We can’t change the world if we are not willing to get close to those who are suffering.
—Bryan Stevenson, law professor, author, and founder and executive director of the Equal Justice Initiative
Somehow, a copy of the January 2022 issue of Richmond magazine containing my story “The Unbroken” made its way inside the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women in Troy, then into the hands of Shebri Stacey Dillon, an inmate serving a 30-year sentence for nonviolent white-collar crimes. “The story shook me,” she explains in an email from prison.
“The Unbroken” details the David and Goliath tale of how, in 1971, five profoundly abused Virginia State Penitentiary inmates initiated and won a lawsuit, Landman v. Royster, against the powerful, racially biased Department of Corrections. The suit’s impact reverberated nationwide by limiting the unchecked tyranny of prison officials. It eliminated bread and water punishment, padlocks on cells, tear-gassing inside cells, extended solitary confinement and corporal punishments.
After decades of silence, the last surviving plaintiff in the Landman case, retired Boston real estate agent Calvin Arey, decided to tell of his seven brutal years inside Virginia’s prison system and his experiences fighting back in that groundbreaking court case. I had described Arey and this case in my 2017 book, “Virginia State Penitentiary: A Notorious History,” and after his friend pointed this out, he contacted me. “I spent a year debating whether to go public,” he recalls. “[I didn’t] want it to just be about the past. You throw a story out there hoping it can make a difference today.”
For Dillon, the emotional effect upon reading the story was immediate. “These men had to fight for, and eventually won, rights and abilities I exercised regularly as an incarcerated person,” she writes. “This story hit home. It rocked me.”
Dillon had to thank Arey for telling his story. Her daughter located the address of his former real estate office, and she mailed him a thank-you note. “I just wanted him to know that he made an impact on me,” she says. “I will never forget his struggles or what he had proven with his success.”
Arey wrote back and, in a series of exchanges, told her of a book he was reading, “Our Class” by Chris Hedges. Published in 2021, it graphically describes the degradations and dehumanizations of the American prison system. He asked her to check the prison library for it and several others.
“None of the books I mentioned were in the library, which doesn’t surprise me,” Arey recalls. “Prison libraries are usually underfunded and not well equipped. So no books by Chris Hedges. They didn’t even have Dwayne Betts’ book [“A Question of Freedom”] there.”
Betts is a former inmate, a lawyer, a 2021 MacArthur Fellow and the founder of the Freedom Reads initiative, which seeks to place mobile kiosks of hand-curated books inside prisons. This project sparked an idea in Arey, whose love of books hearkens to his solitary confinement days inside the penitentiary’s dank C Building basement. While there, he made two promises — to stop chewing his fingernails and to read every book he could find. Today he is the proud owner of more than 2,500 books, many of them signed by the authors.
Inspired by Betts, Arey mailed Chris Hedges’ book to Dillon — and something amazing started happening.
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Shebri Stacey Dillon (Photo courtesy Shebri Stacey Dillon)
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The Albert Woodfox Memorial Mini Freedom Library No. 1
Freedom begins with a book.
—Reginald Dwayne Betts
Equal Justice Initiative Executive Director Bryan Stevenson’s concept of the “power of proximity,” in which we identify and empathize with those who suffer by getting close to them, lent Arey, a former inmate, credibility with Dillon and the others at Fluvanna Correctional. With “The Unbroken” circulating around the prison, his book suggestions were quickly embraced by the women. Within a year, Dillon found herself the librarian and caretaker of 18 books, with all but four hand-picked and provided by Arey.
“I’ve tried to select books that will engender feelings of hope,” Arey explains. “Books by or about people who are examples of transformation. And by passing the books around, they are doing something meaningful in a mutual aid sense. I didn’t want to send books that would collect dust.”
“Calvin explained the creation of a freedom library to me,” Dillon says of her role in the process. “He started choosing and mailing me books he thought best suited me and the others here. He nailed it. Calvin’s proximity turned into an investment of time and books, which has taken on a life of its own.”
After receiving a book, Dillon loans it out on a first-come, first-served basis.
The library — operating in full view of prison administration — is named in memory of Albert Woodfox, who was wrongfully convicted and spent 44 years in solitary confinement at Louisiana’s Angola Prison before his release in 2016. His 2019 book, “Solitary,” is a treasured addition to the library’s collection.
Denise Holsinger, who has served 28 years at Fluvanna, has read many of the books and names a favorite. “Viktor Frankl’s ‘Say Yes to Life’ resonated with me deeply,” she reports. “Frankl writes that ‘Happiness should not, must not and can never be a goal, but only an outcome.’ ” She adds that she was always a searcher for happiness, but it always remained stubbornly out of reach. “By changing my perspective, I have found happiness.”
Joy Brown, who is serving a 15-year sentence, noted, “The freedom library means a lot to me. … If I never would have picked up the books, I wouldn’t even know that we have rights as a prisoner and a person. I am grateful and motivated to do more with my time.”
Recently released from Fluvanna after serving five years, Stephanie Angelo recalls that reading “The Unbroken” made her appreciate Calvin’s courage to stand up for himself and his fellow inmates. “The prison system still needs a lot of change, but seeing the change that has happened due to an inmate that once cared so much is unfathomable to wrap my head around,” she says. “Anyone in the prison system should be forever grateful for what Calvin did.”
In a letter, Dillon describes how one inmate who struggled with reading was so inspired by Arey’s story, she attempted to plow through “Are Prisons Obsolete?” by political activist Angela Davis. After a few frustrating moments, she shut the book, took a deep breath, then grabbed a dictionary off the shelf. She then read Davis’ book cover to cover with one hand while constantly looking up words with the other.
Danita Corbin also credits Arey’s story and Davis’ book with helping her stay positive after serving 23 years. “The mini library gave me my voice back,” she writes in an email. “I am inspired to keep trying to fight for my freedom, so thank you. I am not the only one who walks on this journey.”
Deb Stout, who is serving a life sentence, compared Arey’s experiences in solitary with her own previous confinements in segregation, or “seg.” “The books have added a great deal of encouragement and inspiration to continue fighting the battles for myself and others within these walls.”
In every book, Dillon inscribes, “Donated by Calvin Arey, who believes you are more than the worst thing you have ever done,” a quote from Stevenson’s 2014 bestseller “Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption.”
Ripples Into Waves
Your act is a ripple turned wave. So many women are being touched, moved, validated, healed, and compelled into action because of the books you’ve sent.
—Excerpt from a letter to Calvin Arey from Shebri Dillon, Aug. 12, 2022
While in solitary at the Virginia State Penitentiary in the late 1960s, Arey found courage in a June 6, 1966, speech by Robert F. Kennedy. In it, Kennedy said, “Every time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and ... those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.”
Arey today is seeing more ripples emanating from that singular first act of mailing a book. After reading an impressive article by an inmate named Terrence Vaughn in the July edition of the Virginia Coalition for Justice newsletter, he sent Vaughn a letter that included “The Unbroken” and some book suggestions.
Soon, the Albert Woodfox Memorial Mini Freedom Library No. 2 formed at River North Correctional Center in Independence in Southwest Virginia, with seven books so far under Vaughn’s tutelage. “Terrence understands,” Arey says. “He’s all in. He’s a barber there, telling me they have conversations every day about these books. That makes my day.”
Vaughn says in an email that Arey has sent books “with stories of hope that you don’t find in Virginia prisons … they have started dialogues … these books are now conversations shared between individuals realizing that hope is still alive. I’m not sure that Mr. Arey realizes how important it was to restore hope in the eyes of these young men.”
In turn, Vaughn told Arey about an inmate at Augusta Correctional Center near Staunton who was interested in forming the Albert Woodfox Memorial Mini Freedom Library No. 3. So far, Arey has sent four books. An inmate at Greensville Correctional in Jarratt is starting library No. 4 there.
“One reason they’re reading these books is because of who I am, and what I did 50 years ago,” Arey says of his proximity to these inmates, with whom he ordinarily would have little in common. “That’s opening a door. They’re saying, ‘Look at the life that this guy led, and now he’s sending a book.’ This is the opportunity I was looking for.”
Meanwhile, at Fluvanna, library No. 1 is flourishing. Inmate Jessica Fugette notes that “The Unbroken” and the library changed her life, her passion and her purpose. “I have become a peer recovery specialist to help others, to educate and encourage others to advocate for themselves. To stand up against the injustice, cruelty and bullying that incarcerated people face.
“I am grateful to the men that came before me,” she adds. “Their journey, as horrific and cold as it was, has allowed people like me to become prison abolitionists, advocates, and create change for the better.”
“Every day, a new woman picks up a book,” Dillon writes. “Every day, conversations are sparked, and growth spurts occur. Every single day, ripples of hope and change are turning into currents that will carry into society when these women are released. Every day is new and has promise.”
