I apologize in advance that this is probably going to be an emo-ish post.
I’ll elaborate more about this when I get access to my OSP folder which is at home, but for now, participating in Inside-Out meant we had to agree to many rules regarding etiquette not only in, but outside of the prison. One of them was about contact outside of the prison, and beyond the class. Or should I say, non-contact. One of the rules was that we were never to reveal our full names or any personal details that could lead to us being contacted (address, phone number, e-mail account). We are also not allowed to ever be in contact with any of the men, even those who finish their sentence and get out of prison.
This obviously means I’ll never see them again. Those who got multiple life sentences will probably die in OSP or some other facility. These men, who I got to know over Dostoevsky and Levinas (of all things/men)- I will never see again. S doing stupid things with Atomic Fireball Candy, W’s brow furrowed in thought, R slamming Professor Shankman’s Russian, M’s quiet way of talking, R’s pride in his children- these must all be carefully filed away into the OSP mental folder to quietly yellow with age.
These were conditions I knew and agreed to well before. They are just a lot harder to stomach now that they are no longer merely criminals in blue uniform who take pride in their choice of footwear (the only way they can express their individual identity in terms of dress). I have not only been able to put a face to the vague collective term of ‘the incarcerated’, but I have identified with, felt for, and grown to respect these men.
I hope they eventually receive what they deserve, and much much more.
