The nature of Criminals?

In one of my classes we had to choose a specific population of people to develop a workshop to deal with issues of treatment and prevention. Out of all of the populations that have drawn my interest through the years, and in light of California's impending early release of 40,000 prisoners due to inhumane conditions and overcrowding in prisons, I chose to focus on the plight of offenders who are at the end of their period of incarceration.

This is not my first foray into the world of criminal justice, it follows my jail poetry program that I constructed for my BA Honor's thesis, but it is the first time I really considered the reality and inner consequences and causes of criminal deeds. Like most people, crime has been a peripheral life issue; something I fear being the victim of and cannot understand the motivation for. Unlike many people I know, I have been closely touched by violent crime-- one of my good friends was violently murdered in 2005-- and I still suffer occasional nightmares and difficulty dealing with the senselessness and horror of what happened to her. I also know that at least 5 of the people I was friends with as a teen are in jail for murder, or have been murdered-- these peoples' misfortunes, and having discovered the loss of many others to addiction, overdose, suicide, and intoxicated accidents, have brought the world of lawlessness much closer to my door than a person of my gender and cultural background would have ever been likely to encounter at any historical period before now.

But the system of law is no longer in congruence with the societal mores and norms of today. That this is true can be clearly illustrated by the fact that we have more imprisoned people than we've ever had, more than any other nation, and that the majority of our criminals are incarcerated for crimes that barely seem valid as reasons for disrupting the lives of an individual and the families who love them. More than half of the people in our jails and prisons are doing time for drug convictions and substance-abuse related crimes. I'm not seeking to engage in the debate about legalization of drugs, or decriminalization of related problems, but rather explore the reality that the discontinuity between public opinion (and morality) and criminal law has created a somewhat unique historical melting pot, if you will.

For there used to be a fairly wide gulf between those who are and are not criminals. Most people have lived lives that were clearly and proudly apart from any hint of lawlessness, and respected the validity and morality imposed by the laws of our land. Perhaps, in prohibition, we can see the closest approximation of our current situation, but even then there was a larger societal acceptance of alcohol as an evil-- and at least women (the gatekeepers of morality) were largely submissive and accepting of the restrictions imposed by law.

Now though, with less gender stratification and a loosening of traditionally rigid standards of morality and behavior, I guess it would be hard to find any one of us who does not have a close and loving relationship with a "criminal." Few of us feel any guilt about breaking traffic laws, at least, and many of us engage in the "criminal" act of using marijuana on at least an occasional basis. For even those of us who no longer smoke pot, there is a good likelihood that we have tried it or have been accomplices or harbourers of the "criminals" who do. Likely you, as I, have a hard time conceiving of the pot smoker as a "criminal," and yet the law does.

The result of this, then, is that the line between criminal and low-abiding citizen has eroded to a point of near invisibility. This erosion causes our society to accept and celebrate the underworld and criminal society as a part of our larger culture, and creates a conflicting and confusing standard for our children. On one hand, they witness the impotence and irrelevance of laws that do not reflect our real standards of living, and on the other hand we still think of criminals as those bad people who are outside of the bounds of acceptable society. While we may not think of our family member or friend who uses any drug as a criminal, we will so classify any stranger who has been caught and jailed for the same offence.

It is this conflicting, confusing, and injust problem of thinking that leads me toward the lives of those who become trapped in a cycle of crime-- very difficult to escape-- and to consider the issues they will face when they return to a society that largely blames them for being caught, and not for the deed they committed. Before they became criminals, most of these people were "ill" and needed help to recover or overcome addiction and chaos. Their crime was not the drugs but their timing and lack of social support. If they were not poor, or a minority, they would have gotten probation, rehab, community service, or let go. But, being poor, they become stigmatized by the experience of incarceration. Their time in prison makes them irredeemable and deserving of harsh treatment and distrust.

And, even if they were guilty of a "real" crime, one that hurt someone else, we must consider and accept the fact that they are leaving incarceration; they might be moving down the street from you.

In the end these thoughts have led me to the ultimate question of this situation. 1) are humans redeemable? 2)How can a person be redeemed? and 3)how much punishment is enough to satisfy our need to teach these people a lesson?

The 2nd Spring in Fall

Three mornings a week I wake at 7, enjoy the gradually lightening sky, the ride my beach cruiser 5 miles to JFK university for class. Wednesday morning, on my journey to Community Mental Health with Dr. Wong, I breathed in the fresh air off the mountains as the curious mixture of fall and spring intoxicated my imagination.

It's the end of October, nearly Halloween, and the grass is still lush and green. Morning glories in near-neon purple display themselves the whole day long here. The bougainvillea, Hibiscus, and Oleander of summer are still lush and showy in the cool mornings of fall. The multitudes of roses, in nearly every yard, are blooming in full pride, what may be their last round of prideful showings this season.

The deciduous trees are changing their colors, blushing red, orange, and yellow-- the green showing underneath like petticoats of ruffly tulle. Eucalyptus spreads the heady smell of menthol and pine-needles across the breeze, and it reminds me of long walks in the frosted pine forest of my family farm.

Then, beyond this all, the Jasmine of spring has flowered again. White petals of sensuous evenings an aphrodisiac in the wind. The calla lillies have burst into bloom along-side birds of paradise, Cannas, true Lillies, and camelias on trees and shrubs. This cacophony of spring and fall coming together strikes me as symbolic of my new life in this beautiful place.

Coming here, I looked for a new begining, a path to shed the me of past and don a new wardrobe of the hopes and aspirations I'd once thought to be unattainable. As I ride along now-familiar streets to the halls of my new professional life, I see that with the newness of spring I also carry the cycles of fall in my bag.

The goal must be, like the fusion of seasons here, to enjoy, accept, and embrace the past, present, and future of who I am and who I will become. As much as I love the newness and innocence of spring's abundance and fury, I also need the comfortable cloak of fall's changing leaves. And as much as I thrive in the temperate climate of this place, I now crave the sight of snow on the mountains surrounding our valley.

And perhaps this mish-mash of seasons best shows why this place is so perfect for me to build my life and become my best self... For the weather here understands me, it, too, must combine and experiment with combinations that might not work anywhere else in the world... it, too, has no care for the rules and procedures in books and tradition... but, it, too, still carries with it a love of order and tradition (though it may not seem so to some) that influence the combinations and tangents of its wild and free spirit. For, here, the climate nurtures the wild hybrid Passiflora right next to the most pedigreed English rose, it shelters the ancient cypress and olive, in the same yard as a grape vine invented last year. It allows for all manner of eclectic gardening, beauty, life and death... it sends pollen indiscriminately from bastard bush to royal bloom. Here, thee environment is scientist, artist, mage, and magician. Here. I see my own reflection (past, present, and future) on every early morning ride.

My new role as grad student

Well, I started grad school last Monday at JFK university in Campbell. It is always amazing and stressful to add a new role and responsibilities to your life but I am weathering it quite well.

My new days start at 7am with the buzz of my alarm clock; I hurry to shut it off before Lily and Eric are wakened and wander, sleepy-eyed, to the fridge for my caffeine fix and then to our semi-comfy vintage sofa to check my email and think about the coming day.

Now, the sky is just begining to lighten when I wake up. It has a blue-ish gray tinge and seems heavy with the weight of coastal fog that rolls in throughout the night. I barely notice the lightening of the sky as I continue to wake up, often because I'm still in reverie of the dreams I just left behind, and it happens so quickly that it's easy to miss.

Eventually I pull my fleecy, pink, polka-dotted robe tight and slip on my shoes to adventure out to the deck in our backyard. I smoke my first cig of the day, thinking about what I need to accomplish, how I will quit smoking, the gardening and outside projects on our to-do list, and the beauty of new flower blooms throughout the back yard baskets. In the stillness of morning, the hummingbirds whir by to drink sugar-water from the feeder I hung and some early bees begin to wander through the vines and flowers we are learning to cultivate.

In the early mornings I think a lot about life, how much happiness I am finding in the gentle climate of this valley, and how happy I am to raise Lily in this special place. I imagine what my life might be like in 5 years, when I am a practising therapist, and have ever-more complicated roles and responsibilities to think about. And sometimes I think about how peaceful it is to sit outside, amid greenery and flowers and hummingbirds and bees. I think about how I might one day bring this serenity into my practice, creating a haven of natural calm and beauty to relax and invigorate my clients. Maybe a little cabin in the mountains, with a garden and shady terrace to host therapy sessions... Or, maybe a little bungalow on the beach, with the sounds of the waves as background, the salty ocean air to energize, and barefoot walks on the beach to help calm the troubles of the mind... perhaps the backdrop of the mysterious and infinite ocean would help provide perspective to my and their problems and lives.

Then I shake myself out of reverie, start a hot shower, remember to wear my sunscreen, and bundle up for the chilly 5-mile bike ride to school.

This new morning ritual is a good change for me. Some private time to think and be Juliette instead of Mommy. The bike ride fully energizes me and makes me feel ready for class (I feel like I'm in better shape already) and then the class itself always excites me and makes me impatient to learn more.

This is interesting stuff I'm learning, and there is no end to what I can learn in this field... I can think of nothing better than that-- and maybe having a beachfront office to operate out of :)