As a prisoner, I am often critical of the justice and prison systems. Because I am stuck in the middle of these systems, I see the flaws, the injustices that happen daily, the unfairness in how the courts work, and the brokenness in how prisons are run. You might say that I have a front row seat to the injustices. Others might say that I am biased because I am a prisoner. That's a fair point, but I do consider myself a pretty objective person. I could highlight a few points to make my case, but that's for another time. As an objective person, though, I simply want to acknowledge when people get it right.
Michigan Department of Corrections Director, Heidi Washington, and her staff are, like other national and state leaders, dealing with something unprecedented in our lifetime. The coronavirus poses a threat to the prison system unlike any other threat. Prisoners are unable to isolate themselves at home, unable to stay away from others, and unable to get away when someone else nearby is infected with the virus. Very early on, medical experts named prisons as one of the most vulnerable populations for this virus.
As I said before, I'm often critical of the way prisons are run. They are inefficient, full of bureaucratic garbage, and unjust in how they treat many prisoners. But under Director Washington, things have improved a little. During this crisis, she and those who work for her are trying very hard to respond to this virus in a balanced and safe way. We could be on 24/7 lockdown (which still might be coming), but we're not right now. At least not at MTU where I am housed. We are on restricted movement, and policies are in place to limit our exposure to others. But we can still go to rec yard. We can still use the microwaves, phones, and email kiosks when we want to. We can still use the bathroom at will. It could be much worse.
When this virus first started making the news, the MDOC switched to a bleach cleaner to cut down on the risk of spreading anything that might be introduced into the prisons. The director's office also began sending prisoners update emails via JPay on almost a daily basis, helping to quell the often false rumors that spread fear like wildfire in prison. The director's office also worked with JPay, our email provider, and Global TelLink, our phone provider, to ensure that prisoners were given two free emails and two free five-minute phone calls each week. Since in-person visits are not possible during this time, the director has worked to ensure we can stay in touch with those we love.
Being away from those we love is bad enough in times when there isn't a crisis, but in times of great fear, it is especially difficult. It means a lot that Director Washington has made it a priority to ensure we can stay in touch with our families. She continues to demonstrate compassion and concern for those she is tasked to oversee. As a prison reform advocate, I will continue to write about injustices and other concerns I have with the prison system, but sometimes it's appropriate to step back and say "Thank You!" for when things go well.
I expect things will get tougher in prison in the days ahead. As of Friday, Michigan's prisons had 14 confirmed cases of coronavirus, and it is bound to spread even more. As I can, I will continue to write. In the meantime, know for those of you who have loved ones in prison, many of us are praying for you and your safety, and we thank you, too, for your prayers for us.
Sunday, March 29, 2020
Monday, March 23, 2020
Social Distancing is a Prison Norm
Medical personnel and political leaders are calling for social distancing as a response to the Covid-19 virus outbreak. Some local, state, and national leaders have even mandated certain restrictions to incorporate social distancing as a response to this pandemic. It makes sense. The fewer people who are exposed to the virus, the less likely it is to spread. Slow the spread, and the virus may just release its stranglehold on the world.
So, what does social distancing look like? Well, for this pandemic, it looks like staying away from other people, at least six feet away. But more preferably, it means staying away from others entirely. It means greeting people with a wave rather than a handshake, and using Skype to visit rather than visiting in person. Social distancing means using physical distance, even barriers at times to keep others who may be carrying the virus away from you.
For many people, social distancing is completely new. It's a total disruption to everyday living. For prisoners, however, this is the norm. It's true that we don't normally have to avoid groups larger than 10 people, or refuse to shake each other's hands. But prisoners are relegated to isolated places, away from society, and forced to be distant. Social distancing is nothing new for us.
Something like only 14% of prisoners receive in-person visits while they are incarcerated. That means more than 80% experience the painful isolation of no physical presence of family or friends during their incarceration. Others experience that presence only very occasionally. Phone calls, too, are too expensive for many prisoners, and family members and friends may either refuse to receive phone calls or be unable to afford the high cost of calls as well. Prison, by its very nature, creates distance and other barriers to relationships. Social distancing is nothing new to prisoners.
Even after release, many former prisoners continue to experience social distancing. Housing policies often mean people with felonies have applications denied. Job applications often stall when a past felony is mentioned. And those who are required to register on sex offender registries are socially isolated even more so. Residency restrictions, stigmatization, and societal fear push many ex-offenders to the fringes. Yes, social distancing is nothing new to prisoners.
A lethal virus, like the Coronavirus, may require us to isolate and maintain distance from each other to ensure it causes us no harm. The same is initially true for many prisoners. Socially isolating them serves a beneficial purpose--it protects society. But social distancing prisoners--who are people too--for too long eventually does more damage than good. In a day when mass incarceration is the norm, huge segments of society end up permanently isolated--socially distanced.
If you find the effects of social distancing, for even a few weeks, difficult to manage, imagine facing a lifetime of societal isolation and rejection. At what point do we, as a society, decide that prisoners are people too? When will we decide that people who made bad choices in the past must no longer stay on the fringes, must no longer keep their distance as a social virus? Social distancing might protect in the short term, but in the long term it harms people.
So, what does social distancing look like? Well, for this pandemic, it looks like staying away from other people, at least six feet away. But more preferably, it means staying away from others entirely. It means greeting people with a wave rather than a handshake, and using Skype to visit rather than visiting in person. Social distancing means using physical distance, even barriers at times to keep others who may be carrying the virus away from you.
For many people, social distancing is completely new. It's a total disruption to everyday living. For prisoners, however, this is the norm. It's true that we don't normally have to avoid groups larger than 10 people, or refuse to shake each other's hands. But prisoners are relegated to isolated places, away from society, and forced to be distant. Social distancing is nothing new for us.
Something like only 14% of prisoners receive in-person visits while they are incarcerated. That means more than 80% experience the painful isolation of no physical presence of family or friends during their incarceration. Others experience that presence only very occasionally. Phone calls, too, are too expensive for many prisoners, and family members and friends may either refuse to receive phone calls or be unable to afford the high cost of calls as well. Prison, by its very nature, creates distance and other barriers to relationships. Social distancing is nothing new to prisoners.
Even after release, many former prisoners continue to experience social distancing. Housing policies often mean people with felonies have applications denied. Job applications often stall when a past felony is mentioned. And those who are required to register on sex offender registries are socially isolated even more so. Residency restrictions, stigmatization, and societal fear push many ex-offenders to the fringes. Yes, social distancing is nothing new to prisoners.
A lethal virus, like the Coronavirus, may require us to isolate and maintain distance from each other to ensure it causes us no harm. The same is initially true for many prisoners. Socially isolating them serves a beneficial purpose--it protects society. But social distancing prisoners--who are people too--for too long eventually does more damage than good. In a day when mass incarceration is the norm, huge segments of society end up permanently isolated--socially distanced.
If you find the effects of social distancing, for even a few weeks, difficult to manage, imagine facing a lifetime of societal isolation and rejection. At what point do we, as a society, decide that prisoners are people too? When will we decide that people who made bad choices in the past must no longer stay on the fringes, must no longer keep their distance as a social virus? Social distancing might protect in the short term, but in the long term it harms people.
Monday, March 16, 2020
COVID-19 Quarantine Hits Michigan Prisons
As of Friday, March 13, Michigan's Governor Whitmer issued directives to restrict visitor and outside volunteer access to Michigan's prisons due to the Corona virus pandemic. In an abundance of caution, the governor closed prisons to outsiders because prisons are particularly susceptible to what the medical field calls "herd transmission." Prisons are closed communities where even the most vulnerable, the sick and elderly, are unable to avoid the spreading of an infection. Prisons are, by their very nature, "herd" communities. Fortunately, as of this writing, no incident of the Corona virus has been discovered in Michigan's prisons, and we hope it stays that way. Officers and staff are being "monitored" for signs of the virus before they are allowed to enter the facilities.
So, what does a medical quarantine look like inside prison? Essentially, there are two mass medical quarantine scenarios. The first, which is what we are currently under, simply restricts outside contact. That means no visits and no outside volunteers. Special programs, like church services, concerts, yoga class, book club, and even college classes are restricted due to absence of volunteers. At this facility (MTU), the chaplain has kept church services running with prisoners leading the services, but other facilities may simly cancel all primary and secondary services. Other programs, like book club and yoga classes, will simply not meet during the quarantine. Additionally, because of reduced staffing, some critical programs, like substance abuse and domestic violence programming, may not meet during the quarantine. Otherwise, yard and gym schedules continue to operate, and some limited programs or services continue to run.
The second scenario is more restrictive--and hopefully we don't get to that point. The more restrictive quarantine is likely to happen if a COVID-19 case shows up on a prison compound. This would likely involve quarantine to our cells. All activities outside of our units are likely to shut down, and in-house movement would be restricted. This scenario is difficult to maintain for long periods in prison because in-cell quarantines are highly stressful for prisoners. I imagine these quarantines can also be highly stressful for staff who must manage elevated levels of prisoner stress.
Whatever the scenario, quarantines are highly interruptive, even for prisoners. While college students outside of prison are able to complete classes online, prisoner students in college cannot. Other prisoners are in required programming before they can parole, and a quarantine could mean a delayed parole. What that means for sure, we don't know yet, and that lack of knowledge can be stressful. But, like people outside of prison, prisoners have no control over government mandated restrictions. Parents who count on their children being in school must now scrammble to arrange for daily care while the parents work. Many other parts of our daily lives are interrupted by this pandemic. But it won't last forever.
Before long, we'll be back to our "normal" daily lives, and this pandemic will just be a story we tell to reminisce with each other and future generations. Our lives are temporarily altered by these quarantines, but those who lose loved ones to the virus are much more deeply impacted. Yes, it's stressful and inconvenient, and some prisoners are notoriously bad at handling stressful changes to their schedules, but it could be worse.
So, what does a medical quarantine look like inside prison? Essentially, there are two mass medical quarantine scenarios. The first, which is what we are currently under, simply restricts outside contact. That means no visits and no outside volunteers. Special programs, like church services, concerts, yoga class, book club, and even college classes are restricted due to absence of volunteers. At this facility (MTU), the chaplain has kept church services running with prisoners leading the services, but other facilities may simly cancel all primary and secondary services. Other programs, like book club and yoga classes, will simply not meet during the quarantine. Additionally, because of reduced staffing, some critical programs, like substance abuse and domestic violence programming, may not meet during the quarantine. Otherwise, yard and gym schedules continue to operate, and some limited programs or services continue to run.
The second scenario is more restrictive--and hopefully we don't get to that point. The more restrictive quarantine is likely to happen if a COVID-19 case shows up on a prison compound. This would likely involve quarantine to our cells. All activities outside of our units are likely to shut down, and in-house movement would be restricted. This scenario is difficult to maintain for long periods in prison because in-cell quarantines are highly stressful for prisoners. I imagine these quarantines can also be highly stressful for staff who must manage elevated levels of prisoner stress.
Whatever the scenario, quarantines are highly interruptive, even for prisoners. While college students outside of prison are able to complete classes online, prisoner students in college cannot. Other prisoners are in required programming before they can parole, and a quarantine could mean a delayed parole. What that means for sure, we don't know yet, and that lack of knowledge can be stressful. But, like people outside of prison, prisoners have no control over government mandated restrictions. Parents who count on their children being in school must now scrammble to arrange for daily care while the parents work. Many other parts of our daily lives are interrupted by this pandemic. But it won't last forever.
Before long, we'll be back to our "normal" daily lives, and this pandemic will just be a story we tell to reminisce with each other and future generations. Our lives are temporarily altered by these quarantines, but those who lose loved ones to the virus are much more deeply impacted. Yes, it's stressful and inconvenient, and some prisoners are notoriously bad at handling stressful changes to their schedules, but it could be worse.
Wednesday, March 11, 2020
Startling New Data Shows Rehabilitation Programs Work
Many people now agree that our criminal justice system is highly ineffective in achieving at least one of its primary aims: rehabilitation. According to the Bureau of Justice Statistics Special Report published in April, 2014, the five-year recidivism rate average for prisoners released in 2005 was 66%. That means two of every three prisoners released in 2005 in the United States returned to prison within five years on new charges. This startling statistic is the culmination of decades of state and federal policies that favored longer, harsher sentences and that rejected evidence-based rehabilitative programming.
Now, in response to the United States' problem of mass incarceration, policies of the last several decades are being replaced, albeit slowly, with evidence-based solutions. There's a lot of work still to be done, but some new, very good and very surprising statistics were just recently released.
Over the last five or six years, the Michigan Department of Corrections has begun to take a different approach to rehabilitation. Under Director Heidi Washington's leadership, the MDOC has started several Vocational Village training programs that seek to prepare home-going prisoners with skills to find and maintain jobs. Additionally, other "Offender Success Model" programs designed to better prepare paroling prisoners for re-entry to their communities have been simultaneously implemented. And the results are good. Even a 25% improvement would have been noteworthy, but data recently released demonstrates that Michigan now has one of the country's lowest recidivism rates: 26.7%. That's a 60% improvement!
The MDOC, under Director Washington, is doing its part (mostly) to improve the over incarceration problem. Now it's time for the Michigan legislature to do its part. The legislature is currently considering a jail reform package that would directly address the overcrowding in jails through bail reform, reduced sentences for misdemeanors, and treating mentally ill people instead of jailing them, among other reforms. This reform would be a good step in the right direction, but many other reforms are needed.
Michigan, for example, is one of only three states that does not offer prisoners an opportunity to earn time off their sentences for good behavior or by other means (like education credits). Michigan also sentences many prisoners to life without the possibility of parole, including some juvenile offenders. Additionally, Michigan's felony murder statute means that an offender who did not kill someone can be sentenced to life in prison because they were part of another felony where someone died or was killed (by an accomplice, for example). Michigan also sentences its prisoners to an average 27 months longer than many other states. Mandatory minimum sentences are partly responsible for this high average, taking discretion away from sentencing judges.
These policies and laws are largely responsible for Michigan's high prison population, which continues to cost Michigan a third of its annual budget at a staggering $2.2 billion. It's time for Michigan's legislature to start fixing these problems. If they won't do it, vote to replace them, and in the meantime, sign the petition for the Michigan Prisoner Rehabilitation Credit Act--www.mprca.info.
Now, in response to the United States' problem of mass incarceration, policies of the last several decades are being replaced, albeit slowly, with evidence-based solutions. There's a lot of work still to be done, but some new, very good and very surprising statistics were just recently released.
Over the last five or six years, the Michigan Department of Corrections has begun to take a different approach to rehabilitation. Under Director Heidi Washington's leadership, the MDOC has started several Vocational Village training programs that seek to prepare home-going prisoners with skills to find and maintain jobs. Additionally, other "Offender Success Model" programs designed to better prepare paroling prisoners for re-entry to their communities have been simultaneously implemented. And the results are good. Even a 25% improvement would have been noteworthy, but data recently released demonstrates that Michigan now has one of the country's lowest recidivism rates: 26.7%. That's a 60% improvement!
The MDOC, under Director Washington, is doing its part (mostly) to improve the over incarceration problem. Now it's time for the Michigan legislature to do its part. The legislature is currently considering a jail reform package that would directly address the overcrowding in jails through bail reform, reduced sentences for misdemeanors, and treating mentally ill people instead of jailing them, among other reforms. This reform would be a good step in the right direction, but many other reforms are needed.
Michigan, for example, is one of only three states that does not offer prisoners an opportunity to earn time off their sentences for good behavior or by other means (like education credits). Michigan also sentences many prisoners to life without the possibility of parole, including some juvenile offenders. Additionally, Michigan's felony murder statute means that an offender who did not kill someone can be sentenced to life in prison because they were part of another felony where someone died or was killed (by an accomplice, for example). Michigan also sentences its prisoners to an average 27 months longer than many other states. Mandatory minimum sentences are partly responsible for this high average, taking discretion away from sentencing judges.
These policies and laws are largely responsible for Michigan's high prison population, which continues to cost Michigan a third of its annual budget at a staggering $2.2 billion. It's time for Michigan's legislature to start fixing these problems. If they won't do it, vote to replace them, and in the meantime, sign the petition for the Michigan Prisoner Rehabilitation Credit Act--www.mprca.info.
Tuesday, March 3, 2020
Let Go of the Stone, and Be Free
I have written several times about forgiveness on this blog. Perhaps for some that may seem a bit self-serving because I am in prison for committing a crime. That's fair. I am motivated by an intense longing for forgiveness from those I've harmed, both directly and indirectly. But I am also passionate about people finding freedom from unforgiveness because I know what a prison holding unforgiveness can be. Since I have experienced the consequences of actual prison, I am more aware of the consequences of other types of imprisonment. The most devastating consequence, of physical prison and the imprisonment of unforgiveness, is the damage it does to relationships.
In The Book of Forgiving, Desmond Tutu urges his readers to enact the "stone ritual." First, select a palm-sized stone, and for a six-hour period, carry the stone in your non-dominant hand, not setting the stone down for any reason during this time. Afterwards, the reader is urged to journal about what s/he observed and experienced in this ritual. Together with a few other prisoners, I took up this challenge. Because prison officials would frown on us carrying a palm-sized stone around, we elected to use a AA battery instead.
What we found during this activity is that carrying something around, even in our non-dominant hands, without ever setting it down is a burden. It was restrictive of the types of activities we could carry out. It was inconvenient, sometimes embarrassing, and took effort to hold on. But we also surprisingly found that we adapted. We found ways to work around the inconvenience, and at times, we forgot it was there.
Just like this activity shows, holding onto unforgiveness can become "normal" to us. We can adapt, work around, and ignore how that unforgiveness is affecting us. We find a way to survive. Yet, even in that surviving, that adapting, we are still kept from experiencing full freedom. We still have that hindrance keeping us from clapping our hands with joy. The burden of unforgiveness restricts and confines us from living fully free to be ourselves and to be a blessing to others.
I struggle with unforgiveness at times. Oh, most times I'm quick to forgive, to let things go, to offer restoration to someone who has offended me. But when the offender denies he did wrong or justifies his actions...oh, I can hold onto that stone of unforgiveness! I can turn a cold shoulder, pretend I don't know the person, or find other ways to protect myself from being vulnerable to hurt again. It's a perfectly human response.
But then I remember that the harm I experienced is so small compared to the harm I've done others. I think about the pain others feel because of the harm I caused. The pain I suffer feels so small in comparison. It feels like a little battery inconveniencing my ability to use my hand--not like a weighty stone threatening to crush my very existence.
Tutu says that "Forgiveness is not an effortless act for any of us, and it does not serve anyone to minimize the complexity involved in the work of forgiving." So, I hold onto that knowledge. Forgiving is really, really hard sometimes. It might just be that the inconvenience of holding unforgiveness feels easier to deal with than the terrible uncertainty and scary prospect of forgiving someone who has harmed us. Nevertheless, choosing to risk forgiveness comes with great freedom, and I'd much rather be free than in prison--actual prison or the poisoning prison of unforgiveness.
In The Book of Forgiving, Desmond Tutu urges his readers to enact the "stone ritual." First, select a palm-sized stone, and for a six-hour period, carry the stone in your non-dominant hand, not setting the stone down for any reason during this time. Afterwards, the reader is urged to journal about what s/he observed and experienced in this ritual. Together with a few other prisoners, I took up this challenge. Because prison officials would frown on us carrying a palm-sized stone around, we elected to use a AA battery instead.
What we found during this activity is that carrying something around, even in our non-dominant hands, without ever setting it down is a burden. It was restrictive of the types of activities we could carry out. It was inconvenient, sometimes embarrassing, and took effort to hold on. But we also surprisingly found that we adapted. We found ways to work around the inconvenience, and at times, we forgot it was there.
Just like this activity shows, holding onto unforgiveness can become "normal" to us. We can adapt, work around, and ignore how that unforgiveness is affecting us. We find a way to survive. Yet, even in that surviving, that adapting, we are still kept from experiencing full freedom. We still have that hindrance keeping us from clapping our hands with joy. The burden of unforgiveness restricts and confines us from living fully free to be ourselves and to be a blessing to others.
I struggle with unforgiveness at times. Oh, most times I'm quick to forgive, to let things go, to offer restoration to someone who has offended me. But when the offender denies he did wrong or justifies his actions...oh, I can hold onto that stone of unforgiveness! I can turn a cold shoulder, pretend I don't know the person, or find other ways to protect myself from being vulnerable to hurt again. It's a perfectly human response.
But then I remember that the harm I experienced is so small compared to the harm I've done others. I think about the pain others feel because of the harm I caused. The pain I suffer feels so small in comparison. It feels like a little battery inconveniencing my ability to use my hand--not like a weighty stone threatening to crush my very existence.
Tutu says that "Forgiveness is not an effortless act for any of us, and it does not serve anyone to minimize the complexity involved in the work of forgiving." So, I hold onto that knowledge. Forgiving is really, really hard sometimes. It might just be that the inconvenience of holding unforgiveness feels easier to deal with than the terrible uncertainty and scary prospect of forgiving someone who has harmed us. Nevertheless, choosing to risk forgiveness comes with great freedom, and I'd much rather be free than in prison--actual prison or the poisoning prison of unforgiveness.