For lifers serving time in New Mexico prisons, formal education is hard to come by. Like many states, the Land of Enchantment prioritizes opportunities for those soon to be released back into society.
But some lifers may still get out — all lifers not sentenced to life without parole receive a parole hearing after serving 30 years. That’s why education and self-improvement are so important. For those who have the opportunity to appear before a parole board, they deserve to show up prepared to make their case for freedom.
Sentenced to life as a teenager, I knew a whole lot about nothing when I came to prison — and there were very few resources to help me along the way. This was especially true when it came to parole. In my decades incarcerated, I never came across a guide or manual laying out not only the nuts and bolts of paroling as a lifer, but also the intellectual and personal transformation required to have a shot at a second chance.
That’s why a few other guys and I decided to create one.
How it started
A few years ago, fresh off a parole denial, I was transferred to a prison in the northeast corner of the state, in a town called Clayton. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. But not long after I arrived, I linked up with a group of guys who mentored and taught around the prison, showing others how to prioritize their time through self-education. Mostly this occurred in the library, sometimes in the yard, where we met and had rich intellectual discussions.
One of these educators was Ty Smith, an ex-Navy man who’s been incarcerated for over 30 years. He reminded me of Dumbledore — if the wise Hogwarts professor had been clean-shaven and looked Moroccan. The first time I heard Smith teach, 12 of us had gathered in the chapel, seated in burgundy chairs in a semicircle. Smith lectured on Moorish Science, the so-called esoteric religion, a Black nationalist movement founded in 1913 by Noble Drew Ali.
“There’s no limit to what a person and his book can accomplish,” Smith said.
In my time locked up in New Mexico, I had never experienced something quite like this — a truly inclusive intellectual community. It was invigorating, and it helped shake off the gloom from my last parole denial. Before too long, we started discussing the paltry resources available to lifers approaching a parole hearing. When I went up, it would have been beneficial to know about the need for a sponsor, which increases the chances of earning parole. But I didn’t.
Smith proposed the idea of a booklet that would provide essential information, compiled by people who had been denied parole, to support others preparing for their hearings. New Mexico lifers aren’t required to submit a parole plan, so it’s up to us to track our growth and accomplishments inside.
Smith believed the book could impart vital lessons, including the importance of thinking seriously about the future, putting in the work to meet all of the requirements necessary to go home, and developing the “lifer’s mindset” — a practice of resisting one’s institutionalization and cultivating the courage to reshape one’s story.
Soon, a group of us met to discuss the prospect of a lifer’s manual and what it would take to realize the vision.
Putting it together
First we needed a sponsor, someone who wasn’t incarcerated and believed in our idea. But we came up against obstacles. Our main hindrance was having no proof of past success to convince the prison’s education department that this startup program was worth the benefits. Plus, we were competing with four other groups for class space.
“When you have no record of success, you better believe in what you’re selling,” said fellow handbook contributor David Cheadle, who has done over 40 years in the system and serves as a peer educator for a university-based health program.
Eventually, we convinced the prison’s education coordinator, Ms. Austin, to give us a chance. All credit here goes to Smith and David Roarke, a computer programmer who has also been locked up for over 40 years. Those two gave a boardroom-style presentation making the case for a lifer manual. Austin, who was already known for making our prison inclusive for lifers via her support and reentry workshops, said she’d go to bat for us.
Austin believed in Smith’s mentor capabilities, and Smith believed in the rest of us. Securing a legitimate space to think through and execute our plans provided us with a burst of momentum.
At our first meeting, eight people showed up. The atmosphere was nervous and emotional. Aaron Martinez, who was sentenced as an adult at 15 and is approaching his third decade locked up, said it “felt like redemption, because nobody … in other facilities, or anywhere for that matter, believed in us.”
We got down to business, first logging our attendance, then establishing class rules, including arriving on time, showing up to work rather than to hang out, and to keep an open mind.
After that we evaluated everyone’s skill set to determine what they were best suited to contribute to the manual. For example, Smith used his love of history to incorporate readings and Q&A lessons into each module. I worked on the character development module. I wanted that portion to reflect how change starts with us, the importance of education, and the need to hold ourselves to a higher standard as a positive role model.
After some deliberation, we settled on a title: “The Human Awareness Transformation Manual.” Over time, we developed nine modules (see sidebar for more information) intended to educate readers about how to better understand themselves, the process of parole, and how to prepare for life after prison. Work on the project was rigorous and intellectually demanding; it required introspection and determination.
What rehabilitation looks like
In the end, 18 of us worked on it for over a year during weekly meetings. To ensure the manual had the best information, we read books, then transposed information into a readable and instructive style. Our inspiration came from all realms of human thought. Cited in the manual are diverse traditions and thinkers, such as ancient Greek and Egyptian mythology, Sigmund Freud, John F. Kennedy, the psychiatrist M. Scott Peck, Nietzsche, and many, many more.
When we finally finished compiling it, the 200-page booklet felt like my personal contribution to those coming up behind us. It also felt like atonement. By working together on this manual, we took ownership of who we are and showed ourselves and others what rehabilitation could look like.
The manual, which is now available in print to prisoners enrolled in certain programs is intended to be a living document, meaning 10 years from now people can revise it as our understanding of corrections and rehabilitation evolves.