Shave Policy

DOC lost another Federal lawsuit a few months ago.  A Muslim inmate requested permission to grow a beard.  The request was denied.  So he did what any right thinking American would do.  He sued.

Virginia is one of a handful of states (almost all part of the “Old Confederacy”) which enforces a rigorous grooming policy:  short cropped hair, moustaches only.  For years Rastafarians have done ten or more years in the hole refusing to cut their dreadlocks.  DOC, however, had an exception to the policy.  An inmate could be given a medical “save profile” if the inmate could establish contact dermatitis from shaving.  As a result, dozens of inmates – African American mostly – have shave exemptions, allowing them full beards.  The policy also generated an inmate business in forged profiles.

Last spring, a Federal judge ruled that if DOC could create a medical exception, then “security” isn’t the primary reason for the facial hair ban (DOC argued that inmates could grow beards to hide knives or contraband or after an escape to alter their appearance).  “A religious exception must also be employed”, the judge ruled.  But religious exemptions would require DOC to evaluate each individual request on an objective testing of “their sincerely held religious beliefs”.  That would create way too much work for each facility.

So DOC capitulated.  Like the boxer who said “no mas”, DOC dropped the shave profile.  Beginning October 1^st, any male inmate can grow a one quarter inch full beard.  The only limitation:  the inmate must pay $2 for a “beard id” to go with his “no beard id”. 

That’s another court loss for DOC and another brick out of the wall of the argument that any policy labeled security is sacrosanct.  Fact is, DOC spends way too much time at its lower level facilities enforcing arcane rules that serve neither security nor rehabilitation purposes.  Me?  I’m staying beard free…for now.

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.

The Workout

This morning, I spent an hour with the workout crew doing an intense aerobic calisthenics workout. I’m exhausted. One of the building mentors is a 38 year old man named Randy. Randy is a mountain of a man, 6’4”, muscled and with the personality of a Marine Corp drill instructor. About two years ago he earned his Associates Degree and shortly thereafter completed certification as a personal trainer. Randy may in fact be the most structured man I’ve ever met. He makes me look like “Mr. Spontaneity”.



Randy gets up every morning at 3:00 am. He has a routine synchronized from that point forward. Each day is planned by the minute. He tracks calories and workout routines for his “crew”. Three days running and calisthenics, two days weight training.


Three guys work out with him. There’s Ced, a 32 year old from Richmond. He’s easygoing and polite but another guy in top physical shape. There’s J – mid thirties and strong. He walks with a pronounced limp due to a drug deal gone bad. A “buyer” tried to rob him and shot him in his right leg shattering his tibia. He fired back and killed the buyer. He’s serving 25 years.


Finally, there’s “Cali”. I’ve written before about Cali’s conviction for marijuana distribution. What I didn’t mention is Cali is huge and a big weight pile user.


I also failed to mention that all four guys are black. So, how does a 51 year old white guy get invited to join the crew for work? Before I moved over here I’d watch these guys work out while I’d run (they were all in “2” building, next to me on the west side). Frankly, four huge, muscular black guys running and yelling out numbers intimidated me.


But, me being me, when they all ended up in the college dorm (all four guys are the nonacademic aides), I started “hangin” with them. I discovered they were all cool, easy going guys. J is a Rastafarian and very interested in politics. They all are willing to talk about race issues and justice. Every preconceived notion I had about the crew was shattered in just a few short conversations. They think I’m the coolest white dude they’ve ever met. I think God’s telling me something about my old way of thinking and seeing.


8:00 am and I’m jogging a couple of laps to loosen up. Then, I’m one of the crew spread out on the basketball court doing assorted lunges, squats, leg kicks, you name it. Randy’s barking out “give me a count” and through grunts I join the chorus of “one, and two and three”.


“Keep your hips straight, Larry. Pull your feet in.” My form is terrible, but I refuse to quit. It’s 28 degrees out, yet I am sweating out of every pore.


Next set of exercises begins with leg raises and abdominal flexors. There’s no break. I’m just focused on the exercise, focused on the number.


“A side, door break” is announced over the speaker. We start our last rep, then it’s over. My muscles ache but all the guys come up and “dap me” (hit fists) and give me a hug.


“You made it Lawyer Larry. You hung in there.”


I thank the guys for their patience. I walk in and sit down. I think about the 23rd Psalm, not sure why, but it hits me. I’ve been in the valley for years, yet God has always been with me, guiding me, teaching me, opening my mind and heart.


It’s a beautiful day. I can’t wait to workout with the crew next weekend.

Jah Provides the Bread

Somewhere up above Bob Marley is smiling. For those that don’t know, Marley was for a time the most known reggae performer on the music scene. He brought reggae music into mainstream, middle class America. I still recall listening to Bob Marley and the Wailers sing “Rastaman Vibrations” and “No Woman, No Cry” on my stereo as a college freshman back in 1977.


His music was born of struggle and oppression, music from Jamaica and other Caribbean islands. It was exotic, rhythmic and spiritual.

Marley was a Rastafarian. Rastas, a quasi-Christian sect, consider former Ethiopian King Haile Selassie to be the Messiah restored. They also smoke marijuana religiously (sorry for the pun). Rastas also are known to wear their hair in long dreadlocks.

In 1999 Virginia DOC implemented a hair profile for inmates. Prior to that time inmates were allowed to wear their hair to any length. Facial hair, full beards, sideburns and goatees were permitted. DOC deemed long hair and beards a security risk. Inmates, they reasoned, could hide knives, razor blades or contraband in their hair. Inmates with full beards could escape their shave and make it difficult to track them down.

The new hair policy required hair to be kept close cut, above the collar, off the ears. All facial hair was prohibited except groomed mustaches.

A number of Rastafarian inmates objected. On religious grounds they refused to submit to cutting their dreadlocks. DOC responded as they typically do: the protesting Rastas were placed in solitary confinement until they agreed to cut their hair and comply.

1999 became 2000. 2000 became 2001. Each year came and went but eleven Rastas held to their protest. There had been more, but men were released, their sentences served, their dreadlocks still in place.

Eleven men, kept separate, deprived of many basic needs most take for granted: daily human contact, fresh air, daily showers, access to telephones. DOC’s goal was to break the Rastas. Their tool was isolation and deprivation.

Word went through DOC prisons about the Rastas. Inmates who didn’t know the name of the Governor knew of the Rasta 11. Other Rastafarians in the system shaved their heads (a practice followed until this day). The Rastas were heroes. They were “buckin the man” for Jah.

2005, the ACLU agreed to file suit on behalf of the Rastas. Meanwhile, one man died while in solitary. Ten remained. Ten continued to refuse to cut their hair.

What is your limit? How much will you endure for your religious convictions? I realized, as I learned of the Rastas early on in my prison stay, how truly courageous these men were. In my entire life of “freedom” I had never met anyone willing to risk it all on principle. My life had been one of compromise. “It’s not worth it!”

My friend “Black” is a Rasta leader. I’ve watched the Rastafarian community (it is a recognized “religion” according to DOC) continue on as their brothers remained “in the hole”.

In “No Woman, No Cry”, Bob Marley, in his haunting Jamaican accent sings

“Good friends we had
Good friends we lost along the way
In the great future
You can’t forget your past
So dry your tears I say.”

Then later in the song over and over he sings

“Everything’s gonna be alright
Everything’s gonna be alright.”

I often wonder what makes ordinary people do extraordinary things. What would make a young man run head long into enemy fire to rescue a friend? What would make Big S go to trial instead of pointing out the real defendant? What would make eleven Rastafarians accept the hole for years rather than cut their hair? What would make me sign everything I owned over to my wife?

Character is revealed, not when things are easiest, but when we have he the most to lose.

Thursday, November 18, 2010. The front page of the Richmond Times-Dispatch announced “Inmates Released From the Hole”. DOC gave in, surrendered, to ten dreadlock Rastafarian inmates. They were being released from solitary confined and transferred together to serve the remainder of their sentence in two-man cells with daily rec time at Keen Mountain Prison. They’ll be kept separate from the rest of the inmate population because the hair policy remains in force for all other inmates.

In a documentary about Marley’s life he is heard telling an interviewer “Jah provides the bread”. Jah, to the Rasta, is the name for God. It is a basic tenet of faith, whether you are Christian, Jewish, Muslim or Rastafarian, that “God provides”.

So often we think everything we have, everything we’ve accumulated is a direct result of our own hard work. We fail to understand that at our weakest we are truly strongest. No power can overcome Jah. Eleven years in solitary. Eleven years deprived. Eleven years Jah provided the bread.

I started playing a CD. Bob Marley’s singing “everything’s gonna be alright.” I can tell he’s smiling.