Many prisoners were once scared kids. How do we break this cycle of violence? | Opinion

I want to tell you all about an experience I had 27 years ago that still haunts me.

I was helping out one day in my son’s first-grade class. The class was filled with 6-year-olds squirming and excited to have a visitor in the classroom. The kids were precious and exactly what you might expect in a class of first graders.

Except for one.

One little boy was very, very different. This beautiful child, who had been born with Black skin, was filthy. He reeked and his clothes were soiled from constant wear. His affect was flat and he showed no excitement for the day’s activity. He barely responded when asked questions. He was so detached from what was happening around him, it was like his body was there but not his soul. I have never forgotten him.

I asked the teacher about him and she said he never did his homework. I offered to get parents to take turns helping him with his homework. The teacher replied that his father was in prison for murdering his mother, he lived with his blind grandma, and he’d just end up in prison one day.

I went home in a state of shock. At the time, I looked at the teacher as an authority figure and her word was final. The way she spoke about him made it clear I wasn’t to bring it up again.

I have relived that encounter over and over and wince in pain for that child. I still pray for him.

I told this story to Sister Helen Prejean, the activist working to abolish the death penalty who wrote “Dead Man Walking,” and she said many people in prison experienced emotional abuse and sexual violence, as far back as when they were small children.

A disproportionate number are also Black. While 26% of South Carolina’s population is Black, 59% of its prison population and 48% of its jail population are Black, according to the Prison Policy Initiative . And about three in four inmates executed in South Carolina since 1912 have been Black, according to Department of Corrections data . After the state’s first execution in 13 years this past Friday, 14 of the 31 men on the state’s death row are Black and 17 are white.

I think daily about our prisons. If I knew all the background stories of our prisoners, I’m sure I would spend the rest of my days weeping. These children grow up in homes where violence, disempowerment and insults are the norm. Imagine yourself in this type of situation and being unable to retreat, because the people you’re up against are in your home and school. Those repressed emotions finally get expressed as violence and crime.

At one point, these violent men and women were scared kids. How do we break this cycle of violence? As it is now, we wait too long to help and intervene. The institutions we have are underfunded and understaffed. We all want to stay safe and this requires more money and staffing. Currently, we wait until we’re on the defensive, after crimes have been committed before taking action. We as a society need to educate ourselves on how these violent cycles begin so we can intervene before more violent crimes are committed.

We owe it to the innocent little kids in our world to be their champions when they’re growing up in situations where no one has their back. American journalist Fox Butterfield wrote in his book “In My Father’s House” that children of prisoners are six times as likely as other people to be convicted or incarcerated. The Annie E. Casey Foundation estimates that the number of children with a parent behind bars at some point in their lives is a staggering 5 million .

For comparison, the state of South Carolina has a population of 5.28 million. Imagine if every person in the state of South Carolina was a part of that cycle of violence.

I know we can come together to do better for the 5 million children who need our help and attention. Please consider reading “In My Father’s House” and “All God’s Children” by Fox Butterfield to gain a real understanding of these families and how violence and crime are passed down through generations.

Whenever I see a mug shot on the news of someone who’s committed a crime, I want to know what their childhood was like. The breakdown that led them to crime didn’t start that day. They, too, were once just like that little boy in my son’s class.

Sherrerd Hartness is a speaker and advocate focused on the long-lasting effects of murder on society. Her younger sister, Carlotta Hartness, was murdered in 1977. She lives in Columbia.