Pencils, Pages and Power

It’s amazing the how significant a small detail can become when it’s the little things that you live for. In a prison the smallest object can send the most pungent point. Let’s take a pencil for example, it is a utensil used for writing, it is a utensil made to allow mistakes to easily be erased, it is a utensil used for learning. Each and every week I step into Auburn prison prepared to teach, prepared to learn and prepared to tutor. The Auburn GED program is promised GED books to tutor with, pencils to write with, and scrap paper to work on. Each week we roll a small cart containing these materials into Room #10 and the other tutors and I prepare to help one another and the inmates.

Every week one of the first questions the inmates ask if for pencil and paper. Unlike other classrooms I have been in (for learning) these students are prepared to learn and wanting to learn. In order for that learning to take place simple tools are needed to encourage that learning (pencils, paper, and a textbook). Each week I dread when that question is asked. “Judge Alonna” they call me.

-Hey Judge Alonna can we have a book and a pencil?
-Sure one second.

I slowly walk across the room dreading the implications of my actions. I slowly lift the book. It reads GED. It is falling apart at the seam, the pages are ripped. They are not ripped out of frustration or anger from a misguided or “troubled” student like other textbooks I’ve seen. They are ripped from use, from countless nights of relentless studying and work. I pick up the book with two hands, carefully, not wanting to rip another page.

-Here you go.
-Are there pencils?
-Oh I almost forgot… one sec..

I turn to get the pencils. There is a pile of over 20 pencils, all of them smaller then my hand – none of them sharpened. I pick up a few, desperately searching for a point that is usable. I can’t find one – not a single a pencil. I begin to frantically look for a pencil that is large enough to fit into the pencil sharpener. I slowly turn and glance around. The inmates are making their way to the cart – one book out, two books, three… I’m going to need more than one pencil.

I slowly lift my hand to the sharpener and shove the pencil inside. I can barely hold on to the edge of the pencil. By the time it is finished sharpening I couldn’t imagine it fitting into any of the inmate’s hands. I try another… then another…

-I think I have one for you to use… Sorry it’s so small…
-Thank you Alonna.
-Your welcome.

I sit down to tutor. We begin to work algebra problems. As I sit and watch the inmate struggle to hold the toy sized pencil in his hand as he flips through the ripped pages I realize that this is the system. It’s an institution built with subtle and constant reminders of what the system think they are worth. They give you a classroom to learn it but no tools to learn with. Who are they really helping?

-That’s good! You did a good job here.
-Is that the right answer Alonna?
-That’s what I got! Let’s check in the back of the book to make sure…

As my finger slid across the page I found the page number with the answers.

-Its page number 357.

We flip through the pages. The last section has been ripped out.

The book ends with page 345…