I find strength and direction in the words of Martin Luther King Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, and Oscar Wilde — all of whom were formerly incarcerated people. Their experience is that of every prisoner for the experience of incarnation transcends borders and time.
One of my favorite writings is the Ballad of Reading Gaol, by Oscar Wilde. Wilde was imprisoned more than 150 years ago in Europe’s infamous Reading Gaol prison. A former socialite fallen from grace, Wilde is reborn through the trials and tribulations of his time while at Reading Gaol.
(“And the wild regrets, and the bloody sweats / None know so well as I” — Oscar Wilde)
Wilde struggled to cope with what he witnessed at Reading Gaol. Fellow prisoners preying upon one another, executions by the Hangman’s nose; and the beating of an imprisoned child younger than 10 years old at the hands of Reading Gaol’s warders. The boy’s crime? Shoplifting bread for nothing more than to stave off Poverty’s cruel hand of starvation.
(“In Reading Gaol by Reading Town / There is a pit of shame.” — Oscar Wilde)
Every prison has its pit of shame, metaphorical for the dark acts kept hidden from the light of day. I am captivated by the words of a prisoner who lived centuries before me, for our experience transcends time. Every incarcerated person can relate. If I slow down but for a moment I can hear the heavy metal clank of Reading Gaol’s cell doors, feel the damp on my skin and taste the mustiness of air, for despite the separation of time some things in prison don’t change.
Early in my sentence the State of Ohio executed its incarcerated people with cyclical rhythm. On those days the gravity of execution weighed heavy on many of us.
Oscar Wilde too struggled with the executions of his time. He understood, as I do too, that we give up a piece of our humanity when society clutches revenge close to it’s heart.
(“To see the universe and all pervading spirit of truth face to face, one must be able to love the meanest of all creatures as one’s self.” — Mahatma Gandhi)
In the 1990’s I became a certified GED tutor. I tutored the kids that were here, juvenile boys the youngest of whom was 14 years old. Like Wilde, I felt for the kids.
My experience with the juveniles taught me a lot about myself. The boys suffered from childhood traumas with many having been sexually abused; or came from broken homes; or came from the foster care system — many from all three and then some. The more I got to know them the more I realized they were just like other boys. They yearned for acceptance, love, and guidance. They dreamt the same dreams every teen boy dreams, except for them dreams were all they had.
(“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort, but where he stands in times of challenge.” — Martin Luther King Jr.)
My time tutoring the boys greatly impacted me. As Oscar Wilde did I too witnessed similar things, boys struggling to cope and make sense of their situation; and, boys who were beaten by the very people entrusted with their safety. What is a yong man to make of this? I was still a kid myself back then.
On a balmy afternoon when the sky was blue and unfettered, one of my students was murdered on account of his skin color. I was devastated. The evil that lurks in every prison had struck close to me.
I had poured my heart and soul into that kid and then he was no longer. My mind literally couldn’t process what had happened. I had gotten to know the boy and realized he simply yearned for a guiding figure in his life — it seemed all the boys yearned for that.
I hid my trauma and pain from family. I have always shielded them from unnecessary worry as most incarcerated people do. I’ve only recently begun writing about that long ago event.
In prison we experience things only our nightmares can prepare us for. We hide that which the world makes us hold, while groping through shadows searching for light.
Sometimes the act of breathing is a triumph in itself.
(“The greatest glory in living is(n’t) never failing, but rising every time we fail.” — Nelson Mandela)
After a lifetime on the Inside I have found myself. I know my purpose in this world and I live it each day. The adversities I have faced, the traumas I’ve overcome, and each dream that has crashed and burned has molded me anew. I arise from ash and dust every day.
Nelson Mandela was an angry youth when he was cast away to prison. Over 27 years of imprisonment he arrived at the same conclusions I have: There is no room for anger; only love defeats hatred, and hope illuminates darkness. To adopt these principles is to move the world for when you hate, hate finds you but when you love, love comes to us. Mandela exemplified these truths.
No one is infallible. No matter what a man or woman has done we are still part of the same family the human family. We are redeemable. However, we must first be willing to lower the sword of personal bias and judgement in order to see this.
(“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” — Oscar Wilde)
I never dwell on the past. I choose to pursue a new life, one based on core values of community, faith, family, integrity, honesty, and transparency. I credit the titans — Martin Luther King Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, and Oscar Wilde — for having had courage to write about their experience. Through their works I find strength, purpose and direction.
In prison we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
*Christopher Monihan is a writer, author, journalist, and Stillwater Award Recipient. His newest book ‘Christopher and Friends: Reflections From Behind the Wall’ (ISBN: 979-8262373062) is available on Amazon.
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Tag: JPAY
Hope & Joy At Prison Fest
By Christopher Monihan
“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.
I Would Go Back & Meet Eve By Christopher
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“I’m a little nervous,” says Clayton.
Clayton is a handsome young man and one of our guests tonight. I feel his nervousness when we shake hands. He is here for Kindway Embark’s monthly navigators gathering. This is Clayton’s first time stepping foot into a prison.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” I say, hoping to set him at ease. “You’re in for a treat tonight!”
In truth, in this moment, I feel a tinge of sadness and shame. Sad because another human being harbors fears about who I am being an incarcerated person; and, shame for having subjected another person to the consequences of my past actions.
The public harbors stereotypes about incarcerated people, stereotypes perpetrated by Hollywood movies and popular crime shows. Reality couldn’t be further from the truth. We are people who made very poor decisions in our pasts. We are brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. We laugh and cry, hope and believe like anyone else.
We are, to put it simply, just people.
“Movies like Shawshank Redemption and popular crime shows perpetuate stereotypes about who we are,” I say, to Clayton and the other men sitting at my table – Ron, Joseph, and Miguel.
Joseph and Miguel nod knowingly.
I am engaged with numerous Columbus, Ohio based organizations dedicated to helping incarcerated people and restored citizens. These organizations exist on donations, some federal grant funding, and prayer — a lot of prayer. Kindway Embark is one of these organizations.
Tonight’s gathering is sponsored by Kindway Embark. It is part of a year long hands on mentorship aiming to grow strong Christian brothers and sisters through intense pre-release preparation. The focus is on faith based reentry success.
Tonight we are celebrating our faith. For a couple of hours we discover one another through social interaction centered around conversation, food, group games, testimony and prayer.
“Okay! Game time!” says the emcee. “We are going to play the game of ‘Would You Rather,'”–everyone erupts in laughter–” except this is the Christian version! “
“First question: Would you rather witness the Red Sea parting or Jesus walking on water?”
Immediately the room fills with animated chatter as dozens of outside guests and Kindway Embark participants discuss answers.
“I’d want to see Jesus as he walks on water,” says Clayton.
“Yeah, me too,” says Miguel.
“Yeah, I agree,” says Ron.
I find myself in the minority and second guessing my choice.
“I’d want to witness the parting of the Red Sea,” I say.
“You wouldn’t want to see Jesus walking on water?” says Miguel.
“Uh, well — yeah I would, but I think I’d like to witness the Red Sea parting that would be astounding.” I suddenly feel sheepish.
After a couple of other ‘Would You Rather’ questions my table erupts into a game of its own.
I say: “Okay, how about this; if you could go back in time and meet any one human — and not Jesus, that’s a given — who would it be?”
Someone mentions wanting to meet Abraham. Someone else mentions wanting to meet one of the biblical kings.
“I would go back in time to meet Eve,” I say. The whole table is suddenly intently focused upon my words. “I would go back to meet Eve in the moment where she reaches for the apple on the tree. I would stop her.”
“Oh, right,” says Clayton, “that’s noble!”
The others utter similar thoughts.
“She has no idea the pain and suffering she unleashed upon the world.”
There’s a brief moment of heavy gravity at the table. I break the moment by changing subjects. I talk about my 31 year journey incarcerated and how in many ways it has revealed blessings in disguise. Miguel and Joseph eagerly add in their incarceration experience.
The night wraps up with a group prayer. We form a large circle and hold hands as one individual leads the prayer.
With my head bowed and my eyes closed I think of all the Kindway Embark volunteers some of whom are restored citizens themselves. I think of tonight’s guests and I thank God for each of them: Robin, Heidi, Pat, Clayton, Tim, Preston, “Wally”, Juan, Ryan, Jeremy, Dennis, Marcus, Drennan, Mike, Emil, Randy, Ron #2, and Vance.
I have a moment of panic as I try to remember if I’m missing anyone, but I leave it to God.
Reflecting back upon the evening I feel immense gratitude. I can see the future one where I am free in a new life with my Kindway Embark brothers and sisters. Tonight I caught a glimpse of the very people that I know will be a part of it and I am grateful.
Amen.
*Christopher Monihan is a writer, author, journalist and Stillwater Award recipient. He is incarcerated in Ohio.
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Nerdgasm By Christopher Monihan
I am a nerd at heart. Science came easy to me growing up and I embraced technology. I am most comfortable surrounded by all things technological.
One of my favorite characters on Star Trek the Next Generation is “Data”. A humanoid android perfect in his ability to solve the complex but flawed in his humanity. The Artificial Intelligence (AI) that made him was brilliant, yet flawed.
I marvel at how AI is sweeping the world. For all of the anxiety AI conjures in the public psyche its promise outweighs everything. We have taken a step closer to becoming the gods ourselves.
From my caged perch in prison I observe with yearning eyes the world’s astounding technologies that were all but science fiction the last time I was in the free world. For me AI’s coming of age is the ultimate nerdgasm.
I recently experienced AI in a way that left me nearly speechless. I am a choir singer in the Harmony Project, a nonprofit out of Columbus, Ohio that comes into my prison once a week. We learn popular contemporary songs and for an hour sing together in community and shared humanity. Harmony’s message to the incarcerated is “Where you are does not define who you are”. For the past three years Harmony has brought joy to my life.
Two of the songs we are learning are all originals. When the 75 men of Harmony at my facility first heard each song, we thought they were songs from a popular artist. So when David Brown, who leads Harmony, revealed that the songs were created by Harmony using an AI application my jaw fell open. The music is indistinguishable from a top 40 hit. But none of it is real.
As I have learned both songs over the past several weeks, dozens of AI themed writing ideas sparked in my mind.
Knowing that I can literally create whatever my mind comes up with — because rest assured, AI is filling that role — fills me with an excitement unlike any I’ve ever had. The fact that I can unleash AI to compute and sort through reams of data and create accordingly per my parameters, opens doors that would otherwise have remained closed to me once I am home again. AI can become a formerly incarcerated person’s great ally and I know exactly how I would use it to help myself. I also know how I would apply it as a resource for the one million returning citizens releasing from our jails and prisons every year, both through nonprofit and for profit efforts.
I have closely followed the public release of AI and have watched as it sparks excitement and fear in people. Fear of the unknown and what people don’t understand, and excitement for AI’s promise to lift humanity.
I am old enough to remember the public’s dismay and fear over the first implanted artificial heart into a human patient. People screamed, We’re playing God! Today artificial hearts are common place. Where have all the naysayers gone?
I remember the public uproar and fear when scientists cloned ‘Dolly’ the sheep. It would only be a matter of time before people are cloned! Screamed the doomsayers. Nowadays we clone everything from plants to our own house pets. No one seems too worried about cloning anymore.
Today the naysayers are running around with their arms flailing over AI. I suspect 10 years from now we will look back upon this moment in time and shake our heads. Fast forward 50 years and I cannot begin to fathom how far society will have advanced due to AI. The scientific puzzles we’ll have solved; the drugs we’ll have created that will save millions of people, and the societal advancement that will ensue. AI is the breakthrough equivalent of the transistor or dare I say, electricity.
Focusing on the here and now AI is a blessing to the men and women who have spent decades living in cages and are now regurgitated back into a society alien from the one they remember. I can frame whatever questions I have into popular AI models and literally catch up. I can fill the knowledge void that all returning citizens have, and I can do it without shame or embarrassment. For us, everything in society is new and nothing is of old.
I have spent decades thinking about society and the broader world. I’ve spent so much time thinking and pondering that I have discovered, learned, and become –that which I have, and that which I am — brand new with eyes wide open to truths I would never have found. To say I am aware is an understatement.
Some people will refuse to accept AI no matter what. Some will fear AI for fear’s sake. Those that do will be left behind. I, on the other hand, will embrace AI at every turn.
In prison where one’s existence is measured by the passing of meal times, count times, and pages torn from calendars the promise of AI in a new life is the equivalent of leaving purgatory and stepping one foot into Heaven.
*Christopher Monihan is a writer, author, journalist and Stillwater Award recipient. He is incarcerated in Ohio.
Thank you! for following. Click on subscribe and you will be notified the moment I publish a new post. Also, my newest book, ‘Christopher And Friends: Reflections From Behind The Wall’ (ISBN: 979-8262373062) is now available on Amazon.
Prison Trauma
There is something important to me that I want to share with you today. Within prison there is a lot of trauma. My prison isn’t unique in that regard, but I state it as an often overlooked statement of fact.
Over 31 years of uninterrupted incarceration, I’ve learned that the majority of incarcerated people have backgrounds steeped in traumas. Many were abused as children, grew up in broken homes, or experienced the foster care system (don’t get me started on the foster care system. Children in foster care are exposed to all manner of trauma). A high percentage of the men around me tick off more than just those three boxes.
All of this pales in comparison to what I first termed IBPTSD in my 2023 PJP op-ed (What Caused His PTSD? This Prison Right Here) which is Incarceration Borne Post Traumatic Syndrome Disorder. Jails and prisons harm mental health by design; they are structured to maximize control and confinement. Little consideration is paid to how this impacts mental health. This is the second often overlooked statement of fact.
For example, community areas in cellblocks and dorms utilize constant on security lighting. At night these lights illuminate sleeping areas and beam through cell windows. Jails and prisons also employ high intensity outside security lighting. These lights pour through outside facing windows compounding the issue.
When I was in the county jail a light in front of the row of cells remained on for the entire 130 days I was there. By the time I left the Stark County Jail I suffered from extreme anxiety and insomnia. It’s worth noting that the detrimental effects of sleep deprivation on mental health are well documented.
Another example of how jails impact mental health comes by way of testimony from Erica Rowe. She recounts her experience with lice in jail:
“When the jail gets full the jail issues these plastic boats which are placed on the floor with a mat. I slept on the floor in one of these boats and it was freezing cold all the time. One night I felt something crawling over me. I hop out of the boat freaking out and calling for the officers…”
Erica is taken to the jail nurse:
“It was lice and I knew it was that because as a kid I’d had it. The nurse forces me into allowing her to cut my hair off…She grabs a pair of scissors and hacks my ponytail off ‘to make it easier’ for the NIX treatment.
“I was so attached to beauty and vanity I cried when she did this. I have few memories from the county jail 19 years ago, but this one still stands out.”
Another source of stress for incarcerated people is the loss of personal autonomy. Days are regimented and subdivided by numerous counts of the incarcerated population. Incarcerated people are told when they can eat, use restrooms, shower, visit with family, and recreate amongst a hundred other things. It is well established in studies that loss of personal autonomy negatively impacts mental health.
However, no one seems to meaningfully consider this next statement of fact: In prison thousands of individuals from all walks of life, shouldering all manner of trauma and addiction are thrown in together and expected to normalize. People with violent backgrounds, sexual predators, suffering drug addictions, and gang members who know nothing but life in the streets are all thrown into one place. I ask, What do you think happens? The violence and chaos marking a typical day in prison impacts mental and physical health.
Assaults, robberies, murder, mini riots–I’ve witnessed them all. I know what death and drug overdose looks like. I’ve witnessed suicides and rape. None of this shocks me anymore for the abnormal of the prison experience becomes the new normal.
I wonder sometimes, if when I am free again and alone with time to myself, if these traumas I’ve boxed away in my subconscious will come gibbering back to collect their due. If I were to dwell on what I witness I would end up like so many incarcerated people deeply traumatized. This isn’t to say I don’t cope with my own IBPTSD because I do. I’m luckier than most because I cope out of sheer will. Others aren’t as fortunate.
Being a father or mother in prison exacts a heavy mental toll. Felicia Sullivan, an incarcerated mother in Ohio, shares her experience:
“The arrival of 9PM count brings on the challenge of laying my head down on my pillow, with the hope of falling asleep. Wanting no time to recall the day.
“I struggle with excruciating pain knowing my children are growing up in this cold world without me. To fend for themselves now raised in separate households.
“Having lived a life of feeling only pain, I have to do things to remind myself that I’m still alive. That I still have a piece of my old self even if it’s not a healthy piece. That girl still exists.”
I focus on the impact of IBPTSD to draw awareness. Without recognition hundreds of thousands of incarcerated people will return to communities struggling to pick up their lives.
In the past several years numerous states have instituted the body worn camera (BWC) in prisons and jails without well thought out protocols on how BWCs would impact the mental health and civil rights of incarcerated people.
In Ohio BWCs were implemented without careful consideration for incarcerated people’s civil rights under the federal Prison Rape Elimination Act (PREA). At my facility an officer initially wore BWC while conducting strip searches. The practice ended only after the threat of civil rights lawsuit under the PREA act by the ACLU.
The same thing appears to be playing out in other States. Amber, a friend of mine in Michigan incarcerated at the Women’s Huron Valley (WHV) correctional facility, shared with me her experience with BWC prison borne trauma.
She related that it’s already bad enough that we’re removed from society and thrust into deplorable living conditions which she (and I can attest, that this is true for many others) says is mentally and physically hard as it is. Add to this, for women many of whom are survivors of sexual assault, to be recorded by BWC during a strip search is traumatizing.
Since writing me for this post her facility modified BWC policy during strip searches. Protocol now requires officers to turn off BWC video but continue to record audio. This is little comfort to the 900 WHV incarcerated women for compliance rests solely with the officer.
In Ohio, an officer removes a BWC before conducting a strip search. It leaves no room to bend or break policy. Michigan could take a play out of Ohio’s playbook.
There is no official recognition of IBPTSD in psychiatry’s authoritative reference manual the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM-IV). The closest recognition exists in what the psychiatric profession calls Post Incarceration Syndrome, where restored citizens struggle to reintegrate.
There needs to be focused studies on how the prison experience itself causes trauma. Once recognized incarcerated people can receive IBPTSD psychiatric help while incarcerated, which at this time does not exist.
*Christopher Monihan is a writer, author, journalist and Stillwater Award recipient. He is incarcerated in Ohio.
To readers that are new welcome! Click on subscribe and you will be notified the moment I publish a new post. Thank you! for following. —Christopher