SEX OFFENDERS, NAZIS, AND MURDERERS:
WHO CAN FORGIVE THE
FORMERLY INCARCERATED?
BY SYDNEY MATZKO
Religious officials in prisons might be the only ones.
The American Justice system has a better track record with punitive measures than it does with rehabilitation efforts. The U.S. has the highest prison population rate in the world with 655 people in prison for every 100,000, according to the World Prison Population List of the Institute of Criminal Policy Research.
And 81 percent of those released from U.S. prisons end up back in them.
Once released, former inmates have limited options to find jobs and housing with a criminal record trailing them and scaring away opportunities for a normal life. Those who have been convicted of major crimes, are often seen as the lowest, undeserving members in society (not worthy for the COVID vaccine, for example). Even members of prison advocacy groups and prison educators denounce the gang mentality and mindsets of the incarcerated, despite wanting to aid them in some way.
And those seeking forgiveness often have only one place to turn.
MEET
LEO
Leo Fitzsimmons, 38, was incarcerated for 21 years. He was an avid hockey player in his youth, earning a full ride to Miami University in Ohio. Shortly after playing for their hockey team, Fitzsimmons injured himself and received an opioid prescription. “They’re giving these pills out like they’re candy”, Fitzsimmons said. He became addicted, a common and well-known occurrence, and engaged in a life of drugs and crime. He was charged with armed robbery, drug trafficking and discharge of a weapon in a dwelling in 1988.
"Every time I see an inmate, I see the face of Jesus Christ"
Deacon Gary Miller
LISTEN TO
DEACONS
WHO WORK AS
PRISON
CHAPLAINS
These Deacons share their insight from working in prisons. Their ability to connect with the most removed members of the general public is remarkable.
.jpg)
Why do Prisoners
Turn to Religion?
Prison deacon AJ Constantino said 60 percent of the people he preaches to in prison found God in prison.
“Hopelessness of incarceration” can inspire a quest for a larger meaning in life, and religion is often used as an accessible way to do that, explained Alexi Jones, a prison policy reformist at the Prison Policy Initiative. She added that some prisoners rediscover a place for religion in their lives when incarcerated.
Cara Moyer-Duncan, an Emerson College Professor who works at the Emerson Prison Initiative (EPI), teaches incarcerated people college level classes and refers to them as “model students”. She theorized that poor living conditions could possibly lead to an increase in religious beliefs.
“When you're in prison, it's a harsh environment. It's one that's filled with deprivation and you know, you have to find ways to bring meaning to your life, to give direction and structure to your life,” Moyer-Duncan said.
Deacon Constantino builds upon that image of a harsh environment, saying how there is not much privacy within prisons. The chapel is one of the only quiet places incarcerated people can access.
Constantino said, “I always make sure coffee is available to them,”. In an effort to provide some amount of comfort in a comfortless place.
MEET
KIT & CARL
Kit Marlow and Carl Grace are successful tattoo artists, both booked out for months and earning hundreds of dollars an hour. They are also formerly incarcerated people.
It can be tremendously difficult to find work after a significant time in prison, but tattooing became a lucrative and, now, legitimate venture for many formerly incarcerated people. Tattoos have long-time been associated with military service, gangs, and prisons, which is just beginning to change upon the legalization of the craft and opening of regulated tattoo studios.
"They are not defined by their crime"
Deacon Gary Miller
FROM KIT & CARL
After being found guilty of possession of a sawed-off deadly weapon, Carl Grace, 42, was sentenced to six years in prison in 1996. Shortly after Grace was released, he was convicted and found guilty of strong armed robbery, and went back to prison for another four years.
Kit Marlow, 38, has a similar story, spending a total of 11 years in prison, broken up into two sentences for attempted organized robbery and tampering with witnesses, among other crimes.
Both of these tattoo artists consider themselves spiritual people, but neither try to seek redemption for their crimes through religion.
Marlow, a self identified Luciferian, questions the concept of redemption as a whole, and wonders why people would repent for something, such as a crime, that brought them some satisfaction in the moment.
Grace, raised Mormon, disagrees with the notion that religion should be organized at all.