Perspectives on Higher Education in Prison

An Essay

Adolfo Lopez, Greater Hudson Promise Neighborhood

I was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1992. The son of a Puerto-Rican man deeply entrenched in the gang lifestyle, and a white woman with a myriad of issues. Adverse childhood experiences mounted quickly after birth.

Nevertheless, I stayed out of serious trouble until I was 17. I was always getting into trouble at school and always fighting. However, I was serious about school because it was the only way I could play sports. Sports gave me the purpose I otherwise could not find within myself to succeed in school. And I did. I was routinely placed in Advanced Placement and Honors classes. I kept my grades up so I could wrestle. I knew if I didn’t, there was zero chance my father would drive me to the boxing gym after school. These high contact, combative sports were the only places where I felt any solace. I lost myself in the pain.

As I grew older my father decided to move us out of Brooklyn. He yearned to offer us an upbringing that hadn’t been available to him. While his intentions were true, noble even, it was tough moving to rural Greene County, NY, where I was one of maybe five children of color in the entire school. I struggled a lot and often. This was around the same time my mother was no longer in the picture, and with my father working all the time, I took to the streets to find that sense of family. Shortly after, I was initiated into the Bloods.

My gang activity while I was still in high-school was mostly just hanging out, smoking, drinking and fighting. Everyone knew I was wrestling and an aspiring young boxer, and it was respected. However, that would all change following high-school. Without the incentive of playing sports, I quickly became disinterested in school. With no clear path, direction or guidance I embedded myself further into the gang lifestyle. I began selling guns and committing burglaries and robberies.

This increased illicit activity came to a head in November of 2010. In late October I was shot at by rival gang members. In an act of retaliation (or so I thought), M-Dot (the older man who had brought me into the Bloods) planned a home-invasion robbery against a rival gang member. We knew he had a lot of guns as well as a safe with money in his house, so we quickly went to work planning.

On the night of November 16, 2010. M-Dot, Slice, and I headed to the home. We kicked in the front door. Tied up everyone who was in the home and assaulted the man who was in the rival gang. We loaded up our gray Monte Carlo with the stolen guns and the safe and took off.

On the night of November 18, 2010, I was working my usual shift at Price Chopper when my cell phone began blowing up.

Johnny O: "What did you guys do?"

Caitlin: "Jazzy is being weird, and Dom is going to stab him."

Rachel: "Adolfo, answer me."

I soon learned that my people were in an eight hour standoff with the local SWAT team. They were assumed to be armed and dangerous because the police thought the guns were in the apartment (they weren’t). As soon as I saw this standoff blanketed across the news, I decided to go on the run.

My valiant effort at being a fugitive lasted less than 24 hours. In the early morning I received a text from Slice. He had been my best friend since I was seven years old, so I didn’t think he would rat me out. I answered his text and fell back asleep. I woke up hours later to the detectives knocking on the door to the ranch house I was hiding in. This was November 18, 2010. I would not see the free world again until May 16, 2016.

*****

In the first two years of my incarceration I fought my case and bounced around between adolescent facilities and county jails. I didn’t stay anywhere for long. The media does a good job of painting the narrative of violence surrounding one's transition from freedom into jail. Violence almost becomes expected behavior. I quickly fed into the narrative that I had to be the "biggest, baddest, and the toughest". Violence against others was an everyday occurrence. During the first two years of my incarceration, I was arrested for two additional violent felonies. In many ways, I was the prototypical prisoner, one became increasingly problematic within the carceral system.

This began to change in the Spring of 2012. I was involved with an assault on a correctional officer. I was working the laundry at Downstate Correctional Facility, when the block officer took it upon himself to throw an entire bag of dirty laundry into my face. I immediately started to fight with him for maybe 45 seconds before the entire cellblock was rushed by ten or more officers. After restraining and handcuffing me, the officers beat me for another ten minutes or so while I was cuffed, making sure to mix in a heavy dose of pepper spray. I was soon moved to solitary confinement.

This was not my first time in solitary confinement. But it would be the defining moment behind a shift in my ideology. Solitary confinement is a beast; it’s entirely different from the day-to-day of standard incarceration. When the walls close, it’s difficult not to lose track of your humanity.

Up to this time, my father had been my biggest champion. He was a guy from the streets, too. He knew how these things go. Shortly into this stay in solitary confinement, my father came for his last visit of my incarceration. He looked me in the eyes and told me, "if you keep going down this path, you may come home one day, but you will ultimately die in the streets or die in prison." These were truisms I was familiar with from a young age, however they dawned on me at that moment. Coming from my father, these words meant more than if they had come from any other person.

Upon returning to my cell, I wept like a child. I wept for my upbringing, I wept for my situation, but mostly I wept for my father. He was so determined to save his children from the rigors of the streets, and I did not want him to hold this burden of perceived failure in his life. I would not allow it. 

For the remainder of my time in solitary confinement, I read voraciously. Anything I could pick up. I went through religious texts, textbooks, fiction, non-fiction, and any magazine I could find. My entire schedule was built around: reading, working out, sleeping and building elaborate card houses with the playing cards I could procure through the box commissary. 

I was released from solitary confinement nearly a year later. I went to Greene Correctional Facility, "Gladiator School" as it was known among inmates for its ruthless reputation for violence. I knew where I was heading, but my eyes were solely on where I wanted to go.

*****

As soon as I moved to Greene, I looked into programming. When I worked in the mess hall, an older inmate told me about a program through Marist College. I immediately signed up. While the program only lasted one semester, it changed my life. I took great pride in going to class. I took even more pride in telling my family and loved ones what I was doing behind bars. This was like nothing they had ever heard from me before. Usually I only called with bad news.

I took four classes that semester and received 12 credits. Yet, before I knew it, the program was gone, and I was left to fend for myself again. College-in-prison programs can be extremely fragile, funding can be compromised, and relationships between a campus and facility can vary. For the years I was involved in the programming there was always a sense that they could end any moment. 

I continued my own personal shift, while also attempting to assist others. I began teaching GED classes to help people attain their high school equivalency.

In 2014, it was announced that Hudson Link would be offering higher education once again in Greene Correctional Facility. Hudson Link is a non-for profit organization administered by formerly incarcerated college students aimed at providing college degree programs inside New York State prisons. Seventy percent of their staff is formerly incarcerated. Their programming is holistic, providing resources during and after incarceration to mitigate the effects of a prison experience. I seized the moment. Until my release in 2016, I took every class I could.

I devoured economics. I took every class offered by Dr. Shirey, and I excelled. It was a strange thing. I had always been interested in math, yet never dove into economics. I poured through every book of literature provided to us over and over again. It gave me another perspective on the life I was living and would have to live if I wanted to exist within a capitalist society after my return from prison. 

Professor Victorio Reyes taught our poetry classes, and I was extremely thankful for these. From the time I was a kid, I had always written poetry. However, he helped me learn the nuance of different forms and the methods of writing poetry. I used my poetry to confront my emotions, and Professor Reyes’ classes helped me to breathe new life into much of the poetry I had already written and would write in the future. 

Some of my fondest memories come from Professor’s Lamar’s classes. We devoured all sorts of literature, wrote our own, and even acted out scenes of plays. I have always been passionate and proud of my writing, and these classes gave me an opportunity to hone my craft.

In Greene, college students were moved to a dormitory of mostly inmates in the college program. In theory, this made sense. If we all lived in the same dorm, we could all focus and study. That actually did occur, and it was a beautiful thing to see everyone joined on a similar journey of higher learning. However, it also opened us up to harassment and discrimination from the officers. 

I understood the jealousy from the C.O.’s. Many of them had not attended college or were footing hefty bills to send their children to college. Yet, here were people whom they hated  who were attending college for free. For every meal, we were always called last, when the food was running low. We were always released last to the Rec Yard, when the Yard and Gym capacities had already been met. Spiteful officers made us wait on the walkway for hours in the freezing cold, in the dead of winter, meticulously going through all of our books, and binders. Yet, we bore the brunt.

I am forever grateful for bearing that brunt. One of the last classes I took while I was in prison completely changed my life. I was lucky enough to be enrolled into an Introduction to Social Work class that ended only 10 days before my release. The professor was Joan Hunt. Over the course of this class, I worked my ass off. This class was different for me. I enjoyed learning about the systems that surround everyday life when you come from poor socio-economic backgrounds, the systems that affect people like myself on a daily basis.

I put my heart and soul into every paper I wrote. Professor Hunt recognized that I had a voice and a mind, that if I could learn how to harness them I could potentially make great changes in these systems. This was one of the first times in my life when someone believed in my capacity to change. When the class ended, Professor Hunt said I could come to her offices one day and work with her, as I was from the area where her organization was based. 

I was released in May of 2016. Six months later I began volunteering at Professor Hunt’s organization, The Greater Hudson Promise Neighborhood, Inc (GHPN) as an AmeriCorps volunteer. The stipend was horrible, but I kept reminding myself how much Professor Hunt believed in me. It pushed me forward. I worked 40 hours a week at GHPN, bartended at nights, and took a full course load on the UAlbany campus. Over my three years volunteering with Professor Hunt, she taught and mentored me.

In the Spring of 2019, I graduated from UAlbany with my BA in Journalism. Professor Hunt designed my graduation cap, and it was adorned with clippings from the many, many essays I wrote for her class. By the Fall, Professor Hunt offered me the job of assistant director at the Greater Hudson Promise Neighborhood, the same position where I work today. This work fills me with pride and joy. However, I know that this would have never been a possibility if I had not taken college courses while in prison.

*****

What is "Life Giving"? When people are born, the first breath we take fills our lungs only to be exhaled from the brunt of a slap on the bottom. In this instant, we are given life. We are given a check of approval that this thing, this newborn, is a living, breathing human being. There are no arguments or thoughts to the contrary. However, throughout life, people are impacted by systems, beliefs, legislation, and interactions that often make them feel "less than" human. This systematic categorization of "the other" is a real, tangible thing that pushes people into holes that without the proper tools, they can never escape.

I was born into a few of these dehumanizing factors. Being of Latino descent, I was aware that I was "less than" from a young age. Layer that with being from a poor socioeconomic background and these feelings of being "less than" were a consistent, compounding factor throughout my whole life.

Incarceration was not only difficult, it exacerbated every other dehumanizing factor I was born with. Since I was born, it has become increasingly unacceptable to overtly discriminate against people like me due to race and socioeconomic status. However, incarceration and a felony record have given the public other, widely acceptable grounds for discrimination. I knew this from the second I was incarcerated. People on the outside reminded me how hard it would be to find employment when I was released. Hell, people I LOVED at the time used my incarceration to dehumanize me. Add that to the pervasive oppression by corrections officers and staff within the prison industrial complex, and I could literally feel this weight on my shoulders every waking moment. 

Higher education in prison was my ventilator. I didn’t recognize it at first. At first, I was going through the academic motions. I was trying to better myself, but I had not fully begun to grasp what higher education could mean for me and my life post-incarceration. It began to click the more I committed myself to the material. I remember devouring every economics book I could get my hands on. The "Economics of Crime" by Harold Winter opened up my eyes to a lot. I remember pouring my heart and soul into works of fiction, thesis papers, and essays because I FELT them. I felt the knowledge I was gaining, and it began to pump my lungs.

When I think of it now, higher education did much more than just educate me. It opened my eyes to the world around me.

Oftentimes when we talk about the value of college-in-prison programs the conversation immediately turns to a discussion about recidivism and cost effectiveness. According to a meta-analysis conducted by the RAND Corporation, for example, people who participate in a correctional education program while incarcerated are 28 percent less likely to recidivate when compared to individuals who did not participate in a correctional education program and 12 percent more likely to find employment upon release.[i] Similarly, a basic cost analysis found that every dollar spent on correctional education saved taxpayers close to five dollars in reincarceration costs.[ii] This focus on recidivism and taxpayer dollars is understandable as an effort to generate public support for an otherwise unpopular program. However, it obscures the broader, perhaps more significant, impact these programs have on the people who participate in them. In this installment of Perspectives on Higher Education for the Justice-Involved, Amanda Serrano discusses the personal and professional rewards of participating in a college-in-prison program. Written at the time Ms. Serrano was incarcerated, it has been slightly edited to include bibliographic citations.

*****

An Essay

Amanda Serrano

College programs in prison are valuable because they are laying the foundation, and affording inmates the opportunity, for a positive and productive future once released. Inmates are able to recognize their potential and are encouraged to strive for a better quality of life. As Ellen Condliffe Lagemann explains in her book Liberating Minds, attending college in prison, "enhances self-esteem and self-confidence, improves peer interactions, and creates a sense of community, encourages compliance with rules and regulations, and instills hope for the future."[iii]  This is essential because, while incarcerated, the overall goals are to become rehabilitated and change the characteristics and behaviors which ultimately led to incarceration.

My life in prison has been productive due to the college in prison program. I focus  on my education rather than prison politics, and I take advantage of the opportunity to better myself. Since attending college in prison, my self-esteem and self-confidence has grown. It instilled in me a sense of hope of a successful future. I am not speaking of financial success; I am speaking of a personal success, that enables me to be a productive member of society. I agree with Brittany Austin who wrote that "being able to succeed in college elevated my self-esteem and made me feel worthy of success. Now I have dreams and goals, and I believe that no circumstance can hinder my goal."[iv] Today I too have goals and dreams that I didn't have before.

My life without college in prison consisted of self-sabotage. When I arrived  at Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for my third prison bid, I was continuing on with the same behaviors which had brought me to prison each time. Those behaviors consisted of continuing to sell drugs knowing the risk involved and knowing the consequences if caught. However, I was carrying on with a learned behavior. That may sound irrational to an outsider. Yet, it is something that has always been a part of my life. As the authors of the article Doing Time Wisely explained, college in prison programs help to change "thinking patterns and learning to avoid negative behaviors to gain positive benefits. This is a long-term skill that will potentially help the women [inmates] avoid other negative outcomes."[v] If I hadn't attended college while in prison, I would have definitely been laying the foundation for my fourth prison bid.

Research also shows that "inmates who participated in correctional education programs had a 43 percent lower odds of recidivating than inmates who did not.”[vi]. Also, released inmates with a higher education, especially a Bachelor’s degree, have a better chance of gaining employment. This could prevent ex-inmates from returning to illegal behaviors to gain money. The less recidivism the less crimes, meaning safer communities. And the taxpayers will save millions each year with incarcerated costs as well for public assistance for the unemployed. According to the Prison Studies Project, it’s beneficial to provide incarcerated individuals with the tools to succeed since “about 95 out of every 100 incarcerated people eventually  rejoin society.”[vii] Statistics have shown the poverty levels are reduced 3.5 times for B.A. holders. One study found that "Bachelors degree holders are 47 percent more likely to have health insurance through their jobs...and their employers contribute 74 percent more to their coverage."[viii]. Overall, taxpayers will be saving in other areas aside from incarcerated cost.

There are many individuals who are opposed to the college program in prisons. They feel that inmates should not be rewarded with a free education. I once overheard a Taconic Correctional Facility Sargent saying to one of my professors, "these inmates are ungrateful and should not be allowed free college. I pay to send my three daughters to college; I should not have to pay to send these inmates too." That was when I first realized that the correctional staff weren't all on board with the college program. This piqued my curiosity, so I asked a correctional officer in general conversation his views on the college in prison program. He said, "I don't think it is right. However, I am a realist. I feel that if it is going to give you inmates the tools to better yourselves out there in society, then I am for it. Because It will save me money in the long run" (Personal Communication). In a personal essay entitled “Sins of Omission,” Marcus Lilly wrote that, "the majority of the correctional officers treat prisoners who are pursuing an education as if they do not deserve to be in college."[ix] I agree with his statement, and have witnessed how the pendulum swings in regards to how correctional  staff views the college in prison program.

While attending college in prison, I realized how it prepared me for life post-release. Prior to college, I had no idea what my future held with me being a felon. Attending college allowed me to see that I can do whatever I put my mind to, and I have amazing professors who encourage me to do so. I have also proven to myself that I can live up to my potential and be productive in life. It laid out for me the foundation of my future, and gave me the confidence that I'll be successful. The experience of attending college in prison has definitely changed my life for the better. As Lagemann discovered when she asked inmate students "about the value of their classes, former college-in-prison students stated again and again that they learned to think more clearly and to see possibilities for themselves they had never known about or believed in before."[x]

When younger I never applied myself in school. I dropped out of high school when I was 16. Like Austin, "I could not see the point in trying to succeed when no one cared."[xi] I was pregnant by the time I was 17. While pregnant I decided to enroll in GED classes, not because anyone had encouraged me to. I guess I always knew subconsciously the importance of education. Two months before I gave birth to my daughter, I received my GED, and it was the first time in my life that I had accomplished something that was beneficial for myself.

No one in my family has a college degree. In my family, success is measured in a monetary sense. As a young woman, I followed the footsteps of my parents and various family members. The life of illegal living was glamorized, and I grew up a product of my environment. I grew up desiring to be a successful drug dealer, not a  college graduate. I had learned to make fast money with putting forth minimal effort. However, I obtained that fast money through engaging in illegal activities, which ultimately led to multiple incarcerations. My parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, and myself have all been incarcerated at one time or another. Instead of obtaining an education and bettering ourselves, we were lengthening our rap sheets and receiving DIN numbers.

Today I desire to live up to my full potential and I refuse to fail. I have goals in place that were not a priority for me prior to attending college-in-prison. Since  attending college I received an honors award and the possibility of publication for a personal narrative I had written. I had never envisioned that people would find my writing worthy of any recognition; yet, because of college I know that I am worthy. I have amazing professors that encourage me to do well and I don't want to disappoint them. As Tara Westover wrote in her memoir, Educated, there comes a time when you begin to make the "choices of a changed person, a new self.”[xii] And sometimes the choices we make involves distancing ourselves from the only family we have ever had. However, there comes a point that once your mind is enlightened there is no turning back. The desire for a better quality of life supersedes all else; it's not an easy choice, but it is necessary. Just as Lilly wrote, "returning back to prison isn't a thought in my mind."[xiii] This time when I leave prison I know for certain that it will be for the last time. I am not exiting these prison gates with just my college degree, I am leaving with a sense of purpose and confidence that I didn't have before.

[i] Lois M. Davis, Higher Education Programs in Prison: What We Know Now and What We Should Focus On Going Forward. Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2019. https://www.rand.org/pubs/perspectives/PE342.html; Robert Bozick, Jennifer L. Steele, Lois M. Davis, and Susan Turner, “Does Providing Inmates with Education Improve Post-Release Outcomes? A Meta-Analysis of Correctional Education Programs in the United States,” Journal of Experimental Criminology 14, no. 3 (2018), 389-428, https://perma.cc/NKE4- KDFK.

[ii] Lois M. Davis et al., How Effective Is Correctional Education, and Where Do We Go from Here? The

Results of a Comprehensive Evaluation (Santa Monica: RAND Corporation, 2014), https://www.rand.

org/pubs/research_reports/RR564.html.

[iii] Ellen Condliffe Lagemann. Liberating Minds: The Case for College In Prison. (New York: The New Press, 2016), 73.

[iv] Brittany Austin. “The Value of Prison Education: A View from Bedford Hills Correctional Facility.” https://twotwoone.nyc/the-value-of-prison-education-a-view-from-bedford-hills/

[v] Jillian Baranger, Danielle Rousseau, Mary Ellen Mastrorilli, James Matesanz. "Doing Time Wisely: The Social and Personal Benefits of Higher Education in Prison,” The Prison Journal, 98, no. 4 (2018): 502.

[vi] Lois M. Davis et al., How Effective Is Correctional Education, and Where Do We Go from Here? The

Results of a Comprehensive Evaluation (Santa Monica: RAND Corporation, 2014), https://www.rand.

org/pubs/research_reports/RR564.html.

[vii] Why Prison Education? The Prison Education Project. https://prisonstudiesproject.org/why-prison-education-programs/

[viii] Associations of Public and Land-Grant Universities. “How does a college degree improve graduates’ employment and earnings potential?” https://www.aplu.org/our-work/college-costs-tuition-and-financial-aid/publicuvalues/employment-earnings.html.

[ix] Marcus Lilly. “Sins of Omission.” In Education for Liberation: The Politics of Promise and Reform Inside and Beyond America's Prisons, edited by Gerard Robinson and Elizabeth English Smith, 154, New York: Roman and Littlefield.

[x] Lagemann. Liberating Minds, 24.

[xi] Austin. “The Value of Prison Education.”

[xii] Tara Westover. Educated: A Memoir. (Harper Collins Publisheds), 156.

[xiii] Lilly. “sins of Omission,” 156

An Essay

Tallulah "Tye" Gillespie

My name is Tallulah Gillespie, and at the age of 17-years-old, I was sentenced to 20 years in prison. During the journey of my incarceration, I was faced with many struggles and concerns. Due to the bad choices and circumstances leading to my arrest, I struggled with anger, regret, and depression.  What I struggled with most, was the loss of my education. Prior to incarceration, I was a member of an engineering club, the National Society of Black Engineers (NSBE). I dreamt of becoming a computer engineer. Unfortunately, my dreams and goals abruptly paused due to my arrest. So I thought.

The reality that some Prisoners have the opportunity to attend college while incarcerated is not widely shared on social media outlets. However, soon after processing within the prison system, I learned inmates could graduate with an Associate’s or Bachelor’s degree in Social Science through Marymount Manhattan College at little to no cost. In addition, the program offered classes that duly enrolled non-incarcerated students with the inmates. This was an effort to further enrich the learning experience for both non-incarcerated and incarcerated students.

I was grateful for the opportunity to continue my education on any level and at little to no cost. I had no outside financial support. I dreamt of continuing my education. I desperately needed something positive and productive to help me through my time. Enrolling in the Marymount Manhattan College program gave me hope that I could still have a decent education and life despite my circumstances. It also increased the possibilities of me pursuing a career as an engineer in the future. However, enrollment in the only college program, in a female maximum-security facility, placed great responsibility upon its students. This was no easy task. Enrollment in the  Bedford Hills Marymount Manhattan College program, places you in a position of high regard within the prison both amongst your peers and amongst security staff. Meaning, you should have little to no disciplinary infractions and maintain a good GPA. That sounds so simple, yet in an environment designed to oppress individuals under the guise of rehabilitation, those small expectations where a huge struggle. Luckily for most students, and myself, the rewards from interacting with peers and professors made each day easier. The presence of the college program minimized the anxieties and pressures of incarceration. The college program kept us out of trouble.  

The Marymount Manhattan College program, about every 5 years would organize an academic conference within Bedford Hills. The event, “Inside Out,” enabled the inmate students to meet with non-incarcerated students and professors from participating colleges to talk about the “real world” we were exiled from, and we shared information about our majors, future dreams, projects and favorite classes. Many of the staff and students were just as excited as we were to present projects and meet new people. In addition to enhancing social skills, this event allowed us to feel human, forgive ourselves and not repeat our mistakes, while yearning for more for our future lives.

Another opportunity that the college program offered that helped me grow academically and learn more about the world, was a combined class entitled "History of African Religions." That class was awesome! It was a combined class of students both from the prison and outside campus. The students from the outside were in their early 20’s. The outside students brought with them youthful energy and a different perspective to our studies. In addition, we learned so much about African indigenous religions. We learned that some of these indigenous religions are the origin of many contemporary religions. A fact that many of us did not know. Some of the inmate students were older or incarcerated since their teenage years, like myself. The youthful outside students brought laughter, excitement, and diversity to each class. That energy enabled the inmate students to challenge ourselves to think outside the box.

Marymount Manhattan’s college program at Bedford Hills Correctional Facility afforded me the experience to learn raw lessons that I would have missed if the college program did not exist. I learned alongside my peers: introspection, ownership of our actions, how to meet and trust people, healthy relationships, to be curious, and to persevere through hardships no matter the circumstances.

An Essay

Doug Matthews

Walking down the hallways of Shawangunk Correctional Facility, I recall the fluorescent lights and white- concrete-walls. I felt isolated in this new world. I was lost. The hopelessness of prison and the lack of opportunity was debilitating.

Prior to incarceration my dreams used to be optimistic, full of happy days and joy. After my incarceration, my dreams changed. I no longer dreamt of a better life. Instead, I dreamt of a life inside those prison walls. Images of owning my own home and creating experiences with my family, replaced by moments of trauma and incidents on the prison yard.

In the unsafe and unknown carceral environment, my aspirations dwindled. My confidence waned. I asked myself, “would I be able to succeed in life beyond the confines of prison?” The loss of hope altered my state of being. Then, an opportunity appeared and suddenly my perspective changed. The opportunity to experience college in prison became a beacon of hope. College called me to work towards a new future, and gain insight through education and self-reflection.

College in prison is about learning how to think and opening one’s mind to new information. One of the many things I learned from completing my college education while in prison is that cultivating meaningful, trusting, relationships is a critical part of the development and education process.  My peers, professors, and supporters of the college program at Shawangunk supported my individual progress as a student inside prison and after release. These mentors were there to cheer me on at my SUNY Ulster graduation at Shawangunk Correctional facility as well as at Mount Saint Mary’s Campus where I received another degree within weeks of my release [see inset picture].

I felt a visceral connection between my fellow students and me. In prison, certain social identifiers divide the population and we rarely feel like a united group. Education brought diverse groups together. Though we wore the same greens, those of us who were attending college were distinct from the rest. We had a little moxie; we had more self-assurance; we found opportunity and a pathway to a better future through higher education.

Despite the limitations of prison, I remember feeling gratitude because of the doors a college education would open for me. It was a rare occurrence during my incarceration, but college gave me a sense of joy. A ritual played out as students passed each other in the hallway: eye contact, followed by a head nod, and a smile.

When I look back, I realized that I felt a strong sense of pride during my college education in prison. Within those college classrooms, change happened around us and within us. Students with shared adversities gathered within a university setting. Our confines developed our enlightenment. Inside the classrooms, we did not feel the imprisonment.  Education liberated us. College in prison changed how we experienced the carceral environment.  

Access to college in prison programs offer education first and foremost; however, the ancillary effects are the most profound. While I learned to think differently, it was through self-reflection that I began to understand how my past decisions and choices in life were led by a flawed value system. Most importantly, college engages one in both information and social development. It was in learning and working with others that I regained confidence. My future is full of the hope I once lost, and I can thank those who lit my path and the opportunities presented during my time spent as a college student in prison.

An Essay

Prince Conteh

My time spent as a student enrolled in higher education throughout my incarceration made me the successful person I am.  I learned many things about myself as a student in prison. The journey was extremely tough and rigorous, yet well worth it.

When I learned about the opportunity to continue my education while incarcerated, I was beyond ecstatic. I was attending St John’s University at the time of my arrest. I knew what college was about, unlike many of my prison classmates. Before my arrest, I was a junior at St John's majoring in Psychology. I loved the campus life, but I had many distractions. I should have been paying more attention to my studies instead of attending many parties, playing basketball, and hanging out with girls. Over time, my grades dwindled and I was on academic probation. Since I was on an academic scholarship, I had to increase my grades or I was at risk of losing my scholarship.

During this period of academic turmoil is when I committed the crime that led to my arrest and incarceration. I enrolled in college during the second year of my sentence in Cape Vincent Correctional Facility with Jefferson Community College. At first, I was afraid about the challenges of higher education in prison. I wondered how I would be able to do research on my assignments and pass without access to the internet, a computer, or a laptop. As I attended classes, I noticed that research in prison classrooms conducted differently than on outside campuses. The great difference was that the professors in prison worked extremely closely, one on one with students to do research since the students did not have adequate access to technology to do it themselves.

As time went on, I noticed that I was getting exceptional grades. I was slowly becoming one of the top students in the college program. During my first semester in prison I realized how blessed I was for this opportunity. I noticed that I did not have all the distractions in prison that I had on the outside. There were no girls in prison, no parties etc. I was able to easily focus and lock in. Another major difference is that I realized I had so much on my shoulders and so many responsibilities while in college outside of prison. For example, I had two jobs, two daughters to support and feed, a sick mother who required assistance and attention, and a relationship with my girlfriend. I was a very busy man.  In prison, I had less burdens. I was clothed, fed, and bathed by the state as I was focusing on my studies. I had no bills in prison. No rent, cable, internet, car note, or anything of that sort in prison. That was a great feeling, a huge relief, to focus on my education.

I noticed that going to college in prison gave me the chance to really excel and push myself like never before. I made it to the President's List my first year in college. By the end of my second year, I was top of my class with a GPA of 3.9. An accomplishment I never in my dreams thought I would achieve. I loved my college experience in prison very much.

The professors in prison also varied from my experience with professors on the outside. The professors I had in prison always went above and beyond to ensure I understood the subject and assignment. If I did not understand, they always took their time to explain and break things down. I felt like my professors on the outside could not care less if a student understood anything in class or not. I left prison with just one academic year remaining to satisfy the requirements for an Associates degree in Individual Studies. I made a promise to myself, while walking out of the prison a free man, that I would finish my degree. I told myself that I would use the tools I learned in prison to make sure I continued getting awesome grades outside of prison.

I became great at managing my time with family, and always making enough time for my studies. This resulted in me graduating top of my class in 2019 with excellent grades. I ended up making the Phi Theta Kappa honor society, which I am very proud. I loved my college experience in prison. It not only helped me stay out of trouble but also taught me life-changing tools. For instance, time management, which I was horrendous at before my incarceration. I am extremely grateful for the opportunity, which helped me change my life. I am now a very successful businessperson.

An Essay

Reid Helford
academic coordinator for Jamestown Community College’s college in prison program at Collins Correctional Facility

I’m often asked the question of why I want to work in prison and why I left a more comfortable career within academe to work with men in Washington, Oregon, and now New York state prisons. I’m then usually asked what value I see in giving ‘criminals’ college degrees.

 My answers have evolved over the years.

I am in my second decade of work with incarcerated students. I started teaching college part-time with men in Washington State Penitentiary. I moved to full-time teaching within one of the prison’s solitary confinement units using a white board to teach through the four- or five-inch-wide plexiglass windows on solitary cell doors. Eventually, I left to work for two state Department’s of Corrections leading educational, behavioral, and reentry programs. During that time, I saw the value of my work in how I could assist incarcerated students in changing the way they thought about things, in how they engaged with other humans, and how they thought of themselves. In all the varied programs I was involved with in prison, I saw personal identity change within the students as the goal, just the same as students in the community. “If they believe in themselves as something other than ‘criminal,’ then I am succeeding in my job.” That made me feel good. That made me feel I was contributing to a better life for the students and, perhaps, a better world.

It's more complicated for me now. I was so focused on the immediate experience for the individual men within my programs that I couldn’t see the larger, complex, relational experiences awaiting them on the outside.  I simply thought that if I gave them the tools and encouraged a prosocial mindset, they would be more likely to succeed.

Coming to Jamestown Community College (JCC) in 2023 to coordinate their new Prison Education Program (PEP) at Collins Correctional Facility changed that for me. There was something about the ethos at JCC that asked, “what does this do for them on the outside and their ability to engage with and be recognized by their community as who they want to be?” This perspective brought focus on the community relationship as a necessary part of the process in the success of our students.

On one level, the JCC PEP brings educational opportunity to incarcerated men to gain the competence, credits, and credentials necessary to have a greater likelihood of success on the outside. There is a growing body of evidence that those who obtain these things in prison are significantly less likely to return. Our program helps these men to build the cultural capital (language skills, knowledge, critical thinking skills, and a college degree) required for employment and growth. In the process of doing this, however, I think we do much more.

Every time I can find a new faculty member willing to teach on the inside, I make the institutions that hold these men, and, more importantly, the men within more visible. When I ask another faculty member or Department Lead to come in to complete the observation and evaluation of an adjunct faculty member teaching in the prison, I make the men and their experience more evident to this growing outside community. When I work with my Career Services Office to develop programming for the men on the inside and bring them into the institution to deliver this critical programming, we are not only doing the good work of a community college, we are also preparing both the men AND the community for their release.

Unless you are a friend, loved one, or work within corrections; these men are marginalized, out of sight and out of mind. They remain on the margins and not seen as part of society.  And there within lies the problem. While people in prison may not live among us now, almost all will again. Their isolation prevents us from engaging with their treatment and experience in prison. This exclusion also, and most importantly, keeps us unaware of their needs and their struggles to evolve and rebuild their identities and lives. If they remain invisible, they are left to this task alone and without the social support and recognition that a broader community can bring.

I present on the prison program to students in classes on campus, to faculty councils, and to college leadership to begin to normalize the idea that our community of students includes these incarcerated men and that our everyday responsibility and approach to education must include their unique, and not so unique, needs. They must not remain invisible outcasts. Not remain simply as a needed bump in enrollment or income. They are part of our community that needs to be seen, heard and engaged.

I do this work bringing higher educational opportunities to the incarcerated population because I want these men to be recognized as the complex, capable, and evolving members of our community that they are. It’s what I wanted for myself and what I want for my children. It’s part of what we all want as a member of society. None of us want to remain invisible or, worse, to be seen as something terrible or unwelcome.

An Essay

Daniele Sahr 

I'm a middle school teacher in NYC where my days revolve around 80+ children and their families. My plate is full. But, even within the chaotic din of those boisterous hallways, my thoughts revolve around the futures, the needs, and the dreams of my students. And helping them gain a sense of autonomy through learning is truly a great motivator.

Suddenly, one day, my already full plate as an educator had to make space for more. I found out that a very dear friend, who had shaped my life in positive ways, fell into trouble too deep to sweep aside. The reality of the complex justice system had got him in its clutches.

One October school night, he leaned in to what I sensed was great vulnerability to reveal to me his frightening situation -- telling me about court dates and inevitable sentencing ahead. I was stunned. He thought I'd close the door on our relationship, especially given my protected and productive life. But I'm an English teacher. As stories well teach us, no one event is the determinate factor of someone's entire being.

I had no experience with the world of incarceration. A nightly "NY1" viewer, I'd often see pieces about Rikers or prison across the state, and my heart would go out to the people involved. However, then, I'd turn back to my own life. Not this time. Here was my friend, asking me to go with him to court. Of course, I would go. He would not have to face this alone.

What happens in sentencing? I don't mean the legal procedures but the emotional. One minute you are sitting next to someone you love, holding their hand. Next minute they are on the stand, judged, handcuffed, and gone - no goodbye. No hug to transition. As two officers led him to the back room, I yelled out "We love you" for him but also for all of humanity to hear.

Stunned, I left the court room. His sister, my pastor, and I found ourselves in the empty, echoing hallways outside. What on earth next? There isn't much information out there about what happens after that moment. If you don't have a deeply dedicated legal team set up around the justice-impacted family, you are abandoned in a maze of elusive information.

But I knew this: I needed to do everything on my end to help him stay safe. Help make sure that every step of the way, he knew that he was loved. Help him deflect any of the negative things he would hear said about him or that might happen to him. I went into prison that day, too (or as close as anyone on the outside can).

There was so much to figure out: Where exactly was he? How do we send a letter or get a call? Why couldn't I send him a package? What's a prison vendor? It was dizzying. But I was not to be deterred and relied on tried-and-true online research, hoping to find much of the information I needed on New York’s .gov websites. I began to piece together what was happening and how to support him along the way, even discovering I could call the NYS correctional facilities to ask questions. 

Along with these practical matters, a different thought continuously simmered in my mind: how to turn a horror into a blessing. Keeping up his spirits and sense of worth was the cause I took on. But, as a teacher, I know it's not enough to do it for someone. I wished him a way to also do this for himself. Education.

My friend is a Veteran and eventually was transferred into an Incarcerated Veterans dorm in a NYS prison. More possibilities opened there, which was a stroke of luck. But nothing comes easily, when in prison. I fell upon the internet looking for which New York institutions might provide him with education. Finishing college had always been a hope of his.

Then I saw something that jumped out at me like a beam of light in the night sky. I came across an article in Central NY media about an extraordinary Dean who was pulling the weight of several college institutions to get steady education to the incarcerated men where my friend had landed. I printed it out and sent it immediately to him: "Find out about her! Let's get into this program." It truly felt like, if he got in, I'd be in, too!

With my advocacy and support, within a couple weeks, my friend had a meeting with that very Dean who oversaw the prison. He picked courses. And I heard a new tone over our calls filled with joy and hope. Perhaps, more than I'd even heard in him before incarceration. Prison was still prison but something had changed. The long days became short ones. And even a fresh connection developed between us. I often did the readings with him. We talked about his papers. I'd print out a course-related article and mail it. And sometimes, I'd get an atypical late-night call, around 9:30 pm: "So sorry to call late. I know it's a school night, but I have to tell you about tonight's amazing class. I loved it." After months of tension and worry, I'd sleep well. I was more than happy to get a late-night call about something like that. Now both our plates were full and not just with struggle.

The Dean of this program went above and beyond. She collected his course credits from many years ago at other education institutions, and, before long, his family and I attended one of the most inspiring graduations I've ever been to. (Several university dignitaries were crying tears of joy.) My beloved friend received his associate's degree, and the SUNY Chancellor was there to look him in the eye and shake his hand to show it's real.

But there’s more. I noticed a chain reaction of goodness occur. On my visits, the officers would look him up and with gladness tell me how they know he is in college. Furthermore, now my friend is a tutor for incarcerated individuals working on getting their GED. He’s helping others lift themselves up. Education is never just about the individual. It's about everyone in the community connected to it.

And, I, who started with nothing but a few websites and some determination to get through this, found support in the most unexpected place -- with the folks at SUNY HEP, who have taken the time to get to know me and figure out how they can help me help my friend. The gap across which my friend and I have tried to reach now is connected with a little bridge, and it's called SUNY Higher Education in Prison.