Inside the Iron House
A Personal Journey by Matt Sherman
This past summer marked an important milestone in my life. It was ten years ago this summer that I began working with Native American Prisoners. It began in the most natural of ways...my third marriage had crumbled, my adult children were on their own and I was afloat in a sea of possibilities. I left my position with a newspaper to hopefully become a Chemical Dependency Counselor. It was the fulfillment of a sacred vision I received on a visit to the Blackfoot rez at Browning, Montana.
While attending a prison recovery meeting in Ohio, the Prison Program Director advised me there was an internship available in the "Nine House." Nine House was the Recovery Unit on the grounds of a State Prison in Ohio. I applied and to my amazement was accepted. I was thrown head first into working with hardened criminals who, for a variety of reasons, resided in Nine House. I was almost immediately honored with the moniker "Pony Tail." Back then long hair on staff in the outside world becomes the majority in prison. I expected to be trusted immediately...but it was slow in coming. After a few weeks a prisoner with longer than regulation hair cautiously approached me...rough features, slovenly dressed. "You Injun?" he asked. I gave him my standard answer "I’m Blackfoot/Lakota." He said..."we need help in here. They won’t let us pray, smoke our pipe or sit together in the yard...they call us Injuns a gang." I responded, "I’m here to work in drug and alcohol rehab." He said, "don’t you get it? We will recover only with our pipe, prayers and our traditions. He asked me to intercede with the Chaplain on behalf of the "skins" to permit a sacred prayer Circle of Indian prisoners. I took six months and a direct plea to the Director of the Department of Corrections but the following spring we sat in a circle in the prison yard and smoked the sacred chanupa. There are no words that can sufficiently describe the exhilaration of that moment. Myself and the Native prisoners of Nine House spiritually left prison that day, surrounded by armed guards and concertina wire - we reached back to another time and place.
Shortly after that I packed up an old van and headed towards the Rosebud Rez. I had received an invitation to volunteer at the Kiyuskapi Oyanke treatment facility at St. Francis. Something deep within me told me my life was about to drastically change.
I learned the hardship of rez life...I saw the suffering and the results of 500 years of attempted genocide on the faces of those who came to the center for help. I never envisioned that part of my job as a reservation counselor would include wiring an exhaust pipe on an old Dodge or collecting wood for the sacred Inipi or taking "ol' lady" to Pine Ridge for ceremony.
During my time on Rosebud, I received messages that my services as an Indian Prison Counselor was requested by a well-known activist group. I wasn’t aware anyone knew of my work in prison. I had grown close to many of the folks on Rosebud and was beginning to feel very much at home there. In time, I contacted the activist group and indeed they were interested in me...not as a counselor, but as a covert operative.
It seems there was a Native American prison group being denied opportunity for religious expression and they thought if I could get in I could help. I prayed and sought the advice of Elders. The advice was unanimous...do it! What was I becoming...a counselor or an activist or both? Within three months we sat outside of the prison chapel and were allowing the sacred smoldering sage and sweetgrass to envelop our bodies in a ceremony which predates Christianity itself.
Shortly after that, I received a call from a Deputy Sheriff at a county jail in North/Central Ohio. "We got a wild Indian in here who wants to see you." I arrived two days later. The Deputies advised me he was violent and they would accompany me while the "wild Indian" would have to remain handcuffed. I declined their offer of protection and insisted the handcuffs be removed. After signing a release of responsibility waiver my request was granted. I was allowed a sacred feather and a few stems of South Dakota wild sage. I was lead to a typical county jail visiting area. I remained standing as I heard the noise of shackles and cuffs being removed. The Deputy exited the room and there I stood...face to face with the "wild Indian." Our eyes locked momentarily then his eyes dropped to what I held in my hands. I offered the sage to him and he brought it to his face and breathed in South Dakota.
A serenity came across his face and his body relaxed. "I can’t believe that you came." he said. We sat on a foam mat, prayed, then talked of family and places we had both knew and as always, love gone wrong. Then came the inevitable uncontrollable laughter...that’s my medicine. Three deputies cautiously peeked around the corner in disbelief. I was later informed that the previous evening my new found brother was strapped in a restraining chair as a means to protect the staff. As is often the case...I have not seen him again but the events of that day changed us both - probably the deputies too.
In the spring of 2000 I was dispatched to Morgantown West Virginia with a two word directive. Stop Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart was attempting to buy a sacred burial site to build a new store. For over a year this was the major news story in this West Virginia town which is the third largest in the state and home to West Virginia University. I became a spokesperson for those groups opposing Wal-Mart and my name frequently was in the news stories. I received a call from a Chaplain at a nearby prison. I agreed to meet with her. She advised me the Native American prisoners desperately needed someone to help them establish a religious program. Would I help? I couldn’t refuse nor did I wish to...Since that time I have received numerous requests from prisons throughout the country to meet with the Indian prisoners. I have gone in as many as possible. It is a great gift which Creator has afforded me. It is not I who enhance their lives...it is they who enhance mine. I am not a facilitator of ceremonies; when I go in, I go in as a brother.
Two years ago at a massive prison facility on the east coast, I had an experience that changed my life in a most simplistic way. I wish to pass it on to you...I received word that the Supervisory Chaplain at the facility wanted to see me within twenty-four hours. I was 500 miles away...I threw travel food into a bag, jumped in the old van and headed east, without knowing why. I arrived at the facility the following morning only to find out that the Supervisory Chaplain had delegated the responsibility for me to another Chaplain and this Chaplain did not know why I had been called. It was chaotic. I work pretty good under pressure. Rather than be sent back, I asserted, "I think I’m supposed to visit with the Indians." The Chaplain escorted me on foot, in a driving rain, to a recreation building where I sat, dripping wet and waiting.
After about 30 minutes, I was told we could not meet there, the only place we could meet was on the Inipi grounds...and it was still raining. The inmates were brought to me and we strode to the Inipi Grounds where we took shelter in a tiny supply shed.
There we sat, on army style blankets and plastic buckets, dripping on one another.
I felt so inadequate because I had taken no gifts for the men, as is my custom, I apologetically explained that I didn’t know I would be meeting with them and to please forgive me...A silence fell over the group...an Indian prisoner positioned himself in front of me and said..."Matt, you can...you are the gift."
I share this story not to bring adulation upon myself...for I am nothing but an undeserving lyeska who Creator has blessed. I tell this story because there are so many of our people who are incarcerated who feel they have been forgotten. You too can be the gift. There are several Native American Prisoner support groups that have a list of prisoners yearning for contact. Please contact them and write or visit one of our incarcerated Brothers and Sisters.
Be the Gift.
Matt Sherman
Matt Sherman
You can contact Matt Sherman by email AIM4JUSTCE@aol.com
Matt Sherman
©Matt Sherman 2005
PO Box 1106
Lancaster, Ohio 43130
Article originally appeared in the October 2005 edition of Indigenous Links.
Permission granted to My Two Beads Worth to reprint "Inside the Iron House" ~ A Personal Journey by Matt Sherman November 2005.
Graphic created by Evening Rain 2005
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Last updated on November 15, 2005
