Michigan Prison Coronavirus Infections and Deaths Exceed Federal Prisons'

I watched a "hearing" this past week on CSPAN concerning Covid-19 in prisons. The hearing was conducted via video and, besides the congressional members present, three guests who testified were also present. The prisons in question were federal prisons, and I was taken aback by some of the data shared. For example, the federal Bureau of Prisons (BOP) oversees roughly 150,000 prisoners nationwide. While the BOP has not tested all of its prisoners for coronavirus (and may be hiding some infections from reporting), in this hearing it was reported that roughly 2,500 federal prisoners have tested positive and 59 prisoners have died from coronavirus.

This week Michigan finished testing all of its prisoners for coronavirus. I do not know the final numbers, but prior to completing their testing, I know that far more than 2,500 prisoners had tested positive for Covid-19. What's more, Michigan has had more than 59 prisoner deaths, a much higher percentage of both infections and deaths than reported in the federal BOP prisoner population. Although this hearing revealed that the BOP has failed to utilize it with any significance (unless you count "famous" prisoners), the federal government passed legislation earlier this year allowing the BOP to release prisoners early who are non-violent and elderly prisoners who are at a great risk of infection (called "Compassionate Release"). It is unfathomable to me why the BOP has not utilized its power, authorized by Congress, to release more prisoners during this pandemic. 

It is also frustrating and inexplicable why Governor Gretchen Whitmer has not acted to provide the Michigan Department of Corrections with the same authority the federal government provided the BOP. Michigan has stepped up its parole process to release more prisoners who are at or beyond their earliest release dates, but Governor Whitmer claims she does not have the authority to release other prisoners early. This is simply not true. Her predecessors have used Executive Orders to initiate time cuts and other measures to reduce the prison population, but this governor has not. Perhaps she is reluctant to let potential problems derail her possibility of being Senator Biden's pick for running mate. Whatever her reasoning, her failure to act has already cost the lives of more than 60 Michigan prisoners, many of whom were elderly or medically frail and who could have been released under a similar compassionate release program.

If nothing else, this pandemic has revealed a disturbing fact. The Michigan government is not as pro-prison reform as it claims to be. Why does it take a pandemic to speed up the release of prisoners who are already eligible for parole? Shouldn't the prison system be releasing prisoners as soon as they are eligible anyway? If a pandemic generates pressure for the release of non-violent and elderly/frail prisoners, why have we not released these prisoners prior to a pandemic? Worse yet, why are we still not releasing them? If it is unnecessary to keep these prisoners locked up when they are at risk of infection from a virus, why are we wasting money keeping them in prison in the first place? Maybe we ought to rethink who we send to prison and for how long we send them. 

It's time for Governor Whitmer to act, and if she won't then the Michigan legislature must. If both refuse to take action to protect those they keep locked up in petri dishes called prisons, then perhaps it's time for the people to take action. It's time for the people to speak with their votes and by signing petitions like The Michigan Prisoner Rehabilitation Credit Act (www.mprca.info).

Everyone Loves a Comeback Story--Or Do They?

I remember when I was growing up how my dad always used to root for the underdog. He wasn't a big sports guy, so whenever two teams were playing (football, baseball, etc.), and he didn't have a preference, he always rooted for the team that was not expected to win. Maybe that's why I tend to root for the underdog even now, even though I've lost every Super Bowl bet I've ever made--every single one. 

People love underdog stories. They also love comeback stories. Not the kind of come-back-to-prison story, but the kind where someone falls on their face, gets up again, and finds redemption. You've probably rooted for some comeback stories yourself. Chuck Colson went to prison in shame over the Watergate scandal, but he came out of prison to establish the nation's largest prison ministry, Prison Fellowship. The My Pillow guy was a strung out drug addict, but now he's clean and owns a thriving business. President Bill Clinton even had a comeback story. After he finally took responsibility in the Monica Lewinski scandal, he regained popularity and is today beloved by many. 

One of the first criminal comeback stories I remember is Nicky Cruz's. He was a former violent gang member in the 1980s who went to prison, found God, and turned his life around. His story is told in the book, The Cross and the Switchblade. It's a remarkable story of redemption for someone who committed some very violent crimes. One of my uncles even went to prison in the early '80s and is today a very successful business owner. I can't help but admire the tenacity it takes to face insurmountable odds, and to come out with an inspiring story in the end. 

But not everyone loves a comeback story. In fact, some people believe it's impossible to come back from especially bad choices. Some even believe the only remedy to these choices is that the offender disappear and never return. That's why we have the death penalty, mandatory minimum sentences, and gradually increasing average prison sentences, despite scientific evidence that proves long sentences do not make communities safer or lead to increased rehabilitation. 

There's a certain comfort, I suppose, in being able to ignore a problem that's not in front of you. That's why sending offenders to prison for a long time makes some people feel better. It's why it's easier for people to write others out of their lives instead of facing painful questions of the past and joining the tough journey of transformation. The reality is that some people will not change. That reality is too much of a risk for some people to take.

Maybe that's why we love comeback stories. They beat the odds. They surmount the insurmountable. They overcome statistics that say they'll be washouts, losers, addicts, or whatever other expectations others have of them. I know it's why I love comeback stories. I admire people with the fortitude to fight through all the naysayers who refuse to believe in them. I know what it's like to feel that rejection. It's tough to stay strong and believe in yourself when no one else will. 

Whether or not my story is an inspiring story doesn't matter much to me. What matters to me is that I rise above my failures and transform into the person I should have been from the very beginning. It matters that I do the right thing to make right what I can. I know. I'm an underdog because I made myself one, but I'll keep putting the hard work in that one day may turn into a comeback story--you can bet on that.

Mom's Help Maintain Mental Health

Nearly eleven years ago as I was sitting in the county jail awaiting my eventual transfer to prison, my mother asked me if I was worried about prison. I remember telling her that I was mostly worried about becoming jaded. She asked me what "jaded" meant, so, remembering her sage advice when I asked what a word meant as a child, I told her to look it up in the dictionary. She didn't think I was very funny. 

Since coming to prison, I discovered that the concern I had about becoming jaded (which, by the way, means fatigued by overuse or too much stress) was similar to being what is called "institutionalized." It is common for long-timers to become so adapted to the "norms" of prison that they become, well...normal. For example, prisoners can get so adapted to the routine of chow time that they must be the first out the door. That's institutionalized. Or, prisoners get a new bunkie and expect them to conform exactly to their routines or preferences. That's institutionalized, too. It's also institutionalized to develop general animosity towards authority figures, to expect family to take care of you, to become dependent upon the state, and a host of other examples. 

I've fought hard against becoming institutionalized, and for the most part I think I've been successful. Undoubtedly, though, I'll have to correct some things when I leave prison. So, this week imagine my surprise when I found myself reacting to a situation in a very institutionalized way. New corrections officers have lately been training, which means we have to put up with "green" officers who don't yet understand prison culture. It's rarely a problem, but occasionally these officers take their training a bit far, attempting to assert authority to make a name for themselves. Perhaps you'd understand if I reacted to one of these situations...but I didn't. 

I had followed the herd to the chow hall, waited patiently for my tray of what passes for food, and made my way to my seat. Several officers in training dotted the chow hall landscape, so I expected the usual treatment--"over here!" they'd point, as if I can't figure out on my own where I'm supposed to sit. That's not what I encountered, though. Instead, as I started to sit down, the new officer standing a few feet away said, "How are you doing sir?" My head jerked up, and I found myself glaring at the officer. "Excuse me?!" I asked. I was sure I hadn't heard him right. 

He looked smiling and friendly, and it disarmed me. I've been treated like a human being with dignity by other authority figures in prison, but not usually by officers who didn't know me. And I found myself feeling, well...resentful. How dare this officer be nice to me! Doesn't he know there's a wall of separation between officers and prisoners that's thicker than the wall of separation between church and state? These weren't exactly my thoughts, but they they reflect how I how felt for a few seconds. 

I sat down and began eating, a trace of irritation mixed with perplexity. I wasn't perplexed by the officer's kindness, though. I was perplexed by my reaction to his kindness. And I was irritated with myself. My reaction was the epitome of being institutionalized. I had become jaded. 

Although she no longer tells me to look things up in the dictionary, I'm fortunate to have a mother who challenges me to check these senseless thoughts. What better antidote to the infection of institutionalization? Thanks, Mom!

Happy Mother's Day, to you, and to all the mothers of prisoners. Thanks for keeping us sane.

It's Time to Turn the Corner

This week I watched another prisoner be cuffed and taken to the hole (segregation). He was in the vocational trades program, so he is within a year or so of paroling from prison. Or at least he was. Apparently he thought it would be worth the risk to buy some spud juice (prison wine) from another unit and sneak it back to his room. He wasn't so sneaky after all. I don't know what he was written up for, whether he will be returning to the unit, or what his consequences will be. The point is that within just months of leaving prison, he's putting his freedom in jeopardy, for a little disgusting hooch. 

The sad thing is that this prisoner is not alone. I overhear conversations almost daily about escapades other prisoners are planning when they leave prison. Of course, these plans nearly always include some form of criminal activity, usually involving drugs. And many of these same men are not waiting until they leave prison to continue their criminal ways. It's sad, and it's discouraging. Most of these men have only served short stints in prison, and yes, I mean stints plural. The prisoners serving longer terms are the ones who are less likely to maintain this criminal mentality. 

So, what's the difference? Why are prisoners who serve long prison sentences less likely than those serving short sentences to commit crimes after leaving prison? The primary reason is what I heard a business owner who came to speak to us prisoners call "turning the corner." Regardless of what crime someone committed, if they have not "turned the corner" while in prison, they are more likely to commit more crimes after leaving prison. Turning the corner, of course, is a euphemism for having a change of heart. 

The DOC has a program mandated for some prisoners called "Thinking for a Change." As with most DOC programs, this is perplexingly only available to prisoners who are close to going home. That means whatever skills they teach about changing one's thinking were not likely employed throughout a prisoner's sentence. Old thinking patterns were simply adapted to new circumstances. Thus, prisoners commonly obsess over drugs, drink, money, women, and notoriety. No amount of programming, though, is going to change a person's mind or heart. For that to happen, the prisoner must want to change. 

The desire to change is often followed by self-directed rehabilitation. This usually takes the form of seeking, seeking new knowledge, new wisdom, new self-awareness, new religious or spiritual insight. These seekers are often the ones who try to eat well, keep their bodies healthy, and their minds sharp. Other behaviors change, too. They often begin building other disciplines in their lives. They watch less TV, read more books, take programming and educational opportunities, learn new skills or hobbies, exercise more, write more, and focus on repairing broken relationships instead of using people in their lives. 

Most of the time these seekers, the ones who turn the corner, go on to live productive lives, safe in society. A few return to their vomit, as the Proverb says. And sometimes those who haven't turned a corner do so after leaving prison. Many do not. Religous devotion, education, and strong family support all increase the odds a prisoner will "turn the corner," but there's no magic formula. It boils down to what Thomas Aquinas called "rightly ordered desires." You have to want what living a just life gives you more than whatever the temporary pleasure of prison wine, or some other vice, brings.