Observing the Dehumanization of Prisoners in Crisis

 Sleep deprivation, bright lights, nakedness, exposure, and isolation. You might think of these as devices of torture used by various countries (including the U.S.) in military situations. And so they are. But they are also used by the Michigan Department of Corrections to deal with "difficult" prisoners. 

When a Michigan prisoner threatens self-harm, has a medical emergency that requires monitoring, or has a mental health crisis, the Department puts that prisoner on observation. Sometimes, observation is even used as a punishment for threatening behaviors. The prisoner is stripped naked, given a quilted smock with velcro, and placed in an isolation cell. The cell has cameras, and the lights are bright and left on 24 hours a day. 

At SMT, the "isolation cells" are in my housing unit where hundreds of prisoners walk by, ogling the isolated prisoner throughout the day. The isolated prisoner is able to communicate with other prisoners by shouting through the grated bars, but there is no privacy, even when the prisoner needs to use the bathroom. Because the isolated prisoners are allowed to keep nothing in their cell, they even must ask for toilet paper if needed. 

These prisoners are denied showers, deodorant, and even soap to wash their hands, for sometimes a week or more. They must wear the same smock until they are released from observation. They are also allowed one quilted blanket (no pillow), and no socks or underwear, even in the coldest months of the year. When our housing unit lost heat and other prisoners were issued extra wool blankets, prisoners on observation received one extra quilted blanket. They continued to have to sleep on a bare plastic mattress.

Prior to about a decade ago, prisoners on observation were observed by corrections officers who sat outside their cell, monitoring their every movement. Most of the time, officers were paid overtime to sit with these prisoners, and it cost the state "too much" money. 

To save money (and thereby allow expansion and extension of the observation program), prisoners were trained as "Observation Aides" and paid $3.34 for a three hour observation period (less than 3% of what it would cost to pay an officer for the same time period). The training consists of a one hour class that focuses on the technical aspects of observation. These prisoners are allowed to talk to the observed prisoner, but they are discouraged from offering advice or "counseling" the prisoner in any way. 

Most Prisoner Observation Aides (POAs), as they are called, will engage the observed prisoner in conversation if prompted, but few try to initiate interaction with these prisoners. Their training provides no focus on therapeutic engagement. The goal is simply observing the prisoner to prevent self-harm. 

When medical staff check in with these prisoners, usually twice a day, the check in involves the following (often after waking the prisoner): 
"[Prisoner Last Name]. Do you feel like harming yourself or others?" (The answer is almost always, "no.") "Okay. Here's your medication." A psychologist will then check in with the prisoner every few days. Only a psych can release the prisoner from observation.

I fail to see how placing a suicidal prisoner in isolation is therapeutic in any way. Isolation, sleep deprivation, light torture, and the shame of exposure would make most prisoners feel MORE suicidal, not less! I get that some of these prisoners simply need a little time to get through their difficult thoughts, but these conditions are dehumanizing, and they certainly don't encourage a person to have hope. 

But, since prisoners are seen as commodities, numbers, and not as people with dignity, it doesn't surprise me that we are treated in such dehumanizing ways. Prisons are full of people with mental health issues, since Michigan closed most of its mental hospitals decades ago. Furthermore, prison is a hopeless and terribly depressing environment, so the stream of prisoners "needing observation" never ends. We could, and we should do better.