How Northwestern Saved My Life
Facing two life sentences, NPEP student Tony Triplett found himself trapped in hopelessness—until an education reawakened his sense of self.
By Tony Triplett
I remember dangling in the air, urine flowing down my leg, going in and out of consciousness, and seeing the faces of everyone I loved.
Moments of my life flashed before my eyes, right before the sheet snapped from the weight of my body. Motionless, I lay in my own urine, gasping for air, silently asking myself “Why me?” With a debt of two natural life sentences owed to the state of Illinois, I was constantly questioning my own self-worth, while asking myself, “How can I pay this debt when I have only one life to live?”
I spent the first three years of my forever sentence flirting with suicide, combatting suicidal thoughts and depression. I had become a seedless flower trying to grow without the soil. My actual innocence was irrelevant because a jury of 12 perceived me to be a monster. Perception is a powerful thing, and I was perceived to be the worst of the worst.
As time passed, Suicide looked more attractive, and on that day, I finally found the courage to ask her out. Turns out I wasn’t her type, but I figured that, sooner rather than later, I’d ask her out again.
Laying in my urine, I glanced around my 6x9 cell. In the corner of the room sat a course packet called “Values,” the name of a Northwestern University philosophy course I was enrolled in. Staring at the packet, I wondered: where is the value of my own life? Frustrated, I rose to my feet, contemplating if I should ask Suicide out again.
Later that afternoon, I sat in the Values course taught by a professor of philosophy at Northwestern, Jennifer Lackey. Surprisingly, philosophy came easy to me. It left me asking questions, which in turn left me yearning for answers.
The course itself consisted of theories and perspectives of various philosophers from Plato to John Locke, Immanuel Kant, and the professor herself. The class was 14 weeks long, and within those weeks I met politicians and other NU professors who wanted to shed light on mass incarceration through education.
Over the weeks, my mindset towards my incarceration started to shift. The crush I had on suicide was long gone. I had a new crush, and her name was Purpose.
In the next two years, I would take two more of Professor Lackey’s philosophy courses and many other courses, too, on topics like political science, poetry, African-American history, restorative justice, and masculinity. Every course played a significant role in my mental health. I no longer wanted to take my life; those classes gave me reasons to cherish life itself. Over time, education had become a well-needed distraction from my attraction to suicide.
In 2018, Professor Lackey started the Northwestern Prison Education Program (NPEP) and suggested that I apply. Sensing my hesitation, Professor Lackey told me, “Tony, you can do this!” Her words ended my conversation with self-doubt, and I applied with the hope of getting accepted.
For a month and a half, anxiety flowed through my body uninvited. Frustration would come randomly as well, with a slew of questions: “Am I deserving of this opportunity? Am I Northwestern material? Will I be able to do the work?”
As time passed, my relationship with purpose started to fade, and suicide was openly flirting with me again. A rejection letter would send me directly into her arms. Not getting accepted would reinforce the whole “prison process,” when you’re newly incarcerated, they take your name and give you a number. To the Illinois Department of Corrections, I am #M38457. Through their actions, they show me that my life doesn’t matter. Despite the word corrections being their identity and rehabilitation being their stated mission, I have two natural life sentences, so why even bother in my case? I have to die here. Mentally I was broken and alone, making suicide the perfect companion. According to my circumstances, the two of us are a perfect match.
For me, suicide was the only available option. Incarceration gave me a daily dose of reality. Reality showed me who my friends were, constantly reminding me that I was alone, taunting me with my innocence while highlighting all the tactics used against me. Other options were nonexistent.
Hope would try to show its face, but reality would intervene, and time reminded me that I was nothing, just another statistic. My emotions were running rampant. Anxiety played matchmaker, pushing me directly into the arms of suicide as I waited for the letter that would tell me if I was Northwestern material.
“Congratulations” was the first and only word I saw, simply because I couldn’t keep the water out of my eyes. I was accepted. Northwestern had seen something in me. They had resurrected my identity and reunited me with a companion who would always bring out the best in me: purpose.
On Nov. 15, 2023, I was conferred a Bachelor of Science degree in General Studies, with a major in Social Science, from Northwestern University. I was one of 16 incarcerated students to be the first ever to receive a degree from a top 10 university.
Many universities use the term “diversity” when describing the student body. They all have that school picture that shows students of different backgrounds draped in their school colors. Luckily for me, Northwestern saw the term diversity through a different lens. While most schools see diversity as external, Northwestern views it through a lens of ethics and morality. As a person who comes from marginalization, I viewed my enrollment at Northwestern as a privilege and a saving grace. If it weren’t for Northwestern, I probably would have taken my life.
I’ll never forget the day Suicide and I had our first date—and all the following days when I felt like nothing, less than worthless. I wanted to give up and surrender. I’ll always cherish the day I found Purpose in an acceptance letter from Northwestern University.
I have the word “Love” tattooed on the web of my right hand and “Life” on my left. “Love Life” is my mantra, and I can honestly say that Northwestern saved mine. Today I write these words as a blossomed rose, nourished by the soil of education.
