Sam has been involved in education for nearly thirty years, mostly as a school safety officer at Sedro-Woolley, and now Burlington-Edison. During that time, she has interacted with, helped, and really gotten to know, a lot of her community’s youth. If you ask her, they are all her kids… and she really means it. If something is happening to one of her kids, well, it doesn’t matter who you are – her boss, the President – just get out of the way. She has the temperament and demeanor of a good first responder. Her natural instinct is to run toward trouble.
Sam is my biological half-sister. We have the same father, but he was a mess when she was conceived. She was put up for adoption. Sam is thirteen years older than me. I only learned of her existence as a small boy. I met her a few times as I grew. But, when I went to prison as a teenager with more than thirty-five years to serve, well, she felt better off not knowing me.
That changed about twenty years into my prison experience, when Sam notified my counselor that our sister, JaiDee, had passed away. My counselor called me into her office and delivered the news. She offered to facilitate a phone call between me and Sam, but I declined. Not because I didn’t want to talk to her. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I would vomit.
JaiDee was my full blooded baby sister. We grew up together. She was my playtime friend… and part-time nemesis. I can remember when she whacked the stuffin’ out of me, waited until I was about to retaliate but, before I could, she started bawling at the top of her lungs. Mom ran in to protect her – like Sam does with her kids – and as soon I got the belt, JaiDee just smiled and stuck her tongue out! Yeah, she was a real stinker sometimes. She was only fifteen when I abandoned her for prison life. Now, she was gone just two months after her thirty-fifth birthday.
Yeah, I needed space, and… a toilet. I asked for a raincheck on the phone call, and cashed it in a few days later. During that call, Sam encouraged me to apply for a college scholarship through a small philanthropic program that sponsored a few students each year. I invited her to attend my graduation three years later. We’ve become best friends, and there is no one I communicate with more. Lately, we’ve been writing nearly every day.
Throughout the course of our relationship, Sam’s perspective has affected and enriched the way I view things, and vice versa. Both of us have become more objective. I lightly touched on this phenomenon in the last essay I wrote. I mentioned my youngest mentee in the prison’s pilot mentorship program, Chris. He was one of her kids, but initially she was resistant to allow him that distinction because he harmed his community and traded freedom for prison life. Through our correspondence she began to inquire about his continuing development. Now, she expresses sincere interest in Chris.
Recently, Sam was pretty disappointed by an incident involving one of her kids. Actually, it involved a couple of them. She even sent a news article about it. It alleged that 18-year-old Trevor McCabe seriously beat a 17-year-old, and posted the assault on social media. (Post link to article here, maybe?) This occurrence caused my sister genuine distress because she worked closely with Trevor. We exchanged messages a couple times discussing the incident. She even speculated that one of the boys may have kissed the other’s girlfriend, which might have prompted the assault. I could feel Sam’s pain as we discussed these kids. Pain isn’t new to me. I’ve spent the last quarter century in prison navigating my own, and processing the pain I’m responsible for. Over time, I learned to help others endure and process theirs. Sam’s pain was for the boys and their families. I can’t help but empathize with my sister, her kids, and their families.
According to the article, the Skagit County Prosecutor has filed notice that he intends to seek an exceptionally long sentence. I find this particularly disturbing for a few reasons. To begin with, it conflicts with the concept of justice, which embodies the principles of “fairness, moral rightness, and equity” (American Heritage Dictionary, 4th ed. 2002). After decades of engagement with victim’s advocates through a number of justice involved programs, I have learned it’s somewhat uncommon for crime survivors to singularly focus on punishment. Following some time to process their trauma, a generalized focus settles on future crime prevention. The majority of crime survivors want to ensure that others don’t suffer the way they did. There are some who become hyper-focused on punitive measures but, generally speaking, these folks represent a small minority. I’m certain the number is initially higher but, with time, people’s priorities evolve.
I’m personally disturbed by the prosecutor’s zealous quest for lynch mob justice because of my own story. I was 18 when I was given an exceptionally long sentence. Pause for a moment and briefly consider your maturity at age 18. Were you a responsible adult making all the right choices? There is an abundance of contemporary juvenile brain science that concludes the human brain isn’t fully mature until somewhere in the mid-20s. This science emerged after my adjudication, but has since affected criminal cases on a grand scale, and is published in law. The average layman may not know of it, but no elected prosecutor can feign ignorance. As the dark stain of mass incarceration continues to spread, and as the politics of justice are so jaded, yes, I am particularly disturbed. Is this what we’ve come to? Can we just keep throwing kids away like garbage, decade after decade, like they did me twenty-five years ago? Haven’t we learned anything since then? I have: Justice isn’t just, it’s just a concept.
As for McCabe, what he is accused of sounds horrendous. However, here we go again, calling an 18-year-old kid a “man”. Back in the caveman era, 18 may have been the mark of maturity, but humanity and society have evolved, and lives extended. As life expectancies increased, so too did the developmental stage known as adolescence. Contemporary brain science doesn’t recognize 18 as the mark of maturity and, given my life experiences, neither do I. More importantly, at least in the interest of conceptual justice, nor should an elected prosecutor. There is no such thing as bad people, just people (in this case, a kid) who do bad things. McCabe’s presumed behavior indicates several juvenile brain development markers. Specifically, a lack of control with regard to impulsiveness and a deficit of rational thought as it pertains to the weighing of consequences. However, McCabe is perfectly capable of achieving maturity, atonement, and personal transformation, especially given that his brain is still juvenile. By filing that notice of intent, this prosecutor revealed his allegiance to a paradigm of lynch mob justice and, in so doing, reveals a clear picture of how we’ve arrived at the dilemma of mass incarceration.
I am not suggesting that McCabe shouldn’t be held accountable. I empathize with all affected. But how can we expect the public to practice humanity if our government doesn’t? What happened to leading by example? Prosecutors have a duty, a professional responsibility, to do what’s best for their communities. This one should do their job objectively, without mixing emotions or political aspirations.
I’m not going to presume this prosecutor is irredeemable, as it appears he does McCabe. Sam mentioned that she knew who this prosecutor was because of her work at Sedro-Woolley, where she’d encountered them a few times. She also contemplated writing them a letter. This inspired me to write her a message I hoped would help her decide. She ended up writing them, and in it she enclosed my message to her. My message read something like this:
“Greetings sis,
I just went back and reread the article you sent about Trevor. It really aggravates me. Not just for what he did, but also because of what I don’t know. I have so many questions. Obviously, I’m left to wonder why and what was posted on social media. Was it an initiation of sorts? What is the emotional connection to the brutality? Why was it so important to humiliate and seriously hurt that particular kid? Of course, there is no justification, but something… more than just $30.00, motivated this crime.
What’s the story behind all four of the charges? Are they all separate incidents? I doubt it. That’s what prosecutors use as leverage to compel the criminally involved to sign away their lives and avoid exercising their right to a jury trial – because, if they do, they’ll never see the light of day. #massincarceration
A glaring piece of evidence supporting contemporary brain science regarding age and maturity, as it relates to McCabe, is that most of us struggle to see the rationale. That’s because we are mature, which, by default, further suggests he is otherwise. Who is McCabe? What was his home life like as he grew up? What was normal to him? I know little about him, but I’ll guess he didn’t graduate high school, wasn’t attending college, and likely didn’t emerge from a balanced home… like the prosecutor making all the decisions about him. Now, don’t go rolling your eyes and get all hardnosed and belligerent on me! People matter. Their stories matter. It’s not just about context, it’s about the lens through which they see the world.
As much as I want to besmirch prosecutors for overzealous prosecution, it’s not entirely their fault. They are a fraternity of people who serve as frontline instruments of justice. They are exposed to the worst of people, the callousness, and the wake of destruction. This exacerbates the effect, and they see all the evidence. Because of their prolonged and sustained exposure, they can become desensitized to the human costs of the justice they are responsible for meting out. These are professionals, lawyers who passed the Bar exam, educated people with a reasonably consistent baseline understanding of ethics and responsibility. They use that baseline and compare it to the endless sea of crimes they are exposed to, which are overwhelmingly unjustifiable and egregious. With each exposure, they use those comparisons to justify their ratcheting up of penalty recommendations, then mistakenly call it justice to the crime victims they empathize with. I say “mistakenly” because two wrongs don’t make a right. In what alternate reality is throwing away teenagers like garbage not wrong?
As for claims of “justice for victims” based on the implementation of draconian determinate sentences… This is just an untrue claim. Real justice is more dynamic than punishment. Take the worst crime imaginable, murder, and envision two scenarios.
Scenario #1: Killer is sentenced to life and spends the next forty or fifty years hopelessly rotting in prison, fueled by resentment and hate, until his body finally quits the fight. Meanwhile, he serves as an object of scorn and resentment for the crime survivors, some of whom foster and cultivate a lifetime of bitterness.
Scenario #2: Killer is sentenced to twenty or more years, but eligible for parole in twelve or fifteen. The prospect of hope compels him to turn his life around and dedicate the remainder of it to service. He ministers to others, and compels them to pursue personal change earlier than they otherwise would have. He’s eventually released and is responsible for preventing at least one murder but likely more. Meanwhile, crime survivors may catch wind of some of the community service and find a small amount of meaning in their suffering.
Again, you can roll your eyes all you want, but those are realistic scenarios, and I can apply several names of real people I know to either one. Which scenario is more consistent with your definition of justice? Which scenario is better for victims? And society, in general? And the perpetrator?
Back to McCabe… What does justice look like for everyone involved in this crime? Not angry justice, or political justice, just justice? That’s not for me to decide, but I’ll offer this: If you want real justice for McCabe, you have to make sure he has hope. Little change occurs without hope. Of lesser importance, you might see to it that he comes here to WSR, where he would be offered the opportunity to benefit from our pilot mentorship program, ‘Men Facilitating Change’. We are a group of like-minded prisoners, all a little long in the tooth, yet willing to engage with our youth. Our mission is positive change in our community – whatever that is and whatever it takes. Each person is different.
I have been incarcerated since 1996. I was 18-years-old when I was convicted of first degree burglary and assault, and received an exceptional sentence of more than thirty-five years. I have lived this last quarter century in shame for my criminal involvement. I am haunted by my teenaged naivety. I say “naivety”, not because I didn’t know right from wrong, but because I couldn’t see a viable way out of the situation I was in. The prosecutor in charge of my case felt I deserved to be thrown away like garbage and, eventually, the judge agreed. Well, I dispute that. I’m not garbage and, even though I’ve never met McCabe, I know the same to be true about him. We have at least one thing in common: we’re human. I can further surmise that… He’s a broken kid, coming from a broken place and going into a broken system. Will he get the prosecutor’s justice, emotional/political justice of 35-plus years? Or will he get rational, legitimate justice of no more than a decade – which is forever to a teenager? Either way he’ll feel right at home. The question is, for how long and to what end?
Sorry for my long windedness, but my heart breaks for everyone involved. Maybe I’ll meet Trevor, maybe I can help.
Love, Isaac”
Punishment is the response to crime most of us have been conditioned to, but what are its limits? Well, the truth is, there are none. A prosecutor can stack several charges for a single crime and deliver a convincing argument to a sentencing judge. And what is the overall objective of incarceration? That debate is ongoing, but nearly all except the lynch mob would agree upon some combination of punishment and rehabilitation. What percentage of justice are rehabilitation, reparation, and atonement? Again, there’s a debate. However, if you objectively consider what’s best for the community at-large, it’s sure to be a significant percentage.
Over time, I have become passionate about criminal justice reform, and I’m aware that the most impactful voices are likely those who have emerged from the criminal justice system. Our experiences will carry more weight in the fight to improve criminal justice, but politicians don’t listen to prisoners. That thought is laughable. They listen to their constituencies. Unfortunately, many of our recently released friends are preoccupied with survival in a world seemingly foreign and resistant to them, while others simply can’t put their incarceration experience behind them fast enough. It’s one thing to have a voice and a story, it’s another to be heard and appreciated. Of course, criminal justice reform will happen, but it will likely occur more slowly than it should given our science and experience. I am interested in moving that process along. Not so much in the hope that it will help me, but with the expectation that it will reduce crime and corresponding behavior; which, in turn, will reduce suffering on the part of future crime victims.
I advocate for a number of reforms, but one in particular will do more than any other to improve criminal justice as we know it: That is a return to a system of parole where prisoners earn their way back into the communities they harmed. This change won’t swing prison gates open, but it will change the paradigm inside them. Prisoners will become adequately compelled to pursue individual positive change. This incentivized pursuit of positive change translates into lower recidivism rates and, ultimately, fewer crimes. Therefore, the politician with a modicum of courage who genuinely puts their community first will stand in the face of fear mongering political backlash and champion this reform.
This reform will happen and it will save lives. The only variable is, when? I don’t say it will happen because I have blind faith in politicians to do the right thing. I know it will happen because it is the only viable option to mitigate mass incarceration, and it is the most responsible approach to criminal justice as applied to societal values. And it will happen because of me and others like me. We are the fraternity of young people who were sacrificed to the juvenile super predator rhetoric responsible for stripping the humanity from our nation’s laws. This rhetoric conceptually eliminated “rehabilitation” from our criminal justice lexicon, substantially increased punitive measures, and ultimately contributed to mass incarceration. We are the ones who were thrown away like garbage, and we’ve spent multiple decades of the best years of our lives wasting away in prison so that politicians could be elected. We are the previous generation’s collateral damage, and we have begun matriculating back into our communities and constituencies. Our voices will not be silenced.
Sam has yet to hear back from the prosecutor but, if McCabe is sentenced to lynch mob justice, there is still hope. How can I have lived my life experiences, claim to have integrity, yet not fight to help prevent McCabe from suffering my fate? The kid’s not garbage. I know. I was ‘the kid’ once too.
*****
Update: I’ve previously written about my experience with the mentoring program here and my last mentee, Justis. Well, Justis was released on May 3rd, and is staying with my half-sister, Sam. Originally, I introduced Sam and Justis as correspondents. At the time, Sam was working towards a second Master’s degree, with an emphasis on life coaching. She was hoping to correspond with a couple of people as they transitioned out of prison and into successful living, and possibly begin accruing experience towards her area of study. Some people have criticized me for not doing more to discourage her from accepting Justis as a tenant, but it was her choice. So far, her willingness to help him in this way has proven instrumental in his transition to freedom. Today was his third day of his second week of his first real job. He’s been commuting four miles each way, to work and back, on a “long board”. He’s doing well and completely sober… with the exception of a few recreational outings. There was one instance of drunkenness when a particular lady friend of his wanted an exclusive relationship… He knew he wasn’t ready, so, with great reluctance, that friendship crashed and burned. Despite that bump in the road, he remains focused on obtaining his driver’s license and being present in his son’s life. Yeah, he’s doing alright! I have a sound, ongoing relationship with him, and I trust him to make better choices than he has in previous years. And no one is pulling for him to succeed more than me.
I talked to Justis for a few minutes last Sunday afternoon (mid-heatwave). He rattled off a list of chores he had performed at the house, none of which I could hear clearly enough to be identifiable, but I did make out the part where my sister seemed disappointed he didn’t do something with the fence. So, I said, “What? You didn’t do the fence?” To which he responded something about the heat… I didn’t bother calling him a ‘weenie’… He already knows. 🙂 (Sis was pulling his leg!)
I have recently finished another class towards a BA. I don’t know my final grade yet, nor have I received feedback from my final two essays. However, I am told it was sent out by the college weeks ago. Apparently, someone who wears a uniform “accidentally” misplaced all the incoming college correspondence for guys in my unit. It’s just another unfortunate pleasantry associated with places like this – being guarded by people allegiant to an angry paradigm of disdain for prisoners. I’m actually grateful they garbage canned our grades and feedback, rather than our outgoing homework… this time.
There is some talk of closing this place. It probably won’t affect me that much because I’m off to short timer’s prison camp pretty soon. I was going to try and stay here a little longer to keep working towards my four year degree, but I’m interested in going to camp too. So, I’m not heart broken. (I am disappointed about not continuing classes though.) I think the saddest part of this particular location closing is the proximity to the city, family, friends, and I-5 Corridor access for volunteer programs. But I refuse to be sad that they’re closing a prison! Hopefully, several of them!!
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