of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange sun rays
And dares to claim the sky.
But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and His feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird
Sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
And he names the sky his own.
But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
With a fearful trill
Of things unknown
But longed for still
And his tune is heard
On the distant hill
For the caged bird
Sings of freedom!
Maya Angelou
In my early years of teaching law, I used this poem to help students understand the impact of incarceration. Some years they got it. Some years they didn't. For me, this poem has always intrigued me. What are the cages we have created for ourselves that have kept us from being FREE?
During this month long celebration known as Black History month, I had an opportunity to spend the day with brothers at Collins Bay Penitentiary in Kingston Ontario. Collins Bay is a medium security institution and just like the other 6 in the area, it too has a large population of black inmates.
As a request to do something more impacting then they did last yr for BHM, I was invited to speak by the Black Inmates Association through YouCan's Peacebuilders Program for Prisons (This training program has helped inmates incorporate conflict resolution skills into their lives and into their relationships. This 8 module program runs for 5 weeks and those inmates that complete all eight get a certificate from Saint Paul University worth 3 credits towards a Bachelors. Degree).
The moment you walk in, you know why the cage bird sings. It is the caged bird who knows what freedom really is. It is the caged bird who behind the walls has the bars as a daily reminder of All he didn't do to be free when he had a chance. Probably the biggest of all the crimes he's ever committed.
Only the caged bird can sing a song of freedom all while dealing with all life's frustration, never getting to put theoretical overstandings of freedom to practical use. Only the caged bird lives knowing that if he was ever given another chance, he would make it work. Only the caged bird lives in fear of all that will be created to tempt him right back into the cage. The caged bird knows all who have forgotten him. Only the caged bird knows that potential has a shelf life.
On the two hour drive, I couldn't help but notice how many 'self storage' businesses have popped up all over the city. Why would I need a storage unit when I have a home? Got it, to store the things I no longer have a use for but have not figured out what I'm going to do with yet.
Prisons are 'self storage' units, warehousing those who don't fit the PLAN!
Sitting in front a almost 100 black men, my mind drifted to dreams of 'what if'. What if some of these guys didn't hate the world? What if some of them had their talents and potential nurtured. What if they figured out earlier they had a talent? What if the result of a poor choice didn't have such dire consequences? What if this place wasn't full of some our strongest men? What if what I have to say to them is all bullshit because really, I'm overwhelmed and don't know what to say? What if my judgments for these men aren't any different then anyone else in world? What if....
So many things that day were not like they were assumed to be. First, I was an invited guest and treated like that by every single person I met. The connections, that were meaningful, received immediate feedback. Some of them seemed to just want to share a word. One brother walked up to me to introduce himself. He said: "In your talk you mentioned Grenada and Nigeria. My mom is from Grenada and my pop's is Nigerian.". Got it. He just wanted to tell me that. Another, "your family is Guyanese. Me too!"
It was too simple. Too easy to just glide in there and feel comfortable to speak into spaces things never spoken before or things frequently repeated.
Maybe I am just like the others feeling like on that one day, what I had to say would change the lives of all of them and then they'd be free.
But the caged bird knows! Freedom isn't easy. It's not neat and clean. And it's not going to come find you. Sometimes looking for it will kill you.
The Black Inmates Association of Collins Bay Penitentiary are as free behind the bars as they were outside the walls. The jail created for them holds us ALL. I walked out that day but part of me was left there to wonder how easily that could have been ME.
When all energy was nearly drained. I had shared with as many as I could share with. The last brother I spoke to, 28 yrs old, gorgeously tall and standing confidently. He is the head of the Muslim brother's Association. I asked nothing about a single crime only how long they were going to be there. All answers before his, hit me just fine. His answer, "LIFE!", shook me until now! In Canada, that means 25 yrs. When I returned to my law class the next day, I asked students to do the math, 28+25=53. 53 yrs old!? That aint no way to live. So, the caged bird sings!
Sent with Love from my Crackberry devise.
