Entering prison you have two choices: You either victimize or you become a victim, said Vincent Grand (not his real name) who spent eight-and-a-half years behind bars.
Two years into his time, Grand signed up for an introduction to nonviolent communication at Twin Rivers, part of the Monroe Correctional Complex. "And when I entered the classroom this little Asian woman reached out to me saying, 'Welcome, I'm so glad you could come.' She looked me in the eye, and for the first time in two years I felt safe enough to drop my guard a little," he recalled.
Lucy Leu was the little Asian woman Grand met. An educator and former college professor, Leu first heard about the nonviolent communication program when its founder, Marshall Rosenberg, spoke at Seattle's Town Hall. I want to learn this language, she thought, it's the language of the heart.
When Rosenberg was invited to teach a class at the prison, Leu accompanied him.
The inmates pleaded for her to come back, and Leu returned to teach and train for the next 10 years.
Grand, one of her students, learned quickly. He recalled what he'd learned at a recent conversation at The Freedom Project, which organizes the classes. The Seattle nonprofit's goal is to help prisoners became peacemakers.
"I realized that I always have choices, and that I have to take responsibility for the choices I make," he said. "For example, I'd be sitting in the TV room and this big guy comes in and says, 'You're sitting in my chair.' I could fight and get beaten up and a guard might see us and we both end up in the hole (segregation). I'd have to accept the consequences of my choice. Or I could say, 'Would you let me finish watching this show?' Or I could move because it doesn't matter that much to me where I sit. Once I realized that I had choices I stopped being a victim," Grand said.
"Realizing my choices, feeling my needs and connecting to others worked every time, in the cell and in the yard."
During the five years since his release, Grand has painstakingly restored a life of independence. He also assists former inmates returning to the wider world.
Leu is pensive when asked about other success stories. She knows heartbreaking stories of failure, but then adds, "For me, this work is never about success. We're not called to be successful; we're called to be faithful."
Inmates often challenge the effectiveness of nonviolence. During a recent introductory workshop at the women's prison in Purdy, I was assisting the volunteer trainers who had come with lesson plans, charts, flashcards, poems and a gong for meditative moments. The eight young inmates who had signed up looked skeptical and by the end of the first day told us outright that while the techniques might work on the outside, they wouldn't work in prison.
By the next morning, the most critical woman allowed that she'd like to learn nonviolence for the sake of her little boy. She had given birth to him while in juvenile detention and had held him for only four days. But now when he visits, he throws his little arms around her and says, "You are my mommy." As she told her story, tears streamed down her face.
Tuere Sala, who has taught nonviolent communication at both men's and women's prisons, said inmates need motivation.
"For me that sacred place is God. For others it is a child or children. You need courage to see the things you don't want to see, and you need steadfastness to go on the path. And you can't do it alone."
Sala speaks from experience. "I grew up with trauma, surrounded by hatred," she explained. A mother, she spent 10 years on welfare; today she is a prosecutor with Seattle's Community Court.
"I had to look beyond failure and abuse, and at the time I started looking, I couldn't see success," she said. Meditation helped her succeed on her path. "You have to do the work, get yourself clean and sober, work, go to school, and look for help and support. Often, it means going against the flow: Imagine you're on a commuter train and at the station everyone walks in the same direction. And you decide to go against the stream. It's very hard at first, but you can succeed and you will find fellow travelers."
Meditation classes have become another tool. Ruby Phillips has taught both nonviolent communication and mindfulness meditation in state penitentiaries in Twin Rivers, Monroe and Purdy.
"Mindfulness means paying attention to what is happening internally. It's a coming home to self," Phillips said. She remembers a woman in her course who had been plagued by seizures. One time when the alarms went off and guards were running and shouting in the hallway, the woman thought with mounting anxiety, I'm going to have a seizure. She noted how terrified she was and by acknowledging her feelings avoided the attack. n