Kan
'n teologiese opleiding 'n verskil in die lewe van tronkvoëls maak?
Sinies
sal die meeste mense, en veral teoloë, hierop waarskynlike met 'n skaterlag
reageer.
Dit
is 'n vraag wat in ons land selfs meer sinisme oproep: ons tronke is oorvol en
onder die terreur van bendes verval. Vele mense se houding is dat 'n tronk 'n
plek is waar mense gestraf moet word - hoe slegter die straf, hoe beter. Die
laaste ding wat 'n mens sou dink hier inpas en uitkoms sal gee, is 'n graad in
teologie.
Maar
tyd om weer te dink. Hier is deel van 'n berig in vanoggend se NYT hieroor. Prikkelende
leesstof.
ANGOLA,
La. — Like most of his fellow inmates, Daryl Walters, 45, can expect to spend
the rest of his days in the infamous prison on a former slave plantation here.
He was sentenced to life without parole for a murder more than 20 years ago in
a state where a life sentence means just that.
Angola
is home to Louisiana’s sprawling state penitentiary.
Yet
there he was on a recent evening, preaching the Gospel to 200 men in a spired
church in the heart of the Louisiana State Penitentiary, talking salvation and
joy to murderers and rapists and robbers who waved their arms to an inmate
band’s Christian worship music.
“God
is merciful,” intoned Mr. Walters, an assistant pastor at one of many churches
scattered through this maximum-security prison, informally known as Angola.
“God gives us so many benefits.”
Mr.
Walters is a graduate of one of the most unusual prison programs in the
country: a Southern Baptist Bible college inside this sprawling facility,
offering bachelor’s degrees in a rigorous four-year course that includes study
of Greek and Hebrew as well as techniques for “sidewalk ministry” that inmates
can practice in their dorms and meal lines.
There
are 241 graduates so far, nearly all lifers who live and work among their
peers. Dozens of graduates have even moved as missionaries to counsel or preach
in other prisons.
But
Burl Cain, the warden since 1995, says the impact has gone well beyond
spreading religion among the inmates. He calls the Bible college central to the
transformation of Angola from one of the most fearsome prisons in the country
to one of the more mellow, at least for those deemed to be cooperative.
Watching men quietly saunter from open dormitories to church, many with Bible
in hand and dressed in T-shirts of their choice, it can hardly seem like a
maximum-security facility, although multiple daily lineups for inmate counts
are a reminder.
Mr.
Cain has used religion and peer counseling — backed by sharp discipline for
defiant behavior — to promote what he calls a “moral rehabilitation” of
individuals and a sense of community among men who might easily be consumed by
rage or despair.
“The
greatest enemy here is lack of hope,” Mr. Cain said in an interview.
Mr.
Cain has lobbied the state for more forgiving parole policies, with limited
success. “But if you believe in a higher being,” he said, “you’ll realize that
when you do pass, you’ll be free.”
Nearly
four-fifths of the 6,300 inmates now at Angola have sentences of life or so
long they are effectively so. The prison has its own nursing home and hospice.
Angola
was notoriously brutal and bloody into the 1970s. Court supervision and a
parade of reforming wardens improved staff training and introduced vocational
and G.E.D. programs, and the stabbing rate began to plummet.
In
Mr. Cain’s view, the biggest change came in 1995 when, as he took over the
prison and faced drastic cuts in school funds, he invited the New Orleans
Baptist Theological Seminary to open a seminary. To his surprise, he said, the
eminent seminary agreed, covering the costs with outside donations.
“The
Bible college was the game changer,” said Mr. Cain, 71, a portly man with
granny glasses and a shock of white hair. “It changed the culture of the prison.”
Some
other experts say the college is one of many factors, but the softening effect
of religion on life here is evident.
Beyond
the bachelor’s degrees, the college has granted hundreds more certificates or
associate degrees, producing a cadre of men who lead churches, provide informal
counseling in their dorms and take on what many describe as their hardest task
— informing fellow inmates when a loved one on the outside has died.
The
graduates include 15 Muslims, who took the same Bible-based courses but
minister to the 250 Islamic inmates.
Some
2,500 inmates attend church regularly, according to Cathy Fontenot, assistant
warden — mostly Protestant or Roman Catholic but also Muslim, Jewish and Mormon
services. The prison population is 75 percent black, with a small number of
Latinos.
