“Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” — Viktor Frankl
Shortly after Valentine’s Day 2019, I fell in love with an incarcerated man. I was elated. Micheal was everything I wanted in the man I knew I’d marry: compassionate and witty with a great smile to boot. But whenever I spoke about my relationship — eager for support and acceptance — even my most open-minded acquaintances reacted with
… concern.
I remember the first time I opened up about my jailhouse romance. I’d joined Olivia, a close childhood friend, for pedicures in the upper-middle-class suburb of our youth. She dipped her size-9 model feet in the tub of warm water and placed a copy of Vogue magazine atop her lap. I launched into how I’d recently reconnected with Micheal — a longtime friend and former coworker now incarcerated at the county jail. …
When I ask her about it, she recalls an emotional rollercoaster. 16 years into her husband Adam’s 213-year federal sentence for a string of armed robberies — in which no one was physically harmed — the Supreme Court issued a decision in Johnson v. The United States that struck down a portion of the federal Armed Career Criminal Act (ACCA) and re-defined the term “violent felony.”
The same year, Adam’s petition for clemency made it to the White House. He had proved himself to be a model inmate — a clean disciplinary record, speaking engagements at national conferences, a passion for teaching health and wellness. Together the couple epitomized #couplegoals with vulnerable and honest discussions they posted online about the realities of incarceration. …
It’s 2 PM on a Friday and I’m standing at the back of room 218 at the H. Carl Moultrie Courthouse in Washington DC, wedged between a wooden bench and the wall. The room is packed — a gentleman in joggers and a suit coat stands immediately to my left while another holds the door open behind me. A young child kneels before me, on the floor. A young clerk, visibly flustered, runs back and forth with stacks of plastic chairs.
My friend Halim Flowers, a “juvenile lifer” and DC native, takes a seat on a wooden bench up front.
I first met Halim over coffee at Tryst. I reached out to him on Instagram regarding an interview he’d done on food justice in prisons. He brought along Kristin Adair; the friendship and connection with both were instant. Halim shared more of his own story and I confided my anxiety upon learning B. …
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