I wrote a version of this several years ago. It was first published on Counterpunch.
It is included in my forthcoming book of essays and stories, In and Out of the Working Class,
to be published later this month by Arbeiter Ring. Our prison system is so unfair on so many levels,
but why do people in prison have to be treated as if they were no longer human?
I can say this--no one who has taught in prison will ever forget it or remain unchanged by
the experience. Michael Yates
At the "Wall"
Pennsylvania’s Western Penitentiary, known to its residents
as "The Wall," was a maximum security prison (it
has since been closed), sitting along the Ohio River on the far
north side of Pittsburgh. The spot is a pretty one, although
in the fenced-in former parking lot facing the river, to which
the inmates had occasional access, the fence itself was covered
with plastic sheeting so that they could not see the water.
I taught classes in economics at this prison for two years
on Tuesday evenings. I arrived a little after 6:00 p.m., signed
in at the front desk, and presented myself to a guard. I emptied
my pockets and took off my belt and shoes if they had
any metal on them. The guard checked my bag, and I walked
through a metal detector. I had a cushion with me because I
couldn’t sit on a hard chair without pain. I had to get prior
permission from the superintendent’s office to bring in this
cushion, and it was checked by the guard each time I came for
class. After passing through the metal detector and back out
again, I went in. Another guard took a filter of some sort and
put it into a machine that looked like a miniature dust buster.
He ran this over my palms, my jacket pockets, my pants and
shirt pockets, and my pants cuffs. Then he removed the filter
and put it into another machine that checks for of a wide variety
of drugs. A marker visible to a special light was used by
the guard to mark my hand. I was given an ID card with my
picture on it, and I placed this in a visible place on my shirt or
jacket. Then another guard was called by the one at the desk,
and he came out to escort me to the school building inside
the prison. We awaited the opening of a set of double doors
by still another guard, invisible to us. The doors opened and
we walked down a hallway to another set of doors that opened
into the yard of the prison. We walked a block or so through
several gates to the school building, and the guard let me into
the classroom.
I awaited the arrival of the students. They were sometimes
late, for any number of reasons; prisons have many checks on
prisoners and these take time. Not all of the students made
every class. Some of them were on various sorts of punishment.
One man missed a class because he rebelled when he
was not allowed to go to the funeral home to see his dead
mother’s body. I made small talk with the guards. It was best
to keep on their good side as they could make life difficult
for me if they wished. If I planned to use a video or a film, I
had to let them have it in advance. Before this procedure was
implemented, a teacher showed the film The Battle of Algiers
to a class studying Franz Fanon’s Wretched of the Earth. This
probably would have been prohibited had she had to show the
film to the prison administrators first. Generally, you can use
any materials you want, but titles referring to persons such as
Mumia or Leonard Peltier will probably be confiscated, if not
from us then from the inmates.
I never felt unsafe in the prison. However, I did jump the
first time the double doors slammed behind me (just like in
the movies). And I was nervous about the first class. To do
a bad job here was just unthinkable. It was not a credit class.
The government took away Pell Grants (financial aid) from
the prisoners, and so they could not afford to attend college.
When this happened, the University of Pittsburgh closed the
degree program it once had there. A friend of mine, who helps
run the current program, did not want to see all non-vocational
programs end at the prison, so she and another person
started a non-credit certificate program. So far, it has been a
great success.
In my first class, I had the students sign the roster sheet
and asked them to put down, in addition to their given names,
any name they preferred me to use. Some wrote down Muslim
names, one an Egyptian name, and some nicknames. So I had
Khalifa, Senifer, Heru, Farid Rafiq, Bamoni, Crump, Capone,
and Muscles as well as Charlie and Deion. They ranged in age
from early twenties to late forties. I did not know why they
were in prison. All but one of the students was black (I am
white), and it struck me right away that not one of the black
students was light-skinned. They did not look like the African
American newscasters we see now on television. Not only do
black Americans face an abominable discrimination that puts
so many in prison, but those with the darkest skin color also
face this discrimination most forcefully.
I began the first class by saying something about myself.
A student interrupted me and asked if any of my college students
had gone on to become CEOs! I replied that I had a former
student who was now a rich bond broker on Wall Street
but I did not know whether to be proud of this or not. Then
I passed out some handouts. I started to talk about capitalism
and what I thought were its main features. Then I asked
a question about wealth and the discussion began. I can only
describe it as a runaway train. We talked about many things,
for at least an hour without a stop. Some comments were as
sharp as any I have ever heard from a student, some were funny,
and some reflected views common on the outside. But all
were made seriously, by men wanting to know and to have
their voices heard. I was exhilarated in a way seldom so in
my regular classes. When I got home I slept fitfully. I kept
thinking about the class and I kept seeing the students’ faces. I
dreamed about them most of the night.
The next class was just like the first. We discussed an article
called "Buddhist Economics" by E. F. Schumacher, from
his book Small is Beautiful and compared the Buddhist concept
of Right Livelihood with work and consumption in capitalism.
This time we went on for an hour and a half. Then I took a
break, but they were back in their seats in a few minutes. I
gave a brief lecture about the accumulation of capital. I had
Marx’s famous letter scheme, M-C-C’-M’, on the chalkboard,
and I explained what each letter meant while they wrote furiously
on their notepads. The class ended with me pounding
on the table, saying "Accumulate! Accumulate! that is Moses
and the Prophets." I had their complete and undivided attention
when I said this and then argued that capital will be accumulated
whatever the cost, whether it be enslavement, theft,
or murder.
During this class, I felt something I have never felt in a
class before. I know that this may sound naive, but I felt sitting
there with convicts all around me, that we really were
brothers. We left the class together after the whistle shrilly
blew the signal that they had to return to their cellblocks. We
walked down the steps of the classroom building and out into
the yard among the general prison population. I looked up at
the stars and my heart was filled with a hard sadness.