24 MONTEREY COUNTY WEEKLY january 19-25, 2023 www.montereycountyweekly.com call him every week and pay him cash,” he says. Aceves is outgoing and friendly, and wears a black leather jacket over a dark sweater. He has been coming to prisons as a speaker since before EinE started; McDrew found him through CROP (Creative Restorative Opportunity), a nonprofit dedicated to reforming California’s criminal justice landscape. Aceves is also the only one who mentions the other immense cost of mass incarceration in the U.S.—in dollars. “It costs an average of about $106,000 per year to incarcerate an inmate in prison in California,” he says. “Do you make this money?” he asks civilians in the circle. No one does. “Come on, we can fix this. Aren’t we the greatest country in the world?” McDrew wants to contribute to a transformation from punishment to healing, but says her main motivation in leading Exercises in Empathy is to provide for more safety in the prison system—not only for the inmates, but also for the guards, who work long hours and are prone to depression working in a challenging and stressful environment. “Yes I want a change,” McDrew says. “I want the change to happen from the inside.” There are no sides in a circle. Everybody sits eye to eye, face to face. First introductions are shy and rather simple, eye contact interrupted. Fortunately, McDrew hands each group a talking piece—pretty much a stress ball. It’s incredible how much it helps and how comforting it is to squeeze it and talk. “I go by Ricco.” “I’m a former Marine.” “My name is Micah. I’ve been incarcerated for 16 years.” “I’ve been down for 20 years.” “I like football and I love Jesus. I’ve been down for 20 years.” One of the first exercises in the circle starts with showing a cartoon drawing, an image of people sitting on a tree. The tree seems to represent the society, some of the people shown sitting with others, some sitting alone. There is a person sitting with a turned back; there is someone with an extended hand at the trunk of the tree. Everybody in the circle is asked to find himself or herself on the tree. Maybe because it’s a cartoon, it’s easy and fun to admit how you perceive yourself in society—a user, a pushover, a loser, a loner? But not every confession is fun or easy. Soon, the inmates talk about their childhood, gang dads and uncles who learned that lying and cheating is the way to be a man. There are so many things to share. One inmate says it took him years and years to admit that he killed his wife. Another says only now he realizes how much he loves his mother. A former Navy member discusses his drug problems at work, people from Mexico and Honduras talk about the racism and racial segregation they learned in prison. An inmate who goes by the name Chicago talks about Alaska Daily on ABC and how he loves that the TV series brings up missing Indigenous girls. George talks about critical race theory and how important it is to start teaching African-American history in schools. They also touch on relations within prison. “It’s not easy to share,” one of them says. “You will go, but we see each other every day.” There are some surprising shares. “Being in prison teaches you to love yourself,” says Tony. “And if you don’t love yourself, you are not living.” Christian was involved in a gang and was sentenced for second-degree murder. He thinks it’s unfair he got 25 years because others “got 15 for the same thing.” Micah Harris has been incarcerated for 16 years. He is easy to spot due to his athlete height and the yellow ADA shirt he wears, signaling his role assisting disabled inmates. Harris has a bachelor’s degree in sociology and used to play football for the University of Oregon. He was found guilty of torture and sexual assault in San Diego in 2006, and sentenced to life in prison. He will see the parole board again in 2023. At the time of his crime, Harris was training in track with his eyes on competing in the 2008 Olympics. “Empathy was a…struggle for me,” he says. “I guess one could say I lacked empathy. It’s a new concept for me.” Harris talks about a dysfunctional, violent household and the emotional trauma that was never addressed. He talks about relying on alcohol in the years before the crime. Only this year, he started to be the yard’s ADA worker. He takes veterans to their appointments, or wherever they need to go, in accordance with the Rehabilitation Act of 1973 and the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990. “It all came through this year,” he says, referring both to his new responsibilities and the EinE program. Before and after each session, the inmates and the visitors shake hands. It takes a few minutes but it’s worth every second. Micah Harris in a game of charades on Dec. 1, the final day of the eight-week Exercises in Empathy program.
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