From: david_musick@juno.com
Date: Mon May 17 1999 - 11:37:53 MDT
Prison Blues
Imagine yourself in this position. To your left is a sneak thief. To your
right a brute with a rap sheet of assaults and batteries. You are
surrounded
by a sea of humanity and dotted among this crowd are burglars, gang
members,
and at least a few rapists, all of whom claim they are innocent. Some in
the
crowd are slow, even stupid. Some are bright, but unlucky. Others, a
significant number, are just poor and fall somewhere in between.
You know you have unique talents, that you are different, even special,
but
in this huge facility you are lost in the crowd. You hope a guard will
recognize your value, your worth, and bestow upon you some privilege that
will let you exercise your innate skills. But, reality sets in. They have
jobs to do, regulations to adhere to. "Get back in line," they shout.
They
cannot give you special treatment. An institution like this is not able
to
let you explore and enhance those little qualities you possess. It
doesn't
matter that exercising that special talent will help you keep your
sanity.
That's not the purpose of this government institution.
Here the goals are simple. You are separated from society, segregated
from
the outside world. You are taught to respect and fear authority. You are
trained to be a model citizen, one that snaps to attention and follows
orders without question, though the orders rarely make any sense or have
any
relation to what you are actually doing. You are here to have your
individuality washed away. You are here to learn regimentation.
The outside world beckons to you. You can see it over the walls. Freedom.
Oh, how you wish you were there. You know you could keep a job. You know
you
could do the right thing and learn the ropes quickly, if given a chance.
But, you know that chance won't come. You are here for ten years. Ten
years.
Even so, you know you're lucky, in a fashion, because you got two years
knocked off for good behavior and hard work.
Until then your days are regimented, guarded, enclosed. A monotonous tone
sounds and you go to your first work station. Another sounds, you go to
your
second, your third, and so on. Finally, that cherished tone sounds and
you
get to go to the yard and breathe fresh air and listen to the world over
the
fences and beyond the wall. Welcome to public school.
Copyright 05/10/99 Timothy Moultrie
Published The Columbia Star 05/13/99
------------------------------
He should have referred to them as "government schools" and mentioned
that
the "guards" not only don't keep you safe from violence from your fellow
inmates, they won't let you defend yourself.
Besides the fact that you can go home at the end of the day, what is the
real difference 'twixt gov't schools and gov't prisons?
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