Scars and Bars Newsletter Issue #2

7/29/2019 Scars and Bars Newsletter Issue #2

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scars and bars

I’ erig a double life etece. Tak

you for reidige tat I a ot

forgotte.

— iate i Oio Prio

scars and Bars has visited over 15 prisons inOhio in under two months. These include ju-venile and men’s and women’s prisons fromminimum security all the way up to maximumsecurity facilities that house the death chamber.

It’s been an amazing ride so fa r. Hearing of the hope and change that is happening for inmates across the state of Ohio is truly inspiring. I’m convinced these events doas much for the Scars and Bars team thatthey do for those we’re serving.

The stories behind some of the faces havebeen both moving and heart wrenchingat the same time. We’re convinced thereis no “us and them”. Like one of our in-spirations, Father Greg Boyle, of Homeboy Industries in L.A. says, “We want to widenthe circle of compassion. Then, we want toimagine no one standing outside that cir-cle.” Recently, we held our first event at a wo men’s pr is on , Da yto n Corre cti on al. Th eplace was packed, and we even had one of

the inmates play drums with us during our music set. She was incredible!

One thing that always strikes me is theamount of talent and ability lying dormantbehind bars. One of my prayers at Scarsand Bars, is “God help these people see wh at the y don’t re ali ze is there . Th e pow-er, the potential, and possiblity of whatthey can be. That their tomorrow can bebetter than their today”

Recently we did an interview with our new-est member of Scars and Bars, Jeaneen.

She served an 8 1/2 year prison senteand has been out for 6 years and nowa 4.0 gpa in college. In the interviewtalked about the importance of affirtion and how every human being neit. As we travel from prison to prithere’s a common thread. Most inmhave never had someone affirm or valitheir worth as long as they’ve been aThey’ve bought into the lie that some lare more valuable than others.

Mother Teresa reminds me of this. wa s a sh in ni ng exa mple of sh ow ing ers their worth. Even when others disee the value of the untouchables, did. She was willing to touch those wsociety considered unclean when no else would. I’m convinced the peoplthis world, whether inmates or peoplsociety that we avoid, are afraid of, turbed by, and uncomfortable aroundthe very people who can bring us the m joy, hope an d meani ng in li fe . “T here ius and them.”


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When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visi t you? The K ing

will repl y, ‘ Trul y I tell you, wha te ver you did for one o f the leas t o f these

bro thers and sis ters o f mine, you did for me.

Born to Irish parents, I was one of thirteenchildren living in one of the most deprived plac-es in the UK and Europe. Growing up was toughand I remember being in the boxing ring fromthe age of seven. The church (we were Catho-lics) played a massive part in my dad’s life, we were all at church on a Sunday. During the week

I made money several ways and was smoking 10cigarettes a day and by the age of 8 about 20. My brother learned to drive at 11 and taught me todrive which came in handy when being chasedby the police.

On one occasion a friend and I stole a policecar and ended up in a chase. Police and dogs were surrounding us and we were hiding in theground oor balcony covering our bodies with arug. A police dog came within two inches of my face and miraculously never reacted. On another occasion I organised an armed

robbery. I knew every Thursday for 5 years at1.30pm wages were delivered in cash to a large workforce. So we staked it out. On the day of the crime, unbelievably the security van never arrived. I later found out after paying cash tothe workforce for decades they changed thesystem to direct deposit. Was this coincidenceor design? This way of life was becoming moreintense and crime was becoming the norm. Lateone night a friend and I were going to a bluesparty and at the last minute I decided to not go.

The following day I learned my fr iend had beenmurdered and was told his family was looking

for me since I was the last person to be seen with him.

His family surround me in a local bar the lowing day. As his brother was about to bringaxe down on my head the police rushed in said they arrested someone else for his death

My wake up call came when one of my so calfriends snitched me out to the police. My wo

crumbled, not because I was in cuffs. But cause my “friends” so easily sold me out. It wa wake up call to reect on my life and who friends were. My mom looked at me through grill in jail. I could see she was hurting for mShe said to me, “You don’t have to become environment you live in.”

Mom never gave up on me, and in time got better. In 1978 I met a wonderful girl a we’ve been marr ied for 32 years. She’s from very posh background. She grew up in Buckiham Palace, her dad was a Queen’s life gua Why would she even look at someone like m

Then one day I went to see our rst child iChristmas play. I went to see him, but instesaw much more. In time I had the most incrible encounter with the Holy Spirit and gave life to Christ. Reecting back I’ve concluGod protected me on many occasions. Whthose around you let you down as my “friendid, God never will. He’s forgiven me and was quite a simple act by just inviting HimI’ve been blessed with work for over 30 yea wonderful family and the love of God. changed me, and if He changed me He change you too.

-John Ryan (Birmingham, United Kingdom)

the story of john ryan (Biriga, Uited Kigdo)

who we are and how you can help: Scars and Bars is a movement basein Cleveland, Ohio dedicated to helping inmates nd their voice and purpose while in prison and up

release. This is done through our prison events, statewide prison newsletter, and website. We’re alsocommited to helping those being released live healthy productive lives by connecting them with mentors, employment and a support system through our website: www.scarsandbars.com. You can help b

telling your friends and family about what we’re doing and encourage them to support our work.


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W hen did w e see y ou sick or in pr ison and go to v isit y ou? T he K ingw ill r eply , ‘T r uly I tell y ou, w hatev er y ou did f or one of the least of thesebr other s and sister s of mine, y ou did f or me.

e verybody wants revolution. We al l want free-dom but won’t put our boots on. Show me theway that I am to blame. My face in the mirror tohear what I say. Hands blood red from the dam-age I made I am the cause of this cancer today. I

started changing the world when I started with-in. Transcended sin, left my heart in the bin.Thunder resounds feet pounding the pavement,thousands around me pounding the table...

The above lyrics are from a song I wrote notlong ago called “In the Face of Mountains.” Thissong seems to resonate with people where ever we go. From the red-light distr ict in Amsterdam,to the streets of London, to the hood in Cleve-land, Ohio. The “mountain” in the title repre-sents “self.” The mountain we face is ourselves.I believe the hardest thing to do as a human be-ing is to look in the mirror. To face ourselves;

our junk, our dirt, the chaos we’ve created. It’sso much easier to run from it, blame someoneelse or avoid it al l together.

I wrote the song after seeing all the chaos inthe world on the news. Senseless killings,crime, violence in the middle-east, the poverty of Cleveland’s ghettos, shady politicians, you

name it. Chaos is everywhere. There’s a move-ment called, “Occupy Wallstreet” happeningon the outside world. They’re a large group of people who are fed up with the government andbig banks taking advantage of people. So they protest, camp out and try to bring awarenessto the corruption of the political, nancial andgovernmental sectors of society.

As I was watching the news one day and think-ing about the chaos around me, somethingcame to mind. There’s a time to protest, toresist, and speak out against injustice. But is itpossible that we have participated, nanced andsupported the very things we hate? Have we ina sense participated in the creation of the de-struction we see all around us.

I know it’s a hard pill to swallow. Atleast it is for me. Am I partially to blame for why things arethe way they are in the world? Or even closer tohome; “am I responsible for why my life is in the

condition it is today?”

So right there after writing the lyrics to thesong, I began to take a good, deep look at my-self. I stared into my own eyes, and began con-sidering what it looked like to protest myself instead of someone else. What does it look likefor me to take personally resposibility for what I

see around me and for the present conditiomy own life? No doubt this is a dangerous scary path to take. It is the road less traveBut I can honestly tell you, this is wheretrue freedom is. Our freedom is in facing darkest demons, not running from them.

Something powerful and liberating happ

when we do this. Scripture (James 1:22talks about how the way of God and the of the Scriptures are like a mirror. When look close in the mirror two things happen You see things you didn’t want to see, (pimpimperfections etc.), 2. You see more clearlythings you didn’t know where there. (Eyelaspores etc.) In facing the mirror of the Mes we face the junk we don’t want to see, but ining so it enables us to see the amazing possities of what can be and the hope that tomordoesn’t have to be a repeat of today.

Genesis chapter 1 talks about us being m

in the image of God. So again we’re mirroreach other as well. Something powerful hpens when you can begin to see yourselsomeone else, and even greater, when yousee the image of God in them. “The root of mof the problems in the world go back to us getting we belong to each other.” -M. Teresa

i am the enemyARTICLE BY Patrick Dai


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P.O. BOx 18030 CLEvELAnD, OhIO 44118 / 1-216-323-7259

www.sCARsAnDBARs.COm / [email protected]

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from the pen

-a letter to every juvenile incarcerated

As a child I grew up in a broken home and alongwith my brother and sister was abused by my step-dad. On a nightly occasion we witnessedour mother being beaten by our step-father. Ilater moved with my dad to Columbus’ westsideand started hanging out with an older crowd. I

started stealing, selling drugs and doing what-ever I could to put money in my pocket.

At the age of 16 I was shot 3 times at point blank range. I was hit in my hand, my back and my legs. But by the grace of God I am sti ll here. Un-fortunately that wasn’t enough to wake me up. Icontinued living the street life and was arrestedfor my rst stint in prison at the age of 24. Notlong before going to prison I had my rst chi ld,a beautiful boy. Even after going to prison, andfaced with the responsibility of a new child Istill didn’t slow down.

In 2009 I was savagely beat in the head with abrick which caused my brain to swell and me tolose eyesight. But again, by the grace of God I’mstill here. During this same time I discoveredheroin and cocaine and began injecting drugsinto my veins. On and off I would get clean,but couldn’t seem to stay clean. At one point Istayed clean for 3 years until I fell off again andshot up. I then hopped on my motorcycle andbegan driving 90 miles an hour through rushhour trafc. I nodded off while driving to awaketo the sound of horns blaring around me andthe bike skipping the pavement downshifting.I was left unscathed after what could have been

a catastrophe. By the grace of God I’m still here.

I believe God has a plan for me. That’s why I’mstill here. Today I’m in prison nishing up theend of a 5 year sentence. While here I’ve stud-ied a lot and learned a lot about life and my-self. Almost every day I’m here it seems I seeyoung kids arriving with double or triple lifesentences at 18 years old. Despite what a lot of these young guys thought on the streets, life isnot a game. There is no street cred for going toprison. It doesn’t make you tough or cool. Onewrong decision can end your life. It’s not likethe old days where people would duke it out in

the backyard over something. People are losingtheir lives every day over stupid, childish stuff.This leaves countless mothers, fathers, and fam-ilies of victims and inmates grieving the reality of what has happened. I’m 28 years old now andI’m nally guring things out. Young offender,

put your life in God’s hand, learn to live andpursue love, loyalty, faith, respect and honor..

-ARTICLE BY Johnny (Ross Correctional)

the stranger Article by Phil Evans (Sydney, Australia)

Parents have such a huge inuence on us,

whether present or not. They shape much of who we are, and much of them, whether welike it or not, exists inside of us. My dad wasnever around. He left my mom when she waspregnant with me and trying to raise my 1 year old sister. I remember as a kid I created in my head this almost mystical image of my father.My mom always told me he was really tall. Iimagined he was off in a distant land ghtingfor some noble cause against unimaginableenemies. What else would keep him from hisfamily for so long? I dreamed one day he wouldcome home, worn out but victorious. He wouldbe ecstatic to see his beautiful little girl, so

proud of his son, and passionately in love withhis wife. I wanted to be just like him. I wantedto make him proud.

Then one day, Mum told me he was coming to visit on my 4th birthday. I couldn’t believe it.The moment had nally arrived! I remember spending hours deciding on my outt the nightbefore. I wanted to look strong and coura-geous like him. I wanted him to know that I’dbeen the man of the house in his absence, thatI had protected my mum and sister throughmy mums abusive second marriage. That I hadstood strong in the women’s refuge we were

forced to ee to; that I hadn’t cried when her new husband found us and followed us home.I hoped he wasn’t disappointed that I coweredbehind the counter where my mum worked while her second husband tore the place apart,and the police dragged him out screaming.

On the morning of May, 8th 1990, I couldn’tcontain my excitement. The life I’d known wasnow going to be just a distant memory. Dad was coming home, or so I thought. I can stillremember the sobs echoing through my body as my mum held me and told me he wasn’tcoming-‘something had come up,’ she said. In

that moment, everything I had dreamed about was shattered. There was no silver lining tothis story. My 4th birthday was one I’d rather forget. About a year later, he did show up-for one day-but by then, I’d grown up way beforemy time. I wasn’t under any illusions any more.

At 5 years old I had al ready tasted bitternesand it had already begun to dene me. And just like that, he was gone aga in. For ten ye we heard nothing from him. Life went on. Ihurt. It was messy. There were so many nig when I would cry myself to sleep. Unspeakathings happened to our family at the handsevil men. The bitterness grew. Anger becammy closest ally. I thought I was tough, thatnobody could break me down. I thought I’d

seen everything.

At 15, we tracked him down. We hung out afew times. Met his new family. The glimmerof hope begun to return; maybe I do have afather after al l. He even gave me a car whengot my license. My sister got married at 18 ahe walked her down the aisle. I couldn’t wato have him stand by my side one day on my wedding day. Then he disappeared again. Hdidn’t want to know me. For some reason I the son he wanted nothing to do with. I tooa couple of girlfriends up to meet him, hopito connect man to man. Nothing. Then I me

the woman of my dreams, and asked her tospend the rest of her life with me. She said I eagerly sent him an invitation to the greatevent of my life. The moment I truly becama man. I then received a letter: “If I came to your wedding, it would be out of obligationnot affection.” Those words stung more thaany of the hurts of the past combined. My Ddidn’t love me. That was 5 years ago, and uptill 3 weeks ago, the last communication I’dhad with him. I resolved to start a new legaI changed my last name back to his when Iturned 18, because it was my rightful name was now t ime to forge a new path. My moth

had always told me about Jesus, but at 17 Itruly encountered Him for myself. Over agradual period of time He had healed so muof my pain, bitterness and anger. I decided wasn’t going to let any of these things denme any more. I had a Father in heaven who proud of me and who did love me and who knew would never leave me. I became a paspassionate about telling others about this hI had found. The pain st ill lingered though,along with countless questions I wanted toask my Dad someday, but deep down knew never could: Are you proud of me? Why don you love me? Do you ever think of me? Who

you? Then, 3 weeks ago, I got a call from mysister.. (to be continued in next issue)

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Scars and Bars Newsletter Issue #2