With Prayers for Hope and Healing for this Holiday Season and Throughout the New Year
Moran, Bennett Meet With Citizens Concerned About Low Parole Numbers
Secretary of Public Safety Brian Moran and Virginia Parole Chair Adrianne Bennett met with over 20 invited citizens and local officials--including Delegate Tony Wilt--for a 2:30- 4:00 pm forum at James Madison University Tuesday, December 4, on the status of parole in Virginia. Two recent parolees accompanied Ms. Bennett and shared their personal journey of rehabilitation and reentry. An excellent report on the meeting appeared the following day on the front page of Harrisonburg's Daily News-Record.
https://harvyoder.blogspot.com/2018/12/moran-well-never-throw-away-key.html
https://harvyoder.blogspot.com/2018/12/moran-well-never-throw-away-key.html
At a public meeting at 4:30-6:00 pm local citizens and members of inmate families from as far away as Chesapeake came to hear Moran and Bennett speak and to make their passionate case for parole consideration for deserving loved ones, including geriatric inmates.
Two recently released parolees, Mr. Paul Taylor and Mr. Weldon Bun, each of whom had spent over 20 years behind bars for murder convictions offered hope to family members, many of whom were in tears, as were most of the rest of us. They also stressed the need for reaching out to members of victim families. Some of their comments:
“If you can't be a citizen outside, be a citizen inside.”
"Seek out those in the prison system who are invested in rehabilitation. Not all corrections officers have that focus."
“Don’t lose hope. Keep believing that your loved one will one day be free.”
“Personalize yourself with your parole board.”
"Send thank you letters even when turned down, send photos of family members visiting, and speak with them individually when the opportunity arises."
“Be accountable but don’t condemn yourself.”
For August, 2018, there were four geriatric and 20 regular releases, with only two of them being women. In September there were 12, with only one being a geriatric release, and only one woman.
In October, however, there were a total of 35, including one female and three geriatric releases.
Sexual Abuse Still Happening In Virginia Prisons
In Virginia there are still community showers in many of the lower security prisons, and some prisons that do have them fail to provide shower curtains to protect inmates from be exposed to inmates and staff.
In September 2003, Congress unanimously passed the Prison Rape Elimination Act (PREA). Although PREA passed over fifteen years ago, prison rape is still a problem for adults and youth in facilities across the country.
Sexual abuse in detention is a crime, whether committed by staff or by another inmate. It is also recognized under international law as a form of torture. Sexual abuse in detention can take many forms, such as:
Sexual harassment, as in unwanted sexual advances, name-calling, or threats
Rape or attempted rape
Any unwanted sexual touching
Forced prostitution
Any sexual activity that you feel pressured into doing
When a staff person has any sexual contact with an inmate, it is always sexual abuse.
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According to the American Civil Liberties Union, from 1980 to 2015, the number of female inmates in Virginia prisons rose from 303 to 3,123, a 930 percent increase. During the same 35-year period, the male population grew 308 percent, from 8,617 to 35,167.
A Relative's Funeral
by Minor Junior Smith, legally blind and age 73, at Deerfield Correctional Center
With dad and my step-mother, I had rarely attended a relatives funeral in youth.
I was writing about childhood abuse, for I believed that somebody wanted truth.
A little bird perched on the window sill of my Mecklenburg Correction Center cell.
It was too early for Corporal Lee to say that my counselor had saddening news to tell.
The bird reminded me of mama feeding them to Sprite our starving pet cat.
For the sake of characterization, her maiden name is published as Elsa Pratt.
Briefly, I pondered on those difficult times she and I had shared in "Dark Run Holler".
That was one place my dad had taught me how to earn the honest dollar.
Over my counselor's phone, Loretta told me that our stepmother had passed away.
Then, Corporal Lee telephoned a bank for me to pay two officers' salaries for a day.
My hair was all gapped-up, well, the next day was not for looking cute.
An officer and a Sergeant fitted me in tan shoes under my borrowed, odd-colored suit.
The sergeant drove, while the officer and I rode in the back of the car.
From Mecklenburg's prison to Montgomery Country's Elliston, the distance wasn't so far.
I remained docile and quiet with shackled ankles and handcuffs securing my arms.
I took a few memory trips, knowing that part of our road had split one of dad's farms.
Near Dixie Caverns, we turned off U.S. 81 onto old route 11's right-hand lane.
Blindfolded, I could have run the rest of the way without a cane .
At age eight, there was the site, where I had stood to board the bus for school.
Trying to buy some neighborhood boys’ friendship, I had first broken the golden rule.
As we bypassed dad's former Riverside farm, a hum began invading my ears.
What lay ahead for me was freedom to speak to people, whom I had not seen in years.
For a refill in Elliston, the sergeant pulled into a state highway shed.
I wondered how many of my buddies had served in Vietnam and ended up dead.
Outside the car the officers relaxed my feet and hands, some voices were not new.
I stood steadfast and ready when dad and a niece ran their embraces through.
Mama's four sisters and two brothers saw my Step-mother ready for burial in a copper vault.
I accepted the fact that my downfalls in life had been my own fault.
Like some things in life, it happened with little thought and no goal.
Our threesome stood before Bryant Funeral Home, as if we were playing a role.
Perhaps some of dad's people were extending warm greetings because I was his son.
Throughout the entire ceremony, I would not hear a word about prison.
However, I became leery as I watched my half-brother, Gordon, look his son up and down.
Eventually, eyeball to eyeball, my smile met Gordon's ugly frown.
Some other ones looked upon me with utter disdain for how I had disgraced them.
A Brother-in-law ran down a hill, as though he expected me to follow him.
Some of the people in the congregation knew me before I had turned seven.
The minister said that our bodies were houses, made to prepare our souls for heaven.
By the success of dad's first offspring, I considered all four of my real sister's horrible luck.
To shed tears, dad, Ralph Pratt and I sat like we had in dad's old Dodge lumber truck.
In 1985, I telephoned dad from Staunton Correctional Center. and finally got an answer.
Softly he told me that my step-brother, Ralph had died from hereditary cancer.
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