Annette John-Hall: Mothers in Charge seeks to ease female inmates' return to freedom

Sadly, Dorothy Johnson-Speight's work never ends.

In a perfect world, Johnson-Speight would be twiddling her thumbs, looking for something - anything - else to do other than what she does. But as long as families continue to lose their children to violence in Philadelphia, the founder of Mothers in Charge is committed to making sure her organization shrinks, not grows.

But such a mission requires programs that pack a preemptive punch.

So, not only has Johnson-Speight parlayed her own grief - her 24-year-old son, Khaaliq Johnson, was murdered over a parking space in 2001 - into an uber-support group, she's also come up with a slate of violence-prevention initiatives.

And I'm not talking about predictable things, like lobbying legislators or teaming up with faith-based organizations, even though Johnson-Speight's group does that and more.

I'm talking prevention advocacy on the ground level with the women who could have the most profound influence on their children but who don't because they're incarcerated.

"The idea," Johnson-Speight says before we head out to the Riverside Correctional Facility in Northeast Philly on a recent frigid night, "is to heal these women so they can be better parents, so they won't end up being part of Mothers in Charge."

Without good parenting, kids could "wind up being victims or perpetrators of violence," Johnson-Speight says.

Makes perfect sense.

"Heal a Woman, Heal a Nation" is a 12-week program that mentors and provides incarcerated women with coping skills for resolving conflict.

Two nights a week, Johnson-Speight and members of her team - many of whom served time themselves - go into Riverside and mentor the inmates.

Talk about needed. Women, most of whom are doing time for drug violations, are the fastest-growing penal-system population. Their incarceration rates are nearly double the rate for men.

Those skyrocketing numbers can't help but adversely impact the children, especially since for so many, their mom is their only parent.

"A lot of these women have not connected with their families because of their drug addiction, and their kids are not with them anymore," Johnson-Speight says. "Can you imagine how many children are affected as a result?"

In a packed meeting room in the prison, Mothers in Charge volunteers encourage role-playing to learn how to quash a potential beef.

"Remember your internal controls," a facilitator urges. "Ear to hear, heart to receive, mind to apply . . .. The first step to prevent anger is to listen openly. Did she do that?"

"Yes," the women reply.

"Did she show that she understood what the other person was feeling?"

"Yes."

"This has really helped me try to get over my anger issues," inmate Tyeisha Williams says. "This and my poetry."

To look at Williams, you wouldn't think she has a mean bone in her body. She's a tiny little thing. Her prison-issued scrubs nearly swallow her frame, and her Muslim hijab expresses modesty, not malice.

But Williams, 25, has lived a hard-knock life. Born to a drug-addicted mother in West Philadelphia, Williams was placed in foster care at age 5 and says she was raped soon after.

It wasn't long before she turned over her life to the streets. She's been shot once and is serving a 21/2-year sentence for stabbing a male acquaintance during an argument.

Despite her struggles, Williams is committed to turning her life around when she gets out in March. That's the other thing the Mothers in Charge program has taught her - responsibility.

"I want to go to school [to be] a medical assistant," she says. "What I really want to be is a doctor."

Who knows? She might find a place with Mothers in Charge. Johnson-Speight has already added seven ex-offenders to her staff.

Which is why Johnson-Speight is such a visionary. See, she understands that recidivism prevention and violence prevention go hand in hand.