When longtime teacher Diane Kahn first stepped inside the walls of San Quentin prison to teach incarcerated men so they could get their high school diplomas, it wasn’t long before she saw that they weren’t just “bad guys” locked up, they were human beings. In their small classrooms, the Belvedere resident watched them break down their walls and be vulnerable, share stories and give insights into their lives before and after they went to prison.
Hearing their touching stories since she started teaching there in 2017 led Kahn to co-found Humans of San Quentin. Her humanitarian nonprofit, inspired by the popular Humans of New York blog, showcases the letters, art and poetry of people in prisons in San Quentin and around the world, through submissions as well as face-to-face interviews.
She co-directs the prison’s Academic Peer Education Project, which provides teacher training for incarcerated men to educate and mentor their peers.
Hear her speak on “Humans of San Quentin: Humanizing the Incarcerated” at 3:30 p.m. Sunday at the Westminster Presbyterian Church in Tiburon.
Q How did you start teaching at the prison?
A I have four kids and I was able to stay at home. Being an educator, I spent time substituting and being on the PTSA for the kids’ schools. Through the University of San Francisco, where I got my credential and master’s degree and served on its boards, I heard that USF had a presence and GED program in San Quentin. The second I heard about it, I reached out.
Q How did Humans of San Quentin come together?
A I went to a good friend inside the prison, James King, and pitched my idea. He introduced me to Juan Haines, senior editor of the San Quentin News. I sat down with him and he said, “Diane, I have always wanted to share the men’s stories, but I have never had a place to do it.” I went to the public information officer at the time, Sam Robinson, and he loved it and he said, “I’m going to fight for this. I have to bring this to headquarters in Sacramento.” It took about nine months for us to get approved and in that time, I had interviewed 20 men.
Q What’s that experience like?
A You can literally see their armor fall off. It’s really beautiful. I ask them, “What are your worries? Do you have family? What are your days like?” I am still shocked to this day the positivity that has come from sharing these people’s lives. I say, if you really sit down and listen to someone’s stories, you will find there’s more that binds us together than tears us apart.
Q How has teaching the men inside San Quentin compared to your other work?
A I have always been an advocate for the underserved. I have always been someone who wants to look at the other side of the story. So, by working with children and seeing the mind of a child and what is lacking in education, all that came rearing its ugly head when I walked into the prison. I taught at San Domenico and private schools in Marin. I knew I did a good job and made an impact on those children, but holy cow, I didn’t know by moving a few miles away into San Quentin what an impact I would really have on a larger community. So, I hadn’t been an activist, but it already lived inside of me, so it fed what was already there.
Q What were you impressions going in?
A From the first day, I was just blown away by their emotional intelligence. What I do is a check-in and you share your feelings of how you are doing, and I would hear them cry about something that happened in their family, or someone who had gone to the board and got denied. What hit me pretty quickly, which was startling, was a lot of the men feel responsible for the people who are coming to prison now. And they look at themselves as failing them, for not being the uncle figure that set an example for them. That was shocking what they have taken upon themselves of what is happening in society when most of them have been locked away for 20 to 25 years.
Q What have you taken from experience?
A That there’s more kindness in the world than I thought there was. … And if someone lives in our community, I think they should have a voice.
