Christopher Zoukis's Blog, page 15
December 4, 2015
Because art matters—even in prison
This week marks the opening of an exhibit in an Ohio gallery that will feature the artwork of prisoners from across the state. The exhibition, entitled “Inside Looking Out: Creative Works by Ohio Prison Inmates” will be on display at the Ohio Arts Council’s Riffe Gallery.
While much of my focus as an activist and writer is centered around more academic education, I’d be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge how important art education and facilitation is to an inmate’s rehabilitation as well.
So why art in prison? Well, we could certainly begin with the same answers to the more general question of “why art?” There are far too many to list here, but fundamentally it is because art feeds the soul, allows us to better understand the world around us and ourselves. This is website has a great sampling of what I mean.
But when it comes to the prison context, the role of art becomes something else entirely. For some, art is a means of survival. There’s a reason no one ever uses the term “institutional” to describe something of beauty. Prison buildings are by design bleak, dreary, empty, and arguably, soulless. Day upon day we are staring at blank walls, at emptiness. Art affords one the opportunity to see a way through that, to believe that change is possible, to give one hope.
From a more pragmatic perspective, arts and cultural education encourages the development of left brain thinking, and allows students to broaden their analytical skills. And just like with more traditional prison education, participation in arts programs has been shown to reduce recidivism.
The therapeutic value of artistic expression is immeasurable in quantitative terms, but art therapists know its impact. The majority of prisoners will never have had access to mental health resources, counsellors, or the like. And so the idea of suddenly opening up to a complete stranger about deep-seeded personal issues is not only foreign to them, it may be terrifying or even distasteful. But creative endeavours allow the opportunity for exploring those issues safely and productively. You cannot understate the value of creative production, because it also affords something that many prisoners have never had: a sense of self-worth.
And for those of you on the outside looking in, I guarantee you that prisoners’ art will provide you a window into lives you’ve never known, perspectives you’ve never considered, and a humanity you’d not have thought possible. If you are in the Ohio area, I encourage you to take a moment to see the new exhibition. And if you’re not, The Prison Arts Coalition is a wonderful resource to explore.
While much of my focus as an activist and writer is centered around more academic education, I’d be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge how important art education and facilitation is to an inmate’s rehabilitation as well.
So why art in prison? Well, we could certainly begin with the same answers to the more general question of “why art?” There are far too many to list here, but fundamentally it is because art feeds the soul, allows us to better understand the world around us and ourselves. This is website has a great sampling of what I mean.
But when it comes to the prison context, the role of art becomes something else entirely. For some, art is a means of survival. There’s a reason no one ever uses the term “institutional” to describe something of beauty. Prison buildings are by design bleak, dreary, empty, and arguably, soulless. Day upon day we are staring at blank walls, at emptiness. Art affords one the opportunity to see a way through that, to believe that change is possible, to give one hope.
From a more pragmatic perspective, arts and cultural education encourages the development of left brain thinking, and allows students to broaden their analytical skills. And just like with more traditional prison education, participation in arts programs has been shown to reduce recidivism.
The therapeutic value of artistic expression is immeasurable in quantitative terms, but art therapists know its impact. The majority of prisoners will never have had access to mental health resources, counsellors, or the like. And so the idea of suddenly opening up to a complete stranger about deep-seeded personal issues is not only foreign to them, it may be terrifying or even distasteful. But creative endeavours allow the opportunity for exploring those issues safely and productively. You cannot understate the value of creative production, because it also affords something that many prisoners have never had: a sense of self-worth.
And for those of you on the outside looking in, I guarantee you that prisoners’ art will provide you a window into lives you’ve never known, perspectives you’ve never considered, and a humanity you’d not have thought possible. If you are in the Ohio area, I encourage you to take a moment to see the new exhibition. And if you’re not, The Prison Arts Coalition is a wonderful resource to explore.
Safety and Segregation: The uneasy relationship between violence and solitary confinement
A bizarre development out of New York has prisoners’ and human rights activists scratching their heads this week. It’s best summed up by The Nation’s headline for an article discussing the matter: “Rikers is Reforming Solitary Confinement—With More Solitary Confinement?” There’s little question as to Rikers infamy as a penal institution. Despite decreasing the number of inmates, and increasing the amount of money going into it, violence continues to plague the prison.
Like so many before him, Mayor Bill Bilasio claimed enhanced solitary was necessary to reduce violence at Rikers. But are the prisoners at Rikers inherently more violent than those at the hundreds of other maximum security facilities in the country? The facility is, indeed, among the most infamous in the country—but rather than engaging in an evidence-based analysis of how best to deal with mounting violence, Commissioner Ponte chose the path of least resistance. Ironically, they cited statistics on Rikers’ levels of violence, but yet did not engage in any kind of examination of evidence-based data on how best to deal with this violence, or what its root causes are. In the absence of evidence-based research and analysis, they’ve chosen simply to rename what Amnesty International refers to as a torturous practice, with the creation of “Enhanced Supervision Housing Units” (ESHU). Those in the facilities are afforded 7 hours a day out of their cells (as opposed to the normal 14 for Rikers’ general population inmates). But according to inmates who spent time in ESHUs, the frequent lock-downs meant that even that 7-hour period was often whittled down to nothing. Simply stating that your version of solitary confinement is rehabilitative rather than punitive, does not make it so. A rose by any other name, and all that…at the end of the day, segregation stinks as a prison policy, no matter what rosy terms you couch it in. Violence in ESHU is high, with prisoners reporting their time in these facilities as being far worse than anything they’ve experienced elsewhere (including “punitive” solitary). Time spent in SHUs also means that prisoners are unable to avail themselves of services that are critical to rehabilitation and ultimately, re-entry. This may include contact/communication with family, education or training programs, and simply interacting with other human beings.
So how is isolation anything but punitive in nature? The introduction to an article out of New Jersey on solitary confinement for immigrants highlights precisely what is wrong with how the discussion is being framed: “Is solitary confinement a fair punishment for immigrant detainees? If so, is it regulated properly?” The writer has fallen into the same trap so many do, failing to recognize that being in prison is the punishment. Prison officials are not there to mete out punishment, they are there to supervise the prisoner’s term there. And as long as we keep framing the issue incorrectly, the answers are going to fail prisoners and fail society.
What was most shocking about the move, was that the creation of ESHUs was actually included into the city’s solitary confinement reform package. By including it in the package, individuals who were staunchly against solitary confinement were forced to vote for ESH, simply in an effort to remove solitary for individuals under the age of 21. ESHUs exist in a sort of regulatory vacuum; inmates can be held indefinitely in these facilities because they are not considered “solitary.” But if it quacks like a duck… But as of last week, it appears the DOC is abandoning any pretences of being dedicated to ending the practice of punitive confinement; they have asked the ability to hold some individuals “indefinitely in solitary confinement with no mandatory break” in certain cases.
The arguments in support of solitary confinement tend to boil down to two main camps: 1-It’s to protect staff and inmates from violent prisoners; 2-It’s to protect vulnerable prisoners from the violence of others. Clearly, there’s a theme here, and it boils down to a singular argument: solitary confinement reduces violence. So let’s look at this more closely.
While we’ve written much about the experience of transgender men and women in prison as it relates to solitary confinement, a recent Department of Justice Bureau of Justice Statistics report shows that a shocking number of lesbian, gay, and bisexual prisoners are also spending time in Special Housing Units (SHUs). The “restrictive housing” of LGB prisoners occurs at a rate nearly twice as high as non-LGB individuals. In the bulk of these cases, confinement is considered “protective.” What results from increased isolation? A dramatic increase in mental health problems stemming from: insomnia; paranoia; auditory and visual hallucinations; hypersensitivity; suicidal tendencies; and PTSD. American prisoners are being used as guinea pigs in the effects of social and sensory deprivation. Yet we already know what effects these practices have; this kind of isolation drives even mentally healthy to the brink. While isolated, their access to medical and mental health services is also restricted, so there is no recourse available to them to deal with these issues, or any physical ailments resulting from, or exacerbated by, confinement (knee, back, and joint problems are common).
When power is wielded like a weapon, how is it anyone is surprised that violence is the result? It’s like the prison version of a “time out.” Unwanted behaviour=isolation. But segregation does not elicit a Pavlovian response in humans, whereby individuals instantly equate their isolation from interaction with negativity. There is no deterrence effect associated with segregation. Indeed, isolation tends to breed resentment, which in turn, breeds violence.
So if solitary confinement does nothing to improve prison safety or assist in rehabilitation then what, precisely, are we doing it for? When a prison has to rely on solitary confinement, it is a reflection on an institution that is failing, not on its prisoners. It is about breaking wills, about breaking down individuals to the point where rehabilitation is all but impossible, and recidivism a virtual guarantee.
Like so many before him, Mayor Bill Bilasio claimed enhanced solitary was necessary to reduce violence at Rikers. But are the prisoners at Rikers inherently more violent than those at the hundreds of other maximum security facilities in the country? The facility is, indeed, among the most infamous in the country—but rather than engaging in an evidence-based analysis of how best to deal with mounting violence, Commissioner Ponte chose the path of least resistance. Ironically, they cited statistics on Rikers’ levels of violence, but yet did not engage in any kind of examination of evidence-based data on how best to deal with this violence, or what its root causes are. In the absence of evidence-based research and analysis, they’ve chosen simply to rename what Amnesty International refers to as a torturous practice, with the creation of “Enhanced Supervision Housing Units” (ESHU). Those in the facilities are afforded 7 hours a day out of their cells (as opposed to the normal 14 for Rikers’ general population inmates). But according to inmates who spent time in ESHUs, the frequent lock-downs meant that even that 7-hour period was often whittled down to nothing. Simply stating that your version of solitary confinement is rehabilitative rather than punitive, does not make it so. A rose by any other name, and all that…at the end of the day, segregation stinks as a prison policy, no matter what rosy terms you couch it in. Violence in ESHU is high, with prisoners reporting their time in these facilities as being far worse than anything they’ve experienced elsewhere (including “punitive” solitary). Time spent in SHUs also means that prisoners are unable to avail themselves of services that are critical to rehabilitation and ultimately, re-entry. This may include contact/communication with family, education or training programs, and simply interacting with other human beings.
So how is isolation anything but punitive in nature? The introduction to an article out of New Jersey on solitary confinement for immigrants highlights precisely what is wrong with how the discussion is being framed: “Is solitary confinement a fair punishment for immigrant detainees? If so, is it regulated properly?” The writer has fallen into the same trap so many do, failing to recognize that being in prison is the punishment. Prison officials are not there to mete out punishment, they are there to supervise the prisoner’s term there. And as long as we keep framing the issue incorrectly, the answers are going to fail prisoners and fail society.
What was most shocking about the move, was that the creation of ESHUs was actually included into the city’s solitary confinement reform package. By including it in the package, individuals who were staunchly against solitary confinement were forced to vote for ESH, simply in an effort to remove solitary for individuals under the age of 21. ESHUs exist in a sort of regulatory vacuum; inmates can be held indefinitely in these facilities because they are not considered “solitary.” But if it quacks like a duck… But as of last week, it appears the DOC is abandoning any pretences of being dedicated to ending the practice of punitive confinement; they have asked the ability to hold some individuals “indefinitely in solitary confinement with no mandatory break” in certain cases.
The arguments in support of solitary confinement tend to boil down to two main camps: 1-It’s to protect staff and inmates from violent prisoners; 2-It’s to protect vulnerable prisoners from the violence of others. Clearly, there’s a theme here, and it boils down to a singular argument: solitary confinement reduces violence. So let’s look at this more closely.
While we’ve written much about the experience of transgender men and women in prison as it relates to solitary confinement, a recent Department of Justice Bureau of Justice Statistics report shows that a shocking number of lesbian, gay, and bisexual prisoners are also spending time in Special Housing Units (SHUs). The “restrictive housing” of LGB prisoners occurs at a rate nearly twice as high as non-LGB individuals. In the bulk of these cases, confinement is considered “protective.” What results from increased isolation? A dramatic increase in mental health problems stemming from: insomnia; paranoia; auditory and visual hallucinations; hypersensitivity; suicidal tendencies; and PTSD. American prisoners are being used as guinea pigs in the effects of social and sensory deprivation. Yet we already know what effects these practices have; this kind of isolation drives even mentally healthy to the brink. While isolated, their access to medical and mental health services is also restricted, so there is no recourse available to them to deal with these issues, or any physical ailments resulting from, or exacerbated by, confinement (knee, back, and joint problems are common).
When power is wielded like a weapon, how is it anyone is surprised that violence is the result? It’s like the prison version of a “time out.” Unwanted behaviour=isolation. But segregation does not elicit a Pavlovian response in humans, whereby individuals instantly equate their isolation from interaction with negativity. There is no deterrence effect associated with segregation. Indeed, isolation tends to breed resentment, which in turn, breeds violence.
So if solitary confinement does nothing to improve prison safety or assist in rehabilitation then what, precisely, are we doing it for? When a prison has to rely on solitary confinement, it is a reflection on an institution that is failing, not on its prisoners. It is about breaking wills, about breaking down individuals to the point where rehabilitation is all but impossible, and recidivism a virtual guarantee.
More than bricks and mortar: the relationship between architecture and recidivism
This week New York Governor Cuomo revealed the intention to transform a notorious former women’s prison into a site providing resources and assistance to women in need. The announcement served not only as reminder of the symbolic representation such buildings hold, but of the power inherent of the physical structures themselves. Changes in the physical structures of prisons over time tend to be indicative of social attitudes towards crime, punishment, and rehabilitation.
Designing a prison is not a simple task. Aside from the obvious security concerns, new prisons need to be designed in a way that allows for meaningful rehabilitation efforts to take place. And that can only occur when we eliminate segregation as an appropriate method of containment for securing safety.
Open layouts are increasingly being embraced as a way of fostering improved relations between inmates and staff and engendering trust. Those studying prison architecture, have all pointed to the traditional panopticon model (multiple levels of cells all centered around a singular observation point) as being most problematic in these respects. The suspected reason for this is the tendency for inmates to feel as though they are constantly being watched, which undermines the building of trust relationships. Yes, I can hear people already saying, “They committed a crime, we shouldn’t trust them!” But in the prison setting, such sentiments breed resentment—a major barrier to rehabilitation. This kind of set-up also decreases the amount of staff-inmates possible, because staff simply observe from afar, rather than interact. Notwithstanding Indonesia’s proposed plans to surround prisons housing drug traffickers with crocodiles, à la James Bond, there are a growing number of examples of how effective these prisons can be.
Bastøy Prison in Oslo, Norway, at first glance may appear to be a modern-day version of the UK shipping off its prisoners to Australia, or the Alcatraz of the past. But with Europe’s lowest recidivism rate (16% compared to Norway’s 20% and Europe’s average of 70%), it’s another model of how architecture is shaping the prison experience. Bastøy is engineered to act as a social microcosm, rather than an institution geared strictly at containment and punishment. Inmates live in self-contained cabins, are fed by professional chefs, and are charged with tending to the island’s farmland and animals and are given various other jobs. For many incarcerated, it represents the first glimpse at being able to contribute meaningfully to their community. Arguably the facility operates primarily as a transition system, facilitating prisoner re-entry; any prisoner in Norway is eligible for transfer to the facility once they have five years or less remaining in their sentence. Unsurprisingly, critics have been vocal about the so-called resort conditions on the island, but the results simply don’t lie. Prisoners who feel invested in the well-being of their communities will be motivated to succeed upon re-entry. A similar model is found at Austria’s Leoben Justice Center, and Helsinki’s Suomenlinna Island also boasts a 20% recidivism rate.
A new women’s prison built in San Diego followed in Bastøy and Leoben’s footsteps. Its designers are seeking to adopt a campus-style model, which arguably also serves to foster the educational components known to reduce recidivism dramatically. Las Colinas’ prison village is already seeing a reduction in violence.
Lest observers consider this a strictly industrialized world option, in the Philippines, there is an open-air prison, Iwahig Penal Farm, that from the outside, looks like an ordinary village surrounded by farm lands worked by its inhabitants. But it is very much a prison, albeit one that is largely self-sufficient and also a tourist destination. The village features a decidedly artistically oriented rehabilitation program operating alongside its manual labour activities, where inmates not only perform highly choreographed dance routines for visitors, but also stock the “gift shop” (yes, you read that correctly) with handcraft goods. However the open concept applies only to minimum and medium security inmates, with maximum security prisoners housed in an overcrowded facility on the grounds. Prison staff live on the grounds, as do many of the inmate’s wives and children, with education services being provided to everyone on the penal farm. At the moment, Iwahig has the country's the lowest recidivism rate,
Recognition of the important role that buildings can play in social cohesion and rehabilitation efforts, the American group “Architects/Designers/Planners for Social Justice,” who advocate for “responsible design,” not only in prisons, but also in communities—with the aim of reducing the need for the former. Part of their actions have called for an end to the construction of solitary confinement spaces altogether. Members have also signed pledges not to work on any prison projects unless dramatic reforms are made, or not at all.
Of course there are additional costs associated with the creation of such facilities, however analyses indicate they are marginal. But if your fundamental goal is to rehabilitate prisoners and actually reduce recidivism, then it’s virtually impossible that such investments will not yield dividends in the long-term. It feels as though we have to constantly remind people that the punishment is the loss of freedom—not the treatment we receive in prison itself, or the physical structure itself. But prison buildings have become an additional form of punishment, increasing isolation and threatening the mental and physical well-being of everyone involved.
“Everybody says this, or something like it: I guess crime does pay…Maybe I should move to Austria and rob a couple of banks. It’s a reflex, and perfectly understandable, though it’s also foolish and untrue – about as sensible as looking at a new hospital wing and saying, Gee, I wish I had cancer.
To be more accurate, free people say these things. Prisoners don’t...No one, however down-and-out or cynical, wants to go to prison, however comfortable it may be.”
When prisoners are treated like human beings, they are able to discover their own humanity.
Designing a prison is not a simple task. Aside from the obvious security concerns, new prisons need to be designed in a way that allows for meaningful rehabilitation efforts to take place. And that can only occur when we eliminate segregation as an appropriate method of containment for securing safety.
Open layouts are increasingly being embraced as a way of fostering improved relations between inmates and staff and engendering trust. Those studying prison architecture, have all pointed to the traditional panopticon model (multiple levels of cells all centered around a singular observation point) as being most problematic in these respects. The suspected reason for this is the tendency for inmates to feel as though they are constantly being watched, which undermines the building of trust relationships. Yes, I can hear people already saying, “They committed a crime, we shouldn’t trust them!” But in the prison setting, such sentiments breed resentment—a major barrier to rehabilitation. This kind of set-up also decreases the amount of staff-inmates possible, because staff simply observe from afar, rather than interact. Notwithstanding Indonesia’s proposed plans to surround prisons housing drug traffickers with crocodiles, à la James Bond, there are a growing number of examples of how effective these prisons can be.
Bastøy Prison in Oslo, Norway, at first glance may appear to be a modern-day version of the UK shipping off its prisoners to Australia, or the Alcatraz of the past. But with Europe’s lowest recidivism rate (16% compared to Norway’s 20% and Europe’s average of 70%), it’s another model of how architecture is shaping the prison experience. Bastøy is engineered to act as a social microcosm, rather than an institution geared strictly at containment and punishment. Inmates live in self-contained cabins, are fed by professional chefs, and are charged with tending to the island’s farmland and animals and are given various other jobs. For many incarcerated, it represents the first glimpse at being able to contribute meaningfully to their community. Arguably the facility operates primarily as a transition system, facilitating prisoner re-entry; any prisoner in Norway is eligible for transfer to the facility once they have five years or less remaining in their sentence. Unsurprisingly, critics have been vocal about the so-called resort conditions on the island, but the results simply don’t lie. Prisoners who feel invested in the well-being of their communities will be motivated to succeed upon re-entry. A similar model is found at Austria’s Leoben Justice Center, and Helsinki’s Suomenlinna Island also boasts a 20% recidivism rate.
A new women’s prison built in San Diego followed in Bastøy and Leoben’s footsteps. Its designers are seeking to adopt a campus-style model, which arguably also serves to foster the educational components known to reduce recidivism dramatically. Las Colinas’ prison village is already seeing a reduction in violence.
Lest observers consider this a strictly industrialized world option, in the Philippines, there is an open-air prison, Iwahig Penal Farm, that from the outside, looks like an ordinary village surrounded by farm lands worked by its inhabitants. But it is very much a prison, albeit one that is largely self-sufficient and also a tourist destination. The village features a decidedly artistically oriented rehabilitation program operating alongside its manual labour activities, where inmates not only perform highly choreographed dance routines for visitors, but also stock the “gift shop” (yes, you read that correctly) with handcraft goods. However the open concept applies only to minimum and medium security inmates, with maximum security prisoners housed in an overcrowded facility on the grounds. Prison staff live on the grounds, as do many of the inmate’s wives and children, with education services being provided to everyone on the penal farm. At the moment, Iwahig has the country's the lowest recidivism rate,
Recognition of the important role that buildings can play in social cohesion and rehabilitation efforts, the American group “Architects/Designers/Planners for Social Justice,” who advocate for “responsible design,” not only in prisons, but also in communities—with the aim of reducing the need for the former. Part of their actions have called for an end to the construction of solitary confinement spaces altogether. Members have also signed pledges not to work on any prison projects unless dramatic reforms are made, or not at all.
Of course there are additional costs associated with the creation of such facilities, however analyses indicate they are marginal. But if your fundamental goal is to rehabilitate prisoners and actually reduce recidivism, then it’s virtually impossible that such investments will not yield dividends in the long-term. It feels as though we have to constantly remind people that the punishment is the loss of freedom—not the treatment we receive in prison itself, or the physical structure itself. But prison buildings have become an additional form of punishment, increasing isolation and threatening the mental and physical well-being of everyone involved.
“Everybody says this, or something like it: I guess crime does pay…Maybe I should move to Austria and rob a couple of banks. It’s a reflex, and perfectly understandable, though it’s also foolish and untrue – about as sensible as looking at a new hospital wing and saying, Gee, I wish I had cancer.
To be more accurate, free people say these things. Prisoners don’t...No one, however down-and-out or cynical, wants to go to prison, however comfortable it may be.”
When prisoners are treated like human beings, they are able to discover their own humanity.
Momentum grows for “ban the box” initiatives in time for mass prisoner release
Last October, thousands of prisoners were released after changes to federal drug penalties made by the US Sentencing Commisison. But for many, release came as a double-edged sword. Because while there is little doubt that their freedom has been a source of great celebration, they must also face the biggest question of all: what comes next? For those for whom release came as a surprise, of sorts, they may not have even had time to consider how they will adapt to the dramatic changes ahead. And even for those who have had that time, many have been hampered by the lack of options available to them to assist in that process.
As I've discussed before as regards some of those individuals freed through the granting of clemency, when the initial excitement over release dies down, former prisoners often find themselves adrift. With little training and few skills, re-entering society and trying to contribute positively is no easy feat. Not least among the obstacles faced is the “box” effect, namely efforts made by some employers to weed out anyone with a prior criminal conviction, regardless of its relevance (or lack thereof) to performing the duties of the job.
In fortuitous timing, President Obama has announced his intention to remedy this situation. Obama has directed federal hiring departments to “ban the box,” meaning that inquiries into one’s conviction history are to take place only later in the hiring process, when (and if) it is determined to be relevant to the performance of duties. But the reality is that the number of jobs with federal agencies for which former prisoners would be applying represent a mere drop in the bucket in their job market.
The movement has been gaining support, with involuntary initiatives to remove it from job applications being undertaken by major players like Walmart, Target, and Home Depot. But the most powerful message would come from Congress itself, were they to pass the Fair Chance Act, which “would ban the federal government and federal contractors from requesting criminal history information until they reach the conditional offer stage.” In doing so, the federal government would provide the legal and moral framework for states to pass their own versions. New York State’s law doing just that, went into effect on October 27th.
It’s probably one of the simplest and most meaningful actions governments can take when it comes to reducing recidivism, and it takes so little effort to bring it to fruition. For more information on national “ban the box” efforts, visit: http://www.nelp.org/campaign/ensuring...
Ban The Box, Recidivism
As I've discussed before as regards some of those individuals freed through the granting of clemency, when the initial excitement over release dies down, former prisoners often find themselves adrift. With little training and few skills, re-entering society and trying to contribute positively is no easy feat. Not least among the obstacles faced is the “box” effect, namely efforts made by some employers to weed out anyone with a prior criminal conviction, regardless of its relevance (or lack thereof) to performing the duties of the job.
In fortuitous timing, President Obama has announced his intention to remedy this situation. Obama has directed federal hiring departments to “ban the box,” meaning that inquiries into one’s conviction history are to take place only later in the hiring process, when (and if) it is determined to be relevant to the performance of duties. But the reality is that the number of jobs with federal agencies for which former prisoners would be applying represent a mere drop in the bucket in their job market.
The movement has been gaining support, with involuntary initiatives to remove it from job applications being undertaken by major players like Walmart, Target, and Home Depot. But the most powerful message would come from Congress itself, were they to pass the Fair Chance Act, which “would ban the federal government and federal contractors from requesting criminal history information until they reach the conditional offer stage.” In doing so, the federal government would provide the legal and moral framework for states to pass their own versions. New York State’s law doing just that, went into effect on October 27th.
It’s probably one of the simplest and most meaningful actions governments can take when it comes to reducing recidivism, and it takes so little effort to bring it to fruition. For more information on national “ban the box” efforts, visit: http://www.nelp.org/campaign/ensuring...
Ban The Box, Recidivism
October 31, 2015
California Corrections implements landmark transgender prisoner rights policies
Some incredible news has come out of the California ruling from the case of Shiloh Quine, a transgender woman serving a life sentence in the state. The lawsuit, launched on behalf of Quine against the state of California’s Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) asserted that the Department’s failure to provide her with sex reassignment surgery represented a violation of her 8th amendment rights. The case was settled in favor of Quine in August, but its effects are just now beginning to be felt.
This past week marked the official implementation of a state-wide policy by the CDCR to not only provide access to sex reassignment surgery when warranted by committee, but also to house post-operative transgender inmates to gender-appropriate facilities, and to provide access to commissary and clothing items “consistent with their gender identities.” It represents the first time that the state will pay for surgery, as opposed to only hormone therapy. And candidates must have a minimum of two years remaining in their sentence prior to be considered eligible.
The decision could represent the kind of watershed moment in transgender rights we’ve been waiting for, because it institutionalizes the recognition of what medical organizations have been saying for years: that gender dysphoria is a medical condition. As a medical condition, the failure to treat those experiencing the condition in prison constitutes cruel and unusual punishment.
This past week marked the official implementation of a state-wide policy by the CDCR to not only provide access to sex reassignment surgery when warranted by committee, but also to house post-operative transgender inmates to gender-appropriate facilities, and to provide access to commissary and clothing items “consistent with their gender identities.” It represents the first time that the state will pay for surgery, as opposed to only hormone therapy. And candidates must have a minimum of two years remaining in their sentence prior to be considered eligible.
The decision could represent the kind of watershed moment in transgender rights we’ve been waiting for, because it institutionalizes the recognition of what medical organizations have been saying for years: that gender dysphoria is a medical condition. As a medical condition, the failure to treat those experiencing the condition in prison constitutes cruel and unusual punishment.
#StandWithHer
A powerful new video has been produced by the Essie Justice Group, a San Francisco-based organization dedicated to supporting women with incarcerated loved ones. The #StandWithHer project highlights the disproportionate impact that mass incarceration (and mandatory minimums which feeds cyclically into incarceration rates) has on women.
When we talk about the impact on the family members left behind when someone enters the penal system, we’re usually speaking in abstractions; the lives we envision are based on some cookie cutter image garnered from snippets of pop culture. But this video, and the #standwithher project, puts real faces to those abstractions, lends voice to their stories.
These women have been made to feel invisible, stigmatized by a society that, more often than not, blames them for their situation. Why does that matter? Because isolation and stigmatization lead to perpetuating cycles of poverty and despair. Beyond the social stigma, visitors are often treated as prisoners themselves, humiliated for their efforts to help connect prisoners with the outside world (a critical element in the rehabilitation process).
Many are under the misapprehension that being imprisoned is a “free ride” for those involved; nothing could be further from the truth. While obviously the state pays for the basics of room and board, families are forced to bear other costs themselves. A simple weekend visit can cost a family thousands. Maintaining the most basic of communication through emails and phone calls quickly adds up. That’s not to mention the fact that many of the most basic personal hygiene products have to be purchased (this has become an increasingly serious issue in women’s prisons, where menstrual products beyond an unhygienic maximum of five per week are only available at a cost); funds to purchase those items come from loved ones outside.
What makes this movement so important, is that it does not simply call on us to reform our penal system (which though the structural dimensions to America’s culture of mass incarceration are a central feature of their mission), but to effect meaningful change designed to ensure that those left behind aren't also punished by the system. I urge you to take a moment to watch and share this video, to help raise the profile of these women so that the we, as a society, can better understand the challenges they face, how we can support them, and how we can create a better future for future generations of women.
When we talk about the impact on the family members left behind when someone enters the penal system, we’re usually speaking in abstractions; the lives we envision are based on some cookie cutter image garnered from snippets of pop culture. But this video, and the #standwithher project, puts real faces to those abstractions, lends voice to their stories.
These women have been made to feel invisible, stigmatized by a society that, more often than not, blames them for their situation. Why does that matter? Because isolation and stigmatization lead to perpetuating cycles of poverty and despair. Beyond the social stigma, visitors are often treated as prisoners themselves, humiliated for their efforts to help connect prisoners with the outside world (a critical element in the rehabilitation process).
Many are under the misapprehension that being imprisoned is a “free ride” for those involved; nothing could be further from the truth. While obviously the state pays for the basics of room and board, families are forced to bear other costs themselves. A simple weekend visit can cost a family thousands. Maintaining the most basic of communication through emails and phone calls quickly adds up. That’s not to mention the fact that many of the most basic personal hygiene products have to be purchased (this has become an increasingly serious issue in women’s prisons, where menstrual products beyond an unhygienic maximum of five per week are only available at a cost); funds to purchase those items come from loved ones outside.
What makes this movement so important, is that it does not simply call on us to reform our penal system (which though the structural dimensions to America’s culture of mass incarceration are a central feature of their mission), but to effect meaningful change designed to ensure that those left behind aren't also punished by the system. I urge you to take a moment to watch and share this video, to help raise the profile of these women so that the we, as a society, can better understand the challenges they face, how we can support them, and how we can create a better future for future generations of women.
Private prisons do matter for #BlackLivesMatter
While Barack Obama has placed prison reform front and center on the policy agenda this year, those seeking the office are broaching a critical element of the debate that has yet to be discussed federally: private prisons. It’s become a hot button issue in the last couple months as it was revealed that Hillary Clinton’s campaign accepted donations from private prisons, and Bernie Sanders pledged to ban them altogether.
I response to that, Vox author Dara Lind penned an article suggesting that Black Lives Matter campaigners focus less time and energy on ending private prisons. While by no means should it be the only locus for critique (and of course they shouldn’t “settle” for those promises, but is anyone actually suggesting they would??), the prison-industrial complex is a linchpin in a broken system, and to suggest otherwise is to vastly underestimate the role such companies play in perpetuating it.
Lind and her colleague may be right that private prisons did not necessarily cause the initial levels of mass incarceration that have led to prison over-population and detention levels beyond those anywhere else in the world. But private prisons most certainly have played a role in maintaining those levels and through lobbying efforts and policy, and I beg to disagree, but they most certainly have played a role in perpetuating it.
I certainly agree that one of the most immediate impacts of ending private prisons would be on immigrant detainees, especially given the almost ludicrous minimum quota systems in place at many facilities. And yes, in the grand scheme of things, the $133,000 donated by private prison companies to the Hilary Clinton campaign may seem like small potatoes. But over the last two decades or so, we’re talking about tens of millions being donated directly to political campaigns and to lobbying efforts. Campaign funding is just the tip of the influence iceberg.
Because it’s important to look closely at the lobbying efforts of these organizations at the local and state levels—focusing on presidential campaign funding will simply not give you a clear picture of the kind of influence these companies have on the ground. When you start looking at their operations and efforts in places like California and Arizona, you see how many lives are really being affected. Because the individuals being targeted by the kinds of policies private prisons are lobbying for are precisely the reason why the Black Lives Matter campaign exists.
It’s fine to show a graph that shows that incarceration rates were already on the rise prior to privatization of state prisons, but to draw the conclusion that they still represent only a symptom is to be viewing the situation with blinders on, removing all context and experience from an issue that necessitates the inclusion of precisely those elements.
It’s frustrating to see people with a platform such a platform so dramatically misrepresent what the role of the prison-industrial complex has been in perpetuating cycles of poverty and recidivism. It’s especially frustrating to see someone citing crime rates as a justifiable rationale for excessively punitive policies. Even though the author concedes mass incarceration was not the appropriate response, she fails to recognize that crime rates are rarely indicative of the actual levels of crime; any beginner criminology course will teach you crime rates are strictly representative of police activities in any given jurisdiction. Further, that police activity is contingent on legislative changes which either increase or decrease the criminalization of particular activities—like drug possession—precisely the kinds of legislation private companies have been playing a direct role in influencing. When you attempt to analyze policies without recognizing such crucial context, you are leaving key elements out of your analysis; the conclusions will necessarily be flawed.
It is simply not in the interest of private prison companies to advocate for the kind of prison reform that is needed in this country. Why would they directly advocate themselves out of existence? The prison-industrial complex went beyond simply being a symptom of the problem to a causal entity the moment they began advocating for continued mandatory minimums and for increased immigrant detainees, when they began actively gouging the families of inmates into bankruptcy through exploitive practices and undermining prison education efforts.
I response to that, Vox author Dara Lind penned an article suggesting that Black Lives Matter campaigners focus less time and energy on ending private prisons. While by no means should it be the only locus for critique (and of course they shouldn’t “settle” for those promises, but is anyone actually suggesting they would??), the prison-industrial complex is a linchpin in a broken system, and to suggest otherwise is to vastly underestimate the role such companies play in perpetuating it.
Lind and her colleague may be right that private prisons did not necessarily cause the initial levels of mass incarceration that have led to prison over-population and detention levels beyond those anywhere else in the world. But private prisons most certainly have played a role in maintaining those levels and through lobbying efforts and policy, and I beg to disagree, but they most certainly have played a role in perpetuating it.
I certainly agree that one of the most immediate impacts of ending private prisons would be on immigrant detainees, especially given the almost ludicrous minimum quota systems in place at many facilities. And yes, in the grand scheme of things, the $133,000 donated by private prison companies to the Hilary Clinton campaign may seem like small potatoes. But over the last two decades or so, we’re talking about tens of millions being donated directly to political campaigns and to lobbying efforts. Campaign funding is just the tip of the influence iceberg.
Because it’s important to look closely at the lobbying efforts of these organizations at the local and state levels—focusing on presidential campaign funding will simply not give you a clear picture of the kind of influence these companies have on the ground. When you start looking at their operations and efforts in places like California and Arizona, you see how many lives are really being affected. Because the individuals being targeted by the kinds of policies private prisons are lobbying for are precisely the reason why the Black Lives Matter campaign exists.
It’s fine to show a graph that shows that incarceration rates were already on the rise prior to privatization of state prisons, but to draw the conclusion that they still represent only a symptom is to be viewing the situation with blinders on, removing all context and experience from an issue that necessitates the inclusion of precisely those elements.
It’s frustrating to see people with a platform such a platform so dramatically misrepresent what the role of the prison-industrial complex has been in perpetuating cycles of poverty and recidivism. It’s especially frustrating to see someone citing crime rates as a justifiable rationale for excessively punitive policies. Even though the author concedes mass incarceration was not the appropriate response, she fails to recognize that crime rates are rarely indicative of the actual levels of crime; any beginner criminology course will teach you crime rates are strictly representative of police activities in any given jurisdiction. Further, that police activity is contingent on legislative changes which either increase or decrease the criminalization of particular activities—like drug possession—precisely the kinds of legislation private companies have been playing a direct role in influencing. When you attempt to analyze policies without recognizing such crucial context, you are leaving key elements out of your analysis; the conclusions will necessarily be flawed.
It is simply not in the interest of private prison companies to advocate for the kind of prison reform that is needed in this country. Why would they directly advocate themselves out of existence? The prison-industrial complex went beyond simply being a symptom of the problem to a causal entity the moment they began advocating for continued mandatory minimums and for increased immigrant detainees, when they began actively gouging the families of inmates into bankruptcy through exploitive practices and undermining prison education efforts.
Everything’s bigger in Texas—except the willingness to prosecute prison rape
The federal Prison Rape Elimination Act (PREA) came into effect in 2003. A mere twelve years later, the state of Texas has finally seen fit to actually to take measures to ensure its compliance with the Act. After its passing, many will remember infamous then-Governor and one-time Presidential candidate Rick Perry’s callous disregard for rape victims, citing the onerous regulation and cumbersome costs as justification for not complying with the law, thus lending his tacit support to sexual assault in public institutions.
However, this past week, current Governor Greg Abbott registered his intent with federal authorities to ensure the state’s compliance with the Act, detailing the measures to be undertaken to do so, and providing a general budget. But some are concerned that simply registering the state’s intent is insufficient bond—especially given that the state was given a free ride for a dozen years. “’We actually don't think DOJ should have accepted this as an assurance," said Daley. ‘We just think there's clear statutory language and DOJ should have enforced that clear statutory language and should have not created a “Texas assurance.”’”
Texas’ incredible lag in implementing these measure is particularly confounding, given that sexual contact between staff and prisoners is a felony. Yet as Newsweek revealed earlier this year, officials frequently get a slap on the wrist when it comes to assaults, crowning the state with the dubious title of “Prison Rape Capital of the US.” The report highlights the gaps in PREA, which do not adequately address the issues of prosecuting prison staff. The result in the case of Texas was that “the PREA commission suggested adopting a rule that jails and prisons seek written agreements with local prosecutors, to encourage the pursuit of criminal charges. But the Justice Department ultimately declined this recommendation, saying it would cause ‘significant burdens’, particularly on resource-strapped counties and municipalities.”
The "significant burden" that resulted from the failure of Texas to take sexual assault in prison seriously, is that for over a decade Texas prison officials were given legal protection to sexually abuse, and/or allow the abuse of, inmates. That’s the kind of burden that’s not easily borne by its victims.
However, this past week, current Governor Greg Abbott registered his intent with federal authorities to ensure the state’s compliance with the Act, detailing the measures to be undertaken to do so, and providing a general budget. But some are concerned that simply registering the state’s intent is insufficient bond—especially given that the state was given a free ride for a dozen years. “’We actually don't think DOJ should have accepted this as an assurance," said Daley. ‘We just think there's clear statutory language and DOJ should have enforced that clear statutory language and should have not created a “Texas assurance.”’”
Texas’ incredible lag in implementing these measure is particularly confounding, given that sexual contact between staff and prisoners is a felony. Yet as Newsweek revealed earlier this year, officials frequently get a slap on the wrist when it comes to assaults, crowning the state with the dubious title of “Prison Rape Capital of the US.” The report highlights the gaps in PREA, which do not adequately address the issues of prosecuting prison staff. The result in the case of Texas was that “the PREA commission suggested adopting a rule that jails and prisons seek written agreements with local prosecutors, to encourage the pursuit of criminal charges. But the Justice Department ultimately declined this recommendation, saying it would cause ‘significant burdens’, particularly on resource-strapped counties and municipalities.”
The "significant burden" that resulted from the failure of Texas to take sexual assault in prison seriously, is that for over a decade Texas prison officials were given legal protection to sexually abuse, and/or allow the abuse of, inmates. That’s the kind of burden that’s not easily borne by its victims.
When disability becomes a punishment
In the last couple of weeks I’ve been talking about compassionate release, specifically as it relates to the seriously ill and elderly. While it doesn’t precisely fit into the same discussion, individuals with disabilities face many of the same challenges. Some prisoners’ disabilities may indeed make them candidates for release, but regardless of their status in that respect, their cases deserve the same type of attention, and require us to look more carefully at conditions of incarceration and how they relate to the health concerns of prisoners.
I try to impress upon people through my work, that the fact that prisoners give up their freedom while incarcerated, they do not give up their rights as humans or even citizens (though certain citizenship rights are removed for the duration of their time in prison). Just as the physician I quoted last week so eloquently summarized, prison is the punishment, not a place within which to be punished. But for those prisoners with disabilities, prison can become a near torturous experience beyond that which your average inmate will ever experience.
Many of the concerns that arise are directly related to the technological and medical insufficiencies of the average prison. When someone with a specific or rare medical condition is taken to hospital, the odds are generally pretty good that somewhere amongst the staff, there will be someone at least somewhat familiar with it. But in the prison setting, the odds are stacked against the disabled. In fact, they might be lucky if the doctor is even at the facility that day, let alone if they have the expertise and wherewithal to deal with anything that goes beyond the knowledge base of a general practitioner.
In the UK, a prisoner’s health condition was so complex and life-threatening (Freidrich’s ataxia) that it was difficult for him to be cared for even in a hospital setting, let alone a prison. It was only a few hours after 35-year-old Daniel Roque Hall entered the facility that he was rushed to a hospital and put on life support. Ultimately the courts ruled that the 18 months he spent in hospital under guard was a sufficient amount of his three-year sentence to have served; Roque Hall’s condition is such that he’s unlikely to live far into his 40s. Roque Hall's condition highlights the more severe risks posed, but even seemingly less restrictive disabilities can present serious challenges and safety concerns.
When an individual with a disability is incarcerated, the state assumes responsibility for their care—like it or not. So if a prisoner is deaf or blind, for example, facilities must provide whatever tools and operations are needed for them to be able to access all aspects prison services.
In a great many cases, this access is non-existent. But even in those prisons make an attempt to accommodate the visual or hearing impaired, the system is fraught with problems. For example, they often rely on fellow inmates to act as guides or interpreters for an individual, but without vetting the inmate or providing any oversight (the ADA does not specify that an interpreter need be trained in American Sign Language). The result is that disabled prisoners are placed in a vulnerable and potentially dangerous positions, being abused and manipulated by those entrusted with their care.
As The Nation pointed out several years ago, President Obama takes great pains each year to publicly issue his support for the Americans with Disabilities Act, but with nary a word dedicated to how this act relates to prisoners. It seemed particularly remiss for him to do so this year, when he has been so boldly extolling his commitment to prison reform. The act extends to prisons just as it does any other state facility in the US. Every year, thousands of complaints from prisons are filed as violations of the ADA. Mobility aids and their lack of appropriate infrastructure for prisoners to utilize them are also serious sources of complaints under the ADA. They may be inadequate for the facility, making it difficult or impossible to navigate or to ensure personal hygiene. All this is to say nothing of the abuses of vulnerable prisoners, the likes of which were revealed earlier this year in Texas.
As is so often the case, prison officials resort to segregation as a solution for any problem. Prisoners with the same medical conditions are excluded from participation in general population activities. Those with mental disabilities are placed in special “wings” where they are prohibited from interacting with inmates outside their unit, for no reason other than providing them with the resources to do so might constitute an inconvenience
Because general population cells are not typically designed with mobility concerns in mind, some facilities resort to placing prisoners in wheelchairs or the like, into segregated housing units (aka solitary confinement). Inmates who may already face serious stigmatization and ostracizing as a result of their disability, then find themselves plunged into further isolation and, often, depression. The cruelty of the practice was recognized earlier this year in California but to date, there seems to be little movement on the part of the Federal Bureau of Prisons to engage in the kind of physical structural changes needed to accommodate a growing population of disabled inmates.
I try to impress upon people through my work, that the fact that prisoners give up their freedom while incarcerated, they do not give up their rights as humans or even citizens (though certain citizenship rights are removed for the duration of their time in prison). Just as the physician I quoted last week so eloquently summarized, prison is the punishment, not a place within which to be punished. But for those prisoners with disabilities, prison can become a near torturous experience beyond that which your average inmate will ever experience.
Many of the concerns that arise are directly related to the technological and medical insufficiencies of the average prison. When someone with a specific or rare medical condition is taken to hospital, the odds are generally pretty good that somewhere amongst the staff, there will be someone at least somewhat familiar with it. But in the prison setting, the odds are stacked against the disabled. In fact, they might be lucky if the doctor is even at the facility that day, let alone if they have the expertise and wherewithal to deal with anything that goes beyond the knowledge base of a general practitioner.
In the UK, a prisoner’s health condition was so complex and life-threatening (Freidrich’s ataxia) that it was difficult for him to be cared for even in a hospital setting, let alone a prison. It was only a few hours after 35-year-old Daniel Roque Hall entered the facility that he was rushed to a hospital and put on life support. Ultimately the courts ruled that the 18 months he spent in hospital under guard was a sufficient amount of his three-year sentence to have served; Roque Hall’s condition is such that he’s unlikely to live far into his 40s. Roque Hall's condition highlights the more severe risks posed, but even seemingly less restrictive disabilities can present serious challenges and safety concerns.
When an individual with a disability is incarcerated, the state assumes responsibility for their care—like it or not. So if a prisoner is deaf or blind, for example, facilities must provide whatever tools and operations are needed for them to be able to access all aspects prison services.
In a great many cases, this access is non-existent. But even in those prisons make an attempt to accommodate the visual or hearing impaired, the system is fraught with problems. For example, they often rely on fellow inmates to act as guides or interpreters for an individual, but without vetting the inmate or providing any oversight (the ADA does not specify that an interpreter need be trained in American Sign Language). The result is that disabled prisoners are placed in a vulnerable and potentially dangerous positions, being abused and manipulated by those entrusted with their care.
As The Nation pointed out several years ago, President Obama takes great pains each year to publicly issue his support for the Americans with Disabilities Act, but with nary a word dedicated to how this act relates to prisoners. It seemed particularly remiss for him to do so this year, when he has been so boldly extolling his commitment to prison reform. The act extends to prisons just as it does any other state facility in the US. Every year, thousands of complaints from prisons are filed as violations of the ADA. Mobility aids and their lack of appropriate infrastructure for prisoners to utilize them are also serious sources of complaints under the ADA. They may be inadequate for the facility, making it difficult or impossible to navigate or to ensure personal hygiene. All this is to say nothing of the abuses of vulnerable prisoners, the likes of which were revealed earlier this year in Texas.
As is so often the case, prison officials resort to segregation as a solution for any problem. Prisoners with the same medical conditions are excluded from participation in general population activities. Those with mental disabilities are placed in special “wings” where they are prohibited from interacting with inmates outside their unit, for no reason other than providing them with the resources to do so might constitute an inconvenience
Because general population cells are not typically designed with mobility concerns in mind, some facilities resort to placing prisoners in wheelchairs or the like, into segregated housing units (aka solitary confinement). Inmates who may already face serious stigmatization and ostracizing as a result of their disability, then find themselves plunged into further isolation and, often, depression. The cruelty of the practice was recognized earlier this year in California but to date, there seems to be little movement on the part of the Federal Bureau of Prisons to engage in the kind of physical structural changes needed to accommodate a growing population of disabled inmates.
October 1, 2015
Compassionate release, Part 2: Aging to death in prison
Pop culture can play an important role in informing our knowledge about important social issues that would not normally make it into the public consciousness. For example, the popular series Orange is the New Black did well to remind us all that in fact, time does not stop when you’re imprisoned, and many individuals will become senior citizens behind those walls. In part II of my discussion on compassionate release, I want to talk about some of the specific concerns of elderly prisoners (of which there are many), and how some of these might be mitigated to everyone’s benefit by some form of compassionate release.
But as several writers have pointed out, when it comes to compassionate release for the elderly for non-life threatening conditions, OITNB got it pretty wrong. As noted, prisoners don’t get released because they’re causing too much of a hassle to the system, they just get ignored or inadequately treated—in fact, it’s incredibly difficult to earn such a release. Families and/or lawyers must petition for release, and the process is notoriously arduous. Release plans must be outlined down to the most minute detail, and extensive conditionalities are applied to every release.
In the linearity of life there’s no escaping the fact that as we age and our cells decay, our bodies begin to face daily battles that were inconceivable in our youth. From the random aches and pains that appear seemingly out of nowhere, to the statistical reality that we are trading off a longer human lifespan for the increased likelihood that we will develop at least one cancer in our lifetimes (in the latter case, of course, the types of releases the elderly will be looking at will be based on terminal diagnoses, as referenced in Part I).
Over 246,000 individuals over the age of 50 are incarcerated in America’s prisons, and at our current rates of incarceration, that’s a number likely to continue its expansion. These numbers add serious pressure related to the broad range of chronic medical conditions experienced by inmates, in an environment that is already super-charged with stresses. Justice Department guidelines introduced in 2013 now allow for elderly inmates who have served a minimum of 50% of their sentence, and are experiencing to apply for early release after the age of 65. In the absence of any medical deficits, if they have served 10 years or 75% of their sentence, they too are eligible to apply. But as is so often the case, the Bureau of Prisons is lagging well behind in its implementation of these guidelines, and very few individuals have been released under these new guidelines. Despite the BOP’s repeated assertions that they’ll “get on this” right away, little is happening, and the annual number of qualified elderly prisoners being released remains similar to those prior to the 2013 guidelines.
As with any case up for review, public safety concerns will of course be taken into account. And while the Bureau of Prisons does not track recidivism rates according to age, samplings indicate that aging inmates tend to be re-arrested at a rate 30% less than younger populations.
There’s also an important observation made by a palliative care doctor in the above article, “It’s important for all of us to remember that convicted criminals are sent to prison as punishment—not for punishment” (emphasis added). And that’s a critical distinction that ultimately acts as a deciding line for between barbarism and humanity.
The one thing that OITNB did get right, is that it does make little fiscal sense to keep elderly prisons institutionalized when they pose no risk to public safety, and there are options that are readily available outside prison. Reports indicate that releasing low-risk populations “would save taxpayers up to $40 million a year.” While the annual costs of caring for a prisoner are around $5,500, this can double and triple for older populations.
Another important consideration relates to those inmates who are not necessarily serving life sentences, but whose terms will end when they are already elderly. Currently there are no transition mechanisms in place to deal with the specific concerns of elderly inmates, no halfway houses which can accommodate the various health and mobility issues associated with these aging populations. So upon re-entry, those prisoners will essentially be left to the wolves—and that’s where the OITNB nightmare scenario really plays out.
According to the WHO, we have two choices: either prisons dramatically increase their healthcare budgets to deal with the added stressed inherent to a growing aging prison population, as Medicare coverage does not extend to extend to those individuals over 65 that are incarcerated (an unlikely scenario given the BOP’s track record in health care), or they expedite their compassionate releases as they've promised they will for the last several decades. There isn't a third option in this scenario—and we can’t keep ignoring that fact.
But as several writers have pointed out, when it comes to compassionate release for the elderly for non-life threatening conditions, OITNB got it pretty wrong. As noted, prisoners don’t get released because they’re causing too much of a hassle to the system, they just get ignored or inadequately treated—in fact, it’s incredibly difficult to earn such a release. Families and/or lawyers must petition for release, and the process is notoriously arduous. Release plans must be outlined down to the most minute detail, and extensive conditionalities are applied to every release.
In the linearity of life there’s no escaping the fact that as we age and our cells decay, our bodies begin to face daily battles that were inconceivable in our youth. From the random aches and pains that appear seemingly out of nowhere, to the statistical reality that we are trading off a longer human lifespan for the increased likelihood that we will develop at least one cancer in our lifetimes (in the latter case, of course, the types of releases the elderly will be looking at will be based on terminal diagnoses, as referenced in Part I).
Over 246,000 individuals over the age of 50 are incarcerated in America’s prisons, and at our current rates of incarceration, that’s a number likely to continue its expansion. These numbers add serious pressure related to the broad range of chronic medical conditions experienced by inmates, in an environment that is already super-charged with stresses. Justice Department guidelines introduced in 2013 now allow for elderly inmates who have served a minimum of 50% of their sentence, and are experiencing to apply for early release after the age of 65. In the absence of any medical deficits, if they have served 10 years or 75% of their sentence, they too are eligible to apply. But as is so often the case, the Bureau of Prisons is lagging well behind in its implementation of these guidelines, and very few individuals have been released under these new guidelines. Despite the BOP’s repeated assertions that they’ll “get on this” right away, little is happening, and the annual number of qualified elderly prisoners being released remains similar to those prior to the 2013 guidelines.
As with any case up for review, public safety concerns will of course be taken into account. And while the Bureau of Prisons does not track recidivism rates according to age, samplings indicate that aging inmates tend to be re-arrested at a rate 30% less than younger populations.
There’s also an important observation made by a palliative care doctor in the above article, “It’s important for all of us to remember that convicted criminals are sent to prison as punishment—not for punishment” (emphasis added). And that’s a critical distinction that ultimately acts as a deciding line for between barbarism and humanity.
The one thing that OITNB did get right, is that it does make little fiscal sense to keep elderly prisons institutionalized when they pose no risk to public safety, and there are options that are readily available outside prison. Reports indicate that releasing low-risk populations “would save taxpayers up to $40 million a year.” While the annual costs of caring for a prisoner are around $5,500, this can double and triple for older populations.
Another important consideration relates to those inmates who are not necessarily serving life sentences, but whose terms will end when they are already elderly. Currently there are no transition mechanisms in place to deal with the specific concerns of elderly inmates, no halfway houses which can accommodate the various health and mobility issues associated with these aging populations. So upon re-entry, those prisoners will essentially be left to the wolves—and that’s where the OITNB nightmare scenario really plays out.
According to the WHO, we have two choices: either prisons dramatically increase their healthcare budgets to deal with the added stressed inherent to a growing aging prison population, as Medicare coverage does not extend to extend to those individuals over 65 that are incarcerated (an unlikely scenario given the BOP’s track record in health care), or they expedite their compassionate releases as they've promised they will for the last several decades. There isn't a third option in this scenario—and we can’t keep ignoring that fact.
