More Trouble in Paradise

“No use of computers by inmates until further notice.” It was Wednesday morning and we had just arrived at work. Our boss, the school principal, was waiting for Rain Man (my name for my co-worker, Mike) and me:

            “They put a high-priority email out at 6:00 this morning,” she told us. “Inmates can’t use any computers. There’s an investigation going on.” That news didn’t surprise us. The evening before, the compound investigators came into 4A looking for laptops. Funny thing is, all the laptops are stored at the school. And, during college math class that night, we noticed our classroom was stripped bare: no smart board hookup, no laptop for the teacher, no laptop carts.

            Paranoia set in. “Hope it’s not “code blue” for me Omar,” I said, half joking but half serious – (“Code blue,” was the term I coined for my emergency contact person. If I’m in trouble as in headed to 7 building) I’ll tell him “code blue” and he’ll know to call my family and get pressure started to get me out. I returned to the building after class and did another familiar thing. I opened my Bible and read Psalm 27 (“The Lord is my light and salvation. Whom shall I fear?”); settled in and waited, and then Wednesday and the announcement and it all made sense: there was more trouble in “paradise.”

            It’s been a crazy seven days except … except every day, every week here offers hearty doses of lunacy. It started with the factory raid last Thursday. All the computers confiscated; six guys locked up. On Monday, two more went down. By Tuesday night, all computers locked down. And then, the wait. Nothing. I mean, they ransacked the library – CTs (computer techs) from Richmond came up and found “dirt” on the library computers, but nothing else. And we all just sat around not doing our jobs.

            There’s a constant tension in here between utilizing technology and limiting inmate access. There are some in DOC who argue that inmates should have no computer access, not even for education (every adult ed classroom has 5 computers for software designed lessons such as phonics, and Microsoft Encarta for research). Others believe re-entry must include access to computers. You can’t avoid technology in the “real world,” they argue.

            Then, there is the simple fact that a prison can’t run without inmates working in jobs that require computers. Food service? There are two 45-cent inmate clerks who prepare orders and manage inventory. Factory? You have a time records clerk, a shipping and billing clerk, four CAD clerks (designing and configuring furniture), an inventory-control clerk, and a general clerk. Eight men doing all those jobs for a combined hourly rate of less than $6.00.

            At school, Rain Man and I operate all the data base results for college as well as GED and vocational programs. In addition, I teach “computer literacy” to re-entry inmates – an item included in re-entry programming.

            Imagine the increased cost associated with hiring “real” employees at “real” wages to do all the jobs needed inside the walls. Prisons run on inmate labor. The state cannot afford the full complement of staff to operate a thousand prisoner facility beyond merely housing and feeding. So, computers are – and will remain – a reality.

            There’s another tension inside. It’s the tension within a person who is living under constant surveillance and arbitrary rules. He decides, “the hell with it,” and hustles and scams and operates. And for a time, he feels free – free of the walls and all the crap that comes with prison. And the reaction from those in charge is equally crazy. Cast a wide net; lock up anyone, even on mere suspicion. Press and search and believe everyone is involved, everyone is guilty. It’s the age-old battle inside of security and control versus free will.

            You sit around and wait, wait for the shoe to drop, wait to be accused of improper use of state property. The rumors fly; always rumors: More guys going to the hole; porn, music, gambling tickets – they found it all.

            You sit back and remind yourself you and you alone are responsible for the bullshit that is your daily life. And you remind yourself how much you hate this place and the men who make your time even tougher, and the system that says it believes in “second chances” then beats you down. You remember this isn’t supposed to be fun; it’s supposed to suck, and hurt, and beat you down. This isn’t paradise. You do the only thing you can. You open to Psalm 27 and you read.