Highly publicized incidents of torture by police and guards on prisoners raise the question of how those sworn to protect and preserve the law wind up becoming criminals. (See PNS essay by Joe Loya, 8.21.97, slugged pns-criminal). Another key question is how prisoners keep their sanity in a brutal world. According to PNS commentator Andrew Gauldin, many embrace the same "military theology" used by the culture to brutalize them. Gauldin, a freelance writer, teaches conflict resolution in prisons and juvenile halls in New York and California.

RIKER'S ISLAND, NY -- The young man was dressed in a gray jump suit, distinguishing him from others who wore orange. We met with a smile and he informed me that he was OK. I told him he had fifty dollars to spend, the Qu'ran, the Bible, Soul on Ice and Manchild in the Promised Land to read. He smiled again, and I began to give him the only lecture I thought appropriate -- the Ten Commandments.

He was here, at New York's infamous Riker's Island prison, because he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The courts saw it differently and gave him six months.

I was here because his parents asked me to visit him and make sure he was not losing his faith. I told them that I was a violence prevention specialist and did not do prison workshops, but after listening to their story, I agreed.

So that hot Sunday morning, I woke around 6:30 to make it to the mini van filled with mothers, babies and young women going to see their loved ones on the Island.

I never liked prisons. My brother makes a comfortable living as a guard, but I refused to interview for a position. I hate the atmosphere, the way guards treat you like prisoners of war and search your person from head to toe.

Instead I travel the country facilitating homicide and suicide prevention workshops, and speaking out against capital punishment and "Three Strikes" laws -- I do not support laws based upon a prison economy and the worship of a military theology. The United States has thrived on wars and enemies. Now the powers that be have turned these policies inward -- my country is waging war at home. It has decided to resolve its social conflicts by locking more people up and killing those defined as beyond redemption. I wanted no part in it and I speak out to youth and civic organizations at every opportunity.

When I arrived at the prison, the guards addressed me as if I was in boot camp. I was interrogated about any gang affiliation and reasons for visitation. Resentment built up in me as I thought of my young client facing this kind of confrontation every day. I heard a guard cursing an inmate and calling him an animal. I wondered how far my people had actually come since slavery.

In the visitor's room, after I delivered my sermon, I learned from my client that everyone here was associated with a crew, and that he was well taken care of. He was already recruited, there was nothing I could do.

Inside, he said, everything was tightly organized. He explained that like the real military preparing to make war with other countries, inmates were organizing themselves to undermine the system from the inside. He was completely brainwashed by the power and unity possessed by lifetime inmates.

My client was not stupid. He had attended Columbia University for two years, before tuition costs had made it difficult for him to continue his studies. He offered an analysis comparing the prison system to Congress and the Pentagon. I tried to convince him that all conflicts do not require violence. He laughed. "You know Africans did not come to America peacefully. You know Indians did not give up their land peacefully. And even you, with your training have had a gun put to you head by cops and gang members."

I could not argue with him. The guard came by and said, "One minute."

I looked the young man in the eye. "The future is what we make it. Malcolm X did not die for you to sit in jail. Marcus Garvey did not organize for revenge. Harriet Tubman did not free your grandmother for you to practice hate."

I was fighting for this young man's conscience. I knew that G. I. Joe, Rambo, gangsta rap and television had captured his imagination.

But I also knew that he loved and honored his parents, he knew "thou shall not kill" was more than a theory for a research paper. He and I both knew that the military theology sweeping the culture on both sides of the prison walls could well leave us dead or in prison.

We embraced. I promised to visit him again. He told me to keep it real. I told him to keep the faith. I knew we both had a long struggle ahead.