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.

Lockdown Again

Lunenburg was on lockdown all last week for its semi-annual shakedown. At higher custody level facilities, lockdown is serious business. For example, Nottoway prison – about seven miles from here and which is a level 3/4 violent felon prison – has been on lockdown for over a month since the stabbing death of an inmate and an assault on an officer.



Here, however, lockdown is more like a parent sending their child to their room and only letting them come out for meals. For most guys here, lockdown is viewed as a vacation, a chance to get out of work for a few days, catch up on sleep, TV, and reading. Other than the actual search of your things, it’s a pretty boring week interspersed by the occasional fist fight that breaks out as a result of 96 guys being crammed together without break for four straight days.


As I reported last spring, everyone knows lockdown is coming. Much like moving the clocks forward and back, lockdown comes in spring and fall. The concept is this: eliminate all unnecessary movement of inmates around the compound, then swoop in with a large mass of officers and search every building for drugs, weapons and contraband. In theory, it’s a necessary component to the effective maintenance of security and order at the prison. In practice, it’s a joke.


At 7:45 am last Monday morning, the intercom announced “cease all inmate movement. Lunenburg is on lockdown until further word”. Within ten minutes of the announcement a pile of blue state shirts and jeans appeared along with dozens of towels, sheets and pillowcases. Then, inmates began hiding plastic knives (used for cooking) and extra shoes (inmates are limited to one pair of boots, one pair of sneakers and one pair of shower shoes).


There are thirteen housing units that are in use here. There is a vocational education building; a maintenance shop, two chow halls, two kitchens, a staff dining room, an enterprise factory, a medical unit, a programs building holding four classrooms, a library, a law library, barbershop, school and psychologist office, gym and visitation room, as well as two large rec yards. Every one of those areas needs searching during a shakedown. Even with extra staff working overtime, there is a limit to what can be searched in one day. During this shakedown three housing units a day were searched.


My building went through “shakedown” on Tuesday morning. We were led up to the visitation room after passing by the drug dogs. The dogs then pass through the building (no drugs were detected). Inmates are then called back ten at a time (five sets of cut mates) for individual shakedown.


You are taken into the bathroom and undergo a strip search. Following getting dressed, inmates (by cut) are assigned two officers that actually go through your things, and a third officer to keep records.


In my case, I was assigned the chief investigator for the compound. Being mildly OCD has its benefits. All of my property is organized. I have numerous file folders set up with paperwork, including receipts for every purchase I’ve ever made during my incarceration.


The investigator picked up a few things, looked at me with a smile and said “You’re that lawyer here. I know there’s nothing in here to worry about”. He then made me toss out two empty peanut butter jars. That was it.


The big “contraband” item found was 53 televisions inmates left behind for friends who didn’t own their own set. All electronics are engraved with your inmate name and number. DOC prohibits inmates from giving or receiving anything from another inmate. In principle, the policy makes sense. You never want to be indebted to another man in the penitentiary. But, as a practical matter, guys look out for their “stick men” (friends).


Friday at lunch, “lockdown” ended. I headed outside for a nice run. Six more months and the whole process starts again. I can’t wait!