I’m not entirely sure why I’m here. Maybe it’s because I was a reckless kid, even though I know I’m a pretty intelligent guy. I suppose the truth is that we all lose sight of what matters sometimes. Pride gets in the way.
S.H.I.F.T. matters to me because it brought together men from completely different backgrounds who all wanted the same thing: to become better than the people we used to be. We wanted to change ourselves while also helping shift the culture around us. We wanted to break the stigma and stereotypes that exist inside these walls and show that people are capable of real growth when they’re given something worth believing in.
Not all of us have wives, children, or families waiting for us on the outside. That doesn’t mean we should live without hope. I never thought I would have that kind of purpose either, but today my children are the reason I keep getting up. They’re the reason I keep trying, even when it feels like the system expects me to fail.
Real change inside prison is an uphill battle. Discouragement and doubt are our greatest enemies. It’s hard to believe in yourself when so many people around you are trying to convince you that your efforts don’t matter.
I’ve spent almost thirty years in prison. During that time, I built a reputation that still follows me everywhere I go. No matter how much I’ve changed, I’m often judged by the man I used to be instead of the man I’ve worked to become. People can lie and be believed. Others can admit they’re using drugs and still be given opportunities. Yet men who spend years investing in change, taking accountability, building leadership, and helping others are often viewed with suspicion simply because of who they once were.
The hardest part isn’t what happens to us personally. It’s watching programs fall apart when the people holding them together are removed. Leadership matters. One person’s influence can determine whether something succeeds or fails. When that leadership disappears, the culture can change almost overnight.
I’ve known Rudy for nearly thirty years. We met when I was a seventeen-year-old kid, new to the system and trying to prove myself. We’ve spent much of our time together at IMSI, and we’ve watched this place change in ways most people will never understand.
When the incentive tier was created in 2025, Rudy, Mirza, and I believed we had an opportunity to build something different. We wanted men to start seeing each other as people capable of change. It wasn’t easy. A lot of people didn’t believe it would work. But the three of us together proved that when people stand together, they can create something positive.
Today, none of us are allowed back on that tier.
I’ve watched what we built slowly crumble. From where I stand, it’s easier to blame the people who invested everything into creating a positive culture than it is to ask why that culture began to fall apart after its leadership was removed. I was placed in segregation. My property was taken. Once a person has a reputation, that alone can be enough to make them the scapegoat for almost anything.
The greatest punishment isn’t what happened to me. It’s hearing the sadness and doubt in my children’s voices. It’s knowing that every setback they experience is tied to decisions made about a version of me that no longer exists.
If there’s one thing I hope people understand, it’s this:
People are capable of extraordinary change.
But change cannot survive on punishment alone. It requires hope, responsibility, accountability, and the opportunity to prove, day after day, that we are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.
That’s what S.H.I.F.T. gave me, HOPE.
And that’s why it will always matter.
Mikey