My name is John, and I'm incarcerated
right here in Monroe Correctional Complex.

And I want to talk to you about 
changing the prison paradigm.

To do this, we must address 
the misconceptions that we have

about crime and incarceration.

You see we think
that crime is the problem.

But the truth is the pains of crime
are really a symptom,

warning us of a problem in our society.

Much like pain in your left arm 
or a tightness in your chest

or a shortness of breath is a symptom

warning you there's a problem
with your heart.

In that same sense, there's a problem
in the hearts of our society.

We see in the racial disproportionalities
of our justice system

and the failings
of our educational system

and our socioeconomic inequalities.

Many crimes are merely symptoms
of these problems

and trying to solve them through
mass incarceration is not the cure.

That's like taking aspirin to ease
the symptoms of a heart attack,

which will work, temporarily,

but it will not fix the problem,
which is the heart.

And in that same sense, there's a problem
in the heart of our society.

Now, what do we do about this?

Since I've been here the last 16 years
I saw so many men, children,

coming in and out of this 
revolving door we call prison.

In my experience, lack of education
is at the heart of the many problems

that lead to prison.

In fact, if you will, raise your hand
if you believe that lack of education

contributes to incarceration
and recidivism.

Wow, well if we all believe
there's a direct correlation

between lack of education
and incarceration

as well as the rate of recidivism,

why don't we turn prisons into schools?

(Applause) (Cheers)

That way, we can address
the symptoms, which is crime,

and at the same time address what many
would call the heart of the problem:

lack of education.

And, yeah. I said,
"Turn prisons into schools."

Did I get your attention?

Let me tell you how
this idea came to me.

When I was around nine years old,

a bunch of friends and I were trashing
this empty lot in my neighborhood:

breaking bottles,
kicking over potted plants.

There was this old wooden shack
we used to practice our karate on,

trying to break the boards.

None of us really knew karate though.

And then one of my friends' grandmothers
caught us, Mrs. Alice.

She called our parents, asked
for permission to deal with us herself.

Now if you've ever had your parents called
on you, you know how bad this is.

(Laughter)

But when I found out this elderly woman
would be in charge of my punishment,

I figured I'd get off easy.

Boy, was I mistaken.

(Laughter)

You want to talk about misconceptions:
this sweet old lady was tough as nails.

I come to find out,
that wasn't just an empty lot.

It was a rundown community garden.

She said our punishment
was we had to fix it up.

Next thing I know, my friends' allowance
money, even my paper route money

was going to pay for dirt,
seed, and fertilizer.

She even made us pay for, print up,
and pass out flyers in our neighborhood,

explaining what we did wrong
and how we planned to atone for it

by renovating this garden.

Now, amazingly enough,
our community came out and helped.

We grew corn, lettuce, cabbage, potatoes;
I loved the tomatoes.

We even turned that old wooden
shack into a greenhouse.

I learned a lot about cultivating
but more importantly

I learned not just what I did wrong
but why it was wrong.

I learned how good it felt to do the right
thing and give back in a real way.

How amazing it felt that my community
believed enough and cared enough

to invest and impart these values to me.

It's the strangest thing.

That wasn't just a garden to me.

It was my punishment;
it was also a school for me.

This, this is what we need
to do in prisons today.

Well, I'm not saying we should call
people's grandmothers.

But could you imagine that?

A bunch of grandmas shuffling around,
snatching up prisoners by their ears?

(Laughter)

But, what I do mean, is we need
to cultivate a place of learning,

a place where prisoners
can work with the community

to give back in a real way.

In that garden Mrs. Alice taught me
the whole purpose of punishment

was to teach me, to educate me,
so that I made different choices.

And when I thought about it, I realized
yet another misconception that we have.

Like Mrs. Alice, prisons are supposed 
to be teaching a lesson, educating,

so that these men and women
make better choices in the future.

But somehow we've become so fixated 
on the punishment part,

we're missing the whole point.

And when I thought about it, it hit me.

And I saw it as clear as day.

Just for a moment, imagine,
if we turned prisons into schools.

Oh yeah.

(Laughter)

(Applause)

What if we took policies and legislation

that are overwhelmingly
weighted toward punishment,

and we balanced them out by focusing
them on education, redemption as well?

What if we saved a small percentage
of penitentiaries that exist today,

designate them for initial assessment, 
placement, behavior management,

and then reorganize 
all other prisons into schools:

high schools, vocational trade schools,
technical institutes, colleges?

Imagine.

Now obviously we all know
the reason for the fences,

the razor wire, and the walls
are to ensure suspension of freedoms.

But behind these fences and razor wire,

behind these walls, we should be focused
on rehabilitation through education.

Now this is not something
that can be forced or coerced.

But if a prisoner is showing 
the desire to change and grow,

if they have a knack for art,
architecture, math, engineering,

we should be telling them, 
we have classes for that.

If they're dedicated
to leaving a life of crime,

and want to become counselors
for at-risk youth

to prevent kids from making the same
mistakes they made when they were young,

we should be cultivating
these positive aspirations.

If we turn prisons into schools,

we could take committees
like multidisciplinary teams,

facility risk management teams,
which for one, it's a mouthful.

If you're not familiar with these terms,
I don't expect you to remember them.

They're just classification reviews
in prison that assess prisoners,

determining what they should do and where 
they should go while they're incarcerated,

and they're closed off to the public.

We could take those, exchange
them for community conferences.

First thing we do:
open them up to the public.

Let the community see

the actions that prisoners
are making toward atonement.

Let them see the steps
institutions are making

to facilitate and hold
prisoners accountable.

After all, it's our community
that's the heart of our society.

It's where these prisoners were raised,

where they committed their crimes,
where they will eventually be released.

And these communities have
as much right, responsibility, and duty

to be a part of the process as DOC,
Department of Corrections.

Just imagine, if we turn
prisons into schools,

we could take things like custody levels,
replace them with grade levels

where the higher the grade level achieved

through the completion
of educational and cognitive programs

furthered access for reintegration,

allowing prisoners to use
what they've learned

at their respective schools
to earn back their place in society.

And by doing this, we could take
the general public's lack of information,

the growing communal fear
regarding a prisoner's release

and transform that into a graduation,

an acceptance back into society 
supported by the community's knowledge

of a prisoner's personal progression.

I say turn prisons into schools,

because it's not enough to simply bring
educational programs behind these walls.

No.

Just like Mrs. Alice taught me:

it's not enough to simply throw seeds
in the ground; you've got to fertilize it.

You've got to till the soil.

You've got to water it.

And if the environment is not conducive
to producing the type of plants you want,

you've got to change the environment.

In this same sense, we need
to change the environment in prison.

We need a greenhouse,

because as prisons function today,
they're an environment of marginalization,

objectification,

an environment that is increasingly
becoming counterproductive

to the very ideals of correction

that the Department
of Corrections is named for.

It's become so systemic that even
terms I'm conditioned to accept

and identify with, terms
you will hear today, often repeated:

"inmate," "offender," "convict" - 
they marginalize me.

They marginalize us.

And I can tell you
from personal experience

that if you're under
such conditions long enough,

it's likely you'll begin to feel like
you're incapable of growth and change.

That no matter what you do,
you'll never become a better person.

And this environment is not just affecting

the prison population,
but the prison staff as well.

Staff who find themselves
struggling between treating us

like the human beings we are,

or treating us like
the less than human objects

these institutions have come
to define us as.

Despite the good intentions of many
that work within the system,

despite the good intentions
of many in this very room,

instead of rehabilitating
these men and women in prison,

we're institutionalizing them.

And because of our misconceptions
about crime and incarceration,

we're perpetuating a disservice,

an injustice on our neighborhoods,

our families,

when we're not properly rehabilitating
these men and women in prison

before we release them
into our communities.

Ask yourself: do you want
institutionalized ex-convicts

being released into your neighborhoods?

Or would you rather have
rehabilitated men and women

graduating back into society?

Imagine.

You see it?

So, why don't we shed our misconceptions?

Why don't we address
the heart of the problem?

Why don't we cultivate
a place of learning?

Why don't we turn prisons into schools?

Thank you for your time.

(Applause) (Cheers)