From Horror to Empathy, First Time Prison Visit

I was sweating like an ice-cream on Mars, ready to be molten by the sweltering heat and scorching sun. Even with me running around the prison to find the entrance, I was still 15 minutes late when I got there. This, of course, I blamed on the weather and the way that the gate was disguised among the tall barbed-wire fence. As for the client inside the fence, he could wait. After all, a few more minutes of waiting would not matter to him, given the decades of time that he had already spent waiting inside these walls.

Gingerly, I handed in my phone, keys, and bag to the guard lady, afraid that I would make a sudden movement that causes any suspicion. On the iron fence hang a sign with large, bold letters that read “any person who enters this facility, including minors, is subject to being searched”.

I am not going to get shot today. Not on my first prison visit. I told myself, slightly amused by my own nervousness that I knew was probably unwarranted. Following the guard lady’s instruction to go up the ramp into a tiny white trailer building, I was startled when I saw a weary man wearing bright orange jumpsuit lounging on the chair right beside me, as if he was completely at ease with himself being there. He did not look threatening for the least part, much unlike the inmates portrayed on Prison Break or other TV shows I had grown up watching. Just… a regular guy.

“The purpose of this visit is for me to get more information on your medical records because your attorney believes that this information could help your case”. Somewhere as we were going through his long list of chronic pains and surgeries, I could not help but notice how repressive the air felt around here. No fan, no air-conditioning. I secretly regretted having wrapped myself in pitch black blouse and pants that were absorbing all the heat of the room.

“I’m sorry about the room being so hot.” The client suddenly said, as if sincerely apologizing for causing the room to be so hot. I was kind of embarrassed, realizing that he had to spend every day under such condition, whereas I seemed like a pampered child to not able to tolerate it for a few minutes.

The conversation took a different turn as I asked him about the medications that I was taking in prison.

I saw him so vividly right then, so much as a person. He gave me a firm handshake and a big smile, “thanks for taking the time to meet with me”.

Suddenly, I regretted that I was late to meeting with him for so long, thinking that it was okay to let him wait because he is incarcerated. That is not giving the respect that he deserves as a man who has moved on from the past and into the future. I told myself that for the rets of the summer — and rest of my life — I would respect everyone equally, whether he is a prisoner behind the bars, a man on the streets, or a manger at McKinsey.

As I pushed against the heavy prison gates on my way out, I looked back and saw him walking back towards the main prison building, escorted by a guard. I waved at him. He smiled and waved back. I guess that is the inevitable end of how these meetings will go: just now, we were laughing and chatting side by side; now, he stays behind those gates while I walk out free. As for what I will do with that freedom, well, it is up to me to use it.

— 2019.6.9 in New Orleans