50 @ 50 by Donzell Grant

Donzell Grant

The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people at-risk of, victims of, or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017 this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible, high quality opportunities that nourish the minds, expand the voices and share the personal truths of individuals who have long been underserved and underestimated. Through the process of drafting, revising and publishing memoirs, participants develop self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie and positive self-projection to author new life narratives.

Since January 2017 ConTextos has partnered with Cook County Sheriff's Office to implement Authors Circle in Cook County Department of Corrections as part of a vision for reform that recognizes the value of mental health, rehabilitation and reflection. These powerful memoirs complicate the narratives of violence and peace building, and help author a hopeful future for human beings behind walls, their families and our collective communities.

While each author’s text is solely the work of the Author, the images used to create this book’s illustrations have been sourced by various print publications. Authors curate these images and then, using only their hands, manipulate the images through tearing, folding, layering and careful positioning. By applying these collage techniques, Authors transform their written memoirs into illustrated books.

This project is being supported, in whole or in part, by federal award number ALN 21.027 awarded to Cook County by the U.S. Department of the Treasury.

50 @ 50

Donzell Grant

It’s intriguing how one minute could exist for a lifetime. Most times moments are just mere memories to the point where every time you recap the situation, a different fact changes.

Sometimes they are never remembered. Sometimes they are our go to when we need happiness and peace, and we remember them Word for Word and action for action.

Others hold us in captivity, preventing us from mentally, spiritually, and even physically moving forward.

When I first got incarcerated, it was in the afternoon of a beautiful sunny day. However, all I saw was black and white. After the forging of my experiences, my feelings were alienated to my mind; neither liked the other due to their unstable characteristics.

I recognized myself in the mirror, but the person within the skin was a complete stranger.

Two months after my 20th birthday, I started serving my sentence. I didn’t know I was serving one until later down the line, but I was arrested and held in the police station for three days with no calls, one bag of plain chips, a sandwich and a bottle of water. I had no sight, nor outside contact from the world except police officers. Then I was charged, chained, and shipped to the county, but by this time my vision was no longer blackand-white, it was gray and white. The police station took the only color I had left.

I wasn’t only blind upon my arrival, I was also scared and numb. My mind and body were weak, I wasn’t able to feed my addictions, my partial capabilities were dismembered, I had no confidence, and to make matters worse I wasn’t able to shower, so I didn’t smell too good.

I got put in a cell at like two or three in the morning. My cellmate, a complete stranger twice my size, was asleep, but he got right up when the door opened. He watched me carry everything I owned, up until this point, into the cell. The correctional officer closed the door and went on about his night. We talked a bit about where we were from, and who we knew, which I learned was basically the introductory conversation of everyone in jail. Then he offered me a bar of soap and a towel. In my head I’m like, “I know I need this cause I have nothing, but I had watched enough movies to know not to take anything from anyone in jail.” I went against it and accepted it with fighting him to the death, in the small cell, in the back of my mind.

Then I laid down and prayed to God. I figured I wouldn’t be locked up long, not only because this was my first time being locked up but because I knew that I wasn’t guilty of the accusations. Unbeknownst to me, despite the evidence they already considered me guilty. Nonetheless I wasn’t worried about my case. I was more so worried about my family.

I don’t have kids, but I did have a wife. Our relationship wasn’t the best, but we were working on us. I may have not been the best me, but to my mother, sisters and brother I was a great son and brother and I could’ve got the “uncle of the year” award, let my niece and nephew tell it. I was the mediator for my family. They looked to me for almost everything and I knew with my temporary absence, my family's tightness would loosen up.

The next day I woke up with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a “breakfast square” wrapped in plastic, and the past on my mind. Breakfast squares are little cakes that we get every morning for breakfast. It’s shaped like a square inside a clear wrapper, no name, no nutrition facts, so that’s why and how it gets its name.

I was finally let out of the cell, and I had a few more similar introductory conversations as I did with my cellmate, then I got in the shower. I didn’t know which smelt worse, me or the wet shower’s mold. Not even five minutes into my shower, I heard a lot of commotion and yelling going on. I looked and saw three people jumping someone.

I rushed my shower, not knowing what to expect, and knowing I needed longer.

I got out of the shower, put the same exact clothes that I just took off, I slipped my shoes on with my feet still practically wet, and strapped them tight. I didn’t know what was going on.

My mind and heart was all over the place. However, things eventually died down. The police never came, and everything was like nothing happened, besides the thick tension in the air.

I felt like I had been the one selected out of my family or “District” to join “The Hunger Games.” At that moment, I knew this was not a place conducive to reflection. It wasn’t meant to help rehabilitate the people it confined, it was only contributing to the likelihood that people will commit greater harm in the future.

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I was overly engaged in school, despite being so far away from home and locking up in a cell with a stranger every day. Right when I started getting comfortable with him, I was moved to another deck. Decks are designed to hold 20 to 24 cells, which means 40 to 48 people on each deck. There were three phones and three shower heads on every deck.

THERE IS A LINE FOR EVERYTHING!!

When I got to the new deck or a different section in “The Hunger Games,” it got worse.

I didn’t know anyone, nor did the deck show me a little love like the previous one.

The first day I had to fight to use the phone. Fighting over the phone became normal to me. I hated it, but how else was I to talk to my loved ones?

My birthday came around, and the only gift I received was that I was getting kicked out of school. Not because I did something wrong, but because I turned 21 and I didn’t have an IEP (an Individualized Education Plan). I didn’t even know what that was. I was crushed. I felt like when it came to me doing for others, it always worked for them.

However, when it came to me doing for me, it never works so I decided to take a step back from the phone to evaluate my thoughts, plus I didn’t feel like fighting.

A couple of days later I made a call and came to read the realization that I was more depressed using the phone than I was to myself. I didn’t understand when I missed everything on the other end of the line so much. I felt like I was playing tug-of-war with the world, trying to pull it to me to keep what I had, but after a year everything started to slip away.

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I ended up still choosing to chase my education. I got in a general education class, earned my GED, and became a tutor. Then 2020 came around and that stopped because of the pandemic.

At this point I had been a pre-trial detainee for three years and I started to get a bit impatient with my lawyer. Despite fighting for my innocence with the evidence on my side, I told him “Try and get me a 10 at 50”.. I knew that was only five years. I’ll give them their little convictions and I’ll be back. “I just wanna go home!” But his standpoint was, “take it easy, this is a waiting game.”

When I heard that I felt like, at least we finally have something in common! We both figured this was a “game.” The difference was that it was a recreational “game” with him, and he has a joystick. This is life or death for me. Not only can I die in “The Hunger Games,” but I could also be lost in “Jumanji” forever. This isn’t just a “game." This “Game” is real life!

Another year went by, but the difference with this year is that there wasn’t any court. We were stuck on the deck for a year straight, unable to go anywhere, including medical, unless it was for COVID-19 sickness. We were stuck! We were getting sick by officers who were coming in sick, people were dying, and we couldn’t do anything. We were trapped!

I felt left for dead and helpless.

Then court started back and another year slowly went by, but there wasn’t any progress with cases. We were only appearing for court through zoom just to get a continuance. I didn’t understand the whole process. I was practically held at a stand still in every aspect of my life, because of a crime I was alleged to have committed, in a matter of minutes, five years ago. It was crazy! However, the jail started to open back up, and I heard about a program that had all kinds of programs, so to distract myself from a five year long minute I chased the program deck. I felt lost in time. During the time traveling with no direction, I continued to work on me. My mind, my body and soul.

By Allah’s Grace I was called to pack my things because I was moving to another deck, that I learned was the program deck. When I got there the atmosphere was a little different. I believe it was because it was a deck mixed with medium and maximum detainees. I was only used to Max. The people didn’t matter to me. I was there for the programs. There were all kinds of program classes I was able to get into. I ended up taking and getting certificates for “financial literacy” stock class, “children’s home and aid” fatherhood class, “know your rights” access to justice class and “reading and writing legal philosophy," a Northwestern prison education class. I was mostly excited about the writing class. That’s what I do.

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At this point jail took everything away from me. I lost all my family except my mother and sister. I lost my wife who moved on. I had nieces and nephews, who had been born and growing, that didn’t know me, and the couple who were very young upon my departure lost sight of me. I even missed funerals of people who were very important to me, but the breakfast squares didn’t stop and the hunger games continued.

Another year went by. It was now a seven year long moment holding me hostage.

May 19, 2024 was a Sunday I’ll never forget because it was my 27th birthday. My seventh birthday straight that I spent in “The Hunger Games.” I don’t know who turned to the news on Sunday. I didn’t think much news came on on a Sunday. However, a couple of moments later, my case popped up on the news. They said one of my co-defendants were found guilty on all charges, the other took a plea of 28 at 50, and that I was still awaiting trial.

I didn’t know what to believe or how to feel. It said he was found guilty on May 17. Why they wait two days later on a Sunday to put it on the news? I felt targeted. I was to hear my pretrial motions in July that my paid attorney had no faith in. My lawyer gave me no hope, as I pointed to all the evidence in my favor. I began to get even more hopeless.

I had no attorney visit with my lawyer before I was to hear my pre-trial motions. I was excited to hear they had an offer on the table. I just wanted to go at this point. I had seven years and plus all my good time I’m just knowing the offer would be time considered served.

Fuck proving my innocence. All I’ll have to do is plead guilty and I’ll go home. Who cares about a background, at this point, even though I don’t have one but Donald Trump do.

I soon found out all my over thinking and happiness was in vain. He told me their offer was 27 years at 85% and 30 years at 50% ran consecutively. My hand started to sweat and inside started to scream as I did the mental calculation. 27 years at 85 is 22 1/2 years. 30 years at 50 is 15. Consecutive means one after the other. So that’s 37 1/2 years with no good time for the 85% sentence. All I could think about is “what evidence are they looking at?”

I ended up declining the offer and they told my lawyer they would drop the offer to 34 1/2 years. I’m like, that’s no difference. A black man’s life expectancy is only 62 years right now and in 30 years I’ll be 57. I told him no! We all probably be dead by then. Where is the room for rehabilitation? My lawyer continued to try to convince me to take it, saying, “You should get all your good credit… 35 years is better than 85 years… I don’t think I could win this case, and even if we beat all charges, but one the judge would still give you the max.”

His next statement was what I figured this was all about. He said, “The judge doesn’t like you.” I said, “How? I’ve been locked up for seven years, I only been in court, out that whole time, no more than seven hours around the judge, and all she ever heard from me is me stating my name for the record.” She didn’t even know me. He said, “Based off the case you’re fighting, she don’t like you. Plus, after one of you were found guilty, and the other pleaded guilty, she already feels and believes that you are guilty.” I’m like wow!

He knows how they feel, but do you know how me and my family feel?

I denied the offer.

I went on to hear my motion, and it got denied. I’ll never forget seeing my mother, the only person in the audience, crying as they denied my motion.

When I made it back to the deck, I called my mom to comfort her. I went to tell her to not be crying because we’re gonna be OK. She told me, “I wasn’t crying because of the motion. I was crying because before they called you out, I was watching the attorney and states attorney talk and giggle together. I heard the state's attorney tell the lawyer, ‘Oh, you’re a funny man, your client, Mr. Grant, will never come home.’”

I felt bad not only because the state's attorney had it out for me, but also because this whole process was tearing my mom apart. Due to this case, my family became victims to the state. The victims on this case became the entire public, so everyone, including the judge, took it personal.

Here I am now seven years and seven months still pre-trial detained. Still fighting.

I never thought I would tell my lawyer to ask the state for 50 years at 50%.

The five things to determine one’s rehabilitation 1. People need to live a life without crime, and/or violence. One needs to understand the impact of their actions on others, take responsibility for those actions, and make things as right as possible.

2. People need to develop the skill set to make good decisions, both to exercise sound consequential thinking, and develop the capacity to control their impulses.

3. People need to connect their actions to the consequence that follows.

4. People need to heal through old wounds that drives cycles of violence, to uproot the pain, heal what can be healed, and develop strategies to cope with what remains.

5. People need to disrupt any unhealthy relationships to alcohol and other drugs, and build healthy, strong, independent relationships that can protect the durability of these lessons in the fact of change, loss, and other stressors.

Have I not displayed this?

Donzell Grant I Am From Having nothing to lose it's only a crawl away From Hope being the only thing that drives you forward And moments, more than desired It's like you clinging onto your sanity by only threads Sleep is the only peace Even through tossing and turning, because dreams are privileged And unfortunately you're so fortunate That you get a glimpse to not see nor hear what's in your head Just another victim of circumstances at birth Stripped of every right the first day on Earth The fifth generation of a family deemed a curse Left alone and lost in a land of Disguise, yet smirk Because still my heart beats, bleeds, and thirst Holding on to empty promises of the future Because forever came early and tomorrow never arrived Love and Hate energy is similar Rehabilitation and correction are synonyms -Domesticate, tame, neutralized, civilizedWhat actually determines the justification of one being penalized?

Until the lion learns to write their own story, tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunter - African Proverb Copyright

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