Christopher Zoukis's Blog - Posts Tagged "prison-system"

In the world outside of prison, everyone wants to know what others do, where they work, how much they make, where and in what type of house they live, what they drive, and the answers to many other personal identity questions which help us to quantify and categorize others. These are social signals to those around all of us. They help us to understand how to treat others, how they compare to us, and a plethora of other interpersonal protocols. Not very surprisingly, prison is no different.

The Prison Pecking Order

In prison, unlike life "on the street," social status is not based upon what a fellow prisoner makes or what they do for a living, but what their crime of conviction is, if the fellow prisoner is an informant or not, the group (or "car") they associate with, and how they carry themselves. Also unlike the world outside of prison walls, this social status can mean the difference between a life of torment and assault, and a relatively peaceful life, where due respect is proffered by perceived social equals and lesser-thans. As such, it is vital for new arrivals -- and others who want to understand the prison experience -- to understand how stratification works in a correctional context. Doing so will ensure that they maximize their chances of surviving relatively unscathed.

Crime of Conviction: Social Stigmatization at its Best

The convict stratification equation starts, much like many other components of prison life, in a seemingly backward fashion. When judging a fellow prisoner's social status, one doesn't start by thinking of who they are today, but what they did to be locked up in the first place. This is a common starting point for any evaluation because it helps to quickly -- and relatively accurately -- quantify complete strangers. After all, if a fellow prisoner is, for example, doing time for bank robbery, then it can be assumed that he is a traditional convict, schooled in the criminal lifestyle. On the other hand, if someone is in for wire fraud or embezzlement, then they are probably not considered "good people" -- according to the social construction of prison society -- and will be categorized as a "citizen," not a true convict.

The same form of judging occurs with other, less savory crimes, too. Having an unpopular crime of conviction is a quick path to the lower realms of the prison stratification system. Those with a criminal history of sexual assault, possession, distribution, or production of child pornography, rape, molestation, and such are deemed in prison to be the lowest of the low. Those with these types of crimes are almost automatically shunned from Day One, though they can often find a place amongst fellow unsavory types (those many regular prisoners disparagingly call "weirdos").

The Rat Factor

After this initial evaluation has been figured, the next question -- regardless of crime of conviction -- concerns if the prisoner in question has testified against anyone else. This could be in terms of testifying in court (they would be deemed an "informant" in this case) or snitching on their fellow prisoners (they would be deemed a "rat" in this context). Regardless of crime of conviction, if a prisoner is known to assist law enforcement or the prison authorities, they are deemed to be the lowest of the low. Add a conviction for an unsavory crime, and any "good con" wouldn't be seen dead speaking with them, or worse, many might make a point to openly assault such individuals based upon principle. Whereas in regular American society, those who are a bit odd or disagreeable are avoided, those in prison face a much harder fate: ostracism, shunning, and possible assault (depending on the prison security level in question).

Association: The "Car" You Ride In

After a fellow prisoner has been evaluated for their crime of conviction and if they are an informant or not, the next step in the social judging ladder concerns who they associate with. In prison, associations matter. In fact, they can be vital to a healthy and safe prison experience. This is because, in prison, when one prisoner gets into an altercation with another -- or even when others think about causing a problem for a fellow prisoner -- they must take into account that they are not merely picking a fight with one person, but that person, plus everyone that person associates with. Prisoners tend to form smaller groups -- called "cars" in the prison context -- whom they eat with, work out with, cell with, and defend one another.

These cars can be formed for any number of reasons and can include any number of different groupings. For example, a common trait amongst the cars concerns where someone is from. This could be as micro as the street or city they lived in prior to their incarceration, or it could include all of the prisoners at a specific prison from a state or county. These can be informal groups of likeminded persons, based on racial or religious factors, or even be traditional prison or street gangs (e.g., Aryan Brotherhood, Bloods, Crips, Latin Kings, etc.). The car could even consist of what most prisoners would consider "weirdos" (those with unsavory charges or character).

Depending on the car in question -- and its reputation -- an association can make all the difference in the world. For example, in prison, no one in their right mind would openly assault someone from the Muslim car unless they had permission from their crew and, possibly, an approving nod from the Muslim "shot caller" (the leader of the group). This is because there are many, many Muslim prisoners in almost any American prison. On the other hand, someone from a weirdo car wouldn't have anywhere near the same sort of protection because their car probably wouldn't step up to the plate and defend even their own.

Personal Projection: It's the Image that Counts

The way a prisoner presents themselves is a bit of a wildcard. Usually, crime of conviction, the potential rat factor, and associations lead the way in determining where someone will reside in the prison social stratification system. But this is not always the case. More often than not, a prisoner's personal projection -- or perceived image -- will dictate their pecking order within their particular car, and it's the car that determines the prisoner's social status.

But from time to time, there are prisoners who are either afforded additional respect or additional harassment due to the way they carry themselves. For example, not too long ago, there was a guy in my prison who associated with the weirdo car -- and was openly gay, a somewhat taboo subject in prison -- yet could fight very, very well. So, while some groups didn't like him because of his sexual preferences and lifestyle, many respected him because he was a standup convict and could hold his own (a physical and personality trait very much respected in the prison environment).

External Social Ranking Factors: Prison Security Level and Time

There are even external social ranking factors which can come into play when quantifying a fellow prisoner. A simple one is the amount of time that the person was sentenced to. As long as the prisoner hasn't been charged with an unsavory crime, the more time they receive the more respect they seem to garner from their fellow convicts. Likewise, prisoners who receive very short sentences (called "bids") tend to be regarded as insignificant pests by those with more time. This is largely due to "short timers" always complaining about simple things or problems associated with getting ready to be released. Obviously, those in for decades don't want to hear about how a short term prisoner is going to get home from prison on the day that they are released or how much halfway house time they received.

Of more significance is the security level the prisoners are incarcerated within. Generally speaking, the higher the security level, the more important the pecking order. At maximum security federal prisons (called either "United States Penitentiaries" or "USPs") this pecking order determines where prisoners sit at chow (if they are even allowed to sit at a table by their fellow prisoners), where they cell, where on the recreation yard they workout or hangout, and every other component of prison life. Those who belong to stronger or more revered cars often have an easier prison experience, and those who are alone (called "independents") or who belong to a weirdo car tend to have a more challenging time.

The lower the security level, the less the pecking order and prison politics comes into play. Prisoners incarcerated at the low security and minimum security levels don't really have to worry about being assaulted for their characteristics, their associations, or their crime. On the other hand, those at the medium security and maximum security levels do. Much of this security level discussion is outside of the individual prisoner's control since it is the prison administration, not the individual prisoner, who scores and designates a prisoner to a particular security level.

Convict Stratification: A Fluid and Evolving Discipline

Clearly there are a number of components which contribute to the stratification system employed in American prisons. These various components all add together into a fluid mental equation which results in a snapshot -- or a belief -- of what a fellow prisoner stands for and their social value in the prison context. This estimation of social value is a constantly evolving belief, but one which is shared by the prison population as a whole. In a word, the prisoner's reputation is what is at stake here, something hard to earn, and easy to lose. And in the prison context, this can be the difference between a life of comfort and a life of abject torture and fear.

In the years and months since I’ve been writing about prison conditions across the United States, the insidious creep of privatization into our justice system has transformed into an all-out takeover. The prison-industrial complex has now grown into a $74 billion industry that spans across a broad spectrum of areas. Students at Columbia University have sought to provide a solution to part of the problem through its adoption of a divestment policy geared specifically at the prison-industrial complex.

Divestment, the process of ridding oneself of investments that run counter to one’s ethical beliefs in an effort to force policy change, is a form of protest that has been gaining traction all over the world. This increased engagement is often due in large part to social media and the internet—as individuals are becoming increasingly aware of the impact of their investment behaviours on social and environmental well-being.

Sustained pressure over the last year or so from the student organization Columbia Prison Divest led the university to strike an advisory committee on the matter. The end results, announced just this week, will see them divesting their $9.2 billion endowment of stocks from the British-based G4S and Corrections Corporation of America (CCA), and banning future investment in any private prison corporations.

Prison Divest and Columbia University (along with several other well-known post-secondary institutions) have recognized that a privately-run prison system is fundamentally incompatible with the values of rehabilitation and facilitation of re-entry into the community. Their entire reason for being depends on ensuring high prison return rates in order to satisfy its shareholders, and CCA is a case in point.

CCA is the largest for-profit prison company in the nation. Its recent claims of being committed to improving prisoner re-entry are belied by its thirty-year track record that includes increased recidivism, increased violence, increased abuse, all going hand-in-hand with increased profits. Companies charged with the care and rehabilitation of the incarcerated are given free run with our inmates, with little to no public accountability.

As we've noted elsewhere, facilities run by CCA and similar private prison companies have not improved re-incarceration rates, and likely hinder inmate rehabilitation through a variety of policy failures. Thus their modus operandi seems to have more to do with “getting them coming and going” rather than seeing them successful re-enter society. Indeed, their own market prospectus’ have highlighted the lucrative nature of the industry, precisely because of the country’s high rates of recidivism. It's hardly cynical to question why CCA would suddenly be committed to eliminating the very source of their profitability.

Some critics argue that Columbia’s divestment represents a mere drop in the profit bucket of these corporations, and that may be true. But as our own Alex Friedmann points out, it serves an important educative role that sheds light on the role these companies play in our penal system and who ultimately benefits from their involvement; as with any social action, momentum is key. And more importantly, it sends a message to private entities of what we, as investors, consider to be acceptable policies, and that there will be impacts on their bottom line from divestment—whether direct or indirect.

The social market has spoken: private industry has no role in our criminal justice system.

There are almost 2 million children of prisoners, at an average age of eight years, in our country. Two million small citizens, many of whom have had difficult lives even before their parent's incarceration, now suffer trauma, anxiety, guilty, shame, fear, sadness, withdrawal, and low self-esteem. How are they fairing?

Not much is known, except that imprisoned parents often mean that children go to foster care and become at high risk for crime, so the problem is perpetuated from one generation to the next. Many perform poorly in school and tend toward (1) drugs, alcohol, and aggression. Contact with their incarcerated parent(s) is difficult and rare. Distance and visitation restrictions tend to discourage, not encourage, parent-child relationships. We do know that very little if anything is being done for them in our schools, communities, or prison systems. These children are not recognized as a group by any state agency or department.

If we continue to neglect the education and rehabilitation and parenting skills of their parents, we can be sure most of these children will follow in their parents' footsteps and will one day replace their parents in prisons. The system creates a new generation destined for the fate of its parents.

The picture changes radically, however, if we invest in learning for their incarcerated parents. Because many of them will be the first in their families (or even in their communities) to have earned a college degree, they will become role models who encourage their children to pursue, despite all odds, a higher education. One prisoner named Tanya said (2). "Mv daughter is proud of me and it gives her incentive to want to go [to college]... she asked me if she had to go to college if she didn't want to. My response was no, she didn't have to if she didn't want. Then I sent her my grades with a little note that said, 'Not bad for a 30 year old Mom, huh?' When I spoke with her after that she said, if her mother could do it so could she."

Educated ex-prisoners who have experienced the personal transformation that comes with an education can model positive behaviors (3) and aspire to a different kind of future for their families and children. They are almost always determined that their children be educated, too.

Said Commissioner Brian Fischer of the NY State Department of Correctional Services, "Correctional education (4) provides far more than reduced recidivism, far more than huge economic savings for society. It provides a transformation in the individual which no other program can. And those who experience that transformation extend that education to their own children. In that way, correctional education provides safety and security to our communities not just now, but for generations to come!"

The inevitable result of a modest investment to educate prisoners? We would reduce the likelihood that the children of criminals will break the law and reduce the now growing population of prisoners in our nation. Our criminal population would decrease more and more with every generation.

Research clearly indicates that the best predictor of a child's educational success is the educational attainment of his or her parents. Children of educated individuals do much better in school and have higher educational aspirations than others. Interviews with early adolescent children revealed their pride in their parents' pursuit of college. For some, their incarcerated parents are role models for perseverance, hard work, and a vision of possibility. For others, the pride in their prisoner-parent's accomplishments was tinged with understanding that academic success may not have been possible had their parent not gone to prison.

If, indeed, prison becomes a place for intellectual, emotional, and social growth which, for these people, would not have been experienced on the outside, wouldn't prisoners and all of society as a whole be better off?

Citations:
1 Richard J. Coley and Paul E. Barton, " Locked Up and Locked out: An Ecuational Perspective on the U.S. Prison Population," Educational Testing Service ( 2006)

2 Michelle Fine, M.E. Torre, I.Bowen, K. Boudin, D.Hylton, J. Clark, M. Martinez, R.A. Roberts, P.Smart, and D. Upegui, with the New York State Department of Correctional services, "Changing Minds: The Impact of College in a Maximum-Security Prison: Effects on Women in Prison, the Prison Environment, Reincarceration Rates and Post-Release Outcomes," City university of New York (2001)

3 John Linton, " U.S. Department of Education Update," The Journal of Correctional Education, Vol. 63, no.2 (September 2012)

4 Brazzell, Crayton, Lindahl, Mukamal, and Solomon, "From the Classroom to the Community: Exploring the Role of Education During Incarceration and Re--entry," The Urban Institute, Justice Policy Center, John Jay College of Criminal Justice ( 2009)

As we highlighted on the prison law blog last week, President Barack Obama’s recent comments on the need for a dramatic overhaul of the American prison system has ignited dialogue on reform. There has been almost universal acknowledgement from analysts and activists alike that we are on the precipice of something big.

His speech seems to have done what few politicians have been able to do in decades: unite both Republicans and Democrats. Across the floor, our elected officials are recognizing that the system is broken, and maybe there’s real momentum building for change. It’s a rare thing in our political system, and one that merits pausing a moment to acknowledge before continuing the fight.

If I had a nickel for every time I read a comment about someone talking about how prisoners have no right to complain about anything, that they’re living the life of luxury with free room and board—a virtual paid vacation!—well I’d have a hefty chunk of change in my commissary account. And if I had a quarter for every time one of those comments came from someone who has absolutely no concept of what life behind bars is like for the average individual, then I’d have enough to fund everyone’s commissary account for the next year.

Because most of the time, people are basing their opinions on the experiences of high profile or celebrity inmates who, by and large, have been incarcerated for white collar crimes. White collar crimes make up less than 10% of federal prosecutions, and an even smaller percentage of those prosecuted actually serve time. So it’s safe to say that the experiences of white collar criminals represents a minority experience—yet it’s the one the casual viewer/reader will most likely associate with when they hear about prison.

Many of those convicted of white collar crimes will serve at minimum security facilities (when the impact of offenses are broader—like in the cases of Bernie Madhoff—they’re more frequently bumped up to medium security nowadays) also have access to the crème de la crème of legal times, who are better able to fight for their right to be housed in “cushier” facilities, often in close proximity to family—that is indeed a luxury not typically afforded to the other 95%.

It is true that issues of cleanliness and safety tend to be more adequately dealt with in certain minimum security facilities, again often due to aforementioned legal teams who are able to fight for their clients in those prisons. The experiences of Martha Stewart is usually forefront on people’s mind when conjuring images of the supposedly luxurious experience of doing time. But even that being said, white collar prisons are not necessarily a walk in the park. With a few exceptions, the days of “Club Fed” are gone. It’s something that shows like Orange is the New Black are excelling at: making clear that even the minimum security system is incredibly flawed in its ability to set inmates on the path towards becoming productive citizens upon release.

Because whether you’re housed in the admittedly more physically dangerous medium and maximum facilities, or a minimum security one, the psychological damage remains the same,
jeff_ross_prisoner_roast.jpg
Comedian Jeff Ross is pushing the American public even further to confronting the realities of a deeply flawed prison system with a new special on Comedy Central, Jeff Ross Roasts Criminals: Live at the Brazos County Jail, which documents time he spent in a maximum security facility.

Ross admittedly went into the experience viewing the prisoners as “some strange class of subhumans,” but after just four days, came out of it realizing what those of us in the system know: our prison system is set up to create more hardened criminals, not rehabilitate them.

But at the end of the day, one of the most difficult impacts of imprisonment will be felt in all types of prisons. Because what people who have never been imprisoned cannot conceive of is how devastating the lack of even the simplest can be. The complete restriction of your freedoms, the fact that you cannot walk out the door into the sunshine when you feel like; that you cannot speak to your loved ones unrestricted—those are the things are truly soul-crushing. And unless they have experienced it first-hand, no one can tell someone who is imprisoned that access (which we pay for) to a television means they’re getting off easy. No one.