PRISONER EXPRESS

A social animal, no doubt. From stoning the woolly mammoth to bridging sea channels -- we do it as a group or not at all, and the instinct to fit in is as strong and as deep as any part of our nature. Most of those who don't fit in perish. The beauty of today's enlightened society is that it tolerates a wide variety of groups, giving almost everyone a place, a fit, a like-minded circle, whether mainstream or decidedly oddball. There are, however, some oddities that the society refuses to tolerate, and those who carry such unacceptable flaws are destroyed in order to protect the rest of the herd. We are those mad cows, folks, stumbling around our pens, so incompatible with the norm that even our brains, ground up into feed, are taboo, so the media aren't allowed to talk to us and our own families are strongly discouraged from visiting. It's simple self-preservation, really: no matter how much we would like to romanticize our plight, we aren't fit to live among the rest of the world, and ultimately it makes no difference whether it happened by our conscious choice or because of a combination of unfortunate circumstances, as so many of us plaintively insist. We don't fit in, so we are locked away or slaughtered with a great deal of pomp and righteousness. You wouldn't ask a man out on the mammoth hunt if you thought he was going to bash your head in and take your share of the meat, would you?

But then a curious thing happens. The outcasts are so many that they end up forming a society of their own, and a large one at that. Two million people in the U.S. alone; you could populate a country with that. And the game starts again: the society splits into groups, and those who almost proudly refused to fit in outside end up struggling to find their place behind the wall. We form strata, cliques, gangs, circles -- in short, a smaller model of the large society, more radical and obvious in its internal divisions. It's unnatural to be alone anywhere, and in prison it may be quite physically dangerous. Old diseases of the free society resurface, stripped of the veneer of political correctness. The minorities end up being a majority and take their chance to repay for the pain and humiliation of America's shameful history, then inevitably end up in violent power struggles among themselves, the white men band together for protection at first, then end up being simply a part of the prison politics whose purposes are as questionable as those of any society's political movements. Prison guards encourage it: better we fight among ourselves than turn on them, and so the main divisions become permanent. Then come many others. It's in our nature to establish pecking orders, so no matter how despicable the free society may consider all of us, without distinction, we find those we could look down on. We try to kill rats, rapists, child molesters and abusers, we look with disdain at the "lames" because we can't count on them if our group is attacked. Some of us lead, others follow; some strut, covered with muscles and tattoos, while others carry their Bibles as shields and signs of disassociation from the prison society. Most of us try to fit in an, just like outside, there are choices of groups that would accept us.

And again, it's a personal choice. Whom and to what degree do you follow? Sure, there are some choices that are objectively impossible whether because of your color or your basic convictions, but others are entirely up to you. I made my choice years ago: I choose to abide by our society's rules but I haven't found a worthy cause to follow, so I make a point of being my own man. Not solitary outcast, but no one gives me orders either -- I do what I think is right. In a word, I stopped trying to fit in. I am who I am, I do what I do, and if people don't like it, they are welcome to voice their objections and deal with the consequences. Sure, it's a bit easier for me to act this way: not too many people want to try to intimidate a 6'4" 222-pound murderer who used to belong to a notorious branch of a foreign military service, but even so ended up fighting a time or two when someone questioned my position. I guess in a way I do fit in, but Id like to think that I do it on my own terms. I don't feel the need to spend hours with homeboys talking about that market on the corner across from the gas station, or with the other "regs" discussing the internal political currents. They know I will be where and when I'm needed -- that's the extent of my fitting in, my role in the communal hunt. The rest of the time, I have my own things to do, and my peace of mind doesn't much depend on interaction with others.

It seems to be a useful skill, considering that this prison's "program" means that I don't see other people for most of the year. I'm sure I'm still a social animal; it's just that I fit into my own skin well enough to avoid the need to fit into any large social unit. It works for me: I won't be building any bridges in this lifetime.