CEO StoryTelling Project

 

 

 

“What is your name?”

“Sean.”

“What is your last name?”

“You’ll have to buy me dinner first.”

 

As I said that, the room fell apart in laughter, and the residents started to tease the ICCS worker for confusing me for a resident. They said, “Does he look like us,” and, “He is never going to be in a place like this.” The ICCS worker gave a brief smile, quickly apologized for her mistake, and went on with her work for the day.  As we all settled back into the routine of CEO class work, I could not stop thinking about what had just happened.

           

“Does he look like us?” I couldn’t help to wonder what deeper meaning this question had; I felt certain that he was not talking about my clothes. Was it my skin color? The way I carried myself? The way I acted? Was there some barrier between myself and the residents that prevented them from being able to identify with me, and if so is that barrier deeper than simply the role of tutor-student?

 

The concerns I had about the previous quotation did not affect me half as much as the statement, “He is never going to be in a place like this.” I do not know who said it, but I turned in the direction of whoever said it, and told him “Thank you.” I regretted my sentiment of gratitude the moment I uttered it. It was, at least for me, a very complicated and problematic moment. On the one hand I had a resident saying that I would never end up in a place like ICCS, and on the other hand I was thanking him for this observation. I can only explain the painfulness of this exchange by unpacking each quote.

 

“He is never going to be in a place like this.” Why? This quote is so similar to the other quote about me not looking like an ICCS resident. What is it that is so obviously separating the residents and me? Is it my skin color? Is it that I am in college? Is it some other type of privilege that is being ascribed to me that I don’t even know about? I wish I could go back to that moment and say, “I am no different than you. We are both people. I too have broken the law. I too have family and friends in the prison system, and while there may be some things, such as skin color, which have helped to keep me out of the prison system it has also been dumb luck.” I didn’t say those words though. Instead, I said, “Thank you.” I expressed gratitude for the explicit and implicit divide that exists between me and the residents. I am ashamed of that moment, and I hope none of them remember it.

 

But even if I could go back to that moment and tell them that the divide between us is not so great, would it matter? At the end of the day I get to go home to my comfortable and easy life, while these men continue the struggle of piecing together their existence. Furthermore, I do not have to deal with the invisible barriers that a former convict feels between himself and the rest of society. I learned at CEO that the physical separation imposed by the prison system is not nearly as isolating as the existential isolation that many prisoners experience.