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Lil’ Corey by richard ross

It’s like reporting abuse to your abuser.

“Your crime is against them. It's like reporting abuse to your abuser. I'm out of time, funds, and energy. This family has been broken for a mistake at 16 years of age. He is remorseful, but yet doesn't understand why they would want to be this cruel nor do I. He is now 27 yrs old, and everyday he is studying ways to be better... I'm asking for mercy for my son. I'm asking for someone to investigate this; to make sense of this.” -Lil’ Corey’s mother Marquetta Harrison

Lil’ Corey ran away from home in Kansas City, MO, in 2010 at the age of 16. His mother reported him missing to authorities in Texas where he was apprehended and taken into custody. Hours later, his mother received a call saying Corey had just shot up the detention center. His property was not searched before entering the secured detention center and he had a weapon on him, which he used to shoot through the glass of the intake room. Police stopped him and had to talk the gun out of his hand; “Lil’ Corey kept putting the gun to his head asking for his daddy.”

Prosecutors set bail at $1 million. Corey was later sentenced to 50 years with no chance of parole until he served half his time, a sentence equivalent to 2 life sentences. All this for a mistake at the age of 16; one that could have been prevented if it weren’t for the detention facility’s gross negligence and failure to search him before he entered the facility.

Please click the link here to sign the petition and learn more about Corey’s story:

https://www.change.org/p/ted-cruz-cruel-and-unusual-punishment-for-a-16-yr-old?redirect=false&fbclid=IwAR2zkK787W0Xpis3x2pUXSQu2WFXaLsnXTl5jlu_Gg9j07q4NfyEe35lYTw

Terrence Graham: “Times here changed for everyone except for us On the inside, things are still running the same.” by richard ross

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Terrence Graham’s case was one of the few to bring something new to the legal system; a system frequently resistant to change. Lawyers work within a framework; innovating perspective to the same ideas. Judges are confined by precedent, often hesitant to overturn or create common law. Graham v. Florida, 560 U.S. 48 (2010) decided that it is a violation of the Eighth Amendment’s Cruel and Unusual Punishment Clause for a juvenile offender to be sentenced to life without parole for a non-homicidal offense. Individuals age out of the juvenile system when they turn 25. Of the estimated 250,000 juveniles tried, sentenced, or incarcerated as adults every year across the United States, Terrence’s case directly impacts every one of them for the better (National Juvenile Justice Network).

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Terrence was sentenced when he was 16 years old. He is now 34 years old and has 50 months of his sentence left to serve. Terrence grew up in prison.  He is in Florida, where when asked about services and programming to help him assimilate to a different world when he leaves prison responded: “No I am not getting any counseling right now. Unfortunately Florida D.O.C. does not provide this type of help to us inmates…” Terrence continues on to attribute a lack of programming to be a direct cause of future recidivism. 

Decarceration is ultimately moot if formerly incarcerated individuals don’t have the necessary skills and resources to avoid returning to prison, including housing and job assistance programs. 

The Prison Policy Initiative suggests that poverty is the strongest predictor for recidivism. Though we are quick to wish away COVID-19, it is likely that the virus and surrounding circumstances will long impact our lives. With this in mind, reentry programs become even more vital to the success of formerly incarcerated individuals upon release from a facility. 

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“In the best of times, the reentry process is extraordinarily difficult and emotionally taxing… they must struggle against the sanctioned stigma of a criminal record, restricting education, employment, and housing opportunities… extreme physical and mental health risk. This includes the odds of fatal overdose, which is up to 130 times more likely for those in the first two weeks post-release than in the general population… But these are not normal times. The coronavirus pandemic is drastically compounding the challenges of reentry. With the economy in free fall, some requirements of supervised release- like obtaining housing and employment- are virtually unattainable.”

- (HELPING PEOPLE TRANSITION FROM INCARCERATION TO SOCIETY DURING A PANDEMIC Leo Beletsky & Sterling Johnson)

But Terrence points something else out that should stop everyone in their tracks. 

 
“Times have changed for everyone except for us on the inside, things are still running the same!”

“Times have changed for everyone except for us on the inside, things are still running the same!”

 

The world has changed considerably since Terrence Graham was first incarcerated. Terrence has served the last 18 years in prison and will be 37 when released. In total, he will have served 21 years; meaning he will have lived more of his life behind bars than out. Considering the last month in the United States, imagine having lived in the last 18 years in a completely frozen world; while everyone on the outside has continued to evolve, become increasingly dependent on technology, and so much more, prisons remain static for everyone inside. Terrence’s most formative years as a young adult were spent incarcerated, and this scenario is all too common amongst incarcerated people. How do we expect people to do that and survive - or, at the very least, stay out of prison? Based on the available statistics - without prison reform, proper reentry counseling, programming, and education, we can’t. 47% of people released from prison in 2005 were rearrested within 3 years (Prison Policy Initiative). In California, that number is closer to 65% returning to the CA system according to a 2021 report (California Innocence Project).

We can choose where we go, who we see and what we do… IF we have the resources to do so. Those of a different economic status have to work in areas that are less rigorous in their safety requirements are more at risk. There is a world of choices on the outside… but only for those not “incarcerated” by economic privation. It is significant to hear this voice in terms of those on the “outs” and in the world of COVID and choices. It is significant to hear this voice in terms of those who are on the “outs” and in the world of being talked at, and not to. 

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Terrence knows law is resilient to change, but he knows it can happen. He writes that he is hoping - hoping for a type of prison reform. Until then, he says canteen helps him. For a man who grew up in prison, his two asks seem pretty reasonable. 

Terrence will be speaking about his case in its 10 year anniversary with the Catholic University Columbus School of Law on February 5th, 1 p.m. - 5:15 p.m as part of their Law Review Symposium, Register here.

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Why I love Hallways by richard ross

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“I rob banks because that’s where the money is.” - Willie Sutton

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I make images of a certain scale and accessibility because I want them to be shown in the hallways and institutions where the policy makers are.

An extensive exhibition of the work is currently up at American University. All are 24”x37” images mounted to the walls with magnets. Next to recycling, trash, vending machines, couches. It doesn’t matter. It’s where the future policy makers of American are studying. In the Fall the work will be at Georgetown Law. I am a nightmare for facilities management. They have never done this before, but they do buy in after a bit. They are simply not used to the walls being this activated.

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A lovely artist friend who will be showing at the American University Museum next year suggested the work should be bigger, have more of a presence, stature. I tried to explain that by doing them larger would make them less accessible to this population. It would commodify the work and make it into an artifact rather than a conduit to tell the story of these people.

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Hallways of institutions where we frame the conversation for a new generation.....are where this work has to be.....

Where people need this critical discussion.

Somehow it comes down to the Willie Sutton quote…..

It’s where the money is.

The Prison/Museum Dilemma by richard ross

I am slightly diverting from posting about juveniles in the justice system to ask a parallel question. Where do we learn to treat people who are different from us, as something other or something less?

There is something about the world I am working with now that resonates with the world that I inhabited in my past- the world of natural history seen through glass displays. These worlds have an eerie commonality.

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Growing up visiting the world of natural history and ethnological museums, I decided to join the army of elementary school students that press their snot-glazed noses to the glass windows to look at the life-sized depictions of motionless, exoticized, eroticized and voiceless figures.

These figures have an odd similarity to the actual kids I have been visiting in juvenile prisons for a decade.

Who are they?

People of Color.

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Time has been suspended for them.They are separated from physical touch.They are isolated from Nature.They are viewed from spaces where the artificial light is controlled outside the display or cell.The environment is extremely confined.Decisions about their placement has been made by others, often from another culture.The subject is from a culture that has been subordinated or abused by the dominant culture.They are often from a position of economic deprivation.They are isolated and not seen unless you enter a formal institution.

A “curator” is defined as a keeper or a caretaker of a cultural institution. How different is this than a judge or even a correctional institution that takes care of a society through isolation?

Children learn and build empathy to peoples they are otherwise not exposed to. If these natural history institutions present people in a manner that is harmful, dated and out of touch with the way we understand people who we live among today, do we do a disservice to these children who are forming the patterns of tolerance and intolerance for the rest of their lives?

What do we do with these displays? Are they the confederate soldiers’ statues of some of our most basic cultural institutions? Do we erase history rather than acknowledge and re-contextualize it? Or is it too damaging to remain as part of life’s curriculum?

"He left" by richard ross

I've been here for over a month. I was on community placement, but paroled out, and ran away. Once I'm done here, I owe County Jail 108 days for running away. I decided to get pregnant with my boyfriend of 7 years, but he left. My mom is disappointed with me, but my parents will take care of the baby. - A., 19

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"I'll be a new person" by richard ross

When I was younger, my stepdad would abuse me and throw me at my mother, and my mother would choke me until I was about to pass out. My mother is a regular substance abuser and disappears for days at a time and both my parents do drugs -- it is not a good situation at home. When I get there, it will be my first time in South Dakota… so technically I will be a new person there. - C., 13

"I experienced things that no kid should ever have to go through" by richard ross

I immigrated when I was 6 years old with my mom, for you know, the same reason every immigrant comes to this country. We see this country as the land of opportunity. We see hope, where we see jobs, we see success, you know the American dream. That’s what we came for. But the reality is, it’s not like that for immigrants. It’s hard as an immigrant to be good at school, you know, because you can’t really speak English. And my mom couldn’t help me. I became a bad kid to the school system because I never did my homework. And it’s not that I didn’t want to do it I just couldn’t do it. I felt like I was dumb, stupid, and I was always trying to find some type of membership somewhere. Some type of community.

I had three uncles that were living with me and they were all drug dealers for the Cartel. They never encouraged me to do that but I saw it. I saw drugs in my house, I saw gang members on my block, and it was normal to me to see violence. Ever since I joined that gang, everything went downhill in my life. I seen and experienced things that no kid should ever have to go through at 13 and 14.

Ever since I got out I’ve committed myself to being an activist, an organizer, and to keep fighting to change policies that are not working. Because even though I was one of those fortunate individuals who did not get a life sentence, I left a lot of people behind. I left a lot of young kids who need someone to be representing them. - Kent, 24 

Today is the one-year anniversary by richard ross

“Today is the one-year anniversary of me being here, in this cell. I like to read. I learned how to read in here. My favorite books are Dr. Seuss. My dad had diabetes and he lost his leg. Then something came loose and he died. My sister has diabetes too and my older brother is Down’s syndrome and was trached (tracheotomy.) We moved from Florida but we weren’t able to get the help and medications we needed for everybody.”

The director of this institution explains that the other 15 kids in the unit have intuitively become aware of his special needs and don’t taunt him, rather they help him.

The director is a retired school-teacher. Detention is often viewed as deterrence, rehabilitation and punishment. We often lean too much on the punishment side. This is an unusual site where the focus is on nurturing. The tone is set by the director. Many sites have directors that come from Adult corrections or are ex-police and military. The director also explains they are trying to boost moral of the staff and recently have raised the base salary from $8.25/hour to $10/hour and given the staff new badges.

The day his father died, N.P. ran away with his older brother who had a gun. He was apprehended and detained.

“I had a whole lotta anger built up in me. A whole lot. And we had to get counseling for that and stuff. A person come see us at the house and take us out and stuff like that. But to me it ain’t working. The only person could fix this is my daddy.”

-N.P., age 14

Literacy and Resistance to the School-To-Prison Pipeline by richard ross

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"Teaching writing to students of high need in an urban school is simultaneously pedagogical, curricular, and political. Students labeled “at-risk” for school failure often have lowered expectations placed upon them from without that impact how they feel within. Compounding this problem of perception is the real issue of heightened surveillance on these students, including the disturbing trend of involving the police when students break the rules of the school; in addition, their own history of juvenile incarceration often exacerbates their school failure. This article addresses these issues in an urban context, as well as provides insight into literacy teaching that assists students in the acquisition of knowledge, literacy, and expression. "

Abstract: Martin, Jennifer L. and Jane A. Beese. "Talking Back at School: Using the Literacy Classroom as a Site for Resistance to the School-To-Prison Pipeline and Recognition of Students Labeled “At-Risk”." Urban Education, vol. 52, no. 10, Dec. 2017, pp. 1204-1232.

Photo Credit: Richard Ross, Juvenile-in-Justice. The Multnomah County Department of Community Justice Detention Facility, Multnomah County, Oregon.

Graham v. Florida (revisited) by richard ross

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Terrance Graham beams with his radiant smile and perfect teeth. That’s the memory I hold of visiting him last year. Today, a year later, I think of Terrance on the anniversary of Graham v. Florida—the Supreme Court Ruling that said you cannot sentence kids to die in prison for non-capitol crimes.

Terrence grew up in Jacksonville. In spite of “The Sunshine State” license plate motto, Florida can be brutal. It is a balkanized population of wealthy retirees, sophisticated yet hedonistic tourists, a northern part of the state, which thinks very southern, and a southern portion of the state with somewhat northern values. Amidst this place that is very urban, very rural, very Cuban, very Dominican, very Haitian are pockets of extreme poverty primarily populated by people of color.

Jacksonville—the hub of northeast Florida—has a major locus of poverty: it is here that Terrence lived with his Mother Mary. Mary and her husband would host crack parties on the regular. “I would put down a plate of food and feed the youngest, then it would go up to the next child, then Terrance, then Michael the oldest. If there was anything left on the plate, I would eat it. Yeah, we weren’t the Brady Bunch.”

The geography of poverty within this environment may be useful in understanding why a 17-year old boy was arrested outside a convenience store with three friends. Terrence hit the owner with a small baseball bat as they were fleeing the store with loot in hands. Although no one was knocked unconscious, and no one was killed, a young boy, barely a teen, committed a non-capitol offense and he received a life sentence.

May 17th 2010—(seven years past) The Supreme Court said this practice would stop.

May 21, 2026 is the tentative release date for Terrence who was incarcerated in 2004. After twenty-two years for a mistake he made as a teenager, he will be 41. His incarceration will have cost the State of Florida more than a million dollars.

His last disciplinary report was coincidentally right after I visited a year ago. He was put in the hole for two months where he lost 20 pounds. This is Florida State Prison in Starke.

Relieving Terrance from the hopelessness of life without parole is a first step. Offering rehabilitation, better resources for family, schools, and children to prevent these environments from breeding little more than despair still remains a dream.

Brian Gowdy argued his first Supreme Court case seven years ago and succeeded. Bryan Stevenson made the second big step with Miller v Alabama and juvenile Capitol cases. We have so much farther to go on this road to treat people fairly—to simply treat them as human beings. But take a moment and remember this is the seventh anniversary of Graham v. Florida, an important step toward treating all people, especially children, with a degree of common sense.

-May 23rd, 2017 "I'm just trying to tell somebody, everybody, INMATES LIVES MATTER"

"In the south, it was nothing for a black man robbing a white establishment to get life." by richard ross

“My name is Lee Albert Ansley and I’m sixty-five years old. I’m from Jacksonville Florida. I’ve been around the block a few times. I’ve been an addict; I’ve been a fool. I’m here for a parole violation, but I’ve done a total of 38 years.

I was raised by my mom and my big momma-my Grandmomma. There were only two adults in the house. The only time I saw my father was when he came to beat me. My momma would call my daddy when I would do something wrong and I would see him then. Basically that is all I saw of him at a very young age. My mother was fifteen years old when she had me. She already had a son before me—my oldest brother who is a year older than I am. Then she had two more. Three boys and one girl. She was a child with children.

Growing up I lived in a predominantly segregated neighborhood. All my friends were black because I lived in a black neighborhood. The only interaction I had with people outside my neighborhood was school, and it was totally black. Everything was black. The first encounter I had with people of a different origin was a negative experience. Some white guys jumped on me for walking down the street. That was shocking. Other than I was in the segregated south in 1950.

I don’t know when my grandmomma had my momma. She only had two kids, my uncle and my mom. I would assume that she was in her twenties. She came from a large family. Her family was a large family. Her daddy, Mr. Mathis, had about 13 or 14 kids. They were out there in the country and I don’t know exactly how that impacted her relationships with guys—I don’t know too much about my big mommas upbringing.

My mommma had me, my oldest brother, and my younger brother, but she gave him up to go and list with his grandmomma, and so my grandmomma raised him. Then she had my sister, who was baby girl—now that I think of it, my sister had her first kid when she was in high school. There goes that aspect of them being children raising children again.

When I first got charged I was seventeen years old. I was influenced by my peers who said, “Let’s go rob somebody.” I said, “OK.” As simple as that. I got arrested a day after my eighteenth birthday, but all the crimes I committed were when I was 17 years old. All of the crimes were robbery, but on one of the incidents, the guy in the store got shot. He stayed in the hospital for three hours and then released him because it was just a flesh wound. On one of the other charges, although I did not molest her, there was a girl and I looked down her dress. So…there were aggravating factors that resulted in me getting a life sentence.

The night I got arrested, the police officers interrogated me. I didn’t know that juveniles in custody have the right to refrain from talking until they contact our peoples, attorney and all that stuff. Anyways, the guy that I had caught the robbery charge with, said that I was with him during other robberies. They fooled me into saying that yea we did it. I stayed in jailed nine months, then my momma convinced me to plead guilty to the robbery charges. She had gotten a long distance attorney, who years later became known as a “hanging judge” because he was hard on crime in Jacksonville, and he had told her to tell me to plead guilty. Anyway, I listened to my momma, she said, “go ahead and plead guilty. Let’s get out of this fighting…give me some kind of relief.” So I plead guilty for those two robbery charges—they gave me life. I have the documents to prove it.

In the south, it was nothing for a black man robbing a white establishment to get life. As far as I was concerned, I saw a lot of that going on. It was 1969, the judge was white, the prosecutor was white, my attorney was white.

I was eligible for parole, after ten years, and was released in ’79. In 1983 I got 75 years for a robbery, in ’85 I went back to court and got exonerated. In 85’ they reinstated my parole. I caught a new charge and went back in in 1990. I was released again in ’99, and came back in 2001. I’ve been back ever since. “

Everglades Correctional Institution

Date of Receipt: August 1969

SENTENCED TO LIFE

"It goes on and on and on until somebody stands up.." by richard ross

"Right now I’m forty-five…

My mom worked all the time and she was unconcerned with me. Then crack epidemic came and blew the doors off of our whole house. My real father wasn’t around and I did not meet him until I was much older. For some reason, I think I was just pissed off because I did not have my biological father there. I wanted him to be there, I wanted to be like everybody else who had their father’s there. I wanted attention and I couldn’t get it, so I started doing things that most kids wouldn’t do. It started with fighting in school and then I graduated to crime. First it was petty crime and then as time went on I progressed.

Being poor, and being around your classmates when you don’t have much, when they have parents, and they have clothes, and they are clean, and they’re this and they’re that, and you don’t have that, you have to resort to the only thing that’s there—and there aint a lot there. When you are young like that, you are limited to what you can and can’t do.

While I’m sitting here my children have suffered years of neglect and they are making some really really poor choices. My daughter has been incarcerated. She was fifteen when she got incarcerated. She’s off of it now, but she went to prison for a violent crime. Actually, she got kids and she got out. They are just babies right now. My grandchildren will probably suffer as well. It’s generational. It goes on and on and on until somebody stands up and stops it.

When you are poor, you can’t afford lawyers or expert witnesses. They tend to trump up charges against you and throw you away. I wrote to every innocence project in the united states, but most of the time what I get is that they are limited in what they can do. Their funds are short. They’ll put you on a waiting list—I’ve been on a waiting list for at least four years. But I aint giving up hope though, by a long shot. I’m not giving up at all. I’ve been fighting all these years and I’m not going to stop. I have to do half of the fifty years, and once I do half, then ill come up for parole. But in 25 years there’s no guarantee that I'll make parole"

Stiles Unit. Beaumont, TX

Date of Receipt: January 1991

SENTENCED TO 50 YEARS

"This is slavery." by richard ross

I went to Juvie when I was 12-13 for 11 months. Since then, I’ve been incarcerated for 43 years. I was incarcerated on my 16th Birthday. I was given Life and 20. I was convicted of a Rape and Abduction when I was 15 years old. Since 1971 I have been on the street for a total of 11 months. (on the outside)  

My last visitor was in 1989. I was from a good family. No abuse. I never wanted for anything.

FORTY THREE YEARS that I have never seen my family.

Parole-- The parole board interviews me by phone.

They said I had a history of violence and I was a risk to the community and they had new evidence. It has been 43 years and I have been convicted. What new evidence could exist and what could that mean? I’m not coming back to that community so how am I a risk to that community?

I have a parole release date but it means nothing.

They ask what programs I have taken. They say I need programs to be released. They offer no programs. How does this make sense?

This is Florida. Florida is a slave state. This is slavery

Just give me the death penalty.

I am never getting out of prison.

I am going to die here in prison.

Columbia Correctional Institution

Date of Receipt: May 1996

SENTENCED TO LIFE