Lack of hope leads to prison—again and again

Commuters are used to seeing the Frankenstein castle-like structure along the Jones Falls Expressway. Since the State Penitentiary opened in 1811, its purpose has remained unchanged—keeping convicted criminals inside its walls so others can remain safe.

I recently had the opportunity to go behind the dark walls of the oldest state prison in America.

From the moment I reached the front lobby and throughout my visit, all I could focus on was the incredibly loud bang you hear every time a door opens or closes. To everyone inside it is a reality of life—a constant reminder that you are confined inside these walls.

The Maryland Penitentiary is now known as The Metropolitan Transition Center. It houses prisoners who will be released in 18 months or less. This is a far cry from when this building housed long-term, maximum security prisoners.

The well-behaved prisoners live in dorm-like settings without cell walls and with extra amenities such as bunks and a locker for personal items including food, clothes and toiletries. There are pay phones, and 24-hour access to the showers and bathroom facilities.

The rest live in cell blocks. The dark, smelly and often hot cells are smaller than most half-bathrooms. There is a metal bed with a very thin plastic mattress, a worn sheet and blanket and some personal items such as a small TV, books and clothes.

Inmates are given three meals a day. The statistic I heard is that each healthy prisoner costs taxpayers $26,000 a year. I shudder to consider the annual cost of a prisoner if he has AIDS, cancer or any other disease.

A part of me expects something out of these inmates in exchange for living off taxpayers’ dollars. That something would be work. On the other hand, there are some prisoners so destructive and vicious that $26,000 a year is a small price to pay for society to be safe.

It is clear that the Transition Center is full of young men (often African American) who made wrong choices. A majority are in for drugs or drug-related activities. Some will leave and get their heads on straight. Unfortunately, the majority will end up back on the inside.

I met a teacher who helps prisoners get their GED and encourages them to believe in their abilities and see a future that includes a job, family, and the basics that all people should enjoy. Upon release, he urges them to take advantage of the services of Our Daily Bread (across the street from the prison) and other nonprofits that run re-entry programs and offer life skills support.

But change cannot be forced; a desire has to start from within. I was disheartened to find that only a small portion of released prisoners walk across the street to Our Daily Bread or similar centers.

When I left this historic building I had a sober feeling. I believe prisons are necessary. People who cannot follow the laws of society and are convicted of a crime must be given an appropriate punishment.

What upset me most was the state of people I saw behind these walls. So many of the eyes I looked into belonged to men who obviously had given up on life and themselves. They can’t imagine what it would be like to own a home, go to work each day and have a life they can be proud of.

I wonder if many of them ever had a role model or someone who loved them unconditionally. What would their lives have been like if they had advantages that many of us enjoy or if they had never been introduced to drugs or other addictions?

I believe that the people and programs in Baltimore that are working to stop the revolving door of the criminal justice system are making a difference. But after spending time behind these walls, it is clear that change is slow and it starts with one life at a time.