Donathan's Masterpiece

I recently read an article about Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) being used by nonprofits in Chicago to prevent violence. Murder rates are falling nationwide and sociologists are trying to figure out why. Some believe CBT programming might be one of the reasons. I filed the article away in my mind, thinking that CBT might be worth trying in prisons one day. We are always looking for “what works”.

Later that week, I was at Burruss Correctional Training Center for a graduation ceremony. Before the ceremony began, I showed every student their grade. One juvenile student, Donathan, was dismayed by his C grade. “What did I do wrong?” I gently explained, “Donathan, you never memorized a poem and presented it to the class. Remember, I told you that if you had issues with memorization, you could write your own poem.” He reached into his pocket and unfolded a paper. “I did that!” he exclaimed.

I glanced at the paper. A bunch of words crossed out and light, scribbly writing. “Donathan, you know I can’t read any of this. I’ve talked to you about your handwriting before. I can’t grade this.” Donathan is our class clown. He’s normally exuberant and full of boundless energy, typically to the point of being disruptive. This time however, he was quiet. Our adult and juvenile horticulture classes were graduating together and the visitation room was full of 40 or so adult and juvenile inmates. The two groups are never allowed to interact outside of graduation ceremonies; understandably, there’s a little apprehension whenever they come together because each side is trying to sniff the other out. A thought occurred to me. My speech to the men that day was rather short. “Donathan, would you read your poem to the group before I begin my speech?” He quickly folded his paper and stepped back from me. “Donathan, I believe in you, you can do it.” Then, four words I love to hear, “Sure, Spence. Why not?”

Donathan shuffled to the podium. His undersized frame barely reached over the top. “Oh Lord,” I thought. Donathan was due to win the “Funniest Student” award later that day. I had no idea what he might say. To be totally blunt, judging by his past assignments, I wasn’t expecting much. I suddenly feared he might even include some inappropriate words or innuendo.

His hands draped over the podium. For some reason, he was wearing black latex gloves. Remember, he’s the class clown. He just does stuff like that. He exaggeratingly cleared his throat way too many times and began. And thirty seconds later, he sat down. The room paused with a pregnant silence, then erupted in applause. Later, one of the adult students approached Donathan. “When you get moved to Gen Pop, come find me, I’m a poet too.” Donathan beamed.

Four lines in his poem stood out.

You can’t be one foot in and one foot out

To finish you must start

Where you reside does not define where you will forever stay

It just leaves a mark in history and unlocks new pathways to start

Here’s the skinny. I don’t know anything about Cognitive Behavioral Therapy methodology or implementation other than what I read. I don’t know how it works or why it prevents violence. But I do know that whatever you want to call HeartBound’s programming, it just works. How do I know it works? Because I watched a 17-year-old stand in front of a group of 40 or so men, some of whom he had never seen before, and read a poem he’d written by himself. I saw a 17-year-old that’s normally terrified to speak in front of a classroom stand with pride and share his words with his prison community. I watched him speak of unlocking new pathways and starting new. I watched him make a new friend, one who I trusted to mentor him and protect him when he’s moved to the adult population.

There’ll be no national news story about Donathan or what happened at Burruss and that’s okay. As Picasso said, “To know what to draw, you have to begin drawing.” Donathan’s masterpiece had just begun.