Writing
By Brandon Astor Jones
"Man, unlike any other thing organic or inorganic in the universe, grows beyond his work, walks up the stairs of his concepts, emerges, ahead of his accomplishments." — John Steinbeck, 1902-1968
No doubt because I am on death row, the question I am most often asked is what makes me "write so much". The answer is very convoluted.
Prison, by its very nature, is a restrictive place. In the present political climate, it is fashionable to deprive prisoners of anything that might serve to combat our emotional and spiritual stagnation.
Men, women and children in US prisons, by and large, are denied the opportunity to accomplish anything that might be considered meritorious. Here at the Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison, I am indirectly denied the privilege of resuming the group activity in which some prisoners helped feed many of Atlanta's hungry men, women and children who are homeless.
Prisoners on death row doing good things for needy people on the outside tends to interfere with the political and administrative concept designed to dehumanise all prisoners. We are not supposed to being doing good things — certainly not humane things.
After all, in order to view us as human beings, you would logically have to treat us as such. Treating those of us in prison as human beings is not part of the status quo's game plan.
As the Steinbeck quote above suggests, men and women are evolutionary creatures. We have need for achievement. We have a need to explore and interact with those freer regions of ourselves and others.
Prison does not encourage self-exploration, so some prisoners write. Letters and essays are great self-exploration tools. In the process we leave very clear paper trails that defy those erroneous concepts that we are all evil con men and women.
It seems that every time I complete an essay, poem or short story, I somehow rise above my circumstances and environment. I reach an emotional height from which I am able to look down more clearly on myself.
In seeing myself and my own needs, I am able to comfort, support and inspire others. In a kind of unconscious quid pro quo, in them I find my own well-hidden and often elusive sources of comfort, support and inspiration. At such times a special wholeness invades my being — a wholeness that prison would never allow me to seek, let alone find.
That is why I write. I am not a trained writer, but you do not need a university degree to appreciate freedom. In writing, even if only for brief moments, I am freer than I have ever been. Only when each composition has been completed do I fall back down into a pit where accomplishments are frowned upon.
A man without daily personal accomplishments can never see himself in relation to the accomplishments of others. Such a man can never know or measure his deeper spiritual self in the shallowness of the USA's political prisons. There is excitement in accomplishment. It gives self-illumination without the usual boundaries, but perhaps far more important is that there is illumination not just for the writer, but for us all.
Like most sincere people who write, my writings are not about a quest for fame or recognition so much as they are about causing others to see the world differently. I know that is what I want to do.
There have been times in the past when I have been obliged to ask myself why I wrote. Then someone one day who was — prior to having read my words — near suicide wrote me an extremely moving letter. He detailed how my words had encouraged him and caused him to persevere.
Humbled, with a new appreciation for the written word so strong that I chose not to speak for three days, it was then I really began to understand why I write. I will always be in awe of that man's courage, candour and willingness to go on. Through him I grew; and I am still growing through others.
I feel fortunate that I am growing amid so much stagnation in and out of prison. The letter writer eventually died of natural causes, but his words live on in me. In many different ways over the years I have passed his words, candour and courage onto others. He would be proud of that, as am I. It is my hope that his words, mixed and presently mingling with my own — in so many of you — will never die. I will leave you with the words of Thomas Carlyle, who once wrote, "In every man's writings, the character of the writer [is] recorded".
[The writer is a prisoner on death row in the United States. He welcomes letters commenting on his columns. He can be written to at: Brandon Astor Jones, EF-122216, G2-57, Georgia Diagnostic & Classification Prison, PO Box 3877, Jackson, GA 30233, USA. Brandon and his friends are trying to raise funds to pay for a lawyer. If you can help, please make cheques payable to the Brandon Astor Jones Defence Account and post to 41 Neutral St, North Sydney NSW 2060, or any Commonwealth Bank, account No. 2127 1003 7638.]