Mass Shooting in Maine Exposes Crisis in Mental Health Responses

The night was winding down as we approached the time for lock down. The housing unit was loud as men hollered back and forth with each other, finalizing last minute conversations or negotiations of one type or another. I was down on base, having just finished a few games of Scrabble. 

All of a sudden, another prisoner in my housing unit walked quickly towards one side of our unit. He swung his arms wildly, waving his religious text in one hand and shouting nonsensically at the same time. I tried to discern what he was saying, but it made no sense. He was shouting something about his religion, but it also sounded like he was defending his city (Detroit) and vilifying anyone who challenged either his religion or city. 

I looked around in confusion, asking a few people what was happening. The man was known in our unit as being loud and obnoxious, and even a little aggressive, but it appeared like he was experiencing a mental break. Nobody seemed to know what he was hollering about. 

I heard some other prisoners laughing and making cruel comments about the man, but everyone stayed out of his way. Even the officers, who would normally quickly respond to such a situation, stayed in the office. They had to have heard what was happening. 

The next day, the same man, still erratic and over hyper, approached a nurse who came to pass out medication to the men in segregation. I heard him aggressively demand that the nurse tell his psych he needed to see her. The nurse looked scared as officers were again absent. 

Later, the man was placed on suicide watch by his psychologist where he shouted, punched his mat, and threw his dinner food for over an hour before calming down. He was clearly experiencing a mental health crisis. 

What disturbed me about this whole situation was the lack of response by correctional officers. Yet, I don't really blame them. For more than two years now, corrections officers have been mandated to work overtime so much that I don't understand how they can possibly have a life outside of work, let alone respond appropriately to prison crises. They are stretched so thin, when crises like this happen, they sometimes stay out of the way, hoping the situation will resolve itself. 

We've seen the same overtaxing of healthcare, law enforcement, and mental health specialists outside of prison. Too many people don't want to work, yet the problems don't stop or slow down just because the workforce is short. 

I don't know if Robert Card, the man in Maine who just took the lives of at least 16 people, faced the same apathy to his mental health crises. Perhaps he, too, faced a system woefully short of people and resources. He was known to have violent and aggressive behavior and a mental health issue, but he still had access to assault rifles. He didn't get the help he needed to prevent him from harming others. I can only hope he's caught before he kills any more people.

Our country is in crisis, but it shouldn't take a mass casualty event like the one in Maine to galvanize people into doing something. I'm afraid even this tragedy won't cause any changes. Others like it haven't been enough. 

It makes me worry about what crises will finally cause changes in our prison system. The current situation is untenable as officers are quitting faster than the department can replace them. And those who stay face their own mental health crises from being forced to work so many hours. It's not only prisoners who are at risk of losing their minds.

We as a society cannot continue to hold onto our old ways of thinking and expect different results. That's insanity. We need a total rethinking of America's mental health crisis, and we need a total rethinking of America's dependency on incarceration as a solution to every problem. 

Man Down! Prisoner Crisis Causes Conflict of Emotions

 This morning, a little more of my humanity died. Every time we prisoners suffer indignities from prison staff or other prisoners, or if we are forced to not act when we see someone in crisis, it strips more of our humanity. 

Early this morning, I was sitting on my bed writing, listening to music when I heard a loud thump and felt the gallery shake a little. I removed an earbud from my ear so I could hear the unit noise and determine if something serious was happening. 

"C.O.! C.O.! HELP! FIRST GALLERY!!" I heard several prisoners shout.

I jumped up and looked out my door to see a neighbor a few doors down lying face up on the ground in front of his cell. His head was hanging off the gallery, and he appeared to be passed out. 

I rushed over to him, as I was the only one close to him at the time. At first, he appeared to not be breathing, and I could see blood dripping rather quickly off the back of his head. Then, relieved, I saw his chest move. My EMT training from years ago kicked in, and I shouted his name, asking if he was okay. He was unresponsive to my call. 

Everything in me wanted to support his neck and head, to use a washcloth in his hands to staunch his bleeding. But I could hear the officers running towards us on the gallery, and I knew I would probably get in trouble if I touched him. I had to step back and wait for the staff to help him. 

I was appalled to see the first officer who arrived grasp the other prisoner by his feet and drag him back so his head was no longer hanging over the gallery. The officer didn't support his head in any way or protect his head from further injury. Clearly, the officer had not even the simplest training in first aid. 

As the officers took charge of the situation, I had to leave the area. Soon, the whole housing unit was closed as the officers and medical staff (who had arrived after several minutes) waited for the ambulance to arrive. 

The prisoner, who had apparently passed out, is a man around eighty years old whom I had befriended. He is new to prison, has no financial support, little family support, and has no clue how things operate in prison. Lately, he'd been feeling sick, so I'd been checking up on him and making sure he had tea and cough drops. Apparently, he was feeling worse than he let on. 

As he left the unit in a stretcher, I was able to give him a thumbs up, and he nodded to me. Hopefully he'll be well cared for in the hospital and be okay to finish out his short sentence. I know he's looking forward to going to live with his daughter when he leaves here. I don't know if anyone in his family even knows what happened to him today. 

My compassion for people like this old man is alive and well, but when I am unable to assist someone in need, especially when I have the training to do so, it steals something from my soul. I hope the freedom I'll have after I leave prison to choose how I respond to people in need will restore some of what I've lost in prison.

Michigan Prisoners Prepare for Careers with Mock Job Interviews

Another prisoner stands in the hallway, tucking his shirt in and readying himself before nervously entering the room. He strides in and extends his hand, gripping my hand firmly and introducing himself with his first name. I can tell he's been listening to my instructions. 

"How're you doing? I'm Bill," he says in greeting. 

I shake his hand with a smile and reply, "I'm Bryan. Thanks for coming in. Please, have a seat." 

We sit in plastic chairs across from each other, just five feet apart. He sits upright, plants his feet in front of him, and folds his hands on his lap. I can tell he's self-conscious of his hands, trying to avoid displaying signs of stress. He's struggling to appear relaxed, but naturally he's nervous. I'm conducting this mock job interview in front of other prisoners, and he knows at the end he will receive constructive criticism on what he did well and how to improve. 

Over the course of two days I have instructed these prisoners on the etiquette of job interviews. We covered basics, like finding a job, showing up on time, dressing appropriately, using appropriate language, and listening to what the interviewer really wants to know. We also cover basics of paralinguistics, the science of body language. It's not an exact science, but it's important for prisoners to know how and what their body communicates, especially since ex-cons are often thought of as aggressive. 

Teaching prisoners how to conduct productive job interviews, for me, is not just about teaching them the science of interviewing. It's also an opportunity for me to help other prisoners think deeply about themselves and how they think about and speak about their criminal past. I emphasize honesty and accountability throughout, a focus I also encourage them to take to their parole board interviews. 

As prisoners, we face large obstacles upon release from prison, whether it is obtaining employment or even finding housing that does not discriminate against criminal histories. My goal is to help other prisoners talk honestly about their histories and to learn how to articulate turning points and other strengths they have, despite their prior record. I call it "best foot forward opportunities." 

"Tell me a little about yourself," I say to Bill. It's a pretty straightforward question meant to relax the interviewee, but it stumbles a lot of prisoners. Some sound like they are writing a description for a dating app, while others key in on the real question: Who are you and will you be a good fit for this company? 

Bill stumbles through a brief introduction, settles in a bit, and does surprisingly well throughout the rest of the practice interview. I can see his confidence grow and his comfort rise as he finds himself doing better than he expected. 

After the interview, I ask Bill how he thinks he did, what he did well and what he can improve. Most prisoners are aware of their stumbles and areas they need to improve on. Not many talk about their strengths. When I ask the other prisoners, though, most start by saying something encouraging. 

"You did a great job!" or "I liked how you managed your body language." 

Occasionally, a prisoner forgets the positive part of constructive feedback and unleashes with negative feedback. It happens rarely, though. Most are afraid of the feedback they'll face, so they are encouraging, though honest. 

After five or six different practice interviews, we wrap up the class for the morning. 

"Great job, guys! I'm proud of you for having the courage to get up here and try. It's better to make your mistakes in here so you're even better prepared for the real thing. I appreciate all your feedback for each other. Good luck on your first interview."

The guys are gathering their things to leave when one raises his hand and asks, "So, would you hire us?" 

I smile at his question. 

"Yeah, of course!" I reply "Most of you anyway..." I leave my reply hanging for a second, and then teasingly add, "except for maybe you." 

He laughs good naturedly knowing I'm simply teasing. 

I leave, hoping the other prisoners found the information and exercise helpful. It feels great to use some of my previous business experience to help others find their own way to success. It feels great to know that I might have even a little part in helping these men turn the pages in their lives to something positive, productive, and different than their pasts. 

How a Simple Smile Can Go a Long Way in Prison

 

Recently, as I descended a stairway in my housing unit, a staff member waited for me to pass before ascending. As I walked past and excused myself, this staff member looked me in the eyes, smiled, and asked, "How're you doing?"  I responded with a smile and said, "Good, thank you," and made my way past. But, I'm still thinking about this encounter, several days later. It was such a simple, unremarkable encounter--except it was wasn't so unremarkable.  I have been incarcerated now for fourteen and a half years. During that time, I have been nothing more than a number and a file of information to most staff members. Of course, there have been and still are exceptions. When staff members get to know me, most are cordial enough, and a few are at least superficially friendly and conversational.   However, it's rare when a staff member I have never spoken to treats me like a human being. I am a number, a statistic, and a prison commodity they have to house, secure, and occasionally engage with. Rarely am I a person with hopes, dreams, and dignity.  It strikes me as incredibly sad and troubling that a simple human gesture like smiling and engaging in pleasantries should be so remarkable. I'm realizing how starved I am for basic human relationship norms. Of course, I experience these things with other prisoners, but it feels profoundly different coming from a person in authority. I've been conditioned to feel less than human to them.  I also recognize that I have been conditioned to keep staff members and officers at arms length. There's some wisdom in that practice given the power imbalance between us, but it takes something away from my humanity too. It creates suspicion and erects barriers.  No relationships in prison are "normal," whether due to the power imbalance between staff and prisoners or due to the transience of prisoner relationships. But it's remarkable to me how such a little thing as a smile and a pleasantry can have such a profound impact.  So, put down your phone, look around you, and find someone to smile and greet warmly. You never know how much of a difference it can make.

Prisoner Fears Consequences of His Prison Behavior

"It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt."

I'm not sure where that saying originated, but it couldn't be more true than in prison. Prison is not a playground in any way, despite society's perception that we're in here just playing games all day. Yes, we can play chess, checkers, cards, or other games, and some do more than others. But prison is also not a place to just let loose and have fun. 

Some prisoners have not learned this important lesson, and they play too much. They joke around, play around, aren't serious when they need to be...and it comes back to bite them. They joke with the wrong person and get punched, or they treat rules like they don't apply to them and get punished. 

This weekend, I heard a prisoner who is in segregation bemoaning his lot. He is in the "hole" pending transfer to a higher security level. He's not a dangerous prisoner, but he doesn't think the rules apply to him. He earns a misconduct but refuses to do his sanctions (loss of privileges, including yard time). As a result, he earns another ticket for violating his sanctions. He continues this cycle, over and over, stacking up misconducts, all for small infractions. But his intractability became a problem for staff. 

Now, this prisoner is about to ship out to a level four prison, where the daily dangers he will face, especially as a skinny, young white guy, will multiply exponentially. Yet, he's trying to convince himself that if he just "mean mugs" other prisoners (acts tough), they'll leave him alone. Sadly, he's in for a rude awakening. 

The reality is that this prisoner is likely to draw more attention to himself by acting tough, but he has already proven he doesn't have the social awareness or maturity to know how to navigate prison. What translates now into lack of concern for prison rules will show up as lack of concern for his bunkie and prisoner-enforced "rules." Misconduct tickets will be the least of his concern. 

Unfortunately, some prisoners require a significant wake up call to begin changing their behavior. For some of us, simply coming to prison was enough of a wake up call. The shock of loss and separation from all we love jolted us into changing our direction. Others, like this young prisoner, require a bit more persuasion. 

I wish that I had listened to the many warning signs and corrections God was giving me so I didn't end up in prison, but apparently I was as hard-headed as this young prisoner. I'm grateful that God has not removed His grace from my life but has, instead, turned me away from my foolishness and pointed me in the right direction. Life is too precious to waste, locked away from those I love.