Bird uncaged An abolitionist's freedom song

Incarcerated from 1999-2009 for his involvement in a robbery during which four people were shot and two died, Peterson structures this essential, first-person treatise on social justice and prison reform around what led him to the robbery, what prison is like (hell), and the reform that must happen. Peterson ranges widely, discussing everything from his family and Trinidadian ancestry to the impact of his enculturation into toxic masculinity on women he believed existed only as pleasure objects. As a child, he was both raped and attacked and understands not to talk about these things; just be okay and move on. De-carcerated, Peterson is now talking about them. Throughout, Peterson embraces the hard work of getting clear on the societal racism that disallows Black and brown humanity; on one's own agency and choices; and on the abusive prison system that isn't working. Peterson's writing is straightforward, both about his experience and himself, and confirms that not acknowledging the humanity of those involved in violent crime and allowing incarceration to remain as is results in amplified destruction.

Affecting account of redemption following a difficult upbringing and a prison term. Social justice activist Peterson recounts a challenging Brooklyn childhood as the youngest, most sensitive child in a Trinidadian immigrant family. His attempts to escape this rough environment were thwarted when, at 19, he impulsively participated in a robbery that turned deadly; despite being just a lookout, he received a 12-year sentence. "You mix a bruised sense of manhood with a fragile ego and you get all types of danger," he writes. Prior to this incident, he vividly portrays a youthful optimism scarred by bullying, sexual assault, street crime, and an overwhelming sense of inferiority: "The trauma shaped how I saw the world." He found solace when he followed his father into the Jehovah's Witnesses, which proved more nurturing than the dangerous public schools, providing a moral compass he struggled to retain. Peterson is scathing in his consideration of the structural racism and urban segregation that suffused his early years, noting how his friends were trained to expect police brutality and to repress damaging experiences. "This is a country of broken systems imagined by the hollowness of white men," he writes. Initially, it seemed imprisonment would further propel him into depression: "Location and space had become a dizzying abyss." Yet his religious convictions led him to discover his "first community inside," and he eventually followed his desire "to no longer follow the path of toxic masculinity and to instead live a life unaddicted to man shit." He went on to earn a degree in criminal justice and to participate in outreach programs, initially with Vassar College students. Later, he received acclaim as head of the Transitional Services Center, a program focused on rehabilitation. Peterson offers a valuable, hard-won perspective on seizing maturity from disastrous beginnings via a haunting prose lyricism that is only occasionally maudlin or redundant. A worthwhile contribution to evolving conversations on race and criminal justice. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.