A True "Amicus" - Jim Ryan

Two weeks ago I attended the funeral of my friend, Jim Ryan. Along with many other roles in the Twin Cities community, Jim was the Chief Executive Officer of Ryan Companies, a former board member of Amicus and one of our long-time supporters.

Over the years I’ve learned that even the president of an organization called Amicus needs an “amicus” of her own occasionally and Jim was someone who both gave me the support I needed and gently held me accountable for taking proper care of Amicus and of myself.

I also remember Jim as key to one of the most memorable evenings I’ve experienced.
In 1989 we were interested in making Amicus’ work more visible to a local business group with great influence called the Young President’s Organization. In turn, the YPO and its Education Committee chair, Jim Ryan, was interested in developing a meaningful education program for its members.

Our then Board chair, Eddie Phillips, another of Amicus’ dearest friends and a member of YPO, introduced me to Jim. Jim, Eddie and I dreamed up an idea and brought it to Orv Pung, then Commissioner of the Department of Corrections. The DOC was interested in gaining advocates for progressive policies and as it turned out, Orv was willing to provide unprecedented access to its facilities.

Together we came up with the idea of having a YPO meeting on the grounds of Stillwater Correctional Facility. The corporate executives were given tours of the facility, guided by both corrections staff and inmates. Afterward, the Young Presidents, spouses, DOC staff and Amicus inmates alike all sat down to an extraordinary meal (especially by prison standards) on the grounds of the prison in an area landscaped by the inmates.

Jim told me about being blown away by an inmate gazing intently at the late summer sky. Jim asked him what he saw up there and the man replied that it was the moon and the stars – a sight he hadn’t seen in 10 years.

Before the day at Stillwater, YPO members were given a survey about prison and the death penalty, a hot issue at the time. Many members responded in favor of tough sentences and the death penalty, some joking that it ought to be given for driving too slowly in the left lane. After the event, the survey responses were somber. They were touched by the humanity of the people they met, their intelligence and their hope.

The meeting had changed minds and opened hearts. Many YPO members became contributors and supporters of Amicus’ work, some employing ex-offenders at their own companies.

But best of all, Jim became a good friend and brought his talents and passion to our board. I will always remember Jim as unassuming, generous and gently demanding of excellence. Jim embodied many of the values of Amicus and I mourn his loss.
I think that there were over 1200 people at Jim’s memorial service; the procession to the cemetery was led by employees of Ryan Companies driving their yellow construction vehicles in honor of their leader.

It was an amazing sight, and one of the final illustrations of how Jim Ryan showed that treating people with dignity and respect, whether they be corporate CEOs, company employees or inmates at a state penitentiary, is often met with love and respect in return.

We’ll miss you, Jim.

Creating Our Own Futures

For about four years now, Steve Linney, one of Amicus’ many dedicated volunteers, has been joining Amicus Community Engagement Director Russel Balenger at the state Correctional Facility in Stillwater for “Connections,” an inmate support group Amicus facilitates.

Steve, a college level math professor told us that one of the reasons he continues to work with Amicus is that he always feels his contributions are appreciated by the “Connections” group, and he enjoys the positive atmosphere experienced there.
“They (the inmates) find value in me bringing my experiences in the outside world to them – bringing what I have and who I am.

One of the practices occurring at every “Connections” group is a “check-in” in which everyone in the room talks what’s been happening in their lives since the last time the group convened. The opportunity to talk freely about what’s important to an individual is not very common in a correctional facility and there are always positive interactions.

At a meeting in February though, Steve noticed something different. “I have NEVER felt the spiritual energy as powerful. As Russ said, they were ‘smoking!’”
Steve said he wasn’t certain why it felt so different, but guessed that it had something to do with the experience of seeing an African American take the oath of office as President of the United States.
He spoke about a 60-yeard old who was being released from prison in the next week.
“He was commenting about how prison is simply a state of mind and that what you have to do is “get out of your mind and what your “eyes” see and look/feel through your heart.”

They spoke about miracles such as the plane landing safely in the Hudson River and a black man being inaugurated as president, prompting one man to say “Being here and now, I AM BLESSED.”

“That is AMAZING to hear and see that,” Steve said. “Imagine being in prison and actually feeling/being BLESSED. Now that is a paradox – not only to express it, but to be sincere in actually feeling that.”

Steve said if there was only one point he took from the group, it’s that “the building isn’t the prison. The prison is our mind.”

He continues, “In some profound way, what we want is what we get … We have more power over our internal world than we might think we do.”

At Amicus we often talk about how “real change happens on the inside.” The Connections group has given me a great reminder of how closely related change inside ourselves and change outside ourselves actually is.

Practicing Gratefulness in Challenging Times

(The following is a sermon given by Louise to Michael Servetus Unitarian Society on Feb. 15, 2009)

Thankfulness is the beginning of gratitude. Gratitude is the completion of thankfulness. Thankfulness may consist merely of words. Gratitude is shown in acts. - Henri Frederic Amiel

The middle-aged woman, her feet heavy in the melting, grey snow walked slowly toward the entrance to the prison. She talked herself into each step forward, up the steps, into the waiting area, where she would put her purse and coat in a locker, sign in with the officer and wait for her husband’s name to be called over the sound system. She knew the wait would bring her spirits further down. She had made this trip every week for more years than she wanted to remember; she was tired: tired of the sight of small children with their mothers waiting for their turn to go through the metal detector and then through the gates to see their dads for a little while, and later, leaving, confused and teary-eyed, without him. She was tired of trying to keep the conversation with her husband light when she wanted to cry about how hard it is to raise children alone, to be there for him when he called to tell her about the tedium of prison life, she wanted to cry about how hard it is to keep up with the bills on her wages, how hard it is to make this trip every week. Her kids didn’t want to come with her any more. She looked around at the other families in the waiting area and wondered if it was any different for them? Did they feel as isolated? Did they feel like they were in prison too? She was weary of this life but unable to make a change.

He waited in his cell for the call that he had a visit. He had pressed his clothes, shaved carefully, combed his hair and waited patiently. He lived for this day each week when he could, for an hour or two, leave prison behind as he entered the visiting room. He was one of the lucky ones. Most other inmates rarely if ever received a visit. Their families had given up on making time for the drive, didn’t have the money for gas, had to get on with their lives. After awhile they stopped writing too. These guys had nothing to look forward to except their out date. He was thankful for her loyalty. He knew it wasn’t easy for her. He knew she didn’t tell him half of what burdened her. Sometimes when she did, he couldn’t lift his eyes to look at her. He knew that she was in prison too. But god, he was glad she hadn’t left him. She was all he had that tied him to life outside.

The young girl stayed close to her father when they visited prisons in their travels together. She wasn’t so young any more: really a young woman. But when she saw the faces of the kids her age in the reformatories or the women locked away from their families in prison, she would draw close to her dad to remind herself of her own reality. She was loved. She was cared for. She had a life full of adventure, friendship, learning and fun. She was cared for. She was loved. She could leave these places behind and put the faces out of her mind. Her dad thought she could do anything and by god she would do anything but what he did. She would stay away from these depressing places that even her dad couldn’t make better. She was thankful for her life and realized that she had done nothing in particular to deserve it. God she was lucky to have been born into her family. She could do anything.

Standing next to my father in those prisons, returning the stares of the inmates, I counted my blessings. I learned to do that at an early age. When I was six years old my mother gave me a simple lesson in Universalist theology. You are loved she told me, by the universe, by your family, by god or Jesus or by whoever or whatever is in charge. I had come home in tears that day. My friends had asked me why I didn’t go to church. Didn’t I know that I would burn in hell for eternity if I didn’t love Jesus? My mother had comforted me; she told me ‘don’t worry, if there is a god or a Jesus, he loves you as much as I do and would never hurt you any more than I would ever hurt you; he would just want you be your best self and do what you can to make the world a better place for people who aren’t as lucky as you’.

That is all that my mother needed to tell me. I am not sure I have learned much more of significance about religion. Although I didn’t know it at the time, I learned all I needed to know about how make the world a better place from those prison visits I made with my father. It took a few years for my call to come, but I am glad that I was listening when it came to me.

That was back in 1971 when I contacted Amicus to see if I could volunteer; a few months later I had a staff job and before too long, I became the director. Over the last 38 years I have learned that gratitude is the fuel that gives me energy for my work and work brings joy to my life and makes me grateful all over again.

Yesterday at a pancake breakfast hosted by a group of ex-offenders, I was struck by the incongruity between the facts and reality. If a smart person looked at the demographic profile of the men from North Minneapolis in that church basement, a smart person would have turned around and walked in the opposite direction as fast as they possibly could. But facts don’t capture the whole story. The facts don’t capture the power of hope, human connection and gratitude. A man met me at the door and wished me a happy Valentine’s day. Two men greeted me at the entrance to the cafeteria, received my contribution and welcomed me to the breakfast; another man escorted me to a seat at a cafeteria table, pulled out the chair for me and offered to take my coat. Several men in the kitchen were making pancakes, eggs, sausages and toast. The men I talked to told me that returning to prison is not an option for them: they have made a commitment to themselves and each other that they will support each other in staying positive, doing the right things, and giving back to the community. These men call themselves Men of Rafiki. Rafiki is the Swahili word for ‘friend’ just as Amicus is the Latin word for ‘friend’. Amicus staff coordinate this program that nurtures the connections within, among and beyond these men who call themselves Rafiki. They organized the breakfast to show that they could do something for the community, do something together and raise a little money so that they could give something back to Amicus. They are grateful men.

My friend and colleague Reggie told me that there are three kinds of men in prison: thugs, thieves and thankful men. The thugs, he said, are people who do whatever they have to do to meet their own needs and wants. They don’t care about anyone else. The thieves, he said, pretend that they are not thugs: they tell their families that they have changed and they only need a little help/money from their families to start over. Meanwhile the thieves lay back, take it easy, and connive to get other people to do their work for them and do as little as possible for themselves or anyone else. And then, Reggie explained, there are the thankful men. They are grateful that they survived long enough to take responsibility for themselves and their families. Thankful men are grateful for another chance at life. Reggie told me that he had been a thug and a thief over the course of a long criminal career. But gratitude, trust and hope filled his life for as long as I knew him. Reggie died of Leukemia about a year ago. For the last ten years of his life, Reggie was a thankful man. The sources of his thankfulness were human and divine. Family members and mentors that he trusted, listened to him, gave him honest feedback and encouraged him to stop assigning responsibility for his predicament to people other than himself, to make better use of his time in prison and to prepare himself for the future. One person told him that if he studied the Bible and got to know god, he would be set free. Reggie said he took this advice literally believing that he would earn his way out of prison early. Instead, he grew to know a loving god who offered him the opportunity to reassess his past, consider needs beyond his own in the present, and start preparing himself for a better future. His god didn’t arrange for him to get out early; instead, Reggie found spiritual freedom in prison, energy for working three jobs, time for studying a variety of religions and discipline to exercise, save money and avoid the temptations of substituting junk food from the canteen for the less comforting prison fare. These habits served him well when he transitioned back to the community in good physical health, with $5,000 in his savings account and the habit of getting up early and going to work, no matter how menial. His daughters, his minister and a few good friends marveled at the change that took hold of him. Gratitude for the gift of his awakening fueled every day of the rest of Reggie’s life. He never stopped reaching out to others who weren’t as lucky as him and he was an inspiration to them. One man stopped me in the reception area at Amicus. He asked me if I knew how important Reggie was to Amicus and to the many people we might not even know. He told me that men in transition all over Minnesota knew Reggie’s story and were inspired to keep trying, when giving up and going back to prison would be more typical of their behavior.

In recent months I have had the honor of working as a consultant with the Board of Directors of the UUA, helping them to move into a new governance model. In an exercise designed to articulate what brings us together in UU communities, the Board identified three core values: Connection, Wonder and Transformation. As I apply these values to my own life experience and to the lives of gratitude that I see around me at Amicus I find them to be central. I need to push myself to be authentic, honest and open to intimacy in my human connections; I need to be embrace the ambiguity and mystery that surrounds me that blesses my life and that I cannot control, and I need to be open to renewal and new beginnings in my life. I would add gratitude to this list of core values. Gratitude keeps me humble and honest and gives me courage to do the right thing. When I forget to count my blessings and act accordingly, I lose my way and I become weary, cynical and judging of others.

Keeping perspective on your own life is easy when you work at Amicus. Everyday we are witness to men and women in prison struggling with the darkness in their souls and with the numbing predictability of their daily lives. And yet many people in prison find a way to make their lives meaningful through art, self-instruction through reading and writing, and through service to others. I know of a young man who serves others less fortunate as a tutor. I know of a woman who shared the gift of her beautiful voice to sing to others. I know of men and women who risk their personal safety to confront those who are making their surroundings unsafe for others. I know of men and women who gather regularly in groups to support each other. I know of a group of men that takes turns teaching another man to read. These inmates reach out in gratitude for the blessings in their lives. In return they receive the joy of giving back.

Equally powerful and humbling are the examples of courage and persistence that we see every day in the men and women who visit our office during their transition from prison. Some arrive in their prison clothes, with no hats or gloves or money for transportation. Most are expected to find work and housing in 30 days or face a technical violation of their parole and a return to prison. Yet 99% are patient when they have wait, are polite and respectful, and willing to help each other by sharing leads that they have found. Almost all of them would like the opportunity to give back in some way and respond enthusiastically when we ask them to help in some way. We see nearly 6,000 men and women in our office each year. Why is this picture so different from the perception that most of us have about ex-offenders? I believe it is because most ex-offenders truly want to make a go of it in the community. They know that they have to change their behavior and their associates. They know that Amicus is a voluntary agency staffed by community members; we don’t have to be there for them and we won’t be if the community doesn’t support us. They are thankful that we are there to help them, that we are not judgmental and that we will tell them the truth about what they need to do to be successful. They are thankful that our staff is respectful and kind to them. The luckiest ones are those that have Amicus volunteers to mentor and befriend them. It always helps to know that there is someone in your life who cares and will listen to you and encourage you, and again to tell you the truth.

Every member of our staff tells me how lucky they feel to work in an environment which gives them the experience of so much diversity and so much challenge. They are not only working side by side with people who are working twice as hard to help themselves as they are asking us to help them. Our staff also has the opportunity to work side by side with volunteers who share our agencies values of caring, respect, community, responsibility and transformation. Our volunteers are mentors, members of circles of support and accountability for sex offenders, interns, Americorps VISTAs, receptionists, resource developers and one to one friends to incarcerated people. Our volunteers tell us that they give their time and energy because they have been fortunate and want to give back or because someone reached out to them (or someone they love) and helped them get back on track. They often say ‘there but for the grace of god go I.’ They are grateful.

The news of the day may be alarming and discouraging. But as long as we can keep our circumstances in perspective, we have much to be thankful for, much to celebrate and many possible ways to transform the world, one life at a time, starting with our own.

May it be so!

Telling Secrets…

It’s one of the more common occurrences for Amicus staff or volunteers.

When someone hears about the type of work we do at Amicus, a look comes over his or her face as they decide whether to bring something up. Then their voice often lowers and they look a little embarrassed as they speak about their relative or friend who’s either serving time in a correctional facility or is having a hard time getting their life together after being released. The closer the friend or relative is, the more pain is involved as they relate the story and ask if there’s anything we can do to help.

More often than not, the answer from Amicus is yes. If we can’t help directly, we can usually refer the person to another organization which will be able to, so it’s good to see the tense look on our friends’ faces change into something resembling relief.

We’re glad to help of course but the interaction is also troubling in that it points to some thoughtless public attitudes.

I want to tell those who are asking about our resources that there is no reason to feel alone in their concerns. The United States of America jails more of its citizens per capita than any other society in the world. According to the Pew Center on the States, more than 1 out of every 100 American adults is now confined in prison. One in 30 men between the ages of 20 and 34 are incarcerated and one in nine black males in that age group are behind bars.

When one looks at those statistics isn’t it safe to assume that most of us have at least one friend, former co-worker or relative who is currently incarcerated? Rather than feeling shame for being associated with someone in that position, I wish those seeking our help could feel a little pride in the fact that they’re one of the relatively few people who haven’t abandoned the 1.6 million Americans currently in prison.

Amicus is beginning to work with a support group for family members of those in prison and we recognize this as a place where much progress could be made.

If we get past the stigma, I think people would be amazed at how much mutual support there would be for the family members and friends of those incarcerated. Maybe then we’d be able to look each other in the eye and ask ourselves not what’s wrong with our families, but rather, how can we support each other, as those we love do the hard work necessary to change their lives.

The least of these…

And the King shall answer and say to them, Truly I say to you, Inasmuch as you have done it to one of the least of these my brothers, you have done it to me. – Matthew 25:40

Warning that Minnesotans are facing a time of "pain and sacrifice," Governor Pawlenty and other state officials said they would slash state spending and rethink the role of government in the aftermath of a $5.2 billion deficit over the next two and a half years.

Accompanying the article about the state deficit and public official’s response, the StarTribune posted a survey asking readers, “Where would you make budget cuts to help reduce the state’s deficit?”

After 5718 responses, the top candidate for cutting in readers’ minds was, not surprisingly, “prisons.”

It’s understandable that given a choice between cutting funding to health care or schools and cutting funding to prisons, citizens would choose the latter, but the response and even the wording of the question pointed out an intellectual disconnection which we need to address.

Many taxpayers seem to believe that in tight budget times the choice is between funding one’s family or children and funding some faceless felon locked behind bars that good community minded folks will never see. That’s a false choice.

In 2006 the state of Minnesota had about 17,000 people incarcerated in jails and state and federal correctional facilities. At the same time, over 130,000 other “lawbreakers” are on parole or probation, living and working in our communities. Corrections in Minnesota is not and never has been a “lock em up and throw away the key” operation.

If we are going to cut funding to prisons, let’s take a new look at our sentencing guidelines to see if we can reduce the number of people we incarcerate. Our prisons should be a last resort for those who are too dangerous to live among us. Over the years, sentencing guidelines have wrapped the prison system’s arms around people who could be supervised successfully in the community. As we take a new look at the role of government, let’s also take a new look at our relationship with one another. Let’s not incarcerate more than we have to and when we do have to, let’s make sure that we do everything we can to prepare the those in correctional facilities for their eventual return to the community.

As the bible says, those incarcerated are truly “the least of these my brothers.” And during tough times, families ought to stick together.

The Most Cost-Effective Approach to Prisons? Keep Offenders from Going Back

The Sept. 30 StarTribune article, “Bigger, safer, stronger, a prison for the future,” offers readers a glimpse into the new improvements at Minnesota Correctional Facility – Faribault.

We at Amicus congratulate the Department of Corrections on building a facility which will be more secure, and safer for staff and offenders alike. We also noted with interest some of the other information in the article. The new expansion at Faribault will cost $129 million and there are more construction projects on the way as the state attempts to cope with more and more people being sentenced to prison.

It’s the same story on a national scale as well. The Pew Center on the States recently noted that in 2007 the American penal system held more than 2.3 million adults, making the United States the far and away global leader in incarcerating its citizens. The same report noted that for the first time in our history more than one in every 100 adults is now confined in an American jail or prison. The public cost of imprisoning that many people is shocking. The average per prisoner operating cost in the United States is about $24,000 a year. By contrast, the University of Minnesota’s tuition for a full credit load is $10,065.

Now don’t get me wrong. I think you’ll find that conservatives, liberals and even most offenders themselves agree that, for the safety of our society, some people need to be in prison. At the same time, if we could come up with a way in which we would reduce prison populations and actually improve community safety, would we do it?

At Amicus, it’s apparent that one solution is to make sure that those who get out of prison never return. A large portion of our country’s prison population is comprised of repeat offenders.
Our organization and others like us work with offenders and ex-offenders who are determined to make a change in their lives but need help transitioning back into society. We line them up with mentors, and connect them with opportunities for housing, jobs and the basics of everyday life. The model only works when the offender is willing to make it work themselves, but over our 41 years of existence, we’ve seen that a helping hand and positive relationships do keep determined people from falling back into old patterns, committing new crimes and landing back behind bars.
As one ex-offender recently told us, “It can be hard coming out of a place and not having anything different to go to. If all you have to go to is back where you came from, then your odds are pretty slim that you’re going to be able to change.”

It’s a common-sense approach to the problem, but it means working with offenders as individuals, not numbers, and that takes resources. Amicus is constantly looking for volunteers, supplies, funding and more. When we’re successful, as we often are, the public benefits from one less mouth to feed in prison and one more paying taxpayer.

As Minnesotans, we have a choice. We can either continue to watch our taxes get eaten up by prison building, or we can adopt better ways to protect public safety by investing more than our spare change in those who are determined to make a change.