As a kid, I used to refer to people as they were only confined into two categories: naughty and nice. Everything came down to Santa Claus’ list and how this would affect the amount of gifts you would find under your Christmas Tree.
Growing up, this childish vision of humanity gave way to something more profound and more authentic.
Being raised by a police officer promptly gave me exposure to life in the most brutal way. I remember, just by looking into my dad’s eyes, when he was coming back home from a long night shift, that I could say if he had gone through a good or a bad day. Swollen, red eyes were always meaning tragedies and losses.
Although he never really liked to talk about it, most likely to comply with his ethical code, in his 45 years of honorable service, he witnessed many sad events.
When I was little I would beg my dad to take me to work with him. And sometimes, he would allow me to stay there for a short amount of time.
The police station was like the biggest playground ever for me. I was fascinated by all the chaos and the comings and goings. I would love to sit there with Mr. Introna at the gates and wave goodbye to all the cars waiting to go on patrol All these women and men were the equivalent of superheroes for me. I would look at them and consider them like invincible warriors that can’t be defeated.
"Here they go saving the world", I'd repeat like a little song.
One day, I remember there was a young man sitting on a bench, probably waiting to be interrogated. His clothes were tattered and his gaze was empty from all the dreams he never wished to have. I said to my dad “Daddy, he’s a naughty boy, right?”. He looked at me, smiled, and replied “No, he’s not. He’s just someone who made a mistake”.
The concept of "making a mistake" at that age could be reducible to making some tantrums, disobeying mum, or anything similar. More than 20 years later, I know that there is an infinite way someone can make a mistake and still not be defined by it. The best thing about all of this is that my dad, a man who lived according to legality and high morals has taught me all of this.
When I approached the first American man incarcerated, I was very naive. I did not know anything about the American legal system and I was far from knowing the reality behind bars in the United States of America.
More than one year later, I know much more, although I can’t say I know all. What I do know though, is that over this year and a half, I was blessed by the opportunity to meet such extraordinary people who gave me so much without asking me something. I earned friendships that will last a lifetime and, most importantly, I understood how life is not just about being bad or good.
And even if it could surprise most of you, I didn’t meet these people in my Country or the outside world. I built connections that overcame the challenges of time, space, distance, and…freedom, giving me something to remember for the rest of my life.
In this blog, we won’t name sinners and we won’t name angels. We won’t judge and we won’t glorify. This blog will give voice to people who are often isolated from society by a stigma that doesn’t believe in second chances.
As someone who has been raised by the Chief of Police of my City, I don’t condone violence and illegality. However, I believe in a rehabilitative system more than a punitive one. And I believe that as humans shaped by imperfections we can’t claim life without claiming errors. And when we grasp onto this feeling of compassionate forgiveness, when we open our minds and unlock the rhetorical cages of prejudices we have closed ourselves in, it’s when we discover that beyond those bars, there are voices that are screaming to be heard. Men who would only benefit from your ability to listen, not just with your ears, but also with your heart. And with the simplest action of listening, we’re not just giving relief, compassion, and a second chance. We’re giving them hope.
And sometimes, all these guys have is that tiny opportunity to believe that the future might be better than the present.
It’s that powerful and magical feeling that can crack down rocks of sadness, pain, and sorrow.
And that’s how you survive the darkness.
Because that’s how the light gets through.
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