On the “walk,” anyone can chime in, but no one can see you.
The walk is the term people in solitary confinement at Southeast Correctional Center, in Missouri, use to describe the open area around and between our cells, which includes the hallway and dayroom. We speak from our cells behind closed doors. We are locked down for nearly 23 hours a day, so conversations across the walk are often our only form of social interaction.
To one another, we are hidden figures. Many cover their windows, avoid showering, refuse to seek medical attention — anything that could cause someone to identify them.
Even if we were to see one another, we often don’t look like we would in the general population. Many people never groom themselves while in solitary confinement until they leave, either because they want to obscure their identity or because they’re not allowed a razor. You may see someone with a huge bushy beard who is actually a transgender woman unable to shave. We know each other only by the voices we project into the hallway.
And by our nicknames.
Because of our intense isolation, the walk is occasionally a space for magical thinking, like the scene from the movie “Life,” when Eddie Murphy’s character passes the time by dreaming up “Ray’s Boom Boom Room” — a fictional club where he and his cellmates can live the highlife. Other times, though, it can be as serious as a funeral, as it was last year near Thanksgiving.
For some, it had been 30 or more days since they had talked with their loved ones. The conversation started with Lincoln, a lifer, who opened up about a recent exchange with his wife.
“I am so tired of hiding secrets,” he said. “I got on the phone today and explained to my wife that I haven’t been honest.”
Lincoln confessed to her that he had other relationships while inside — with both women and men.
His wife didn’t judge him, he said. He felt the honesty had been worth it.
“I just hope she doesn’t tell my kids or other family,” he said.
When Lincoln had to go, he said his wife began to cry, something he had never heard her do.
Lincoln’s comments went “viral” on the walk. Some people congratulated him. Others were in awe. They didn’t know of his secrets and definitely didn’t expect for him to come off “the down-low,” a place where many people inside hide, keeping their relationships private to escape the harsh reality of being gay in prison.
Lincoln’s vulnerability was powerful, and gave others permission.
Rashad began to speak next. He agreed with Lincoln about the emotional perils of living a double life in prison.
“It’s best to [be] honest before someone else tells your secrets to loved ones,” he said. “When I first came down, I fell in love with a trans woman. My stepbrother was in the wing with me. He got upset and told everyone.”
Rashad shared that his children’s mother hasn’t talked with him since.
“Thankfully, my relationship with my daughter has blossomed,” he said. “She once told me, ‘Daddy, don’t be ashamed of who you love.’”
A man known as Big FOE chimed in. “I don’t think I could tell my family if I engaged in that lifestyle, but I applaud you,” he said. “Secrets kill.”
“People need to stop tripping off same-sex relationships,” said Fay-Go, a transgender woman. “The bad vibe causes people to hide the people they love from the people they love. That’s demeaning. I was afraid to tell my wife I transformed into a woman. I went on visit and she noticed the changes in my body even though I tried to hide them. When I told her, she supported me in a way only a loved one can — she hugged me and let me know everything was OK.”
When sentenced to prison, your life takes a dramatic turn. You struggle with emotional loss and psychological torture. You are deprived of human touch and the ability to express care for your loved ones. Though difficult, maintaining intimate or platonic relationships is a vital lifeline once inside, as they can reduce the sadness and loneliness of prison.
But, as with relationships anywhere, they can be sources of confusion and suffering, particularly if the person in prison feels they now have to hide to maintain connections.
When San Fran jumped in on the walk conversation, he spoke about the isolating effect of prolonged secrecy.
“That down-low situation is unhealthy, mentally and physically,” he said. “[I’ve] been in that same spot. I couldn’t love my partner inside the same way I love my partner on the outside. When you hide them from the world, you hide your emotions. You are hurting ’cause you’re not honest with yourself, your loved ones and the people inside.”
Sensing an opening, a man named Ashton admitted he’d been struggling with his sexuality from the moment he went to jail.
“The sadness, the loneliness was too much,” he said. “I immediately sought out love on the inside and it helped lift me. I never experimented in the free world. I was not interested. But life is filled with swift transitions, and to be happy and stay true you have to do what comes naturally.”
I was amazed at how freely people talked. It’s rare for people on the inside to be honest about the most simple things. Knowledge of our intimate lives can be weaponized against us, so I don’t judge people who hide themselves, changing their names behind doors in solitary and then reshaping their images and likeness once they leave.
Still, hearing someone pour out their true lived experiences was exhilarating.
I didn’t participate in the conversation. I just listened and learned. No one on the outside knows I am trans, so I was touched by Fay-Go’s words about coming out to her family. I sat on my bunk soaking it up, hoping one day her truth — of being warmly accepted by her loved ones — would also be mine.
