Room for a View
The Lost Boys
by Gina Bassinette
On a quiet back road just east
of New Paltz in rural Highland, surrounded by a high chain link fence topped
by two rows of razor wire, reside young men with names like Tupak, Isaac,
Pedro, Adam, Chris and Angel. They are residents at Highland Residential Center
(HRC), a facility for court-placed juvenile delinquents. I pass through the
heavily secured entrance twice each week to teach them the Eastern discipline
of yoga.
When I mention this to friends, most pat me on the back as if to say, “noble
deed.” When I tell them that I am working with 68 kids from the sexual
offenders unit, they begin to look at me strangely, and ask questions: “Aren’t
you afraid?” “What do you wear?” “You’re doing what?”
“With kids convicted of what?” These questions have crossed my mind
as well, but only briefly. For what could be better than giving these young
men a tool like yoga, which they can use to change how they live and view
life?
We are living in a time in our culture where we hand down death sentences
to children. The United States is among only a handful of countries that justifies
this form of punishment. Recently, Kip Kinkel, a young man who at 15 shot
and killed two classmates, as well as his parents, has been sentenced to an
111-year prison term. Funding issues and attitudes toward crime, including
those regarding youthful offenders, have created more prisons and less rehabilitation.
New York State will no longer fund college classes for someone who is incarcerated.
As many around the country search for answers to the rise in crime among our
youthful population, as well as something or someone to blame, I sit in front
of these young men reading to them from the writings of yoga masters, and
teach them how to do various yoga postures. They are rapists, thieves and
con artists. Some have killed. I find myself inventing reasons not to come
here; but more importantly, what happens if I do not?
Seated on 299 acres between a lake and dense woods, Highland Residential Center
is one of 25 facilities located within New York State that house youthful
offenders. These facilities are divided into four levels based on the nature
of the crimes committed by those residing there. Those sentenced for the most
serious crimes are sent to the highest level, labeled “secure”,
while less serious offenders are sent to the lower levels, labeled “limited-secure,”
“non-community” and “community-based.” The ages of the
offenders range from 13 to 18, and females make up ten percent of the state
youthful offender population.
The nature of the crime that the child commits also determines what court
they will be judged in, and what sentencing structure they will receive. While
a child who commits a less serious offense is seen before family court and
processed as a Juvenile Delinquent (JD), children charged with the most serious
crimes are designated Juvenile Offenders (JO) or Restricted Juvenile Delinquent
(RJD). These children are processed as adults before the Supreme or Criminal
Court. HRC is considered limited-secure, and the majority who reside there
are designated JDs.
Although sentences are also determined by the nature of the crime committed,
this has not always been the case. According to George Harrison, HRC’s
Facility Director, in past years the mandated sentence for youthful offenders,
regardless of severity of the crime they may have committed, was 12 months
for a misdemeanor and 18 months for a felony. “In 1978 a law was enacted
to put more teeth into Family Court decisions,” says Harrison. “The
Juvenile Reform Amendment allowed judges to dole out three to five year sentences
for 19 specific felonies designated as ‘most serious.’ The argument
was made [supporting the amendment] that a 15 year-old could murder someone
and get sentenced to only 18 months.”
According to Harrison, who began his tenure at HRC in 1978, the early 1980s
saw lawmakers sharpen the teeth of juvenile offender legislation as they passed
the Juvenile Defender Law. Currently in use, this law mandates that JOs and
RJDs 16 years of age and older who are charged with the most serious crimes
be prosecuted in the adult courts. Depending upon the severity of the crime,
those under 16 years of age could be tried as an adult in an adult court.
Sentences formerly reserved for adults—one to five years, seven to 12
years, and life—are now applicable to children. Those sentenced under
this law are sent to secure facilities to serve out their sentences or until
they get paroled. That is, Harrison stresses, until their 18th birthday, when
they are then sent on to state prisons to complete their sentence or live
out their lives. At this time, New York State has no legislation in place
to sentence youthful offenders to death.
In contrast, a limited-secure facility such as HRC houses only those designated
as JD. The general length of stay at HRC ranges from six to 12 months, although
some have stayed more than two years. During this time the boys will attend
an on-campus school, participate in recreation programs, possibly learn a
vocation, receive mental and physical health services, share dormitory living
space, or in the case of those convicted of sexual assault and assigned to
the sexual abuse unit, live in individual bedrooms.
While there is no parole system within the limited-secure level, upon release
to his family or to a foster home, each child’s daily activities are
carefully monitored in a process called “aftercare” provided by
the facility of residence. A combination of hard work and good luck can mainstream
a child back into school, or place him into employment. Hard luck, bad placement,
lack of family support or backsliding can cause his return to HRC.
Of the 200-plus males currently residing at Highland Residential, 75 percent
of them are from the five boroughs of New York City and Long Island, with
the remaining 25 percent coming from other parts of the state. A child’s
placement within a facility is largely based upon that child’s individual
“program needs”, in addition to what unit programs a specific facility
might offer. HRC offers three different units. There are 68 boys in its sexual
offender unit and 17 in the chemical dependency unit. There are an additional
10 boys in HRC’s mental health unit, which Harrison points out is a positive
result of a the bridge between the state’s Residential Juvenile Justice
and Mental Health systems. Forty percent of HRC’s population is classified
as special education, and histories of some of the boys in the special needs
unit show fetal drug and alcohol syndrome.
Dressed in their state-issued red sweatsuits, the boys file into the facility’s
conference room, which serves as our yoga studio. They enter in single file
and count off beginning with the number “one” as they enter. When
the tally confirms that all are accounted for, they are directed to set up
in lines of three. Most look bewildered and hesitate as I ask them to have
a seat on the floor. I begin to tell them about the history of yoga, and how
they can use it in their everyday lives. We talk about reducing stress, and
creating flexibility in their bodies for the other sports they play. I explain
how yoga is a tool to master their lives—that in order to change their
life, they must first take control and responsibility for it. I encourage
them to try. I know they have the potential.
We remove shoes and learn to stand. They begin by busting on each other’s
stinky feet. Some giggle, but eventually we get beyond that. They are reminded
that if they stand strong and tall, they will gain respect for themselves
and others will respect them.
“How you feel about yourself is reflected in others,” I tell them.
I ask them to close their eyes and to randomly announce out loud how they
feel in this moment.
“Tired.”
“Stressed.”
“Frustrated.”
“Bored.”
“Fine.”
Some just fidget and look away.
As we run through how to breathe fully and how to do various postures safely,
they glance up at my assistant Mort, who has come along to model the postures.
Mort is a volunteer from one of my classes on the “outside,” and
his presence importantly serves two purposes: first, to alleviate any potential
reactions that might surface if a woman were to model the poses; and second,
to provide a positive male role model for these young soon-to-be men.
As they go through postures, I intersperse core teachings on how to use yoga
as a tool to change behavior, mood and level of stress as to manage anger.
Most of my students are awkward and uncomfortable in their bodies. They are
also full of tension. While they laugh and complain some, I remind them that
as long as they do it to the best of their ability they are perfect. I remind
them to be kind to themselves.
A few are naturals, and faint smiles run across their boyish faces as they
are praised for their work. Their arms sport crude gang tattoos. They refer
to me as Miss, even though they know my first name. Many will give only last
names, for in their world they don’t know me well enough to be on a first-name
basis. They are pleased when their names are recalled during class. Looking
into the faces of these children, it is hard to imagine that they could be
guilty of little more than skipping school. But that is exactly how many began
their journey through the legal system, starting out as truants or PINS (persons
in need of supervision.) I wonder about their future.
“Some kids revolve back into the system,” says Venita Barnett, Highland
Residential’s Administrator on Duty. She has been working with these
kids since 1994 and acts as “watch commander” overseeing all 200-plus
residents during her eight-hour shifts. “Some have been here before.
Family life, the outside life on the street... can be very bad. In here they
know they will get food, they will not be beaten up and they will be safe.
And they know they are not going to be shot on the street. When the family
is not intact at home,” Barnett points out, “who’s to say whether
it is the family situation or if the child is really a career criminal?”
Explaining that the purpose of the facility is to, in a sense, deprogram negative
learned behaviors and replace them with positive ones, Barnett continues,
“They need to learn responsible behavior and unlearn other behavior [such
as] gang behavior and family behavior. Some of these kids were providing the
primary income for the family through drug money, or supplementing [their]
Mom’s income. Some have gang mentality and get used to [obtaining] fast
money. Many of the sex offenders were first victims of sexual abuse, either
by a family member or someone they knew. Some kids grow up in here and they
need a sense of direction. They begin to see as they get older, say, at 16
years old, they are not like they were at 13. And they don’t want to
be like they were at that younger age anymore. But they need consistency in
order to turn their lives around.”
When HRC opened in 1978, it housed between 40 and 50 kids. Up until fairly
recently, the youthful residents were taken out in supervised groups of four
to the movies, to ballgames and to hike in the local Mohonk Preserve and Minnewaska
State Park. A changing political climate toward youthful offenders has, to
a large degree, contributed to mandated restriction of all activities to within
the facility. In-house activities provided for the boys include both physical
education and recreation programs. Anything else, such as yoga instruction,
must be brought in from the outside. It is the hope that through varying and
diverse treatments, as well as activities, the potential for each boy to succeed
may be realized.
The most important aspect that can lead to successful rehabilitation is the
human connection made between the staff and the young residents. “The
objective of the facility and the recreation department is to create productive
citizens, not just warehouse them,” says Bill Connolly, Recreation Department
Supervisor HRC. Connolly has been with the facility almost 20 years, and he
is the person responsible for bringing me to HRC. He stresses the importance
of connection with these children. “We want to reach the entire population.
A kid who gets a chance to try different activities may get to feel good about
himself. A kid who is not so great at one thing might be really good at something
else.”
Activities include organized team sports, arts and crafts, writing, weight
training, participation in talent shows and now this temporary yoga program.
Connolly feels that by providing diverse programs there is a greater chance
that each young man may change the way that he feels about himself. These
activities are designed to “build self-esteem, work on camaraderie, develop
sportsmanship, build physical coordination, become team players and teach
them how to follow structured directives. They need to learn new ideas and
new ways of thinking.” And just as importantly, “They need to relieve
stress,” emphasizes Connolly. “If they cannot relieve stress they
will be non-productive.”
Cohen (not his real name) enters the first class with a novel under his arm
and loudly refuses to participate.
“This is not part of MY program!”
He is reminded by the counselor who is always nearby that the class is mandatory
and part of the program, and that his cooperation is appreciated. As fate
would have it, Cohen turns out to be one of the naturals. He has been through
all the recreation programs, refusing and fighting each one during his one-year-plus
stay. His journey to HRC includes being a victim of serious sexual offenses,
as well as a perpetrator of them.
When Cohen returns to the second class, it is without a book this time, and
he comes to the front of the room. He thanks the counselor for encouraging
him to try it and smiles when complimented in class. Cohen’s limited
life experience and obvious acquired accumulation of defense mechanisms make
him a kid who is difficult to get close to. He shows the chip on his shoulder
and chooses, more often than not, not to expose other aspects of his personality...the
perhaps more fragile, frightened and abused aspects that live within. When
he leaves Highland Residential soon at age eighteen, he will be placed in
foster care until he reaches the age of 21. His family wants no part of him.
If even one person in here can reach him, he may receive whatever it is that
he needs to change his life. Otherwise, he and a potential victim may become
merely another statistic.
By the end of class, the faces have softened. I ask them to try to sit in
a cross-legged position for a short meditation, and to close their eyes and
focus on their breathing. The tenets of yoga say that if the individual can
begin to focus their mind, they can begin to take more control of their impulses
and negative thoughts. Some of my students giggle or smirk. Eyes pop open
at the slightest sound heard in the room. Some appear calm and peaceful. The
request to share how they feel now, at the end of class, brings forth some
further squirming, while they share...
“Loose.”
“Tired.”
“Less stressed.”
“The same.”
“I don’t feel like punching someone in the face no more.”
They question how to use some of the stretches before playing ball, and ask
Mort: “How old are you?” “Does yoga help you?” “Do
you lift weights?” They want to talk with him at the end of class. I
explain that in the yogic tradition the teacher bows to the student, and student
to teacher, as a mutual sign of respect and gratitude. They seem to appreciate
this concept and readily return the bows we offer. They crack up when we chant
the ending “om”.
I am again plagued by the thought of how these boyish faces could have committed
such crimes to get them detained in this facility. Are any of them getting
it, or is it just one of their cons? Either way, does that matter? In times
of question I remember Cohen’s smile when he is praised, and the words
of Bill Connolly: “If you reach just one kid, you just might save someone
in the community from becoming a victim.”
I believe that we may actually be saving more than one.
Lorna Tychostup assisted in the writing of this article.
