It’s an incredible thing.
There have been a few times in my life where this subtle, even invisible, collective has become more than just a place you live. When the Pen at Walla Walla closed the medium facility behind the walls, it felt like they bulldozed my neighborhood. Without realizing it, I’d found the closest thing to a home any prison could supply. To be clear, I consider no prison my home, but it butted up against the edge of that definition seamlessly.
On September 17, 2024, I had the privilege to witness spontaneous community when my best friend of thirty years secured his immediate release from prison. He was the last of four involved in his crime to release and served thirty-three years as an accomplice... the actual shooter in his case got out six years ago. Dwayne’s biggest hurdle was he just happened to be eighteen at the time, but that’s all over now.
In the weeks, days, and hours leading up to his release, there was no shortage of uncertainty. Though things looked great, there are never assurances with these kinds of situations... You can only plan so far ahead when you’re waiting on the judge to determine what the rest of your life is going to look like.
Fortunately, the best happened, and by 15:30 that day, Dwayne walked out of prison a free man. However, without community, it would’ve been problematic. One individual was scheduled to pick him up, but due to the last-minute decision of the court and the restraints that instilled, he was five hours out, leaving Dwayne stranded. The night before, we made several calls to arrange for any contingency, and our long-time friend and Walla Walla alum, Leonard, was in the parking lot a good hour before he walked out the door.
They were standing in Chris’s yard by count.
The next day, JD of the Seattle Clemency Project met Dwayne at Leonard’s place and added to the support. They got him fed, clothed, and put money and a phone in his pocket. JD drove him to Aberdeen where Loren had arranged transitional housing and even further essential life support, like a good coffee pot.
Gabe took him to the beach, got him behind the wheel for the first time since the SWAT team pulled him from behind his last, and found him a horse to pet. Cheryl sent funds, Machele toasters and more. Ais helped him navigate the web, access his email, and introduced him to the overwhelming world of online gaming. And I know beyond all doubt, Teja helped him with everything else.
And I know there are others, like Merissa and Amyra from the reentry services, Aaron and Marcy and their whole network of friends and family in Seattle, who are going out of their way to help my friend, nay, my brother, have the best chance possible at succeeding out there. Things aren’t perfect, but they’re just shy of getting there.
I am immeasurably grateful to EVERYONE who’s had a hand in Dwayne’s new lease on life, all the way back to the counselors, the prosecutor, judge, and especially Paul Holland, the attorney who took his case for free and never gave up on him. My eyes well with emotion each and every time I consider how incredible the support has been for Dwayne.
Community is everywhere, even when you can’t see it, but it comes about when we invest in it ourselves and treat those we meet as if they were already part of it. Dwayne’s proof of that.