BARS, BLACKNESS AND BUDDHISM, PART ONE
BARS,
BLACKNESS AND BUDDHISM, PART ONE
by
Joseph S. Cook
There was
no preparation for prison in the
beginning of my incarceration. The tiny, wretched two-man cave cells
didn’t have a large bearing on my psychology. It wasn’t as stressful as being
watched over and harassed, by the white correctional officers. In
addition to the officers the staff hierarchy were all white mostly male from
the majority of white communities whose main ideas about black people came from
rap music and other forms of stereotypical entertainment. And now as
correctional officers the first consistent interaction with Blacks is from a
superior inferior dichotomy (or stand point).
A
dichotomy that either consciously or unconsciously paints Black men,-and by
extension Black women and children as the other, the criminal, the enemy.
Walking into Green Bay Correctional Institution (GBCI), one of Wisconsin’s
oldest and most notorious prisons, at the age of 17, I felt the racial hostility
between the correctional staff and us --the Black prisoners. I became
indignant at how GBCI functions. It was a boys club a paternity nothing short
of a state sanctioned gang. They made the rules not for a stable environment
capable of producing respect and collective respect for one another. The
arbitral rules that the prison enforced were to make us conform without
questioning what we were conforming to. The rules like their programs
were to program us unto docile domesticated diluted versions of strong Black
men.
Correctional
staff was becoming the criminals they guarded over. They were lying on
prisoners cussing us out provoking us with the hopes that we would either
verbally or physically attack them. If we verbally attacked an officer we would
get written up by the officer resulting in segregation or hole time, loss of
recreation, or some other form of punishment that had no learning of prevention
involved, or lesson in conflict management. Only pure punishment that ran the
list of producing bitterness, debilitating anger and looking at all whites with
contempt. Whether if all whites are contemptible or not isn’t a question that
comes to mind. All that comes to mind is that white people wrote laws
with bias; administer the laws with bias and now since being incarcerated from
the warden on down to the rookie officers white people are in charge. Often
guided by the politics of us against them which makes a travesty out of the
justice system it injures both the staff and our emotional development as prisoners.
In an extreme and common scenario some officers provoke prisoners with the
hopes that one of us prisoners would physically assault a correctional officer
resulting in the officer receiving time off with pay and one of us prisoners
more prison time.
And of
course, all of the CO’s weren’t bad people. But the good officers didn’t
have the numbers, the influence, and the ability to create a good
culture. Their acts were individual deeds, not institutional
practices. The good deeds of an officer did more to make sure their
humanity stayed intact. The good deeds of a CO didn’t or couldn’t affect
whether we got granted parole, transferred to a better prison, or time reduced
from our prison sentence. At best, the goodness of an officer got a
prisoner a “good” job within the prison.
On the
flip side, a corrupt staff member’s influence knew no bounds and could
therefore push a prisoner back for years. Segregation time/hole time, conduct
reports, and negative run-ins with the prison gets put on our records, then we
have to answer for them for years to come. Even when the prison officials
are aware that the correctional staff who wrote the conduct report is spiteful,
revengeful, petty and negative we still have to explain ourselves as though we
crucified Jesus instead of being tangled inside of a web woven by institutional
dysfunction, corruption and racism.
With that
said, walking through the gates of GBCI and seeing nothing but white officers,
supervisors, social workers, psychologists, teachers and all white
administration, I knew there was a world of difference between them and
us. I knew that these people had no vested interest in my transition from
a misguided young man into a productive grown man. Their main external
take-away was a paycheck, their main internal take-away was the comfort
power-tripping provides the ego. I quickly started to bump heads with the
correctional officers, teachers and any staff member who approached us as
robots in need of programming instead of people capable of producing our own
ideas about ourselves, our own communities and our own healing process.
I stayed
in heated arguments with officers. Sometimes these arguments landed me in
segregation/hole time, other times I got the emotional gratification of telling
one of them off. On one occasion, I can’t remember how it started, but I
do remember how it ended, I hit a nerve with one of the sergeants who was a
part of the boys club. I knew I had him when he turned hot red:
“look at ‘cha, too emotional, all emotional. Don’t take your
job too seriously. Don’t invest negative emotions in me. It becomes
personal then.” He stormed away. I looked at my cellie Tanio and we
began cracking up laughing. “Dawg, you crazy. He was mad as hell.,” Tanio
said as we laughed some more.
On a
different occasion, I was participating in a group called “Self-Help.”
All of the group’s civilian volunteers were white. They came into the
prison twice a month to gather with a bunch of us prisoners to discuss
thought-provoking, emotionally jarring and philosophical questions. One
question was, “If you could erase one thing from the earth, what would it be?”
“White people,” I responded. “I would erase white people because
everywhere they went/”discovered”, they have robbed, pillaged, raped, and
plundered, leaving whole civilizations destroyed/destitute, in a state of
despair. Yeah, I’d wipe away white people.”
During
this early portion of my incarceration I started to attend two religious
services. Both had white chaplains. One was a Christian service, the
other a Buddhist service. We were only allowed to attend one religious
service at the time, so eventually I had to choose.
After the
Christian chaplain did a sermon using a bronze/brown -like creature to
represent our lower nature and a white angelic creature to represent our
Christ-like nature, he made the choice for me. If the Christian chaplain
wasn’t sensitive enough to Black culture to know how that type of thinking and
imagery of Black being bad and white being good has had, and continues to have
an impact on both Black and white people’s psychology, I couldn’t feel
comfortable in his services. The concept of a white Jesus and a Black
Judas has produced a superiority complex in too many whites and an inferiority
complex in too many Blacks.
I started
attending Buddhism exclusively then. My Buddhist teacher was an older lady by
the name Tonen. By the time I met Tonen she had the aura of an Asian monk
probably because she had been practicing Zen Buddhism for so long.
Tonen broke barriers as a women Buddhist which means she was influenced by
Americas long struggle for women’s equality. Instead of the traditional gender
roles that are still main stays in most Asian cultures that practice Buddhism
Tonen embodied America’s seal: “e pluribus Unum” or “out of many comes
one.” Our sangha “a sangha is a Buddhist community” was a mixture of
colors and creeds who more likely than not wouldn’t have developed a
brotherhood outside of Tonen who introduced Buddhism to us on a personal level
that books aren’t capable of doing. Tonen was friendly yet firm she never
condescended or acted funny towards us we all felt like we mattered. Like being
ourselves was all we had to be. And ironically around Tonen we wanted to be
more. We didn’t want to be like Buddha or Tonen or none of our teachers. We
were always encouraged to be the best Joe the; the best mike; the best Doug we
could be. Tonen cussed a little in her talks probably to relax us. She allowed
us to vent without any fear of being reprimanded from security and we vented.
We vented
about how an officer and a supervisor/white shirt plotted to send a prisoner to
the hole, not because the prisoner did anything wrong, but due to a personal
grudge between an officer and the prisoner and how the officer always needs the
last word. Or how the state allowed canteen vendors to increase the
prices of the items we are allowed to purchase - predatory capitalism - while
decreasing prison pay. Or how when one of us prisoners goes in front of the
board that will decide whether we go to a better, medium, institution that
would allow us to take one step closer towards going home, the board would only
read our criminal history, our present criminal case, the trouble we’ve been in
since incarcerated and then the board would ask if we had anything to say.
After
undergoing this grueling process, it felt like we were being re-trialed,
re-judged and re-sentenced, which was/is a humiliating, degrading and
dehumanizing process. Most prisoners were too emotionally drained and
mentally defeated to properly respond. It felt like the decision was made
by the board before we entered the room, so asking us questions about our
future placement within the D.O.C. was perfunctory. No questions about
our progress, our goals, our personhood! They just used files. We
were only files.
I
highlighted the hypocrisies of a system that seemed to be built more on
capitalism and racism than the benefit of justice and rehabilitation.
Tonen would look at me intently, sometimes stern. I vented on purpose
just to bring that social activism spirit into our sangha. I couldn’t see how
meditating, the calming and cathartic effects of meditating, could help reverse
the tide of economic injustice, racism, and the plethora of human degradations
that plague communities of color and then are turned into building blocks, the
foundations and cornerstones upon which America’s prisons were built and
thrive. But despite my reservations on Buddhism, I stayed the course.
“How can meditating end poverty, or chip away at mass incarceration?” I
would ask myself. As I continued to attend Buddhist services, I started
to meditate more, listen more and talk less.
I can
remember Tonen responding to the question, “Do you believe in
reincarnation/rebirth?”…”It varies,” she would say, “some in the Buddhist
tradition believe in reincarnation literally. That means if you do good
in this life, in your next life you will come back in a better form - a great
leader, wise teacher, a mother or father of a nation. If you do badly you
will come back in a form that suffers extremely.” “Personally,” she would say,
I think every night is a form of dying and every morning we are reborn.
We have a second chance to do better. Every day can be truly a new day.
And every awakening a new awakening, if we allow it to be.” Then she
would say, “Breathe, be aware of your breath. Each inhale you take in
what you want to become, the positive. And each exhale releases what you
want to let go of, the negative.”
“Wow!”
I’d think, “What a great way of looking at it.” On a different occasion,
Tonen did a talk on value, human value. To paraphrase her, “After
Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans the atmosphere was so chaotic and hopeless
that many were searching both for lost loved ones and answers. One man
lost his parents, his wife, his children and all of his material
possessions. With nowhere to go, he decided to become a Buddhist for both
practical and spiritual reasons. Practically, he needed shelter and the
Buddhist temple provided him that. Spiritually, he needed answers and the
teacher of the temple provided him that. Understandably his outlook was very
negative and he often questioned the teacher of the temple.
So one
morning the priest told the man to rake up the leaves, stones and twigs in the
field surrounding the temple. The grieving man did the task
begrudgingly. Once finished, the man piled everything together with a
trash bag in hand, ready to throw the stones, twigs and leaves away. Once
the priest saw the pile he told the grieving man to separate the stones from
the pile. Once separated, the man said, “Now what?” and the priest told
him that the stones would be placed on top of the roof and in the gutters to
prevent the flooding of the gardens when it rains. The student asked, “So
now what, throw away the twigs and leaves?” “No, separate them” Once
separate, the priest told the student that the twigs would be placed in the
fireplace to assist the wood, and the leaves would be used as compost for the
garden. The priest then told the student that all things have value.
“No matter how bad things look, nothing is trash.” In obstacles, in
people, and in things nothing is trash.
As a
prisoner, I related to that story so much. That story reaffirmed my
humanity and was food for my spirit. I slowly began to understand that
life, and the struggles that come with living are complicated and complex and
that Buddhism and meditation are for my spirit. While it won’t end
poverty, it does produce healthy people. And only healthy people produce
healthy communities.
Years
later Tonen and I were able to channel my desire to help society with our
practice of Buddhism. I started doing bead work once I got good enough to
attract customers I shared with Tonen my desire to share my bead work and
donate the proceeds to a worthy cause. She thought it was a good idea so we
started Flowers for Hope. I made three dimensional beaded flowers. Tonen did
the marketing and advertising and they sold in no time. For every donation made
I received letters from the cause the money went to thanking me and keeping me
informed where Flowers for Hope was contributed to. In addition to the insight
and calmness that Buddhism enhanced inside of me it also helped me channel my creativity
and passion for helping others into a reality. A reality that while still
behind bars still dealing with the same institutional racism and bureaucratic
riff raff I’ve learned to do both, grow as a person and enhance my creativity
to touch others beyond my immediate reach and hopefully we all can reach beyond
our prisons. Whatever our prisons may be and help ourselves and others any way
we can.
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