Writing My Wrongs

After reading Falconer by John Cheever, I wanted to read something by an actual prisoner. Shaka Senghor's story lacks the elaborate phraseology and literary nuances of Cheever's tale, but it's clearly and lucidly written and the story itself packs a powerful punch. Senghor describes his journey into the hellish pit of imprisonment, external and internal – and wrests his freedom from within, before he is released. It's an astonishing achievement of the human spirit. He is far more insightful and self-aware than Cheever's character Farragut, who walks through his imprisonment and escape as if in a dream.

No thanks for Senghor's rehabilitation are due to the prison system itself, which seems determined to grind human beings into the dust and bring out their worst possible sides – guards as well as prisoners. But something lives in the individual spirit that can counteract these forces. What we need is to design institutions and procedures that support this spirit rather than crushing it. Accounts like Senghor's are of inestimable value as we confront this challenge.

Most striking to me was the moment when Senghor started to write down his feelings and found that this gave him enough distance and perspective to stop reacting immediately in ways that ultimately hurt him (he had just viciously attacked a prison guard who harassed him and been put in solitary confinement for an extended period). He also became a voracious reader, especially of Black history, social justice, and spirituality, and this put him on the road to self-respect and to understanding the wider context of his painful experiences. Reading and writing are not just intellectual exercises, but spiritual disciplines which release us from the prison of disconnected experience and raise us to a higher level upon which we can move and act freely, because we have not just sensations or emotions, but knowledge and insight into the whole.

A relationship begun while Senghor was still in prison played a large part in the latter chapters of the story - sadly, it seems this relationship was not as ideal as he describes it (see description of the book by his partner, Ebony Roberts). Nobody is perfect, and even those who have made huge steps in self-development can still have unhealed wounds which continue to hurt them and others. However, I hope that both Senghor and Roberts can both continue to learn and grow and raise children to a better life, none of which can happen if we keep chaining people up with our prejudices and judgment and misunderstanding.

People can change. Very eye-opening book. I was captivated by Shaka's story and found myself rooting for him in the end.

2.5 stars. A little too Pollyanna for me.

The best thing about this book is how you know that Shaka does make a better life for himself and his family despite the obstacles placed in his way by circumstance and his own doing. Just the day before reading this book I read in the news that the Trump Administration will begin removing restrictions on privitizing prisons (which President Obama put in place) and so while reading this it only made me angrier. Rehabilitation is possible. There is proof out there, others like Shaka who turned their lives around and made good on all the promises of doing better with a second chance. The biggest incentive for prisoners is their families. Shaka's ridiculous number of transfers further and further away from his family shows how without that contact he felt he had no reason to do better anymore. This isn't anything new. Human contact, compassion and love give prisoners the incentive to do better so they can get out and try to live a life worth living. Solitary confinement for 4+ years? That's inhumane. There's just so much wrong here, but Shaka is a wonderful writer and I felt like his story was told with much humility and grace.