My first week of marathon training left much to be desired, but I'm consoling myself with the fact that there's still a lot of time before the race. I allowed a couple of things to get in my way of completing all my runs last week and, realistically, I think this month will probably end up being quite a bit less than perfect. It's good to have the plan, though, and much better to give a little effort than to just toss my sneakers in a corner until January.
I'm almost embarrassed to say this, but I really miss being able to play with the dumbbells and barbell and weight bench, oh my. How I resisted it for weeks and weeks! I still have pain in my shoulder, but it's far less than it was before Thanksgiving and certainly not worth commenting on. I'm hoping a couple more weeks of rest will be what it needs to truly and finally heal.
Today's your last chance to enter the drawing for Good Calories, Bad Calories; I'll announce the winner tomorrow morning. I misspoke [mistyped?] when I said I was still reading the prologue; Eisenhower's struggles are described in the first chapter, but I haven't had the time or energy to go any further.
I finished my pink sweater and it fits! I was so surprised; I always think something I knit will be too big or too small. I need to block it and then I'll get a photo up. The strong vertical lines of the cables are very flattering, as is the color, and I know I'll wear this sweater a lot. It'll look good with dress pants or jeans – don't you love it when you find something versatile and flattering at the same time?
Barbra asked in yesterday's comments if there was anything she – or you – could do for the inmates. I can't give any specific information, but I can and do urge you to write to your representatives and senators to let them know how you feel about Draconian drug laws and mandatory minimums. They work for you; they need to know how you feel. This country's war on drugs is a big failure and our tough-on-crime stance has done nothing to reduce prison populations or to effect the successful transition from prison to community.
Along the same lines, vote for people who believe that we need a change in the way we dispense justice. I've long felt and said that convicted felons serve their sentences the rest of their lives, whether they're incarcerated or not. They always have to check that box on employment applications, and they are looked down upon by most of society. The women at Alderson spend their first six months out of prison in halfway houses, which are located on the same block as the drug dealers. They're set up to fail, right out of the gate.
If you know someone coming out of prison, or even know of someone, give him or her a chance. They've been isolated from society for a long time, they frequently have a chip on their shoulder and their job and social skills aren't going to get them very far. They need to learn to accept what is and move forward to what can be, and we need to show them a little kindness and tolerance.
If you've never worked with or known a convicted felon, you might be surprised to learn that many of them – most, in fact – aren't much different from you or me. They made a poor decision, took a wrong turn, usually when they were young and they're often spending the better part of their young adult lives paying for it.
I'm not saying they don't deserve to be punished, and neither are they. They all accept that they could have made better and different choices, and they need to pay for those choices. Our mandatory minimum drug laws are far too harsh and are being applied far too liberally to small-time dealers and users who could probably learn their lesson after six months of prison and a long term on house arrest, where they would still be able to work, take care of their families and contribute to society.
Sorry about that … I'll get off the soapbox now.
Showing posts with label mandatory minimums. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mandatory minimums. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Thursday, March 08, 2007
They lied! And another thing or two.
Here's how badly I didn't want to run on the treadmill yesterday. I usually start running at 10 or 10:30 a.m. That gives breakfast a couple of hours to settle and gets me home at a time where I can eat lunch within about a half hour. [This strategy is recommended in Marathoning for Mortals.]
I had an appointment at 1 p.m., so I knew the run would have to happen earlier than normal. At 9 a.m. the wind was calm and the rain/snow hadn't started. My friends, I jumped in the car, headed for the two-mile flat road and – even though it was cold and early and did I mention cold? – started running at 9:10 a.m. Six miles later [jogged one mile, ran the next mile four times back and forth, jogged the last mile] it was 10:20 a.m. A faster than necessary pace, but it was cold! I think I might have already said that.
The wind started blowing just as I got home from the run, but the rain/snow didn't happen at all and, in fact, it was quite a gorgeous day. Coming back from the hairdresser's I saw a sign in front of a bank that said 63°!
I'm now going to spout off on a topic that's dear to my heart, but may not be to yours. If you think we're [that would be the U.S. in general] soft on crime, you might want to switch to another channel.
As you know, if you've been here for any length of time, I volunteer at a federal women's prison. Tuesday night's meeting was one of the most intense and rewarding sessions in the more than five years I've been a volunteer. It was, of course, unplanned. But sometimes God works magic when you least expect it. And when you most need it.
The prison is classified as a camp – the most minimum security level in the federal system. Most of the inmates are there for drug crimes; those who aren't are there for money crimes. Sometimes the two cross over – embezzling money to pay for drugs, for instance.
The facility has 1000 beds; the current population is 1145. Those who aren't assigned a bunk bed in a regular cubicle get to sleep on cots along with 30 or 40 other women in a TV room or entry way. Privacy? Fuhgeddaboutit. Dignity? You've got to be kidding.
Drug crimes include manufacturing, distributing, selling and being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the drugs involved can be anything from weed to meth to heroin to cocaine to prescription goodies dispensed by your doctor and mine.
Okay, back to the meeting. One of the first women who spoke is young – 19 or 20, maybe – and she asked how she could learn to accept that God meant for her to spend the next 17 years of her life there. This was her first offense, she wasn't physically present when the crime occurred, her co-defendants told that to the judge and yet she was sentenced to more than 200 months, all because of the kind and amount of the drug that was sold. If you Google 'mandatory minimum drug laws' you'll find out what that means.
Now here's the thing. The people who wrote those laws didn't mean for moms and grandmas to get thrown in jail. They wanted Mafia kingpins to get caught and sent away for a long, long time. Long enough, maybe, to do something meaningful about the drug problem we have. Their intention was, I think, good. The execution, though? Couldn't be worse. Judges have interpreted these laws – mandatory minimums and conspiracy laws – to mean that if a sister doesn't rat on her brother, she's as guilty as he is.
It's probably more complicated than that, but you get the idea.
I'm not saying these women aren't culpable to some degree. I'm saying 17 years for a first offense is, um, a little harsh. And not terribly rehabilitative. But then our prisons aren't really in the business of rehabilitating any more.
Another woman spoke a little later in the meeting [we were talking about the Serenity Prayer, by the way], and wondered whether she could change her young children's situation or whether she had to accept that their dad was using again and leaving them alone for days at a time. They live 500 miles away from the facility, each phone call costs $3 and she makes 12¢ an hour helping to keep the prison operating. She was desperate for advice, and while we don't usually give advice, there was plenty available. There also was plenty of experience at handling the exact same situation.
She learned several things during that meeting:
There's not much she can do about the woman with the 17-year sentence. That's a done deal, and public defenders aren't known for mounting aggressive appeals. She's going to intervene in the other woman's situation, however. She's compelled to, and she said if we [the volunteers] know of other situations like that we should let her know. She'll do everything she can.
Not because it's her job. Maybe I'm naive, but having been through several wardens and assistant wardens during the past five-plus years, I think I can tell the difference between one who's putting in time until retirement and one who cares about making an intolerable situation a little more tolerable.
I realize the prison I'm involved with is a minimum-security female camp. I wouldn't be so sympathetic to a rapist or murderer or even a drug kingpin. These women deserve better. Our prison population would decrease by half, instantly, if they were just put on house arrest instead of sent away.
Their children are being cared for by grannies and sisters and, sometimes, drug-addict daddies. And sometimes foster care. Those children are learning that the stigma of prison isn't so bad after all. They might, because of their life circumstances, also end up doing hard time.
We're losing the drug war. If you've read this far and want to learn more or help, go to:
It also would be helpful [but I'm not holding my breath] to find a politican willing to take a stand against mandatory minimums. You can locate your Senators and Representatives by clicking on the links. You voted for them; they need to know how you feel. Mine know how I feel … which is why I'm not holding my breath for change to take place in time for that 17-year sentence to be reduced.
Thanks for putting up with me this morning.
Fifty-one days until race day.
I had an appointment at 1 p.m., so I knew the run would have to happen earlier than normal. At 9 a.m. the wind was calm and the rain/snow hadn't started. My friends, I jumped in the car, headed for the two-mile flat road and – even though it was cold and early and did I mention cold? – started running at 9:10 a.m. Six miles later [jogged one mile, ran the next mile four times back and forth, jogged the last mile] it was 10:20 a.m. A faster than necessary pace, but it was cold! I think I might have already said that.
The wind started blowing just as I got home from the run, but the rain/snow didn't happen at all and, in fact, it was quite a gorgeous day. Coming back from the hairdresser's I saw a sign in front of a bank that said 63°!
I'm now going to spout off on a topic that's dear to my heart, but may not be to yours. If you think we're [that would be the U.S. in general] soft on crime, you might want to switch to another channel.
As you know, if you've been here for any length of time, I volunteer at a federal women's prison. Tuesday night's meeting was one of the most intense and rewarding sessions in the more than five years I've been a volunteer. It was, of course, unplanned. But sometimes God works magic when you least expect it. And when you most need it.
The prison is classified as a camp – the most minimum security level in the federal system. Most of the inmates are there for drug crimes; those who aren't are there for money crimes. Sometimes the two cross over – embezzling money to pay for drugs, for instance.
The facility has 1000 beds; the current population is 1145. Those who aren't assigned a bunk bed in a regular cubicle get to sleep on cots along with 30 or 40 other women in a TV room or entry way. Privacy? Fuhgeddaboutit. Dignity? You've got to be kidding.
Drug crimes include manufacturing, distributing, selling and being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the drugs involved can be anything from weed to meth to heroin to cocaine to prescription goodies dispensed by your doctor and mine.
Okay, back to the meeting. One of the first women who spoke is young – 19 or 20, maybe – and she asked how she could learn to accept that God meant for her to spend the next 17 years of her life there. This was her first offense, she wasn't physically present when the crime occurred, her co-defendants told that to the judge and yet she was sentenced to more than 200 months, all because of the kind and amount of the drug that was sold. If you Google 'mandatory minimum drug laws' you'll find out what that means.
Now here's the thing. The people who wrote those laws didn't mean for moms and grandmas to get thrown in jail. They wanted Mafia kingpins to get caught and sent away for a long, long time. Long enough, maybe, to do something meaningful about the drug problem we have. Their intention was, I think, good. The execution, though? Couldn't be worse. Judges have interpreted these laws – mandatory minimums and conspiracy laws – to mean that if a sister doesn't rat on her brother, she's as guilty as he is.
It's probably more complicated than that, but you get the idea.
I'm not saying these women aren't culpable to some degree. I'm saying 17 years for a first offense is, um, a little harsh. And not terribly rehabilitative. But then our prisons aren't really in the business of rehabilitating any more.
Another woman spoke a little later in the meeting [we were talking about the Serenity Prayer, by the way], and wondered whether she could change her young children's situation or whether she had to accept that their dad was using again and leaving them alone for days at a time. They live 500 miles away from the facility, each phone call costs $3 and she makes 12¢ an hour helping to keep the prison operating. She was desperate for advice, and while we don't usually give advice, there was plenty available. There also was plenty of experience at handling the exact same situation.
She learned several things during that meeting:
- She wasn't alone.
- There is a solution.
- It might be the hardest thing she's ever had to do.
There's not much she can do about the woman with the 17-year sentence. That's a done deal, and public defenders aren't known for mounting aggressive appeals. She's going to intervene in the other woman's situation, however. She's compelled to, and she said if we [the volunteers] know of other situations like that we should let her know. She'll do everything she can.
Not because it's her job. Maybe I'm naive, but having been through several wardens and assistant wardens during the past five-plus years, I think I can tell the difference between one who's putting in time until retirement and one who cares about making an intolerable situation a little more tolerable.
I realize the prison I'm involved with is a minimum-security female camp. I wouldn't be so sympathetic to a rapist or murderer or even a drug kingpin. These women deserve better. Our prison population would decrease by half, instantly, if they were just put on house arrest instead of sent away.
Their children are being cared for by grannies and sisters and, sometimes, drug-addict daddies. And sometimes foster care. Those children are learning that the stigma of prison isn't so bad after all. They might, because of their life circumstances, also end up doing hard time.
We're losing the drug war. If you've read this far and want to learn more or help, go to:
It also would be helpful [but I'm not holding my breath] to find a politican willing to take a stand against mandatory minimums. You can locate your Senators and Representatives by clicking on the links. You voted for them; they need to know how you feel. Mine know how I feel … which is why I'm not holding my breath for change to take place in time for that 17-year sentence to be reduced.
Thanks for putting up with me this morning.
Fifty-one days until race day.
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