December 2000/
January 2001

Views expressed are those of the authors, not necessarily of the AFSC.

Massachusetts Prison Pilgrimage--Unmasking the Truths Behind the Prison-Industrial Complex

Mary Trotochaud is a potter and nonviolence trainer living in western Massachusetts. She recently spent a year in prison for protesting the School of the Americas at Ft. Benning Georgia.

Traditionally, a pilgrimage is a journey in search of knowledge and truth. From October 21 through November 10, hundreds of people walked to the prisons and communities of Massachusetts learning about the realities of our prisons and the societal injustices that surround these institutions as part of the Massachusetts Interfaith Prison Pilgrimage.

On the first day, 50 people gathered at Great Falls (Turners Falls) in western Massachusetts. Great Falls was sacred ground to the Native American people, a place of physical and spiritual renewal of life. It is also the site of a brutal massacre of Native Americans by white people and thus symbolic of human oppression. This place served as a touchstone for the walkers: a connection to the oppression of life in prisons and the renewal of life in our faith and spirituality. The first day of the walk brought these two extremes together as the pilgrimage wound its way to the Franklin County House of Corrections. There were no prisoners visible from the street. And it is doubtful that any could hear the chanting and singing. But as each vigiler lit a candle and spoke the name of a friend, loved one, or relative who is imprisoned, the enormity of the US criminal-justice system, with more than 2 million people behind bars and 6.5 million people under some form of correctional supervision, became a tangible reality in each of our lives.

The first week's walk was under clear autumn skies and followed the Connecticut River Valley from Greenfield to Springfield. Programs on restorative justice (where the victim, offender, and community actively participate in restoring the community), calls for reconciliation from religious leaders, and dialogue with prison officials from Hampshire and Hampden counties fostered hope. The spirit of inclusiveness encouraged people to speak of their own experiences with prisons. Former prisoners, their families, and the families of current prisoners told their stories, speaking of the sorrow of separation, shame, and loss of community. People discussed the basic social justice issues that underlie incarceration--lack of education, inability to earn a living wage, domestic violence, poverty, addiction, and racism. They described the helplessness and hopelessness of people returning to society: the estrangement from family and community; self-esteem shattered by the violence and abuse of prison life; the lack of educational programs and job training that condemns them to lives of poverty; the societal "scarlet letter" of criminality that haunts the rest of their lives.

Even the weather acknowledged our schedule as we moved east. It turned cold and wet and the trees stood starkly bare as we vigiled in front of the forbidding structures at Shirley, Bridgewater, and Walpole. Prison officials chose not to speak with us. Often a sister, a mother, or a father of a prisoner would join us during our prayers and tell their story. There were never any excuses for crimes committed, only bewilderment and anguish at the punishment meted out by the system--the use of prolonged isolation, physical and emotional abuse at the hands of guards and other prisoners, reprisals for speaking out.

When you walk, your perspective changes. If you drive by a prison, you barely notice it; if you do, it is only a fleeting impression. When you walk, you have a relentless image as you approach. A wall is just a blur as you drive by. But a wall gains substance when you walk up to it and along its length. The height and massiveness of a prison wall topped with rows and rows of concertina wire, surrounded by bare open spaces bereft of life and finally enclosed by miles and miles of barbed-wire, becomes more than an image. It becomes a weight on the heart, a stone on the soul carrying it down to despair.

As we walked up to the enormous prison complex at Bridgewater, we were confronted with a present-day concentration camp. This four-prison complex, which includes the State Hospital for prisoners who are mentally ill, is huge, bleak, desolate, and hidden away. The Super Max at Shirley and the Plymouth County House of Corrections, our newest "state of the art" prisons, are massive and impenetrable--even the exercise areas are cages attached to the buildings--and the world outside has no knowledge of what goes on inside.

At most prisons, the only signs of human life were the guards who carefully watched us as we vigiled, chanted, and prayed. But at the few windows in these massive stone and concrete buildings, the faces of the imprisoned appeared and hands pressed against window panes shrouded with bars. We felt a connection forged between ourselves and those who have been "disappeared" from society. Our presence reminded us and them that they were not forgotten. At MCI Pondville, also known as Walpole, the mother of a prisoner joined our circle and spoke about the inhumanity of imprisonment, the loss of simple human contact such as a mother touching a son's arm in comfort--a connection denied to prisoners and families alike even during visits.

Walking is a way to slow life down, a way to connect with one's surroundings. A long walk allows a person to observe, reflect, and consider. This pilgrimage was only the beginning of a long process to unmask the truths behind the prison-industrial complex. Our challenge is to find ways to transform ourselves into a just community, as Martin Luther King said "a beloved community." We took two important steps. First, people whose voices have been silent found a safe place to speak and in doing so gave faces and names to the very real people who are imprisoned and to their families. The second step seemed more ephemeral but was maybe more permanent. At each prison, we chanted and prayed. These expressions of faith put small cracks in those massive walls. And through those cracks some amount of light can shine, both inside and out.

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