Socrates would be pleased

With a class of college students and inmates, teaching philosophy in prison is a rowdy, honest and hopeful provocation

At 8:30 am sharp, a white van pulls up to Boone Hall, where the Outsiders are huddled in their black shirts, sleepy-faced, but in good spirits. They pile in quickly, knowing we have to stick to a tight schedule. A 10-minute drive from campus, and the van pulls up under the arch of a large metal gate crowned with razor wire. By 8:45, the Outsiders are standing in line, placing their possessions in plastic bins and waiting for the no-nonsense guards to pat them down and rifle through their things. They’re checking: are all cellphones securely locked in the van? Has the driver checked in their keys at the front desk? The Outsiders know the drill. They know that their clothing should be neutral and moderate. They know that IDs and visitor cards should be out and ready, bags open and ready for inspection. Every beep of the metal detector makes everyone go tense, and slows things down. The Outsiders know this all needs to go smoothly so that at 9 am sharp we can make it to Room 209 of the Main Building where another no-nonsense guard is waiting impatiently to let us in. With him is a group of women garbed in uniforms of various shades of blue. We know them as the Insiders. In here, they are known as the ‘offenders’.

Insiders and Outsiders intermingle and take their seats. Class begins. Read on.