The Prison Book of Living and Dying
by Emilia Vega
From Turning Wheel, Fall 2000

I’ve been thinking about life and death. In the last year, two of my closest family members died, and in the last few years, several close friends died. My first experience of death was when my beloved turtle died when I was six. As I flushed it down the toilet and cried bitterly, I remember wondering what would happen to it. I sat pondering the great mystery, peppering my mother with unanswerable questions. Why? What next? Why not me? Big questions about life and death have always been in the wings of my mind, just waiting for raw moments to surface. So I’ve always thought of myself as someone who grapples with those questions and has some perspective on them. However, a few months after I started volunteering inside prisons I realized that the words "life" and "death" would never sound the same to me. In practicing Buddhism we talk frequently about life, and even more about death. But for "consumers" of our corrections institutions, those words have taken on more specific sinister meanings.

Behind bars, "life" refers to the sentence given to someone convicted of certain crimes. Life can either be with or without the possibility of parole. "Life without" means that the person will never be released from prison. These days it is best known as the proposed alternative to executions. "Life with" is a sentence of between 7 and 25 years to life. This used to mean that the person who had committed the crime could be considered for parole after serving two-thirds of the minimum sentence (assessed by a complex judicial matrix). Then the person was eligible for parole before a board appointed by the governor of the state. Depending on a series of factors, including work participation, good behavior, programs attended, and psychological reports, he or she might be recommended for release and a date might be given. When a date was given, a parole plan would be set into motion, thereby establishing the ground rules for that person’s release. The emphasis was on rehabilitation and rewarding good behavior. If the person did not stick to the conditions set by the parole board, s/he would not get the hoped-for release.

Recently, a de facto ban on parole dates has been implemented by the California Governor’s office, meaning parole dates effectively are extinct (Sacramento Bee, 6/4/00; San Francisco Chronicle, 8/20/00). The rate of parole dates granted has plummeted from approximately 48 percent in 1978 to 0.2 percent in 1998. The new trend started with the arrival of former Governor George Deukmejian’s administration, and has continued with Governor Davis’. This has had the result of making "life with parole" the same as "life without parole." Once you’re in, you’re in. Gives a whole new meaning to the word life, doesn’t it?

As I write this, I am thinking of friends: Luis. Kenny. John. Jamille. Each has a family; each has turned his life around. Each would be the first to tell you he screwed up big time; but each has had plenty of time to review what he did, whom he hurt. Each carries deep remorse for his past harmful act(s) and is actively involved in giving back to the community and families so decimated by violence. Each does serviceÑmostly working in prison-based programs with youth at risk to try to convince them that crime does not lead to "a cool gangster life." Each has clear insight into the causes and conditions that created his own slide downhill. We have an army of crime experts sitting inside who could help our floundering country with one of its thorniest issues. However they are caught in the no-parole-being-given-currently situation. Every time I see one of them, I am struck by their ability to sit with more equanimity than I have about the unfairness of it all.

And death: inside, "death" conjures up images of executions, stabbings on the yard, or dying alone painfully of a fatal disease. I know death is certain, but the time and circumstances are not. However, on death row your execution date is known to the minute. And what must it be like to go out onto the yard during the only recreational time allowed, knowing that if you are new and not hip to others’ signals, you might get stabbed suddenly? What must it be like to be repeatedly denied medical care by understaffed and work-weary custody staff, so that by the time you are diagnosed, it’s too late for treatment?

When His Holiness the Dalai Lama was asked about the death penalty, he answered that he could not support it as it contradicts major Buddhist tenets. He added that he also does not support life without possibility of parole as a substitute sentence for execution, because this does not recognize the possibility of transformation.

Life and death are inevitable, but the ways they play out behind bars are not.

Emilia Vega is a longtime Buddhist practitioner and activist who has deep concerns about the prison-industrial complex in the U.S.