I Spent 13 Years Teaching Dangerous Criminals: Here is What I Learned

I will never be the same

I spent the last 13 years teaching dangerous criminals in Kentucky. I’m talking muscle-laced men with armed robbery, violence, and murder charges.

Many nights, I was alone with a group of 20 men who could have easily overpowered me.

Here is what I learned.

It’s “us” not “them”

My first lesson came quickly. Although many of these men had committed serious crimes, they were still human beings just like you and me.

They still felt emotions. They still suffered from fears. They still held tightly to their personal value systems.

They had strengths and flaws, brilliance, and talent.

Many of them were much smarter and more resourceful than me. They knew how to build cars, fix household appliances, and paint damn near anything.

They had lived and experienced things I could only imagine.

Oddly, or maybe not odd at all, this didn’t separate us. Instead, it connected us on an even deeper, more primal level. My lesson became crystal clear: We are more similar than we are different.

This makes even more sense when you consider that the Wall Street Journal reports that at least 77.7 million people in the United States alone have a criminal record. To put that into perspective, that means as many people in the U.S. have criminal records as college degrees.

Learning this lesson allowed me to teach with more intimacy and compassion.

(Almost) everyone deserves compassion

I tend to believe that everyone deserves compassion, but I threw in the “almost” because I realize certain individuals have made very poor choices that inflicted unimaginable harm on undeserving families.

I’m not here to defend anyone or to insist on compassion where it is most difficult.

I simply want to share another lesson I learned from teaching dangerous criminals for 13 years.

There are no excuses for bad decisions or bad behavior. However, most of these men grew up in families and in situations that they did not choose. Abuse, violence, and extreme poverty wove consistent themes throughout their lives.

Again, this is no excuse for the choices they made as adults. We each must accept the responsibility for our actions.

Although a big part of what I taught centered on personal responsibility and accountability, I still learned to teach at deeper levels of empathy and understanding.

“If you are still breathing, you have a second chance.“— Oprah Winfrey

These men taught me that (almost) anyone deserves kindness, acceptance, and personal validation for their suffering.

More than once, I have pondered whether or not these men would have ended up in prison if their families could have provided nurturance, gentleness, and unconditional love.

There is hope

My biggest lesson was about hope.

What kind of hope? Hope that people can change. Hope that fractured families can heal. Hope that our mistakes of the past don’t always dictate our future.

During my 13 years, I witnessed more than one man turn his life around, become a great dad to children who desperately needed him, and give back to the community.

I celebrated with men who landed their first legal job and cried with men who lost a loved one.

I also watched men fail, lick their wounds, and pull themselves up again. Hope is a powerful motivator.

“You may not always have a comfortable life and you will not always be able to solve all of the world’s problems at once but don’t ever underestimate the importance you can have because history has shown us that courage can be contagious and hope can take on a life of its own.” — Michelle Obama

Final thoughts

When I look back on my 13 years with these men, the lessons come into even sharper focus:

It’s “us” not “them”
(Almost) everyone deserves compassion
There is hope

In the end, what I take from my time with these men is a deep and humbling realization of our shared humanity.