“What does the sunflower on your shirt represent to you?” Says the WBNS 10 TV anchor. I’ve watched her on television for years but never imagined I’d be at a women’s prison being interviewed by her.
“It represents hope to me,” I say. “It represents a new beginning.”
I’m a Harmony Project choir singer at Madison Correctional Institution (MaCI). Today is June 02, 2026 and I’m at the 4th annual Sunflower Arts & Music Festival at the Ohio Reformatory for Women (ORW).
The festival is sponsored by Harmony and brings together three Ohio prisons MaCI, ORW and Pickaway Correctional (PCI). Columbus, Ohio based Harmony works within prisons and the Columbus community spreading a message of hope and unity through contemporary music.
“Where you are does not define who you are,” David Brown tells us. Brown is founder and director of Harmony and this refrain underpins Harmony’s prison arts program.
I’ve been a Harmony choir singer four years running. Today is my fourth time attending the festival and fourth time I’ll have presented a spoken word to the thousands in attendance.
I am filled with feelings of hope, joy, and unselfish love. The crowd is like family to me. My message today is designed to lift others and offer hope to those who have forgotten what hope feels like.
Before the day is over I’ll have spoken to the outgoing Ohio Director of Prisons Ms. Annette Chambers-Smith; the founder of Papa John’s Pizza; the CEO of Papa John’s Pizza; and the wardens of ORW and MaCI.
In the morning we gather in the ORW gymnasium along with PCI and ORW choirs. In attendance are dozens of important guests –from ODRC correctional leadership, to Harmony donors — all of whom make the day possible.
“Do you think we’ll get to see the children of Sunflower House?” I say, to my friend Corey.
“I hope so,” he says as we take seats at chairs on the gym floor.
Harmony has a longstanding relationship with the children’s Sunflower Hospice in Bloemfontein, South Africa. Last year we sang to them by video link and the children sang to us. It’s a moment that’s joyful and heavy for many of us.
In the morning the men’s choirs sing ‘Good News’ by Shaboozey and ‘Amen’ by Shaboozey and Jelly Roll to the guests and ORW choir. The ORW women sing an amazing rendition of the 70’s disco classic ‘Dancing Queen’. By the time they finish many of us are wiping away tears from our eyes.
We watch a prerecorded video from the children of Sunflower House singing and dancing for us. I can’t help but think of how there’s so much light in our world of shadows.
In the afternoon we assemble on the prison yard for a lawn concert rocking the crowd. All three choirs together sing several songs for the massive crowd. When we’re not singing several Ohio bands perform for us, cover songs the crowd knows by heart.
It is time for me to present my spoken word.
I stand upon the huge concert stage, mic in hand, big screen at my back and I look out upon the crowd. Cheerful voices reach me and waiving hands draw my attention. I can’t help but know, as every incarcerated person does, that there is a lot of trauma, longing, and sadness beneath many faces in the crowd.
My spoken word is for the outside guests in attendance who know not our struggles as incarcerated people — and for the crowd. Except, for us my message is one of hope that says, no matter who you are or what you are going through you are going to be okay. WE are going to be okay.
Shortly afterward it is time to go. The day has come to an end and we depart.
I peer through the steel mesh of the prison bus window and take in the passing countryside. I feel peace and contentment. My thoughts are on the many people I leave behind today.
For four years I have experienced this return ride back to my prison. I grow a little inside each time, but I heal more than anything.
*Christopher Monihan is a writer, author, journalist and Stillwater Award recipient. He is incarcerated in Ohio.
Category: Women Behind Bars
Hope & Joy At Prison Fest
WHY WE DON’T HAVE WOMEN’S RAZORS IN PRISON ANYMORE By Ashleigh Smith
Bic razors used to be available for purchase on the commissary, $1.40 for a pack of ten. Once broken down, the razors were often transformed into an instrument used in a myriad of unintended ways: self-harm and weapons, for instance.
In an effort to put a halt to these antics, the Department of Corrections posted a memo to inform the population of new guidelines. Bic razors were now limited to a maximum purchase of two per shop, and the new price would be $0.20 per razor.
Later that month, our 9:00 p.m. count ran exceptionally long. Then we found out why. Soon the ambulance was spotted crawling down the walkway silently, its emergency lights flashing brightly against the night sky, illuminating the situation’s urgency. A girl had taped up a bunch of blades before swallowing them one by one. She’d guaranteed herself a couple days in the hospital with good food while she recovered from the removal surgery.
Frantic to staunch the spread of potential blame leveled towards them, the Department posted a memo to inform the population of updated guidelines. Bic razors were no longer available for purchase. The population had 30 days to dispose of all razors in their possession. After the grace period, Class 1 Misconducts would be issued to all prisoners found in possession of razors.
That left the female population with two options for hair removal, both of which had qualities used as strikes against them. There was the option of an electric shaver that had largely been rebranded into a vibrator — or Magic Shave, whose label guaranteed it was “specifically formulated for black men’s facial hair.” Both left much to be desired.
The electric shaver didn’t offer a smooth shave, leaving a 2-3 day-like stubble when compared to a razor. There also were the common razor bumps that spread rash on all types of irritated skin. The batteries needed to power it were pricey, drained quickly, and often were out of stock. Even the most sparing use of the shaver resulted in a drastic dulling of the blades — blades that weren’t authorized to be switched out with the affordable replacement blades. Instead, an entire new device had to be purchased. A $23 price tag coupled with a 60-day minimum purchase process made this option decline in popularity.
That left Magic Shave, a depilatory cream that smelled like rotten eggs fused with an expired perm. Aside from the foul smell, I’m a white woman, so the body hair that I’m needing to remove is in no way consistent with black men’s facial hair. To compensate for this minor hiccup, it was soon discovered that the cream would have to be left on for an extended amount of time. I slathered the cold, obscenely smelling cream all over my body and stood still for the eight minutes (double the recommended four) needed for the cream to activate and make the alleged magic happen.
It was uncomfortable but I waited it out. As soon as the time was up, I immediately got under the shower stream to rinse it off. I began removing the cream with a washcloth and quickly noticed the hair coming off in patches and the skin that had been exposed to the cream was now inflamed to an alarming shade of red. My skin traditionally wasn’t sensitive, so I’d generously applied the cream to my very sensitive “lady parts.” For the next 48 hours, every move I made reminded me of just how sensitive said parts were. To add to the train wreck, despite damn near removing an entire layer of my skin with chemical burns, somehow my hair had only come off in a patchy mess.
This transition away from razors was forcefully implemented by the Department statewide in 2014. It took the female population an additional seven years to gain access to a woman’s specific hair removal cream (Nair). Thankfully, it works much better.
Without razor blades available to swallow, desperate women soon began substituting batteries, pencils, shattered florescent light bulbs, broken glass, shards of cement floor tiles, once even a piece of razor wire from the barbed wire fences used to cage us.
The ambulances still can been seen, lights flashing across the sky, silently waiting to ferry the swallowers off to their awaiting surgery. I’ve lost count of the instances of mutilation I’ve seen, just as I’ve lost count of the number of chemical burns I’ve suffered trying to shave.
The administration that enacted the razor ban very likely believed that they were greatly improving the safety and security of the facility. In all actuality, all they accomplished was turning the simple act of shaving into chemical warfare.
*Ashleigh Smith is a lettersfromchristopher.com contributing writer.
ASHLEIGH CORTNEY SMITH #698500
Women’s Huron Valley Correctional Facility
3201 Bemis Road
Ypsilanti, MI 48197-0911
Rebranding a Stereotype by Ashleigh Smith
There is an intentional push by many in the advocacy field to rebrand the socially accepted and preferred language surrounding identifying individuals with a conviction/incarceration history. I’m all for change that decreases marginalization towards vulnerable populations, however I can’t help but challenge this movement. I understand that the powers that be have surveyed and quantified their data and therefore feel this is an evidenced based argument but let’s really big picture this idea on a reality based scale.
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Yet Another Update on Irony by Ashleigh Smith
As many of you reading this already know, I’ve been in the process of achieving relief in the court system with my state’s Attorney General’s office through their Conviction Integrity Unit.It’s been almost two years and I haven’t filled you all in on
my progress and I haven’t filled you all in on my progress, so I thought I’d do so now. Things are
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How I Navigate Life In a Women’s Prison by Ashleigh Smith
(*This story first appeared in Prison Writers at prisonwriters.com and has been republished here with permission of the author)
It’s sometimes hard to think of things to be grateful for when I’m quite literally caged inside the confines of these fences. One thing that I am thankful for on a regular basis is that I’m a woman, and because of that, am afforded the luxury of being housed in a
women’s facility. ‘Luxury” may feel like a strong word choice, but the polarizing differences between men’s and women’s facilities grant me the latitude.
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