The Inside Literary Prize

A speech and note on gratitude

In writing there is no promise of acknowledgement. There is no promise your intention will sprout into observable outcomes. I have been lucky enough to have had many honors assigned to my work and I am forever grateful this is true.

Recently I was awarded a prize that is the highest honor I could possibly imagine for a book like Chain-Gang All-Stars, my latest novel. This prize, the Inside Literary Prize, is the first major US prize chosen exclusively by people currently serving prison sentences. In my speech I tried to express my gratitude, so for those who did not get the chance to be there, here a video recording and transcript of the speech.

Text of the Speech:

A while ago I wrote an essay because I kept getting asked about why I write so called political stories… part of what I said was this

I’m interested in the ways we dehumanize each other. I’m interested in our capacity for good, despite the insidious hatred and fear all around us. All my stories … were tough to write. And yet, in that space of difficulty and fear, I found necessity and purpose.

I wrote Chain-Gang All-Stars sort of hoping I believed in its aspirations. In doing the research it required, in engaging with the work and learning from those who have lived inside I grew into a vehement belief in abolition and its principals.

What I’m saying is we can build more life affirming institutions. I believe we can hold each other with far more grace. Far more love. Far more care.

In writing a work that thinks about these things I feel I am moving in with and in purpose.

Those of us who use language have a great power to both see and shape. To understand and give form, to assign meaning or obscure it. It’s a great power and with that great power comes… um… significant obligation…

Bad jokes aside, language is a vital and volatile battlefield.

Because it is through language that the courts can allow and direct a great violence to sweep across a country, as is the case right now, targeting those who have immigrated here, like my parents did.

It is through language that we might reduce humans with labels like “criminal” so we might feel more comfortable being careless in how we treat them.

It is through language that genocide, like the one happening in Palestine right now, becomes a “defense initiative.” Or even a “peace,” or some other obscuring euphemism.

Recently, in speaking about the massive cuts to USAID Marco Rubio said the following :

"The 5200 contracts that are now cancelled spent tens of billions of dollars in ways that did not serve, (and in some cases even harmed), the core national interests of the United States"

It is reported by npr and several other news outlets that these cuts could lead to 14 million deaths to people that could have otherwise lived by 2030.

Somebody who thinks closely about language, about meaning, might ask: What is the core national interest? And why does mass death always seem to serve it so well?

I am noting this various subjects because thinking about prison forces you to think about harm. Which harm do you accept? Which harm do you allow, what do you condone?

Chain-Gang All-Stars is a book about humans in a system that is forged in violence. A system that has chosen to strip humans of their humanity. It asks us to think closely about the various systems we have in place and consider when we grew some comfortable with its violence. When did we learn to sit comfortably with murder? When did we forget the smell of blood. I am so grateful to be a writer. And I feel honored to be a part of particular tradition of the craft

I think it is the job of the writer, of those who understand language and its power to wield it with purpose. To delight yes, but also to acknowledge the harms that are rampant and unchecked and ask questions that might bring us all to a greater truth. To grow us toward compassion.

I am very lucky. For the last few years I’ve had the chance to go inside carceral facilities in Arlington and Mississippi and here in New York and have been truly humbled by the wisdom and grace of those inside. Real grace, the kind that is earned through appreciation and understanding and hard work of the self.

There is no question this is the highest possible honor a book like this could ever receive. I take it to mean that those who judged believed I was not careless or callous, that I used the language I had in a way that felt like truth. This retroactive mandate is a gift I can never repay but one I will always be grateful for.

I want to thank the guys at Mrs. Primack’s class in Shawagunk and the men at Parchman Farms and Arlington Detention and all those I’ve met inside, This award is dedicated to y’all. Thank you, Marrissa for being here with me tonight.

I also want to thank Meredith Kaffel Simonoff my agent, and Naomi Gibbs my editor. Josie Kals and Julianne Clancy and Mitchiko Clark and Lisa Lucas and everybody part of this book at Panthon. Much love to everybody at Blue Flower especially Miyako.

Much love to everybody in the movement, especially those inside, this award is yours.

And I’d like to thank my Father, who was a criminal defense attorney when he was a live. I think this book is the closest I’ll ever be to being a lawyer.

Ruth Wilson Gilmore was a light house for me all through this process. If you ever see this Dr. Gilmore, thank you. Ruth Wilsom Gilmore said, Where Life is Precious, Life is Precious. What if it were precious here. Thank you.

Photo Credit: Beowulf Sheehan