New “old way” to do things

Ms. S, a petite 40-something black woman, walked in our building Wednesday and announced “I am your unit manager.  Everything that happens in the building goes through me.”  Unit manager?  The old heads just laughed.  “We had unit managers in the 70’s and the 90’s”, they said.

Why is it that Virginia keeps recycling the same tired, unsuccessful ideas from the past?  They didn’t work then, they won’t work now.

As I’ve written before, Governor McDonnell and DOC Director Clarke must get creative and daring in dealing with prisons.

Two good places to start are with the recommendations expressed by “Right on Crime” a conservative think tank with support from the likes of Newt Gingrich, Ed Meese and Grover Norquist.  Longer sentences don’t work.  Reinstituting tired ideas like “unit managers” in prison buildings won’t work.  Real prison reform is needed. 

Then there is research by Professor Philip Cook of Duke and Jens Ludwig of Chicago whose research on controlling crime through reducing prison sentences is both cost effective and innovative.

It’s time for Virginia to get some new ideas in corrections.

A "Divine" Week

Merriam Webster’s College Dictionary defines “divine” two ways:  “of, or proceeding from God;” and “to discover by intuition or insight.”  This past week both those definitions came to mind as I watched and lived through another week of prison.

It all started typically enough.  I was at a visit last Saturday when a young guy from the college building asked to introduce me to his folks.  He goes by the name “Divine”.  He is an extremely lean, muscular black man, just 23, soft spoken and very polite.  He always calls me sir as in “sir, would you have time to read my essay?”  I like him (but, my friends in here will tell you I like most everyone).

Divine is a very bright kid and he writes beautifully.  He’s one of the young guys I really enjoy helping.  So, we completed count in the “VI” room and Divine said “sir, I’d like to introduce you to my folks.”  I’ve had that happen a couple of dozen times in my stay here.  That, or guys I work with in school will introduce themselves to my folks or friends at visit.  We walk over and there is this older, well-dressed black couple sitting at a small table (dad in a suit; mom in a dress; late 60’s).  Divine introduced me to them and said “this is the man who’s taught me to write.”  His mother and father hop up and shake my hand.  His mom tells me they’ve known their son was blessed when he got here.  A devoutly religious couple, she added “we prayed he’d meet someone who would befriend him and urge him to be his best.  He’s told us how you work with the young men.  Thank you.”

I was speechless.  All that afternoon I thought here I am a felon, an inmate and somehow I made a difference in this kid’s life.  All the prayers I’d uttered about giving me a chance and I realized I was, in fact, living my chance.  I made a difference in a kid’s life and his parents now have hope.  It was, a humbling insightful moment.

Two days later another A+ certification test was held.  Seven of nine students passed.  The two who didn’t were mere points from passing.  “Mouse”, one of the guys I spend hours with each week honing his English skills, came back from class Tuesday night with an “A” on his paper he’d written about Langston Hughes.  We spent two afternoons reading and re-reading poems and then, suddenly it clicked.  Like a light switch turning on Mouse’s face, he lit up as he got what Hughes was saying.

And then, Thursday the GED was given.  I had two guys sit for the test and those two guys passed.  I’ve been thinking a good deal about unanswered prayers.  We pray about something, it doesn’t occur immediately and we assume God’s not listening.  We forget all the times in our past when our kids were sick, or we’d lost a job, or we were on the brink of divorce.  Somehow God always answered, always saw us through the difficulties we faced.

I have said “but” a great number of times these past three years.  I realized there’s no “but” in “trust in the Lord with all your heart”.  The strange thing is I think I’ve known that all along.  Faith is all about the future.  You believe because your past proves prayers are answered.  A lot of good news came out for the college guys this week and for the GED students.  It reminded me that in any situation good can come.  Remembering that was divine. 

Birthdays, College Acceptances and Homecoming

This was an interesting week.  A few milestones were met for a couple of guys.  Thanksgiving came and went.  It’s never easy celebrating a holiday in here.  You get used to it – at least you tell yourself that – and you spend your day keeping busy so you don’t get overwhelmed with memories.

Two of the guys I’m very close to celebrated birthdays on the same day.  Craig, one of the college aides, the guy we call “the Dean” (because he’s the inmate contact to the college) turned 40.  He’s spent seven birthdays locked up; he has five more to go.  He tried to keep it quiet, didn’t want anyone to know; big mistake.  Most days, after noon count when one of the guys is ticked at an officer a tradition has developed.  We’re standing silently as the COs confirm the number and the offended guy will yell out “4A, give it up for ____.”  The building erupts with everyone shouting “F--- ____!”  Laughter then ensues.

So we’re standing, waiting, and I yell out “4A, give it up for the dean’s 40^th birthday”.  And, well you know the response, followed by cheers and real birthday wishes.  Craig – beet red just looked at me and said “I’m gonna kill you!”

My young sidekick Mike turned 34 the same day.  Mike’s been in prison since he was fifteen; nineteen years incarcerated.  He comes up for parole every year and is denied (“serious nature of the crime”.  He stabbed a man to death).  Mike has an exemplary record as an inmate, but murder, well he probably won’t get out before his mandatory parole release date which, ironically, is 30 days before my own scheduled release date.  I always tell Mike I’m pulling for him to make early parole because I’m assured of getting out a month later!

I can’t imagine doing “this” at fifteen.  He was kept at a juvenile center until 17, then shipped to “real prison”.  Back then, DOC operated a facility called Southampton.  It was for young, violent offenders:  age 17 to 30.  And, it was a zoo.  A good number of the guys I know here who are mid-thirties to 40 and who’ve been “down” 15 to 20 years started at Southampton.  Southampton was known for stabbings, rapes and drugs.  Chaos ruled.  Somehow, this quiet, tall white kid avoided it all.  He stayed to himself, avoided being a victim, avoided the gang flare ups between the Aryans and the blacks, and he got his level lowered to Lunenburg. 

When I first met Mike he was painfully quiet.  Introverted was defined by “see Mike”.  But, Craig and I saw he was bright – very bright – and we convinced him to come work in my classroom.  And, as is my habit, I talked to him (I talk to everybody).  Mike started talking.  I’ve turned him into a regular chatterbox!  He’s a great tutor, well-read, a “Seinfeld” fan, and I can count on him to hit the occasional “that’s what she said”, when needed.  Nineteen birthdays in prison; nine more to go.  He came in a teenager; he’ll head out in his forties.

Two guys who I helped with college applications received letters admitting them.  “Mouse” was notified of acceptance beginning next fall at his local community college.  He’s halfway toward his associates degree which he’ll complete while working toward a degree in culinary arts.  Then there’s Todd.  Another mid-thirties guy.  Did 5 years in Tennessee prisons and another 5 here for dealing drugs.  Todd is one of my favorite students.  He puts his all into his studies and has maintained a 4.0 GPA.  This week he learned he will finish his studies at a four-year state university after his release early next year.  He was one of the few guys who passed the IT “A+ certification” exam.  He’s going to get his degree in information technology.

I’m waiting to hear about five more guys who’ve applied to colleges next year after their release.  Imagine, going to college in here and then being able to complete your studies in a real college setting.  A college education is the number one determiner in breaking the recidivism cycle.  That these guys have a shot is remarkable.

And then there’s Solo.  Our famous “porn king” heads home Monday.  Nine year bid coming to an end.  Solo’s going home to his wife, his two kids, a job (at his family’s restaurant) and college.  Solo looks like Buddha with a bowl haircut.  He was known – back when smoking was permitted – to slow jog around the track with a honeybun in one hand and a cigarette in the other.  Solo always has a smile on his face and hardcore porn in his pocket.  He’s completed his sentence – nine years for selling powder cocaine (the deal went bad, he was stabbed in the arm severing a major artery.  He was arrested at the hospital once the police realized he wasn’t going to bleed to death).  Solo will spend Christmas with his family.  His last prison holiday behind him.

And me on Thanksgiving?  I enjoyed my meal and watched football.  Later, I ate some ramen noodles and refried beans.  I drank a ginger ale, laughed with the guys in the building and tried not to think about Thanksgivings before.  As I paused and read my afternoon devotional the words from Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians came to mind:

“Pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks….”

I realized it had been a very good, blessed week.

Pet Peeves

Living in a space the size of a basketball court with 95 other guys takes some getting used to.  The sheer number of bodies compressed into that small a space is bound to generate tension (and odors!).  Troubles – whether in the form of arguments or the occasional throw down – are a natural result of putting men in cramped space with limited mobility and virtually no regular contact with members of the opposite sex.  Privacy is created in one’s own mind (you would be amazed what guys will do in their “private bunks”) and an uneasy “live and let live” attitude develops.  Still, it is a daily battle not to go bonkers over some of the foolish and ignorant behaviors guys in here exhibit.  Here’s my current list of pet peeves.

There are guys who insist on slamming lids:  washing machines, ice maker, commodes.  If it has a lid…bam, just let it drop.  We live in a solid block building with metal everywhere.  It’s not what you would call acoustically well designed.  Any sound reverberates off the walls.  There is a constant hum in the building from the washers and driers with the occasional “beep” of microwave timers and watches.  But the lid guys, they are oblivious to the decibels expended when they just let the washer lid slam.  Almost every day one of those losers will be recipient of “heh a-hole.  Quit droppin’ the lid!”  They can be counted on to retort “What?  I was just checking the wash.”

Noise.  I love days when I head out back to the ball court at noon and there’s no one anywhere.  I hear the birds and the silence, the sweet sound of silence.  The building is always loud.  Foam earplugs, are a regular purchase on commissary day.  But it’s the out of the way noises, the lids that drive guys crazy.

Closely following “lid slamming guy” is “vegetable bag guy”.  Every day is like a farmers market in here.  Whatever fresh fruit or vegetables are served end up back in the building.  Add to that hard boiled eggs, bread, butter, sausages.  If it can be smuggled out of the chow halls it will find its way to the building.  The more the COs pat down and search guys coming out of chow, the more creative guys get with sewing pockets in pants legs and coat backs.  The market for fresh foods is a big dollar business (one of my students “Stoney” is so adept at taking apples that he brought 27 back in his coat at one time and was patted down.  At 2 apples for 1 ramen noodle - 30¢, he makes decent money).

I don’t begrudge the black market.  Fact is, DOC feeds the inmate population nutritionally suspect meals.  Only guys on religious diets are provided fresh produce.  Illness and disease contributed to by poor food are major problems inside prison.  No, I understand why guys steal the veggies.  What drives me nuts is the storage.

Guys use large chip bags to chill their veggies overnight. Every try and pack a crinkled plastic chip bag (think mid-sized “Lays” bag) with ice?  And the bags are notoriously unstable so they fall over and ice and water (because a good number of the men in here still don’t comprehend the science behind melting) go everywhere.  Twice, I’ve found Katrina-like flooding under my locker due to the infamous chip bag collapse.  And, melting ice has to be replaced.  It never fails.  2:00 am some chucklehead decides to repack his ice.  Crinkle, Crinkle, splat (from the water and ice hitting the floor), then slam – ice maker lid.  From around the building then comes the melodic chorus “shut the f--- up!”

How about the guy in the bunk next to me who insists on shaking his package of oatmeal vigorously five times before opening it.  Not six, not three, but five every pack.  And, he’s an angry shaker.  Four times a day (again, not two, not three, everyday four) he huffs and puffs and grunts his way through five oatmeal shakes.

Pet peeves.  We have six guys who don’t wash their hands after using the bathroom.  Six guys who don’t have the sense to use soap and water after defecating.  Imagine seeing one of those six health nuts using the microwave when you’re getting a meal ready.

Then there’s singing guy.  He’s the guy who likes to sing at the top of his lungs.  He knows every rap lyric known (“yo, yo mama, bring me sum sug…”), yet 1) he sings everything off key; 2)  he sings loud;  3)  he lacks basic knowledge on things like balancing a checkbook, reading a lease, you know – silly things that don’t mean anything.   If there was only one singing guy it’d be tolerable; but, Friday evening, 6:00 pm, BET does “freestyle” Friday, a show about ordinary Joes rapping off against each other.  All the singing guys unplug their headphones and crank up the volume and let everyone know what ordinary Joe just spun.  My response?  I’ve been known to breakout a John Denver tune or throw down my own rap.  Last week, I even got two guys (surprisingly, both young rapper wanna be’s) to let loose with “Bohemian Rhapsody” and “Don’t Stop Thinkin’ bout Tomorrow”.  The reaction was initial dead silence followed by laughter and applause and a half-dozen “you’re crazy Larry’s”.

Pet peeves.  We all do things that annoy others.  We all have our own idiosyncrasies that we do in the privacy of our homes.  Here, everything is seen, every quirk, bad habit and annoyance on full display.  And you see the same things, the same behaviors, the same stupid quirks, day in and day out and they begin to gnaw at you.   Eventually some guys snap.  Me?  I get outside, clear my head, meditate, pray and write.

Ironically, little things used to bug the hell out of me.  I’d blow up at petty annoyances on a regular basis.  Perhaps, just perhaps, that’s one of the good things coming out of my stay here.  You have to learn not to sweat the little stuff.

Still, if the grungy six don’t start washing their hands, I may blow a fuse!

Thanksgiving

This week I will spend my fourth Thanksgiving behind bars.  For the first time during those four Thanksgivings I feel relatively happy and very blessed.  That may come as a surprise to some who know me.  Thanksgiving weekend this year would have marked my 30^th wedding anniversary.  My ex-wife and two sons remain in my daily prayers.  Perhaps the divorce was for the best.  Perhaps things are as they should be.  I only know I miss and love them but have reached a point of peace.

No, even in the loneliness, I’m thankful.  God, I’ve realized answers prayers and He’s with us every moment of every day.  The writer, William James said: 

“We stand on a mountain pass.  Be strong and of good courage.  Act for the best, hope for the best, and take what comes…” 

I think William James would understand my prison experience.

Nothing is ever hopeless.  No matter how bad things may appear, there is always hope.  As I ran the other morning, I couldn’t help but think of country singer Tim McGraw’s wonderful ballad “Carry On”.

“Carry on

What don’t kill us,
Makes us strong.
There ain’t no troubles we can’t rise above
With a handful of faith
And a heartful of love.”

I speak for the guys in here, building 4A, “the learning community” when I wish you Happy Thanksgiving.

Officers, Officers Everywhere

A couple of incidents this week involving officers and it reminded me whatever system we may design, it ultimately comes to the people in place to make or break the operation. Prisons are despicable places.  In spite of that, some decent folks work here. Change that.  The majority of officers are decent people doing a low paid, blue collar job.  Even at this level, some danger exists.  Most don’t like having to “watch” or discipline the general population in here.  They want to come to work, do their jobs and go home at the end of their shift.

There are others, however, who let the power go to their heads, who get a warped sense of satisfaction out of humiliating the men in here.  Prison is a time bomb.  You hold a man, confined in small, crowded space, you subject him to indignity upon indignity, deprive him of even basic levels of self-respect and privacy, and it weighs on him.  He gets a letter from his wife or girlfriend, who tells him she’s found another.  Or, his family and friends abandon him, and the hurt, the loneliness fester.  That man doesn’t need a reason to lash out; he already has it.  In the midst of that cauldron of anger and bitterness these officers work.  Most keep things cool.  A few set the fuse and watch the explosion.

In “2” building the other day, Sgt. “H” decided to remove a man’s meal from the microwave.  You never touch someone else’s food unless you’re ok’d by the owner to do it.  We live in a cesspool in here.  96 men jammed into an extremely small space.  Some men use the bathroom without even washing their hands.  Sgt. H is (sorry to be impolite) an a-hole.  He pushes men around, threatening charges.  Awhile ago a minor charge was no big deal.  Now, the warden tries to use any charge as a ground to reduce our already pitiful good time allowance of 4 ½ days per month to 3 (twice I’ve won appeals for guys getting their good time reinstated.  “Due process” – as written by DOC’s own good time procedure doesn’t allow it.  Still the warden arbitrarily takes good time).  Any charge is serious.

So H grabs the inmate’s food out of the microwave and tosses it out.  “Dayroom is closed”, he yells out.  What does the inmate do?  He goes at H, slugs him once or twice.  H, however, is huge.  He body slams the inmate and then chokes him into unconsciousness.  The inmate is hauled out and within hours shipped to level “4” Nottoway.  H remains but “2” building is aroused.  Epithets are yelled nonstop.  Word gets out on “inmate.com” our grapevine.

Could that have been avoided?  Sure.  H acts like he’s just enforcing the rules, but he’s an in your face confrontational clown.  Tick, Tick.  2 building almost explodes. 

We’ve had our own problem:  CO “Barky”.  First issue:  he watches guys in the shower.  This isn’t the first building or first time that issue has come up.  Once, in “3” building, an inmate called him out for staring at him while he slept.  Now, we have Barky with us.  He works overnight and sets himself up with a direct line of sight into the bathroom.  Guys call him out on it calling him every name possible.  Barky gets embarrassed – for getting caught – then announces “I’m writing charges”.  He nitpicks and badgers and pesters and the shouts and profanity grows.

A few mornings ago I had a run in with him.  4:30 am, my prayers completed, I sit in my chair and write until I can shower at 5:15.  I’ve done this every day I’ve been here (two years).  “You can’t be off your bunk until 5:15” he tells me.  I point out: 

1.    I’ve done this for two years;

2.    There are a half dozen Muslims praying at the exact time he’s telling me to get in my bunk;

3.    The rule states “during quiet time (Monday – Thursday 12:00 am – 5:15 am) you must be in, on, or next to your bunk.” 

His response, “get in your bunk or I’ll write you a charge”.  This morning, Barky stopped a Muslim inmate mid-prayer.  The reason?  “You can only pray in your cut.”  Problem is, this building doesn’t face East-West.  It is an overlooked rule.  Tick, Tick.

I lost my verbal cool.  “I’ll get in my bunk.  You quit watchin’ us shower!”  He was shocked!  I knew he wouldn’t write a charge.  He couldn’t take a chance I’d tell the building Sarge what took place.

Last night, Barky struck again.  He tried to get IG (my bunkmate) to take a Muslim brother’s food from the microwave.  IG was sharing the meal, but hadn’t prepared the wrap.  Result?  IG received a “minor” charge:  “failure to obey a direct order”.  Here’s the thing, the “facts” Barky detailed are false.  IG has a meeting with the watch commander today to discuss it.  He can beat the charge, even with the Kangaroo Court system we have here to meet due process requirements on institutional charges.

Guys here in the building are starting to push paper – dropping anonymous notes on Barky demanding he be re-assigned.  Barky is the worst kind of officer you can have on a compound.  His sexual proclivities, his use of charges to harass, all create a stew of mistrust and anger.

This is a tough environment.  There are hundreds of men suffering from severe mental illness; drug and alcohol abuse issues run rampant.  There are strong predators who prey on the weak.  Confinement, isolation, separation lead to exposing the worst in human nature.  Loneliness, bitterness and anger simmer.  The fact there aren’t more violent episodes is a testament to the humanity of many of the men here and the decency of most of the officers and staff.

America’s prison system is a failure.  It accomplishes almost none of the goals it sets.  In the midst of this abject failure, officers like H and Barky grow comfortable.  They make it tougher on the decent ones.   They make it tough to do your time.  They keep the time bomb ticking.

A Day in the Life

A friend I hadn’t seen in over three years came out for a visit the other weekend.  I think he was a little embarrassed at first that it took so long to get the courage to come out here.  But, he sees my ex every week at church and, I think, there is a difficulty for folks dealing with me while she is in their midst.  So, I end up being placed in exile.  I’ve come to accept that.

He asked how I was “doing it.  How do you pass the day, not lose your mind?”  I had to laugh.  If I think too much about what I’ve lost, think too much about my memories of my ex, our kids, holidays, travel, I would go crazy.  Instead, I told him, I focus my attention on what I do in here.  Days roll over to new days, but I keep the same schedule.

What’s a day like in here?  For every guy, it’s different.  There are the disciplined guys, the guys who work, set schedules, seek books and hobbies to keep their minds fresh.  They seek meaning in their confinement, redemption for their lives.

Then, there are the sleepers.  They waste away, sleeping twelve, fourteen, even sixteen hours a day.  To them, prison is an exercise in passing through with the least exertion of energy, the least amount of thought.  Nothing is different.  They sleep, eat, watch TV and perhaps lift weights.   They plan on going back out, picking up exactly where their lives stopped on their arrest.  There is no redemption; there is no growth for these men.  They feed the system.  They go out and come back.  Prison, by its very organization, leads to a majority of its prisoners fitting into the second group.  These are the hustlers, the predators, the prey, the refuse that makes up so much of the prison class.

I’m in the first group.  From the day I decided that I wouldn’t quit, that I would fight and hope and believe, I created a schedule.  I live each day on the same schedule.  Disciplined living, I’ve found, can overcome the despair of this experience.

So I told my friend I get up each morning at 3:55.  No alarm clock, I just wake up.  A quick trip to the bathroom to shave, teeth brushed and then yoga.  I then read the Bible and pray and meditate for 45 minutes.  5:15 shower and writing until breakfast at 6:45.  I get another hour to write before 8:15 work call.  Three hours every Monday through Friday I teach adult basic ed.  Every afternoon, after lunch, I workout for an hour.  Then, its college tutoring or college classes.  Dinner, reading and at least two nights a week of college classes until 8:30.

I always go to sleep after 10:00 pm count, ending my day with prayers.  It’s a regimented lifestyle.  Other than an hour or so at night – and the morning sports and news – I avoid TV.  A couple of books and magazines read each week.  Each night, the “USA Today” and a crossword puzzle.  There’s music.  Guys are constantly exchanging CDs.  I have the “old stuff” – Marley, Dylan, The Eagles and Allman Brothers.  I’m the go to guy for classical music and jazz.

There was a time when I couldn’t bring myself to even listen to music in here.  So many songs, so many lyrics, reminded me of, well of her and us and our life together and our kids.  The upside of having a strong memory is you remember.  The downside is the same.  Now, I hear “The Band Perry”, or “Lady Antebellum” sing about love and whispers of what was cross my mind. But I can handle it now.  I jot down the lyrics, I write what’s on my heart and I maintain the regimen.

Dr. Victor Frankl, in his remarkable book “Man’s Search for Meaning” chronicles his survival in the Nazi concentration camps.  Finding meaning, in your circumstances, he argued, gives you freedom.

My schedule, how I do my time, get through each day, in spite of my circumstances, helps me find meaning in here.   Victor Hugo, in his masterpiece “Les Miserables” wrote:

            “Liberation is not deliverance.  A convict may leave prison behind, but not his sentence.”

Hugo understood more about prison than he realized.  The path to liberation rests not in the opening of the gate but the disciplining of the mind.

Simon Says (2)

Each morning, Monday through Friday at 7:15, the men of building 3B trudge across the compound to sit in a large circle in the visitation room.  There, under the direction of “specially trained” staff and officers, these 96 men engage in the daily ritual of preparing for release.  They are all within four to eight months of their release date and live together and participate in group programs under the auspices of Governor Bob McDonnell’s “Offender Re-entry Initiative” (he’ll regularly promote his “initiative” in the press).  And what do these men do to prepare for “the real world”?  They play “Simon Says”.

Yes, Virginia, your Governor’s re-entry plan has inmates within months of release playing Simon Says.  Not to be outdone, they also play “red light, green light” and have volunteers stand up and give “testimonials” about how “today I decided not to steal my neighbor’s radio”.  This is Governor McDonnell’s answer to the billion dollar embarrassment that is Virginia DOC. And ironically, the officers and teachers will tell you it’s the same failed program 20 year employees have seen three times before.  Oh, it may have a new name and different bells and whistles, but it’s the same failed concept that every Governor, every “tough on crime” politician has supported to break Virginia’s high incarceration rate, stagnant recidivism level and increasingly cost prohibitive system, while continuing to justify no early release incentives for the vast majority of incarcerated offenders. Bob McDonnell, I have concluded, is just another in a long line of snake oil salesmen who lack either the guts or the intellect to speak the truth and do what needs to be done with Virginia’s bloated, failed prison system.

I’m not the brightest guy in the world (my status as a member of Virginia’s inmate population confirms that) but just one day in prison was enough to convince me society’s approach to corrections was misdirected and doomed to failure.  It doesn’t take a genius to realize the following:

1)    The abolishment of parole has done nothing to either decrease the cost of incarcerating or the rate of recidivism amongst released offenders.  Instead it has created the largest department bureaucracy in Virginia government (13,000 DOC employees) and seen the inmate population swell from 9,600 (in 1995) to almost 40,000 (year-end 2010), a 400% increase in less than 15 years with one of every eight state budget dollars now going to corrections.

2)    The vast majority of inmates currently languishing in Virginia’s prisons are either nonviolent offenders or, due to the number of years held, have had their security levels reduced to low custody.  The majority of Virginia’s prisons are low to medium security facilities with dorm-style housing and a majority of the officer corps being females.

You want a meaningful re-entry initiative?  Focus – and resources – should be directed as follows:

1)    Real drug and alcohol treatment. A significant number of the incarcerated suffer from drug and alcohol abuse issues.   DOC treatment plans call for those inmates to attend treatment, however, those programs are group meetings, short duration (ten to fifteen weeks) that use a cookie-cutter “here are the stats” approach.  Meaningful treatment is needed, not boring, earn your certificate classes.

2)    Job/life skills training. I am in the minority in here for a number of reasons but one significant reason is I actually held a real job requiring regular hours.  Prisons have all sorts of vocational programs to teach a person how to be an electrician but there is nothing about paying taxes, running a business, buying a house, signing a lease, keeping a checking account.  The vast majority of inmates committed crimes because they were incapable of successfully navigating day to day life.

3)    Education.  The single most important determining factor in recidivism is a college education, yet funding for prison college programs has been repeatedly cut.  The vast majority of inmates in Virginia’s prisons lack basic skills and don’t even have their high school diplomas.  An un or under-educated offender is the primary driving force behind recidivism.

4)    Meaningful Mental Health treatment.  A significant number of offenders suffer from mental health disorders.  At this compound alone at least 200 of the 1200 incarcerated are on some sort of psychological meds.  Depression, anxiety, guilt, collapse of relationships, all flow freely around the compound like an open sewage ditch.  Yet, psychological counseling is a triage system.  Suicidal?  Drop a note, go to the hole, get antidepressants and a visit with the psychologist.  There is no individual counseling. And the guys on Prozac and all the rest?  Once a quarter they participate in a “video conference” with the department psychiatrist.  He asks three questions:  1. Any problems?  2.  Taking your meds?  3.  Any side effects?  Meds are used to temper behavior, but the underlying causes are left untreated.

Governor McDonnell will tell anyone what a giant step forward his re-entry program is for corrections.  It isn’t.  He is either a bold-faced liar or living in wonderland.  His re-entry program is no different than all the programs run in prison since parole was abolished which have failed miserably.

That much of the prison reform movement is not being driven by conservatives should come as no surprise.  The cost benefit analysis of incarceration proves what one day behind bars teaches.  Prisons fail.

 In a few short weeks the Virginia General Assembly will meet to consider the Commonwealth’s biannual budget.  No matter how much the politicians tell you Virginia has weathered the recession, be skeptical.  Virginia has a tremendous IOU in its state retirement plan.  State employees have again been denied raises.  Governor McDonnell could show leadership, real leadership, and introduce legislation to restore parole or, at the very least, restructure sentences so that offenders could earn significantly more good time.  A real re-entry program could be created.  An offender like me could be released and brought back in to continue the work I do.

The cost to house an inmate in Virginia at even a low level is $25,000 per year.  That’s $68.50 per day.  The cost to monitor that same inmate through “community corrections” (i.e. probation) is $8.00 per day.  Under the current system 60% of the incarcerated will recommit within three years of release.  Prison, simply put, is a sinking hole of quick sand.

I have repeatedly urged the Governor in this blog to put his faith and intellect into action and build a real prison reform agenda.  The time for demagoguery and false promises is over.  Virginia needs real prison reform.  Simon says “now”.