A workshop that helps inmates cope with life in and out of jail
LIU Juan sits in a bright room with a desk and two chairs. It’s not the first time. She has lost count of the times she has been called to the room to talk to people. Prison is a place where time seems to stand still.
The people Liu talks to could be lawyers, entrepreneurs and community workers — all of them are members of the Zhijian Assistance and Education Workshop formed by the Jing’an District Social Assistance and Education Volunteers Association and the prison.
The workshop is named after Kang Zhijian, a volunteer from the Jing’an association who has dedicated himself to helping people behind bars for more than two decades. The organization’s volunteers go into prisons trying to help inmates both while they are inside and when they eventually walk free.
Their task is not easy. Many inmates distrust anyone working in tandem with the prison system at first. Inmates like Liu are hardboiled.
She was sentenced to Shanghai Women’s Prison for six years on drug trafficking charges in 2013, even though she refused to plead guilty. Lawyers came to talk about an appeal, but she refused to consider it.
About a year after she was incarcerated, police charged her with a violent crime, which added seven years to her prison sentence.
“She claimed to be innocent, but I looked into her cases carefully and she is not,” said Zhang Yuxia, a volunteer lawyer from the workshop. “I think she knows the penalties are just.”
Zhang told Shanghai Daily that she has encountered many female inmates who tend to blame others for everything that has gone wrong in their lives.
“In crimes of passion, they often blame the man or others for pushing them to the edge,” she explained.
Liu, for example, insisted she received nothing from selling drugs. Her boyfriend, she said, took all the money. She also denied assaulting anyone but claimed that she had no choice but to act the way she did.
Liu suffers from high blood pressure and heart problems but refused medication. She told the guards that if she had a fatal stroke, it would end her pain for good.
Yang Fulan, an officer from the women’s prison who also works with the Zhijian workshop, said she always had to control herself when dealing with Liu because the inmate’s attitude was so hostile.
“It is our job not only to discipline them but to try to make them better people so that when they are released, they don’t return,” said Yang. “If we give up on them, then they have no one to show them the way.”
Things started to change for Liu after she met Kang. Kang promised to take good care of Liu’s mother and daughter, who now live together. Indeed, he often goes to the home of Liu’s mother, taking her food and helping with household matters.
“He told me what’s done for them,” Liu said. “If I died here, it would only sadden my family.”
Liu finally pleaded guilty in the third year of her term.
As Liu spoke, Kang walked in, bringing news of her family. “Your mother is doing well,” Kang said. “And so is the dog, in case you wonder.”
Liu lowered her head and nodded, muttering: “I miss them so much.”
“The road ahead is long,” Kang told her. “You have to take care of yourself so that when you leave here someday, you can look after her.”
Kang said no one behind bars is hopeless. Many of them made a terrible mistake in an irrevocable moment.
According to Ding Hairong, the administrator at Jing’an’s justice bureau who is in charge of social assistance and education, the district last year helped eight inmates with Jing’an residency find jobs after release.
Second chance
Ding said it’s a lonely life behind bars.
“Families may leave them, friends may reject them, society may resent them,” said Ding. “But if we don’t give them a second chance, they may be pushed back into a cycle of crime.”
A second chance was what Hu Yanhua needed most.
In 2007, Hu fell out with her alcoholic husband and the next thing she knew, her husband was lying on the kitchen floor with a knife in his chest. Hu, 27, only learned the fact that she accidentally killed his husband when she stood trial.
“Both the judges and my lawyer said I should appeal,” Hu said. “But I didn’t because I owe him more than that.”
Her 5-year-old son went to stay with his grandparents, and couldn’t forgive Hu for what she did. Hu cried herself to sleep every night.
Yang couldn’t stand by and watch the woman drowning in sorrow, so she invited Hu to the new art troupe opened for inmates.
The basics of dancing at first were too difficult for Hu to understand, but Yang persisted. “I wanted to give her hope, something to look forward to,” said Yang.
Eventually, Hu mastered dancing and it changed her. She wrote letters every month to her parents and in-laws. After five years, her in-laws finally wrote back, saying they forgave her.
“You have to earn a second chance and respect from others,” said Hu. “Even from the ones you hold dear.”
In her 12 years in jail, Hu not only mastered dancing but also earned a bachelor’s degree in public relations.
When she was released earlier, she started working at a water heater sales company. She had an exemplary work record but she didn’t tell her employer about her past. When the company manager eventually found out about it, she was asked to resign.
At home, Hu’s 15-yearold son still refused to talk with her. He dropped out of school. It took time for Hu to reconnect with him, but eventually, she did and the boy returned to school.
But life on the outside is still daunting.
Shanghai Daily arranged an interview with Pan Qi, an inmate who received help from Kang’s association and opened a clothing boutique after her release. At the last minute, she backed out.
“We can talk over the phone,” Pan said. “But I don’t want to meet.”
The phone interview didn’t go well. Pan dodged almost every question. The only thing she kept repeating was how hard it was for her to stand on her own feet.
(Inmates’ names have been altered to protect privacy.)