27 YEARS IN PRISON FOR A NONVIOLENT OFFENSE

Hamedah Hasan Tells Her Story

Whoa! Talking about sleeping in the bed you made. Imagine trying to
turn over and your bedding is so tight you can't move. Your mind is
heavily sedated with a strong dose of sleep. You try turning to your
right side from your left. You lay there fighting between sleep and
fixing your bedding. Your bed is pure 100 percent concrete with
blankets of steel. No kiss good night, no bedtime story. You have
just been tucked in by Uncle Sam. I am one in thousands of American
POWs. I know I'm not the kind you think of first when you hear those
words. I'm a prisoner of America's Drug War, currently serving a
27-year federal prison sentence based on laws established in the late
80s. In 1991, at age 24, I was indicted, arrested and subsequently
convicted, and sentenced -- initially to natural life -- for cocaine
and crack cocaine related offenses. While I am responsible for my own
criminal behavior, being a first time, non-violent offender makes my
sentence of decades in prison impossible to accept quietly.

This experience has taught me that not one choice, action, or lack
thereof is without consequence. This includes making laws without a
sense of redemption -- that diminish the worth of human lives and
attack the very foundation of the family unit. Struggling to help
raise my three daughters and instill in them useful bits of wisdom
has by far been my greatest challenge. I have often wondered at the
end of a 15-minute phone call, sometimes split three ways: Did she
get it? Will she learn from my mistakes? Am I giving her enough? No
matter the answers, I knew I must continue to do my best.

My daughters and I have experienced many obstacles along the way.
Prison is the type of situation that magnifies things on the outside.
No matter how "bad" something actually is, not being there makes it
worse. Learning my daughter was pregnant at age 14 was definitely a
moment I seriously questioned my effectiveness as a parent. I felt as
though I let her down. Having been a teenage mom enabled me to
eventually put my daughter's needs and those of her unborn child in
perspective. Unconditional love, communication, guidance and support
were of far greater value than anything else.

Despite the limits to which our bond has been tested, I feel very
blessed to share such a loving relationship with my daughters. I
believe communicating frequently and openly about things that affect
us individually and collectively has helped keep us close across the
many miles. The most significant lesson my daughters have taught me
is that whatever I pass along to them, they are still going to have
their own experiences. So when I give them space and watch them like
a mom with her tot learning to walk, I celebrate their courage,
intelligence and resilience.

I did not walk into prison with a plan for how I was going to survive
the next week, much less how I was going maintain the family bond.
Among other things, I had been labeled angry, defiant, militant and
poorly educated. I felt those labels were somehow meant to diminish
my self-worth and justify my sentences; a notion I readily rejected.
I remember reading a quote: "it's not what people call you, but what
you answer to." I used that as motivation to do the best I could
despite my situation. I began by building upon the commitment I made
to God, learning what that meant, and trying to maintain a sense of
balance. Throughout the years I've tried to fill my "basket" with as
many skills as possible.

My case has been the subject of several newspaper and magazine
articles. Reading some of those articles taught me not everyone
interested in my "story" has my best interest in mind. So in 2000
when first approached by Melissa Mummert about being the subject in a
film on women in prison I was a bit hesitant. Also, I didn't know if
my daughters were okay with that type of exposure. After discussing
it with my family, praying and getting a better understanding of
Melissa's vision, I took her up on her offer. As I have gotten to
know Melissa over the years, the thoroughness, dignity and respect in
which she told my family's story came as no surprise.

To share my mistakes and humiliations with strangers, as I knew
participating in Perversion of Justice would do, I felt very
vulnerable. The fact that I learned from those mistakes enabled me to
realize the importance of sharing my journey regardless. There are
thousands of federal prisoners that are in similar situations, many
whom have no voice. Whether Perversion of Justice has a direct impact
on my release is an expectation I refuse to put upon my dear friend
and filmmaker. Sometimes amidst our best-laid plans and greatest
efforts, God has something different in store. Perversion of Justice
has already educated masses beyond "the walls," served as a tangible
reminder of injustice to policy makers and given a voice and hope for
change to the thousands of America's drug war prisoners. An
extraordinary accomplishment.

The U.S. Sentencing Commission recently passed and made retroactive
an amendment to the sentencing guideline for crack cocaine offenses.
Currently I have a motion pending before the district court seeking
relief. The original judge had to recuse himself since he had already
ruled that my sentence should be shorter. Consequently my case was
re-assigned to another judge. In the still of the night, lying in
this warehouse-style dormitory, I wonder if I'll serve the remaining
eight years of my sentence. The knowledge of that lies with God. My
family, friends and I remain hopeful for the extended hand of mercy.