We Need Prison Advocates Now More Than Ever!

 A few days ago, a friend of mine in prison was talking to another prisoner about the frequent mailroom censorship issues we have at this prison (Parnall Correctional Facility). This other prisoner had experienced several problems with mail and books being rejected. Although he had appealed these rejections, as my friend and I both have our own censored mail, the rejections were upheld. The Michigan prison system, and Parnall especially, has staff members that interpret policy in extreme and often unconstitutional ways, resulting in severe First Amendment restrictions for prisoners. 

My friend tried to encourage this other prisoner to continue his appeals, but he expressed reluctance. He stated that he would be leaving prison in less than a year, and then he could put this behind him. 

I totally understand his sentiment, especially because the fight for our constitutional rights is SO difficult in a system like the MDOC that doesn't follow its own rules; however, his sentiment also expresses one of the problems with advocacy. Many advocates are active only because the system affects them or an incarcerated loved one. 

Of course, it makes sense that people would spend their energies in areas that affect them. It's the same reason mothers who lost children to drunk drivers formed M.A.D.D. It's also why mothers who lost children to overdoses are in the front lines of offense against opiates. 

Advocating for criminal justice reforms, and especially for prison reforms, is especially tough because of the revolving nature of prison. By the time any traction occurs on change, people are worn out from the fight. When no longer directly affected, it's easy to lose the drive to continue. But we need advocates! We need people to stand up and communicate to the Michigan legislature that the current system is not just and is too costly. 

Michigan's status as having the highest average prison sentence length and one of the highest cost per prisoner prison budgets ought to drive Michigan's residents to demand change. Michigan's high budget isn't because we prisoners eat lavishly or have privileges paid for by taxpayers. Our food is horrible, our health care extremely ineffective and low quality, and Michigan's prison budget is still very large. 

I get it. Prisoner advocacy is tiring. It's discouraging. Michigan depends on its incarceration industry to keep many small Michigan cities supplied with jobs and tax revenue. There's a lot of resistance to change. But the fight is worth it, and whole groups of resilient people are fighting for change. 

On April 20th, yet another good time bill was proposed in the Michigan legislature. Good time is not the answer to every problem in Michigan's prison system, by far. But it's a good start to reduce the strain on the system and free up funding, space, and staff needed for true reform.  

Perhaps you're tired of the fight for reforms, and like some prisoners maybe you have lost hope that good time legislation will pass. Please don't give up! You might not be able to do much, but you can at least send an email to your legislators asking them to seriously consider passing this important legislation. The email is even mostly written for you already. Just go to www.MiJustice.org/2023 to send an email to your legislator, then ask someone else to do the same.

Michigan Justice Advocacy has been at the forefront of this important fight, and I'm grateful for their volunteers who put in so many hours to educate legislators and the public on the reasons why good time legislation is good for Michigan. I hate to borrow a phrase from my favorite baseball team, the Chicago Cubs, but maybe this'll be the year.

Good Time Legislation in Michigan's New Legislative Session

 Throughout the last several years, Michigan legislators have introduced several bills that would reinstate some form of good time for Michigan's prisoners. Each time, the bills have died in committee, despite having some support among legislators. 

But many Michigan prisoners are hoping this year will be different. For the first time in more than forty years, Michigan has a democratic majority in both legislative chambers and a Democrat governor. But democrats are not the only party supporting some form of good time for Michigan. Republicans, too, understand the financial strains of our current system, and they some see the value of also encouraging and rewarding good behavior among prisoners. 

Michigan ranks number one in the nation for the longest average prison sentence, at 6.5 years. It also has one of the highest cost per prisoner budgets in the nation--despite abysmal food and healthcare quality. The Michigan Department of Corrections also still has a critical shortage of corrections officers, so it is paying exorbitant overtime costs and wearing out their current staff. 

It's time for Michigan to make a significant change in its approach, especially since much research has demonstrated that longer sentences do not reduce recidivism rates. 

Michigan Justice Advocacy (MJA) has been leading the push for good time legislation, and on April 20th, Representative Amos ONeal (Saginaw) will introduce a good time bill in the current legislative session. 

The same day this legislation will be introduced, MJA will hold an event on the west lawn of Michigan's Capitol building. The event goes from 1-4 PM, though it officially starts at 2 PM. They are encouraging as many people as can to attend and show support for this critical legislation. You can also express your support to your legislator by visiting MiJustice.org/2023 and sending a personalized support letter. 

Good time legislation not only encourages prisoners to behave in positive ways in prison, but it will also save the state money, relax the terrible pressure on overworked prison staff, and allow the department to focus its efforts more efficiently on rehabilitation. 

Prior to the introduction of this new legislation, MJA will have an informational Zoom meeting on April 15th at 2PM. Please see MiJustice.org for more information. 

Additionally, after ONeal introduces this important legislation, on April 24th, he will host a town hall meeting to discuss the legislation's details. This will be held in Saginaw at the UAW, 699 hall building (1911 Bagley Street). 

If you are able, please join MJA in Lansing on April 20th, and either way, please go to MiJustice.org/2023 to send a letter of support for this legislation to your Michigan legislators!

Thank you to MJA for all their tireless work on this issue! And thank you for supporting their efforts. It's time for Michigan to join the rest of the nation in offering prisoners time cuts for good behavior. 

Prisoner Deaths Highlight Undignified Treatment

Death occurs in prison, just like it does outside of prison. Sometimes prisoners die because another prisoner assaulted them, or because they experienced neglect or abuse at the hands of staff members. Still others die because of disease or old age. But for many of us prisoners, the death of another prisoner is a stark reminder of our own mortality. It also causes profound anxiety as we desperately hope to leave prison before we ourselves die. 

Dying in prison is an even more lonely prospect than living here. Who is here to grieve our passing? Who will treat us with dignity in our death? Who will tell the best parts of our stories? Who will inform our families, and will it be with compassion? 

This past week, two prisoners in my housing unit died in 24 hours. It's unclear to me what caused either of their deaths. One was quite sick, and the other had a long history of substance abuse, so they likely both died from health complications. But the cause of their death does not diminish the tragedy of it. At least one of those prisoners apparently had nobody, no family, outside of prison. He'll likely receive a pauper's burial by the state. 

When a someone dies in prison, other prisoners react in different ways. Many are somber and anxious. Others are calloused...and probably anxious. As if the lack of dignified treatment we receive by staff isn't bad enough, some prisoners deal with death by mocking it, and the prisoner who experienced it. Some get angry because of the disruption it causes them. God forbid they should have to be locked in their cells for a few hours instead of playing cards or whatever fills their day. Compassion is foreign to some prisoners. 

Staff, too, respond differently to the death of a prisoner. Many of them resent the added paperwork and scrutiny that comes when a prisoner dies under their watch. All prisoner deaths are investigated by the State Police. Some staff express compassion to the rest of us prisoners, while others take their stress out on us.

But when the first of the two prisoners died last week, I witnessed one of the most disturbing treatments I've seen. A half dozen or more staff members and investigators gathered around the prisoner's cell as they prepared to bring his body out of the housing unit. They'd already wrapped him up for transport. Yet, when it came time to transport him, instead of two or three people carrying him, one officer simply dragged the body down the gallery walkway like a sack of garbage. They only carried him when they came to the stairs. 

I sat on a bench watching the whole episode, shock reverberating through my body. The realization that the indignities we experience in prison even extend to our deaths hit me hard. And I wasn't alone. Other prisoners are still talking about it almost a week later. It boggles my mind how prison staff could think that was okay! Especially while the rest of us prisoners watched.

I didn't know either prisoner who died, but I believe every human deserves to be treated with dignity, including prisoners, regardless of their crimes. It saddens me deeply to know that even in death we are nothing but garbage to some prison staff. 

Century Old Prison--a Relic of Times Past, a Mausoleum of Wasted Lives

Parnall Correctional Facility, where I am currently housed, is a mishmash of old and newer structures. Little planning went into the logistics of the prison. Buildings were erected wherever there was room, so the flow is haphazard at best. Some of the housing units are "modern" pole barns. Others, like where I live, are multi-level buildings, constructed using a design that is more than a century old. 

When you walk into my housing unit, after passing the officers' station (an office), you walk onto what is called "base yard." Here, nine steel tables are bolted to the concrete floor, and benches face a TV at the end of the roughly 250 foot long corridor. Nearer the officers' station are steel countertops for "cooking" with four microwaves and two hot pots for water. 

On the same level are roughly 60 cells, mostly for prisoners who are unable to climb stairs on a regular basis. Just beyond the TV and benches are the showers, which offer minimal privacy. Beyond the showers is a doorway leading to the next housing unit, which is similarly constructed. Only officers and staff are allowed to use this door. 

Back on base, one can look up to see two rows of cells facing each other on each level. In between is an air space opened from the base level to the ceiling. Sadly, too many men over the years have chosen a brief dive to the base to end their suffering. In my short eight months here, so far, I've only seen it once--but even once is enough to cause one trauma. 

The floors rise five levels, from base to tier four through a series of stairs. The tiers above base have roughly 75 cells split between two sides (approx. 350 cells in all). Each cell is roughly ten feet long and six feet wide with bars on each end and concrete walls between each cell. 

Inside the cells is a metal bunk with a thin mat, a standing locker, a school sized desk, and a metal toilet and sink. Roughly twenty inches separates the bed and the desk, just enough to slide in a plastic chair. 

The construction of this prison housing unit is different than more modernly constructed prisons. The location of Parnall Correctional Facility, in Jackson, Michigan, is adjacent to Michigan's oldest prison--known as "behind the wall," or "The Big House." Though no longer housing prisoners, many of Jackson prison's buildings still stand, monuments to a bygone era and the thousands of lives who suffered there. The back wall of my housing unit abuts the yard of Jackson prison. 

The Big House was built in the 1830s, one of the early adopters of the Auburn system of total isolation. My housing unit was added several decades later, in the early 1900s. It has had various "upgrades" over the years, but the infrastructure is still quite old. It remains open, at least in part, because it is one of the few Michigan level one prisons offering single man cells. Some prisoners, mostly in the housing unit next door, require single man cells because of their gender identity or sexual orientation. Consequently, that unit is pejoratively called, "The Doll House." 

Modern prison designs, whether the "pole barns" found at this prison and in others around the state, or others like those seen on TV in other states, have made a drastic diversion from the old system of total isolation. In these other housing units, one is hard pressed to find a few minutes of solitude, or even a moment of silence. 

Even in my housing unit, where we enjoy the "luxury" of single man cells, the noise level is sometimes deafening. Many prisoners, including myself, use music we've purchased to tune out the noise. It's sometimes still not enough, even though we use ear buds. But one can enter his own cell and shut the barred door, providing a modicum of solitude. I'll take what I can get!

As I write this, it's count time, so the unit is relatively quiet. But once count clears, the noise level will rise precipitously. Men will rush to stand in the phone line (6 phones), to use an email kiosk (4 kiosks), to use a microwave (4 microwaves) or to grab one of the nine tables, all available for 350 prisoners. The old Jackson prison might have been called "the Big House," but as I look around all I see is a madhouse.