The first time I wrote to Xandan, I did not know anything about his extraordinary story, the extent of his case, nor his day-to-day living conditions. As far as Texas justice goes, Xandan is simply a number, a file, a verdict. Result: imprisoned for life, or almost. Perhaps some people who judge his deeds through the conservative Texan press narrative, find him guilty without seeking to understand more. But as for me, I see someone who is sensitive, caring, knowledgeable and a deep thinker, who offers me strength and love in whatever way he can.
Before our friendship, I knew nothing about prisons in the United States. I did not know about the abuse from guards who can be more dangerous than the prisoners. I knew nothing about the American justice system and the laws in Texas, but the person behind the prisoner ID number and the delinquency statistics has taught me a lot over the past two years. The person who is much more than the acts committed; who reads Shakespeare and Emily Dickinson and has an incredible writing talent; the one who thinks so much about the world outside; a person tormented by fears and doubts and who must stay strong to resist his living conditions. This person makes me look at things differently and allows me to understand what it must be like to be locked up 24 hours a day, alone, in a cell, all year long, with no lighting, no space, and hardly any air. The one who freezes in the winter, who is hungry, battles hopelessness and depression. The one who never sleeps for more than four hours because the cell where he finds herself is not safe.
Xandan’s life is in no way kind to her. His entire existence is reduced to the basic needs that we all have: sleeping, eating breakfast, lunch, and supper. On good days he can shower.
Over the past two years, I’ve received around 80 letters that gave me a small opening into a punishing world that never forgives. A permanent state, enduring, uninterrupted, daily. No matter what he does, no matter if he has changed during all this time, which in Xandan’s case, is already 14 years. As a human being, Xandan does not count. What counts is his crime. The person he is, the sum of his experiences, his scars, his childhood, and his motives don’t matter. The only thing that matters is the crime that led to his sentence.