Kristin Butcher regained her faith in humanity after a deep conversation with community members and fellow women in prison. 

Just past the metal detectors, in a room at the Northeast Reintegration Center (NERC), a women’s prison near Cuyahoga Community College, Butcher shared a meal with two visitors she had never met and another incarcerated woman. 

Their table was one of about seven where incarcerated women and community visitors talked through dinner.   

The conversation and laughter drowned out the white noise of vending machines against a wall. People ate turkey sandwiches, chips, apples and cookies while sharing some of their most difficult moments in life, how they define themselves, and what a meaningful life looks like.  

Finding commonalities with those around her – their lives revolve around their children, they want to make the world a better place and help people – showed Butcher that “humanity still exists.” 

“There’s so much humanity in this room right now,” she said. “We need that. We all need that.” 

Noel Simms, one of several visitors from Saint Paul African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church, was one of the many community members who helped Butcher regain that faith.

Simms now considers the women he met at NERC friends. 

“We didn’t just have a meal with somebody. We had a meal with good people,” he said. “We had a meal with friends we didn’t know we had. But it took something to pull us all into this room to see those friends we didn’t know we had.”

That “something” was the Frederick Douglass Project for Justice’s visitation program, which helps interested citizens visit people in prison, share a meal, and have conversations guided by a series of questions. 

The program’s goal is to change perceptions about the people in the criminal justice system. On Thursday, about 30 people split into groups of four, then came back into a circle to share and reflect on what they learned from their conversations.

‘This is not Shawshank’

While driving from Columbus to Cleveland just days before her visit to NERC, Miriam Schuman saw a billboard that said “Return to Shawshank,” promoting tours of the prison in Mansfield where “The Shawshank Redemption” was filmed. 

“One thing I learned today is that this is not Shawshank,” Schuman said, drawing laughter from everyone in the room. 

It was the end of the visit, and the group sat in a large circle, going around reflecting on what they’d learned during their small group conversations. 

“Humans are kind of complex,” she said. “We can never be defined by a moment, an action … We’re too much for that.” 

Before the conversations began, Schuman and the rest of the visitors got a tour of the prison. They walked past women doing situps on the basketball court while hip-hop blasted through a speaker. 

In a former housing unit, the women have a salon where they can get their hair done by incarcerated women who have earned their cosmetology licenses at the Ohio Reformatory for Women, a prison in Marysville that offers a cosmetology program. 

The women share a living unit called a cube. 

When you enter, there is an area with a toilet and sink on one side of the door and a shower on the other. Up against that are two bedrooms side-by-side, separated by a wall. Each bedroom is outfitted with a bunk bed.

‘We bring out the girl in us’

Erin Jones has spent most of her time in prison earning degrees and participating in as many programs as possible.

Jones has an associate and a bachelor’s degree from Ashland University, where she graduated with honors. She is a member of Lambda Pi Eta (LPH), the National Communication Association’s official honor society. 

She has also completed two of four credentials for 5G wireless certification. That credential would allow her to start a career as a fiber optic or wireless technician. She plans to complete the other two credits when she’s released. 

Jones is also a recreation aide in her housing unit. She encourages others, especially women who are new to NERC, to get involved in everything.

“It sounds crazy but we play musical chairs,” Jones said. “We bring out the girl in us.” 

She organizes activities like coloring contests, cornhole, volleyball and kickball. 

“We just try to get us to work together and you see a lot of the defenses go down and a lot more women get relaxed because some women don’t know how to do their bid.”

‘Family means everything’

If someone were to ask Shanice Barker, “Who are you?” she would say “I’m Carter and Carlitos’ keeper.” 

“I’m a boy mom,” Barker said. “I really love being a mother.”

Her most difficult moment in life was when she was robbed at gunpoint.  

“Not knowing whether I would see my kids again,” Barker said. “That was the hardest thing I feel like I’ve been through. Prison is nothing.” 

Barker is spending her time in prison reflecting on her purpose, learning about herself, and healing from past traumas so she can find stability for herself and her family once she gets out, she said. 

“At the end of the day, family means everything,” Barker said. 

‘I didn’t have support’

Leshay Myatt was 13 years old when she had her first child. She was also alone in a hospital room in Gary, Indiana, two and a half hours away from Fort Wayne where she grew up. 

“My mom didn’t get there until the next day. I was alone,” Myatt said. “I was still a baby.”

Myatt was in the juvenile justice system when she got pregnant, so she was sent to a group home for pregnant girls. 

“It was scary,” she said. “I didn’t really understand what was going on and what was happening. I just knew that I was having a baby, that was it. I didn’t have support.” 

Myatt now has nine children between the ages of 12 and 30, including a set of twins. She’s spending her time reconnecting to her faith and working to understand God in order to change herself, she said. 

“I don’t have any responsibilities in here right now but to make sure that when I leave out of here, I don’t leave out of here the same way that I came and I don’t leave out of here with any intentions or preoccupations that can bring me back in,” Myatt said. “So I had time to sit down and learn about all of my mistakes. Find out where they came from, how the past definitely impacted my present and future.” 

‘I didn’t get caught’

Nina Parker has been in prison visitation rooms since she was a teenager, visiting family members. But meeting incarcerated women, sharing a meal, and having deeper conversations helped her connect with people she wouldn’t regularly talk to, she said. 

One thing she learned during her visit Thursday: “I didn’t get caught.” 

The room erupted in laughter once again. But the message was one shared often among community members. Everyone has made mistakes, but only some people got caught and ended up in the criminal legal system. 

Melissa Riccio has been on both sides. After seven years of incarceration, most of it at NERC, she was released in August 2013.  Since then, Riccio has been working in reentry, helping women find jobs and opportunities. 

“Something I was reminded of today is just how many goals and hopes and dreams are living in the hearts of the women who are just waiting to walk out the door,” Riccio said. “And I just want each of you to know that there are tons of us out here who are supporting you.”