Friending Rosie: Respect on Death Row

1

The Goal: Friending

Treat everyone as THEY want to be treated. This is the Platinum Rule.

—Tom Murphy

This is the story of an unlikely friendship that began with the new millennium, based on the Platinum Rule. In 1971, Rosie was born in Anaheim, California, to immigrant parents from Tangancícuaro, Michoacán. At age eighteen, she was locked up for murder, and has been behind bars for thirty-plus years. In 1940, Judith was born in Portland, Oregon, to a working-class white family that immigrated from England, Scotland, and Germany during the nineteenth century. At age fifty-four, the author was jailed briefly for committing civil disobedience at a nuclear-weapon research facility. This story focuses on the Platinum Rule at work in an unexpected friendship by highlighting the mutual respect, kindness, and affection between a contemplative activist great-grandmother and an artistic prisoner.

Spanish was Rosie’s mother tongue. She attended Catholic schools, had trouble learning to read, and dropped out before completing high school. Judith grew up speaking English, attending Protestant churches and public schools. She was too damn educated, according to her Teamster dad, a high school dropout.

Free citizens like Judith (and presumably you) may have more in common with inmates like Rosie than we did before COVID-19 restrictions were imposed. In the ninth month of California’s stay-at-home order, coronavirus infections surge and death tolls mount. So do fears about the future. Although personal responses to racial reckoning, social unrest, financial stress, political instability, and pandemic restrictions vary, free persons now encounter some conditions familiar to incarcerated persons. Where Rosie lives, in the Central California Women’s Facility, twenty-two women undergo emotional stressors and physical limitations every hour of every day.

The state calls it Death Row. Rosie refers to it as d. row or Life Row.

The Inner Light

So the first step to peace is to stand still in the light—the light that reveals whatever is opposed to it. And standing still there you will receive the power and strength to resist that part of you which the light has exposed. Because this is where grace grows, where God alone is seen to be glorious and powerful, and where the unknown truth—unknown to the world out there—is revealed. The truth then liberates what has been held in prison, and in the course of time it revives it, leading it in time to the God who is beyond time.

—George Fox, 1653

This book is about friending in the Light, the art and practice of listening beyond labels (killer, convict) for the is-ness of imprisoned persons who live under conditions of daily disrespect. It is about hearing what goes on in prison and maybe increasing your curiosity about getting to know other inmates in addition to Rosie. It is also an invitation to consider investing your own time, talent, tenderness, and treasure in reaching out to a lonely soul behind bars.

The early writings of Quakers gave rise to these pages. The Inner Light is the true author, for the first thing we must do in deciding to befriend a stranger is to face the truth of ourselves. I did that, and so did Rosie. Through friending, we gained some liberation and a measure of peace, though she will remain behind bars until her last breath. As Rosie wrote, This book is yours, God’s, and mine.

Humans have a long history of avoidance: we can come up with countless ways to hide unbearable truths from ourselves. When we do find the courage to face painful facts about our limitations, as the early Quakers did, our old sins can then become the source of new life. The Inner Light first makes us uncomfortable about the things we do wrong. When we notice that discomfort, and let the light into the conscience, as George Fox put it, this process has profound benefits. The Light frees us from powerful desires that made us act wrongly in the first place and makes possible the birth of a new, truer self.

In the sixteen-hundreds, at the very beginning of the movement that became The Religious Society of Friends, George Fox made it quite clear how people could find the truth that would free them, and described how to live each day in the light of that truth. Fox wrote a lot about the Inner Light. He set out to explain how The Light, a metaphor suggesting a candle in the dark, comes not from any human power but from the spirit of Christ residing within each person. When we wait expectantly in the Light and open our minds to whatever it reveals, we begin to see our motives for what they really are. The Inner Light searches out hidden sins by showing us our self-deceptions and errors, and it strengthens us to restore what has been ruptured.

Living in the Light opens our eyes to see that of God in each and every person. It infuses us with a warm regard for others and increases our spiritual expansiveness. While we cannot scientifically prove that of God pulsing through the bodies of all people, Friends take it on trust and test it through our own experience. When we act as if the seed of God is planted at the center of each human heart, it opens up a whole new set of possibilities. Quakers find that when enough people act compassionately, society itself begins to change. Instead of depending on fear and force to keep order, Friends rely on love and respect as a basis for mutual trust. For nearly four centuries, Quakers have been at the forefront of social and economic change by looking for the divine spark in others and genuinely yearning for everyone’s well-being. This is the crux of what I now see as the Platinum Rule.

So these pages are about the Quaker way of friending persons who endure daily indignities and disrespect. This book is about getting to know one incarcerated person a little better, and maybe getting to know your own dear self a little bit better too.

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The Question: What Happened?

Cowriting Friending Rosie: Respect on Death Row required long seasons of prayerful attentiveness from both authors and steady support from one Quaker Anchor Committee. Through the synergy of frequent correspondence, two-way conversation, and individual introspection, Rosie and I gained greater understanding of why we did what we did and how to live with the consequences. We set out to answer hard questions.

What Happened with Rosie?

What happened on June 15, 1990?

How did Rosie wind up on Death Row, and how does she survive there?

How did Judith get involved, and why does she stay involved?

How does the art of friending strengthen both of us in turbulent times?

What happens when wounded women on The Row live in close proximity?

How can we practice hearing each other into truth?

Which soul practices do we adopt to nurture our best qualities?

How does mutual love nourish someone’s poetic what-is-ness?

The Inner Light is the true author of this book. These pages were written slowly and soulfully. We designed them to be read slowly and soulfully. The open spaces are here so you can catch your emotional breath. Rosie’s art is here because drawing is her primary language. Spanish was spoken where she grew up in Little Tijuana. In Catholic school, she struggled to read and write English. She has always communicated most authentically through imagery and calligraphy. When you slow down and gaze upon her artwork, you may glimpse Rosie’s soul shining through her designs.

In The Drum, my friend’s stories and letters offer sounds, sights, smells, tastes, and touches of daily life inside the cage at Central California Women’s Facility. She lives on The Row in close proximity with twenty-two heartbroken souls. They are doing time together and doing their best to make a life together under very difficult conditions.

Stories from Rosie’s mother, Silvia, and her sister, Silvia, reveal family sorrows, secrets, and strengths. Trial By Media gives the perspectives of journalists who reported on Rosie’s crime for the Orange County Register. While undergoing trial for murder, she was held in Orange County Jail from age eighteen to twenty. After being convicted and sentenced to death, Rosie was transferred by bus to the Central California Women’s Facility in Chowchilla. It is her final home.

Our writing process unearthed painful memories for both of us, which make my stories in The Harp much more personal than I thought they would be. My sections also illustrate how mutual listening gradually deepened the trust between a great-grandmother and an incarcerated grandmother. In The Maracas, our back-and-forth voices honor the truth of what we encounter in each other, especially the hard realities, as we continue to grow in faith, hope and, love.

The Ears, The Heart, The Way, and The Poetic sections are here because they offer time-tested ways for readers, incarcerated and free, to strengthen our hearts and minds and bodies and souls. The Appendices of Friendly Practices and Golden Rules are here as resources, to equip us in collaborating to create a kinder, healthier, more respectful future with our kids and grandkids.

The Executive Order on Execution is here as reassurance that the Governor put a moratorium on the death penalty in California for as long as he remains in office. The Artists Behind Bars reference is here so you can support inmate art. Finally, the Good Reading section is here to beckon you into cahoots with amazing writers dedicated to spiritual transformation through contemplative prayer and social justice.

This book is a collaborative endeavor. The authors invite you to join in the synergy by pausing to reflect on our stories, designs, quotations, and poems. Some queries may prompt you toward new perspectives on old attitudes. Some stories may give new meaning to hurtful experiences of your own. Some images may open your heart to empathy. Some words may stretch you toward greater acceptance of others. You’ll see excerpts from Rosie’s letters boxed into little cages. She asks one thing from you, the reader:

Don’t judge till you know the prisoner, not the crime.

What Happened with Judith?

Let your life speak.

—Parker Palmer

For me, Quaker friending is an active verb. The process of friending Rosie focused my attention, awakened my conscience, and brightened my spirit. Over the course of a twenty-year relationship, the sound of friending in my ear changed from alarm clock to concerto. Friending is both a contemplative practice and a commitment to social justice. In these pages, you’ll see me trying to empathically understand Rosie and do my small bit to restore the balance of power between a woman who is privileged and one who is not.

A good story is like a compass, wrote Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen. A good story points to something true. It invites us to orient our direction according to it, and perhaps live a little better. Stories spark new ideas in our imagination. Stories take us to intriguing places and introduce us to interesting characters. Many of us want the who-what-where of our stories to be true.

This is the true story of a twenty-year friendship between a teenage mother who was locked up for murder and a grandmother who was handcuffed and hauled to jail for kneeling in the driveway of the Lawrence Livermore Labs on Good Friday. It is the true story of two women who support each other in growing toward bighearted wholeness.

Most readers not only want stories to be true but most of us also want stories to help us answer some big how and why questions.

What makes people do impulsive acts of violence?

How can one awful choice disrupt so many lives?

Why did this character react the way she did?

How can we mend our past mistakes?

Where is love in all this?

Rosie’s kids and grandkids wonder about stuff like this. So do mine. They ask questions, and they want stories, just as you and I did when we were young. Back when humankind was young, stories came before religions. Once upon a time tales were told around the fire before Moses read the Ten Commandments from stone tablets.

In these pages, Maria del Rosario Alfaro, an inmate at Central California Women’s Facility, tells and retells her story in her own words and drawings. Two decades ago, she and I began as pen pals. Up until winter 2019, I had never imagined collaborating on a book, so I did not save copies of the countless cards and letters I sent her, but I did keep everything Rosie sent me. This is one of my odd quirks. I can’t explain why I do it, but I still hang on to cards and letters from dear ones across sixty-plus years.

Looking back at interactions between Rosie and me, I see nine elements of respect. They provide the steady heartbeat of friending.

Showing Up

A month after the death of my son Ray, I fainted, fell, and fractured a foot/ankle. After surgery, I landed in a rehab hospital. There, one stormy night, I was awakened by a startling call to help Rosie tell her tragic story in her own unique way. Judith, you’re the one, said a transcendent voice. At first I said no, but the message was strong and clear. This project had my name on it.

At first, Rosie refused to collaborate, because I pitched it in the wrong way. (I acted impetuously without seasoning it the way good Quakers do.) Once I got my act together, Rosie changed her mind and agreed 110 percent as she put it. She also showed up in a big way, sending cheerful letters, cards, and gifts as I recovered from grief and disability. My friend on Death Row had lost almost everything free citizens take for granted, yet she offered me very generous care and prayer through long months of trauma and recovery.

In the beginning of this book project, I did not yet perceive the personal healing that would come from writing our story, but I did know we had to cowrite it together. Respect starts with showing up and finding room in our hearts for sorrow and trust, love, and forgiveness.

Self-care

Accompaniment with prisoners takes a toll. Friends outside can hear, see, and feel the suffering experienced by friends inside. To ease the stress of visiting behind bars, while doing my best to meet Rosie where she is, I must take care of myself. This means tending to my inner life as well as my health. If I neglect my own needs, frustration will mount and impatience will grow. Self-respect means giving time to the parts of me that need care and attention. Strong spiritual practices empower me to let go of expectations about our relationship and to release preconceived notions about Rosie. Daily prayer and meditation cultivates an open mind and a warm heart. Rest and relaxation renews me; so does fun and fitness.

I want these self-care options for Rosie, too, yet am keenly aware that punitive prison conditions block her from fully nourishing her mind, body, heart, and soul in the ways I am free to do. I support my friend’s self-care by sharing with her some of my favorite spiritual practices, especially breath prayers that calm the nervous system, rebalance the moods, and release the tensions that are bound to build up under conditions of chronic deprivation and disappointment.

Expressing Gratitude

Rosie frequently says thank you. She expresses gratitude when I contribute money so she can buy necessities not provided by the state. She appreciates birthday and Christmas gifts to buy art supplies. My friend’s frequent thank-yous also honor me as a person, by tacitly acknowledging that our gifts to each other help each of us become who we are truly meant to be.

Deep Listening

Any respectful relationship, particularly with incarcerated persons who routinely endure institutional disrespect, requires deep listening. Rosie and I both pay close attention to feelings hidden between the lines of the letters we exchange. If I don’t understand exactly what my friend means, I ask clarifying questions. So does she. I am still not convinced that Rosie listens as reliably to her own soul as she listens to mine, but deep listening demonstrates her commitment to friending. She deliberately sets aside her assumptions in order to hear my truths, even when I don’t say things right the first time. Mutual listening honors her dignity and mine, even as it confirms how much we matter to one another.

Apologizing

Saying I’m sorry restores respect whenever friending hits bumps in the road. Rosie has a temper, and so do I. We’ve written stuff that sparked hurt, anger, and misunderstanding. Rosie quickly apologizes after she pops off at me. In fact, she was the first to write I’m sorry because I have the type of personality that (mistakenly) tries to keep the peace by ignoring conflict (Problem? What problem?).

Rosie’s readiness to say I’m sorry convinced me that naming the hurts rooted in our temperaments and social inequities is the only way to bring them out of the shadows and into the light. Apologizing is the first step toward healing inevitable rifts when one friend enjoys more freedom and power than the other.

Forgiving

I unknowingly set off Rosie’s post-traumatic stress disorder by sending her some half-baked ideas about writing a book together. PTSD results from being treated as prey and reexperiencing the feeling that someone, a father or a drug dealer, is hunting you to hurt you. My wacko proposal triggered Rosie’s PTSD. She reacted, quite naturally, with fury and threats. When she did that, I felt awful about hurting her and asked for forgiveness. This book would never have happened had Rosie refused to forgive me.

When her best efforts fall short, Rosie readily asks forgiveness from me, family members, fellow inmates, and sometimes from God. She also confesses anguish over her inability (so far) to forgive her own self. Just as you and I need to say I’m sorry when we mess up, we also need to learn to ask for self-forgiveness. And to mean it.

Moral injury can block the way to forgiveness. Rosie desperately wants forgiveness from Autumn, the child who died at her hand, but says she cannot bring herself to ask for it. The moral injury element of PTSD results from knowing that one has been a predator. Moral injury occurs after you do things to hurt people. Researchers know how trauma is passed down in families. Moral injury can also be passed from one generation to the next. This is an anguishing burden for any soul to carry.

I hope my friend will find the courage to ask for Autumn’s forgiveness. I pray that someday Rosie will also be able to ask Linda and Amber to forgive her for the moment of violence that took the life of their daughter and sister. When (if) Rosie becomes able to sincerely seek forgiveness from her victims, it will be as much about receiving peace in her own body, heart, mind, and soul as it is about receiving absolution from them.

None of us is perfect. The Merciful One that I know and trust views each human as a perfectly imperfect being, incomplete yet unconditionally loved. Forgiveness is the way toward healing and reconciliation.

Loving

Rosie says I love you more freely than I do. I am an emotionally reserved person, so these words come reluctantly for me. I was much slower than Rosie to write I love you at the end of my letters. Early in childhood, I learned the Golden Rule, and the Great Commandment of Jesus, which calls us to love God and neighbor as we love ourselves. Self-love still comes at the end of the list for me. I’m slow to say I love you to my own imperfect self. Rosie and I can both testify to the ways harmful behavior erupts from old pain that lurks in the shadows of our own broken selves. She showed me that one of the best ways to heal is to open your arms and express love for others. My friend on Death Row made it safe for me to do this, to write I Love You and mean it.

Playing Fair

In childhood, Rosie learned The Golden Rule from Catholic nuns and priests. As a kid, Protestants taught me to do unto others, but decades passed before I learned how central The Golden Rule is to all world religions. And I was a great-grandmother by the time I learned the Platinum Rule, which is to treat everyone as they want to be treated.

My friend practices both Golden and Platinum Rules. Playing Fair is more than a ground rule—it is the core essence of friending. Treating others as they want to be treated combines internal integrity with working toward better