The Good Chase

This blog was written in November, 2014.

            I have a friend named Chase and he’s Muslim. He takes his faith seriously, makes his prayers five times each day, avoids profanity, pornography, and gambling. During Ramadan he was undergoing chemo. The med staff here failed in their diagnosis. His jaw swelled about a year ago. Medical said, “You have an infection.” For nine months they ran Chase around with antibiotics and “suck on tart candies” to “stimulate your salivary glands.” Turns out they were wrong. The swelling got worse, started choking off his airway. A quick trip to MCV and the real diagnosis came in: cancer of the salvia gland, stage “3.” Tough to hear anytime, let alone less than a year before you go home after eighteen years. Chase, he took it all in stride. “It’s in the hands of Allah,” he said and he began the treatments. And Ramadan? In his weakened state, he couldn’t participate in the month long fast. That too was ok. He was alive and survived, he said, by the will of his God.

            Chase is a nice guy, one of the nicest men I’ve met either inside – or outside of prison. He may not have always done the “right” thing and like all of us he made mistakes. He was in here for the last 18 years for crimes he committed. But, he is a kind, decent man who strives to live to the tenets of his faith.

            Religion is a tough topic. My 81-year-old father – a Korean War veteran – tried to tell me at visitation the other day that we need to get those “barbarians” in ISIL. And, he distinguished ISIL by their religion. I asked him what Jesus would do? Jesus, I said, would forgive, and freely allow them to behead Him because it isn’t this body that’s important; it’s your soul. My dad just said Jesus wouldn’t make it in today’s world. I thought to myself, maybe that’s the problem.

            “Religion is the opiate of the masses.” That was Karl Marx, a near penniless writer trying to feed a family in the industrial Darwinism that was London in the 19^th century. Marx was angry at his circumstances, angry at the vast disparity between the haves and have-nots. Religion, he concluded, kept the disadvantaged from rising up and slaughtering those who held them in check. As I said, religion is a tough topic. And, it’s easy to draw anecdotal conclusions and apply them to every circumstance. The world isn’t black and white it is hued in a sorts of grays and religion is right in there.

            There are very good Muslims. There are very bad self-professed Christians. There are agnostics and atheists who better represent Jesus than I could ever hope to. Gandhi understood more about the Sermon on the Mount and our call to action as followers of the Prince of Peace than most Christians I’ve met. There is a self-described “man of faith” in here who claims to love his Catholic Church yet he is one of the meanest, most hateful men I have ever met. He is continually angry. He is a racist and a homophobe. Another man watches Joel Osteen multiple times each week yet runs most of the scams in the building and lies about everything from his “wife” to his upbringing. Christian – by affirmation – say both men.

            Chase occasionally will work himself into a frenzy – as do most Muslims and Christians here – when the subject of gay marriage comes up. Life becomes black and white. Homosexuality is a sin, they all agree. I find it ironic that the same ones who profess eternal damnation for that sin overlook their own murders, adultery, or a dozen other “serious” sins. So, I asked Chase if you’re sexual orientation is biologically predetermined (i.e. it’s in your genes) and God is the ultimate constructor of everything, from the simplest single cell to the sun doesn’t that mean God created those genes? “You have a point,” he told me. Islam – like Christianity – professes to judge not the sinner. All are God’s children.

            Free choice. It isn’t God who warps our minds and distorts and alienates. Over and over the New Testament tells Christians “God is love.” We are called to “turn the other cheek,” “forgive as God has forgiven you,” “care for the widow and orphan … visit the sick and those in prison, … clothes to the naked, feed the hungry … give and it will be given to you.” No, religion doesn’t make people hurl insults at Latino children who come here to escape the murderous rage of gang warfare in Columbia, Honduras, or El Salvador. Religion doesn’t cause “church members” to hold signs at a funeral saying “God hates fags,” or shooting doctors sitting in church because they happen to provide abortions. That’s man’s evil side, his – or her “free choice” packaged as God’s will.

            Beheading, torturing a kidnapped journalist in the name of God is evil and sinful. But, so is labeling all Muslims bad; so is calling on your nation to bomb your enemies into oblivion. That isn’t Godly nor is it confined to one nation, one race, one creed.

            A little background on me. In my college days, my mother always told me to consider the ministry. I could talk! Was it because I was so theologically astute that my mom wanted me to pursue a seminary education? No. She just wanted to be the mother of a preacher. But, we were a “churched” family. I was a deacon at 16, read Calvin and a host of other protestant “reformed: theologians. Intellectually, I got “it.” I always wondered, however, when the minister would take a position not in keeping with his congregation’s voting habits how the members would discount the words as not realistic in “the real world.” God and mammon co-existed quite easily in most churches that I’ve attended. Uncle Sam, it seems, sits on the left side of God. My adult life – married, father, ordained elder, Sunday school teacher, I lived quite comfortably with that cognitive dissonance. That all changed in August 2008.

            I understand more now about the infinite power and mystery of God than I ever did. And, everyday I’m reminded how far I must go. Too often guys in here use “religion” as a means of separation, segregation, and self-delusion. They miss the “real” message. Funny but the same is true out there. You ever read Paul’s letter to the Corinthians about love? Every wedding – it seems – uses Paul’s words. I can tell you – 28 years with a woman I still love and pray for everyday in spite of the divorce – we didn’t meet Paul’s test. We failed; almost everyone does.

            Don’t blame God for the evil that’s done in His name. Blame those of us who profess belief and then distort His desires and ways for our own selfish, evil, and petty hopes. And maybe, just maybe, we can all start practicing a little more what we profess.

Chase to Freedom

            He didn’t look like the other IT students when he started back in late 2012. Back then we were operating under a special DOJ grant to provide college training to “at risk” offenders – guys who were classified as “likely” to re-offend after release. And you could spot those a mile away. They were young – mid-twenties mostly – with their state jeans sagging low, their language coarse, their attitudes arrogant. You’d look their name up on the admittance data sheet and see a compass score (recidivism likelihood test) of “9 out of 10” or even “10 out of 10.” You couldn’t make a bet in Vegas on these guys succeeding. They were all on their second – or third – two year bid, heading for twenty to thirty inside a few years at a time.

            But he was different. He was mid to late forties and quiet. He carried himself with a dignity you earn in a place like this over years of watching the system break so many others. He introduced himself to me in a soft voice, polite. “I’m not very studious,” he said. “But I’ve been gone so long I know I need this program.” He told me he never so much as turned a computer on, nor had he ever written anything other than his GED essay ten years earlier at a higher security level.

            I checked the sheet. First name, “Chase,” Compass score, three. He was an atypical student. Over the next six months he and I grew closer. When he started our intro computer class he typed ten words a minute, mechanically scanning the keyboard and plunking down his left or right index finger. He would read and reread English assignments; he’d write three, even four drafts of papers. Slowly each week there’d be improvement.

            And the two of us began to talk. He was originally from Baltimore, public housing that was gutted to make way for the hotels and tourists spots that became the Inner Harbor. He’d sold drugs, “managed” women (i.e. prostitution) and nearly killed a man. For that he got twenty years. And so, at age twenty-seven, after two short stays in the Baltimore City Jail in his late teens and early twenties, he started doing real time at a high security prison in Virginia.

            Here was the thing about Chase – he was real. He wasn’t some caricature of an inmate/rapper/future NBAer; he was a guy who lived – who survived – the worst of DOC and found his soul. A few years in, he converted to Islam. So many of the Muslim inmates, like so many of the Christian inmates, are civilly religious. By that I mean they love the trappings of the religion and the grouping participation gives you, without the responsibility. Chase, however, was devout in his faith. He wasn’t saying he was Muslim while gambling, stealing, and selling porn. He was peaceful; twice I saw him break up fights.

            Yeah, Chase is a good guy. He finished out IT program and stayed in the college building making candy – that’s right, he’s the resident candy-maker. About two months ago he started going to medical every few weeks. “I have a swollen saliva gland,” he told me. “The doctor said to suck on sour candy and that would clear it up.” Two months later and his neck swelled. Medical got a little concerned then. So they sent him to Southampton Hospital for tests. The results weren’t good. Chase has stage “2” Lymphoma. He begins chemo tomorrow morning.

            For six weeks Chase will be shackled and transported each morning to McV Hospital in Richmond. They’ll drive him back each night and lock him in an isolation cell. That’s cancer treatment in prison. I’m probably more upset about it than Chase is. “It’s all part of being locked up,” he matter-of-fact told me.

            Being locked up is always an excuse for bad treatment. It was Chuck Colson, who following his “Damascus Conversion” and prison stay wrote, “Prisons are evil. They don’t rehabilitate … when you send kids to prison already embittered and they are brutalized and ignored they don’t change. Jesus commanded us to be salt and light in the world.”

            Chase isn’t the first inmate I’ve known who’s gotten sick in prison. Ray – a 66 year-old Vietnam Vet – has fourteen months left. He takes nitroglycerin almost daily for his weakened attack-prone, heart. Why is he still in here? Surely the state can see the logic in releasing seriously ill offenders a little early. Unfortunately, in our “tough on crime” Alice-in-Wonderland state, you have to be within “90 days of death” to even be eligible for early medical release.

            Chase is prepared for chemo. And, he takes the misdiagnosis in stride. Still, I can’t help but wonder what it says about us as people that we tolerate what happens behind bars in the name of justice. Chase told me the other day, “Cancer or no cancer, I’m walking out of here in December.” I wouldn’t bet against him.

Election at the Prison

This past week, the prison population held elections for the “IRG” – the “Inmate Representative Group.” Each building elects a representative to discuss policies and procedures with the administration. The IRG then chooses a chair who argues on behalf of the group during discussions with the warden. For almost four years, I had successfully avoided any involvement with IRG. I found it cliquish and its suggestions not well thought out or relevant to life behind the fence. Frankly, I didn’t care that the IRG argued for “Texas Beef” ramen noodles versus “Cajun Chicken.”

            

Then a funny thing happened the other night. A group of the Muslim guys in the building brought up the IRG elections at the evening meal breaking the Ramadan fast. One of the Muslims spoke up and urged his Sunni brothers to “pay attention to the teachings” in the Koran which specifically calls on Muslims to support those who are “just” and have “wisdom.”

            

Unknown to me, this Muslim inmate gave my name to the building counselor as a candidate for our building’s IRG rep. Less than five minutes after ballots were collected I was called in the counselor’s office. “Are you willing to serve?” she asked. I had apparently won in a landslide. Two days later, the newly constituted IRG met and I was elected chair. (I told the reps in attendance I preferred the treasurer position which drew a loud laugh).

            

So what does it mean? Inmates are not allowed to organize.  DOC policy expressly forbids inmates from acting in concert. There can be no organized work stoppages, or protests, or even petitions. Ironically, it happens quite regularly. In California, over 12,000 high custody inmates went on a hunger strike a few months ago to draw attention to the fact that the state had ignored the orders of the United States Supreme Court – to release 30,000 plus inmates by year-end due to the shameful, unconstitutional conditions in the California prison system.

            

In Georgia, thousands of inmates participated in a work stoppage to call attention to that state’s slave-like treatment of its inmate workforce. In both cases, change occurred. But, not without inmate organizers being placed in solitary.

            

Candidly, there will be no such action at a place like this. With few exceptions – those rare inmates here who carry life sentences with the release date: “12/28/9999” – prisoners here are relatively short on their time. No one is willing to consider the moral imperatives that go along with incarceration.

           

Even more bluntly, the notion of loyalty, of standing together, standing for principle is in even shorter supply. Character is a rare commodity in a place like this. It’s usually, “What can I get?”

            

But there are things that can be done. You won’t ever drive the hustles and scams out of prison. You won’t ever convince the vast majority of those held behind bars that they are being treated fairly. You won’t convince a majority of those here to change and re-enter society as law abiding citizens because they are repeatedly lied to by staff here and programs are long on words and short on effect.

            

I had always thought I would avoid inmate governance because it didn’t amount to anything. Then, my Muslim friend told me just by speaking to the warden, and the chief of security maybe small things could change. Maybe the toxic atmosphere that pervades prison life could lesson just a bit. I told him I’d do my best.

            

I’m not sure if I’m as just or wise as the Muslim community here thinks. But, I know this is no way to run a prison. The current system does nothing but waste lives. It’s not even punishment really. The punishment is in your mind as you contemplate all you’ve lost. Trouble is, when you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing left to lose.

Election at the Prison

This past week, the prison population held elections for the “IRG” – the “Inmate Representative Group.” Each building elects a representative to discuss policies and procedures with the administration. The IRG then chooses a chair who argues on behalf of the group during discussions with the warden. For almost four years, I had successfully avoided any involvement with IRG. I found it cliquish and its suggestions not well thought out or relevant to life behind the fence. Frankly, I didn’t care that the IRG argued for “Texas Beef” ramen noodles versus “Cajun Chicken.”

            

Then a funny thing happened the other night. A group of the Muslim guys in the building brought up the IRG elections at the evening meal breaking the Ramadan fast. One of the Muslims spoke up and urged his Sunni brothers to “pay attention to the teachings” in the Koran which specifically calls on Muslims to support those who are “just” and have “wisdom.”

            

Unknown to me, this Muslim inmate gave my name to the building counselor as a candidate for our building’s IRG rep. Less than five minutes after ballots were collected I was called in the counselor’s office. “Are you willing to serve?” she asked. I had apparently won in a landslide. Two days later, the newly constituted IRG met and I was elected chair. (I told the reps in attendance I preferred the treasurer position which drew a loud laugh).

            

So what does it mean? Inmates are not allowed to organize.  DOC policy expressly forbids inmates from acting in concert. There can be no organized work stoppages, or protests, or even petitions. Ironically, it happens quite regularly. In California, over 12,000 high custody inmates went on a hunger strike a few months ago to draw attention to the fact that the state had ignored the orders of the United States Supreme Court – to release 30,000 plus inmates by year-end due to the shameful, unconstitutional conditions in the California prison system.

            

In Georgia, thousands of inmates participated in a work stoppage to call attention to that state’s slave-like treatment of its inmate workforce. In both cases, change occurred. But, not without inmate organizers being placed in solitary.

            

Candidly, there will be no such action at a place like this. With few exceptions – those rare inmates here who carry life sentences with the release date: “12/28/9999” – prisoners here are relatively short on their time. No one is willing to consider the moral imperatives that go along with incarceration.

           

Even more bluntly, the notion of loyalty, of standing together, standing for principle is in even shorter supply. Character is a rare commodity in a place like this. It’s usually, “What can I get?”

            

But there are things that can be done. You won’t ever drive the hustles and scams out of prison. You won’t ever convince the vast majority of those held behind bars that they are being treated fairly. You won’t convince a majority of those here to change and re-enter society as law abiding citizens because they are repeatedly lied to by staff here and programs are long on words and short on effect.

            

I had always thought I would avoid inmate governance because it didn’t amount to anything. Then, my Muslim friend told me just by speaking to the warden, and the chief of security maybe small things could change. Maybe the toxic atmosphere that pervades prison life could lesson just a bit. I told him I’d do my best.

            

I’m not sure if I’m as just or wise as the Muslim community here thinks. But, I know this is no way to run a prison. The current system does nothing but waste lives. It’s not even punishment really. The punishment is in your mind as you contemplate all you’ve lost. Trouble is, when you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing left to lose.

The Great Escape?

The other day word spread over the officers’ radios that a possible escape had taken place.  It hadn’t of course, but the reaction and behavior of some officers shows how ill-equipped they are to work at a prison.  It also shows how unnatural the state of incarceration is.

Faheem is a 28 year old African-American, former Army paratrooper, doing seven years for drug possession and sale.  He’s also the building painter as well as a general fix it man here in the college building.  He does just about any job that needs to be done in our building.  He’s a bright, funny, young Muslim student who can always be found walking around with a paint brush or dust mop in his hand.

Last week during CO O’Tay’s shift the famous escape caper took place.  How do I describe CO O’Tay?  She is a morbidly obese sixty year old black woman who gets more grievances written on her than any officer on the compound.  She is loud, verbally abusive and very short tempered.  And, as long-time, serious crime residents here will tell you, her behavior wouldn’t be tolerated at a higher level.  “You tell a guy he has 75 years, even life and he’s at a level 4 and then subject him to her?  She wouldn’t last a week.”  Sounds harsh and brutal, but that’s prison.  That’s the reality of Virginia’s corrections system.

But here?  Here guys – out of their own ignorance – cuss her and yell back at her which just adds gasoline to the fire.  Its anger and ignorance running head-on into more anger and ignorance.  It’s toxic, it’s obnoxious and I sit on my bunk and watch it play out daily.

So, Faheem goes down to maintenance and retrieves a large folding ladder.  He brings the ladder back and moves around the building Windexing and wiping down all the large mirrors hung at the connection of wall and ceiling that give the COs views down every aisle and into most corners.  And the rag he’s using is thick with dirt and dust after only a mirror or two because we live in squalor and filth.  Dirt, grime, insects, an occasional mouse, they all become part of the 4A landscape.

The job completed, the mirrors sparkle, and Faheem folds the ladder, knocks on the booth glass and is buzzed out both doors and onto the boulevard.  The officer in the booth, however, isn’t O’Tay.  She was on break.  It was a “filler”, a roving CO who sits in when COs go on break.

Faheem walks the ladder back to maintenance.  No one’s in the shop.  He leaves the ladder, comes back and is admitted to the building and sees that rec call was just made.  Quick change and out the door goes Faheem which makes perfect sense because it’s 75° and sunny.

O’Tay returns from break and doesn’t see Faheem – or the ladder.  What does she do?  She hits the emergency button and radios the watch command office.  “There’s a guy with a ladder missing.  I think he’s gone over the fence.”

Within seconds of that transmission the loudspeaker begins blaring “4A, bed 25, Antony [note:  his given “birth” name] report back to your building immediately!”  A captain, three sergeants, and the unit manager hustle down the boulevard and into our building.  All three building officers (our two regulars and the “floater”) are huddled in the control booth.  “How longs he been missin?”  “How the hell did he get a ladder to the fence?”  And Faheem?  He’s out walking laps on the track on a beautiful, sunny, early spring day.

Faheem had no idea what was happening.  As he completed a lap he stopped at building 4’s rec gate and waited for an officer to open the lock.  “He gave me a weird look when he let me in”, Faheem told me later.

Five minutes of panicked questioning and then everyone realized the ladder was where it should be, always was, and so was Faheem.  And O’Tay?  Just a lot of muttering by officers about what an over-reactive idiot she’d been.
Here’s the serious side to the issue.  Escape is nothing to joke about.  An attempted prison escape carries an automatic loss of good time, a street charge which, if convicted under, carries a minimum of five years and you’re shipped to max security.

The problem isn’t O’Tay.  The problem, you see, is the system.  The system needs bodies – both inmates and folks who lack other job skills to watch them.  In most cases, the only difference between officer and inmate is the conviction.  The folks are from the same towns, same schools.  The officers lack professionalism and training because running a prison properly – safely, humanely, with appropriate programs for rehabilitation – can’t be sustained with 40,000 inmates. 

It’s the honest assessment of the prison system that escapes reality, not Faheem and his ladder.

Oh What A Week

Every day, every week, things happen in here that give me pause, and make me challenge long held assumptions.  This week was no exception.

Mid-week we had a fairly brutal fight in here.  One guy ended up going on a medical run the next day:  broken orbital bone.  No one knows what started it.  “Sife” a young, small Muslim with horned-rim glasses fought Tee – a 6’3” muscular black guy.  It was 5:45 pm, fifteen minutes before count, and all hell broke loose.  Chairs went flying and fists, arms and legs hitting flesh and bone could be heard.  A few fellow Muslim inmates jumped in to break it up.  The floor CO:  Ms. West, a sweet, Rollie Pollie country gal hit the “panic button” and ran toward the fight.  Tee slipped off to the rear of the building and his bunk.  In less than one minute our building was packed with 30 officers as radios blasted “fight in 4A.  Cease all movement on the compound!”

“Get to your bunk.  Hold your hands out.”  A dozen officers came down the aisles looking at hands – and faces – for evidence of fighting.  “Chase”, a quiet black Muslim who sleeps across from me was pulled out of line.  There was blood on his sleeve (he’d pulled Sife out of the fight).  He and Sife headed with officers to the watch commander’s office.  Tee, meanwhile – hid out.

An hour later two sergeants entered the building.  They proceeded directly to Tee’s bunk.  The “eye in the sky” Id’d Tee.  He left and Chase returned.  Sife went to the hospital.  Upon his return he found himself in an isolation cell next to Tee.  Both men will do 10 days in the hole for fighting.  They probably are out of the college program.

I don’t understand fighting.  I never have and am more convinced than ever nothing good comes of them. I see more fights in a week in here than I did in my entire adult life.  I’m sure there is a better way.

Then, there was the pie caper on Thursday night.  IG managed to scrounge up ten or twelve apples from guys sneaking them out of chow.  He began making pie crusts (the famous crushed cookies crust) while his side kick, Mustafa, peeled and diced.  They forgot one thing:  the CO on the floor that night was Barksdale.  Besides liking to watch guys shower (now known as “pulling a Sandusky”), he also likes sneaking up on inmates and busting them.  There was no lookout for Mustafa as he sliced and diced.  There went the apples; there went Mustafa to the watch commander.

Now there are four cooked pie crusts.  Big S says “IG, let’s eat them.  They’re nothing but cookies.”  Great idea!  IG, Markees and Big S start chowing down.  Here comes Barksdale.  “That’s contraband.  That’s conspiracy to destroy evidence.”  Off those three guys go to the watch commander.

An hour later all four are back, no charges filed.  “They asked if we were making wine. ‘No’ we said; ‘Pies’, Big S piped up.  The Lt on duty was ticked off:  ticked off that so much food made it out of the chow hall, under the noses of her CO’s.  But she was also ticked that an officer was wasting her time over cookie crumbs.

The next night, Barksdale’s shift ended.  To celebrate, IG made apple pies!

There’s an update on Mustafa’s case.  Last week, I detailed his medical problems and the resulting “unauthorized drug” conviction.  On Mustafa’s behalf, I filed a grievance against the assistant warden alleging 1) violation of Mustafa’s due process rights by assessing additional penalties – loss of visitation and telephone use – not part of his charge conviction; and 2) retaliation for his family seeking medical care for him.

Less than a day after the grievance was filed Mustafa heard from the operations officer and medical.  “The additional penalties were improperly assessed and will be immediately withdrawn”, and “you are scheduled for follow up medical care on 1/4/12.”  Score one for the inmates!  Mustafa called his folks after showing me the responses. 

Then there’s the strange victory enjoyed by Faheem this week. Faheem is a young Muslim inmate.  A great kid:  quiet, polite, hard-working.  He’s twenty-five, a former Army tank driver (The VA, to their credit, provides some services for incarcerated vets), who is three years into a five year sentence for ecstasy distribution.

Faheem does just about any job that comes along.  He’s the building painter, but can be counted on to fill in on laundry, bathroom cleaning and, when needed, trash detail.

And that’s where the story gets interesting.  Our building has a new shift sergeant:  Horn.  That name may sound familiar.  He’s the same sergeant who fought – and choked out – an inmate a month ago in “2 building”.  So they moved him to our building.  They say the trains run on time in a dictatorship.  It’s true.  Our building runs – on time – with Sgt. Horn here.  But he is vindictive, arbitrary, and dishonest; everything that is dangerous in a corrections officer.

A few weeks back, Faheem went outside for 8:00 am rec.  When he came back in he was called to the watch commander’s office and presented with a 100 series charge.  “Failure to perform work as ordered.  Sergeant Horn told you to take the trash out.  Plead guilty and we’ll fine you $12.00 (oh yeah, and not mentioned, the warden will then try and drop your good time earning level).”  Faheem refused to plead guilty and asked for my help in preparing a defense.

Here’s what we “discovered”.  The charge said the Sergeant ordered him to take the trash out at 7:45 am.  Funny, but the Sarge never arrived and signed in to the building until 8:55 am.  Even the hearing officer (supposedly “objective” yet the system is rigged against the inmates much like the kangaroo court structure in the Soviet Union dealt with dissidents) was forced to find Faheem “not guilty” and noted on her decision “the charging officer could not possibly have ordered the offender.”

So, Faheem won.  And Sgt. Horn?  He told Faheem “I’ll have your job before long and you’ll be on food stamps.”  It’s not over.  I’m preparing a letter for Faheem to the Regional Director.  Just because we’re in here doesn’t give men like Sgt. Horn the right to make charges up and screw with a man’s life.

The crazy thing about all I’ve written is this kind of stuff happens every day, every week in here.  If that’s not reason enough for prison reform, I don’t know what is.

Meals, Mail and More

Do you ever ask yourself “why do six out of ten released offenders land back in prison within three years?”  Sure, some are bad seeds who will continue to do that which landed them in here.  Many, however, should conjure up thoughts in your mind of “there but for the grace of God go I.”  Funny, I used to pooh pooh that expression.  After all, I was “never” one check away from poverty, divorce, prison.  Don’t think God has a sense of humor?  Take one look at me.  I’m a walking comedy routine; I am a platypus.  More about that later.  No, as I wander through this institution I see almost daily how so much of DOC is staffed – in senior positions – by men and women who cause more problems than contribute to solutions.  And, a very real part of the high recidivism rate can be set on their table.  You treat people disrespectfully, you lie to them, you try bizarre social engineering, and you wonder why there isn’t a corrections epiphany.  As “Pogo” said, “we have met the enemy and he is us.”

A week ago our assistant warden announced a change in meal schedules.  For ten years “common fare” participants (i.e. religious diets) have eaten first.  As I’ve documented over the life of this blog, the battle over religious rights – including religious meals – has been fought for years behind the walls.  Numerous Federal court opinions have held that an inmate in prison retains his/her right to practice their faith and if that faith requires certain dietary rules to be observed (i.e. Kosher for Jewish inmates) then those diets must be reasonably accommodated.

Virginia DOC for years fought giving special diet trays.  By fits and starts, DOC relented in the face of dozens of First Amendment suits (how ironic, all the “law and order” types seek to fight application of Constitutional rights to prisoners where the Constitution is the “ultimate” law of the land) and “common fare” was instituted.  Rather than looking at each inmate’s religious practice on a case by case basis (Federal Courts have approved an objective test:  does the inmate present a faith based petition for special diet?), Virginia set up a one size fits all approach.  Attend any approved church/religious service twice a month for six months, then you are eligible for common fare.

Hundreds of guys signed up after joining Messianic Jewish services, Jehovah Witnesses, Rastafarians, Nation of Islam, or traditional Christian or Muslim services.  And that’s where the rub hits.  It costs DOC approximately $1.75 per day to feed the average inmate.  It costs over three time that much to feed common fare.  In an age where state budgets are stretched and still Virginia politicians won’t admit the obvious truth – there are too many people incarcerated for too long – common fare trays cost too much to provide.

Enter the Assistant Warden.  He announces common fare participants will eat last at breakfast and dinner and go at 11:00 am for lunch (before count).  His rationale, told to officers and teachers “I just want to shake things up and see what comes out”.  He wants guys to quit common fare and the effects his “shake up” have on programs are irrelevant if he gets his desired result.

What effects?  Glad you asked.  Factory workers cannot go to the shop to make chairs that are sold at above value prices to state agencies to help pay for DOC (the costs of which are borne by the taxpayers) until after chow call. That’s an hour and a half later than usual, a tremendous loss of productivity (not to mention pay for the guys).

Then there’s school.  Because of the early lunch call, common fare participants in 2^nd period (and aides) leave thirty minutes early.  That’s 2 ½ hours lost each week out of 7 ½ hours of school time per student.  How odd, I thought.  Education is the number one way to break the cycle of recidivism and this administration has taken 1/3 of an inmate’s weekly school time and flushed it.

The same happens at 5^th period school (4:30 to 7:30).  Common fare participants cannot go to school until after chow (5:30).  5^th period classes meet twice a week, so two out of six hours are lost.

Did the Assistant Warden think this out?  I like to think he’s just foolish.  However, my experience in here has taught me guys like the Assistant Warden are dangerous.  Power goes to their heads.  They see the prison as their private fiefdom or lab and they make rash decisions without consulting the people on the front lines, like the teachers.  The fact that their decisions run contrary to the Governor’s re-entry speak apparently doesn’t matter.

Then there’s prison mail.  DOC has a host of rules governing inmate mail.  Letters must weigh less than one ounce; there can be no “contraband” (an ambiguous word, contraband is defined as anything not approved for an inmate).  An especially touchy subject involves photos.  “No nude, semi-nude, lingerie photos allowed.”  So your 80 year old grandparents send you a picture taken of them walking on the beach in bathing suits?  Disallowed.  Yet, inmates can order 5 X 7 photo cards of totally nude women from “pen pal” catalogs.

I don’t disagree with all of DOC’s mail rules.  They’re an inconvenience but heck, we’re in prison.  The problem is the individual decision making is left to the discretion of each prison’s operations officer.  And that is the rub.

The other day Craig was denied a letter (when mail is rejected we receive a form letter notifying us of the “ground” for rejection) based on “lingerie photos”.  Craig’s girlfriend was going to a concert and had a friend snap a photo of her in jeans, cowboy boots, and a red silk top.  Not only was the photo rejected, but a large “X” was written through it and the letter and photo then torn and returned to her.  On the outside of the envelope a DOC ink stamp noted “letter returned…nude photos”.

Craig’s girlfriend was furious.  She called here and spoke to the operations officer who told her the photo was disallowed because “silk blouses are lingerie”.  Want to hear something funny?  The operations officer – a mid-forties African American woman – wears silk blouses almost every day.  The issue hasn’t been dropped.  Craig’s girlfriend contacted an attorney and called the Director’s office.

The problem is each prison interprets this rule.  Subjective decision-making is never good, especially when the subjective basis set out is illogical.  As the same time this battle was playing out the Washington Post was reporting on DOC’s “televisit” set-up in Alexandria allowing Northern Virginia families to visit, via video connection, with their family members in the far Southwest (eight to ten hours from Alexandria).  “A sense of family is critical to an inmate’s successful reintegration into society” a researcher was quoted as saying.

So, why does DOC allow its prison to interfere with communications from family and friends in such arbitrary ways?  Why, if we know that connection to the real world leads to successful reintegration, does DOC tolerate such behavior in their prison administrators?

Again, I fear the answer isn’t ignorance, it’s darker.  Fewer inmates require fewer prisons.  Fewer prisons mean fewer guards, fewer operations directors, fewer wardens.  Prison operations are a $70 billion industry and all that money is from public funds.  I’m not a conspiracy proponent, but when National Review writers such as Jonah Goldberg, in a recent column about California’s corrupt and dysfunctional (and unconstitutional) prison system say the following:  “in a state where more than two-thirds of crime is attributable to recidivism [CA DOC’s officers union) has spent millions of dollars lobbying against rehabilitation programs, favoring instead policies that will grow the inmate population and the ranks of prison guards…”  Kind of makes me think my conspiracy thoughts aren’t too farfetched.

“There but for the grace of God go I.”  I opened this blog using that expression.  Funny thing about grace.  It usually shows up in the most difficult of circumstances.  As I sit here and watch the immovable object – “tough on crime” – come face to face with the economic realities of 9% unemployment, European market melt downs, a political season filled with hollow promises, I realize God has me exactly where I need to be.  Things are becoming clear to me about this states, this nations, failed criminal justice system.  God’s grace, you see, even finds its way into the prisons.