-Demar M. Nelson
I’ve been walking and dreaming in prison for a long time — fifteen years to be exact. It amazes me how much I misunderstood the seriousness of life and now my mission is to get back.
At the age of twenty-one I stood before a judge and from the bench he looked at me but didn’t see me. Seeing me would have meant thinking of my past, my parents, my traumas and what led me to him. But the system does not allow that because if he were to approach his task of sentencing humans beings in court with this in mind it would mean we would have to be “humanized” — something that this process wasn’t built to do, especially for someone like me.
Fifteen years later I’ve had to humanized myself in order to keep dignity, while dreaming of something better for myself once this ends. I hope it ends sooner than later. Maybe something will change, maybe the propaganda they keep speaking of regarding mass incarceration and the over sentenced youth they keep locking up will finally materialize.
The forty-year sentence I received is abusive. It’s unjust, it’s unnecessary. I remember when I was going to trail I was being escorted by two officers who worked in the county jail who worked court detail. They had the responsibility of grabbing men/women from the pods they were housed in awaiting court dates and escorting them in wrist and ankle shackles to the courtrooms.
Til this day I replay the conversation of those two officers in my head to put fire in my spirit. A fire that pushes me to overcome, not to fail. To recover from the low “wage” they jokingly placed on the future of children.
“Hey man, what you think about that case from yesterday?”
“Nothing, I think he’ll be found guilty.” At this point out of the corner of my eye, I seen him point at me.
“What do you think about him? I think he might have a chance.”
The other officer then said, “Okay, let’s bet five. I’m already up fifteen bucks on you this week.”
He glanced at me to see if I caught on to the conversation and was privy to bet on my fate. I acted as if I didn’t catch it and kept a stoned face, but inside I was sliced. I felt like a cheap piece of clothing on a Thrift Way rack, undervalued by someone’s nonchalance, a slave at auction.
Fifteen years later I am a voice and a dream that pulses against the circumstances. I’m a father parenting from behind the fence. I’m a married man praying to be the husband my wife lost to the system when I was a child. I’ve used my voice in a thousand ways to edify people around me, and prove that no matter where you’re at you can still have a purpose.
From my prison cell I started a podcast called “SALT” (Spiritual. Awareness. Life. Tactic) to share my thoughts and story with the world. Although the debt on my outcome was only five dollars, I didn’t allow that to represent my value as a human being. I determine my value. My past doesn’t define it either.
All human beings — regardless of where they find themselves — have to empower themselves. My hopes are that the world can begin to have a better view when it comes to prisoners, not just chatter about re-entry and reform but actually living it. Every man and woman incarcerated belongs to a community and will one day return there.
It would help to see more assistance and support shift toward the population of humans in here who need our communities out there without a political agenda behind that help. The other day I was on the phone with my sixteen-year-old son and I asked him before he went to school.
“Son, do you have some advice for me before I start my day?”
He said, “Yeah dad, never forget who you are.”
There’s still no parole in Washington and I will never forget who I am.
This is how I see it, fifteen years later…