By Kai Bannon
No, it’s not Christmas. We are mostly locked down on holidays, and they are often a cruel mirror –reflecting all the joy we miss. The day I’m speaking of is the free book giveaway for children of incarcerated people that takes place in the library. It’s an event I created (with Kristy Kenney and Gabriel Loiederman) that I’m extremely proud of. For three hours, incarcerated people slowly and carefully pick through stacks of new children’s books to send home for the holidays completely free of charge.
No one understands the value of literacy like those who are denied it. Half of our population at San Quentin reads below an 8th-grade level, 18% read below a fourth-grade level. It’s not the future anyone wants for their kids.
I imagine it’s a particular type of torture to live the link between incarceration and illiteracy. To be forced to passively watch as your son or daughter falls behind in school. One of the many cruelties of imprisonment is that it limits our ability to demonstrate love, and it strips most people of their ability to help others. That’s one of the reasons why today everyone is so excited. These books are more than just paper and words, and it’s evident in the way our patrons handle them. I can’t help but laugh watching the same people who typically abuse –with reckless malcontent– our delicate paperbacks coddle these hardcovers with a reverence usually reserved for babies and small glass objects.
It’s funny, but it isn’t surprising. This experience is transformative for us; the ordinarily stoic faces of hardened people soften in the shiny reflections of glossy new hardcovers. The fair offers a rare opportunity to escape our imposed identities as incarcerated people. For a fleeting moment, we are just parents, siblings, uncles, and aunts, yearning to reach out, to be part of a child’s life and contribute to their joy and education.
The presence of free people enhances the feeling. San Quentin librarians have brought employees from our bookstore partners (Copperfield’s and Book Passage) and librarians from Berkeley and San Francisco. They’re eager to help folks who have never been in a bookstore find the perfect gift. It’s a chance to be waited on and a glimpse of normalcy.
There’s always disappointments. This year, an officer wouldn’t let people queue outside the library, and I know some people missed out. By way of consolation, I remind myself that he is also illiterate and doesn’t spend any time with his family. I also take a moment to imagine the children receiving these gifts, eyes sparkling as they discover a new adventure within the pages. I hope those kids find as much love, friendship, and solace within those pages as I have. These books carry stories, but more importantly, they carry messages: tales of hope, resilience, and the enduring power of love that not even bars can break.
I think often throughout the year of all the people unknown to us that support this event. I wonder if they know they’re not just giving us free books; they’re handing out hope and bridging the gap between two worlds. Reminding us that we’re not forgotten, that we’re still loved, while also reminding our loved ones that we’re still here, still a part of their lives, and that we love them even in our absence.
I imagine they have no idea the impact they have on our lives. I hope this message makes it to them. I want the supporters of this event to know that they are more than just book donors; they’re builders of bridges, igniters of imagination, and menders of broken bonds. They send a message that resonates through these walls: everyone deserves love, family, and the chance to write a better story.
I want them to know that we mailed 769 books this year and that each carries a promise and a reminder: The promise, a future where mistakes are chapters, not the whole narrative; the reminder, we are still here, and we will always be there. Sending our love, one book at a time.