Essay - I’m Serving Life in Prison. It’s a Slow-Motion Death Sentence

The following excerpts below are from an essay appearing in Rolling Stone magazine titled "I'm Serving Life in Prison. It's a Slow-Motion Death Sentence" by Tariq MaQbool. There's no editorializing needed; we'll let the words of this brilliant, evocative writer speak for themselves.

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The other day, I got into an argument with a custody supervisor at New Jersey State Prison (NJSP) over how my fellow “lifers” and I spend the rest of our days behind bars. I said that we should be offered more vocational-training opportunities and educational activities — otherwise, we’re just sitting around for hours with nothing to do, our brains atrophying. He shot back, “Why should the Department of Corrections spend money in here? I mean, you guys ain’t going nowhere!” He laughed and walked away. I continued to stew — quite literally, as this summer saw record high temperatures and some areas of the building don’t have sufficient air conditioning, turning cells into ovens.

His statement is true, of course. Aside from some sort of divine intervention where I’m provided with relief on appeal, I’m never going to leave this facility, and neither will many of my friends. But it also encapsulates the feeling of utter uselessness most incarcerated women and men like me experience on a daily basis. Every day, I contemplate whether it’s even worth it to leave my cell. Because in the end, it doesn’t matter whether I’m good or bad; the day will end the same exact way. I’ll be back in a cage. That is the reality of a life sentence — it’s really death by incarceration.

No one ever really talks about the indignity of life in prison. I get it; they likely assume it’s better than being put to death — plus we deserve whatever we get. And with the death penalty back in the news in a big way — with former President Trump calling for the return of firing squads, for one — most people’s attention has been focused on death row. But as someone on the inside, there’s something unsettling about that — how we’re all too willing to argue about the inhumanity of executions and ignore those of us who are still alive. People seem to care so much about the sanctity of life — enough to argue how to most humanely end it. Yet those same folks find no issue with sentencing a human being to physical, mental, and financial torture.

American conservative judges and lawmakers often cite “finality” when denying death row inmates appeals. Meaning, executions give grieving families closure, an end to their suffering. When I think of my family and loved ones, I sometimes wonder whether that finality would also be a mercy for them, an acceptance, and perhaps a closure. When I was a kid in Pakistan, a friend went out for a small chore and never came home. The entire community searched for him, to no avail. Some years later, I visited Pakistan and went to see the boy’s mother. As soon as she saw me, she started to cry. I remind her of him, she said. When I asked if the passing years had helped at all to ease his loss, she shook her head.

“There is no closure,” she told me. “I constantly watch the door, wishing that he might return. I know it might sound cruel, but I would’ve preferred it if he had passed away. This hope is what kills me.”

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Tariq MaQbool is a writer incarcerated in New Jersey. He maintains Captive Voices, a blog where he shares his poetry and essays as well as the writings of other incarcerated people. His work has been published in The Marshall Project, NJ Star Ledger, Slant'd magazine and The News Station. You can read the full essay, "I'm Serving Life in Prison. It's a Slow-Motion Death Sentence."