I’m trying to keep up with Kim Kardashian. She’s been raising the issue of pardons for those of us who have “taken accountability for their crimes, worked hard to turn their lives around, and are ready to come home from our prisons and be with their families,” as she wrote on Instagram.
That’s a mission I can get behind.
But there are other things our lawmakers can do, in the meantime, to bring a bit of dignity to a place that’s known for separating people from their humanity. As someone currently serving two life sentences for my crimes, I know a thing or two about it.
This story starts 33 years ago.
I was two years into two life sentences at the Riverbend Maximum Security Prison when William Lloyd looked me in the eye: “I talked to someone downtown. You can start your business.”
Lloyd was a skinny dude. Six foot two and light skinned, he walked with a swagger. Lloyd was a Unit Manager at Riverbend, and one of the only people in prison to look at me like a person. It was 1991, but I’ll never forget Lloyd’s voice.
Joe Baker Jr. is serving two life sentences in the Lois M. DeBerry Special Needs Facility in Nashville, Tennessee. He runs businesses from prison and believes giving purpose to long-term inmates, not only those near to their release, creates better outcomes for society.
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“How you doing?” he’d rasp as he checked on us in our cells. “Keep your head up.”
Keep my head up? You don’t hear stuff like that in prison. It’s usually: Pull your pants up. Walk in a straight line. Don’t. You can’t.
Respect is something you only get from the gangs. I made my way up to Treasurer of the Gangster Disciples. But that wasn’t who I wanted to be.
My name is Joe Baker, and I killed two people.
That is the truth I live with, while my victims don’t get that chance, and their families are left with the pain I caused. I am sorry for what I did. I know nothing will bring them back. The only thing I can do is help others not make my same mistakes.
That’s the message of my podcast, Doin Time With Joe. Do better.
In prison, I’ve met a few people like Mr. Lloyd, and a lot of people like me. We know we did bad things, and we can’t take away the pain we caused. But we can prevent future victims by giving our lives a better meaning.
Governor Tim Walz has been an advocate for prison reform; his wife, Gwen, pushed higher education on the inside. Kim Kardashian and others have also realized that stripping people of their humanity in jail won’t help us do better, on the outside or the inside.
But in prison, you can only access programs when you are close to release. If you’re doing a lot of time, the only opportunity for advancement is to join a gang. I don’t know if I will ever see outside these walls, but I want my time to have meaning. That’s why I started my first business, with Lloyd’s help.
“What’s more important to you, kids or guns?”
That’s the slogan I put on t-shirts to sell. Everyone in prison told me I was crazy. The old-timers, prison staff. Everyone except Lloyd. He knew something, in 1991, that I would learn over the next three decades.
People need to feel useful.
We do better when we have things to do. When I got the t-shirt idea, I was still selling drugs. Still messing up. I had decades of time. I wasn’t going anywhere, so no one was going to invest in me.
But Lloyd helped me get my business license. Another inmate, Richie Hall, designed the shirts. I called almost every printer in the directory and told them who I was. I had to be upfront. Quick Print was the only one to say yes. A man there took a chance on me because he’d been in prison once, too.
We sold our first 25 shirts to the Metro police and never looked back. A few years later, I left the gang. A few years after that, I published my first book.
I didn’t do this because it was easy, or we had programs to make it happen. I did it because I found people, like Lloyd, to help.
Like Walz and Kardashian, Tennessee Governor Bill Lee has been an advocate for incarcerated people becoming better than their worst crime.
He said: “People, given the chance, can turn their lives around if we only have a system and a process that allows them to have that chance. This is how we make sure that we ensure safe neighborhoods. This is how we transform lives.”
We know what to do. Counselors can help us set up businesses and open bank accounts. Learn a trade we are interested in. Contribute. But most of these laws and programs aren’t open to people like me.
I pay taxes with my businesses. I’m here, but I’m out there, too, making a difference. I don’t want my worst decision to be the only thing I’m known for.
I’m not absolving myself of the pain I’ve caused. But I want to be a better human, and others do too.
Joe Baker Jr. is a father, grandfather, brother, and author currently serving two life sentences in the Lois M. DeBerry Special Needs Facility in Nashville, TN. In “Doin Time With Joe,” his podcast on Spotify and YouTube, Joe offers advice, alternatives to the criminal lifestyle, and cautionary tales about life in prison. His work helps others become better human beings, and avoid making the same mistakes he did.
All views expressed are the author’s own.
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