Last Chance in Texas: The Redemption of Criminal Youth

“‘Life stories.’ ‘Empathy.’ ‘Thinking errors.’ It turns out that human behavior and the programs designed to alter it are inextricably tied to language.”

COG greatly emphasizes talking through the past. Most of the students have built a wall around painful experiences that protects them but also prevents them from getting beyond it. Articulating the traumatic experience allows the students to tell a new story of their future lives.

“The boys entering Capital Offenders are about to become archaeologists of the self, slowly and methodically sifting through their own lives.”

Those who do not understand the past are doomed to repeat it. This adage is generally applied to nations rather than to individuals. However, the concept holds true for COG students: They must delve into their own pasts in painstaking detail to understand them and avoid repeating their mistakes.

“By the time a boy like Ronnie lands in Giddings, he has put together a case file that is the exact opposite of a family album. Every antisocial event that comes to the attention of the authorities is recorded in these pages.”

The author draws an ironic parallel between family albums (which typically capture moments of joy and unity) and the case file of a juvenile offender. Ronnie’s life is documented and judged by his worst moments, not his best. This negative evidence only reinforces his inner sense of unworthiness.

“Ronnie found the answer where troubled children almost always do. It was him: he was the problem. A child lives at the center of a very small universe. If something is really, really wrong in that universe, the fault has to be his.”

Ronnie and his teammates all came from dysfunctional families, and they all leapt to the same conclusion about their abusive caregivers, internalizing the blame and then forming a hard shell around it. Until they can see themselves as something more than inherently flawed, change is impossible. This dynamic encapsulates the themes of legacies of dysfunction; when a child’s very sense of self sustains damage through parental abuse, the trauma can be especially challenging to heal.

“Put teenagers in a safe setting and they will relish revealing what has happened to them. They have an almost desperate need to talk about themselves. And that is understandable, because no one has ever listened to them.”

At many points in the book, different students mention trying to tell family members about abuse, but the adults in their world had a vested interest in denying these charges. There was no safe space for these youths to articulate their pain until they came to COG. When children finally receive empathy (from therapists or fellow students, for example), this helps them develop empathy of their own.

“As bad as abandonment or beatings are when they occur, the real killer is their legacy: a tape loop that endlessly repeats—My dad didn’t love me enough to stop beating me up. My mom didn’t love me enough to come back.”

This quote amplifies an earlier statement about small children blaming themselves for family dysfunction rather than understanding that their parents are at fault. When the family is abusive, the children conclude that they are intrinsically unlovable. This quote further describes their self-doubt: Not only are they bad, but they will never be worthy of parental love.

“Ronnie craves attention. Having this many people listen to him, this many people care about him, feels very good. Since no one has ever listened to him before, he has never learned to listen to himself. Now, both are happening.”

This quote builds on an earlier statement suggesting that no one has ever listened to these teens. Children learn from the behaviors that adults model for them. If adults fail to listen to a child, in the child’s view, it must mean that the child isn’t worthy of being heard. Such children then learn to deny or dismiss their own feelings.

“Role plays are delicate. It is one thing to narrate a life story, as Ronnie has. It is another to experience the emotions connected to those events, feelings a youth has not allowed himself to experience. A role play is a trip back to childhood, but it is healing, not traumatizing, as the childhood was.”

During traumatic childhood incidents, the child is left entirely alone to process the event. Invariably, the result is confusion and self-doubt. Although role-playing takes an individual back to that painful moment, a therapist is there to coach the teen through the experience and point out more constructive ways of interpreting its meaning.

“Learning to block and tackle isn’t going to change their lives. But coaches who take a personal interest in them might. Giving their all to something can help them change.”

One of the school’s football coaches makes this statement. He views sports as a character-building exercise, and the players at Giddings seem to validate his view. Their capacity to work together to win a game is evidence of cooperation and teamwork. Their own families failed to model mutual support, but football gives them a chance to experience it.

“‘Follow your bliss.’ But what advice would Campbell have for Jerrold and thousands of other angry, lonely, drug-addled teenagers who have never experienced joy? How can they ‘follow their bliss’ if they have never experienced, and therefore have no conception of, bliss?”

Almost everyone is familiar with Joseph Campbell’s advice, even those who don’t know who he is, and most people can intuit the statement’s meaning. However, there is a disparity in thought processes for youths who have never known a single moment’s happiness. Ironically, their experience inside a prison school may be their first opportunity to develop and explore the concept of bliss as they undergo therapy to develop their capacity for empathy and emotional accountability.

“When a youth like Ronnie sees violence in a film or on television, he may respond differently than a youth raised in a nurturing home. He grew up around adults who threw children out windows, beat up women, dealt cocaine, and stashed loaded weapons in the closet.”

Examining the common belief that violent entertainment yields violent behavior, the author offers an alternative theory: that most people who watch violent fare understand the difference between entertainment and real life. For juvenile offenders, however, media violence often mirrors real life. Violent films might confirm what these young people already believe due to their abusive childhoods, but the entertainment itself isn’t what causes their criminality.

“He will cease to see Kenny as a receptacle for his rage and Kenny will become, in Martin Buber’s great term, ‘a Thou,’ a human being with feelings, thoughts, sanctity.”

Ronnie often recalls beating and terrorizing his little brother. This made him feel powerful and not like a victim himself. To the extent that Ronnie develops a sense of empathy, he will see his brother as a person, not a punching bag. The text refers to the theory of “I and Thou,” in which one sees others as whole beings, treating them as unique and valuable in a relationship based on unity.

“Ronnie, it seems, has an innate sense of right and wrong. It must be innate, because he did not acquire it growing up. If it is there in Ronnie, then most criminals must possess it. They work hard to keep that voice muted, and there is no better place to do that than in prison. That is what makes penitentiaries such a fraud.”

The author asserts that if the conscience weren’t innate, even in the most violent offenders, then the COG system would fail. The program’s track record suggests the opposite. Only a small percentage of the population has true psychopathy and needs to be imprisoned for others’ protection. For those who do possess the capacity for remorse and empathy, such penitentiaries offer no possibility for true rehabilitation.

“Girls quickly become adept at exploring feelings. For them, feelings are like a river. They wade in and let the current carry them along. For boys, feelings are more like a swimming hole. They dive in, climb out, and stand on the bank, thinking about their next dive.”

Earlier, the author asserted that female COG students typically have trauma that is more difficult to treat because it runs deeper as the consequence of chronic abuse, and their defense mechanisms are more complex. Here, the author suggests more general gendered differences, claiming that the male students—or all “boys,” as he generalizes—only tentatively or periodically explore emotions and are therefore slower to “become adept at exploring feelings.” Together, these claims suggest that trauma responses are informed by both the type of abuse and the survivor’s innate emotional disposition.

“If they did do an investigation, no one acted on the findings. The bottom line: no one intervened. The social services safety net in Texas is not torn apart. But in Texas, as in the other forty-nine states, the net has a very loose weave.”

The author speculates about Elena’s situation and believes that girls like her, who report incidents of sexual abuse, are ignored. They show up at school with bruises, but teachers and administrators do nothing. At every turn, these girls slip through the holes in the social service system because the net isn’t woven tightly enough.

“I never thought of myself as a victim […] I don’t like being called a victim, but that is who I will always be: ‘that woman whose daughter was murdered.’”

The mother of a murdered girl makes this statement. Although the word “victim” has, in some circles, fallen into disfavor for describing those who’ve endured trauma, Judy Nesbit forthrightly declares that such a word has meaning for her. She believes that it accurately describes her feelings about the loss of her daughter, Katy.

“They are real angry and they’ve decided to stay real angry. I understand that. But I found that for me, if I walk around hating the two guys that killed Katy, it makes me bitter, rude, short-tempered. It makes me a jerk.”

Judy’s husband, Ric, offers his view of what it means to be the father of a murdered child. If he were to remain outraged at his loss, he would be acting in the same way as the teenage criminals who killed his daughter. He believes that embittered rage leads to a sense of entitlement and cruelty. 

“Cristina is the poet in the group, and she comes up with a new simile. ‘We’re like a flashlight. If you don’t turn on the flashlight, you can’t see where you’re going. You’re living in the dark, surrounded by all these thoughts and feelings, and it’s not your fault. It will never be your fault.’”

Cristina articulates the important role of COG teammates. The storyteller isn’t the only abuse survivor in the room. All students come from dysfunctional families. Not only do such listeners offer empathy during the life story phase, but they are equally capable of calling out a member who uses thinking errors. Without their feedback and insight, the storyteller remains mentally isolated.

“Accountability and responsibility are not just a cleansing. They are about rounding out a sense of self […] The more you disclose, the more responsibility you accept, the more you learn about yourself. That leads to redemption.”

One of the therapists offers this observation. Because the students have spent their lives dodging responsibility for their actions, they have truncated part of their own psyche. Being a well-rounded individual requires integrity. A student who develops integrity will not become a repeat offender.

“In a facility that detains delinquents, there is always tension between staff members who believe that security is paramount and youth should be treated as prisoners, and staff who believe that incarceration is an opportunity to deliver treatment. The two sides can become quite hostile.”

Giddings faces a dilemma between the concepts of incarceration and healing. Although it appears as though the healers have the upper hand in this institution, that isn’t the case in the rest of the country. The fact that the COG program is unique indicates the penal institutions’ level of resistance to adopting its principles. The proponents of incarceration dominate the discussion, which affects funding allocations.

“I don’t view gangs completely negative. In their own way, gangs are very loving […] I see that in the letters we intercept. It’s ‘little brother’ and ‘little sister’ and ‘I’ll watch out for you.’ If someone attacked my loved ones, I would be obligated to show love by defending them. It’s like a secret society.”

The staff’s gang specialist helps explain why juvenile abuse survivors gravitate to gangs: A gang might represent the only positive relationship or sense of being protected that such an individual has ever received, even if that loyalty and sense of security carry the price tag of criminal activity. This observation exemplifies a different kind of empathy; it empathizes with youths who seek out communities that most people categorically condemn.

“It’s very complicated to ask someone to forgive herself for doing something horrible […] But part of not doing it again is not hating yourself.”

One of the therapists makes the distinction between action and identity. It is possible for someone to do something bad, but this doesn’t mean that the person themself is bad. Ironically, self-loathing precipitates abusive behavior, and self-love ends it.

“I was rejecting my mother. I didn’t want any rules. I ran away. I was always running away […] You can’t go through this place and keep on running. You can’t look at all the stuff I’ve had to look at. You can’t do Capital Offenders twice if you want to keep on running.”

Candace makes this statement before the review board that will decide whether to release her. Her comment cuts to the core of why the COG program is so effective: It is specifically designed to keep juvenile offenders from running. Although they run from the law, they are really running from themselves, but COG forces them to stand still and reflect on what they’ve done.