A Speech Delivered by C. Campbell at Pillars’ July Graduation Ceremony

C. Campbell is one of 15 Idaho State Correctional Institution residents who recently completed Pillars peer-mentor training. On July 15, 2026, at a graduation ceremony in the prison chapel, he spoke to a room of prison staff, peer mentors and their visitors. This is what he said.

[Edited for length and clarity.]

Hey everyone, my name is C.J., though some of you may know me as Gideon. When I was asked to come up here and speak before you all, my initial thought was, “Well, that’s a terrible idea. I’m terrified of public speaking and have a tendency to talk way too much.”

But that’s one of the beautiful facets of the Pillars initiative; it affords us the space to venture out of our comfort zone and grow. And maybe, if I’m terrified as hell to be up here, yet here I am, shaking and getting through it, speaking on something I truly believe in, then, just maybe, it will inspire someone else to let their voice be heard in a powerful way, and they could inspire someone else and so forth, until I have engendered a change far beyond my purview.

So in the next 20 years or so, when an individual is winning a Pulitzer for their awesome speech-writing, I’ll let out a little smile and tell myself, “I did that.”

You know, my upbringing cultivated in me a belief that Life makes you pay for every victory that you gain. It made me weary of success, afraid of love, and terrified of happiness. I grew up around drugs, alcohol, sexual and physical abuse, and blind hatred. Some of the images from my past that haunt me will stay imprinted in my mind until the day I die. To this day, I carry with me traumas that I still can’t speak on, that I’m terrified of sharing with anyone else.

Nevertheless, I credit my childhood with showing me three valuable things, which I remember coming to own while sitting in my seventh-grade principal’s office. My friend Richard and I had been caught stealing items around the school that could be used as drug paraphernalia. I remember sitting before the principal pleading, not for myself but for him to show Richard mercy. I explained how both Richard’s sister and brother died at the age of 18. He had no mother to speak of and barely knew and spoke to his father. He had pushed away almost everyone who tried to care for him or get close. All he had was me.

Richard made the poor choices because he couldn’t afford the better ones.

Thinking I could make a case for my friend to not be expelled, I claimed that Richard’s rough life was to blame for the reasons he did the things he did. But what I wasn’t anticipating was that the principal personally knew my family and, along with them, my story.

He pointed out that I, too, had had a rough life, yet I didn’t go down the same paths as Richard. He said I was mostly a good kid who rose above my adversities and didn’t allow my circumstances to define my situation in life.

“Why do you think that is?” he said.

Without giving it so much as a thought, I said, “The life I’ve lived and the things I’ve seen have shown me who I don’t want to be, what kind of life I don’t want to live and what kind of world I want to live in.”

After saying it, I sat there in a pregnant silence, repeating my own words and wondering what the hell made me say them.

The principal quietly let it sink in: my actions were not matching the life I wanted for myself.

I was dismissed without any punishment; but a ripple had already shifted the reality of my core.

From that moment on, I knew I wanted to make a difference and help to change the lives of others, instead of just watching them pass me by. But how? At 13 years old, I had a destination and a mission statement–but I lacked knowledge and direction and resources.

And so I wandered through life the best I could, doing things that I thought would help others and fulfill my youthful vision. But apparently my vision was clouded, because what I didn’t see then was that I was doing those things for myself. Doing them for my own pride. For the wrong reasons. Wandering aimlessly.

Being part of the Pillars initiative, I have since found that missing direction. Never before have I experienced such a perfect fit for the lifestyle I’m living and the dream I want to accomplish. I stand up here today because our shared vision as mentors is something I not only vehemently stand behind, but am also proud to stand for; to build a community of unity, growth and positivity, if I may sum it up in my own short words.

But why stop within these walls?

I ask, what is legacy? Phenom Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote it perfectly in a song for the hit Broadway musical Hamilton: “What is legacy? It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.” We aren’t making these change for ourselves. We are making them for those who come after us. Not just for those who lose their way and for those whose struggle to find one lands them here, but for anyone who has ever wanted something better for themselves. We are embracing the next generation by laying blueprints for a better future. The foundation that we are building, those of us here in this room, grows stronger with each person we touch and inspire–each time we show another the way.

He’s probably getting tired of me quoting him by now, but I once heard a truly great man say something seemingly small, not even directly to me, but it impacted me to the very core: “We are in the business of ripples.” Thank you, Patrick, for creating such an incredible ripple in my life, because that has been the key to me finding my direction, the catalyst that is now propelling me to the man I want to be and have wanted to be since the seventh grade.

My grandmother always taught me to pay it forward. And at her memorial service, I vowed to continue that belief and live it. And now, because of the mentors in my life who have welcomed me as family and helped to guide me along in my journey, I feel like I can finally, truly, honor that promise–honor my grandma’s legacy.

That’s what this initiative has done for me, what I hope it does for each of you, and for everyone who comes after us.

I wish to close by encouraging everyone here in this room to start big, start small, be it today, tomorrow or the day after–be the force of positive change in someone else’s life. Start a ripple and create with me the motions that will effect those around us and beyond.

A few brave immigrants once traveled across an ocean and created a nation that has now survived 250 years. Let us see what kind of world we, too, can create by daring to be different and challenging the status quo.

It starts with a ripple. It starts with you. It starts with us. And it starts now.

To the next 250 years, to the Pillars initiative, and to those who come next.

Thank you.