By: Daniel K. Forkkio

I was named after my grandfather on my mother’s side, but I didn’t meet him until I was 5 or 6, and only a handful of times after. My parents met in the military. My mother, white, from Kingston, Tennessee. My father, black, from D.C. via Kumasi, Ghana. They were forced to elope because of my white grandfather’s racist objections — and got married by themselves, in D.C. When I finally met him, I immediately felt that icy cold feeling of exclusion. I was not welcome. 

Narrative change isn’t about feeling bad. We live in a world of countless, co-existing experiences, whether we like it or not. Most experiences are true — and I believe that most people engage with issues from their own perspective. But over time — centuries of racism, misinformation, oppression, suppression have made the experiences of those most marginalized, especially the Black community, inaccessible to the rest of the people. Those perspectives are missing from every aspect of our culture. Rather than forming the structures that serve us all, and benefit our communities, a funnel has been built that tilts our society, our opportunity, and our empathy away from those who need it most. Even our loved ones. 

My grandfather, so indoctrinated by racism, he could not see beyond the oppressive narratives he’d been surrounded by enough to treat my brothers and I like what we were — his family. 

As I became a teenager, I began sporadically receiving mail from him on my birthday. I responded a few times, but they were mostly ignored. Until 2018. 

That year, I heard that he wouldn’t make it through the end of the year. Rather than going to see him immediately, I waited all the way up until December 22 during a trip home to D.C. for the holidays. As I was boarding the plane, I learned that he was in the hospital and wouldn’t last more than a few more days. When I landed, I immediately rented a car and made the 8 hour drive down to Fort Sanders Medical Center in Knoxville, Tennessee. I drove nearly nonstop— 90mph the entire way —while answering calls from my mom about when I would arrive every 30 minutes or so. 

I missed him by 15 minutes, and never got to see the man who had caused me so much anxiety and hurt face-to-face one last time. 

The next day, we had the bizarre task of going through his belongings at the house. When I walked through the door, I was filled with the familiar, old dread of my childhood. But, this time, something was different.  I was shocked to see pictures of our family nearly everywhere. But the biggest surprise came when I found and opened his old filing cabinet, and read his last will and testament. 

He had left everything to us. My mother isn’t an only child — she has a brother, and many sisters. But everything he had in his possession, he gave to us. Not just to my mother, but to the Forkkios. And to Daniel Forkkio — his namesake, I was the “executor” — to make any and all decisions in the event something happened to my mom. Seeing our last name in his document was jarring, triggering a cascade of memories I’ll never forget. The unanswered emails, letters, and his many attempts to reconcile. But more vividly than anything else, how I had refused to let him redeem himself. I refused  to let him redeem himself. 

Everyone is worthy of redemption, of a second chance and an opportunity to be accountable for the harm they may have caused. This is what narrative change is about — breaking down the harmful myths that limit our understanding and empathy of one another. This is not only a cornerstone of my personal values, crystallized by my experience with my grandfather, but it’s core to the work of Represent Justice. 

The existing narratives that underpin our justice system — narratives that wrongly categorize people as “felons,” “criminals” and “incorrigible” — have failed us as a country and produced a cycle of incarceration that does not allow people to move on once they’ve come home. 

It’s a system that has failed our children, whom have been called “juveniles” and “superpredators” and receive prison cells and life sentences despite overwhelming evidence of trauma and abuse and alternatives to incarceration available. 

It has failed our women, who have become the fastest growing prison population despite overwhelming evidence of violent victimization before entering the justice system, and the destructive impact of incarcerating women on families. 

And it has pitted the pain of those who have caused harm against the pain of those who have been harmed, pretending that we live in a brave country of “good vs. evil” instead of “opportunity vs. oppression.” These policies have led to recidivism, a lack of community resources, and a culture built upon excluding and dehumanizing those who are most vulnerable. They have upheld, instead, an investment of hundreds of billions of dollars in a punitive, flawed justice system based primarily on incarceration. 

Those myths have upheld systems of policing and prisons, and overall inequality in every aspect of our society. When it comes to achieving justice, those affected and marginalized must be recognized as the majority. They are the majority, after all. Their experiences have been underrepresented in every aspect of our society’s culture — in media, in our education, in our political and business structures, and even in philanthropy. 

Represent Justice believes in the power of the untold story. Creating space for truth and humanity, so long denied, to emerge, and reconcile. We connect the public to those powerful stories through film, TV, and other forms of media, curate experiences which build proximity, build the power of those most impacted, and channel public interest into lasting demand for change. We break down harmful binaries 

How do we do it?
Ohio has the sixth-largest correctional population in the country. Last year, we brought players from the Cleveland Cavaliers into Grafton Correctional Institute in Grafton, Ohio as part of our Play for Justice program, produced by Plus One Society. The players, alongside community partners like the Ohio Transformation Fund and Ohio Organizing Collaborative, and over a dozen state policymakers, heard firsthand from currently incarcerated individuals about how this country’s justice system had harmed them, had made their vulnerabilities worse, and ultimately had created a disruptive cycle of incarceration within their communities. 

By bringing lawmakers proximate to the youth their legislation impacts, The harmful narrative of our kids being irredeemable and dangerous fell apart, and the bill we were supporting, SB256 to end Juvenile Life Without Parole, passed out of committee shortly after, and was signed into law on January 9th, 2021. 

And we’re far from finished. Next month in Atlanta, during 4th of July weekend, we’ll be partnering with the system-impact led, grassroots organization Women on The Rise to create a public art piece as part of the efforts to reimagine the Atlanta City Detention Center (ACDC). 

Created by formerly incarcerated artists, the piece will show how cycles of incarceration can create harm, but also illustrate an alternative pathway for the community. The installation will take place at The Underground in downtown Atlanta and feature music performances, dancers, documentary films, visual art, and guided tours. The activation will disavow the narrative that those most impacted by the carceral system need to be siloed from society, and instead affirm the reality that they have the solutions to carry us forward into a fairer future. 

Daniel K. Forkkio is the Chief Executive Officer of Represent Justice.