NO PLACE BUT UP FROM HERE

Terry Mapes, Iowa

THE VISION of the Iowa Department of Corrections is, “No more victims.” Yes, we put people in prison, but then put them back into society where they can victimize more people, or the same people. Currently 65 percent of those released are incarcerated again within three years. Besides locking them up and throwing away the key, what is our role?

Like me, they have their weaknesses and failures. I can’t judge them simply because they failed again. I can only offer them the hope that this time we will give them something, some treatment, program, or opportunity that will cause them to change. It’s not my role to preach, lead treatment programs, or deliver any other offering. My role is to ensure that opportunities are available to those ready to make the effort to change. I think people might be surprised at how many prisoners do wish to change, but just don’t know how or where to start.

It’s as with my faith—I didn’t deserve Christ’s death. Even though I’ve failed and may be experiencing the consequences, Jesus still says, “I took it. Let’s do better tomorrow.” For inmates, I can’t let them out until the courts or the parole board say so. While they’re serving their sentence, I can give them another chance to make this life different. If they fail today, I’ll promise to give them another chance tomorrow. Most will be our neighbors again. They are someone’s son or father and future taxpayers.

Prison is unique not just because of bars and guards, but for what it symbolizes. Prisoners have nowhere to go. There’s no place down from prison. It’s only up from here. Sometimes it takes several trips to learn that, just as it has taken me a lot of trips to learn certain lessons in life. What grace I can show to any offender is so small compared with the grace I’ve been given. How can I not show that grace?

For a few years we partnered with the Retired Thoroughbred Foundation. We had an African American inmate from Chicago with thick dreadlocks who was scared to death of animals—particularly big ones— but we taught him to work with horses.

At first, he tried to bully them around like he bullied people. He quickly discovered that doesn’t work. Horses kick and bite. It forced him to change his approach. He’s connecting with concepts like gentleness, confidence, and firmness without aggression or anger. He really figured it out. As the learning progressed we worked on translating those lessons over to people.

Eventually he returned to Chicago and six months later I received a call from his mother, in tears. “You have no idea how much impact you had on him in changing the way he deals with people. It’s the best thing that ever happened to him. He’s the most wonderful son.” For me, in this tough job, that’s a joy.