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hallo comrades.

yes, you read that right. i am going to prison. and i am taking all of you with me.

sorry if it's clickbaity, but i really don't mind. i want you guys to read and respond to this one, because it feels big and important. 

i'm also a few days behind.... i've been trying very hard to find the time to finish up a huge piece i'm working on about the trip to ireland & the abortion referendum. life keeps moving in realtime and being at a wedding was more important than being behind my computer for a few days, and i'm doing what i can.....there's just too much life. never a bad thing, really. but i'll catch up - writing about the referendum and my experience there is a huge priority. i don't want it to slip away. stay tuned.

meanwhile, next up:

i am going spend this whole upcoming weekend at the massachusetts correctional institution at norfolk - a gigantic med-to-max-security prison about 55 minutes from where i grew up in the bucolic suburb of lexington, mass. 

i am keeping this news off public social media for now not only because i have to (and i have to, rules), but also because i'd like to keep the experience tighter and within the patreon. it's also a really nice use of the private nature of the patreon: i'm going to slow down, learn what i learn, and then go back to the world with whatever-that-is in one thought-out song/art/piece. 

this is what i am coming to love about the patreon: a place i can share what i'm doing without being out in the public street in the blazing sun all the time. more like in the kitchen, it feels like. 

hi, the kitchen. let's please talk about this if you have a second for a conversation. and please don't mention any of this on social media, not yet, because i've promised to keep any writing about this "off the media".

i don't usually paste whole articles, but i'm going to paste a chunk here, because this NPR journalist is going to paint you a better picture than i can.

In a cavernous auditorium in the state’s largest prison, a group of about a dozen men serving life or lengthy sentences for homicide or other violent crimes take their seats in a circle with a mother who has suffered the loss of two murdered sons. Some of the inmates seem nervous, shifting in their seats, staring down at the floor.

Forgiveness is the topic they have been given to discuss at this, the first small group session at a two-day retreat at Massachusetts Correctional Institution (MCI) — Norfolk on a concept called restorative justice. Based on indigenous traditions, it brings victims and offenders of crimes together in mediated dialogue.

Isaura Mendes, the bereaved mother, urges the men in her circle to fully face their culpability, but not to let their worst acts define them.

Several of the inmates say the shame they feel has made the notion of seeking forgiveness feel almost impossible.

“I’m in for murder, and I’ve been in for 23 years," said Richie Hazard. "My two brothers were killed six months apart and I know what my mother went through. Later on down the line I ended up murdering, or being part of a murder, where I saw the mother on TV and she was crying and she fell down between two cops and had her head on a bumper. And whenever I think of forgiveness I always think of that image. And I think how could I forgive myself for that knowing what my mother went through."

Sitting in circles like this one and opening up about their crimes and their own often traumatic backstories that preceded the violent, often deadly acts that sent them to prison is one of the centerpieces the Restorative Justice and Responsibility Retreat, now in its fourth year. It brings “inside men,” as the incarcerated call themselves, face to face with judges, pastors and relatives of murder victims. It is one of the only encounters of its kind in the United States.

The criminal justice system focuses on determining who committed a crime and then determining the punishment. Restorative justice focuses on accountability and making amends. Ideally, proponents say, that comes from a mediated encounter between victim and offender. Victims can ask questions they never get to ask in a courtroom. Questions like: “Why did you murder my loved one?” and “Who are you today?” The process can bring healing for victims and rehabilitation for offenders, say its proponents.

Mendes and the other victims at the retreat did not meet with the men directly responsible for the homicide of their loved one. But they met with perpetrators of other violent crimes.

Another centerpoint of the weekend is a series of public apologies.

An anxious silence fell over the prison auditorium when a row of incarcerated men filed in and stood before them. One of them was a 46-year-old mountain of a man, named Jefferson Hudson. His eyes were closed. His body trembled as he began his public apology.

“Today I would like to say to Mr. Richie and Mr. Edward that I’m sorry. Not only to Mr. Richie and Mr. Edward, but their families, friends, that I have held hostage with my brutal and careless act,” he began.

“When I found Mr. Richie and Mr. Edward I laid both of them down and shot them in the head,” Hudson said. “I take full responsibility for every choice I made.”

On the walls of the prison posters hang with restorative justice-related sayings. One reads: “Hurt people hurt people. Healed people heal people.”

Many of the prisoners grew up surrounded by violence. In the circles the inmates, many of them lifers, share brutal memories. Some open up, sometimes for the first time publicly, about being sexually abused as children. Others recount beatings and seeing friends shot or stabbed. A recurring theme is the pain of growing up without fathers...

continue reading the article (it's really good) at: http://www.wbur.org/morningedition/2016/02/16/restorative-justice-norfolk-prison

here's another article in the huffington post about one journalists transformative experience at the retreat: https://www.huffingtonpost.com/pierre-r-berastain/restorative-justice_b_3577242.html 

.....

so....through some of my connections at TED (particularly adam foss, who did an incredible talk about US justice system reform on the TED main stage that you should watch), i was honored with an invitation to be a part of this retreat. it's the sort of thing you don't say no to.

and it made me think about what i've been doing-fast-and-deep and what i've been writing lately, and the patreon, and how i could maybe tie it all together.

so i am going to go into a prison for two days and i don't know what i'm going to come out with, but i'd like to come out with (at the very least) a blog and (at the very most) a song. 

there are a lot of rules before you enter the prison. what you can wear, what you can bring, what you can eat. you get screened and go through heavy-duty security. 

i've had long talks with the people who run the retreat.

i know that i am going to be doing a lot of sitting and listening.

i know that the inmates are going to be making music.

and....i don't really know what to expect, but i expect it'll be pretty fucking powerful.

and i want to say a thing about the patreon at this moment:

saying yes to an opportunity like this is something i don't know that i would have done before the patreon. with the travel, it means almost four days away from home, off work, not "getting paid", not "running the business". 

but this is the business. it's the business of life, and if i can make/create/urge some profound art out of this as a result, this is the best way to live, i think. 

saying "yes" to life so i can work instead of "no" to life so i can work. if you know what i mean.

the patreon makes it possible. i am so grateful to have you all here supporting me.

and now i'm going to throw it over to you all.

restorative justice is not my wheelhouse. i may know a few things about a few things, but i don't feel like this is remotely my experience of expertise, and i'm always the first to put my hand up and say "i don't know fuck-all about this". you guys: i don't know fuck-all about this. i know what your average lefty-new-york-times-and-guardian-reading-and TED-talk-watching person knows about the american prison system. mostly: that it's pretty fucked. antiquated. overcrowded. underfunded. not. working.

but....i am trained in the ways of buddhism and radical compassion. and i do know a thing or two about people and emotions, having encountered a lot of them. and i know that healing is a complicated process, and that compassion and connection are the main keys, and that hate, anger, resentment, and fear can start to get chipped away at once you can make the hugely transformative dive into the waters of empathy for all beings.

and now i'm getting a bit teary, because i miss my best friend anthony. he taught me the fundamentals of this sort of stuff and he would have really good advice and a lot to say about this topic, having spent his own life as a therapist treating criminals and people with severe addiction. 

he's not here anymore. 

but i have....you all.

you all are wise, you are kind, you've been out there in the world. 

if you have any thoughts about prison, crime, restorative justice, what it means to be a victim, survivor, perpetrator, prison worker...hit me. i want all your stories. i am going to read them all and carry them in my heart as i walk into that prison and meditate with these folks for two days on what it means to try to change our fucked-up society through true connection.

they don't have to be personal stories, you can also send me links to prison things you've read or things you think i might want to read or see before heading in. 

don't forget: this is a patron-only post. it's not open to the public, this is just us, talking.

favor: please don't send me links to books unless they're available as ebooks, since i won't have much time to order and read.

please try to leave your comments before tomorrow (friday) night at around 5 pm, because that's when i'll be delving in to read most of them. i'll keep reading, of course. and i plan to write (at my piano in boston) on saturday and sunday night. i'll let you know what happens. 

okay.

i am open.

i am wide, wide open.

ready to be schooled.

ready to be broken.


xx

AFP


p.s. we have about 60 lozzy bones nouveau posters that i joyously scrawled "REPEALED" on at the dublin show .... they're now for sale on the UK website and ALL OF THE PROFITS are going to the charity ALLIANCE  FOR CHOICE, which is an ireland-wide pro-choice activist group aiming their efforts at getting progress happening in northern ireland. there are only a few dozen, grab them while you can and know you're giving to a great cause.

https://ukshop.amandapalmer.net/products/hand-customised-repealed-art-nouveau-print  


 

------THE NEVER-ENDING AS ALWAYS---------

1. if you’re a patron, please click through to comment on this post. at the very least, if you’ve read it, indicate that by using the heart symbol.

2. see All the Things i've made so far on patreon: http://amandapalmer.net/patreon-things

3. join the official AFP-patron facebook group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/afpland

4. new to my music and TOTALLY OVERWHELMED? TAKE A WALK THROUGH AMANDALANDA….we made a basic list of my greatest hits n stuff on this lovely page: http://amandalanda.amandapalmer.net/

5. general AFP/patreon-related questions? ask away, someone will answer: patronhelp@amandapalmer.net


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Comments

Anonymous

Sending reinforcement 🙏💛 as you continue to go through this.

Anonymous

Well this is excellent bed-time reading. I have no personal experience of prison (yet), but work in a sphere where the brokenness of the prison system is manifest, and am so delighted that Amanda has chosen to open herself to experiencing the American version first-hand. Because that is all one person can do, isn't it? Decide to live life with eyes and ears and heart wide open, and to respond to what is encountered with kindness, compassion and grace. The impossible vastness of the pain and injustice, for all involved, of our current system can feel so overwhelming that the tendency is to shrug and ignore, saying "what can I do?". Yet there she is, and here we are, attention purely directed, intention truly felt, and that is what we can do. Thankyou all. Oh,and I as an afterthought

Anonymous

believe Scandinavia,particularly Denmark, has a much more rehabiliative approach to justice than Britain or the States. Clever, those Danes.

Anonymous

I'm with someone who's a repeat offender and I'd like to think the system would do more than just churn him out to let him back in. He's through he says, but it's horrible. And it is vastly more PoC people, and he's Indian, and it's just horrible. So whatever you can do to shed light on the humanity of inmates would be great, and whatever you can do to make the institution a little less institutional, art classes, shit like that. He knows how to survive in the system but maybe there could be something else to it. It's like the education system, which I worked in for 10 years; they don't look at the root of the problem, they just churn the froth off the top. Thank you again! I'm going into a residency soon adding to a series of poems about world dictators/war leaders and approaching them from a compassionate lens, really looking at the humanity of people who do inhumane things, so this strikes a nerve with me. The Trump piece has already been published: <a href="https://www.maninthestreetmag.com/currentissue" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">https://www.maninthestreetmag.com/currentissue</a>

Anonymous

And I should say I'm struggling with the abuse and forgiveness thing, but getting somewhere. I'm looking at rapists as human also.

Anonymous

I have had the good fortune of funding several arts orgs that use the arts to work with prisoners, their families and their various support systems. When you get time check out: 1.) Judy Dworin Performance Project (Hartford, CT), 2.) The Prison Story Project (Fayetteville, AR) 3.) Prison Performing Arts (St. Louis, MO). The work is critical and urgently needed! Thank you for jumping into the fray!! xxoo

Anonymous

I have participated in transformative justice in a unique way to heal a family fracture that involved mutual verbal and emotional violence and it was life changing. We did a 10 month program that was originally created for intimate violence perpetrators and it was the hardest self work I've ever done, but so very worth it. Thank you for paying attention to this vital possibility.

Anonymous

This comment is not so much about transformative justice, but about transformative human-ship. My grandmother is a tiny woman; about 4'8 and ~90lbs soaking wet. In her life, she's done many things, but spent most of her time as an English and creative writing teacher. For years after moving to Oregon from St. Louis, she taught at the local penitentiary through the community college system. Now, the guys she taught weren't in for murder, but certainly weren't people that white middle class americans would think of as "creative" or capable of writing anything "worthwhile". Sometimes they would get mad at one another and take it all into the classroom. One such time, two students had escalated their argument to the point of near-violence; she walked into the room just in time to see one of them raise a folding chair above his head, slow-motion, like a movie, about to bring it crashing down on the other. My tiny grandma, whose demographic and generation demonizes these men who physically dwarf her, did not yell for a guard or run from the room. She stopped and used her mom voice: "You put that chair down and SIT in it!" And the person just... stopped. mid smash. put the chair down, and sat in it. She interrupted the autopilot. They loved her. She really gave these folks tools of expression. She was very good at that: interrupting the autopilot. understanding perspective and empathizing and teaching outside of the box of tools that she had been given. She listened. She let them create, safely. They were always amazed at what they could do; the stories they could tell, some their own lives, some their inventions. Nobody had ever let them do that before. She's 94 now, and her health is finally starting to decline. I should go see her this weekend. Thank you.

Anonymous

Hello. I’m at the party late. Again. Yes, you have to wear grown up pants and closed toed shoes to visit prison. My partner and I had our first date in Leavenworth Prison’s Work Camp visiting yard. No, I didn’t meet him on some prison dating forum. We’d actually known each other for years. (Or I wouldn’t have been able to get on his visitor list). I actually saw your post and request for our stories before your prison visit. But our story isn’t the painful kind you saw in your visit. White collar crime. A “hero’s welcome” upon return. (My partner is a local songwriter with a supportive family and fan base). He was given a job before he even left them halfway house. Two year served in the Federal Work Camp system will change a person. The conditions are inhumane, moldy walls. Grade D meat. Amputations instead of real medical treatment. Getting sick in prison is a death sentence for many. But mostly it’s the stories of other prisoners that were hard to come to terms with. The Vietnam Vet who couldn’t hold down a job and is now living his retirement years serving time for selling weed. The men meeting their new babies in the visiting room when I was there. The families trying to have a nice day with small children who don’t understand why they can’t touch daddy. Stories of visits cut short because someone’s child didn’t understand that he couldn’t run back to the car for change for the vending machines. Or because their baby wasn’t wearing closed toe shoes. This is very rambling. I expect you won’t be back to read this. Any whoo... walking into that visitors room I was acutely aware of my privilege. White professional woman in my 40s. This before white privilege was a buzz word. I was nervous that I’d forgotten a rule. Or might get patted down. The guards barely looked at me. It was a long day. I could still describe the families I saw visiting that day. We felt like imposters, stupidly happy to see each other. Impossibly happy and surrounded by heartbreak. This is not the kind of story you went searching for in the prison you visited. I feel like an imposter now just typing it. I’m glad to hear there are progressive programs like the one you’ve witnessed. America’s prison system is as Fucked Up as the rest of it. For profit. Pro racism. We’re not supposed to care because “people in prisons deserve to be there.” They’ve installed the revolving doors on purpose.

Anonymous

My passion is working with women coming out of incarceration to help them get fulfilling, family wage careers. I work in a program that trains them to enter the construction trades. The skilled trades are a place where criminal history does not severely impact one's ability to get a family wage gig, with retirement, child care, etc. It is forgiving in that way (though very rough in other ways for women, queers, people of color -- we're working on that). I go into the women's prison about 4x a year. I always bring a kickass tradeswoman with me that was incarcerated and is now proud, stable, excited, thriving. These are my favorite times, when I'm in front of 100+ women helping to spark hope. To remind them that a bad choice or a series of shitty decisions and actions do not define a person. That there is something out there for them. They can build their communities. They can see a bridge or a skyscraper or a home and say, I built that motherfucker. I BUILT THAT! I am so incredibly luck to have been a part of so many journeys. I have have worked with women that have committed violent crimes, often because they were raped, assaulted, fleeing a DV situation, aiding and abetting a dude. I have seen them reunite with their loved ones, re-establish broken bonds with their kids, and build the financial security that helps to prevent them from ever going back to abusers or relying on others to get by. I get crazy fucking passionate and emotional about this work. When I am stressed or frustrated, this piece of what I do sustains me. Now I'm all teary. In the best possible way. -- This work will move your soul, Amanda. It will destroy your heart. It will touch all of the feels inside of you. It will enrage you at our fucked up justice system and all of the structural oppression built into it. But it will also stun you with the resilience people carry within them. xo

Anonymous

Late to the party and catching up with both my life and yours. All I can think of is my friend who was recently let go from her job at the prison. She was told she was too friendly with inmates and that was concerning--treating "bad" humans with compassion was concerning. It was a bad place and she was elbowed out of there by a really toxic management staff. It underlines that notion that any softness in there is unwelcome. She taught me a lot about grace through that job. I knew she had grown up in a rough way and hadn't come out of youth without some sexual scars. And there she was, working day in day out with men who she knew were serving sentences for crimes like those committed against her. And still she moved through that space with patience and compassion and forgiveness. We talked a lot about it, and it is still something I don't know I can wrap my heart or brain around. You're doing (or did, since this is catch up) so much important work. I'm re-learning that standing still and taking up space is still work. Healing is work as much as marching is. Slowing down and loving a handful of humans is as powerful and life-saving as loving billions. Thank you for your work. Thank you for your art. Thank you.

Natalie Gelman

Thank you for the work you do Amanda. For shedding light on this often ignored cornerof society and for their friends and loved ones. It’s so needed. I had a family member away for 20 years and wrote this song about it that might inspire you or help anyone who’s gone through that feel a little less alone. <a href="https://youtu.be/wVag4jUkhEk" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/wVag4jUkhEk</a> Much love. Thank you againfor