San Quentin inmates 'purge' past, aid others

TAMMERLIN DRUMMOND: TIMES COLUMNIST

IF YOU WANT to know where the mines are buried, get the people who put them there to help you.

That, in a nutshell, is the philosophy behind a new program at San Quentin State Prison that aims to use inmates to help stop the epidemic of young men killing other young men in nearby Richmond.

After months of protests, community meetings and city council pronouncements in response to the blood-letting -- well-intentioned but ineffective -- this struck me as a fresh idea.

With that in mind, I recently visited San Quentin to check out the program for myself.

On a recent afternoon, I sat at a long rectangular table in the chaplain's meeting room off the main prison gate, surrounded by two dozen inmates dressed in denim shirts and blue jeans.

They belonged to a group, run by prisoners, called the San Quentin Trust for the Development of Incarcerated Men. Their mission, they say, is to help transform inmates from liabilities into assets by building their self-esteem and "purging" the value system that led to their criminal behavior. The idea is for the men to be able to return to their communities as productive citizens rather than predators.

Richmond community leaders, and others concerned about the escalating street violence in the city that has claimed so many lives, are working with the 3-year-old trust to develop a program targeting Richmond. They had come to ask the inmates to use their influence to help stop the self-inflicted genocide in Richmond's poor communities.

As crazy as it may sound, these inmates are heroes to the young people in their old stomping grounds because of their past criminal behavior.

They have lived the thug life romanticized by a multibillion-dollar entertainment industry that bombards impressionable young men who see no future for themselves with the message that to prove their manhood, they must strap on a gun, treat women like dirt and act so crazy that even their own parents are afraid of them.

The inmates know, from personal experience, that there is nothing glamorous about being locked up, 24-7, with other angry, violent men.

Who better to convince the disconnected young people responsible for much of Richmond's violence that it's time to pull their pants up over their butts -- an ignorant mimicking of prison culture -- and start thinking about the consequences of the decisions they are making?

And who better to give us all valuable insights into why they behave the way they do, and what concrete things we need to do to give them a realistic hope for a better future, than the very people who have walked in their shoes?

They certainly aren't going to pay attention to out-of-touch fuddy duddies who don't understand them and can't relate.

But maybe, just maybe, they might listen to their fathers, uncles, brothers, cousins and friends.

At least that's the hope.

"They can say to them, 'Look, you think you're rough and tough out there on those streets, but wait until you come up in here,'" says the Rev. Andre Shumake, founder of the Richmond Improvement Association and one of the organizers of last summer's black on black crime summit.

Maybe they'll listen to people like Ke Lam, 29, who has been in San Quentin for more than a decade. Lam says he was convicted in 1993 of fatally stabbing a rival gang member in Richmond. Since being in prison, he has gotten his GED and insists he's a changed man.

He says he talks to troubled kids, whose parents bring them to the prison for a wake-up call because he doesn't want other young people to make the mistakes he has made.

Looking at his boyish face, I think about how much has changed in my life and the world since he "caught" his case. In 1993, I was living in Los Angeles, had just bought a Saab convertible and thought I was the you-know-what because I could call people from my car phone.

Back then, the Internet was still in its infancy. While he's telling me about how he has "purged" the values that led him to gang-banging, all I can think is what an incredible waste of talent.

What would our society be like if all of the intelligent, articulate men in this prison and in prisons throughout America had felt that they had alternatives to a life of crime. What if they had had supportive parents, decent schooling and positive role models?

What if they had made different choices? Others facing similarly grim circumstances did.

The San Quentin Trust program is the brainchild of Garry Mendez Jr., founder of the National Trust for the Development of African-American men, a nonprofit group based in Silver Spring, Md., that has run similar prison programs in New York State. It is funded through a grant from the California Endowment.

"Most of the guys in the penitentiary are right in the mix of the things going on over there in Richmond," says Mendez, who spent a decade heading up the criminal justice department at the National Urban League. "If you keep these actors out of the equation, you're not going to solve the problem."

Mendez decided to get involved in Richmond after he heard about the 2004 killing of De LaSalle football star Terrance Kelly, who was shot two days before he was to attend the University of Oregon on a full scholarship.

That was also when San Quentin inmates began talking among themselves about what they could do.

Since then, 17 Richmond men have been selected to participate in the program. Their taped testimonials will be played for Richmond youth.

A cynic would say that the inmates are doing this only out of self-interest. That they want to reduce their sentences, or if they're lifers, the program is a welcome break from playing dominos and telling old war stores.

They could be right. But the thing is, they also could be wrong. Will any of it make a difference? I don't know. But as bad as things are, what have we got to lose?

Drummond is an editorial writer for Contra Costa Newspapers and is a member of its editorial board. E-mail tdrummond@cctimes.com.