Certainly, administrators who set prison policies must create environments that are safe for both staff and the prisoners. Clearly, controls have a place. In order for corrections to occur, however, administrators would need to augment the oppressive controls with mechanisms through which prisoners may work to redeem themselves. That fundamental flaw of denying prisoners a sense of their own efficacy leads to the type of perpetuating failure Congress described through its passage of The Second Chance Act.

Through that legislation, Congress found that prisons produce recidivism rates that our enlightened society cannot accept. In the Pew Report, research showed that prison expenditures are misspent. My experience of having been locked in prisons of every security level convinces me that administrators can lower operating costs, reduce recidivism rates, and create environments where guards can correct.

M. Browning, a criminal justice major, asked me questions about how I could expect guards to make the leap to correctional officers when security of the institution remained the top priority. My position requires a broader perspective. Those who lead the prison, the top administrators, need to think about more than protecting the institution. As professionals in “corrections,” they have a responsibility to protect society. To me, that means establishing policies that lower recidivism rates. It means creating environments that would help more offenders emerge as law-abiding citizens.

A small portion of prisoners need total control. They have proven themselves unwilling or incapable of living in our society. Administrators have the power and the discretion to isolate those offenders. An overuse of oppressive policies, on the other hand, extinguishes hope among the prisoners who might otherwise be receptive to reform and corrections. My contention is that by implementing prison reforms that would allow prisoners to earn graduating increases in freedom through merit, administrators would create an environment for corrections to take place. In so doing, they would contribute to lower recidivism rates and safer communities.

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In the parlance of the penitentiary, we generally understand an inmate as one who becomes a little bit too closely aligned with the institution and its rules. Inmates are quick to engage in conversation with staff members. It seems as if inmates suffer a bit from the Stockholm Syndrome, where they identify more with their captors than with others who share their captivity.

While I was confined in one penitentiary, for example, violence erupted with regularity. Alarm messages from control center went out to each guard’s radio. Upon hearing of the disturbance, the officers deserted their assigned posts to run as a pack toward the altercation. Those of us in prison saw the guards running from one area of the massive penitentiary to another several times each day.

Convicts and inmates would differ in their thoughts as they watched packs of guards running in the same direction. A common convict expression went along the lines of “please let them find a dead body.” While an inmate once confided to me, on the other hand, that he felt torn because he wanted to run with the guards to lend a hand.

Being a model inmate does not necessarily imply that he deliberately informs or “rats” on other prisoners to save himself. Yet inmates are known to “dry snitch” on activities rather than confront problems directly.

For example, inmates who don’t like another prisoner for one reason or another may send an anonymous note to staff members that describe misconduct or contraband hustles of the rival. Inmates who toady up to staff may inadvertently describe how hard they work while letting it slip that other prisoners on the detail don’t work hard enough.

The inmate strives to advance his standing by engaging in small talk with staff members. Inmates inquire about the staff member’s home life, chat about sports, show photographs of family members from home. The inmates are, in the eyes of administrators, the element they can count on within the penitentiary. Inmates don’t make waves and they help maintain order.

Convicts differ from inmates. Convicts may abide by the rules, but only because they want to avoid additional aggravations or frustrations. Yet if he believes breaking a rule would be in his interest, he will make his choice and live with the consequences. A convict would never cooperate with a staff member in some kind of diabolical deal to spare himself. Convicts have an air of defiance. He may suppress that defiance, though he feels it coursing through his veins.

A convict would never engage in small talk with a staff member. Convicts do not ask how the staff member passed his weekend, does not ask whether the staff member caught the game on television. A convict believes in the clear separation between those who walk around with rings of clattering keys, and those locked inside the boundaries. Convicts do not share food or photographs with staff members; they understand that staff members represent the institution. It is staff members who rifle through the property of prisoners. It is staff members who order the prisoners to strip naked for a body search. It is staff members who lock prisoners in segregation and cut off access to their family.

Upon reading these distinctions between the inmate and the convict, those who live outside the twisted world of the penitentiary may find themselves surprised as to which is a term of respect and which is a term of derision.

Administrators look upon those within prison boundaries as criminals. To some extent, staff members believe prisoners unworthy of the common humanity we all share. Prisoners are numbers to be counted and managed, as if inventory in a warehouse, or animals in a menagerie, incapable of redemption, not deserving of trust.

Staff members expect the inmate to whine, to tattle, to shift blame and play the victim. Inmates feel certain that others may belong in prison, yet in their personal situations, injustice prevailed. Although staff members may exploit the weakness in the inmate’s utter lack of character, neither bonds of genuine respect nor respect exist.

The convict may not receive the perks that inmates take for granted from staff members, yet the convict may earn respect. Provided the convict is not engaged in or suspected of wrongdoing, staff members will refrain from petty harassment or patronizing conversations. Staff members and convicts alike understand that a clear line exists. Provided no problems erupt, both parties stay on their side and strive to minimize interference with the customs or beliefs of the others.

After my more than 21 years of continuous imprisonment, some ask whether I identify as a convict or an inmate. The answer, for me, is neither. I am not beholden to any group within these boundaries that separate me. I am a man, a being of dignity and honor. I am an American, a citizen with allegiance to my wife and family. I reject both labels of convict and inmate, as I continue this odyssey, this long and arduous journey home. I describe more of that journey in My Literary Escape From Punishment.

The post Prison Culture: Are You a Convict or an Inmate? appeared first on Prison News Blog.

To reduce violence in prisons, administrators ought to consider modifying the infrastructure – the rules by which they are governed. Instead of simply threatening prisoners with additional sanctions and punishments, they ought to rely on incentives that motivate those in prison to embrace the principles of good citizenship, even in the community of the confined.

When I was confined in a medium-security prison known as FCI McKean, in Pennsylvania, the warden implemented progressive leadership techniques. Although prisoners were serving lengthy sentences, some without release dates, the warden was a firm believer in the use of incentives. Wardens do not have the authority to change release dates, yet they do set the policies by which prisoners live. At FCI McKean, Warden Dennis Luther offered numerous incentives that prisoners could work toward earning. For example, he allowed those prisoners who kept their disciplinary records clean to choose their housing unit so they could live with like-minded individuals. Those who preferred a quiet atmosphere could share the same space while those who passed time playing table games could live together. That was a big deal, enabling prisoners to have some control over their lives.

There were many other incentives Warden Luther used to inspire good behavior. Those incentives did not come at taxpayer expense. For example, he allowed prisoners to earn the right to purchase food from local restaurants on occasion; he allowed prisoners to earn the right to purchase athletic apparel from local stores rather than from the limited selection of prison commissaries; he allowed prisoners to earn the right to watch videos or listen to cassette recordings of music; he allowed prisoners to earn the right to additional visiting and telephone privileges.

As a consequence of Warden Luther’s progressive policies, prisoners with long histories of violence got along. Instead of challenging the system or causing disturbances, they worked to earn the additional freedoms and privileges that were available. His leadership led to success as measured by the prison system’s own metrics: lower incidents of violence, no suicides, no escape attempts.

Warden Luther retired in 1995. The new warden eliminated Warden Luther’s progressive management techniques and reverted to oppressive practices. Within six months of the administrative changes, a riot broke out that caused more than a million dollars in damages. I wrote about my experiences of confinement under Luther in articles available at www.criminal-indictment.com. They convince me that incentives are effective.

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In prison, however, educational pursuits have little influence over a man’s status. The prisons where I served my first decade were violent. Earning respect required an individual to instill fear in other men. A college degree would not yield much respect, but a man who was skillful in using a knife might win the privilege of a single cell. If a person was able to control a prison gang, others might pay homage to him. Such distinctions seemed trivial to me. I knew that I would walk out of prison gates one day, and I focused exclusively on steps I could take to prepare for the challenges I expected to face.

Later, as I served more time, I found that I developed a kind of seniority. Prisoners respect those who have served lengthy periods with dignity intact. Now I have more than 21 years of prison behind me. That length of time gives me the unwelcome distinction of being the prisoner with the most time in at my prison. Wherever administrators send me, I will be in the top two percent of prisoners with continuous time inside.

The crime for which I am serving my sentence may not offer me much distinction in prison. The length of time I have served is what seems to matter. More than the time, however, would be the blessings I have found since my sentence began. Prisoners admire me because I have published several books and because I have created a life for myself while serving a lengthy sentence. Despite the limitations of confinement, I have resources in the world, employment opportunities that await me, an extensive network of support, and an extraordinary marriage with an exceptionally beautiful woman who married me in a prison visiting room.

Other prisoners would like to serve time in the way that I have, as my life surpasses that of most long-term prisoners. Anyone who makes the adjustment choices that I made can prepare for release and find meaning. I describe strategies that helped me in articles available at www.criminal-indictment.com.

The post Does Writing Influence My Status in Prison? appeared first on Prison News Blog.

As one moves higher in security level, on the other hand, the relationship between staff and inmates becomes much more antagonistic. Guards, who prefer to be referred to as officers, seem much more concerned with citing prisoners with disciplinary infractions. Prisoners feel as though they are being invaded, or that their sense of manhood is constantly being violated. That leads to a hostile atmosphere. The higher the level of security, the more it becomes understood that prisoners and staff members have nothing in common. Those prisoners who do cultivate relationships with staff may find themselves targeted by recalcitrant prisoners.

I have always kept a respectful distance from staff members. As a long-term prisoner, I understand that staff members have a job to perform and that they are not interested in me as an individual. They do not support efforts I make to prepare for release; to them I am more of a prisoner than a man. I am always respectful of staff authority. Yet I know that they focus on preserving the security of the institution. Regardless of how friendly they may seem, I know they have the power to disrupt me and my family by transferring me to a prison thousands of miles away. I am respectful, but not cozy with staff.

During the 21 years that I have served, I have known very few altercations of a physical nature between inmates and staff. One of the prisoners with whom I was confined in the penitentiary, killed a guard with a hammer. I’ve known a few others who punched a guard. Yet those altercations were rare, as all prisoners knew that severe consequences followed any inmate assault on staff.

Most prisoners understand and respect the job that staff members have to perform. They accept a high degree of mistrust and cynicism from the staff. Yet it is not unusual for prisoners to serve many years without altercations or confrontation with staff. There are frustrations, of course, but frustration is part of living with others, in or out of prison.

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Protective custody is simply the Special Housing Unit (SHU), otherwise known as “the hole.” It is a locked cell that is stripped of all liberties. Inmates who serve time in PC do not enjoy free access to telephones, recreation, or the library. They spend all of their time locked in a tiny cell, usually with another PC inmate. It is a difficult way to serve time, even though the PC inmate is separated from the general population of the prison.

I’ve served time in prisons of every security level. For the past five years I’ve been held within the boundaries of various minimum-security camps. Prior to 2003, however, I was held inside secure prisons. Those fences contained considerable amounts of predatory offenders, and violence was an ordinary and unremarkable aspect of every day. The higher the security level, the more prevalence was bloodshed. Some inmates sought protection from the violence by going into protective custody.

Inmates who approach an officer and ask for protection will meet with a lieutenant and explain the reasons why he feels threatened. Sometimes the inmate will provide the lieutenant with the names of prisoners who are threatening him, but other times the inmate will feel threatened by entire groups of inmates and will not be able to specify a single individual. The lieutenant will make a decision of whether to admit the prisoner into protective custody.

Rumors spread in the prison as quickly as a gasoline fire. Guards talk to inmates. Besides that, the SHU has a daily turnover, with some prisoners going in and other prisoners returning to the general population. In a specific wing of the SHU, word spreads from one cell to another about who is locked inside the cells. News spreads through the SHU, and those released back into the general population then carry that news with them.

Despite serving time in prisons of every security level, I’ve never sought protection from staff members or from other inmates. Instead, I’ve found it best understand the dangers of my environment, and choose my activities and associates carefully. I adjusted in ways to ensure that I would reach my goals while simultaneously avoiding problems with others. I do not expect staff members to protect me. Although PC is an option that some inmates choose, it is not one that I would encourage because such a choice can bring retaliation from prisoners who consider PC inmates the same as snitches. It is better, my experience suggests, to adjust in ways that avoid problems.

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Many people in society have heard the stereotypical myths regarding prison life. Today’s reality television depicts chaotic environments where violence prevails. I lived for years in such environments. My imprisonment began more than 21 years ago, and during that time, I’ve learned a lot about living in prison.

My experience has been that prisons extinguish hope. Rather than governing through the promise of incentives, prison administrators rely exclusively on the threat of punishments. People who live inside prisons have no mechanism through which they can work toward redemption. Although numerous classification techniques exist to measure bad behavior and to raise a prisoner’s security level, there are no paths a prisoner can pursue to improve his classification. The only way to reduce his security classification is to avoid trouble while watching calendar pages turn. That is a problem in the system because it fails to motivate people. Rather than striving to reconcile with society and preparing to emerge as contributing citizens, many prisoners focus on enhancing their power structure while living in the abnormal world of prison.

Prison rapists do not consider themselves gay. They may refer to their prey as “bitches,” “punks,” or other pejorative names. Yet their primary motivation is to cultivate a reputation as being powerful and feared. They demean those whom they “turn out,” and in no way respect them as a man may respect a woman. The victim is referred to as a female, though gender is not so much a factor. The victim is really dehumanized and demoralized.

When a rapist develops his reputation, he may continue to engage in sexual relationships with other males, yet the rapist never considers himself gay. To him, being gay is equivalent to being a sissy. Prisoners who were strictly heterosexual in the real world may engage in sexual acts with other males in prison without raping them, yet many of them also deny that they are gay. All homosexual activity in prison is considered a weakness within the general population, as prisoners are notoriously intolerant.

Administrators could lessen the perils of prison atmospheres if they were to govern these institutions more like America, where people can advance their standing through merit and good deeds. As long as prisons extinguish hope, they will continue to breed failure and hostility.

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In higher security prisons, I always felt a tension in the air. Prisoners were locked inside two-man cells. At 6:00 each morning, guards walked around to unlock the steel doors of the prisoner rooms. Those who had experience of living in such environments were already awake, with shoes laced up and alert attitudes. Every man understood that violence, organized or otherwise, could erupt without prior notice. No one wanted to feel caught off guard.

High-security prisoners did not focus on the lives they wanted to lead following release. Many did not expect that release would ever come; prisons were the last stop for them. Such men consider their prison reputations to be of the utmost importance. No one wanted to be perceived as weak, as weak men were vulnerable to prison predators. Accordingly, prisoners in the penitentiary cheered for the killers in movies. They walked by indifferently while others were being stabbed or beaten. When officers asked for any type of assistance, the prisoners showed zero interest in helping. They considered themselves oppressed by a system of injustice, and they were not inclined to work toward redemption.

I’ve written extensively about prison life in my books and for publication on criminal-indictment.com. Those writings detail the complexities of living in confinement. My observations over the past 21 years persuade me that prison administrators have very little interest in creating environments that prepare or encourage offenders to think about the challenges they will face upon release. All resources focus on preserving security within the institution.

That myopic approach to management, however, leads to environments that seethe with hostility and create vicious mentalities. High recidivism rates, I believe, make the failure of “corrections” quite clear, yet prisons succeed brilliantly at warehousing humanity and perpetuating the cycle of failure.

To improve prisons, to make them safer for both staff and inmates, prison administrators and government legislators ought to implement programs that would encourage inmates to work toward leading contributory lives. The negativity that pervades every high security prison, from my perspective, breeds failure and inhumanity.

Besides hope, prisoners need clearly defined paths to reconcile for their past convictions.

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One reader of the book wrote to ask how such a sexual orgy was possible in a high security prison. The reader felt as though someone should have been on patrol to help the weaker prisoners. She questioned how prisoners could get away with such behavior in a high-security prison.

High security prisons are dangerous places. They are dangerous because more than 1,000 prisoners are locked inside concrete and steel human warehouses, and administrative policies extinguish hope for the men inside. Administrators rely on surveillance cameras, metal detectors, locked gates and doors, as well as correctional officers to maintain security in the penitentiary. Yet the prisoners are locked inside the institutions for years, or even decades at a time. They know where the blind spots are. They know when the officers will make rounds and the prisoners develop a sense of who is weak and vulnerable. Like any predator, they can spot the easy prey.

Prison policy makers can post memorandums that encourage weak inmates to seek assistance from staff. Yet those platitudes miss the dynamics of penitentiary life. Prisoners who seek assistance from staff in high-security penitentiaries risk retaliation from those in the prison community who adhere to the tacit convict code. Once a prisoner is saddled with the snitch label, other prisoners will ride him for the duration of his sentence. Prisoners who are forced to serve their sentences in high security prisons should accept a viper pit, and use all of their creativity to persuade administrators that they are worthy candidates for reductions in their classification status.

I served longer than 16 years in higher security prisons before staff members transferred me to minimum-security camp. My disciplined adjustment enabled me to thrive through my prison term and avoid a single altercation with others. Whereas the two victims I described in my book engaged in activities that made them vulnerable, I recognized that the dangerous environment of prison required that I avoid interactions with those who courted trouble. Living a goal-centered adjustment enabled me to prepare for release while simultaneously avoiding problems in prison.

The post Why Can’t Guards Stop Prison Rape? appeared first on Prison News Blog.

The reason my adjustment has progressed so well is that I have always focused on emerging successfully from my prison experience. I knew that I would be serving multiple decades, that I would lose the opportunity to father a child or enjoy the privileges that so many others take for granted. Yet instead of dwelling on what was prohibited because of my prisoner status, I focused my energy on the opportunities I could create. I never expected anything from the prison, and I disciplined myself to avoid or minimize my exposure to altercation.

In my earlier years, while I was confined in higher security prisons, on occasion I had to walk through puddles of blood. I have seen more violence than I would have liked. Yet because of my adjustment decisions, I never struggled through a single altercation with another prisoner or staff member. I kept to myself, always in pursuit of the man that I wanted to become.

As a consequence of working toward very clearly defined goals, I could easily numb myself to the chaos around me. That strategy enabled me to keep a clean disciplinary record. Instead of courting trouble, I lived in constant pursuit of educational credentials, or opportunities that could add meaning and value to the lives of others. By focusing on positive projects, I felt as if I was living with a purpose. That prospect was much more palatable to me than living the shiftless life of prison. Although I have been confined for longer than 21 years, I feel as if my mind has been free. That has made a huge difference.

Administrators responded to my adjustment by transferring me from high-security prisons to medium-security prisons. Then I advanced to low-security prisons, and since 2003 I’ve been serving time in minimum-security camps. I’m currently at Taft Camp, and with fewer than five years remaining to serve. I’m feeling very blessed.

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