If you ask Al-Wadood Jabbar, the only one who can tell him to stop his mission of sponsoring prison inmates with wisdom and personal charity is the one who gave him the task in the first place: God.
It has never been easy work, Jabbar says. But he can remember at least a dozen men whom he has helped build successful lives after being released from prison, across the three decades of volunteering stretching back to 1985 when he worked for R.J. Reynolds in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.
The work takes place in long conversations on the phone, in sit-down meetings, in Bible studies, in restaurants, and even sometimes in Jabbar’s own home. The goal is to help men develop a plan for life on the outside, which can be often difficult to understand after being in prison for years.
As the president of the Winston-Salem chapter of the NAACP during a time in which prisons and the criminal justice system have come under increasing public scrutiny, Jabbar feels that his God-given assignment is more important than ever.
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“The work that I have been assigned has been assigned by God,” Jabbar said. “To be in a position at my age at 76 years old, to apply some wisdom and knowledge to young men who have not been afforded it in the past. It should be looked on as an opportunity to keep guys from that revolving door in the prison system.”
But Jabbar’s willingness to help isn’t always being seen that way anymore. As of January, prison officials at the Forsyth Correctional Center have banned him from volunteering as an inmate sponsor, stating that he has recently attempted to undermine the operations of the facility and shed a negative light on the prison.
Now the future of Jabbar’s work is in question. In a letter sent on Jan. 30, prison staff gave Jabbar 30 days to appeal the revocation of his volunteer privileges. But because of the unexpected death of his daughter, Jabbar missed the deadline and his appeal to the prison has gone unanswered.
One question
Weeks before he was banned, Jabbar was looking forward to the release of Mack Morris, who was up for parole after having served more than 30 years for second-degree murder.
Jabbar had met Morris, who could not be reached by the Journal for comment, in one of the prison’s Bible studies. When he took him on trips outside of the prison, Jabbar said he could tell that Morris was one that was willing to follow the process of rehabilitation.
In order to get access to social security benefits and a job after being released, inmates need their social security card. They also need money earned from work release programs, which allow inmates at minimum security prisons to leave each day and work a job earning at least a minimum wage to save up money for when they are released.
On Jan. 15, the day of his release, Morris, 69, received neither from the prison. When Morris told Jabbar, he was troubled.
“Usually, they have your money there waiting for you,” Jabbar said. “And they didn’t have his money when he was released. So, you put that burden on someone who’s been in prison for 30 years to come out and find avenues to get this taken care of when you were the one who lost it in the first place.”
Although Morris received his Social Security card and work release money weeks later from prison officials, Jabbar had already begun asking about the missing items.
In addition to asking staff at the prison, Jabbar went to officials with the State Bureau of Investigation (SBI) and the regional offices of the DAC with his concerns. Eventually, a letter came from staff at the prison, sent by the coordinator of the community volunteer program, Nichol Barnes.
“This letter is to regretfully inform you that after much discussion and consideration your privileges as a community volunteer sponsor at Forsyth Correctional Center are being revoked,” Barnes wrote. “It was brought to our attention that you involved yourself with release procedures of an offender by inquiring of Mack Morris’ Social Security card and his work release monies that he is set to receive upon his release.”
The letter accuses Jabbar of “undermining the operations of the facility” by contacting the regional prison offices and the SBI with "inaccurate information" in an attempt to shed a negative light on the prison.
“It is further noted that we have spoken to you several times about contacting staff and arguing with them about procedures and operations of the [center], which are not up for discussion with you as it relates to the custody and control of the facility,” Barnes wrote.
When asked about prior arguments with prison staff, Jabbar said that he doesn’t remember having arguments with anyone.
“I think I have a reason as a taxpayer that I can ask a question, especially when it pertains to someone getting unfair treatment,” Jabbar said. “I had asked them, ‘Does my behavior say that you don’t want me up here?’ And they constantly said no.”
In an email response to questions about Jabbar, Brad Deen, a communications officer for the DAC, said that Jabbar’s privileges were revoked for repeated failure to follow guidelines established for community volunteers.
When asked which specific guidelines Jabbar violated, and if the prison had lost Morris’ social security card and work release money, Deen said that no additional information could be provided about Jabbar or Morris.
In a phone interview with the Journal, Charles Mautz, the prison’s director of rehabilitation services, said that prison staff take pride in the steps they go through to make sure their services are enacted consistently and fairly.
“Community volunteers are carefully screened and monitored,” Deen wrote in an email to the Journal. “Serving as a community volunteer or community leave sponsor is a privilege. Noncompliance with the program’s rules and expectations can endanger the integrity of the program, as well as the safety and security of the offender and the volunteer.”
According to Deen, there are more than 200 community volunteers who work with the Forsyth Correctional Center and are involved either on an individual basis or through membership in a nonprofit group.
“The spirit and purpose of the program are that these are activities that will assist in reintegrating the individual back into society,” Mautz said.
When asked if a community volunteer had been banned from the prison before, Mautz did not answer the question but responded by referencing the prison’s guideline to deal with such cases.
‘Why don’t we do everything we can to make them successful?’
This is far from the first struggle Jabbar has had with enforcers in the criminal justice system over the years, and he does not think it will end what he believes is his advocacy for the voiceless.
“God never loses the war,” Jabbar said. “You might win a battle but he’s going to win the war. I know that he’s going to do whatever is necessary to put me where I need to be to continue this work for him.”
The Rev. Tembila Covington, who is the president of the Ministers’ Conference of Winston-Salem and Vicinity, has worked with Jabbar as first vice president of the city’s NAACP and says that his actions exemplify his dedication to serving others, especially those who are disenfranchised.
“When it comes to those who are incarcerated in the prison system,” Covington said. “They’re not being seen as those who can add value to the community. He has always found a way to provide encouragement to them.”
State officials have started a similar effort to look at those who have been in prison differently than they have in the past.
On Jan. 29, North Carolina Gov. Roy Cooper issued an executive order instructing the state’s department of adult correction (DAC) to lead a coordinated effort with all cabinet agencies to expand housing, economic mobility, education and technical training opportunities for formerly incarcerated people while ensuring those in prisons can get on Medicaid once they are released.
“Our state’s correctional facilities are a hidden source of talent: people with diverse experiences and skills who really want to change their lives,” said Cooper in an Executive Mansion ceremony.
Jabbar can remember his relationship with a former inmate named Norman Bishop as an example of what could be accomplished by spending countless hours counseling men in prison.
Bishop, who could not be reached for comment, was originally convicted for robbery with a dangerous weapon in 1975. Jabbar, who had spent a significant amount of time helping Bishop, had to tell him that he would not get parole because his crime was too fresh.
When Bishop later escaped from prison in 1990, Jabbar said he had come to conclusions about Bishop.
“I was trying to help him, but it seemed like he didn’t want to be helped,” Jabbar said.
Jabbar had settled with his disappointment until 2011, when he heard that Bishop was incarcerated in the Piedmont Correctional Institution in Salisbury, North Carolina. Jabbar said that something in his spirit told him that he had to go visit Bishop.
Even more than a decade later, Jabbar can remember walking through a series of doors in the maximum-security prison and watching Bishop come around the corner.
“This guy is close to breaking,” Jabbar remembers thinking to himself when he saw Bishop. Jabbar said he recognized that Bishop had reached the moment at which inmates realize they don’t want to spend the rest of their lives in prison.
Soon after the visit, Jabbar talked with Earline Parmon, a former state senator and the first Black senator from Forsyth County, about Bishop.
Eventually, Parmon was able to get Bishop on a 36-month MAPP (Mutual Agreement Parole Program) contract, which prepares selected inmates for release if they accomplish every guideline on the contract within the established timeframe. In 2012, Bishop was transferred to the minimum-security prison in Winston-Salem and was granted parole in 2014.
Upon his release, Bishop had to learn some of the most essential things about living life as an adult, Jabbar said, such as staying ahead of health issues.
“The average guy at a prison doesn’t know what a PSA number is,” Jabbar said.
A prostate-specific antigen (PSA) blood test measures the level of PSA in the blood and can detect signs of prostate cancer. There is no specific normal or abnormal level of PSA in the blood, according to the National Cancer Institute, but the higher a man’s PSA level, the more likely it is that he has prostate cancer.
Bishop had a PSA level of 80 upon being released and had to have his prostate removed, Jabbar said.
“Just think about the number of men in prison dying every day because they have prostate cancer and it wasn’t detected early on,” Jabbar said. “But people don’t really care about people like that.”
Jabbar says his mission is to use everything he can to help men like Bishop. While sponsoring him, Jabbar said, his family changed their entire holiday routine so they would have Thanksgiving, Easter, and Christmas at one house so that Bishop could be part of their environment.
Jabbar was often allowed to take Bishop out on six-hour outings, which he would regularly spend during holiday celebrations and weekly Sunday dinner with Jabbar’s family. The point of hosting Bishop, Jabbar said, was so he could learn about the kind of family life he could move into after his time in prison.
“They’ve made mistakes; we all make mistakes,” Jabbar said. “Some of them made mistakes that are worse than others. But once you say that they aren’t prepared to come out, why don’t we do everything we can do to make them successful?”
‘I have to complete the assignment’
Despite missing the deadline to appeal the revocation of his volunteer privileges, Jabbar sent a message to prison officials on March 18 requesting that his privileges be restored.
“My inquiry about Mr. Morris’ Social Security card and his work release monies stemmed from a genuine desire to ensure that formal release procedures established by the [DAC] were being followed properly,” Jabbar wrote in an email to DAC officials. “It was never my intention to disrupt or challenge the authority of the staff at Forsyth Correctional Center.”
Jabbar added that accusations that he had contacted regional DAC offices and the SBI with inaccurate information were “categorically untrue” and that as a dedicated volunteer with a “vested interest” in the success of the facility, he would never engage in such behavior.
Jabbar told the Journal that even though his appeal and messages to prison officials have gone unanswered, he still desires to continue his work with the incarcerated.
“When God gives me an assignment, I have to complete the assignment,” Jabbar said. “Now when he says this is as far as I want you to go, I stop. But he has not said that yet.”