by Ernesto Rodríguez
Change for a prisoner does not come easily. A prisoner is in prison because most of his life was spent living a destructive lifestyle of gangs, crime, addictions and poverty. The kind of lives your average prisoners have been born into may be considered by our society as “bottom of the barrel lives.” This means that prisoners grow up in abusive homes where violence is the norm where one lives with adversity. Prisoners generally grow up in homes and environments infested with gangs, drugs, prostitution, crime, and murders. This same mentality is carried over and magnified in the prison system where the by-product of this awful lifestyle is your average prisoner: Society’s bottom of the 
barrel.
So how does a prisoner change when there is nothing about him worth changing? A prisoner must hit rock bottom in order to be removed from all distractions that prevent a prisoner from self-examination of his life and begin to repair it. Perhaps it is a duty for the serious prisoner who wants to change and share his experiences in the rehabilitative process.
Changing is an extremely difficult thing to do. Most of his life, a prisoner had led the kind of life in which he has to do what is necessary to survive. Perhaps he or she has to sell drugs to make a living. Perhaps they have to join a gang because the environment they have lived in is what was promoted as a way to have protection and survive. Perhaps they had a father that promoted violence by encouraging his child to fight with other children in order to prove manhood. Perhaps a mother taught her daughter to exchange womanhood for financial stability in order to get by. Perhaps a prisoner grew up with parents out of his life, and he grew up in foster homes with a severe case of neglect. Whatever the case, he has some very deep scars that may move him to put on emotional masks (gangs, anger, violence, aggression, and destructive behavior) to prove to others that he is not vulnerable. Perhaps a prisoner has hidden his scars by masking them with drug abuse, alcohol, gang activity, or with anything that would distract and numb the reality of his life.
How do you change when you are in prison with a 37-year sentence? How does a prisoner change when hope, kindness, and love are stripped away by faceless traumas, where life has conditioned him to become hardened and calloused? A prisoner has to hit rock bottom, rock bottom to the point where he is alone with his thoughts and there is nothing to distract him from the reality of the past. A place where there are no more drugs, no more alcohol, no more gangs, no more sex, no more crimes, or any kind of destructive addiction that serves the same purpose—an escape from reality.
This happened to me in 2010 when I arrived at Pelican Bay, placed in solitary confinement for an indefinite stay. Arriving there was a rude awakening. To realize what my life had become, and no way to run away from my thoughts, I had no choice but to face my inner demons that dictated my life for so long up until that point. I suffered from insomnia for about two years, wrestling with the inner demons of my memories. Some days I won and some days my traumas got the best of me. However, this time, 11 years into my sentence and many rule infractions later, things were different. I was serious about changing because I realized just how much I affected my two daughters and, through them, how I affected the rest of my community inside and out of prison. There were days when I wanted to take a drink of alcohol, but how could I? I was separated from all viable sources where I might get ahold of something that could change my reality into a state of stupor.
My youngest daughter began to get into trouble and I finally made the connection with my own development. When she began to go to juvenile hall, I realized just how I also tried to imitate my own father, even though he was never home because he was always in prison. It was then that I got down on my knees and asked God to spare my child from learning about life the way I had learned, and, in exchange, I would give Him my life to do with it whatever He saw fit, no longer my will, but His. For years my mother had told me to get my GED, but I always felt resentful because I associated it with the system. I believed the system had chewed me up and spit me out—not realizing it was my actions that had facilitated this. But why not? I had to change everything I learned as a child to build myself back up and become the kind of father for whom my daughters could be proud.
I earned my GED within three weeks of deciding to obtain it. I would wake up at 5 a.m. to study for my GED test, particularly math. After I obtained my GED, I sent it to my daughters. It felt good to show them something positive I was doing, to show them I was trying to change. However, could one piece of paper really say much? I then enrolled in Bible College, which taught me I could do something to find redemption regarding my failure as a father. I realized that I would never be the kind of father who raised his children. I had a 37-year sentence and, by the time I got out of prison, my daughters would be grown up. However, what about all of the other children who are growing up the way I did, the way my daughters did, who could one day end up in the place where I hit rock bottom? Mental torture is not something I wished upon anyone. Nevertheless, that is exactly what it took for me to accept responsibility.
In 2013, I tried to enroll in college. However, only prisoners with five years from release were allowed to enroll. I wrote Feather River College directly and contacted an extraordinary woman, Kelly Conner-Hall. I sent her a photograph of my daughters and me, along with my story. Kelly took notice of my need for change and began to help me obtain my education. I marvel that she recognized my sincerity through pen and paper.
Education helped me unravel the “junk” to which I was socialized. It gave me the opportunity to go back to the beginning and figure out the purpose and function of society. In college, I took a very interesting subject, Humanities, which helped me to understand human beings. It was simple—humans want to survive. This was how societies and governments came about and stabilized, through their desire to survive. Back in the hunter-gatherer days, humans lived by chance. It was by chance that a hunter-gatherer found food to eat and shelter to sleep, and a chance encounter with wildlife could kill them at any time. Learning about the origins of societies really helped me put things into perspective.
Not all prisoners feel the same. Release from solitary confinement was something I never thought would take place. In addition, I thought nothing could occur to change my circumstances or help me get out of prison any earlier. I was okay with that. However, SB 261 happened. SB 261 is a youth offender law that gives prisoners the opportunity for early parole if one shows maturity, growth, change, and remorse. With this bill, I was motivated to work harder and be the best version of myself. Yet, I also wanted to motivate other prisoners to show that they could have hope for change, they could become the person they once dreamed of being. I started GOGI at High Desert State Prison on Facility D, and became a living example of what change looked like. I renounced the gang, but did not understand until after my arrival to Ironwood State Prison on Facility C that, to politically remove myself from the gang, I had to renounce it openly through my faith. A prisoner can be doing well and tell his peers that he is done with the gang, but he is still on the gang roster with the gang “moniker.” At least that’s how it is for Southern Mexicans. Therefore, I went to the gang leaders and proclaimed my faith as a Christian and that I was no longer “Cartoon from Atwater,” which was how my past gang peers knew me. In the world of prison politics and gangs, this moniker and where you are from is like your California identification card or driver’s license. It was done; I renounced the gang and was baptized to let my peers know I was serious about it.
The way I arrived at Ironwood State Prison Level 3 with my Level 4 points still attached was a miracle. When I went to my consultation hearing for SB 261, Parole Commissioner Kathleen Newman gave me some incredibly positive feedback. She stated that she could feel my sincerity and that I had changed my life even though there was no payoff. She said this knowing that SB 261 was not in effect when I decided to change my life, and this is what caused her to believe my story of redemption. Ms. Newman overrode me due to good behavior, and today I have accomplished incredible things here in Ironwood. I facilitate many of the self-help classes: NA, GOGI (which took much hard work to start at Ironwood), I-4-SIGHT, Addictive Counseling Program (where I am earning actual counseling volunteer hours to accomplish my goal of becoming a youth counselor), YOP, AA, Lifer’s Activity Group, and Board-Prep. I also mentor youth to show them that there is more to life than the gang life and the “homies.” I have been approved to write a gang course for GOGI that will be published. All GOGI students around the country will be able to take this course to help in their rehabilitation. I also am writing a book called A Prisoner’s Guide Towards Rehabilitation – Transcending Our Past, to help prisoners understand that change is possible, even for a prisoner like me who was once considered the worst of the worst.
Prisoners can change. Nevertheless, change is for the serious. There will be many obstacles that will challenge a prisoner who wants to change his life. However, one must stay focused and figure out what one wants out of life, in order to stay committed to reinventing himself. Once this happens, I think the mindset changes from reinvention of the self to going back and uncovering one memory at a time to find the person a prisoner was meant to be. A prisoner begins to unravel one trauma at a time, one scar at a time, like peeling an onion that may bring tears to one’s eyes because of the pain most prisoners have attempted to suppress through drugs, alcohol, gangs, crime, or destructive behavior. Whatever the reason, change is for the serious. Once a prisoner takes his change seriously, our society and communities may see that even for people who have lived at the bottom of the barrel, there is still a little light within that can shine outward. They can make the world a better place by living amends and repairing past wrongs.
Change is for the serious!
Republished from “Perspectives from the Cell Block: An Anthology of Prisoner Writings” – edited by Joan Parkin in collaboration with incarcerated people from Mule Creek State Prison.
