, reunite with his family and return to work as a truck and tractor driver. However, his illness prevents him from attending classes to get his GED and be accepted in a vocational program.

“When I had living family, I was interested in going out and doing what they asked me to do,” Pineda said. “I had the dream of seeing my parents and taking care of them. Today, I’ve lost hope of being free. “

Ibarra sadly expressed, “when they found me eligible for parole, my family and friends bought me clothes and lots of food to throw me a party. I gave away all my belongings thinking that they were going to let me go. But the Governor took away my departure date, “In this instance, Ibarra said, “I felt like a promise had been broken. As if the world ended. Like a dog when you take away his bone.”

Jorge Heredia and Marco Villa Contributed to this story

https://sanquentinnews.com/optionb-org-support-group-overcoming-effects-incarceration/

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