Framing. Naming.

The postings, the “manifestos,” the random spewings that fueled the Buffalo rampage…This is hate speech: brutal, ugly and obvious. It vilifies. It targets. It ignites fear. It incites violence.

But there are more subtle ways of directing hostility and engendering fear. There is word choice, sometimes nuanced. There are what facts are included and in what order. This framing and naming can go unnoticed. But that does not mean it is without consequences.

Within about a week of each other, two substantial pieces of journalism appeared that focused on issues related to incarceration in Oregon. One was a long, meticulously documented investigation by a senior reporter for the Huffington Post. It was centered on Mark Wilson, a “jailhouse lawyer.” The other was a story in the Oregonian about an ongoing investigation into possible “financial discrepancies” in the oldest and largest prison club at Oregon State Penitentiary, the Lifers’ Unlimited Club.

In the HuffPost story, Mr. Wilson is introduced in the first paragraph as “a prominent incarcerated legal assistant with a near-perfect disciplinary record who has helped thousands of other prisoners pursue legal claims.” The work he has done is then detailed.  In this story, we first discover what Mr. Wilson has made of his incarcerated life since his 1986 crime. Then, 12 paragraphs later, we learn that when “he was 18 and addicted to methamphetamine, he took part in a double homicide during a home burglary.” We know the crime. We know the context. But first we met the man.

The Oregonian story, is introduced with this headline: Prison club for Oregon’s convicted killers investigated

Many, but not all, of the members of the Lifers’ Unlimited Club are convicted killers. There are other reasons to be sentenced to life. Regardless, the article is not about the crimes any of the members committed 20, 30 or 40 years ago, it is about how the Club functions now. Who are the men in charge of the club? Did they do anything wrong managing the operation of the club? That is the question.

But when the reader is first introduced to the club treasurer, the very first thing we learn is that he was “convicted of aggravated murder in the beating death of…” Later, the editor of the club’s newsletter is introduced to us by several sentences detailing the crime he committed 34 years ago.

These crimes happened. These men are guilty. Absolutely. But how does knowing this before we know anything else about them affect our suspicions of their potential wrongdoing in club activities? Don’t we begin with bias? Conversely, how does learning about Mr. Wilson’s legal work first, rather than his crime first, affect how we view this man?

Ninety-five percent of everyone who is incarcerated in the US eventually get out. That includes most members of the Lifers’ Club. If we learn to see them only through the lens of their terrible past, if we identify them by the very worst thing they ever did, how can we not be afraid of them? How can we possibly welcome them back into our communities?

I hope you will read about the post-incarceration lives I chronicle in my new book, Free: Two Years, Six Lives and the Long Journey Home. Is it possible to reclaim your life? Is it possible to do good after causing so much harm?