Remembering Ben Hall

By Joshua Edward Wright

When I was in prison, a big part of it was networking. Inviting people to classes; facilitating ones with volunteers that came in to share their time, listen to our stories, or teach. After my first year, there was a kind of lull in doing so as I did it alone. It felt tedious, frustrating and overwhelming to constantly explain to people why they should check out a class, or why it would be important to alter existing ones. After a few months of this process by myself, a man came in from Oregon State Penitentiary (OSP). We had chains come twice a week with mew transfers from other prisons, as Columbia River Correctional Institution (CRCI) is a treatment and release facility. You cannot be there unless you have 4 years or less on your sentence, and are minimum custody (attained through "good behavior").

This man, however, was not a normal transfer. He had done the work I was doing for years, and been a part of creating and improving programs and classes at the prison he came from. I had found an ally; a partner; a co-creator that valued and pursued education at any cost, desired peace, and put love on its rightful place on a pedestal, while also not tolerating bullying nor abuse, no matter who you were. Some of the times I felt closest to him were when we were finding people to invite to Phoenix Rising Transitions.

People later told me that our tag team approach—Ben would talk with other prisoners that expressed interest in joining first, then sent them to me for a final evaluation—was effective, intimidating, and somewhat comical, all at the same time. Ben was the inquisitive and curious one, searching for the psychological reasons behind the interest in joining our inside activism, and I seemed to be uncharacteristically harsh and interrogatory. We both cared so deeply about the spaces we were a part of, and those that we allowed to enter them, for we found them to be our temporary solace in the negative quicksand the prison environment can be.

Unfortunately, like many tortured artists, Ben's demon was addiction. Yet the love for others and the beauty he found in the smallest of things was what got him through his struggle. His first full year at CRCI, all he could talk about was the fact that he could see trees from the yard when we were allowed out for the 30-45 minute yard lines. For he had just spent two decades at OSP, where there are 30 foot concrete walls preventing most all visibility (besides strategically placed gun towers with Correctional Officers posted with sniper rifles in them).

The world lost him recently, but above all, the one thing that gives me solace with his passing is the fact that he was finally, after 23 years straight in prison, able to get out of a cage and be one with Mother Earth. He hugged and took pictures of almost every tree he came across after release. He, finally, was able to be at peace with the thing that brought him comfort, and hope.

I love you, Benjamin James Hall . I'll see you again someday, where the forests are endless, and the trees hug back.