If I am in pursuit of justice, what is just in the disciplinary hearing system? 

I leave after my final hearing and carry on with my day. I hit up my favourite restaurant around the corner and order number fifteen, my go to on the menu. He grabs his meal on a tray. 

At that moment a question comes to mind: who am I to impose a penalty in the name of “corrective” discipline? 

I could be him. I was just dealt a certain deck of cards and so was he. But the prison system reinforces our differences with they chose to be this way. Didn’t they make bad choices and shouldn’t they live with the consequences? We label them frequent flyers caught in the revolving door, which is another way of saying they have been here before and will return again soon. The binary thinking—“them” and “us”, “good” and “bad”— is how the business of warehousing people thrives. By dehumanizing him, I help keep him caged— while I walk free.

But the complexities unravel the moment we choose curiosity. 

I’m told the process isn’t meant to be punitive. Yet, when directly faced with incarcerated individuals, the overwhelm kicks in. In those moments, I confront the uncomfortable truth: I am perpetuating that revolving door. The options I present are few and insufficient in the face of their lived experiences. Who am I to punish these men? Who are we to decide their fate? Why do I walk free when they don’t? 

To grasp one’s own helplessness in the face of another’s lived experience is humbling and shattering. 

He aged out of foster care, nowhere to call home but the street. She was trafficked as a young girl, while behind bars she’s pregnant. He needed a thrill, an escape, caught between the dream of normalcy and his reality. I don’t know what it’s like to be them. I think with this in mind it becomes about asking questions and learning about who they are beyond the charges. The stories I’ve heard are unimaginable. And it takes me back to the beginning: if I am in pursuit of justice, what is just within this disciplinary hearing system?