America's prison mentality: Common sense thrown behind bars

When it comes to issues of incarceration, modern American society seems to mirror some kind of science fiction story. There is some large yet invisible exodus of people occurring every day, and a concrete smattering of walls loosely resembling a room becomes these people's unfortunate abode. What is the difference between being jailed and being erased from existence? With the latter scenario, a person does not have to deal with the difficulties of mental and physical abuse, and the hardships of re-acclimating one's self into "normal" society. Indeed, the concept of the prison is misguided at best: throw the wayward, trouble-making citizens of society into a huge, dangerous, violent, and probably wildly unkempt facility. It is a poorly devised attempt at structured repercussion. A man who is found guilty of rape will likely, and ironically, endure the same assault while imprisoned. The question is, does this twisted form of punishment reduce the chances of this man committing the same crimes once released? The answer to that is murky at best, clouded by pervasive, outdated American ideals of legal discipline. Consider the death penalty; it is an act of outlandish hypocrisy, a "tit for tat" approach that embodies mankind's cruelest intentions and obvious apathy towards the human life. The lethal injection is no more or less humane than the electric chair, or the atrocity that landed said person in such a position. Why perpetuate murder as a meaningful element of American culture, to the point that we fight fire with fire, only stopping to mourn once everything has crumbled to ash?

According to influential Black feminist Angela Davis, the prison system is a catastrophe that must be abolished. The "success" of the prison system has largely been propagated through law enforcement rooted in racism, and the perpetuation of impractical and often irrational social rules. Even aside from the crack/cocaine jail sentence dichotomy, the prison system is fueled by racist motives. What else could explain the disproportionate amount of minorities imprisoned? Additionally, the prison economy is a thriving one: there are certainly people who profit from the morbid fact that millions of Americans are incarcerated.

Of course, the issue is not so simple that it can be addressed in one blog, one book, one day, or even one lifetime. Society must undergo a series of climacteric transformations before something so radical could even be considered. The idea of prisoner rehabilitation is largely ignored; it's arguable that prisons destroy more than they assuage, and are far more detrimental than helpful when it comes to handling criminals and crime. As a culture consumed by eroticized and normalized violence, it's only right that our country boasts the highest number of prisoners in the world. What this means for our society, and generations forthcoming, is an outlook more grim and dull than a prisoner's bar-eclipsed view.

On the importance of handwriting

My third grade teacher once urged me to enter a national handwriting contest.

Mimicking the elementary school cursive alphabet template, I developed a handwriting of my own that was stylish yet pragmatic. Never did my cursive sport gaudy loops or hooks, or awkward, unsure angles that suggested I hadn’t mastered the art of penmanship. I would have sooner dropped dead than have anything other than a modest blackened circle hovering above my lowercase I. My capital D, bulging ever so slightly and seductively before twisting into a semi-circle of perfection, flowed effortlessly into an A, an N of symmetric precision, and another A.

Now that I am no longer 8, I am decidedly less anal about my handwriting, in the same way I was, at least. I am able to morph into different identities within myself, vicariously through my right hand. Sometimes I’ll loosely slant my writing to the right, in a sort of pseudo-cursive that reminds me of big sweaters and just-warm-enough cups of tea. Other times I’ll write in all caps, wide and exact, imagining I am a busy architect who is artsy yet scrupulous. Oh, and don’t sign a receipt around me. I participate in perfunctory autograph mimicry. I can forge a signature faster than you can say, “Hey, stop forging my signature.”

These days, I find myself scribbling for sport. In class, I opt to jot down notes with a delightfully inky pen although my MacBook Pro just begs for me to click-clack away. At home, I write reminders to myself, notes to friends, and impromptu journal entries on any blank canvas my itching hands can sequester. Handwriting is like bike riding. You’ll never forget how. But I’d rather not chance it.

A person’s handwriting says more about them than could any 12-point font, Times New Roman, 300- to 500-word personal statement. I don’t judge a book by its cover, but I’m dangerously close to admitting that I judge a person by their handwriting. I’m simply fascinating by how many ways a person can arrange their letters on paper. In fact, the pursuit of pen pals is something that consumed my young life. I’d handwrite letters and cards until my fragile fingers ached. And I’d always pay particular attention to the way I styled the words on the paper, each one more like a mini-masterpiece than a trivial element of a sentence. I knew that when my pen pal opened my letter, she would simply delight in the confident lines, calculated curves, and immaculate H’s in “Hi! How are you?” Or maybe, like most people I know, she wouldn’t notice.

What I've learned in college and why it matters: An honest personal statement

Like many others, I have an inferiority complex. The biggest thing college has taught me is that no matter how good you are, you can, and must become better. You will never be good enough, because "good enough" is not enough. Standards are ever-rising, degrees mean increasingly less, and each new wave of college grads have either catapulted themselves into a battle royale for the entry-level job, or resigned to the fact that they will likely be students for several more years than they might have initially liked. I will be graduating with a B.A. in Print Journalism next month, and have recently contemplated what makes me the ideal candidate for any of these jobs that my peers are vying for. I have a résumé to outline my qualifications, but it hardly scratches the surface of my identity as a writer and reporter, not to mention a human being with a personality.

My skills are only minimally conveyed on paper. Isn't that the story? It's rather difficult to capture and express the depth of a person's creativity, dedication, and technical ability unless these attributes have been directly and concretely applied to some sort of verifiable achievement. Even then, each feat represented in a person's résumé is inevitably robbed of its true essence and life by way of format standardization. It is a precarious dance, the struggle to beef yourself up on paper while maintaining an honest sense of quasi-braggadocio. Work samples generally work to add a pulse to the heart that is a résumé. But many times in Journalism, editors have changed or rearranged the one sentence you were truly proud to have written, or adjusted your assonance so that it better fits their expectations. It's part of the journalist's career, this compromise of creativity. And so we are left to fend for ourselves in the treacherous job hunt, hoping our scrawlings can survive in a sea of seasoned writers, armed with whatever innovative tools we can scrounge up. Journalists are expected to be multimedia at minimum in this era, and rightfully so. There is no room for incompetence with writing, shooting video, editing audio, snapping photographs — you've got to know it all. And the problem is that so many of us are in the same situation: we "know it all." What, then, could ever set us apart from each other? Though I've been taught more than once about the value of neutrality in the journalism industry, one instance in which this does not apply is the marketing of one's self.

And so, here is my proclamation of self-worth and potential value to anyone who is even remotely interested.

 I am the first and only person in my immediate family to attain a college degree. I am instilled with a kind of wisdom that is now unconventional but representative of the American experience: hard work produces results. My parents earned every dollar they've ever owned through hard work and persistence, and a high school education. A huge chunk of the money they fought to attain went to providing me the opportunity to attend university, and I do not and cannot take that lightly. Every class I've taken at the University of Maryland has been a privilege to me and I strive to take full advantage of everything I've been taught.

I am the excited, eager, semi-perfectionist that attacks every challenge with unparalleled determination and enthusiasm. I am of a generation that is accustomed to the unpaid internship, which at many places is a plebeian equivalent to paid staff. I can do anything and I want to do everything, and I don't mind if pay is not through the roof. When I don't know, I learn, and my liberal arts education has certainly taught me how to learn. Life is about the enrichment of one's self; for some people, that is about family or religion or love. For me, it is largely about education, and not simply the retention of lifeless facts and data. I will never stop learning, because I know that reaching an education plateau is equivalent to career suicide in the Journalism industry. We must know what is happening, why, and what it means beyond mere face value. We must constantly look forward, and critically assess every element of news we encounter.

I am a work in progress, someone that is constantly clinging to my profession as an inextricable part of my identity. I am a writer and a reporter and it pervades every aspect of my life. For these reasons, I know I'd make the perfect addition to any organization — not just for my skills and expertise, but for my endless potential and desire to morph into someone even better.