On May 15, the team was in New Jersey at the Edna Mahan Correctional Facility for Women for a celebratory day talking about books. The team spread out across the women’s facility – some working with the judges for the Inside Literary Prize, the first major book prize in the United States selected solely by people in prison; some opening more than a dozen Freedom Libraries for those Inside; and, the rest of us helping me prepare to give a poetry reading from my latest poetry collection, Doggerel. We brought the women gifts: the Freedom Edition, a specially published paperback created in partnership with W.W. Norton. See, most prisons do not allow hardback books to enter for safety reasons. The Freedom Edition is a statement of support from my publisher and everyone who donates money that ensures those Inside can read Doggerel at the same time as the rest of us. And quiet as kept, my reading at Edna Mahan was so much joy.
During the Inside Literary Prize judging deliberations, one woman said after reading Astrid Roemer’s On a Woman’s Madness, that she now had the language to talk to her therapist about her trauma; another woman remarked that Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah’s Chain-Gang All-Stars reminded the world of the humanity inside of prison walls. Two librarians thanked us for bringing quality literature into their lives. And then Maria, whose graying hair verged on white and reminded me of Storm, started telling me stories about myself, and the one that stuck, beyond the praise, was a story I’ve never before heard. Thank you for keeping at this work you started as a teenager. I’d never thought of it that way. As a teenager I was in prison, and even all these years later, have always thought of my prison sentence as an ending, not as a beginning. But this woman, my elder, looked me in the eyes and said this work has been going on since I decided to survive, actually decided to live, despite being confined to a cell. As is often the case these days, people seeing me and the work of the team humbles me and leaves me weeping. But isn’t this what a mirror that shows you the best parts of yourself should do? Maria reminded me of what is possible for us all: prison as a beginning of something better and not as an ending.
These past few months the Freedom Reads team has been at it. And what’s remarkable, truly remarkable, is being at it means that it’s all hands on deck. The Development team enters prison blocks carrying stacks of books and the beautiful bookcases that frame the Freedom Library. Those on Comms clear media and introduce our work to people Inside. The Finance team makes sure bills get paid. I’ve been pushed to become so much more in this world by serving others. And our team has inspired me by the ways that they do the same. Walking into a prison is never easy. We often walk in and are praised. But sometimes we walk into cellblocks and face the ire of men and women locked in cages for too long, the ire of Correctional Officers who work shifts that are too long. But our service is to them all, and far more often than not, the power of that leaves us all buoyant. In the past few weeks, we’ve opened 59 Freedom Libraries in Illinois and New Jersey, and have been in community with men and women in California, Illinois, New Jersey, and Connecticut as they judge the Inside Literary Prize.
All this work doesn’t happen without your support and the support of so many. Last month I wrote about Ms. Vicki, a woman incarcerated in an Oklahoma women’s prison. She and her friend, Ms. Jackson, reminded me of the gift we can give others, no matter where we are. They waited until all the younger women had gotten their books signed to come and tell me that I was the embodiment of the legacy of my literary heroes. Women like Ms. Vicki have always been my inspiration. And last week, Freedom Reads got a donation from Ms. Vicki! Many people ask me, how does it feel to raise enough money to turn a dream into a reality. My answer is this: We’ve raised only a fraction of what’s needed. We need more support. And when Ms. Vicki sends us what would have been a huge chunk of my monthly prison salary to say what we do matters, all I can do is hope you read this and donate. Because we don’t have a single Freedom Library in Oklahoma, and it’s not because the state’s leadership hasn’t reached out to us, it’s because we’re still raising the funds to make this dream a reality for everyone doing time.
Reginald Dwayne Betts
Freedom Reads Founder & CEO