I do my best to resist the thought that prison is a reflection of our society, but the comparisons are unavoidable. From the moment I crossed the threshold from freedom to incarceration because I was charged with, and a jury convicted me of, leaking classified information to a New York Times reporter, I needed no reminder that I was no longer an individual. Prison, with its one size fits all" structure, is not set up to recognize a person's worth; the emphasis is removal and categorization. Inmates are not people; we are our offenses. Considering the charges and conviction that brought me here, I'm not exactly sure to which category I belong. No matter. There is an overriding category to which I do belong, and it is this prison reality that I sadly "compare unto the world": I'm not just an inmate, I'm a black inmate. Here, I am my skin color. Whenever, in my stubborn idealism, I refuse to acknowledge being racially categorized and question the submission to it, the other prisoners invariably respond, "Man, this is prison." What I see in prison is sad, but what I'm seeing from prison is worse. During my time in the CIA it became clear, in the organization's words and actions toward me, that they saw me not as an American who wanted to serve his country but as "a big black guy." There is a black America, there is a white America, there are many Americas. The greatness and promise of this country lies in equality reinforced by our differences. When I am free, I don't want to feel that I'm merely going from one prison to another.