by Marcel Invaka Roberson
The first day of my feeling like a prisoner was when I was getting ready to take the bus ride to prison. I was shackled from my ankles up to my wrists. Every time I would step forward to get loaded on the prison bus, my ankles were in pain due to the tightness of my ankle cuffs. Maybe the officer put the cuffs on that tight to prevent me from running away while shackled. Maybe this is their way of making me so uncomfortable I won’t forget I am in custody. Whatever the motive, I do know that the skin around my ankles is a tender red due to the tightness of the ankle cuffs.
On the bus for transfer, it gets no better. The temperature inside the bus is hot and humid. I look around and see the faces of many inmates. Many of them look occupied in their thoughts; perhaps they are thinking about the journey ahead or what they have lost (wife, kids, girlfriends, friends, associates, jobs, assets). It is quiet on the bus ride, not because the transport officer in the rear has a loaded 12-gauge shotgun, yelling, “Shut the f— up!” But because most of us realize our lives in the free world are on hold and there is nothing we can do about it.
My arrival to prison was an eye-opening experience. I quickly saw the majority of the inmate population grouped up behind gang or racist motives. Inmates were more focused on getting high, bigotry, rhetoric, racist/extremist propaganda, and gossip, rather than focusing on higher learning, family, education, or trades. I would hear inmates talk about how much they missed their wives, kids, and family, but they still would do the same things in prison (drugs, alcohol, and gang activity) that got them arrested.
Mentally and emotionally, every inmate goes through an internal rollercoaster. As men, most of us don’t run around expressing what our internal thoughts and emotions are 
to fellow inmates. We try to cope with our situation by working out (handball, softball, football, basketball, pull-up bars), drawing, drugs, using the phone, alcohol, eating, or even conflict (debates, arguments, and fights). Most of us try to deal with our problems by ourselves, because if you tell some inmates what you’re going through (missing your family, life, job), they may tell other inmates and then you could be viewed as weak. No man in prison wants to be seen as weak, so most of us put up an external front (acting as if we can handle everything by ourselves with comfort and poise), but internally we are going through a lot.
The likelihood of getting into an altercation was high, considering my location. Even some of the correctional officers would talk to inmates as if they were subhuman. In addition, the average inmate is not educated, so there are barriers with basic communication. Most inmates have a lot of ego and lack common sense, insight, and soft skills. Almost every conversation becomes a debate or argument.
For the vast majority in prison it’s about trying to be cool and fitting in. Most people who are trying to be cool and fit in are doing drugs (meth, weed, pills), drinking pruno (prison-made alcohol), or selling drugs. The more people you associate with in prison, the more likely you are to have a problem. Most inmates will put on a good act in front of you, but stab you in the back as soon as you walk away. Gossip can get you into trouble, also. When other inmates spread rumors and gossip this can cause fights. One inmate may want to prove himself in front of his crew in hopes of gaining respect or a reputation. Other inmates find pleasure in creating confusion, drama, and negativity. It’s like a magnet of negativity with one negative person attracting another.
I realized I represented a very small percentage of the prison population who wanted to do something positive and constructive with their time. I did not want to fold and conform to negative peer pressure, nor did I aspire to become a poker, domino, spades, or pinochle champion. The vast majority of inmates see college, groups, change, and positive activities as lame. The common negative phrase used in prison is, “You weren’t doing that positive stuff on the street when you were out, so why start now?” Most of the people in prison will always tell you what you can’t do.
Few of my peers in prison make use of their time in a positive or constructive way. Few want to become a better person while in custody. Dreams of a better life for most inside of prison are just dreams. Many inmates have what I call the “Cinderella Theory.” The Cinderella Theory is when an inmate is released with his new clothes, shoes, and $200 gate money, feeling on top of the world (happy, excited, and full of joy). However, when the clock strikes midnight on the following day, reality sets in (no money, no job, no new clothes, no home, addiction, depression, no education, no vocation, and no communication skills); then they are back to their old ways and destined to return to prison.
In conclusion, after seeing all the things I have seen, I learned to stay focused and goal-oriented no matter what’s going on around me. Feather River College was a positive beam of light for me while I was inside of a dark place they call prison. I had a fire ignite inside of me when I completed my first semester. I leaned only on my college peers for positive support and reinforcement. Doing the college classes and listening to the lectures of Dr. Parkin and other professors made me feel like I was part of a good team.
I parole around June of 2018. When all is said and done, I will have spent six years of my life inside of institutional walls. I completed the cosmetology vocation, learned the Spanish language and became a fluent speaker. I graduated from FRC with an AA in sociology. This journey was a tough one, but I have learned many lessons about education, change, optimism, the future, and me. My entire prison sentence was about resilience. When the odds are stacked against you, it’s your duty to use the power of thought. You turn those thoughts into actions and beat the odds by turning a negative situation into a positive outcome, by turning calamity into victory. Republished from “Perspectives from the Cell Block: An Anthology of Prisoner Writings” – edited by Joan Parkin in collaboration with incarcerated people from Mule Creek State Prison.
