‘Prison angel’ a beacon of hope for isolated prison inmates
By Sofia Wu CNA Staff Writer Long past the days when she shined on screen as a popular actress, she remains a brilliant star, albeit on a diminished stage.
The size of her audience may be smaller than before, but the bonds she has made with her new fans and the fulfillment she gets from her life of service surpass anything she experienced during her previous career.
For the past 15 years, Angela Ying has dedicated herself to counseling, mentoring and helping prison inmates become productive citizens upon their return to society through the Honorable New Life Volunteer Task Force she formed with a group of like-minded people in 1995.
She has counseled some 300,000 inmates in groups or individually over the years and written them hundreds of thousands of encouraging letters. But while the letter writing has left the 45-year-old single mother of two with carpal tunnel syndrome and other physical ailments, she remains undeterred.
“I feel I was born to do this work. I do it with great ease and a sense of mission and commitment, ” Ying says in a recent interview.
“Little by little I would like to think I’ve had some influence in getting better treatment for the prisoners and instilling in them moral education.” Her altruism has earned her the nickname “Taiwan’s Prison Angel,” and she now sits on the 25-member board of directors of Taiwan’s Criminal Correctional Association — the only director who has never headed a correctional facility or served as a prison warden.
Ying’s involvement in serving and helping prisoners stemmed from her work with orphans, which has been a regular part of her life since childhood.
She came to realize that many children are “orphaned” because their families break up after their parents are imprisoned.
Ying therefore turned her attention to prison inmates and called the warden of Penghu Prison in the outlying island county offering to address the prisoners.
“I remember vividly that I used some stories from Buddhist scripture to inspire the inmates. In the middle of my speech, however, one prisoner stood up and shouted: ‘Didn’t you come to sing?’ “I felt embarrassed and almost cried, but I composed myself and responded that what I was going to say would be more interesting and pleasing than any song. I then continued my speech,” she recalls.
Many people had trouble taking Ying seriously in the beginning, seeing her as just another actress looking for cheap publicity, but her tenacious devotion to the cause has proven them wrong.
In the early years, Ying personally hand-wrote responses to every letter sent to her by inmates, eschewing the more common practice of sending a form letter or delegating someone to respond on her behalf.
“I hand-wrote my replies to show my sincerity in the hope of inspiring the inmates to change their ways and become productive members of society after their release,” Ying says.
As letter-writing became difficult because of the disability she developed (she had to give up the practice early this year), she used other approaches targeted at specific groups of prisoners.
She has stepped up counseling of individuals serving jail terms of six months or less who could not afford to pay a fine in place of their sentence.
“I try my best to let them know they are not alone and that somebody is concerned about them,” Ying says.
She also sends NT$600 (US$18) to each inmate who is completely destitute.
“I believe poverty is the root cause of crime. It is difficult to talk about dignity, about repentance, with someone whose bank account is empty,” she observes.
“I want to give impoverished prisoners emotional support. I believe that knowing somebody is willing to help you unconditionally can help melt the icy barriers to the hearts of many prisoners and even inspire violent inmates to overcome their inner demons, ” Ying relates.
Earlier this year, Ying was moved by a media report about a judge telling a death-row inmate that if he could remember any single event or person who once moved him, he would reduce his sentence to life imprisonment.
The inmate reportedly told the judge that he could only remember the warmth of the TV actress who once remitted NT$600 to him.
“I had been alone since my childhood. Nobody had ever shown me love or cared for me. I thought that TV actress was the only nice person in the world,” the inmate told the judge.
There are around 5,000 volunteers who, like Ying, help the more than 60,000 inmates in Taiwan’s overcrowded prisons. Although few share her passion and dedication, they play an important role in a system that employs few full-time counselors and prison educators.
But Ying believes their efforts can only have a marginal impact on Taiwan’s overall crime and recidivism rate if educational opportunities for inmates or juvenile delinquents are not broadened.
Ministry of Justice (MOJ) statistics indicate that about 60 percent of prisoners have completed nine years of compulsory education, but Ying contends that an overwhelming majority of inmates are illiterate.
“A lack of basic education tends to lead to ignorance of character and morality, a trend that will eventually fuel the crime rate,” she sighs.
Ying suggests that the MOJ cooperate closely with the Ministry of Education to help inmates in juvenile detention houses return to school immediately after they are discharged so that there is less chance of them dropping out.
The MOJ should also budget more and hire better teachers for the country’s two reformatory high schools and allow students at the schools to extend their period of study, Ying argues.
“By doing this, teenage inmates would be able to complete their senior high school education under supervision, keeping them away from the temptation to commit crimes,” she says.
Ying also advocates an overall review of prison education and counseling staff levels. At the moment, the Taipei Detention House has only three educators for its 3,400 criminal suspects, while Taipei Prison, with the same number of inmates, employs 18.
“The MOJ should hire more teaching and counseling staff at correctional facilities around the country,” Ying says.
The importance of education, she explains, can be seen in recidivism rates. Inmates released from prisons offering art classes who accepted Ying’s counseling have a zero recidivism rate, and inmates held at prisons with an adult education program have a 10 percent recidivism rate.
“Both figures are far lower than the general national average of 22 percent,” she says.
A devout Buddhist, Ying says she has never felt any distance between her and the prisoners she tries to help, even the toughest ones.
“Through my long-term observations and interaction, I have come to learn that most criminals hail from the lower echelons of society and many of them have the potential to lead a productive life if only someone is there to give them a bit of help, ” she says.
And that’s why Ying has always tried her best to help them, even after they leave prison.
“I ask those who have attended my counseling sessions to write to me after they have been released, ” she says. “Many rehabilitated persons still maintain contact with me.” Asked whether she has ever encountered setbacks, Ying says she used to feel despondent when told inmates she had counseled were back behind bars.
“But now I no longer have such feelings. I have always tried to do my utmost but everyone has his or her own karma. Since I have made the greatest possible effort, I can only smile if he or she has gone back to breaking the law.” Most important, she says, is the fact that she is still full of vim and vigor despite 15 years of working under pressue. “I have not yet run out of passion and zest for helping the underprivileged.”
