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Editor’s Note: Absence of Light is a project created in collaboration with incarcerated people at Auburn Correctional Facility in Auburn, New York.

I would like to recite a story that was recently told to me about a turtle and a snake.

One hot day, a turtle was making its way along the side of the road, when it came upon an injured snake. “Help me, please,” the snake says in a weakened voice. “Of course,” the turtle says, helping the injured snake onto its shell.

While the snake rested on the turtle’s shell, the turtle made several stops. Once at a stream to gather water for the snake, another to gather food for the snake and, lastly, to gather medicinal herbs for the snake. The more time the snake and turtle spent with each other, the more they got to know each other. They talked, laughed and learned so much about what they had in common. Like how they both were coldblooded, how they both enjoyed lying in the warm sun, how they both enjoyed chocolate covered insects and how they both had families. 

After a while, the snake professed that its health was restored and that it was time for the snake to head home. The turtle was happy to see the snake healthy again. When the turtle opened its arms to hug the snake goodbye, the snake bit the turtle. Shocked, confused and wounded, the turtle asked the snake why it would commit such a hurtful act. The snake answered nonchalantly, “Because I am a snake. It is one of the many things that I do.”

This story blew my mind. But I understand, I think.

There are so many scenarios that have taken place — and still take place — in the penitentiary that warrant a shocked, confused and wounded inquiry from all its occupants. And so easily the reality of situations are accepted or chalked up as just “one of the many things that we do.”

I understand that, I think. 

I understand what we all are capable of. I understand that people, places and things can bring about the most disturbing of actions. I understand the process we go through to cope with such actions. I even understand the effects those disturbing decisions can have on us.

But, to be honest, I don’t fully understand. For starters, it’s 2021. I don’t fully understand how we can go from simply recording history by drawing pictures on the walls of caves to blatant and consistent oppression. I don’t fully understand how we can go forward and backward at the same time.

And that is precisely what is going on in the penitentiary. The going forward aspect is employing penitentiary staff and the rehabilitation of those occupying the penitentiary. The backward aspect is the “many things that we just do.” Not just capable of, but actively do. 

I don’t understand how so many of us in society are not only capable of but also okay with ignoring such atrocities that take place in the penitentiary. But, let me not be selfish. So many of us are okay with so much of the atrocities that go on around the world. Period. If it does not affect us directly, then we tend to look away.

I understand, I think.

I understand that we as humans are becoming more and more drained. The constant toxic actions of people are compelling us more and more to stay away from the unknown. There was a time when we humans looked forward to taking “calculated risks.” Not anymore. There was a time when helping someone outside of your “bubble” was a staple. Not anymore. When putting women and children first was a staple. Not anymore. When treating others as you would like to be treated was a staple. Not anymore. 

Why? Why would we not want someone, even a total stranger, to extend a hand to us when in need? What’s going on around us will not adhere to adolescent bully rules. Meaning, what we don’t like will not go away just because we ignore it. I understand this, I think.

Henry Holifield is a Syracuse resident currently incarcerated at Auburn Correctional Facility. He is serving a life sentence.

Published on March 17, 2021 at 8:41 pm