Posts
Is Resurrection only for the innocent?
for Lazarus, little girls, and Christ?
No, we are promised ourselves Resurrection
of the body, our bodies, however imperfect
and our own souls, however imperfect
transformed by faith into Love
this is the greatest forgiveness.
Might we all be
no longer desiring or capable of harming others?
Might we all be
no longer afraid?
if all creation is redeemed,
then all lives can be,
have been,
will be redeemed?
Forgiveness does not obliterate justice but revenge.
(originally written April 18, 2008)
Showing posts with label economic justice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label economic justice. Show all posts
Monday, May 05, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
April 19
This morning by design or accident, the guards have done us a great favor and left off the overhead lights (which are terribly bright and usually hit you in the eye at 5 AM). This could be their way of saying “Happy Saturday” and its working, since most of us have gone back to bed.
More yelling and screaming last night – a few girls have sidled up to the airvents in their rooms and use them as Alpen horns, in which they call “Ricola!” – just like the cough drop commercial – and I finally fell asleep last night promising myself I’d accidentally drop my breakfast tray on them in the morning – oatmeal and all – but I was feeling more charitable/sluggish by then and anyway we had grits, which I do like here.
At the moment I am waiting for laundry call – sheets and pillowcases today – and reflecting on taking pleasure in simple routines. For example, I love laundry call, trading in old stuff for new. I really like uniform exchange, since by then we’ve been wearing ours for 3-4 days straight and they can stand up on their own. Underwear exchange is usually mjore of a gamble, hard to get anything that fits since they’re all so old and worn out. Sheets and towels though are alright.
I am happy to report nearly all the mail has gotten through – and I get a little slip of paper to sign when something doesn’t make it through inspection. Usually the problem is photos glued to a card, or something similar. I also heard back that my early general letters have been posted to my blog and e-mailed around. In the meantime, if I haven’t said earlier, I’ve received so many beautiful letters here I would like to try to do a book on them. I don’t know if it will work, but I’ll see.
Last night I read most of 1st Kings, I don’t know how long it's been since doing so. I’m reading it in “Free on the Inside” the Prison Fellowship Bible, which is a paraphrase edition for new Christians. It’s actually not too bad, written at about the 8th grade level, which is closer to where I think most liberal theology books should be written. 8th grade is the reading level of most of the U.S. The trouble with liberal theologians is that there is that they’re usually PhD’s writing to impress other PhD’s in order to get tenure, etc. which generally excludes most other potential readers. Meanwhile, one thing Fundamentalism does well is produce a lot of reading material with simple, down-to-earth vocabulary. I venture that it is easier for most people to be convinced by an argument when they can understand the argument. So, I think this may be one more reason liberal churches continue to decline. It is a class issue as a politics issue, and here I am afraid liberals have much to account for.
--
Saturday and Sunday have been quite good – I was excited to see Catherine and catch up on news from school and “talk seminary” for a while – a relief! - and then to see Tom and Erin this morning and share some good laughs about the kitties going to the vet, and the upcoming chili cookoff, and about a Bible study that may have gone worse than the the ones around here usually do (though in the story I heard, not due to the teacher’s ignorance – this time it was a student in histronics). And a call home and hearing my niece Gracie’s giggling questions about life in jail. (I told her it was mostly like high school –true!) The rest of the weekend I slept in and napped plenty – which in retrospect was probable an excellent idea – I’ve manage so far to avoid a violent respiratory and gastrointestinal cold that’s hit nearly everyone else. I’ve also been washing my hands like a maniac.
A woman came in for a weekend sentence, and had some kind of catatonic anxiety attack. The guards came and took her out in a wheelchair. We had some pretty obnoxious rubber-neckers, so our pod got locked down for awhile, too. Another woman came in later, probably paranoid schizophrenic I guessed from our brief chat – later vomited in her cell and the guards took her away.
Just now I had the opportunity to debate the merits of half a bag of Jolly Ranchers versus a Milky Way bar. While incarcerated, Jolly Ranchers are a trade currency (trade food with cellmates, buy erases, favors, etc.) that is easily divisible, plus they double up as cough drops. Meanwhile a Milky Way is … chocolate, good in its own right. (Snickers, my first choice, wasn’t an option in the negotiations). I received the Ranchers as a thank you for tending a girl in the next cell with a raging toothache with all my commissary acetaminophen packets. My lunch table-mate likes Ranchers for a reason I forgot to mention earlier, that is, they are excellent “ammo.” They have a connect-to-target satisfaction level roughly akin to paintball, I think.
--No TV this evening. I enjoy the quiet enough, but its not fun being blamed for things we can’t help. There’s been a mechanical problem with the electromagnetic cell doors – they read as open while in real life they’re closed – so sometimes this past week, we’ve been stuck inside our cells when the command post thinks they let us out, and other times, like now, they yell at us for having our doors open when they’re closed tighter than anything we could do to open them. Hence, the no TV as punishment. We’ve gone through this with every shift of guards, but no luck yet. You’d think that in maximum security they’d want the cell doors to work…
After 2 weeks, I’m still waiting to get to the library. We’ve only been allowed once, but it was later in the evening after medical rounds when most of the readers were already in bed. (Once you go in your cell at night, you can’t get back out). Meanwhile, we get to go to the “gym” nearly every day. I think the difference is that there’s security cameras and a window from the command post to the gym, and there’s nothing for security in the library, so they have to send a guard. So if a guard doesn’t want to go, we don’t go. Sounds like most guards don’t. I think it would make the most sense if each pod got even 1 hour a week to get new books, at a time we could count on. The library and AA are the only two truly rehabilitative programs they offer here.
--
Meanwhile in happier news, I had a wonderfully quiet night last night. I simply advised everyone that whosoever chose to scream into the air vents that night would have a lunch tray dropped on their heads because I would be too tired to know otherwise. That garnered a few shocked looks and a comment that “if the preacher’s threatening, she must mean it,” and it was quite surprisingly effective. Two girls sheepishly asked this morning if I’d slept well, and I found my culprits. All is forgiven☺
--
It seems I went through a very sluggish spell – not quite sick – and I haven’t written for several days. I also see that by the time some of these letters make it home, I will possibly be home already. The days are flying – not in all ways, but in many. I think some letters I won’t manage to reply to until after I’m out. No matter how many supplies I get, it’s still not quite enough, but that’s also a good problem to have – it means I am loved, and that gives me great hope here. So many of the women get no mail, and several have no one to write to at all.
--
Yesterday at 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning while they were distributing razors, I decided to try shaving. It’s not easy or appealing in one’s cell, but it was t-shirt exchange day later on, and I could use a dirty one to clean the floor afterwards. And I could handle the “Mountain Woman-Look” only about three weeks. So, they give you a few sample size packets of cream, which are a bit tough to tear open that early in the a.m., and a disposable razor. I discovered quickly that the water and suds flies everywhere and also unfortunately stains the stainless steel, but I guess the quality of the job was about as good as at home.
--
In the mail this morning I received two disconcerting letters, and I was surprised they got past the screeners. The first was from a Neo-Nazi/anti-Semitic/Anarchist group, many crinkled photocopied pages with swastikas and red and black ink, the other was an inmate from a prison in Texas who said he wanted a “pen pal” but his letter sounded much more like a personal ad. Both letters proclaimed that we had so much in common. Oh, Lordy, I just don’t think so, and don’t plan to respond to either of them. Since both letters contained contraband (staples, pamphlets, and letters from another inmate) my cellmates thought perhaps the guards downstairs have give up trying to screen my mail.
--
I don’t think I wrote earlier about being taken out for my Federal Bureau of Prison physical when I got here – they put me in full shackles and a matching orange prison-issue coat, and I went in the back of a heavily armored paddy wagon – this was fine albeit bumpy. The fun part came when walking through the hospital in full get-up, realizing this is quite a shock to the families and elderly women – so – I tried to smile and say, “Oh, don’t mind me!”
More yelling and screaming last night – a few girls have sidled up to the airvents in their rooms and use them as Alpen horns, in which they call “Ricola!” – just like the cough drop commercial – and I finally fell asleep last night promising myself I’d accidentally drop my breakfast tray on them in the morning – oatmeal and all – but I was feeling more charitable/sluggish by then and anyway we had grits, which I do like here.
At the moment I am waiting for laundry call – sheets and pillowcases today – and reflecting on taking pleasure in simple routines. For example, I love laundry call, trading in old stuff for new. I really like uniform exchange, since by then we’ve been wearing ours for 3-4 days straight and they can stand up on their own. Underwear exchange is usually mjore of a gamble, hard to get anything that fits since they’re all so old and worn out. Sheets and towels though are alright.
I am happy to report nearly all the mail has gotten through – and I get a little slip of paper to sign when something doesn’t make it through inspection. Usually the problem is photos glued to a card, or something similar. I also heard back that my early general letters have been posted to my blog and e-mailed around. In the meantime, if I haven’t said earlier, I’ve received so many beautiful letters here I would like to try to do a book on them. I don’t know if it will work, but I’ll see.
Last night I read most of 1st Kings, I don’t know how long it's been since doing so. I’m reading it in “Free on the Inside” the Prison Fellowship Bible, which is a paraphrase edition for new Christians. It’s actually not too bad, written at about the 8th grade level, which is closer to where I think most liberal theology books should be written. 8th grade is the reading level of most of the U.S. The trouble with liberal theologians is that there is that they’re usually PhD’s writing to impress other PhD’s in order to get tenure, etc. which generally excludes most other potential readers. Meanwhile, one thing Fundamentalism does well is produce a lot of reading material with simple, down-to-earth vocabulary. I venture that it is easier for most people to be convinced by an argument when they can understand the argument. So, I think this may be one more reason liberal churches continue to decline. It is a class issue as a politics issue, and here I am afraid liberals have much to account for.
--
Saturday and Sunday have been quite good – I was excited to see Catherine and catch up on news from school and “talk seminary” for a while – a relief! - and then to see Tom and Erin this morning and share some good laughs about the kitties going to the vet, and the upcoming chili cookoff, and about a Bible study that may have gone worse than the the ones around here usually do (though in the story I heard, not due to the teacher’s ignorance – this time it was a student in histronics). And a call home and hearing my niece Gracie’s giggling questions about life in jail. (I told her it was mostly like high school –true!) The rest of the weekend I slept in and napped plenty – which in retrospect was probable an excellent idea – I’ve manage so far to avoid a violent respiratory and gastrointestinal cold that’s hit nearly everyone else. I’ve also been washing my hands like a maniac.
A woman came in for a weekend sentence, and had some kind of catatonic anxiety attack. The guards came and took her out in a wheelchair. We had some pretty obnoxious rubber-neckers, so our pod got locked down for awhile, too. Another woman came in later, probably paranoid schizophrenic I guessed from our brief chat – later vomited in her cell and the guards took her away.
Just now I had the opportunity to debate the merits of half a bag of Jolly Ranchers versus a Milky Way bar. While incarcerated, Jolly Ranchers are a trade currency (trade food with cellmates, buy erases, favors, etc.) that is easily divisible, plus they double up as cough drops. Meanwhile a Milky Way is … chocolate, good in its own right. (Snickers, my first choice, wasn’t an option in the negotiations). I received the Ranchers as a thank you for tending a girl in the next cell with a raging toothache with all my commissary acetaminophen packets. My lunch table-mate likes Ranchers for a reason I forgot to mention earlier, that is, they are excellent “ammo.” They have a connect-to-target satisfaction level roughly akin to paintball, I think.
--No TV this evening. I enjoy the quiet enough, but its not fun being blamed for things we can’t help. There’s been a mechanical problem with the electromagnetic cell doors – they read as open while in real life they’re closed – so sometimes this past week, we’ve been stuck inside our cells when the command post thinks they let us out, and other times, like now, they yell at us for having our doors open when they’re closed tighter than anything we could do to open them. Hence, the no TV as punishment. We’ve gone through this with every shift of guards, but no luck yet. You’d think that in maximum security they’d want the cell doors to work…
After 2 weeks, I’m still waiting to get to the library. We’ve only been allowed once, but it was later in the evening after medical rounds when most of the readers were already in bed. (Once you go in your cell at night, you can’t get back out). Meanwhile, we get to go to the “gym” nearly every day. I think the difference is that there’s security cameras and a window from the command post to the gym, and there’s nothing for security in the library, so they have to send a guard. So if a guard doesn’t want to go, we don’t go. Sounds like most guards don’t. I think it would make the most sense if each pod got even 1 hour a week to get new books, at a time we could count on. The library and AA are the only two truly rehabilitative programs they offer here.
--
Meanwhile in happier news, I had a wonderfully quiet night last night. I simply advised everyone that whosoever chose to scream into the air vents that night would have a lunch tray dropped on their heads because I would be too tired to know otherwise. That garnered a few shocked looks and a comment that “if the preacher’s threatening, she must mean it,” and it was quite surprisingly effective. Two girls sheepishly asked this morning if I’d slept well, and I found my culprits. All is forgiven☺
--
It seems I went through a very sluggish spell – not quite sick – and I haven’t written for several days. I also see that by the time some of these letters make it home, I will possibly be home already. The days are flying – not in all ways, but in many. I think some letters I won’t manage to reply to until after I’m out. No matter how many supplies I get, it’s still not quite enough, but that’s also a good problem to have – it means I am loved, and that gives me great hope here. So many of the women get no mail, and several have no one to write to at all.
--
Yesterday at 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning while they were distributing razors, I decided to try shaving. It’s not easy or appealing in one’s cell, but it was t-shirt exchange day later on, and I could use a dirty one to clean the floor afterwards. And I could handle the “Mountain Woman-Look” only about three weeks. So, they give you a few sample size packets of cream, which are a bit tough to tear open that early in the a.m., and a disposable razor. I discovered quickly that the water and suds flies everywhere and also unfortunately stains the stainless steel, but I guess the quality of the job was about as good as at home.
--
In the mail this morning I received two disconcerting letters, and I was surprised they got past the screeners. The first was from a Neo-Nazi/anti-Semitic/Anarchist group, many crinkled photocopied pages with swastikas and red and black ink, the other was an inmate from a prison in Texas who said he wanted a “pen pal” but his letter sounded much more like a personal ad. Both letters proclaimed that we had so much in common. Oh, Lordy, I just don’t think so, and don’t plan to respond to either of them. Since both letters contained contraband (staples, pamphlets, and letters from another inmate) my cellmates thought perhaps the guards downstairs have give up trying to screen my mail.
--
I don’t think I wrote earlier about being taken out for my Federal Bureau of Prison physical when I got here – they put me in full shackles and a matching orange prison-issue coat, and I went in the back of a heavily armored paddy wagon – this was fine albeit bumpy. The fun part came when walking through the hospital in full get-up, realizing this is quite a shock to the families and elderly women – so – I tried to smile and say, “Oh, don’t mind me!”
Thursday, April 17, 2008
April 17, Part 1
I have received so many kind letters from Catholic religious orders who have supported efforts to close the SOA and sometimes monastics who have themselves gone to jail. I am very grateful to make their acquaintance and I hope I might even perhaps visit the ones nearby soon after my release. I am also hoping to get into the churches nearby and speak about peacemaking work.
--
I received two new pencils today – good, having given one away and wearing the others down quickly – such a valuable commodity here! Only when they arrived the guard was discouraged to find they came with erasers – which meant that they had that little metal band holding them together – contraband. So he pried those off and I am grateful he let me keep the little eraser nubs.
--
*Sigh* another painful parting with a pencil. A girl begged me to trade a new one for a golf pencil too short to put in the sharpener. I relented. Candy? Shampoo? These are easy to share but writing supplies kinda hurt. After lockdown, I will see if she has another golf pencil and bind them together with a shampoo label. That will make them useful again for someone.
--
I’m reading actually some good books I’ve found here, although I don’t remember all the authors – Before I Forget by Andre Brink, a South African writer; Storm Runners; the Christmas Train; When We Were Grownups, Confessions of Super Mom; Now You See Her, a book about borderline personality disorder; and a biography of Karla Faye Tucker, the woman Bush executed when he was governor of Texas; and a little Bible and Quran intermingled.
I did a little dusting just now, a pre-worn sock works much like Lemon Pledge. Who would have thought? Also had a little cellmate pastoral counseling, a young friend with a court date quite a ways off and separated from her two young sons – she can’t get money together to bond out. This is so sad, and she is quite sweet. I hope after this she’s able to get out and stay on the outside – I see how hard it can be for some of the women – I’m coming to realize for some this is the safest and most orderly home they have.
As I’ve mentioned in previous notes, here is an amazingly strong company and support of women. Does any kind of support group for helping women hold it together and stay out of jail exist once you’re released? Where you could get the support of women without judgment? There is nothing I know of other than A.A., perhaps the Celebrate Recovery program also (the Evangelical one) – what does one do? Even the SOAW prisoners of conscience, I am told, have difficulty when they get back ‘outside.’
Hmm… I kind of envision a cooperative solution - a meeting, yes, but also perhaps like a Catholic Worker, where volunteers and women just returning from prison w/ nowhere to go live together, share household tasks and childcare, and have this weekly-plus support. This is an important factor.
I wonder if in this recession anyone would donate a big old house, just to get it off their hands? And if enough volunteers could be interested?
--
The ‘aha’ moment for the day began with a letter from co-defendant Diane Hughes, who mentioned that other women inmates so often see us as “short timers.” By some twist of fate, I have actually been here longer than all but a handful in my ‘pod’ (32-inmate section). I seem to have been quickly promoted to helping others get oriented. It’s not bad, and I usually have fun doing it.
--
I received two new pencils today – good, having given one away and wearing the others down quickly – such a valuable commodity here! Only when they arrived the guard was discouraged to find they came with erasers – which meant that they had that little metal band holding them together – contraband. So he pried those off and I am grateful he let me keep the little eraser nubs.
--
*Sigh* another painful parting with a pencil. A girl begged me to trade a new one for a golf pencil too short to put in the sharpener. I relented. Candy? Shampoo? These are easy to share but writing supplies kinda hurt. After lockdown, I will see if she has another golf pencil and bind them together with a shampoo label. That will make them useful again for someone.
--
I’m reading actually some good books I’ve found here, although I don’t remember all the authors – Before I Forget by Andre Brink, a South African writer; Storm Runners; the Christmas Train; When We Were Grownups, Confessions of Super Mom; Now You See Her, a book about borderline personality disorder; and a biography of Karla Faye Tucker, the woman Bush executed when he was governor of Texas; and a little Bible and Quran intermingled.
I did a little dusting just now, a pre-worn sock works much like Lemon Pledge. Who would have thought? Also had a little cellmate pastoral counseling, a young friend with a court date quite a ways off and separated from her two young sons – she can’t get money together to bond out. This is so sad, and she is quite sweet. I hope after this she’s able to get out and stay on the outside – I see how hard it can be for some of the women – I’m coming to realize for some this is the safest and most orderly home they have.
As I’ve mentioned in previous notes, here is an amazingly strong company and support of women. Does any kind of support group for helping women hold it together and stay out of jail exist once you’re released? Where you could get the support of women without judgment? There is nothing I know of other than A.A., perhaps the Celebrate Recovery program also (the Evangelical one) – what does one do? Even the SOAW prisoners of conscience, I am told, have difficulty when they get back ‘outside.’
Hmm… I kind of envision a cooperative solution - a meeting, yes, but also perhaps like a Catholic Worker, where volunteers and women just returning from prison w/ nowhere to go live together, share household tasks and childcare, and have this weekly-plus support. This is an important factor.
I wonder if in this recession anyone would donate a big old house, just to get it off their hands? And if enough volunteers could be interested?
--
The ‘aha’ moment for the day began with a letter from co-defendant Diane Hughes, who mentioned that other women inmates so often see us as “short timers.” By some twist of fate, I have actually been here longer than all but a handful in my ‘pod’ (32-inmate section). I seem to have been quickly promoted to helping others get oriented. It’s not bad, and I usually have fun doing it.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Notes from My Cell, April 16
A reminder: a peace vigil will take place for LeAnne and peace, every Wednesday from 5:15 in the CTS Hilton Chapel. (The small chapel on the first floor.) There will be someone there for at least an hour, and the chapel will be open after that.
------------------------------------------
4/16: My hand hurts and I don't feel much like writing but my brain is busy so it might be good to do so anyway.
Today I sent off some cartoons I'd drawn about life in jail, which I'll hopefully copy onto the website eventually. The first was pictures of what we eat (beanie-weenie, beanie-without-weenie, and beanie-with-mystery-meat) plus a prison version of upside-down cake (frosting on the bottom so it doesn't stick to the stack of trays.) I also did one of all possible party costumes you could construct from prison-issue clothing and linens (a pillow case makes a good tail for a tiger, since you're already in orange and black). This las one I sent to Mom for her 60th birthday card, since she has always liked my cartoon characters. Her birthday is the 18th.
I also wrote several letters by dictation/translation for our immigrant friends here who are still without representation- so we're writing to legal aid agencies. This was a multi-national effort, since I'm rather slow on both Spanish translation and legal options for immigrants. So my Romanian [sp?] friend helped me with the legal part and both Mexican friends and I pieced the rest together. I also wrote a letter for my Korean friend whose American husband of 30 years seems to have forgotten all about her. No phone, visits, or letters in all this time, and no money for comissary to get shampoo and such. So we quit writing letters to the husband and are now getting legal help for her directly. Meanwhile, of course they threaten to deport her. What does a 63 year old woman do back in Korea when she's been gone 30 years? All her family is gone. So it is a difficult situation. Meanwhile, the husband of one of my Mexican friends found a lawyer, but the lawyer took their money and didn't work on the case. Now they have nothing to pay a new lawyer.
4/17: Comissary arrived today, and we stood on the floor with our pillow cases like eager trick or treaters. I have envelopes for me, and moe pencils. Another notepad didn't come through. I think I can make do, though, with the backs of received letters. I order as many as I can but still run out of something by the end of the week for letter-writing. In the meantime, we'll hold a party tonight with our snack goodies- one woman who his here is honoring the birthday of her fiance, who died one month ago tomorrow, from a drug overdose. So we will all contribute something- a sort of potluck.
Last night I went to "Celebrate Recovery" which is an Evangelical 12 step/8 principle program which kind of covers all the ailments and addictions at once- from alcohol and narcotics to food, anger, and workaholism- the latter being why I thought I might sign up. I did include some good, intensive life-sharing, which I think really benefitted everyone, and it also made me a little more empathetic for the Fundamentalist laywoman running the program. I do understand that religious traditions based on controland rigidity are very appealing to people who feel their lives are out of control. Many of the women here said they need it, so I am becoming more careful in how I criticize it. But I also still challenge words of intolerance- attacks on LGBTQ people and people of other faiths.
All cozy now in my cell and working on getting these letters written! Today, since the guards have not yet confiscated my "excess correspondence" as contraband (gee) I've lined up all my greeting cards on the top bunk. Church (UCHP) has sent so many cheerful floral cards, it is now like having a garden in my little cell. I'll try to get away with it as long as I can. It is helping to dispel my "mid-sentence grouchies." All the letters do help keep my spirits up, I realize this most over the weekend when there's no mail. Some of the women truly never get mail. I try to share the poetry, the pictures, etc., at breakfast mail call, and I hope to collect "out-dates" for some of the women who will be here later than me.
There is an A&E documentary on Matthew Shephard on tv now, and many of the girls are rapt with attention to the screen. This is good. There is quite a bit of homophobia here, not just from the Prison Fellowship folks but among the women. Also rampant among guards and inmates is a dislike of immigrants- where they are mostly ignored by the other women, or of the kind where immigrants as a whole are maligned but the few here are made known to be exceptions. Those of us who can, help with the letter writing, translation, and sharing comissary goods.
I found out in a letter from a classmate yesterday that there is a weekly peace vigil at the seminary while I am away. I don't know who has organized it or who's attending, but I am very touched by it. It is good to know not only that I am loved and remembered, but also that folks "outside" are working on the cause for which I've gone to jail in the first place.
We are guessing these days perhaps the food has a sedative effect- it is heavily starch and fat, and veggie/fruit servings quite scarce. But most of us are pretty subdued this week, going back to bed as soon as wwe finish eating, and tough to wake up in the morning. I imagine we're "sugar-crashing." Although the younger ones might be quite "sugared-up" for the weekend, having ordered extra comissary.
I've drawn another little picture just now, of my cell, as it might look when you walk in the door. You'll have to picture me in a blanket shawl as usual, either writing at the desk or on the bunk. The hop/swing out seat can be comfortable enough for a while, but the bed allows more space to lay out papers. [I put the picture up on the bulletin board of CTS Room 133. –David]
Please pray for my friend in court today, trying to get into rehab and get her child and cats back. Please pray for the women who are forgotten here, for the immigrants, and for those scared to be here, and the women who cry by the phones. Peace to you and I hope to see you soon.
LeAnne
------------------------------------------
4/16: My hand hurts and I don't feel much like writing but my brain is busy so it might be good to do so anyway.
Today I sent off some cartoons I'd drawn about life in jail, which I'll hopefully copy onto the website eventually. The first was pictures of what we eat (beanie-weenie, beanie-without-weenie, and beanie-with-mystery-meat) plus a prison version of upside-down cake (frosting on the bottom so it doesn't stick to the stack of trays.) I also did one of all possible party costumes you could construct from prison-issue clothing and linens (a pillow case makes a good tail for a tiger, since you're already in orange and black). This las one I sent to Mom for her 60th birthday card, since she has always liked my cartoon characters. Her birthday is the 18th.
I also wrote several letters by dictation/translation for our immigrant friends here who are still without representation- so we're writing to legal aid agencies. This was a multi-national effort, since I'm rather slow on both Spanish translation and legal options for immigrants. So my Romanian [sp?] friend helped me with the legal part and both Mexican friends and I pieced the rest together. I also wrote a letter for my Korean friend whose American husband of 30 years seems to have forgotten all about her. No phone, visits, or letters in all this time, and no money for comissary to get shampoo and such. So we quit writing letters to the husband and are now getting legal help for her directly. Meanwhile, of course they threaten to deport her. What does a 63 year old woman do back in Korea when she's been gone 30 years? All her family is gone. So it is a difficult situation. Meanwhile, the husband of one of my Mexican friends found a lawyer, but the lawyer took their money and didn't work on the case. Now they have nothing to pay a new lawyer.
4/17: Comissary arrived today, and we stood on the floor with our pillow cases like eager trick or treaters. I have envelopes for me, and moe pencils. Another notepad didn't come through. I think I can make do, though, with the backs of received letters. I order as many as I can but still run out of something by the end of the week for letter-writing. In the meantime, we'll hold a party tonight with our snack goodies- one woman who his here is honoring the birthday of her fiance, who died one month ago tomorrow, from a drug overdose. So we will all contribute something- a sort of potluck.
Last night I went to "Celebrate Recovery" which is an Evangelical 12 step/8 principle program which kind of covers all the ailments and addictions at once- from alcohol and narcotics to food, anger, and workaholism- the latter being why I thought I might sign up. I did include some good, intensive life-sharing, which I think really benefitted everyone, and it also made me a little more empathetic for the Fundamentalist laywoman running the program. I do understand that religious traditions based on controland rigidity are very appealing to people who feel their lives are out of control. Many of the women here said they need it, so I am becoming more careful in how I criticize it. But I also still challenge words of intolerance- attacks on LGBTQ people and people of other faiths.
All cozy now in my cell and working on getting these letters written! Today, since the guards have not yet confiscated my "excess correspondence" as contraband (gee) I've lined up all my greeting cards on the top bunk. Church (UCHP) has sent so many cheerful floral cards, it is now like having a garden in my little cell. I'll try to get away with it as long as I can. It is helping to dispel my "mid-sentence grouchies." All the letters do help keep my spirits up, I realize this most over the weekend when there's no mail. Some of the women truly never get mail. I try to share the poetry, the pictures, etc., at breakfast mail call, and I hope to collect "out-dates" for some of the women who will be here later than me.
There is an A&E documentary on Matthew Shephard on tv now, and many of the girls are rapt with attention to the screen. This is good. There is quite a bit of homophobia here, not just from the Prison Fellowship folks but among the women. Also rampant among guards and inmates is a dislike of immigrants- where they are mostly ignored by the other women, or of the kind where immigrants as a whole are maligned but the few here are made known to be exceptions. Those of us who can, help with the letter writing, translation, and sharing comissary goods.
I found out in a letter from a classmate yesterday that there is a weekly peace vigil at the seminary while I am away. I don't know who has organized it or who's attending, but I am very touched by it. It is good to know not only that I am loved and remembered, but also that folks "outside" are working on the cause for which I've gone to jail in the first place.
We are guessing these days perhaps the food has a sedative effect- it is heavily starch and fat, and veggie/fruit servings quite scarce. But most of us are pretty subdued this week, going back to bed as soon as wwe finish eating, and tough to wake up in the morning. I imagine we're "sugar-crashing." Although the younger ones might be quite "sugared-up" for the weekend, having ordered extra comissary.
I've drawn another little picture just now, of my cell, as it might look when you walk in the door. You'll have to picture me in a blanket shawl as usual, either writing at the desk or on the bunk. The hop/swing out seat can be comfortable enough for a while, but the bed allows more space to lay out papers. [I put the picture up on the bulletin board of CTS Room 133. –David]
Please pray for my friend in court today, trying to get into rehab and get her child and cats back. Please pray for the women who are forgotten here, for the immigrants, and for those scared to be here, and the women who cry by the phones. Peace to you and I hope to see you soon.
LeAnne
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Notes from My Cell, April 13-14th
4/13
I am pretty comfortable in my cell, I hope not too comfortable, but after all, I seek out monastic retreats where I’ve just got a little cell to sit with myself, catch up on sleep perhaps, and write. I’ve been thinking of stripping my room down this summer to just such a situation. My room has been my office and my study for too long, and it does impact the quality of my sleep. This last winter I learned to spend time in my red chair, angled towards the window, where I got a little light and could watch the city and its people just go about its business. I think it began to click, that this was in some ways a spiritual discipline to be valued, earlier – before Christmas, when I got the opportunity to meet Martin Marty in his office and home in the Hancock tower. The whole world, it seems, is buzzing away below. (I especially liked the line of cars up and down all of Lake Shore Drive). But it does quickly give you a different perspective on life, floating above it like that. So that is what I try to do now also – take in that bustling corner of Hyde Park with its Metra trains and buses and people arriving and departing, the bank and the bookstore, and all.
For this reason also, I think, I am happy to have been bounced up to the second floor of cells in our block – where I can get a wider, “birds-eye” perspective on our daily lives in this jail, how we buzz about playing cards, helping one another, fighting with one another, all engrossed in a movie on TV, the crying and hand-holding by the phone, and the laughing at lunch table pranks. It also gets a little more sun during the day.
I think I’ve collected nearly enough information to begin a license investigation into the night nurse – the one who routinely refuses to distribute prescribed medication to inmates during her shift, or to tell inmates their prescription has expired – although the other nurses will show us that the prescription is still in place. One testimony I collected is from a young inmate who suffered a miscarriage late in her first trimester. When this nurse was on duty and called, she told the girl to “bleed it out in (her) cell.” That was about two years ago. We do apparently have a very good medical ward here, by most prisoners’ accounts, but it amazes me a nurse wouldn’t do anything. Meanwhile, I’m wondering just what this nurse is doing with all the drugs she’s withholding from her patients. (Worse is the girl who went into premature labor on an already high risk pregnancy this past summer; the nurse told her it was only a bladder infection. When the next nurse came on shift, she finally got to go to the hospital).
--
9:15 and we are waiting for cell inspections – a daily ritual of checking our beds are neat and cells tidy, and no “contraband” lying out in the open. Today, I have two religious books – a Bible and a Qur’an, when you’re only allowed one; and I made a pencil-grip out of paper strips rolled, and secured with a sticky shampoo label. I also have too many photos and letters from the outside – when I finish with them, they’re supposed to go downstairs into my personal belongings container – but in my defense on this last one, I’ve asked three different guards so far, and none have bothered; they also didn’t touch it during shakedown.
--
4/14
Monday afternoon, a beautiful sun shining, I can see through the window; I find myself especially at peace today. It is good to enter jail in late winter, when you haven’t experienced spring yet – in fact, it will be marvelous to step out into full bloom a few weeks from now. Then it may be hard to keep me inside to finish my studies the last two weeks of school.
--
I just remember I forgot to call back the Witherspoon Society. Perhaps I can be of use to them still after my release. (A Presbyterian peace group).
--
I confess the past several days I’ve done little more than read, write, and catch up on sleep – I felt a little guilty about this – I should be writing more! Reading more! But, on the other hand, it also feels like time well spent. Curiously enough, the whole ward’s been doing much the same. We’ve been quieter as a whole, too.
I answered some questions about religious life, training towards the pastorate, as well as formation as a nun; I explained what I could. I think often about bringing together various religious orders for a conversation with the New Monasticism movement, the Catholic Workers and the student cooperative housing movement, and I think also the interfaith youth movement. Here are five groups that have so much to share with one another and enormous potential to provide young adults something meaningful to do other than hope to work for good.
So many tears tonight – on the phone again – from those coming in tonight, and from those who are about to leave. It is a nurturing group of women here who look out for one another and its ok to cry around. I can see how it would be hard to exist on the “outside” world without this support.
--
All I can think about tonight is food. The tv commercials are not helping – nor is my co-food-thinker who’s getting out tomorrow. You just don’t know how much that Dunkin Donuts commercial for coffee hurt to watch, especially the last scene with the chocolate-covered custard-filled – it’s a particular weakness… I am envisioning a day of pure comfort food when I get out, followed by many days of nonstop vegetables. No pasta surprise, and no beanie weenie for at least a month, okay? I also confess I dream of pizza. Fortunately, they do a nice treat for the inmates – they take orders every other Friday from a local restaurant, this week it will be a sub – we’ll divide up the ones we get for the women who have no money on their commissary accounts, just as we do with the candy. We’re charged a reasonable price, too – around $5. I am glad to have resources to share here. Also glad that when I leave my cellmates will have my things to share – shampoo, and things like this that I needed to order when I got here. Also hopefully a few leftover writing supplies, though I go through them fast.
--
I’m beginning to think already of the time when I will be done here. It is coming soon.
Peace,
Le Anne
I am pretty comfortable in my cell, I hope not too comfortable, but after all, I seek out monastic retreats where I’ve just got a little cell to sit with myself, catch up on sleep perhaps, and write. I’ve been thinking of stripping my room down this summer to just such a situation. My room has been my office and my study for too long, and it does impact the quality of my sleep. This last winter I learned to spend time in my red chair, angled towards the window, where I got a little light and could watch the city and its people just go about its business. I think it began to click, that this was in some ways a spiritual discipline to be valued, earlier – before Christmas, when I got the opportunity to meet Martin Marty in his office and home in the Hancock tower. The whole world, it seems, is buzzing away below. (I especially liked the line of cars up and down all of Lake Shore Drive). But it does quickly give you a different perspective on life, floating above it like that. So that is what I try to do now also – take in that bustling corner of Hyde Park with its Metra trains and buses and people arriving and departing, the bank and the bookstore, and all.
For this reason also, I think, I am happy to have been bounced up to the second floor of cells in our block – where I can get a wider, “birds-eye” perspective on our daily lives in this jail, how we buzz about playing cards, helping one another, fighting with one another, all engrossed in a movie on TV, the crying and hand-holding by the phone, and the laughing at lunch table pranks. It also gets a little more sun during the day.
I think I’ve collected nearly enough information to begin a license investigation into the night nurse – the one who routinely refuses to distribute prescribed medication to inmates during her shift, or to tell inmates their prescription has expired – although the other nurses will show us that the prescription is still in place. One testimony I collected is from a young inmate who suffered a miscarriage late in her first trimester. When this nurse was on duty and called, she told the girl to “bleed it out in (her) cell.” That was about two years ago. We do apparently have a very good medical ward here, by most prisoners’ accounts, but it amazes me a nurse wouldn’t do anything. Meanwhile, I’m wondering just what this nurse is doing with all the drugs she’s withholding from her patients. (Worse is the girl who went into premature labor on an already high risk pregnancy this past summer; the nurse told her it was only a bladder infection. When the next nurse came on shift, she finally got to go to the hospital).
--
9:15 and we are waiting for cell inspections – a daily ritual of checking our beds are neat and cells tidy, and no “contraband” lying out in the open. Today, I have two religious books – a Bible and a Qur’an, when you’re only allowed one; and I made a pencil-grip out of paper strips rolled, and secured with a sticky shampoo label. I also have too many photos and letters from the outside – when I finish with them, they’re supposed to go downstairs into my personal belongings container – but in my defense on this last one, I’ve asked three different guards so far, and none have bothered; they also didn’t touch it during shakedown.
--
4/14
Monday afternoon, a beautiful sun shining, I can see through the window; I find myself especially at peace today. It is good to enter jail in late winter, when you haven’t experienced spring yet – in fact, it will be marvelous to step out into full bloom a few weeks from now. Then it may be hard to keep me inside to finish my studies the last two weeks of school.
--
I just remember I forgot to call back the Witherspoon Society. Perhaps I can be of use to them still after my release. (A Presbyterian peace group).
--
I confess the past several days I’ve done little more than read, write, and catch up on sleep – I felt a little guilty about this – I should be writing more! Reading more! But, on the other hand, it also feels like time well spent. Curiously enough, the whole ward’s been doing much the same. We’ve been quieter as a whole, too.
I answered some questions about religious life, training towards the pastorate, as well as formation as a nun; I explained what I could. I think often about bringing together various religious orders for a conversation with the New Monasticism movement, the Catholic Workers and the student cooperative housing movement, and I think also the interfaith youth movement. Here are five groups that have so much to share with one another and enormous potential to provide young adults something meaningful to do other than hope to work for good.
So many tears tonight – on the phone again – from those coming in tonight, and from those who are about to leave. It is a nurturing group of women here who look out for one another and its ok to cry around. I can see how it would be hard to exist on the “outside” world without this support.
--
All I can think about tonight is food. The tv commercials are not helping – nor is my co-food-thinker who’s getting out tomorrow. You just don’t know how much that Dunkin Donuts commercial for coffee hurt to watch, especially the last scene with the chocolate-covered custard-filled – it’s a particular weakness… I am envisioning a day of pure comfort food when I get out, followed by many days of nonstop vegetables. No pasta surprise, and no beanie weenie for at least a month, okay? I also confess I dream of pizza. Fortunately, they do a nice treat for the inmates – they take orders every other Friday from a local restaurant, this week it will be a sub – we’ll divide up the ones we get for the women who have no money on their commissary accounts, just as we do with the candy. We’re charged a reasonable price, too – around $5. I am glad to have resources to share here. Also glad that when I leave my cellmates will have my things to share – shampoo, and things like this that I needed to order when I got here. Also hopefully a few leftover writing supplies, though I go through them fast.
--
I’m beginning to think already of the time when I will be done here. It is coming soon.
Peace,
Le Anne
Friday, April 11, 2008
Notes from My Cell, April 11
[An activist couple sent me an Emma Goldman portrait/history greeting card, which I translated out loud in Spanish for our few ICE detainee friends; the card itself was so popular among the women I didn’t see it for a few days. It finally came back today – was stuck in someone’s Bible.
Most of us do go to Bible Study and “Church,” but it’s pretty clear both of these are led by horribly under-trained and fundamentalist volunteers. Except for their sweet suburban mom faces, not a lot of love or real Gospel. It’s also definitively geared toward conversion, which is what some girls are asking for – interesting to me to see who enjoys this and who doesn’t. I’ve been thinking a lot about how to capture fundamentalist persuasion and couple it with a more welcoming gospel of love and justice. For example, could you couple the style of Joel Osteen with lessons of good/just stewardship of money and your whole person, or a discussion on systems of poverty?
Today we had ‘Shakedown’ which is when they pull apart your cell and also frisk you good looking for contraband. Fortunately, I’m good to go, they only confiscated one of my pencils, which was really two golf pencils taped together.
Fortunately, I arrived some time after they ended the practice of strip AND cavity searches during shakedown, although they still strip search when you first come in. It’s also good to be aware that cameras and guards – male and female – are watching everything you do, at all hours of the day. Even when using the toilet and shower, and changing clothes. I’ve adopted a manner of modesty-plus-gutsiness, and it doesn’t buy me as much now. It helps to remember at that point, I am just a number.
I saw a cake fight tonight, which is actually round three over about as many days. Each day we do get dessert, a nice surprise, one meal is two cookies, and the other meal is cake. So, one woman was eating bits of the other’s cake while she wasn’t watching. So the ‘victim’ grabbed the rest of the cake and smooshed it in her face, like they do at obnoxious weddings. So, when the next cake dinner came around, the “thief” grabbed a handful and shoved it down the front of the other’s shirt. On round three, she returned the favor. I was laughing so hard I fell off my stool. Glad they didn’t go for the mashed potatoes, and also that they’re good friends.
I confess that I have eaten far too many of the “Nutty Bars” since they arrived in commissary on Thursday – healthy food is hard to come by. Supper is at 4:00 PM, so it’s easy to get hungry at night, and we’re not supposed to take food from dinner back to our cells. (Fortunately, the cookie I did abscond with after lunch I did eat BEFORE shakedown.)
Would you believe I actually spent the weekend napping and reading books for fun in BED? How long has it been? Probably not since I started seminary, with the exception of the Harry Potter books this summer. Usually, I have enough school reading to do that if I do have free time, I don’t want to do more, so that was a nice perk.
I actually don’t mind my cell, it does offer a certain “monastic” function that I was hoping for – just a bed and a desk and the sink/toilet. I do find it a quiet alternative to the dayroom, which has a usually loud TV and everyone playing cards; so when I feel like I’ve been social enough for the day, I head up to read, write, or nap. The next project is to read the entire Quran through, and perhaps all of Paul – the latter at the suggestion of the new chaplain (who, by comparison to the regular volunteers I think actually is pretty good) who suggested as a young pastor I might find more in Paul’s writings as a prisoner among prisoners sharing and thinking Gospel. We’ll see what happens.
4/11/08 – Every night I am here I watch girls cry, usually on the phone, usually because someone hasn’t come to bond them out. This is a pervasive strain in the unit, the issue of bond. The people who are here, for the most part, are people who can’t afford to not be here. My roommate, who finally got out today, went through a terribly painful ordeal as her family went to each member and friend, borrowing money, expecting them to make it back here before each deadline, still not enough, pawning more possessions, again not enough, dissolving into tears after being so hopeful day after day, that they’d already packed. Another girl was given rising bail - $2000 the day of court, $3,000 next, $4,000 the next – or off to prison for the next three years without a chance to go home after sentencing. Federal cases are worse, you may spend years in this building while your case is being processed, and never see the light of day past your six inch window strip. Two girls here are in this predicament. I am extremely lucky. I have a definite ‘out date.’ The chaplain I met with this week suggested I focus my Bible study on Paul, who pastured and taught even as he was a prisoner among prisoners, that this might be a good frame and function for me as a young pastor behind bars. For those of you who pray, pray this week for my young friends in the Holy Name 6, who were treated quite badly in police custody after their nonviolent protest against the war Easter Sunday. They are young, but I think they have admirable convictions. If you can, please contribute to their legal support on my behalf. Many thanks, Peace, LeAnne.
Most of us do go to Bible Study and “Church,” but it’s pretty clear both of these are led by horribly under-trained and fundamentalist volunteers. Except for their sweet suburban mom faces, not a lot of love or real Gospel. It’s also definitively geared toward conversion, which is what some girls are asking for – interesting to me to see who enjoys this and who doesn’t. I’ve been thinking a lot about how to capture fundamentalist persuasion and couple it with a more welcoming gospel of love and justice. For example, could you couple the style of Joel Osteen with lessons of good/just stewardship of money and your whole person, or a discussion on systems of poverty?
Today we had ‘Shakedown’ which is when they pull apart your cell and also frisk you good looking for contraband. Fortunately, I’m good to go, they only confiscated one of my pencils, which was really two golf pencils taped together.
Fortunately, I arrived some time after they ended the practice of strip AND cavity searches during shakedown, although they still strip search when you first come in. It’s also good to be aware that cameras and guards – male and female – are watching everything you do, at all hours of the day. Even when using the toilet and shower, and changing clothes. I’ve adopted a manner of modesty-plus-gutsiness, and it doesn’t buy me as much now. It helps to remember at that point, I am just a number.
I saw a cake fight tonight, which is actually round three over about as many days. Each day we do get dessert, a nice surprise, one meal is two cookies, and the other meal is cake. So, one woman was eating bits of the other’s cake while she wasn’t watching. So the ‘victim’ grabbed the rest of the cake and smooshed it in her face, like they do at obnoxious weddings. So, when the next cake dinner came around, the “thief” grabbed a handful and shoved it down the front of the other’s shirt. On round three, she returned the favor. I was laughing so hard I fell off my stool. Glad they didn’t go for the mashed potatoes, and also that they’re good friends.
I confess that I have eaten far too many of the “Nutty Bars” since they arrived in commissary on Thursday – healthy food is hard to come by. Supper is at 4:00 PM, so it’s easy to get hungry at night, and we’re not supposed to take food from dinner back to our cells. (Fortunately, the cookie I did abscond with after lunch I did eat BEFORE shakedown.)
Would you believe I actually spent the weekend napping and reading books for fun in BED? How long has it been? Probably not since I started seminary, with the exception of the Harry Potter books this summer. Usually, I have enough school reading to do that if I do have free time, I don’t want to do more, so that was a nice perk.
I actually don’t mind my cell, it does offer a certain “monastic” function that I was hoping for – just a bed and a desk and the sink/toilet. I do find it a quiet alternative to the dayroom, which has a usually loud TV and everyone playing cards; so when I feel like I’ve been social enough for the day, I head up to read, write, or nap. The next project is to read the entire Quran through, and perhaps all of Paul – the latter at the suggestion of the new chaplain (who, by comparison to the regular volunteers I think actually is pretty good) who suggested as a young pastor I might find more in Paul’s writings as a prisoner among prisoners sharing and thinking Gospel. We’ll see what happens.
4/11/08 – Every night I am here I watch girls cry, usually on the phone, usually because someone hasn’t come to bond them out. This is a pervasive strain in the unit, the issue of bond. The people who are here, for the most part, are people who can’t afford to not be here. My roommate, who finally got out today, went through a terribly painful ordeal as her family went to each member and friend, borrowing money, expecting them to make it back here before each deadline, still not enough, pawning more possessions, again not enough, dissolving into tears after being so hopeful day after day, that they’d already packed. Another girl was given rising bail - $2000 the day of court, $3,000 next, $4,000 the next – or off to prison for the next three years without a chance to go home after sentencing. Federal cases are worse, you may spend years in this building while your case is being processed, and never see the light of day past your six inch window strip. Two girls here are in this predicament. I am extremely lucky. I have a definite ‘out date.’ The chaplain I met with this week suggested I focus my Bible study on Paul, who pastured and taught even as he was a prisoner among prisoners, that this might be a good frame and function for me as a young pastor behind bars. For those of you who pray, pray this week for my young friends in the Holy Name 6, who were treated quite badly in police custody after their nonviolent protest against the war Easter Sunday. They are young, but I think they have admirable convictions. If you can, please contribute to their legal support on my behalf. Many thanks, Peace, LeAnne.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Darkly Spinning Carousel
Tonight I went to see the Court Theater's production of Carousel, one of Rodgers' and Hammerstein's classics. I was blown away.
I think I expected something light, comic, perhaps sappy or cheesy. After all, wasn't this a Technicolor film of the fifties?
This was not that, even if one is familiar with all the songs. No, this production carried a gravitas I wholly unexpected. Here was laid out starkly the issues of turn-of-the-century industrial living that we still face today: grueling factory (sweatshop) labor, domestic violence, economic disparity and economic despair.
Now, before I go much further, I have to admit I never saw the original production or the film. YouTube provides some clips. The film I hope to rent someday; as for the play, on account of growing up poor and rural, I have missed much of the standard repertoire of even high school productions.
Still, here tonight were no carousel colors, except for the owner of the carnival ride herself, in stark contrast to the worn, faded clothes of the fishermen and mill girls. Poverty and the lack of options for women were cast at the forefront and the romances became the background, the opposite of how this has often been staged according to several sources I looked up. Billy is not so glamourous as troubled, and it is heartbreaking to see him finally come together for the purpose of raising his child right, only to careen down the wrong path for the right reasons, to his death.
The actress who played the wise cousin/gatekeeper of Heaven/graduation speaker was just remarkable. Ernestine Jackson has this beautiful deep voice for both singing and speaking, and has reknown for multiple Broadway roles, as well as some stints on 'Law and Order,' and a role in 'Bonfire of the Vanities.'
There was a disturbing theology at work in the middle of the play that I'm still mulling over. When Billy Bigelow dies, he wants to see the Judge himself, but is only assigned a local magistrate. Shortly before he dies, his friend tells him that only the wealthy ever get their cases heard by the Supreme Court, and that's what it's like in heaven, also. For me this stirs up thoughts on the current 'Prosperity Gospel: Wealth and blessing, wealth as indicative of goodness; poverty as indicative of cursedness; economic justice issues abound.
Curiously enough, heaven also offers Billy the chance to go back and attend to unfinished business. It's almost abrupt, hastened over, the actions that he takes--it's careening towards the final number. (And after I looked it up, it does this also in the movie of some decades ago).
But, in other thoughts and impressionts--what is this carousel but an empty entertainment, a colorful facade? It is good to enjoy a little for amusement but it is also the source and symbol of much pain, of broken promises and dreams. Actually, it is not much fun at all in the backdrop of the wider social problems. Is it an enigma?
I think I expected something light, comic, perhaps sappy or cheesy. After all, wasn't this a Technicolor film of the fifties?
This was not that, even if one is familiar with all the songs. No, this production carried a gravitas I wholly unexpected. Here was laid out starkly the issues of turn-of-the-century industrial living that we still face today: grueling factory (sweatshop) labor, domestic violence, economic disparity and economic despair.
Now, before I go much further, I have to admit I never saw the original production or the film. YouTube provides some clips. The film I hope to rent someday; as for the play, on account of growing up poor and rural, I have missed much of the standard repertoire of even high school productions.
Still, here tonight were no carousel colors, except for the owner of the carnival ride herself, in stark contrast to the worn, faded clothes of the fishermen and mill girls. Poverty and the lack of options for women were cast at the forefront and the romances became the background, the opposite of how this has often been staged according to several sources I looked up. Billy is not so glamourous as troubled, and it is heartbreaking to see him finally come together for the purpose of raising his child right, only to careen down the wrong path for the right reasons, to his death.
The actress who played the wise cousin/gatekeeper of Heaven/graduation speaker was just remarkable. Ernestine Jackson has this beautiful deep voice for both singing and speaking, and has reknown for multiple Broadway roles, as well as some stints on 'Law and Order,' and a role in 'Bonfire of the Vanities.'
There was a disturbing theology at work in the middle of the play that I'm still mulling over. When Billy Bigelow dies, he wants to see the Judge himself, but is only assigned a local magistrate. Shortly before he dies, his friend tells him that only the wealthy ever get their cases heard by the Supreme Court, and that's what it's like in heaven, also. For me this stirs up thoughts on the current 'Prosperity Gospel: Wealth and blessing, wealth as indicative of goodness; poverty as indicative of cursedness; economic justice issues abound.
Curiously enough, heaven also offers Billy the chance to go back and attend to unfinished business. It's almost abrupt, hastened over, the actions that he takes--it's careening towards the final number. (And after I looked it up, it does this also in the movie of some decades ago).
But, in other thoughts and impressionts--what is this carousel but an empty entertainment, a colorful facade? It is good to enjoy a little for amusement but it is also the source and symbol of much pain, of broken promises and dreams. Actually, it is not much fun at all in the backdrop of the wider social problems. Is it an enigma?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
The Food Stamp Challenge
Aaron Krager on Faithfully Liberal posted on the 'Food Stamp Challenge' and wrote about the experience of trying to buy a week's worth of food at the same dollar amount as a person on food stamps receives, $21.00 per week.
Technically, I realize, I would ‘win’ the food stamp challenge. I spend between $12–$24 per week on groceries. And I eat healthy and don’t go hungry when doing so. The ‘catch’ is that I only shop at the Hyde Park Produce mart (regularly, though I go about once a month to an Arab grocer’s or to Trader Joe’s), buy only what’s in season, and generally shop vegetarian.
However, I realize also this is only after a decade of practice and having done a lot of research on how to accomplish this (nutrition planning as well as living in other countries as well as figuring out which stores), and that I don’t have a partner or children– ‘advantages’ in winning the food war.
That’s not to say that if only food stamp people got better educated, they could make it work. There’s only one store where I can make this work in my neighborhood, four grocers where it certainly wouldn’t work, and no grocers at all in the distressed neighborhood (Woodlawn) where I work as a student pastor. I also know that some weeks if an emergency comes up, a paycheck doesn’t arrive when it should, or an extra bill comes up, the food budget might get wiped out altogether. Such was the case these past two weeks when a medical bill wiped out the last of my finances for the summer, though similar events have happened during my three years in seminary. On these occasions, I need to rely on events with food at school, or on friends or relatives to host me for a few meals a week–the seminarian’s form of a soup kitchen. Or sometimes I’m too proud or ashamed to admit I couldn’t make the ends meet on my own, and I just don’t eat.
I also know that my appetite isn’t often what it was when I was a growing child, particularly when I was one of five growing children in a family who was dependent on food assistance, and my mother was a very coupon/price conscious working nurse. Even when I was eight I was well aware it cost less to eat low-nutrition and ‘junk’ foods than it was to eat healthy foods when shopping at most stores. I also know that although both my parents worked regular blue-collar jobs, medical bills would push us over the line. Most folks find the same problem. And most folks, to my knowledge, that need food stamps do work.
I think I write all this in response to two silent but often-thought questions: who is really ‘poor’, and who deserves to eat. A person who works regularly or is a full-time student is not seen as being authentically ‘poor’ (I might add that most seminarians seem truly afraid of those who look or talk about being poor); and it’s a faulty assumption that a person who doesn’t have enough to eat is lazy or incompetent to work or manage their affairs or uneducated. Nobody who looked at me would assume I am poor or grew up in poverty. It’s true that I currently choose to remain a full-time student, after realizing I would be in deeper debt if I dropped to part-time and took longer to go to school. That is more choice than most people have. I also hope to choose to work in settings where I never live over the poverty line, in order to be more authentically among the poor. Still, whether living in chosen or unchosen forms of poverty, I know as a seminary student I need to speak up in the presence of my classmates on poverty issues and people, to transform the way we teach and learn how to be ministers, and how we respond in the course of our daily lives.
peace,
Le Anne
Technically, I realize, I would ‘win’ the food stamp challenge. I spend between $12–$24 per week on groceries. And I eat healthy and don’t go hungry when doing so. The ‘catch’ is that I only shop at the Hyde Park Produce mart (regularly, though I go about once a month to an Arab grocer’s or to Trader Joe’s), buy only what’s in season, and generally shop vegetarian.
However, I realize also this is only after a decade of practice and having done a lot of research on how to accomplish this (nutrition planning as well as living in other countries as well as figuring out which stores), and that I don’t have a partner or children– ‘advantages’ in winning the food war.
That’s not to say that if only food stamp people got better educated, they could make it work. There’s only one store where I can make this work in my neighborhood, four grocers where it certainly wouldn’t work, and no grocers at all in the distressed neighborhood (Woodlawn) where I work as a student pastor. I also know that some weeks if an emergency comes up, a paycheck doesn’t arrive when it should, or an extra bill comes up, the food budget might get wiped out altogether. Such was the case these past two weeks when a medical bill wiped out the last of my finances for the summer, though similar events have happened during my three years in seminary. On these occasions, I need to rely on events with food at school, or on friends or relatives to host me for a few meals a week–the seminarian’s form of a soup kitchen. Or sometimes I’m too proud or ashamed to admit I couldn’t make the ends meet on my own, and I just don’t eat.
I also know that my appetite isn’t often what it was when I was a growing child, particularly when I was one of five growing children in a family who was dependent on food assistance, and my mother was a very coupon/price conscious working nurse. Even when I was eight I was well aware it cost less to eat low-nutrition and ‘junk’ foods than it was to eat healthy foods when shopping at most stores. I also know that although both my parents worked regular blue-collar jobs, medical bills would push us over the line. Most folks find the same problem. And most folks, to my knowledge, that need food stamps do work.
I think I write all this in response to two silent but often-thought questions: who is really ‘poor’, and who deserves to eat. A person who works regularly or is a full-time student is not seen as being authentically ‘poor’ (I might add that most seminarians seem truly afraid of those who look or talk about being poor); and it’s a faulty assumption that a person who doesn’t have enough to eat is lazy or incompetent to work or manage their affairs or uneducated. Nobody who looked at me would assume I am poor or grew up in poverty. It’s true that I currently choose to remain a full-time student, after realizing I would be in deeper debt if I dropped to part-time and took longer to go to school. That is more choice than most people have. I also hope to choose to work in settings where I never live over the poverty line, in order to be more authentically among the poor. Still, whether living in chosen or unchosen forms of poverty, I know as a seminary student I need to speak up in the presence of my classmates on poverty issues and people, to transform the way we teach and learn how to be ministers, and how we respond in the course of our daily lives.
peace,
Le Anne
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