Freeing Tammy: Women, Drugs, and Incarceration

Prologue

1 Prologue I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood . That the speaking profits me, beyond any other effect. — Audre Lorde Tammara (Tammy) Johnson stands before fifty men in an in-patient drug treatment program in south suburban Chicago.1 An ex-addict with a nineteen-year heroin habit and a felony record, Tammy is the program ’s job development trainer. The African American, with her stylized helmet of Black hair, stands poised with a proud carriage and an exquisitely groomed appearance. Now in her 50s, Tammy is beautiful— movie star beautiful—but that wouldn’t be relevant except for the fact that it played such an important part in the choices she made as a teen. Today Tammy’s job is to help prepare the men for the world of work, a difficult assignment since about 80 percent have criminal records and she has only about three or four sessions with them before the program will release them. Hard to tell, too, that only five years ago, then newly released from prison, Tammy sat in her dark basement, still confined by her feelings of worthlessness. Only her own ferocious determination to recover from her nightmare and find a place in society propelled her out of that basement prison back into the light. Her mission today is to instill some hope into the men, who make clear that they don’t believe they can be hired because of their criminal records and past addiction. Tammy explains. P r o l o g u e • 2 A lot of prisoners believe, “This is my life and it is never going to be any different.” Low expectations and no hope. They accept it, “This is what I am.” Absolutely, just accept it, “no big deal.” Tammy is here to change the men’s thinking. Pacing back and forth, she delivers a staccato lecture. They can find employment and they will need education. The way to do it is to be upfront with employers. Don’t wait to be asked about it; put it out there as a positive. Walk in there with your resume and be prepared to discuss your criminal record and how it will make you a valuable employee. But be realistic . If you have been convicted of retail theft, for example, don’t apply to Walmart. The men—about equal number of Blacks and whites—appear skeptical , but, hanging on every word, they are remarkably attentive. It’s clear, though, that they don’t have a clue about using external resources . Most can’t use a computer or the Internet to research programs , opportunities, or job postings. Nor do they have the basic tool for job hunting, a resume. So Tammy operates a resume preparation service. The men fill out a form, Tammy puts the information into her computer, and presto! change-o! a professional-looking resume pops out of the printer. In eight months Tammy has completed 225 resumes, many of them produced after hours because there is always a long line of people waiting to see her during the day. Shari Zavala, clinical supervisor of the men’s residential treatment program, tells me how spectacular the process is. Even having a resume gives them hope. They never had a resume before in their life. Most people don’t even know how to do a resume, and if you wanted to pay for it, they don’t have the money to pay for it. The interesting part is that they will leave here and come back to get it; that is a miracle. She has never done one that they haven’t come back for. That’s awesome.2 Although it’s a lot of work, Tammy wouldn’t have it any other way. When you get that kind of response, it makes it all worthwhile . I don’t want anyone to have to go through what I P r o l o g u e • 3 went through. That was painful. There was no one to hold my hand. So I try to offer what I didn’t have. If I would have had someone to tell me, “Oh you can do it, don’t listen to these people.” “You can’t do this”—that’s all...