Leeann Parker got three things the moment she left prison after almost 20 years: a cool outfit, a hug from her 3-year-old grandson and a tote bag of new books.
Parker, who was incarcerated when her daughters were 5 and 9, said she entered Homestead Correctional Institution angry and bitter. At the end of August, with the help of a local nonprofit Exchange for Change, she left prison a writer. She left with a smile on her face.
Exchange for Change, which offers writing and communication skills-building classes to incarcerated students in South Florida correctional facilities, is celebrating 10 years of education this fall. The nonprofit, founded by former journalist Kathie Klarreich, partnered with the Books & Books Literary Foundation to gift people books as they leave prison. Parker was the first.
鈥淣obody really cares about you when you get out, especially out of there,鈥� Parker said. 鈥淪o for me, these books are like somebody finally giving something back to somebody getting out of prison. I鈥檓 gonna cherish those books. I鈥檓 gonna start my own little library with those books.鈥�
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She picked out the following books, including one to read to her grandson Amiri Sams, because the titles stuck out to her: 鈥淲here The Wild Things Are鈥� by Maurice Sendak, 鈥淏etween the World and Me鈥� by Ta-Nehisi Coates, 鈥淗ope in the Dark鈥� by Rebecca Solnit, 鈥淔elon鈥� by Reginald Dwayne Betts, 鈥淭he Untethered Soul鈥� by Michael Singer and 鈥淒emon Copperhead鈥� by Barbara Kingsolver.
鈥淚t鈥檚 something that I can share with my kids and my grandson,鈥� Parker said. 鈥淢y love of reading, my love of writing is something that I can give back to them.鈥�
Exchange for Change courses are a judgment-free zone. Instructors don鈥檛 ask students about their past or why they鈥檙e in prison, Klarreich said. The group鈥檚 mission is to empower incarcerated folks with and courses on different styles of writing, from journaling to journalism, from poetry to memoirs. The group has published four volumes of 鈥淒on鈥檛 Shake The Spoon: A Journal of Prison Writing,鈥� a literary journal of students鈥� work.
鈥淚n the States, most of the incarcerated people don鈥檛 have a voice,鈥� Klarreich said. 鈥淭his was an opportunity to provide them a platform to speak for themselves rather than about themselves.鈥�
Before starting the nonprofit, Klarreich worked as a journalist and spent a total of 13 years reporting in Haiti. Her time there inspired her to get involved with Miami鈥檚 Haitian community, and she worked with a local nonprofit to teach writing lessons to incarcerated Haitian women in Homestead. When the catastrophic 2010 earthquake struck, Klarreich was back in Haiti reporting for three years. After returning to Miami, she wanted to get back to teaching.
When she started Exchange for Change in 2014, Klarreich had one class at Dade Correctional Institution, a men鈥檚 prison, of 17 students. A decade later, Exchange for Change teaches 25 to 30 courses a semester for 700 students a year across several Miami-Dade institutions.
Running a nonprofit that deals with the prison system is no small feat. The last 10 years felt like 50, Klarreich said, laughing.
鈥淵ou never know if you鈥檙e actually going to get inside, and then when you get inside, you don鈥檛 know what you鈥檙e going to confront,鈥� she said. 鈥淭he fact that we鈥檙e still here and the fact that a lot of our students, because we鈥檝e been around for so long, are getting out, [it鈥檚] really thrilling. I鈥檝e known a lot of these people for 10 years, and I don鈥檛 think either one of us thought that we would still know each other this long.鈥�
Mitchell Kaplan, founder of popular Miami bookstore Books & Books, said the year-old is excited to work with local organizations like Exchange for Change to bring books to communities that need access. That includes incarcerated South Floridians, he said. In the future, he said, the foundation plans to help develop prison libraries and provide children鈥檚 books for incarcerated people to read to their kids when they visit.
鈥淩eading is a way of setting you free, to some extent,鈥� Kaplan said. 鈥淔or people leaving prisons, we need to understand that they鈥檝e paid their dues. We shouldn鈥檛 hold it against them once they leave. We should do all we can do to lift them up and help them readjust to the world they鈥檙e finding.鈥�
鈥楢 way for you to be out of prison, still in prison鈥�
Parker said she felt that support from Exchange for Change. She reflected on her past and future as she sat at a picnic table at Robert Is Here, a fruit stand just down the road from the prison, sucking on a mango smoothie. Her daughters, Velicia Parker, 27, and Sasha Parker, 22, sat in the shade as Amiri pointed out the animals in the petting zoo. 鈥淭he chickens!鈥� he said.
鈥淧eople would come and talk to us from the free world, outside people, and we felt more human,鈥� Parker said. 鈥淚n there, sometimes you just feel like a number, like you鈥檙e invisible. When we would have those visits, it would made us feel grounded because we鈥檙e actually having a conversation with the person, and they鈥檙e not looking at us like we鈥檙e a monster or an animal.鈥�
Parker is proud of how far she has come and is open about sharing her story. Originally from New York, Parker moved to Orlando when she was 12. That same year she got involved in a gang, and by 13 she was selling drugs. She had several possession charges and ultimately ended up in prison on a second degree murder charge at age 24. According to Parker, she and a group of people beat up a man who had raped someone in their crew and he died of his injuries.
Today, 18 years later, she鈥檚 42. Her children are grown. And Parker has grown, too. Some years ago, she learned about Exchange for Change when she noticed others attending classes. 鈥淚 wanted to get involved in something other than the prison life,鈥� she said.
She didn鈥檛 know she was a writer, she said, but she fell in love with the craft. And for a while she didn鈥檛 think she was a good writer, until she won a poetry contest. Writing was freeing.
鈥淚t was an outlet,鈥� she said. 鈥淟ike a way for you to be out of prison, still in prison.鈥�
She wrote about these feelings in her poem 鈥淔ree,鈥� originally published in Don鈥檛 Shake The Spoon:
I used to belong to the streets taking problems however they came. Searching for answers I see no end to my pain. Every day it鈥檚 the same thing. I need to change my life.
Parker got involved in the program鈥檚 Student Leadership Council and forged deep bonds with fellow students, instructors and Klarreich. She started a mentorship program called Positive Shadows and was a peer facilitator for a substance abuse program, she said. Programs like Exchange for Change show people that they can do anything they set their minds to so long as they put in the effort, Parker said.
鈥淲e鈥檙e human. We made mistakes, and our mistakes don鈥檛 define who we are,鈥� she said. 鈥淭here鈥檚 so many talented people in prison that are writers and singers and artists, and people wouldn鈥檛 know because they don鈥檛 give you the time of day.鈥�
She has big plans for herself now that she鈥檚 in the outside world. Parker wants to be a construction worker, get a commercial driver鈥檚 license, play with her grandson and keep in touch with Klarreich. Every day for 90 days, she wants to push herself to do something fun, like jet skiing or taking a painting class. And she will continue writing.
When Parker and her family walked through the prison parking lot, Amiri insisted on carrying the bag of new books. It was as big as he is, but he didn鈥檛 mind.
鈥淒-Bo!鈥� a woman shouted as she waved goodbye from behind the fence, calling Parker by her old nickname.
Parker held up her grandson on her shoulders and waved.
鈥淔ree鈥� by Leeann Parker, published in Don鈥檛 Shake the Spoon: A Journal of Prison Writing
I used to belong to the streets
taking problems however they came.
Searching for answers I see no
end to my pain.
Every day it鈥檚 the same thing.
I need to change my life.
Now my life has caught up to me. I am
stuck in a place where there鈥檚
no relief.
Time stands still. I鈥檓 losing
it as I speak.
Within these four walls, if
they could speak.
They would tell a story of pain
and grief.
Pulled away from my kids when
They were five and nine,
Now they are growing up without
mommy by their side.
Never knew that my decisions
would catch up to me.
Caved in, chained down, Prison
has made me stronger鈥�
I had to wrestle with my demons
for a little longer.
How can I ask the Lord to spare me
just this one time?
When I know that in my heart
I should be crucified.
This story was produced , in partnership with Journalism Funding Partners, as part of an independent journalism fellowship program. The Miami Herald maintains full editorial control of this work.
