Dear Mr. Tanvir,
It has been a decade since I last saw you.
Recently, I was working on a self-help reentry course and within the module the course assigned a writing assignment:
“Write a letter to someone who has made an impact on your life since you have been incarcerated. Express your thoughts and feelings.”
There have been many who have positively impacted my life over the past 32 years of incarceration. I am grateful. None though impacted my life more than you.
We met in the summer of 2006. I remember that day well. I was working the library front desk checking in books when you walked in.
For weeks rumors swirled about someone new who had been hired to replace our outgoing boss. This new person was said to also be an imam and a hard man. The rumors were true. You were a hard man, but I am thankful for that.
That year I was going through a very dark time in my life. I was 11 years in on a 50 year sentence and on most days was only existing.
I remember our first discussion about Islam. I knew nothing about he Holy Koran, about its history and its prophet Mohammed or about the people of the world who are believers. I only knew stereotypes about your faith — just as most people only know stereotypes about incarcerated people.
I am ashamed to even admit that truth.
Despite my ignorance you kindly sat with me day-after-day patiently teaching me that which I didn’t understand. I must have peppered you with hundreds of questions.
You gently allowed me to discover my own truths, never trying to impose a belief upon me. I am grateful for you having done that.
Yet, I am most grateful for something else you did. While at work, in between my job duties at the front desk, I would sit and write. On one of those days you called me into the office and asked to see what I was writing.
I was hesitant because I knew you were a hard man, and I was nervous because I knew you would see what I had written.
“What is this?” you asked.
“I’m writing a book for correctional staff,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because there are things that many staff do that incarcerated people receive in a negative way. It doesn’t have to be this way. It can be done better, and it can help us.”
I sat quietly as you skimmed my work. You then photocopied each page and returned my originals to me without explanation saying, “Go back to work.” I returned to the front desk nervous and worried.
Two days later you called me back into the office.
“Sit down,” you said.
I took a seat.
“I have a couple of books for you,” you said. “I got permission to bring these to you. They are books from my college days. These are written by renowned people and I want you to read them. They will help you to write your book.”
The books were written by Drs. Samenow and Yochelson, psychologists who have influenced the modern day approach to corrections and interacting with incarcerated people.
Over the next several weeks I read each book — one-thousand six-hundred pages of research data, and observations — the culmination of Samenow and Yochelson’s decades of research into the thinking and actions of people who live outside societal norms.
To my astonishment, I observed myself within those pages. By the time I had finished reading I understood myself for the first time in my life.
Thank you Mr. Tanvir for your kindness, and for gently steering me toward discovery. Because of you I found myself. I gained what I needed in order to change — my thinking, values, actions, and observations — and how to do it. Because of you I have embarked upon a lifetime journey of reconciliation and growth.
I now help others who are in the same dark place I once was. I help them to help themselves while discovering a new path with a bright future. You would be proud of me.
Even in your last days when sick with cancer, you still found time to shower me with wisdom and love. If you had a mission in this world I know you accomplished it.
May Peace Be With You.
*Christopher Monihan is an author of two books, a journalist, and Stillwater Award recipient. He is incarcerated in Ohio.
Category: 1st Times
Dear Mr. Tanvir
I Choose the Path of Most Resistance
By Christopher Monihan
In 1995, I was sentenced to 50 years in a high security prison, in a state where I had no one and knew no one. I was totally alone.
An initial piece of advice convicts gave me was, “Forget about the outside world because you are never getting out. You may as well get comfortable and make a name for yourself in prison because that is all that matters.” Making a ‘name’ for yourself meant joining a gang, fighting, resisting the guards, and being willing to put your life on the line.
In prison the path of least resistance is to conform to the crowd, make their values and goals your values and goals. I was a terrified young man being alone in this environment. My head throbbed and I longed for relief from the stress, pain, and loneliness that gripped me. “Just join us,” I remember one of the shot callers saying to me. “Everyone does in the end.”
I wanted desperately to embrace the path of least resistance to stop my pain. But something inside me refused to listen to those voices.
Instead, I chose the path of most resistance. If I was going to make it through Hell I had to figure out a way, to find that path through this journey.
You don’t know how strong you are until you are forced to face your fears. There is no growth in following the crowd and no strength in the refuge of sanctuary, for when challenge comes all you seek is to flee from it.
What gave me confidence in myself wasn’t the fact I was surrounded by lions. No. What gave me confidence in myself was the years I spent alone, sitting on a prison bunk in the middle of chaos teaching myself how to write. I dropped out of highschool after the 9th grade, and my secret was that I barely knew how to write. I couldn’t grasp it, but I knew I wanted to learn and to overcome my fear of English. Not just overcome, but conquer it and so I clutched pen and faced blank pages everyday and overcame. On the days when I didn’t overcome I still faced the blank page, and wrote something if not a single sentence vowing to try again tomorrow.
After a while I had stacks and stacks of filled pages I’d written and began to realize something. I am strongest in my discomfort. It is in discomfort where I build confidence and grow.
Prison isn’t about physical strength. It’s about mental fortitude, about what’s in your mind. You must face yourself and that is the greatest challenge. It took years before I truly understood this.
Happiness and peace is found first in your mind “The quality of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts” (Marcus Aurelius). Then, you discover your truth that enlightenment is in your heart and soul, but you had to journey to understand. Deep down you knew all along.
I took a risk decades ago by telling others I don’t share their views. I faced the fear of retribution for shunning the convict establishment. And retribution came.
Even on my darkest days where no one came to my aid and I had no one to go to, I stood my ground owning what came with my decision. Every hardship and defeat I endured only made me stronger. It made it possible for me to face myself. When you face yourself you overcome yourself. You discover there is nothing in this world that you cannot overcome.
I’ve heard a lot of advice over the decades I’ve been Inside. Most of it was shortsighted or prison focused; limiting or self-centered, or offered by individuals who didn’t live by the very words that came out of their mouths. Everyone seems to have an opinion.
I don’t care about opinions. What I know is that I am who I am because I face my fears when others flee from them. “The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones” (Confucius). I’ve put in the hard work to overcome and to better myself. “I must be willing to give up what I am in order to become what I will be” (Einstein) and now I know there isn’t anything I can’t achieve.
I act on what I feel and I question what I hear and see and this works for me. What works for you may be something different only you can answer that question.
I tell guys around me, you need to discover who you are. You need to face yourself and then put in the work — damn hard work, for there are no shortcuts — to better yourself and to build the future you sincerely desire. It doesn’t matter who you are or how long your sentence is because this journey isn’t a part time thing. “The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are” (Carl Jung).
I will forever be grateful for the day after Christmas 1996 here in prison. I had spent the previous night vomiting, fighting fever and cold sweats. The next morning I somehow stumbled to the infirmary for help, and after 5 minutes was dismissed by a guard, “Go back to your unit,” the guard said. “You’ll live.” Five minutes that changed my life. I understood then that no one cared if I survived or perished and it was up to me to live. To face discomfort and thrive. “In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our right hand it must be wrought” (William Wordsworth). And I have taken that moment and taught myself to think differently, for here in prison you must know how far you’ve come or you will remain stuck where you began.
When you are alone over months, years, and decades with nothing but your thoughts you figure it out. And when you do you embrace the journey and begin to truly live.
In the 5 minutes it took you to read this I hope that it changes someone’s life, just as 5 minutes once changed mine “For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others” (Nelson Mandela).
*Christopher Monihan is a writer, author, and Stillwater Award recipient. He is incarcerated in Ohio.
Thank you! for following. If you haven’t already, subscribe and you will be notified the moment I publish a new post. —Christopher
Valhalla! by Christopher
Today I had an aha moment.
No, not the type of aha moment free world people experience when encountering something truly eye opening, but the type only incarcerated people know and experience after decades of living in a cage.
Every one of Ohio’s 50,000 prison incarcerated people are issued a Samsung 10″ tablet — it’s not that glamorous, these are refurbished 5th and 6th generation monstrosities in a world of 20th generation magic — and we have access to numerous free, but mostly pay-to-use services. Prison is big business. There’s money to be made from the backs of America’s most vulnerable population, their friends, and families.
I was swiping through he GTL Library app of offerings. Think of the app like an online library of sorts where there’s magazines, books, and ebooks. It’s nothing like the limitless content of the internet, everything is censored and specially curated. Anyhow, I stumbled upon the audio book, “Who Moved My Cheese?”.
I tapped the Who Moved My Cheese? icon and an audio book reader launched.
I suppose out there something as mundane as an audio book reader wouldn’t warrant mention let alone a blog post — but in my world this is discovery on scale similar to teenagers stumbling upon online porn.
I glanced around casual so not to draw attention. Content my discovery went unnoticed by the men around me, I focused on the reader’s unknown icons before settling upon the safe familiarity of the play button.
I hurriedly plugged in my ear buds and tapped play. For the next 5 minutes a man’s voice droned on and on about how he had come up with the idea for Who Ate My Cheese?. My excitement quickly drained away. This guy was kinda boring.
I decided to venture deeper. The way I saw it I could do no harm, besides I had already made up my mind I couldn’t possibly sit through two hours of this man’s mind numbing voice. That is until I discovered Valhalla.
In the corner of the app I spotted a discreet double “§” looking icon. I tapped it. A new screen appeared. Bulleted percentages of 100%, 125%, 150%, 175%, and 200% trailed from top to bottom. Highlighted by default was 100%.
I tapped 125%.
The mans voice returned except this time he seemed somehow cheerier. I tapped 150%. Now he babbled on like a gaggle of teenage girls. 175% and he spoke as if hopped up on lines of crystal meth.
I eyed 200%. My heart pounded and my palms grew moist. I cast a furtive glance around me and thumbed 200%.
The man’s voice raced back like a used car auctioneer. Holy shit, I thought. I CAN listen to this book!
*Christopher Monihan is a journalist, writer, and 2024 Stillwater Award recipient. His newest book “Reflections From Behind the Wall” is now available on Amazon.
Prison Bound? 4 Musings to Help You Along the Way
Prison can seem like the end of the world. One moment you are free the next thrown into twilight purgatory where insanity is the norm and the norm drives men insane.
In my decades on the inside, I have learned some truths.
Continue reading “Prison Bound? 4 Musings to Help You Along the Way”
My Songs Know What You Did In the Dark by Christopher
When I think of music and prison in the same sentence, songs I know by heart echo through my mind. My journey through the abyss of American Corrections can best be told through song.
Music exposes the soft underbelly of the prison beast. I’ve suckled from its bosom rhythm and memories with the promise of a joyful future that for decades has been the province of my dreams.
Continue reading “My Songs Know What You Did In the Dark by Christopher”