San Quentin

November 4, 2022

If you ever feel sorry for yourself, visit a prison. And if you have to live in a California prison, San Quentin is probably the best place to be.

I drove down to the penitentiary yesterday with my friend Jean, where we joined a tour group organized by our mutual friend Judy. It was my second visit to San Quentin, the notorious state prison located on the northern shore of San Francisco Bay. It’s a short distance from Alcatraz, the former federal prison on a nearby island in the bay.

Why is San Quentin infamous? Partly because some of its well known former inmates include cult leader and murderer Charles Manson, Black Panther leader Eldridge Cleaver (assault, rape, attempted murder), and Sirhan Sirhan, the assassin of Robert Kennedy. And partly because the prison has, since its 1852 founding at the end of the California Gold Rush, executed hundreds of prisoners, at first by hanging, then later in its gas chambers, and more recently by lethal injection.

Of the 3,263 men currently imprisoned at San Quentin, 456 are on Death Row, though there have been no executions since 2006. Although security is tight for the “condemned” – the Death Row inmates – the rest of the prison is classified as a Level 2 (medium security) facility. It makes you wonder what it would be like to live in a maximum security prison.

Our tour group had the opportunity to meet in the Catholic chapel with six inmates. We sat in pews, while the six men – three black, two white, one Latino – stood in a row on the steps of the altar, facing us. Behind them was a large crucifix, and either side of them were statues of Jesus and Mary.

The six “incarcerated” men (the term “convict” is frowned upon, for some reason) introduced themselves and told us why they were prisoners. Most, and possibly all of them, had murdered someone, although one guy claimed that he was innocent of the charge of conspiracy to murder that landed him in prison. But while the other five admitted their responsibility for their violent crimes, they all believe that “men are more than their crime,” as someone said. In other words, they are human beings who made mistakes, and they are redeemable.

As the six speakers answered questions from our tour group, it became obvious from their friendly and engaging personalities that there was a reason that these men were not handcuffed and were entrusted with being with us in the chapel and then accompanying us on our tour. Unlike many of the more hardened, dangerous inmates, these six are examples of those prisoners who are and have been willing and eager participants in the many self improvement opportunities that make San Quentin the special prison it has become.

One of the successful programs that the six are most grateful for is called GRIP (Guiding Rage Into Power). This training institute, founded in San Quentin in 2012 and now in four other California state prisons, has as its mission “to create the personal and systemic change to turn violence and suffering into opportunities for learning and healing.” They do that by teaching prisoners to control themselves, develop emotional intelligence, cultivate mindfulness, and learn empathy for their victims and the families of those victims. As one of our speakers said, the GRIP program “challenges the belief systems of toxic masculinity.” Another one added, “When you know better, you do better.” One of our tour group commented that these men are learning to turn self hate into self love.

The GRIP institute claims a success rate of 99.8%, with only two of its graduates returning to prison. GRIP students learn to heal the abuse, violence, traumas, and neglect that so many of them experienced as young people.

As my friend and tour companion Jean later commented, “I was impressed with the radical change possible if a person is interested in going in that direction, with just a year of weekly participatory instruction. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could have that in our middle schools/high schools?”

One reason I’ve visited San Quentin twice now is that the visits make me realize how fortunate I am to enjoy the freedom to go wherever and do whatever I please; the freedom to hike and travel and hang out with family and friends.

But another reason I’ve gone there is to unlock my heart toward fellow human beings who are dealing with way more stress and adversity than I’ll ever know. When I was younger my attitude toward criminals was harsh: lock ’em up and throw away the key. But meeting face to face with people who have committed murders has made me understand that, while I might not want to socialize with most of these guys, I have to respect the ones who are trying to improve, educate, and heal themselves.

I’m glad that they’re all in prison, but some – not all – of them deserve the chance to graduate from hell.