Jeffery Shockley, serving a life sentence, reflects on independence day in prison and what it means to be judged forever by the past.

Freedom. Independence. What do these words mean to a man serving a life sentence, as the nation celebrates 250 years with parades and fireworks?

I wake up today wondering what kind of day this will be, unable to do or be whatever I choose, unable to show my freedom and independence. I live inside the confines of a penal institution, where the only freedom is the kind you dream of, kept alive by the hope in your mind.

I’ve thought long and hard about what to say, knowing so many people really don’t care what an inmate has to say. That hurts, because so many of us inside are different — different than we were five, 10, 15, 20 or more years ago. As the nation celebrates its growth and accomplishments, it carries a blemished history that gets swept under the proverbial rug. But for those of us in prison, our mistakes, our moments of poor judgment, are the only things considered. Not the growth and maturity we’ve demonstrated through our changed behavior and attitudes.

In this country, in life, we celebrate the vast, dynamic differences of people coming together to make America great. The same could be said of the population in prison, yet we continue to languish under closed minds and adjust to the reality of dying here. We are different people now than the ones we had to deal with — the ones who got us in here.

Cognitive agility. Higher expectations. Frontier pragmatism. There is a line, a boundary, between opposing ideas, and real philosophy puts its emphasis on applying those ideas, not on the impractical beliefs some think others should hold. In short, we want society to see the good in people despite their past, the same way we want it for ourselves. See me for who I am today, no matter what that file proclaimed me to be yesterday.

We are who we are, despite the yesterday we’re held to. It’s not so different from the way this nation celebrates its birthday while downplaying its own yesterdays of slavery and indentured servitude.

No matter what we accomplish during our time in prison, the life-sentenced won’t get the fanfare, the fireworks, or any acknowledgment of how we used our time to become great again. America, if it’s okay for you to do what you want, expecting acceptance and exerting dominance, why must I fight so hard to prove I’m not the same person, when no one else has to? Aren’t we all just doing whatever’s easiest to get by?

It’s not that I want more for myself than I want for you. What’s good for me is good for you, because what’s good for you is good for me. Isn’t that the progress this country was founded on, at least in theory?

Always wanting, never seeking, resolute in a lost purpose, yet comfortable declaring simply: What is a life worth if it never gets a second chance? So much for freedom and independence.