Recently, I watched Ashley Lucas perform snippets of her one-woman show, Doin' Time: Through the Visiting Glass. (Sidenote: Ashley is an amazing person. Brilliant. Risueña. Warm. Helpful. Kind. Understanding. Need I go on? Check her out: http://drama.unc.edu/indiv_ashleylucas.html)
The show is a series of character monologues. But these characters are not your ordinary ones because they harbor stories that the general public marginalizes. Why? Because the general public cannot empathize or, perhaps more accurately stated, does not want to empathize with these characters' plights. Why? Because of fear and outright rejection. The characters in Ashley Lucas's show all have something in common: they have a relative in prison in the U.S. I speak for myself when I say that this is the first time I have heard these stories in such a genuine and non-judgmental manner. There is sadness, heartbreak, despair, etc. This is to say that we should not forget that the offender's family suffers, too.
Ashley conducted many interviews with affected families, including letters to prisoners. I applaud her. What audacity! And who would open up to a complete stranger about a sensitive and perhaps clandestine subject matter? Turns out, A LOT. I believe she had over 400 interviews and letters; that number certainly attests to these families' desires and need to share their heartbreaks. Indeed, they rarely have an opportunity to do so. So, Ashley created a safe space--not that this is a physical space, just a space--for neglected and unappreciated stories that must be told. And she allows an audience to really listen to them every time she performs the show. Now, one may ask: what gives her the idea that she can just get into these families' business like this, doing interviews and writing letters? Well, Ashley is the daughter of a prisoner. Of course that must have made it easier for families to talk to her. And even so, why couldn't anyone want to excavate the voices of the acknowledged and/or misunderstood? We are severely wrong if we think we can privilege some stories over others and silence ones altogether.
What I absolutely love about Ashley's show is its showcase of emotion and relationships, NOT criminality. It would be easy to dwell on the offender's crime(s) and to literally dance around the conclusion, "yes, that person deserves to and should be behind bars." But she deliberately omits broaching the subject. It's not about the crime--it's about the wife who is left behind to take care of her children and having to explain where daddy is, all the while with financial struggles and emotional devastation. That brings tears to my eyes.
It is not a coincidence, then, that when I saw some of Ashley's show, I was reading Sister Souljah's The Coldest Winter Ever. (It's meant to be when books come into my life or I decide to start reading one. They have perfect timing) In this novel, the Santiagas stick together--"family sticks together." That is until the father of the family is incarcerated; Ricky pretty much built a drug empire in Brooklyn, NY. One of the most touching parts was toward the end of the novel where Ricky falls to his knees knowing that his living was the cause of family suffering and downfall after years of big-ballin' and happiness made possible by drug dealing and drug money. It's like before this moment he thought, "When I fall, we all fall." What a tragedy when we find echoes of this in reality.
It seems to me that Sister Souljah made a similar artistic decision to Ashley. The protagonist--the narrator--Winter loves her father. Always. The novel's focus is not one of a fallen drug kingpin but about Winter's struggles to survive in the world after her father's incarceration. And she's a fighter because that's exactly what her father taught her to be. The reader also learns what happens to the other members of the Santiaga family. While their stories get filtered through Winter, it is clear that there is pain after the most important man in their lives goes behind bars.
I want to hear more of these stories. Let's not keep them locked up.
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