The Violence Prevention program is a proven effective model that is designed to be a peer group based therapeutic program for the incarcerated. The program was established as a continuation and extension of the Lifestyle Redirection program – a 12 week course that teaches participants various life lesson practices geared to replace negative and destructive mental and behavioral patterns with positive and productive ones (eg Men’s roles, Anger Management, Family Values, Coping Skills, etc.)
Graduates from the program who want to be a Violence Prevention facilitator, volunteer to be a group member in the program. The program consists of 30 to 40 members, broken down into 5 to 6 groups.
Each group has the creative control and license to come up with a specific theme or subject matter which they want to address, then determine a platform with which they want to use to deliver their message.
The group would schedule an event for the presentation to take place. That particular group can use the assistance of other groups and individuals who are outside the Violence Prevention program for their presentation.
The Violence Prevention program allows members to connect their creativity with their desire to address a vital topic. Subject matter from gang violence, domestic violence, family life, various prison issues, life stressors, and overcoming obstacles are artistically crafted and addressed through an array of mediums: Stage Plays, music concerts, barbershop forums, panelled discussions with guest speakers, contests, and more.
The impact was immediate and widespread. Attendance to these programs spiked to the point that there had to be two showcases for each presentation to accommodate all the people who wanted to attend. Each group works hard, practices feverishly, and prepares thoroughly to put on the best showcase possible. Attached is an example of a Violence Prevention program topic/showcase.
“March Madness” Barbershop Forum concept by Tyjuan Turner
This is a stage performance. The concept is simple: The state is set up like a barbershop with 5 chairs paired with barber and his customer. There is also a side table set up as a checker table occupied by two men.
Instead of a round table discussion, which has a formally structured forum, the barbershop discussion is a relaxed and informal forum.
The theme “March Madness” dealt with the ills of gambling which plagues so many, especially the incarcerated. One barber chair group would talk about where the influence of their gambling originated. For example, they’d touch on organized legal gambling like lottery tickets and the riverboat casinos which saw their parents patronize religiously when they were young until now. the next chair would talk about street gambling: Shooting dice, pitching quarters, poker houses, etc. Another chair discussed life gambling: Unprotected risky sex with a lot of women, the street life, etc.
This is the basics of the barbershop forum. The total time wouldn’t take 40 minutes. Following the forum, an impactful spoken word skit entitled “Buried Alive” was performed. Performers would act out the story narrated in spoken word form by the poet. (Poem attached). The entire “March Madness” performance lasts one hour.
Buried Alive by Freedom Sun aka Marvin Alexis
I want to take you back to the night when I died.
How you say? Well in short…I was buried alive.
Now I’d always known that Lady luck was a THOT,
but that night, man I don’t know.
Maybe it was either because I was just too thirsty to care,
or, maybe I just forgot.
But, she was looking fine as frog hair that night.
She was chilling in the back of the buildings under the lids of the
streetlights
with some familiars shooting dice.
Now these cats were on in the land, and known for holding bands, as well as for blowing grands on them white rollers.
My first thought was, shh, I could just poke’em with the smoker I had
toasting in the holster.
But naw, I wasn’t really sold on having to look over my shoulder everywhere
I’d go…so,
Instead, I just chose to show’em how the kid did it with them dibs.
I knew I was a beast with them pieces,
and more than likely, these dudes were sweet..sweet like bear meat.
So stangin’em would not serve as a feat I wasn’t up to defeat.
I had to get me some of what they were thumbing.
Yeah, I know – All money ain’t good money,
and everything that seemed good to me wasn’t good for me.
But homey, my family’s stomachs were rumbling,
and I was something close to being bummy.
Joe, I figured I could take a couple hunnid over there
and turn it into bread and meat, a few treats,
a wardrobe for the summer, a Chrysler 300,
some leftovers to mess over in just over an hour or so…so I thought.
With shovel in my grips, I slid over to the cypher,
dug me a trench, and grabbed the dice.
Before I knew it, that trench became a ditch.
And this chick who looked so fine from a distance,
turned coyote ugly with the quickness.
Lady Luck flirted to bait me in, then took my soul.
I put down the shovel for a minute to look around…
Damn! I was in a hole.
Not only did I lose the couple hunnid I came in with,
I was on the verge of losing 18 hunnid mo’.
I was one roll, one roll from going broke; My point was 4;
I was on both knees knuckles scraping the floor,
talking to the dice like, ‘Come on lil’ Joe from Cocamo – 7, Damn!”
Now how in the hell am I gon’ explain to my old lady,
that the money meant for rent and clothes for the baby, was lost gambling.
I gotta handle this, before I wind up on a ghetto camping trip…
That’s code for having to sleep on the back porch locked ass out of the crib.
I get my man to hold me a couple of racks,
that I know he gon’ make me pay back by swerving sacks of white squares.
At this point, I should’ve taken heed to the old adage,
that if you realize you’re too deep in a hole, stop digging there,
but hey, I’ll cross that bridge when I get a little closer to the stairs.
Now I rush back like I left something,
drunken off the consumption of desperation.
Stomach turning because it’s past the date of expiration,
of coming to grips with loss, no explanation why, and no patience.
Lady Luck began looking good again, well good enough to stand while I break fam and nem.
Back down, I toss a couple of hunnid to the ground to fade the shooter.
This dude recognizes that I’ve returned for more,
and now begins to get loose with the lips, spitting verbal pollution.
The dice come out: 7 – 11 – 7, 8, “Bet the 6 -8,” 6 – 6, then box cars.
Before I knew it, this vic was killing me,
and talking filthily while he was doin’ it.
With every roll, he was poppin’ at me slick and greasy like,
“Homey, quit immediately ‘ for you leave here with just the yellow on your teeth,
’cause this is just too easy.”
I was heated.
On top of the fact that this cat was lickin’ me,
he was talking slick to me.
I tightened my grip around that shovel and kept digging.
All of a sudden, that hole became a pit for me.
As my last bill evaporated, I just stood there devastated.
I watched as he walked away elated,
counting my paper in my face…
It went to my head like a taper.
He turned around as I was pining,
and with a boastful grin, he chimed in:
“Hey, if you’re ever in the mood to give me some more of your money,
come back anytime man.”
In that moment, I became Tiger Woods,
’cause I hit my tee, went for my 9 iron, swung it, and (POW!),
a hole in one!
Just then, dirt began falling down all around me,
making it impossible to see the sun.
I couldn’t hear the chatter, nor did I see the crowd scatter…
Nothing mattered but rage.
When I finally snapped back to reality,
the trench, that became a ditch, that became a pit, that became a hole,
was now a grave.
15 years later on a 25 at 100% bit.
I’ve long burrowed our of my grave and buried my shovel.
So all I got is the story about the night when I died.
The night when I was buried alive.