Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

This is from a letter exchange between men at San Quentin State Prison in California and students at Miami Youth Academy, which houses up to 28 boys from 14 to 18 years old, who are sent there by the Florida Department of Juvenile Justice.

Change is a process. It comes in a series of moments or events. I entered prison at the age of 19 with a gang mentality. I was still associating with a crowd of friends, until one day I was on my way to another unit to get my face and neck tattooed. This was in the 90s, where you had to earn your tattoos. 

I was on my way to get my tats, when an older prisoner, who I didn’t know but had seen in the yard, approached me. 

“Hey, youngster,” he said. “You look smart, if I give you a book, would you read it?” 

Reluctantly, I said yes. He was a smart and strong brother, so I trusted him and he gave me the book “Enemies: The Clash of Races” by Haki Madhubuti. The title grabbed my attention and changed my life forever. The book was about how social injustices can shape you and your environment and provided solutions on how to redevelop your mind to help your family and loved ones. 

It didn’t change my association with the gang, but it did stop me from making the second biggest mistake of my life: having my face and neck tattooed. It would take me close to two more years before I would break with my associates and friends, but I found myself in the prison library more and more, reading philosophy, history and culture from Immanuel Kant, Howard Zinn and Plato.

One day, I was coming from work in the prison kitchen, when I saw a sea of my homeboys and so-called enemies — over 150 men — about to have a mass riot in the middle of the yard. 

I stopped and asked one of my partners what was happening. He said he didn’t know, but they were just going to get it on. I asked two more of my partners what was happening and they said they didn’t know either, but they were just going out there. 

I said, “Wait, let me go talk to the other guys to see what’s happening, because a lot of people are about to get hurt.” By “the other guys,” I was referring to my so-called enemies.

I went to talk to one of their main guys and I asked what was going on and what this was all about — and to my surprise, he didn’t know. I knew that we supposedly didn’t like each other, but this was crazy. 

By the time we investigated what happened, we realized that it started with one of our guys shooting dice with one of their guys. They had gotten into an argument over a point and a dispute about our guy owing the other one money. 

I asked how much, and he said a can of tuna. I was blown away. Somebody could have died out here over a can of tuna and nobody even thought to ask what was going on. I told them I had tuna and I paid the debt. I told my partners never to call me out there again and that was the day I broke my gang mentality. 

That book saved my life. Not only did it teach me that I had to do better for me, but I had to do better for them and my family. That day, I learned responsibility.

 
Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. The Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned. The work is lightly edited but has not been otherwise fact-checked.

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Marcus Henderson

Marcus Henderson is an editorial associate for the Prison Journalism Project and the editor-in-chief of San Quentin News. Coming off a level four yard with a life sentence, Marcus said he never thought he would find more to his life than just doing time. The day he arrived at San Quentin State Prison, his old cellmate asked him to help cover a baseball game in which the prisoners were playing a team from outside. When the cellmate told Marcus to interview these people, his mouth dried up, and he realized he hadn't talked with anybody besides prisoners and guards for more than 15 years. That was his introduction as a reporter.