If someone were to ask if we are our brother’s keeper when it concerned a brother in prison, for most American males the answer would be a qualified “Yes. Whatever it costs, keep them locked up.” For a lot of females, however, the tide appears to be turning.

Recently, I have been swamped with females — some wives and girlfriends of incarcerated males, others just plain fed up and wanting to become involved with whatever it is I am doing to shine the public spotlight on our shame.

The biblical story, Cain murdered his brother Abel in a jealous rage. He then answered God’s question, “Where is your brother, Abel?” with, “I don’t know. Am I my brother’s keeper?”

That question has plagued humans down through time, as the cost of prisons — largely concentration camps for the marginalized — has been balanced against capital punishment and rehabilitation programs. In the end, for Cain and for us, it comes down to the cost of keeping the marginalized out of our consciousness and our neighborhoods.

From 1987 to 2007, the U.S. prison population nearly tripled. Presently, there are 2.5 million Americans in prison or jail, representing 25 percent of the world’s prisoners. Four times that number are out on parole or probation — nearly 70 percent of whom will be going back.

The national cost is creeping up on $75 billion, with states such as Maine and California spending nearly $50,000 per year per prisoner.

By far, the greatest number of prison volunteers are evangelical Christians, part of a political dynasty that advocates for stern criminal justice with no frills. As a recent chaplain at the maximum security Maine State Prison, I never ceased to be amazed at the reports of “decisions for Christ.” Am I my brother’s keeper, or am I my brother’s preacher?

Inside, it is called, “Jesus in the lobby.” That is, you say “Hello” to Jesus on the way in and “Goodbye” on the way out. The so-called “Sinner’s Prayer” is looking like a carrot being held out in exchange for preferential treatment. Am I my brother’s keeper, or am I my brother’s confessor?

Prison fellowship, popularized by its founder, Chuck Colson of Watergate fame, has been tracked for its effect on recidivism rates of ex-offenders who had been active participants while inside. While its advantages on prisoner morale and behavior have been widely acclaimed, it has been largely discredited as a restorative tool.

Convicts are pros at spotting insincerity, while evangelicals notoriously are not. The trend is to love the sinner without paying the cost of service, although there are exceptions, to be sure. Liberal Christian groups, on the other hand, are adept at championing causes wherever the press is gathered.

The press avoids U.S. prisons like the plague which the general public assumes them to be. Am I my brother’s keeper, or is visiting Jesus in prison enough?

That is where all these women with unlimited energy come in. What they know about prison is something that a man will never experience — the maternal instinct.

We are throwing away millions of citizens, each of whom was just a short time ago the object of the happiest moment in some woman’s life. In a sense, then, my brother’s “giver” may be the best hope for becoming my brother’s keeper.

There are two general wake-up calls that prevail among incarcerated males.

One is that it never occurred to them until it was too late how much their own children would need them. The second is that they generally speak highly of Mom, no matter how poor a job that Mom had done in raising them. Mom is always Mom. Will it fall on the sisters, then, to step up to being their brother’s keepers?

We have turned over the task of corrections largely to tough, stodgy males who pride themselves on stifling their emotions. To such people, the Marine Corps is the best vehicle for learning how to become a man. In such a system, there is virtually no room for rehabilitation — only scorn for being less than manly.

It may be time for the wives, mothers, widows and female activists to take over if America is ever to break away from the deadly cycle of abusing and neglecting people.

Stan Moody of Manchester is a former Maine State Representative and most recently a chaplain at Maine State Prison in Warren. He is pastor of the Meeting House Church in Manchester and has been a speaker on human rights issues at conferences around the nation.

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