Recently, I was catching up with a colleague from community after a work call when they asked what I had in store for the upcoming holidays. Without even thinking about it, I immediately expressed how I actually hate this time of year and just can’t wait until it passes.
It wasn’t until there was an awkward silence afterwards that I realized how weird my response probably sounded to my poor friend, who broke the silence with an even more awkward chuckle — thanks for playing along, Dolla Boy!
And though we ended up changing the subject and talking about more work stuff before the call ended, that moment stuck with me and made me wonder when I became such a damn Grinch.
As a kid, I always loved this time of year. Halloween was my favorite holiday, as it signaled that we were in the thick of fall and skidding into winter… and of course the free candy! If you’re from the Pacific Northwest, then you also know about the beautiful colors as the leaves begin to change, and that morning chill that makes that school bus finally pulling up the most wonderful warmth in the world.
And even though my family is Buddhist, I’ll always remember the plastic Christmas tree we put up every year at my grandma’s house. Come to think of it, I don’t even think my family understood that Christmas was a Christian holiday! Quite honestly, I don’t think it would’ve mattered anyway, that damn tree was going up no matter what.
Growing up, my biological mother wasn’t always around. Though that void was something that could never be filled, I was blessed to be raised by my father, stepmother, grandparents, and a house full of aunties who always made me feel loved, wanting for nothing. Well, nothing except that new Sega Genesis, Jordans, Polo, and Tommy Hilfiger — OK, I guess I was actually hella needy.
In hindsight, I know our family didn’t have much, but that never stopped those who raised me from doing their best to make me and my cousins feel like the rest of our American classmates (even if those Jordans were actually Fila). That is something I will always be grateful for, and probably why I loved the holiday season so much.
It was the love of family that made those cold fall and winter days so warm and special.
I’ve been incarcerated going on 15 years now and I don’t know exactly when my holiday spirit changed. What I do know is that there just hasn’t felt like much to celebrate.
In prison, the holiday season means two things: cold recreation yards and delayed mail. Well, let’s call it three — a cruel reminder of the loneliness.
Now I don’t wanna make it sound like we’re in a scene straight outta Shawshank Redemption or anything, but let’s just say some nights in here ain’t too far off.
My first two weeks in prison, over a decade ago, was spent in solitary confinement, and it just so happens to be that that was also my first Christmas in prison. Locked up in a cold cell with no television or radio, limited access to a shower and phone, and nothing to keep me company but a torn up Bible and my thoughts… and the constant yelling and screams of people voicing their pain.
That wouldn’t be my last Christmas in the Hole. I’ve spent a few in there.
I’m unsure if that’s when my holiday spirit died, but I’m sure the pulse was definitely getting weak. James Baldwin, in his book No Name in the Street, encouraged people who wanted to know how a society treated its people to go and visit its jails. I would take it a step further and encourage anybody who wants to know how a prison actually treats its prisoners to visit its solitary confinement units.
Within the Washington state prison system, my story is not unique by any stretch. Every year, hundreds, if not thousands of people spend the holidays locked up in a cold solitary cell with nothing. And like me, they lose a little bit of that holiday spirit. But what people don’t realize is that we lose pieces of ourselves as well, pieces that make us human.
So as I sit here writing, I think back to my colleague asking me what I had in store for the upcoming holidays. And I think I finally have an answer. Love.
Because it’s that same love instilled in me by my father, stepmother, grandparents, and house full of aunties that’s going to help fuel our fight to make sure that all those people sitting alone in solitary confinement also feel loved and never lose their spirit.
I wanna end this installment by sending love to all the homies forced to spend the holidays locked up in solitary confinement. May you find strength and peace in knowing that you are not forgotten and that you are loved. Don’t allow them to ever kill your spirit… and always remind them what that spirit looks like. Until next time, keep dreaming!
Felix Sitthivong is a journalist, organizer, member of Empowerment Avenue, and advisor for the Asian Pacific Islander Cultural Awareness Group (APICAG). Through APICAG, Sitthivong has organized immigration, social justice and youth outreach forums and has designed Asian American studies courses, an intersectional feminism 101 class and an anti-domestic violence program. You can reach him with questions for “On the Fence Line” via Securus (WA #354579) or write to him at Felix Sitthivong #354579, PO Box 900, Shelton, WA 98584.
Felix Sitthivong is an incarcerated storyteller, community organizer, and founding member of the Peoples’ Empowerment Assembly for Collective Equity (PEACE). Sitthivong is also the former president and senior advisor for the Asian Pacific Islander Cultural Awareness Group (APICAG). He is currently serving a 66-year sentence at the Washington Corrections Center in Shelton, WA. Reach him with questions for “On the Fence Line” via Securus (WA #354579) or write to him at Felix Sitthivong #354579, PO BOX 900, Shelton, WA 98584.
