Growing up, there was never much doubt that Marjani Abdur-Rahman would go to college. In fact, in high school, she dreamed, probably in more detail than most students, about what that experience would look like. Her mom, a social worker who graduated from Michigan State University, was her academic and professional role model, which is why Abdur-Rahman planned to major in clinical psychology. And she was excited to soak up many of the other quintessential parts of college life: living in the dorms, joining a sorority and partying on the weekends with her friends.
Abdur-Rahman enrolled at 蹤獲扦-Flint in 2008 and got off to a fast start. She took advantage of the fact that the university had just built on-campus housing and moved into the dorms. She declared a major in clinical psychology and a minor in Spanish. She also threw her energy into numerous student organizations including lobbying successfully to charter a new chapter of Sigma Gamma Rho, a historically Black sorority, on the Flint campus. She was also intent on not taking on more debt than necessary, so she balanced a full-time course load with several part-time jobs: one at the university restaurant, another as an assistant manager at rue21 in the local mall, and a third working the night shift at a Speedway convenience store.
The night of Dec. 9, 2012, though, abruptly brought an end to that busy, but hopeful rhythm of life. Abdur-Rahman was out with her friend when they ran into the friend's ex-boyfriend. While they were at the club, Abdur-Rahman got into a heated argument with him over the mans past treatment of her friend. Emotions were running high. Everyone had been drinking. At one point, Abdur-Rahman says she tried to get her friend to leave with her, but her friend wanted to see if she could smooth things over. The argument then escalated further, with the man threatening to pull a gun on Abdur-Rahman, at which point she went back to her car and retrieved a small knife from her glove compartment. She says she had no intention of using it; she thought it might get him to back down. But the argument intensified, the two yelling at each other until it reached an unimaginable moment: Like a reflex, Abdur-Rahman stabbed him once in the chest. After it happened, she didnt think he was seriously injured, and she and her friend left in their car. But Abdur-Rahman learned later that he had died in the hospital. She was eventually arrested and charged with open murder, a crime carrying a potential life sentence. She ultimately agreed to a plea that reduced the charge to manslaughter, with a sentence of seven and a half to 15 years. In December 2013, after being held for 10 months at the Genesee County Jail, she began serving her sentence at Womens Huron Valley Correctional Facility in Ypsilanti, Michigans only womens prison.
She says the first two years of being incarcerated were the most difficult. She describes herself as a bubbly, fun-loving person, but prison wasnt a place where you could show that kind of emotion. Personal contact between people, for example, was prohibited. One day, upon seeing a friend who she knew was going through a difficult time, Abdur-Rahman reflexively reached out and embraced her only to get sanctioned for sexual misconduct. And, of course, there was a hurricane of emotions to deal with: The guilt that came from being responsible for taking another persons life. The nagging thoughts that if she hadnt been drinking or hadnt had a knife in her car that night, none of this would be happening. The fear of not knowing what the rest of her life would bring once she got out.
Even within that setting, Abdur-Rahman eventually found a rhythm. As she did when she was a college student, she participated in lots of clubs and activities in the prison. She practiced yoga and did strength and conditioning classes. She facilitated AA meetings and sang in the church choir. Through these activities, she says she developed a lot more compassion for people. I used to be a very judgemental person, particularly with people who had substance abuse issues. I just thought, Why dont you stop? Why are you doing that to yourself? she says. But after housing with a lot of women who had those issues, and speaking with them through AA and NA, I realized we had a lot in common, a lot of the same trauma. Sexual child abuse, divorced parents, abusive relationships. The only difference between me and these women is the way we coped. She also met women who didnt fit any of the common stereotypes of incarcerated people. People who didnt have previous criminal records, histories of violence or challenges with addiction. People who she thought of as good people, who, like her, had made one big mistake.
At a certain point, Abdur-Rahman also started to regain some of the hope she once had for her future. She understood that it was going to be damn near impossible to be a felon and be a psychologist, but she started to think about adjacent careers, particularly in social work. While in prison, she met many inspiring, compassionate social workers. One woman even shared with her that she was also a felon and later got her degree. Later, when she saw that 蹤獲扦-Dearborn was offering free college classes in the prison and one of them was an introductory social work course, she didnt hesitate to sign up. There, she learned just how broad the social work field was. She could be a therapist. A case worker. Someone who worked with people with addiction issues. There were even social workers who specialized in working with formerly incarcerated people. Some time after that, she saw a flyer for 蹤獲扦-Dearborns SOAR program, which provides an array of support services and scholarships for adult learners and returning students who are pursuing their first bachelor's degree. It all started giving her a feeling that her deferred college dreams maybe weren't out of reach.
When she was released on parole in June 2021, her initial hope was to return to 蹤獲扦-Flint, which was much closer to her home in Saginaw. But when that didnt work out, she immediately thought of 蹤獲扦-Dearborn. She felt ecstatic the day she got the acceptance letter from the university, calculating that she could finish up in just a couple of years. But heading back to college after a 10-year break posed certain challenges. When I got arrested, we were on iPhone 4. When I got out, it was iPhone 14, she says, adding that the tech learning curve was a bit steep. In prison, even in college classes, she could only use pen and paper. Now, students lived attached to their laptops and tracked assignments, grades and discussion groups via online learning management systems. You could even take most of your classes virtually if you wanted to. Being in a college classroom was also a bit of a culture shock. I went from taking college classes where everyones in their prison garb and all you have is your pencil and paper. And, now, here I am in a classroom wearing normal clothes with a bunch of normal people. You know no ones psychic. But you still sort of have that paranoia, like, do these people know? Can they tell? Would anyone take the time to Google me?
At first, Abdur-Rahman says she didnt tell anybody anything about her past. But gradually, over time, she got more comfortable talking about her experience. She credits a lot of that to her involvement in the , a long-running U-M program that brings creative arts workshops into prisons. When she got out, she stayed involved with PCAPs for returning citizens. She jokes that both programs have kind of made her a poster child. Im all over the website, she says, noting that its difficult to put yourself out there like that and not end up talking about your story, at least certain parts of it. Last semester, she really stepped out of her comfort zone. The instructor of her Vulnerable Populations course, Assistant Professor of Health and Human Services Vitalis Im, whos been working with the PCAP program for years, asked whether shed be interested in doing a class presentation on her prison experience and some of the challenges of her post-prison life. I was really scared to do that. I didnt want any of my peers to look at me differently, to change their whole mindset of me. I dont want to toot my own horn, but I think people see me as a likeable, friendly person, and I didnt want those qualities to be overlooked after sharing my story, she says. But Abdur-Rahman says sort of the opposite happened. Afterward, she got several comments from her fellow students, basically sharing their admiration for her ability to stay so positive. And she says its still hard to talk about what Ims respect and validation has meant to her without tearing up. Hes somebody whos only recently become part of my journey, whos rooting for me, and wants me to succeed and has my best interests at heart, she says. He knows Im a good person that just made a bad decision.
As Abdur-Rahman approaches her graduation, she says shes filled with a mix of emotions. On the one hand, shes obviously feeling a huge sense of accomplishment and is excited to share the moment with all the people whove stuck by her. On the other hand, shes worried about the very real possibility that her past could still get in the way of her dreams for her future. She frequently gets some reminder of that. Right now, shes living with her mom in Saginaw, which shes doing, in part, because her mom has some health problems. But now that shes finishing her degree, shed love to get her own apartment, maybe move to a new city. She knows, however, that shell probably have to find a place that doesnt require a background check. And just recently, while working at one of her jobs, a sales floor position at a national chain store, her manager asked if she could chat with her in the office. The manager explained that her background check had been flagged and that a woman on the phone from the companys HR department wanted to ask her some questions about the events of Dec. 9, 2012. Put on the spot at work, Abdur-Rahman took the phone and calmly explained what had happened, as well as all the things she has been doing with her life since. She also noted that if the job application had asked about criminal history, which she says it did not, she would have volunteered that information. After the phone call, she then turned to her manager, who had heard the conversation, and expressed that she hoped that she didnt think differently of her now. The manager responded that she did not, and reiterated what an excellent worker she was and that if it was up to her, she'd be happy to send Abdur-Rahman right back to work. Nonetheless, she was going to be suspended pending a decision from HR, though she ultimately got to keep her job. Thats just sort of my reality now, she says. I feel like no matter how hard I try, its two steps forward, and then five steps back. Its hard not to get discouraged, but Im trying to stay positive.
Going forward, Abdur-Rahman still very much desires to have what she calls a big girl job, which she defines as a job of substance with good pay and a 9 to 5. Ideally, she wants to find a position where she can help people with substance abuse issues. But she also anticipates it will be hard for many employers even those in the social work field to look beyond her past, especially if they have other talented candidates they could hire. She also knows shell likely need to continue her education. A bachelors degree in the field doesnt take you as far as it used to, which is why shes applied to 蹤獲扦-Ann Arbors master of social work program. She recently received news that shes been put on an alternates list. So its not a no and not a yes, she says. She should know in a couple months whether she got in. Some parts of her life are still a waiting game.
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Story by Lou Blouin
