by Dortell Wiliams, California State Prison, Los Angeles County
Clad in a carrot-orange, one-piece jumpsuit and karate shoes three sizes too big, a pair of beefy correctional officers escorted me through a labyrinth of walkways and other fate-sealing gates until we reached the prison yard. When the prison gate slammed behind me, rudely shattering the a.m. silence that stills the night, there was a finality of tone with it that was unique from my previous three years of pre-trial detainment in the infamous Los Angeles County jail.
Green grass carpeted sections of the small stadium-sized yard, dotted with obstinate dirt patches, all cordoned and belted off by a maze of restrictive fences. I was led past an array of eight, huge, dungeon-gray edifices, containing two housing units concealed by a satellite kitchen between them.
The high pitched alarm sounded frequently at California State Prison Pelican Bay, often over the echoing screams of those housed inside. Pelican Bay was my initial place of imprisonment, starting back in 1992. I was a 26-year-old first timer, a terrified fish in a sea of vicious piranhas that made street criminality look like child’s play.
The reputation of Pelican Bay, just south of Oregon, had already been seared in my mind long before I arrived. A secluded, high-tech human vault sprawled with maddening concrete and steel solitary grottoes where men were forced in many cases for decades, to idle and forlorn existence.
As the de-facto warnings predicted, I was met on the yard by a series of mean-mugs, time hardened faces, gangster poseurs and Nazi Masks. They barked a steady flow of ominous admonitions: “Don’t cross this line or you’ll get wacked. Don’t go over there, or you’ll get stabbed.” And they called this the recreation yard.
When I finally entered the quiet, semi-darkened realm of Housing Unit 2, my residence for the next two years, I was terrified. My knees were restless with vibration, my heart beat violently between my chest and throat, and perspiration ran rivulets down my armpits, stealing what little moisture was left in my mouth.
On the yard, tension between the races, between various gang factions and between prisoners and the officers was thick. Like most California prisons, Pelican Bay was a stress-filled, pressurized powder keg as fragile as a hairpin trigger. Yet, I survived the norms of violence and dehumanization to be transferred to Lancaster, a new start.
I knew I needed to make a change, but I needed direction. I decided to write the Insight Project at San Quentin for their Victim Offender Education Group (VOEG) curriculum. It was VOEG that had the most profound effect on my transformation. VOEG distinguishes between physical and emotional trauma. It explained victim cycles and defined domestic violence, giving me new heights into expressing empathy and compassion. I now understand that hurt people hurt others, and that is the crux of the cycle.
I began teaching Victim Sensitivity Awareness to my peers. A safe space was created for openness and honesty. We cried openly in class. We studied victim impact, the five stages of grief and the facets of trauma: fear, hopelessness, depression, anger and dissociation.
Over time, I developed healthy coping skills. I can now recognize character defects in others and respond properly and with empathy. I know what it is like to be driven by anger. I also understand that healed people can heal others.
Understanding the potential and value in others undergirds my ability to guide crime survivors and follow prisoners on the path to healing. What I learned from these interactions is that there are many instances where trauma claws at both victim and perpetrator and these experiences overlap, creating a community that can be shared and explored.
About a year ago, people on the outside began reaching out to me seeking guidance and healing from their trauma. My success in this area has given me a new lease on life. I have found purpose and ability on my road to transformation, on my road to healing, and healing others. Nothing could be more satisfying.
Eventually, I earned a paralegal certificate, an Associate of Arts Degree in business and a Master’s Degree in Ministries. As I formalize my education toward a BA in Communication Studies, at Cal State LA, I expect that I will learn more and grasp an even deeper understanding of myself and my fellow human beings. For now, I am grateful to have at least grasped my causative factors and have developed the pro-social skills necessary to prevent a repeat.