Johnna Loreen, MTS ′18

“I’m glad that in recent years prison scholarship and activism is coming to the forefront so that people have to see it and listen. The more that we can empower people who are impacted to be part of that movement, the more likely people will have to reckon with these truths.”

Johnna works as an education navigator, advocating for and advising people who want to start or continue their education upon their release from incarceration.

Falling Down the Rabbit Hole

My path to prison education began in a course on policing with Professors Aisha Beliso-De Jesús and Laurence Ralph. I found many issues I care about—policing, and race and class conflict—intersecting at this place called mass incarceration. I felt compelled to learn more, to get involved, and to see what I could do to be part of that work. A classmate recommended I look into the Petey Greene Program, which supports higher education in prisons in Boston and other cities along the East Coast.

I ended up working with the Petey Greene Program and at MCI Norfolk for over half of my graduate career. I did some independent studies with Professors Kaia Stern and Diane Moore and read a lot of Angela Davis, Michelle Alexander, Elizabeth Hinton, and other leading scholars on these subjects.

Two books that I read were Kaia Stern’s Voices from American Prisons and Richard Snyder’s The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Punishment. I was fascinated by why our prisons look the way they look, why they operate the way they operate, and how that is deeply rooted in the Christian theology that helped shape this country. I fell down the rabbit hole of the theology of the criminal “justice” system.

Incarceration’s Christian History

One would hope that Christian theology would follow a restorative, healing, loving approach to criminal justice because those are the feel-good parts of Christianity. But there are also some things that are not so pretty in Christian theology or ways that it has been co-opted that do harm to communities and individuals.

The Protestant ethic of individualism that sets apart Protestantism from its brother, Catholicism, defines our punishment system. For example, the fact that solitary confinement exists, and that throughout history people were often put into solitary confinement with nothing but a Bible, comes from an Anglican idea that solitude would bring one closer to God. The fact that prisons were built by Quakers, in concept and construction, as an alternative to the death penalty is another example of the religious roots of our prison system.

We idealize individualism as a society, which is very Capitalist and very Protestant. One’s relationship with God is individual. It is the individual’s business, and it is their responsibility to redeem themself.

This idea takes the onus off the community to be part of somebody’s redemption, to take responsibility for the society we created and the people in it. It manifests in a punishment system that blames the individual and absolves the community of responsibility.

Erasing these connections is incredibly harmful because people are ripped out of the context of their family and relationships and expected to make something good out of that.

A View from the Inside

The implementation of education in prisons varies widely from prison to prison and state to state. In a lot of ways, my experience in Massachusetts is very night and day from my work in Washington now.

The prisons in Massachusetts are older. Everything is older and has more history on the East Coast, and that is reflected in the architecture of the prison and a lot of the attitudes around the prison. There is an antiquated mentality about what a prison is there for and how people who are incarcerated should be treated.

While volunteering at MCI Norfolk, I was escorted everywhere. It was very strict. There was a lot of distrust in all directions. It was a really stressful environment to work in. A lot of people I worked with there—some corrections officers, teachers, and of course, students—were phenomenal. But that certainly was not the whole experience. Additionally, college programming was brought in by universities or non-profits who worked outside the Department of Corrections (DOC). The partnerships were not always as cooperative as one would hope.

It was very different coming to Washington where there is a state infrastructure already in place for education in prisons. The State of Washington has mandated that certain educational programming be available to people who are incarcerated. The DOC partners with a local college—often a community or technical college in the area—so that every state prison has a partnership with a local education provider to provide basic GED and high school diploma studies, as well as some vocational programming.

Students often tell us that they wish we offered liberal arts education—a transferable associate’s degree, for example, or a bachelor’s degree. Having a contract with the state brings limitations though, and because of our state’s contract, we can’t use state funding to offer either. Outside of basic education, we can only bring in vocational programs.

The reason comes down to the perception that education in prison should be for a certain purpose. A lot of leaders, a lot of people giving the money, believe that education should lead to better job outcome, job readiness, or a vocational skill that is marketable. Those things are valuable and should be present in what we offer. But I take issue with that being the only thing we focus on in education in prisons.

There can be so much value in an education for the sake of education. I think that offering liberal arts studies and expanded degree programs offers an opportunity for a transformative experience and more humanizing spaces. One can develop a stronger sense of agency just through the act of studying, through the act of education.

A Corrections Education Navigator

My job is like a college advisor, but it looks very different inside of a prison facility. I work with people who are releasing anywhere from a month to a year out and want to explore the possibility of beginning or continuing their education.

I help them talk through their professional and personal goals, and whether a college education, vocational program, or other direction makes sense for them. Then I support them through the process, such as FAFSA, college applications, and all the little hoops and inconveniences that one has to navigate.

I was a first-generation college student, so I remember some of what that was like—not knowing the right questions to ask, where to start, what resources even existed for students like me. People who are incarcerated face a whole different set of challenges in addition to that.

That is why I like the title “Navigator.” I don’t have all the answers all the time, but I work together with my students to navigate the challenges and make sure that they have an advocate every step of the way. When they get to their release date, I want them to have an idea of what they want to do, where they want to go, and some solid next steps they can take.

I’ll admit I have mixed feelings about my work though. I would really love to say I do great stuff, it’s all part of this great system, and we’re making things better. But I am not convinced of that.

On a systemic level, I don’t feel like I do that much, or certainly not enough. I still feel like I’m pushing people out into a system that is not really meant for their success and is not going to support them in their pursuit of success. That feeling sucks. Being a Navigator or even one of several Navigators trying to do good work with people does not necessarily mean that we’re transforming the system in a meaningful way.

On an individual level, I do some good work that I am proud of. I love being a partner in my students’ success. It feels really good when someone gets into college and I helped them do that. Or someone gets a financial aid package, and for the first time, realizes that college can be a reality for them. That’s really empowering. I love being a part of that.

Where You Are Determines What You Get

There are a lot of barriers for students in prison. When you walk into the classroom, it may not seem terribly different. The differences come down to what students must overcome to get their education.

Students in prison do not have the kind of support that students on the outside do. They don’t always have advisors or tutors. There isn’t always a quiet place to study. Because of the pandemic, they don’t even have a library. And even when they do, they don’t have access to JSTOR or Google, or all those resources that students on the outside take for granted and use constantly. Some students also face the logistical difficulties of taking classes while in solitary confinement.

Students in prison are constantly jumping through hoops. It takes a very determined, dedicated person to be successful in higher education in prisons. Even though we do our best to make it as accessible as possible, the barriers are many.

We are working to open up more possibilities for our students. For example, a special kind of laptop was secured for students last year to provide more research resources. I feel lucky that in Washington the right people have pushed and advocated for that because I have taught in facilities where there is no such thing, and there never will be.

This sort of thing is important everywhere, but because every state is so different, what you get depends on where you are incarcerated. It should not be that way.

Transformative Education Is Intentional

It is important for those doing this work to acknowledge that a lot of people who are impacted by our carceral system have not had good experiences in education or with educators. Educational institutions can be incredibly oppressive, stifling, and unwelcoming. Many people in our programs tell us that their experience with education has sucked. This is one reason why I take issue with the idea that education is inherently good.

Some educators come into prisons with expectations that they will just deliver the curriculum and it will be of value. But it’s naïve to think that education is inherently wonderful or will automatically transform the learner. Even if a student gets college credit or a degree, education must be done with intention as a collaboration between learners and educators to prove meaningful.

Many scholars have worked on the concept of transformative education. A few are Kaia Stern, Diane Moore, and, of course, there’s Paulo Freire’s famous Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Their work shows how important it is to understand that education is not inherently transformative. If that is what one wants education to be, one must be incredibly intentional to make it that way. If done intentionally, education can help empower people in prisons to exercise their own agency. It can give them more tools and support to vocalize their experience, their story, their needs.

In that way, education can be a wonderful tool of justice and liberation work. But it doesn’t just happen that way. One doesn’t learn how to add fractions, and then magically have this heightened consciousness. It must be incredibly intentional. I’ve used that word a million times, but I can’t overstate it.

The Road to Prison Abolition

If we are dedicated to higher education in prisons as a transformative practice and a tool for liberation work, we have to think about this work in tandem with mass incarceration and the abolition movement of prisons.

Because education can be such a means of empowerment, education is very much in the conversation about mass incarceration. Education is not a fix all. It is not the solution. But it can be an impactful part of the solution by providing humanizing spaces inside of a dehumanizing institution.

The goal of any good nonprofit is to work itself out of existence. So, I think that education in prison must be a tool to help dismantle the prison, to help abolish the prison. That doesn’t mean to hell with everyone who is incarcerated now and who works in prisons though. It is a more encompassing approach than that.

Any approach to abolition is going to have many different facets of which education will be a single part. Angela Davis comes to mind here and her words about abolition being the creation of something rather than just the destruction something. As educators, that concept should always be in the front of our mind.

We cannot just deliver a curriculum. We need to figure out how to take our students with us on an educational journey and equip them with the tools they will need well beyond the classroom. Not just how to write a paper or add a fraction, but how to tell your story, how to make an argument, how to do research, how to have a debate.

When I go into my classroom and teach, I never depart from that mentality. I try my very best to work in partnership with my students to empower and embolden them to use their own voices and prop themselves and each other up. They are the ones with the lived experiences. They are the ones who are the most impacted. As educators, we should be their enablers.

The frank truth is that not everybody agrees with this. Not everybody is going into their classroom to do this. And I can’t change that. Nobody can. But the more people get involved who do have that mentality and the capacity to teach, the more meaningful our impact will be, the closer we will become to the goal.

I understand that there is a lot of weight behind these words and that because my job is to work in prisons many of my coworkers would not receive my opinions well. But this is what I believe. Education must be a tool for the broader goal of abolition of prisons. I don’t think it’ll happen in my lifetime, but one day, if there are no prisons, then there will be no need for higher education in prisons.

Find the Key and Set Them Free

Prisons are built out of sight so we can keep the people being held there out of mind. I would venture to say that our lock-them-up-and-throw-away-the-key mentality demonstrates that we are not supposed to think about people who are in prison.

I am glad that in recent years prison scholarship and activism is coming to the forefront so that people have to see it and listen. The more that we can empower people who are impacted to be part of the movement, the more likely people will have to reckon with these truths.

For people seeking to join this effort, take the time to find the people and organizations that have been impacted by our carceral system that are already doing valuable work. It’s important to follow their lead when getting involved and understand that this is work should be done in community and in partnership.

Get involved, but do so with intention and caution. I don’t say caution because the work is hazardous, but because the work involves a lot of systems and people with conflicting viewpoints. It is important to consider that before and during the work. We need to think critically about the experience of the people who are incarcerated, as well as the dynamics between them and people who work at the facility.

People do a disservice to themselves and their programs when they don’t think about how those dynamics are going to affect their work because they absolutely do. Anyone who wants to do this work needs to have a conversation and really talk through the assumptions that they have going into it.

Why are you going into this work? What do you hope to accomplish? How are you going to integrate yourself into this field in a way that is not oppressive or harmful? The reality is that there are people who do this work and cause harm. Many education programs, re-entry programs, religious programs go into these facilities and cause harm.

So, think critically about your positionality; put it all on the table. And don’t stop doing that. Only then can your good intentions become a strategy and your strategy a road to meaningful change.

Edited by Natalie Campbell; photos courtesy of Johnna Loreen