Ever wanted to know what goes on inside prisons? ARC’s Communications and Advocacy Strategist, Josh Pynoos, details a visit to a prison to observe ARC’s HART program.
It’s a hazy, smog-filled early November morning. Once we pass Los Angeles, the landscape opens into a mostly barren desert, with oil wells pumping steadily alongside rows of spinning wind turbines.
This is Kern Valley, California. The home of CCI Prison, better known as Tehachapi, where I will be attending two Hope and Redemption Team (HART) classes at CCI Prison.
You don’t just show up in a prison. Entry requires paperwork submitted weeks in advance. And if you’re going inside, you also need a sense of style, or at least an understanding of what not to wear. Clothing options are limited: no blue, orange, or green clothing. My usual go-to is black pants and a black T-shirt.
As we pull up to the prison, Chris Dodd, ARC’s Life Coach at Tehachapi, greets us and prepares to lead our class visit. He dresses conservatively in a crisp dress shirt and vest. Face tattoos frame his expression, and ink covers his hands, winding up his neck. An “I Voted” sticker stands out on his chest. It’s November 4, 2025, and he has just cast his ballot in California’s statewide election. Chris came home in 2019 and is a proud graduate of ARC’s HART program, once sitting in the very classes he now helps lead.
We also meet Joseph Herrera, a former lifer and the Hope and Redemption Team manager, who will facilitate the second half of the class.
Chris and Joseph are part of ARC’s HART team, which leads 10-week workshops in prisons across California focused on parole preparation and reentry planning. The program is facilitated by formerly incarcerated individuals, many returning to the same prisons they paroled from, to mentor and inspire people preparing to come home. They have both put in the work to change, and now they are back to sharing their wisdom and the steps people need to put into practice.
But for people in prison, there is often resistance at first. Many still carry a prison mentality. “You don’t show vulnerability or weakness,” Chris says. “But being open takes practice, and it can be freeing.”
Soon, we’re admitted through security. We’re greeted by the standard iconography of a California prison: chain-link fences topped with circular barbed wire that remind you there is no exit, and gun towers overlooking the perimeter, potentially watching your every move.
After passing through several doors and flashing our IDs, we enter the yard. A prison yard is an open-air recreation area where people can exercise, walk, and congregate. On one side, a few incarcerated men work on an expansive mural symbolically highlighting their community and the “keys” to freedom and success.
One of the most distinguishing characteristics of a prison is the lack of color and the uniformity of everything. Incarcerated people wear blue chambray shirts and blue denim. Guards wear green. The prison is full of gray concrete and steel, and the walls are mostly painted white. From there, we head to the main event in a large, all-white recreation room.
Men begin to fill the room, dragging chairs into a circle. This is where hard work happens: rehabilitation, accountability, remorse, and the slow, deliberate steps forward. The men are of different ages, races, and backgrounds, but they are choosing to be here to try to move past their trauma and how their life has unraveled.
When you meet people inside the prison, you quickly learn that every person is living under a different timeline. Some will come home soon. Some will wait years to decades for a chance to stand before the parole board. And others serving life without the possibility of parole sentences, which means they will die in prison without ever receiving a parole hearing. But the one thing they all have in common is hope.
The class is CGA (Criminals and Gang Members Anonymous), a 12-step rehabilitation program within ARC’s HART program. The men in the circle are serving life sentences. Everyone of them signed up for this class, and some are excited to dive into the session. Others are still on the fence, engulfed in prison life and its politics,
Chris leads the class by sharing a faded photo of himself years ago at this same prison, surrounded by family. He looks different, marked by time and changes. He recalls his early years at CCI in 1992, filled with violence and disciplinary write-ups. The years changed Chris, but it was the work he did that transformed him, making the most difference.
In a humbling moment, Chris holds up his “I Voted” sticker. He shares that he voted for the first time in California during the special election. His voice becomes emotional as he describes what it meant to finally cast a ballot and to be seen.
He moves into the coursework, breaking down how negative thinking patterns lead to criminal behavior. He connects those patterns to cultural influences many grew up with, drugs in the home, exposure to violence at an early age, and how lifestyle addiction fuels false beliefs rooted in ego and pride.
The men share what they’re grateful for, their ambitions, and how they want to use their time. They reflect on their childhoods, addiction, and what gang life once gave them, while recognizing they can step away from those past lifestyles.
Soon, the next class starts. Joseph, a veteran facilitator, speaks loudly and clearly. He tells the group he’s a homeowner and owns a few cars, something he never imagined, given that he once thought he would die in prison. He tells them that a better life is possible and might not be as far away as they think.
He asks the men how they are, and most respond with the word “good”. He replies that good is not an emotion. Joseph holds them to a high standard and wants to push them. Joseph explains that he never knew what emotional intelligence was, but now he understands it, and it has helped him immensely in all phases of life. He speaks about the power of emotional intelligence to help the men gain insight and prepare not just for the parole board, but for coming home. He talks about the power of their words in difficult situations and the awareness that can guide their responses. The men share responses and are starting to take the coursework. They take in Joseph’s words and advice.
The class ends. We say our goodbyes and are led out of the prison.
As we walk back, it’s nighttime. Chris and Joseph peer up at the bright white moon suspended above the prison, wedged beneath the nearby mountain range. They are both grateful to now be on the other side of the walls, where they can look up, breathe deeply, and enjoy their freedom.
