by Mandela 2.0
Part 2 of Bearing Witness: Firsthand Accounts of Incarceration
Series curated by Dr. Baz Dreisinger
Hi, I am Mandela 2.0. It has been more than two years since my release from prison, and I would like to take a moment to update you on my situation. I left Hong Kong nearly three months ago, and I have been working hard to pursue the things I truly want to do: sharing my experiences of imprisonment, getting back into running, studying English diligently, and organizing the more than one hundred open letters I wrote while behind bars. Many of those letters were written in metaphors, without directly describing events, but they captured my state of mind during that time.
From the very first day of my release, I was subjected to a two-year supervision order, and in those years, I went through countless ordeals. My former employer had initially agreed to rehire me, but just days before my release, law enforcement officers raided the company under the pretext of “illegal labor,” and national security police warned them not to employ me. Two months after I was released, I found my first job and felt genuinely happy there. Yet, it did not last long. I was soon arrested again on suspicion of “money laundering,” and lost the job. The charge was withdrawn after six months, but by then the damage was done. The same pattern repeated in three subsequent jobs, each lost under similar pressure.
Because of my criminal record and the political nature of my imprisonment, few employers dared to hire me, fearing they would be targeted by the authorities. But under the supervision order, I was required to have stable employment; otherwise, I risked being sent back to prison. Under relentless pressure from correctional officers, I reached a breaking point. In despair, I swallowed a hundred painkillers with alcohol to end my life. I was rushed to the hospital and later transferred to a psychiatric institution for a month. Even there, when the supervising officers came to visit, they told me that because I “could not adapt to society,” they were considering sending me back to prison. I was outraged. It was their repression that caused me to lose jobs, their persecution that drove me to attempt suicide, and yet they dared to blame me for “failing to adapt.” The irony was unbearable.
Release from prison is not the end of the story; it is the beginning of another struggle. I still remember the first day I stepped out of prison. The relief was overwhelming, and when friends came to welcome me, my first thought was: “1247 days, I have survived them all.” Yet because I had endured so much solitude inside, suddenly facing a crowd made me feel suffocated. I just wanted to withdraw. Humans are meant to live in community, but I felt pushed to the margins of society. Even today, in the busy streets of the city, I remain uneasy, unable to get used to the flow of people.
Prison and society have both left their scars on me. Since my release, I have struggled with mistrust and suspicion. I constantly fear betrayal, constantly worry that false charges will drag me back behind bars. These are not unfounded thoughts. More than once, after meeting with friends, I noticed I was followed. It seemed that my movements were being tracked in detail. On certain politically sensitive days – such as June 4th, July 1st, and July 21st – the surveillance and tailing became even more intense. Fear and anxiety have become part of my daily life; shadows I cannot escape.
In prison, everything was stripped away from us. Outside prison, the government ought to help ex-prisoners reintegrate, but the reality is the opposite. They speak of “rehabilitation” and urge so-called “conscientious employers” to hire us, but in truth, those employers are often harassed and punished. The Bible says: “For Your sake we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.” That is what we are—sheep placed on the altar, without a choice.
When I realized I needed psychological help, I found that even therapy could deepen the harm. What is said in treatment can easily find its way back to the authorities, especially the national security police. Perhaps some think I am too sensitive, but there are precedents for this. Even psychological care, which should heal, can become another tool of surveillance.
My past two years were, in many ways, unbearable. Yet, I did find one small sanctuary: writing letters to those still imprisoned. Some of them I know personally, others I do not. But every letter is a gesture of solidarity, an expression of care. Because we have lived through the same suffering, I cannot forget them, nor can I abandon them.
Now I live in a free country. It seems I can write openly about my post-prison life, but the truth is my heart is still full of wounds. Trauma and fear surface again and again, etched into me like scars I cannot erase. At times I long to confide in friends, but I hesitate, afraid of being a burden. Yet God, in His mercy, has placed someone who loves me by my side, an angel who walks with me. I do not know what the future holds, but I believe that if there is hope, it is enough.
Prison was not the end. Release is not the end either. Both carry their own “afterwards.”
in a crack
in a wall
in a courtyard
of pollsmoor prison
a profusion of plants
have found a footholdferns and weeds
wild thistles and comfrey
and teenage saplings
burst from the mossy
break in the
red-face bricksthey stretch their branches
to the open sky
and drink the morning
mists that shiver
up the back
of table mountain*
most people are also
tucked away within
inner pockets
full of stray and
overlooked things
and sanctuaries
Finally, I want to express my heartfelt gratitude to Dr. Baz Dreisinger. Her research and reflections on incarceration and prison systems gave me resonance and inspiration during my darkest moments. She reminded me that even when caged by iron bars, one can still use words and thought to break the silence and reclaim dignity.
—Mandela 2.0
About the Series:
Bearing Witness: Firsthand Accounts of Incarceration, is intended to highlight first-person accounts of those who have experienced incarceration. It is curated by Dr. Baz Dreisinger, Founder and Executive Director of Incarceration Nations Network, a global prison reform and justice reimagining organization.
About the Collection:
Lived Places Publishing is proud to partner with Dr. Baz Dreisinger’s organization to bring you a collection that aims to broaden the scope of real people’s storytelling in Carceral Studies.
The most knowledgeable experts on any government’s justice system are the people who have endured it. The Incarceration Nations Network Collection (LPP/INN) delivers the stories of and by people who have experienced prison firsthand and worldwide and are thus living witnesses to the global catastrophe known as mass incarceration.
Recognizing that the act of bearing witness can take many forms this collection seeks academic memoirs, essay collections, poetry collections, and other forms of ethnographic and autoethnographic tellings that expose the intersection of identity and place. Recognizing, too, that mass incarceration is a global phenomenon, the collection welcomes writers from across the globe and seeks to publish in multiple languages through translation rights and emerging tools.
Dr. Baz Dreisinger is Founder and Executive Director of Incarceration Nations Network, a global prison reform and justice reimagining organization. She is also a Professor at John Jay College of Criminal Justice, City University of New York; author of the critically acclaimed book Incarceration Nations: A Journey to Justice in Prisons Around the World (published in translation in China, Japan, Taiwan, Italy and in Spanish); founder of John Jay’s groundbreaking Prison-to-College Pipeline program; 2018 Global Fulbright Scholar and current Fulbright Scholar Specialist. Dr. Baz speaks regularly about justice issues on international media and in myriad settings around the world.
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