Ducks @ Oregon - University of Oregon

Inside-Out

Katie D.

June 21, 2009 - 8:00 PM

Two different worlds coming into class trying to learn the same thing.

This is how one of my inmate classmates described the Inside-Out class we took together. Two worlds: honors college students from the University of Oregon and inmates at the Oregon State Penitentiary. The Inside Out Program is a national program that takes college classes into prisons for cooperative learning. It is not research, or a "Scared Straight" program, or college students "helping" inmates. It is a class of inmates and college students learning together through dialogue and study.

It has changed my life.

I have written two blogs that have mentioned this program. Please check them out:"Inside-Out Summer Plans!" and "Thesis".

But in this one I want to write more about the class itself, about my experiences and my thoughts. I was fundamentally changed by this class when I first participated during the spring term of my freshman year. I was allowed to take the class again this spring because I will be writing my honors thesis on intergroup dialogue and the Inside-Out Program. I want to write about this recent class and what it has meant to me to be a part of this program with these people.

It is impossible to understand completely what this class means without participating yourself. But I want to try because I believe it is truly important. If you can spare ten minutes, here is a documentary that three journalism students did on our Inside-Out class. There are interviews with me as well as with other class members. It is well worth your time and might lead to some better understanding of the experience.

 Click here to view Inside Looking Out video.

Our class was a literature class. Professor Steven Shankman attended training for Inside-Out in Philadelphia and decided to depart from the usual course material that centers on criminal justice and sociology. He is a professor of humanities, English, and Comparative Literature. So he teaches literature classes.

The spring of 2009 class was a class on Literature and Ethics. Twelve inside students and thirteen outside (I was added because I am researching my thesis) students read Don Quixote by Cervantes and The Idiot by Dostoevsky, as well as philosophy by Emmanuel Levinas. Our classes met once a week for three hours, inside the walls of the Oregon State Penitentiary in Salem, the state capital.

That first day of class we all arrived scared for one reason or another. Maybe the outside students were afraid when the bars slid shut, or when the inmates came into the room. Maybe some were afraid of violence or disrespect. The Inside students were also probably afraid: of judgment, perhaps, or disrespect, or simply the contact with someone from outside the institution. I know I was afraid. I was afraid that we would not be able to communicate, that dialogue wouldn't work, and that the divide between the groups would be too large.

During that first class I spoke with every Inside student. I immediately recognized them as profound and passionate thinkers: as students and eager listeners. I found people who were shy or outgoing, academic or not, young and old. They had all done the homework. So had we. We leaned forward in our seats, made eye contact as we talked. We sat in a circle that made us all equal.

I have never experienced that depth of thought or degree of passion for a subject matter in any other class. I have never connected so fundamentally with my classmates in any other setting.

We talked about the books. We talked about Ethics. We talked about our lives: about our dreams and our histories. We talked about books we loved or places we would like to see. We talked about the news and the economy. We talked about prison life. Some of the inside students shared their crimes.

What I came to understand during the course of the class is a fundamental truth of how I understand the world: we are all just human. That means that there is no one I cannot talk to and relate to on some basic level.

I also believe firmly and inescapably that no one is equal solely to the worst thing they have ever done.

I am not a prison abolitionist. I believe in some sort of law and order, some form of justice and some form of reparations. But I also believe our current system is incredibly flawed because of my classmates, who I came to see as my equals and my friends, and who are divided from me by the laws of society. I had been led to believe that people like my Inside classmates are all dangerous, bad, that they must be locked away and kept as far away from me as possible. They deserve their punishments, and are in no way similar to me.

Obviously there is something wrong here. Some deep ethical truth we are missing. Some reality that demands that each person who crosses our path be viewed as that whole person, who hungers and dreams as we do, and who makes both mistakes and beauty.

So where does all this lead me? It leaves me deeply, deeply saddened by the end of the class. Maybe someday I will blog about this more, but I'm not quite ready for that yet. There is a graduation ceremony during finals week, and we meet for a final time. There are no last names in the Inside-Out Program. There is no exchange of addresses or contact information. We cannot return to visit. The class is finite and fleeting. Ten meetings. Less than thirty hours of class time to overcome our social fears and come to trust, to count as friends, to learn new things about literature and life, and then to say goodbye. Less than thirty hours.

Saying goodbye at the end of the class was one of the hardest things I have ever done. If you watch that video, you might understand to some extent. The men interviewed in the class are intelligent, engaged people. They are my friends.

And, like one classmate said, we were two worlds coming together. Now our worlds have separated again.

But, at least for me, this was an experience I will never move beyond, never forget, never get out of the back of my mind: we are all just humans, and these people are my friends.