Music is essential to every Living Hyphen workshop. Whether online or in-person, whether with young students or seniors, playing music is a non-negotiable. And our gatherings in the prison system are no exception.
It is, however, a lot more challenging to bring music inside.
As you can probably guess, you can’t just bring anything into a prison. You need approval for everything that goes in, and there are even greater restrictions around electronics. No cellphones, no laptops, nothing with Bluetooth technology.
For these workshops in the prison system, I had to find an old MP3 player that I could then attach to a speaker with an aux cable. Bringing in this technology required that I share the exact model, make, and serial number with the warden, who would then arrange a “gate pass”. Once I arrived at the prison, I would then have to show my electronics and run them through security. It’s a whole involved process for something we barely have to think about in our daily lives.
The Power of Music
I love playing music in our workshops. It’s a vibe, yes. But selfishly, it’s also one of the few times in my life when I get to play DJ, taking the time and care to curate playlists that I think might speak to the people in the room. It brings me back to a younger version of myself when I would spend endless hours discovering new music and making mixtapes, and then later in my teen years, downloading songs and burning CDs for friends and lovers. I get the same kick doing this for Living Hyphen’s workshops.
I love to play upbeat and fun songs as soon as people walk into the space. It’s my way of welcoming everyone into the room and signaling that this isn’t just any ol’ writing workshop. It’s my way of easing the nerves that might come from entering a space where you don’t know anyone or are being asked to do something you might not be entirely comfortable with. It’s my way of building trust right from the get-go and finding some point of connection.
And I have never seen more appreciation for this than during my time inside writing with incarcerated men.
In my very first session, I remember the men walking in, curious about/skeptical of/intrigued by (or all of the above) the room they were entering. Play-Doh and markers on their desks, colourful paper posted up on the walls, music playing in the background, and me…greeting them with all smiles and gently grooving to whatever song might be on.
I remember hearing murmurs amongst them.
“Where is that music coming from? Is it coming from that rectangular thing?!” Dean asks.
Some of these men have been inside for decades; they don’t realize how small our electronics have become.
The music is a conversation starter.
Later, I would play quieter instrumental covers of recognizable hits for our “writing time.” It’s nice ambient music that helps all of us get into a flow state.
“Is that Alicia Keys?” someone would ask. “Yeah, that’s Alicia Keys!” another person would happily confirm.
Someone would start humming along. Before I know it, someone is softly singing the chorus under their breath: "Some people want it all / But I don't want nothin' at all / If it ain't you, baby / If I ain't got you, baby!”
Everyone would start smiling and giggling, singing along, and pretending to hit the high notes.
The music is a joy-inducer.
From there, the men would try to guess the covers that were on the playlist, some getting tripped up by samples from older songs.
“That’s Rihanna, SOS!” someone would declare. “No, it’s tainted love!” someone else would chime in.
“Wild Thoughts, DJ Khaled.” “Nah, bro, that’s Santana!” And on and on it would go.
The music is a generational bridge.
Creating Moments of Choice
I didn’t realize how much these men would cling to the music when I first started doing these workshops. In hindsight, it’s a no-brainer. Who doesn’t love listening to music? Especially if you’ve been deprived of this simple, life-affirming pleasure.
And so the next time I went inside, I asked the men to give me their song requests, and I promised I would find and play those songs for our next storytelling circle. They were surprised by the ask, doubtful of my ability to deliver on such a promise.
But I was determined to make this happen. I wanted these men to find delight even if only for a short song, and to create a seemingly small but important moment of choice. It was vital for me to do this in a setting that actively works to crush both of these central facets of our humanity.
I wish I could capture the sheer joy and happiness that erupted in the room every time I would play their song requests. Just thinking about it is enough to make my heart burst.
“You are the best, miss! Thank you, thank you for playing this song!” George shakes my hand with so much gratitude.
“No wayyyyy! I can’t believe you’re playing this right now; I haven’t heard this in years.” Jacob is up out of his seat, dancing.
“Can we play it again, Miss? When are you coming back? Let’s do this again!” Brian begs with the biggest smile on his face.
We’re playing reggae, soca, a lot of rap and hip hop. But there’s jazz too. And country!
Tom has requested exclusively country music, and everyone is heckling him, but kindly, joyfully. The guys are razzing each other’s song choices, debating who is the better rapper. They are laughing and singing along. And I am reveling in the pure and unadulterated joy of this moment.
I could seriously do this all day – just listen to music with these guys and simply be together.
At the end of the session, I ask everyone to “check in to check out,” to share how they are feeling as we leave our space:
“Complete.”
“I forgot for a second where I was. Thank you.”
“Together.”
“It felt like an escape.”
“I felt free even for a moment.”
“Freedom.”
I am floored by these responses. And it is a bittersweet moment of goodbye after spending such a precious and beautiful time together.
After such an experience, I can’t help but wonder…how is depriving people of music doing anything for any of us? How is this accountability? How is this justice?
This is punishment, not accountability.
This is cruelty, not justice.
It is, very simply put, dehumanizing.
Experiencing Freedom in the Cracks
I cannot fix the carceral system with Living Hyphen’s workshops as much as I wish I could. And so, my goal during my time inside is, at the very least, to try to work against those forces by building in as many moments of choice, delight, and connection – which is really just to say that my goal is to reconnect to our shared humanity.
As the performer, writer, and educator Una Aya Osato says, “it’s about creating cracks that show our bodies that we can experience freedom.”
That is all I can hope to do, and I sincerely hope that makes all the difference for these men.