Don’t Call Us Inmates

*A version of this essay first appeared in Prisoner Express, a Cornell University Durland Alternatives Library publication

In my quest to draw awareness to the plight of the oppressed and enslaved within America’s Prison Industrial Complex, my writings bring me into contact with other like minds. I am empowered when these are fellow incarcerated people like myself.

We are part of an exclusive cadre for better or for worse — today, tomorrow, and forever — that we didn’t choose but I long ago embraced. We share a collective bond borne from adversity forged through time, that transcends race, creed and socioeconomic backgrounds. We are incarcerated people and formerly incarcerated people.

We are unbreakable.

Incarcerated people return to society shunned and labeled “convict” “ex convict” “inmate” words meant to subjugate a class of people to societal margins. We have thrived despite purgatory existence, endured corruption and bore witness to their crimes and survived it all. Words will never hurt us.

Like others in my cadre my days are regimented, by choice, of course, and not due to any edict or arbitrary rule. No act of verbal or physical assault has conquest over me for I am forged from 31 years on the inside.

Take heed for I am on a mission to lift us, humanize us and empower us. I didn’t ask for this but I will rise to it.

All around me oppression abounds. How is it that a father or a mother should be forced to slave daily earning pennies an hour working a prison job? I stand witness to the mental distress etched across faces young and old. It is cruel and unusual punishment.

What you may not know is that this is by design for the 13th Amendment permits it:

“Neither punishment nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for a crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.”

And we lecture other nations on equality and basic human rights?

Nationally incarcerated people average 14 cents hourly earnings working a prison job. Here on Ohio a tube of toothpaste costs $3.17 in prison commissary. This is the equivalent of 22.6 hours of prison earned wages for Ohio’s incarcerated people average $20.00 a month working 36 hour work weeks. A pair of socks from one of Ohio’s sole source vendors costs $1.95 which is the equivalent of 14 hours of monthly wages; basic bra $9.95 or 71 hours of earnings; and a box of tampons runs $7.95 or nearly 57 hours of monthly wages.

Put another way, this would be the equivalent of a free world citizen working 165 hours to afford four basic items. Would you tolerate this? Yet, somehow it is acceptable that incarcerated people nationwide endure this burden.

How is it okay that the poorest families are disproportionately burdened with financially supporting an incarcerated mother or father, daughter or son?

Families of incarcerated people are systemically preyed upon by monopolistic companies such as JPay, Securus, GTL, and CorrLinks to name a few. It is here in America’s jails and prisons where an email can cost 50 cents, a local phone call $18.00, and a 15 minute Skype style video “visit” $15.00.

Every incarcerated person and their loved ones know these truths for we live beneath this yoke everyday.

I empower incarcerated men and women and draw awareness to life on the inside. This blog is one place where our voices are heard. My journalism is another place, and I engage with local, state and national organizations where restored citizens are helping one another while fostering awareness in the public discourse.

I educate and never pontificate. I fight for those who don’t have the strengths that I do or who have surrendered behind these walls and can no longer live.

I am Christopher Monihan or Mr. Monihan to the thousands of incarcerated people and restores citizens that know me. I hail from the state of Ohio but not by choice.

Those who follow my writings already know these truths. For those who are new, I am grateful to meet you.

Christopher

The First Time Going To Commissary


“I’d heard a lot about commissary. Guys were telling me that it was like shopping at a local grocery, which I found hard to believe. I mean, this was prison, c’mon really? That sounded ridiculous. Guys were always pulling pranks on each other, and this sure sounded like one.”


I had been at reception for a month now. The daily routine involved attending sessions where you were tested and evaluated in order to determine your security level and which institution you would be sent to. There were psychological and IQ evaluations amongst a battery of medical tests and immunizations. Then it was off to dental for examinations and treatment if needed. This is what every inmate goes through at the reception center, and it’s exhausting.

Continue reading “The First Time Going To Commissary”

The Promise of Psychedelics in Rehabilitation or A Proposed Alternative

The journey of incarceration is about rehabilitation. Those of us incarcerated either discover that our thinking errors are the root cause of our incarceration or choose to discover nothing, instead returning to society unimproved. These are the two outcomes of incarceration. There is no middle.

Continue reading “The Promise of Psychedelics in Rehabilitation or A Proposed Alternative”

The First Major Lockdown

It was my third summer of incarceration, and I’d spent it outside working out and running the Hamster Wheel as much as possible. I was a short distance sprinter in high school, and I was accustomed to outrunning most everyone. However, if you could make it 400 yards without me catching you, you had a good chance of getting away. That summer I’d told myself I was going to change that, and I set my sights running the mile. I remember watching a woman on television from Kenya shred everyone in the mile. She established a steady quick pace, and then sprinted the last 1/3 of the mile. Wow. That’s 1760 feet of balls to the wall fury. Absolutely inspirational. I told myself if she could do that in just under 4 minutes, then I sure as hell could run a 5:00 mile. It was something I’d never done in my life, and something most people can’t do. I was determined to prove to myself I could do it.

Continue reading “The First Major Lockdown”