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Here is how governments and people in this culture spend money. These make clear their priorities. In 1998, governments and people spent US $6 billion on basic education across the world; $8 billion on cosmetics in the United States; $9 billion on water and sanitation for everyone in the world; $11 billion on ice cream in Europe; $12 billion on reproductive health for all women in the world; $12 billion on perfumes in Europe and the United States; $13 billion on basic health and nutrition for everyone in the world; $17 billion on pet foods in Europe and the United States; $35 billion on business entertainment in Japan; $50 billion on cigarettes in Europe; $105 billion on alcoholic drinks in Europe; $400 billion on narcotic drugs in the world; $780 billion on military spending in the world. As the compiler of the list notes: “It would seem ironic that the world spends more on things to destroy each other (military) and to destroy ourselves (drugs, alcohol and cigarettes) than on anything else.”156

Most of my students at the prison are there at least partly because of drugs. Since the prison is a supermax, almost none of them are there for simple possession, or even dealing. Many are in for armed robbery committed to support their habits, or for murders committed under the influence or during drug deals gone bad.

Nearly all of them, as I mentioned before, hate prison with a passion I’ve rarely seen matched. They hate it partly because of characteristics that make prison really the quintessence of civilization: its routine dehumanization, its destruction of community, its isolation. My students are deprived of their families, with many knowing their children only through occasional letters and infrequent photos: they’ve shown me high school graduation pictures of children they’ve not seen since they were six and not held since they were infants. They’ve shown me pictures of wives and parents they’ll never see again. Prisons also mirror and magnify the bureaucratic power structures and strict rules that characterize civilization. This is when you eat. This is what you eat. This is how many books you may have (which must have been sent directly from a bookstore or publisher). This is the sort of writing implement you may use. This is the sort you may not.

Those prisoners who do not hate prison generally fall into a very few categories. There are lifers and a few others—usually those who’ve already served decades—who’ve come to an enlightened sort of acceptance—the serenity to accept things they cannot change. There are people whose horrific childhoods make prison a comparative cakewalk. And there are J-cats, or crazy people (J-cat stands for category J, a prison classification meaning the insane).

Yet as I said before, when I ask my students whether they’ll use again when they get out, even at the risk of coming back to prison, most say yes.

“It’s very difficult,” one said to me. “The first problem is the physical addiction. That can be hard to beat. And if you beat that, there’s still the memory of how good it feels. Even though I’ve been clean now all these years in prison if you put drugs in front of me right now I’d want to take them, just so I could feel that good again. But these problems are nothing compared to the emotional addiction. So much of my identity has been wrapped up in drugs. Drugs became who I am. Without them I was nothing. But even kicking the emotional addiction still isn’t the hardest part. It’s all of my relationships. My wife and I used together—that was all bound up in our courtship, in our sex-life, in our daily activities. And she still uses. What am I supposed to do when I get out? Not only do I have to give up this thing that makes me feel so very good—or at least I think it makes me feel good—and not only do I have to step away from this thing that’s been my identity for most of my life, but I’ll have to change my whole web of friendships, and maybe even my family. I’m facing a third strike if I get caught again, which means I’d be in forever,