Since I’ve been working in prisons, I am continuously exposed to different aspects of humanity that has shown me the unique diversity within the prison population. On the other hand, my years of experience in customer service, particularly as a Barber working with mostly male coworkers and clients, has revealed to me some of the worst behavior in people. I often faced derogatory comments (most of which were sexual in nature) and was seen as inferior due to the male-dominated nature of the Barbering industry. How could a woman possibly do a good fade? Despite learning not to take these comments personally, and considering such interactions as part of the job, after nearly a decade, it has certainly left me feeling disillusioned and bitter towards people in general.

Looking back, being a Barber completely changed my outlook on men for a while. Even when meeting my husband (at the barbershop, ugh), I didn’t trust a word he said which made the beginning of our relationship very tricky for him. Clearly, he was up for the challenge.

Daily, men would sit in my chair and openly talk about their wives and kids then follow it with inappropriate questions toward me. It never ceased to amaze me how often they divulged their infidelities, shared their distaste for whomever, and looked at me as someone who is required to listen since they were paying me. Did I make them feel comfortable enough to speak openly with me or were they stupid enough to not see me as a human being much less an object? I would respond with an immediate judgment leading to their disgust in me; shocked that I “talked back” or disagreed, then getting their haircut by someone else in the shop. And believe me, they wanted it to hurt me more than it did but as a female Barber who CAN do a good fade, they didn’t know how replaceable they really were. 

I had many wonderful clients who supported me in my career and some who became really great friends. Those who became friends helped me through some of the toughest times in my life and I am forever grateful for them. I’ve seen families grow and expand which meant many first haircuts for a select few kids. Being a Barber was both wonderful and awful… However, I don’t regret it for one second. The expansion of myself; learning to interact with people in a world that is going virtual is a skill that most won’t have moving forward. 

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It’s been about two years in the prison and each time I enter those gates, I am met with a new experience and a new perspective. It’s a hard place to be because you feel that sadness, the anger, and the pure negativity. But you also feel the optimism and hope within a small portion of that population. 

When I tell people what I do, the reactions are typically the same. They’re often intrigued and ask a ton of questions but I do get the opposite response on occasion. Why am I giving that population the time of day? Aren’t I scared of one of them attacking me?

I struggled with this at first because yes, most of these men have been convicted of incredibly heinous crimes that are inexcusable. I cannot and do not support them in what they did but I do support them in finding out their why. That balance of punishment and rehabilitation wavers toward one side more than the other. But in reality, a large majority of the population will be reintegrating into society whether society likes it or not. The law is the law, a sentence is a sentence. Why not give them the resources to have a successful reintegration? If they, in fact, will never be a free person again, why not allow them to find peace and meaning in prison? You don’t see them, they don’t see you.

My purpose is to simply be a present body, without judgment. 

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I remember watching the movie Dead Man Walking. This movie is based on the true story of a Louisiana nun and her spiritual relationship with a man who was convicted of raping and murdering two teenage girls and was ultimately executed. Sister Helen Prejean wrote the book Dead Man Walking, sharing her letters and experience with the convicted, Robert Lee Willie.

People on death row, in most states, are authorized a spiritual advisor prior to their execution to help provide peace within their souls before their lives will be taken as a result of their crimes. This movie and Sister Helen’s book are an incredible depiction of the series of events following a criminal act; accountability, acceptance, and forgiveness.   

The incarcerated character – played by Sean Penn – is ultimately executed and I specifically remember watching that movie for the first time and feeling an incredible amount of compassion and empathy towards the man who committed those awful crimes. Sean Penn ‘s terrifyingly exceptional performance in that scene of execution left me inconsolable. 

After you witness his spiritual journey, you realize that he is still a human but most importantly, he realizes himself that he is a human. Working with the men in prison shows me that they are human. 

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I was invited to attend a concert that was inspired by music from around the world. The band included 12 incarcerated men known as The Greater Good who performed 14 incredible songs. Some were covers and some were written by members of the band. 

Of the 100,000+ incarcerated men and women in California, I sat in a large prison chapel with a very small fraction of that population and shared the power of music. Aside from their blues, you wouldn’t have noticed that you’re surrounded by convicted felons, just lovers of music.

The band was carefully orchestrated, each man playing an instrument so eloquently. Violins, cello, trumpets, guitars, drums, keyboard and even a fiddle. On the outside, in no world, would these 12 men ever be seen together let alone seen creating and performing music, especially music from all around the world. 

At that moment, they weren’t inmates. They were artists, sharing their art with people who were excited to listen. They were composers, musicians, and singers who spent many hours rehearsing, practicing, and working cohesively together. They were a band… and a really good one.

I was especially impressed with the main vocalist, Moises. He was a younger Latino guy, likely in his 30s who had an incredible voice. Not only would he sing, he was a percussionist and used his hands to beat on the drums so rhythmically, not losing a note in his voice. He sang a song called Gema, a song written by Los Dandys, a classic Latino group who was popular in the 50s. This song was special to Moises; he shared that his father would often sing this song to his mother, spreading love in a tense household.

Listen to Gema here. 

The band came together beautifully for this song. Again, such a diverse group of people who likely would never interact in the free world, playing this song as if it were their own. This song reminded me of my Dad and the history he has had, the troubles he seems to constantly face, but it also made me appreciate his culture so much more, and also wishing he was there to see this with me.

During this song, I looked over into another church pew and saw a young guy who had tears in his eyes. I noticed him earlier: tattooed, slick haircut, noticeably uncomfortable and fidgeting in his seat. His head was down, presumably to hide his uncontrollable emotions. Something about that song resonated with him because he lifted his head right up, his face very calm, and he began to make the sign of the cross on his chest and began to pray. 

I don’t know who that man was or what he did but I do know that he felt something. He was a human, feeling human things in a room full of hope and humanity. 

I’m less hopeful in the free world. 

I’m still jaded at the uncertainty of the world; jaded by the men I encountered while Barbering, with a false positive ego that disrupts everyone around them. But somehow, I’m able to find inspiration and hope from those who don’t have anything else left to lose. 

That is why I work with the incarcerated population.