Prisoners have Birthdays Too

Jesse Brodka

I had never seen a woman look so distressed. She walked in late to the meeting and took the seat directly across from me in the circle.

This was my first time attending a prison reform meeting. I had learned about various human rights issues in high school, but the injustices of the criminal justice system struck me more than anything. So there I was, just about two weeks after graduating High School. I had found this group online called Prisoners Are People Too. Not knowing much else, I drove myself down to the East Side and joined their monthly meeting.

There was a whole variety of people gathered in the community center. Some were former inmates themselves, others law enforcement, people with loved ones in prison, and then those who were just interested like me. We went around the circle, each person sharing their thoughts, feelings, and stories about prison and the whole criminal justice system.

The room was silent when we got to Margaret. And with puffy eyes and a blank face

she read the letter that had arrived that afternoon. It was from Casey, her youngest son.

He described the situation in detail. There was a fight in the prison. He wasn’t directly

involved. But when all was over, he took the consequences. They pushed his release date back an entire year and were moving him to another facility. There, Casey would spend the rest of his time in solitary confinement. It’s a punishment New York State prisoners know very well. Casey will spend 23 hours a day in a 6 by 9 box, left completely alone, with no meaningful human interaction. According to The General Assembly of the United Nations, putting a human being in extreme isolation for more than 15 days is considered torture. Casey’s sentence is twelve months.

Here, a young man, facing torture on a charge he didn’t commit and could not defend.

And a woman––a mother yearning to embrace her son for the first time in a decade––now told she has another year to wait.

Margaret finished the letter and began to voice her frustration. Her tone was desperate–

“How can this be? How can they do this to him? Surely, there’s something we can do, a lawyer, something...” No one spoke. There was an air of compassion in the room, but no surprise.

Voicelessness seems to be the norm for folks in prison.

Yet her tears were not coming from frustration with a broken system. No, it was much

more personal than that. Her heart was breaking, breaking for her son. She explained how the rest of the family had given up on Casey. Mom was the only one who wrote. She was the only one who went to visit. She was the only one who cared.

I knew I wanted to write Casey a letter, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Not until after the

meeting. I was talking to Margo, and she mentioned that his birthday was coming at the end of the next week. A birthday card, that would be easy enough.

And then I had the idea– “why stop at one?” I began reaching out to people, everyone I

came across that week– family, friends, and strangers. I carried around a little notebook,

everywhere I went. And with each person, I’d tell them Casey’s story, rip out a page, and ask if they wanted to write a little birthday note.

People’s reactions varied. Although most wrote a little something on the paper, others

politely declined.

Some of my encounters were particularly memorable. I had a cashier at a fast food

place write a short note and sign his initials. He came to my table fifteen minutes later, crinkled up the old note, and told me he had to write a new one. The young man added that he too had done some time and then signed the letter with his full name. I had relatives tell me they were extremely concerned. They said that doing this would put me in danger and I should stop immediately. I asked another woman who I had just met on the bus. She wrote a full page note ending with the line “I do not know you, but I love you”.

At the end of week, I put the notes into a manilla envelope and sent it off to the

penitentiary. There were fifty five little birthday cards for Casey. Some were heartfelt. Some were colorful. And most were simple and short.

That was over a year ago. And I write this now with the great regret that I forgot about

Casey’s birthday this year. Birthdays– the 24 hours we take out of the year to remember that we are alive and we are loved. Sorry I missed it, my friend. Hope you had a good one.