Writing My Wrongs

Writing My Wrongs Plot Summary

Introduction

In the dimly lit confines of a prison cell in 2001, a man stared at his reflection in a polished steel mirror, watching tears roll down his face. This moment marked a sacred turning point in the life of James "Shaka" Senghor, who was serving his second year of a four-and-a-half-year stint in solitary confinement. After nearly a decade behind bars for murder, Senghor was finally confronting the painful truth of his actions and embracing the transformative power of forgiveness – not just for others, but for himself. Senghor's journey from the violent streets of Detroit to the unforgiving walls of maximum-security prisons and eventually to freedom represents one of the most profound stories of human redemption in modern times. Through his eyes, we witness the devastating impact of childhood trauma, the allure of the drug trade, and the brutality of prison life. But more importantly, we discover how reading, writing, and deep self-reflection can transform even the most hardened soul. His story illuminates the possibility of change in the most desperate circumstances and challenges us to reconsider our notions about crime, punishment, and the human capacity for growth.

Chapter 1: The Streets of Detroit: Early Life and Criminal Path

James White grew up in a middle-class home on the East Side of Detroit during the 1980s. His early childhood was filled with warm memories of a house that served as family central, where uncles, aunts, and cousins gathered regularly. Music from Parliament Funkadelic would fill their basement as the family celebrated life together. This foundation of love and stability, however, began to crumble when his parents' marriage deteriorated. The separation deeply affected eleven-year-old James, who couldn't understand why his father had to leave their home. The emotional wound deepened when, at fourteen, his mother informed him that he would have to move in with his father. "You are a young man now, and you will be better off living with your father," she told him. These words shredded his heart. How could a mother give up her child? What was wrong with him that made her not want to keep him? In that moment, James began erecting an emotional wall to protect himself from his parents and any other potential intruders. After moving between his father's and mother's homes, James eventually left home at fourteen. With nowhere stable to live, he found himself drawn to the streets, where drug dealers in fancy cars and designer clothes represented a warped version of success. A dealer named Miko took him under his wing, giving him the nickname "Jay" and putting him to work selling crack cocaine. Within weeks, the money was rolling in, and James could afford the clothes and attention he craved. "I felt like a king holding the $275 dollars he had given me in small bills," he recalled of his first payment. "That wad was the most money I had ever had." Life in the drug trade exposed the teenage James to unimaginable horrors. He witnessed people he had once admired reduced to desperate addicts who would do anything for their next fix. Women would trade sexual favors for rocks of crack, and violence was a constant threat. In March 1990, at seventeen, James was shot multiple times in a dispute over a girl. The incident transformed him, leaving him paranoid and determined never to be a victim again. "I became obsessed with carrying a gun, treating my 9-millimeter Taurus like a crackhead treats his pipe," he wrote. This trauma and his subsequent mindset set the stage for the tragic night in 1991 when, feeling threatened during an argument with a customer, he fired shots that took a man's life. At nineteen, James was arrested and charged with second-degree murder. After pleading guilty, he received a sentence of seventeen to forty years. As he stood before the judge, the weight of his actions and the consequences that would follow hadn't fully registered. Behind him, his mother, his pregnant girlfriend Brenda, and his ex-girlfriend cried. But James turned away, unable to face the pain he had caused them. He couldn't comprehend spending decades of his life behind bars, but reality was about to teach him harsh lessons about the price of his choices.

Chapter 2: Behind Bars: A Nineteen-Year Journey in Prison

On the day of his sentencing in 1991, nineteen-year-old James entered the Wayne County Jail, a facility with a fearsome reputation. The stench of unwashed bodies and the sight of desperate men immediately assaulted his senses. After being processed—stripped naked, searched, and given prison clothing—he became prisoner number 219184. The officer at intake told him to remember that number like he remembered his own name, a first step in the dehumanization process that would define his incarceration. Life inside Michigan's prisons proved even more brutal than James had imagined. His first stop was Riverside Correctional Facility, followed by a transfer to Michigan Reformatory, nicknamed "Gladiator School" for its frequent stabbings and violence. The trauma of this environment became clear when, just days after his arrival, a white inmate who had transferred with him committed suicide. The next day, James witnessed his first prison stabbing. The message was clear: this was a world where violence was currency and weakness could be fatal. Over the years, James moved through multiple facilities in the Michigan prison system. At each stop, he encountered the same harsh realities—predatory inmates, corrupt or abusive officers, and a system that seemed designed to strip away dignity. In 1999, after eight years behind bars, a confrontation with a corrections officer at Muskegon prison changed the course of his incarceration. When the officer blocked him from using the bathroom and pushed him, something in James snapped. He attacked the officer, beating him unconscious. This incident earned him four and a half years in solitary confinement at Oaks Correctional Facility in Manistee. Solitary confinement represented the depths of prison hell. James was confined to a cell for twenty-three hours a day, with only one hour for recreation in what resembled a dog kennel. The tier was filled with the sounds and smells of human despair—inmates banging on toilets and walls, throwing feces at each other and officers, and engaging in self-harm. One Latino inmate set himself on fire after enduring relentless harassment from officers who targeted him for his sexual orientation. "There is nothing humane about being caged in a cell for twenty-three hours a day," James observed, "and when you add this to all of the other stresses that inmates face—the torture of regrets from your past, the neglect and abandonment from your family members—you have a surefire recipe for disaster." Throughout his incarceration, James struggled with the separation from his children. His girlfriend Brenda had been pregnant when he was arrested, and their son, James Jr. (known as Li'l Jay), was born while he was in prison. Years later, when Li'l Jay first visited him, the boy shrank away in fear, not recognizing his father. "I wanted to die on the spot," James remembered. "It took all of the energy I had to hold back from bursting into tears." This heartbreaking reality fueled his determination to someday regain his freedom and be the father his children deserved.

Chapter 3: Transformation Through Words: Finding Purpose in Confinement

James's transformation began not with a single moment of clarity, but through a series of encounters with books that gradually opened his mind. His introduction to reading as therapy came through the novels of Donald Goines, whose vivid tales of inner-city life resonated with James's own experiences. "Goines's vivid tale of inner-city life and the underground lottery had me in its spell," he recalled, "and his ability to articulate the pain of the streets validated the anger, frustration, and disappointment I felt toward life in the 'hood." These stories connected with him on a visceral level, providing an escape from the confines of his cell. The true catalyst for change, however, came when a fellow inmate named DJ X introduced him to The Autobiography of Malcolm X. Malcolm's journey from street hustler to global leader spoke directly to James's soul. "Malcolm's words snatched my eyes open and embedded in me a burning desire to do something meaningful with my life," he wrote. "His ability to go from a common street thug to a world-renowned orator and scholar inspired me in a way that nothing had before." This discovery ignited an insatiable hunger for knowledge, particularly about Black history and culture. James immersed himself in works by scholars like Chancellor Williams, Cheikh Anta Diop, and J. A. Rogers, learning about the great African kingdoms and civilizations that had never been taught in his school curriculum. This education gave him a sense of pride and dignity he had never experienced before. "I learned that my ancestors were more than passive observers of history; they were in fact an integral part of the development of civilization as we know it today," he explained. The more he read, the more his worldview expanded beyond the narrow confines of prison life. During his time in solitary confinement, James discovered the healing power of writing. He began keeping journals to process his emotions, particularly his anger. When he found himself enraged at another inmate, he would immediately write down his violent thoughts. Later, when he revisited these entries, he was disturbed by their intensity. "The other inmate had been inconsiderate, no doubt, but was it really meant as a personal attack? And even if it was, did he really deserve to be harmed, or even killed, as payback?" This practice of self-examination began to transform his response to conflict. Writing also became an outlet for creative expression. James authored several novels during his incarceration, including a detective story called Crack. He discovered that writing offered a form of freedom that transcended physical confinement: "With a pencil and a piece of paper, it was almost like I could travel outside of prison and go wherever I desired. I could stand on the corner in my neighborhood, and no one could stop me." This mental escape provided crucial relief from the psychological pressures of imprisonment. Perhaps the most profound turning point came when, after eleven years in prison, James received a letter from his ten-year-old son. At the top of the page, Li'l Jay had written in capital letters: "MY MOM TOLD ME WHY YOU'RE IN JAIL, BECAUSE OF MURDER! DON'T KILL DAD PLEASE THAT IS A SIN." The realization that his son would grow up seeing him as a murderer devastated James, but it also strengthened his resolve to change. "I knew then that I had to do everything in my power to turn my life around," he wrote. "It was the only way I could show my son that I was not a monster."

Chapter 4: Breaking Cycles: Forgiveness and Accountability

Two years into his solitary confinement, James reached a breaking point. After witnessing grown men descend into madness around him, he recognized that without significant change, he would follow the same path. Standing before the steel mirror in his cell, he embarked on the painful journey of forgiveness. "I forgave all of the people who had teased me in my childhood," he recalled. "I forgave my mother for all of the ass whoppings she gave me. I forgave the guy who shot me when I was seventeen. I forgave my siblings and homies for abandoning me at the lowest point in my life." This process of forgiveness extended most critically to himself. For years, James had carried the crushing weight of his crime, feeling unworthy of forgiveness. "I had helped to bring a new life into the world—but now I was taking my life out of it," he had thought after the shooting. The guilt from the destruction and disappointment he had caused clung to him, but he realized that to make things right with others, he first needed to make peace with himself. This wasn't about absolving himself of responsibility, but rather acknowledging his humanity despite his terrible actions. With this newfound clarity, James began addressing the root causes of his violent behavior. Through his journal writing, he excavated layers of emotional wounds from his childhood—the pain of his parents' divorce, his mother's rejection, and the physical violence he had both witnessed and experienced. "I discovered that, like many young males who grow up in distressed neighborhoods, I probably suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder," he reflected. "I had suppressed these feelings because there was no one I could talk to about them." Understanding these underlying issues didn't excuse his actions but provided crucial context for his path to healing. The culmination of this internal work came when James wrote a letter to the man he had killed. Though the letter couldn't be delivered, the process of writing it forced James to fully confront the impact of his actions. "I am writing this letter to share with you what has been on my mind and heart for several years now," he began. "Somehow, no matter what words I use, saying I am sorry for robbing you and your family of your life seems too small of a gesture." In this letter, he acknowledged how he had blamed everything and everyone but himself for the shooting, and recognized that his thinking and choices had caused a man's death and devastated a family. James also received an unexpected gift of grace through a letter from his victim's godmother. "I love you, and I forgive you," she wrote. "How can I do less? Because God loves you, and I am a Christian, so I humbly follow his guidance." This extraordinary act of forgiveness from someone he had hurt so deeply reinforced his commitment to change. Though it would take years for her words to fully take root in his life, they planted a seed that would eventually blossom into genuine transformation. By accepting accountability for his past actions while simultaneously working to become a better person, James was breaking the destructive cycles that had defined his earlier life. No longer would he respond to conflict with violence; no longer would he blame others for his circumstances. Instead, he embraced the difficult work of self-improvement, knowing that true redemption required both acknowledgment of past wrongs and consistent effort to live differently. This shift represented not only personal growth but also a model for others trapped in similar cycles of trauma and violence.

Chapter 5: Finding Freedom: Reintegration and Family Life

On June 22, 2010, one day after his thirty-eighth birthday, James walked out of prison a free man. "When I stepped outside and inhaled my first breath of freedom in nineteen years, I felt like a baby taking in air for the first time," he recalled. His son, now a young man, and his girlfriend Ebony were waiting for him in the parking lot. Their presence represented the promise of a new chapter in his life, one where he could finally be the father and partner he had longed to become during his years of incarceration. The transition to freedom brought both joy and challenges. Those first days were filled with family reunions and celebrations. His father held a barbecue in his honor, where he reconnected with relatives and old friends. He also met his daughter Lakeisha and grandson for the first time since she was a baby. These moments of reconnection were precious, but they also highlighted how much time had been lost. Meanwhile, everyday aspects of modern life that most people take for granted—like smartphones and social media—were entirely new to him. "I was essentially being tossed headfirst into a new society that had an entirely different way of communicating," he explained, "and I found myself struggling to catch up." Reintegration also meant navigating the restrictive rules of parole. James couldn't associate with anyone who had a felony record, attend parties, or even be around children playing with water guns. Finding employment proved especially difficult due to the stigma of his criminal record. Despite applying for numerous positions as a reentry counselor and youth mentor—roles that seemed perfect for his experience and skills—he received no job offers. This rejection was demoralizing, but Ebony's unwavering support kept him focused on his goals. Throughout these challenges, James's relationship with Ebony deepened. They had begun corresponding when she visited the prison as part of a community organization, and their connection had sustained him through his final years of incarceration. Now free, they moved into a townhouse together in February 2011 and soon discovered they were expecting a child. "It was the greatest news in the world," James wrote, "and the day we found out, we cried with joy." Their son Sekou Akili (meaning "scholarly warrior") was born on December 13, 2011, giving James a chance to experience fatherhood from the beginning—something he had missed with his older children. Becoming a father again strengthened James's determination to create a better world for his family. Watching Sekou grow reinforced that his dreams of freedom weren't just about escaping prison walls, but about building something meaningful with his life. "I realized that the desires I had expressed to the parole board were real—more than anything in the world, my dream was to give our son a better world than the one Ebony and I had inherited," he reflected. This commitment to family and community would become the foundation for his new identity. Ultimately, James's successful reintegration wasn't just about staying out of prison—it was about recreating himself as Shaka Senghor, a name that symbolized his transformation. By embracing his roles as father, partner, and community member, he was writing a new chapter that honored his past while refusing to be defined by it. His journey demonstrated that with proper support and personal determination, even those who have committed serious crimes can rebuild their lives and contribute positively to society.

Chapter 6: Becoming a Mentor: Turning Pain into Purpose

After his release, Shaka was determined to use his experiences to help others avoid the path he had taken. He began volunteering at local high schools and community centers, speaking candidly about his past and the consequences of his choices. His message resonated particularly with young men from neighborhoods like the ones where he had grown up—places where violence, drugs, and hopelessness often seemed like the only constants. When these youth heard Shaka's story, they saw not just a cautionary tale, but also a blueprint for transformation. In 2011, Shaka received his first major opportunity when the Knight Foundation launched a program called BMe (Black Male Engagement), which recognized Black men making positive contributions to their communities. Shaka submitted a proposal for a twelve-week mentoring program that would teach at-risk youth to use writing to process their emotions—the same technique that had been so crucial to his own healing. When he was named one of the BMe Challenge winners, it validated his vision and provided the resources to implement it. The mentoring program quickly proved successful. Shaka watched with pride as young people who had been hardened by street life began to open up through writing. "The students were enjoying the class, and I loved watching these shy, introverted, street-toughened kids blossom into brilliant writers and expressive artists, right before my eyes," he recalled. Some shared stories of sexual and child abuse that were both horrifying and heartrending, but Shaka created a safe space where they could process these experiences. "There was something profound about listening to them speak without interruption," he noted, "and with each story, poem, or haiku they shared with me, I found myself learning what it truly means to support someone else in his or her journey." Alongside his mentoring work, Shaka pursued his passion for writing. Before his release, he and Ebony had started a publishing company called Drop a Gem Publishing, which published his first novel. His writing also began appearing in anthology books and national magazines, giving him a platform to share his insights with a broader audience. Additionally, he found a creative outlet through theater, participating in productions with the Prison Creative Arts Project and eventually writing for the stage himself. Shaka's mentoring philosophy was shaped by his own experiences. He understood that many young people engaged in destructive behaviors not because they were inherently bad, but because they were dealing with trauma and had never been taught healthy coping mechanisms. "I had never thought about the fact that by getting locked up, I was also imprisoning everyone who loved or cared about me," he reflected. This insight informed his approach, which emphasized accountability while offering compassion and practical tools for change. Perhaps most importantly, Shaka modeled authentic transformation. Unlike mentors who preached from positions of privilege, he had lived through the consequences of the very choices he warned against. When he spoke about the devastation of gun violence, he did so as both perpetrator and victim. When he emphasized the importance of education and self-reflection, he shared how these practices had literally saved his life. This authenticity made his message uniquely powerful and established him as a trusted voice in conversations about urban violence, incarceration, and redemption.

Chapter 7: Creating Change: Advocacy and Prison Reform Work

Shaka's journey from prison to advocacy took a significant turn when he met Joi Ito, director of the MIT Media Lab, during a Detroit meeting in July 2012. Initially skeptical of outside "saviors" coming to fix his city, Shaka challenged Ito and his team to include real Detroiters in their plans. Rather than dismissing this critique, Ito invited Shaka to visit the Media Lab in Boston. This connection would open unexpected doors, eventually leading to Shaka being named an MIT Media Lab Fellow. His role would be to bridge the gap between the technological innovation of MIT and the on-the-ground realities of urban communities like Detroit. As his platform grew, Shaka began speaking at universities, conferences, and community events across the country. He delivered a powerful TEDTalk that has been viewed millions of times, published articles in major publications, and appeared on national television programs. In each forum, he used his story to illuminate larger issues within the criminal justice system. "What I now know is that my life could have had many outcomes; that it didn't need to happen the way it did," he explained. "I was once an angry, lost teenager holding a community hostage to fear and greed. Thousands of youth are making the same mistakes every day. But we weren't born that way." Shaka's advocacy work took more formal shape when he joined #cut50, a bipartisan initiative co-founded by CNN commentator Van Jones that aims to reduce America's prison population by 50 percent. As Director of Strategy and Innovation, Shaka brought his firsthand experience to discussions about criminal justice reform. He participated in meetings at the White House, testified before legislators, and consulted on policy proposals. His involvement ensured that the voices and perspectives of formerly incarcerated people were represented in high-level conversations about reform. Central to Shaka's advocacy was humanizing the incarcerated population. "In an era of record incarcerations and a culture of violence, we can learn to love those who no longer love themselves," he urged. He challenged the public to recognize that people in prison aren't fundamentally different from those outside; many are simply individuals who made terrible decisions in moments of crisis, often after experiencing significant trauma themselves. This perspective didn't excuse criminal behavior but offered a more nuanced understanding of how to address it effectively. Shaka also focused on practical reforms that could improve conditions for those currently incarcerated. He advocated for limiting the use of solitary confinement, expanding educational and therapeutic programs in prisons, and creating more meaningful pathways for successful reentry. Having experienced the transformative power of books firsthand, he was particularly passionate about ensuring incarcerated people had access to quality reading materials and educational opportunities. "These were the things that saved me," he often said, "and they could save others too." Through his advocacy, Shaka emerged as a leading voice in a growing movement to reimagine justice in America. Rather than focusing solely on punishment, he called for a system that prioritizes rehabilitation, restoration, and the recognition of human dignity. His work reminds us that true public safety comes not from locking more people away for longer periods, but from addressing the root causes of crime and creating meaningful opportunities for redemption and growth. As he put it: "I'm asking you to envision a world where men and women aren't held hostage to their pasts, where misdeeds and mistakes don't define you for the rest of your life."

Summary

Shaka Senghor's extraordinary journey from troubled youth to imprisoned murderer to respected author and activist exemplifies the human capacity for profound change. His story reminds us that transformation is rarely instantaneous—it took years of self-reflection, reading, writing, and confronting painful truths before he could fully embrace accountability for his actions and forgive himself. Through this painstaking process, he discovered that redemption is possible even for those who have committed terrible acts, and that the wisdom gained through such journeys can become a powerful force for positive change in the world. The lessons from Senghor's life transcend his individual experience, offering insights for how we might approach criminal justice, mentorship, and personal growth. His work suggests that our approach to incarceration should balance accountability with opportunity for rehabilitation and that we must see beyond people's worst actions to recognize their potential for change. For individuals wrestling with their own demons, his story demonstrates the transformative power of confronting painful truths, finding constructive outlets for difficult emotions, and persisting through setbacks on the path to becoming better. Ultimately, Senghor challenges us all to examine how we might contribute to a world where second chances are possible, where mistakes—even grievous ones—do not permanently define us, and where pain can be transformed into purpose.

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Shaka Senghor

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