A friend sent me a story the other day about a favorite breed of dog of mine. It’s the Jack Russell. He was being rescued. He had 11 fractures. He was scared, and most people thought he wasn’t worth saving. The young dog was curled up in a corner in the picture she sent me, trying to disappear from himself. His heart was shattered. Surgeries would be painful, complicated, and expensive. In a rare, quiet moment in here, though, I realize that incarcerated people, we do the same things at times.
There are still some who look at us as a whole and want to throw us away. Legal fees- expensive. My family borrowed $25,000 to pay a lawyer who basically said, “Defense rests.” It would have been a lot less painful and expensive if he told us about a 15 year plea offer that he kept quiet. You know, like the dog, though, we’re not just a breed, we’re a life. We’re living through our mistakes and surviving some hard days. We barely keep our hope alive, yet we continue to do the work of rehabilitation, repentance, and making amends. We are worthy – reminders of what mistakes and cruelty try to take and destroy. We’re worthy – proof that saving one life through a second chance could save more from this same path.
Second Chance Month April’s already come and gone. No movement from the Governor in Kentucky, but after four plus decades behind bars, I’m still asking for mercy. 100 plus programs, one ticket, hundreds of support letters, 1000s of signatures, all supporting second chance. Faith and second chance are more than just words to me. I’ve done the work. I’ve used my Master’s Degree to help others while I bettered myself emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and intellectually. We’re not just waiting on a second chance. Our families and our communities are also waiting. Some of us have done the work while we pay our debt to society.
I’m a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a great aunt, a friend, and a child of God who’s done everything to demonstrate, improve my personal growth, my deep commitment and faith in service and accountability. You know, we all go to bed with no guarantee of tomorrow, yet many of us, we set an alarm clock to wake up. That’s what hope is, a reminder that despite our circumstances, life can go on, and a second chance could come. Just like you, we set goals, and we dream of a future, believing there’s more ahead, another chance at life out there to make a difference.
Each time I speak here, I share in faith in what can be, and support gained, I hope. Hope keeps moving us right? I’ve done my part in the puzzle of the criminal justice system, just as others have. A piece left is the Kentucky governor giving second chances, or even legislators creating Second Look laws. We’re worth it, I hope. There are many acronyms for hope: having oppressed people emerge, helping others present evidence, healing over persecution every day, honoring outcast people equally. I’m Karen, and I’m worth saving, I hope.
These commentaries are recorded by In Prison Radio.
