Hey Mr. DOC Director

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN JANUARY, 2015.

 

            Dear Sir:

            You spend a good deal of time telling the public how important re-entry is. DOC spends millions on “cognitive community” buildings run by “Evidence-Based” management techniques. Such great terminology that – in reality – means absolutely nothing to real success after prison. How much do you really know about what goes on in your prisons?

            Evidence-based failure, that’s it in a nutshell. Mr. Director, you spend millions on multiple layers of staff who spend their time trying to persuade others that their jobs really matter. Have you seen the flow-chart posted in the buildings that detail who offenders need to address questions to?

            Counselors report to “unit managers.” Unit managers’ report to the “Evidence-based manager,” who puts childish rules in place (“no sitting in your chairs during quiet time”) that have nothing to do with preparing men for life in the real world. That’s what your “E-B” program is giving you: silly, inane rules that just piss the men off and do nothing to promote leaving and never re-offending.

            As if that wasn’t bad enough, you put people in positions of responsibility who are anti-education, anti-college especially. This facility has a nationally recognized college program which has been written about by an eminent Harvard researcher. All the students pay their own way (no other DOC program is self-funded). The students reside together, study together, and rec and eat together creating a community. This seems like a good thing, right?

            Why then does your security chief scoff openly about the program? Why are new arrivals constantly dumped in the open bunks while other buildings have empty space? Why does your Evidenced-Based manager get away with saying there should be no college building?

            You’re in charge; do something. You know the Harvard researcher and you know what the research proves: earning a college degree while incarcerated is the most successful tool to reducing recidivism. Tell your staff, “Get on board or get a different line of work.” Become an advocate, not an adversary.

            Inmates don’t need “words” of the day and silly rules; they need real job skills, real educational opportunities, real interview practice. That’s what the “evidence” proves, not the crap that’s being pedaled out here.

 

Christmas ’14 Part 2 Meeting Ximena

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN DECEMBER, 2014.

 

            I have weird experiences in here with my writing. Almost everyone – it seems – knows I write. I get asked almost daily – “What are you writing this week?” Or “Is this going in a blog?” I’m constantly amazed by people coming across my ramblings. So, I’m sitting around the other day and a guy asks me, “Why do you write about all this stuff?” Good question. I thought about that a little while. Why do I write about all this stuff? Maybe, I think, something I write will make a difference to someone. They’ll pause for a moment and say, “He may have a point,” or “I’ve felt that same way.” That’s my noble rationale for writing. The less noble reason is I want to write a story that will lead me to meet Ximena.

            Writing nobly. I was walking back from chow one night when a young guy, new to the compound, stopped me. He very politely asked, “You’re Larry and you have a blog?” When I said yes, he told me I helped his mom and wife understand what this “really was.” Funny thing is, I get that almost weekly from guys who have family – or friends who stumble across my site and stop for a moment, read, and get what’s going on.

            There’s a song by Sara Bareilles, “Brave” that goes in part,

            “You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug

            Or you can start speaking up …

            Fallin for the fear

            Disappearing, bowing down to the mighty

            Don’t run, stop holding your tongue

            Maybe there’s a way out of the cage you live in

            Maybe one of these days you can let the light in

            Honestly, I want to see you be brave.”

            I write – a lot – because I think I have perspective now. As I told two friends who visited the other day, this past six and a half years have exposed me to a lot I never thought existed. There are a great number of folks who live on the fringe of society. For them, the deck is stacked. They are disrespected, disregarded, and America seems disinterested in their well-being.

            I didn’t want to think color, religion, or you financial status mattered. I smugly held to the notion that all are equal before the law. They aren’t. Ours is a fragile experiment in governance and we as a people fail more often than we care to admit. I found myself thinking about rap artist Macklemore’s song “Same Love,” addressing prejudice aimed at gays.

            “America the brave still fears what we don’t know.

            God loves all his children is somehow forgotten,

            While we paraphrase His book that’s been around 3500 years …

            I learned in church if you preach hate in the service,

            Those words aren’t anointed.”

            I write because I think honesty requires it. For too long I wasn’t honest, about a great number of things. Then I found myself in a foreign environment, lost, confused, broken. Honesty came naturally at that point. There’s a lot wrong with all this in here. There are more than a few who deserve better, who need compassion and help, not punishment. There is also a lot of evil and ignorance and just plain stupid behavior. So I write because in my heart I believe I have a story to tell. The people, the stories are fascinating.

1. Gay Tony. He sits to pee and sashays around the building like he’s in a Lana Turner movie. When he first moved in he said, “I just love the way you talk Larry, so worldly and polite.”
2. There are “Vikings,” guys who think showering and laundry are optional. You watch them use the bathroom and exit without a bar of soap coming near their hands. And, you finally break down and say, “Look, you need to get in the water and wash your ass!” You learn guys live in here like they live outside; there are some filthy men living out there!
3. You see layer upon layer of DOC “counselors” who do no counseling and in fact, cause more harm than good. They put inforce stupid rules to “modify” behavior – they only piss guys off. “Evidence Based programs” – that’s the catch word for re-entry programming and it’s nothing but inane jargon created to keep people employed.
4. Drug use is rampant. God knows how much is spent on “piss” testing. Weed, coke, heroin – it’s all here in abundance. And, somehow guys have figured out how to beat the test. The investigators rely on “rats” dropping “notes” on “enemies.” Want to hear something funny? Most of the “informants” the investigators rely on are dirtier than who they rat out.
5. So, four guys in our building – all who are walking in and out the port-o-johns on the rec yard far too often – get tested. They “conclude” someone dropped a “note” on them. As I said earlier, guys are plain dumb. Anyone can tell they’re up to something. “You know Larry, this should be expected in here. This is prison.” I disagreed. You learn who you really are in your worst moments. You don’t have to be a user/an addict/ a scumbag in here; it’s way too easy to be one out there.
6. The factory guys. Sure, they make fifty-five to eighty-five cents an hour making furniture that is sold at exorbitant prices to state agencies who could buy the same stuff on the open market at lower cost. That’s Virginia’s “correctional enterprises” program: slave wages plus captive buyers paying exorbitant prices.

Yes, that’s life around here. It gets discouraging sometimes, ok, most times. Then, I think about Dr. Ken Brantley. He was in Africa, a doctor serving with the Christian aid group “Samaritan’s Purse.” Brantley contracted Ebola. He returned to America and was treated with experimental drugs. And he survived.

            “I still have the same flaws I did before, but whenever we go through a devastating experience like what I’ve been through, it is an incredible opportunity for redemption or something. We can say, ‘How can I be better now because of what I’ve been through?’ To not do that is kind of a shame.”

            Dr. Brantley understands redemption. Perhaps, just perhaps, that explains why I keep writing. You screw up, you throw it all away and you try and get beyond the regret that gnaws at your very being. You realize you can’t change the past, but maybe you can affect the present and improve the future. So noble. But, there’s “Ximena.”

            My buddy, O, has been trying to teach me Spanish for more than a year and I must confess, I’m miserable at it. I recognize a fair number of words, can read it and create grammatically correct sentences. But translating it and speaking? Let’s just say you wouldn’t want me asking anyone in Honduras for directions!

            He did get me watching Univision which is where I found “Ximena.” Ximena – a former “Miss Columbia” in the “Miss Universe” pageant is a mid-thirties “weather girl” on Univision’s morning show. Univision is to beautiful women what Omaha is to steaks. Every show is cast full of gorgeous women. No matter how bad the news is in the world, you smile watching Univision.

            So I decided – I told the guys – that I’ll write the great American novel so that I can get invited to Univision’s morning show and meet Ximena. Hey, it’s a goal, maybe not a noble goal but a goal nonetheless.

            Christmas 2014; seventh one inside. And it’s Ok. There are days I still wonder when all this will end; there are days when I feel like I am more alone than I thought possible. But then, then there are those days when I know I matter, and this matters; days when I laugh more than I ever believed possible in these circumstances.

            I’ve thought about the “human” condition a lot recently. We have such an almost natural ability to do horrible things: killing kids in schools in the “warped” name of your God. We seem to kill more than we heal; we are self-centered, vindictive, and fearful. And then, in the hopelessness and darkness there is … hope. That’s Christmas, a reminder that no matter how dark things appear, there is a light, “and the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.” Are there any more hopeful words?

            What does all this have to do with prison? A long time ago a prophet said the following, that a day was coming when “He” would,

            “Open blind eyes,

            To bring out prisoners from the prison.”

            Everything I write, everything I experience in here is seen through that lens. It’s all about prison, though not just the ones with walls.

Merry Christmas

Major Changes

They brought in a new chief of security this week, a new big hat, a new Major.  DOC has a weird facility operations system.  A warden sets policy for the compound with day to day help from an assistant warden.  Third in charge is the Operations Director who runs everything on the compound non-security related.  But, security trumps everything.  And, security is always in the control of a major, a big hat. 

I’ve been here at this level 2 facility almost four years and this will be my third major in charge of security.  The first one was easy-going.  He wanted things to run smoothly.  His officers were mostly older.  Both he and his staff had been in the system a long time.  Many of them had been at the higher level facilities where stabbings and other random, mindless acts of violence were daily occurrences.  They – and he – knew what it was like to lock a prison down for nine, twelve, or eighteen months.

So, they gave some latitude to things.  After all, this was a level 2.  Guys spend years getting their level down to come to a compound like this.  A two hundred series charge now and then was nothing – it didn’t cost you your job or good time.

That first major retired and number 2 came in.  He was from a receiving unit, a facility where level 5’s (capital murder, rape and more) mingled with petty larceny or DUI level 1’s.  Those prisons, as I learned on my own, are cesspools; they are powder kegs which erupt almost daily in fights, robberies and worse.  

Security’s goal there is simple:  lock ‘em in until they’re classified and ship ‘em out.  The officers did their jobs; you acted out, you went to the hole.  They were detached.  They walked the floor when required; most times they stayed by the booth.

That attitude took hold here under Major # 2.  Soon there were almost weekly memos about bed areas (what was permissible to have).  Charges were regularly written.  And, even two hundred series charges (“minor” infractions) cost men good time and employment.

Was the prison more secure?  No.  There were just as many fights, just as many drugs, just as many gang members.  In fact, things deteriorated.  Is that the Major’s fault?  Probably not.  See, the prison population was changing as well.

When I first arrived here, most guys locked up were older and they had time yet to do.  Then, Governor McDonnell announced his re-entry program and turned this into an exit point for this region’s soon to be released inmates.  What you get now is a mix of very young, very dumb guys who have little time to do (and came from short jail bids), or very old, long serving inmates who have been everywhere in the system.  They come with health problems, few prospects for successful reintegration into fast-paced society (many have never used a cell phone or ATM), and years of scars built by the violence and degradation of surviving higher level prisons.  They young guys think they’re in camp.  They act out.  The old guys have seen the worst.  They smell b/s a mile away.  Both don’t care about any state announced program.

There are a little more than 1,000 inmates here and maybe a core group of 100 of us run the school programs, maintenance shop and factory.  The rest are short-timers who don’t give a damn about another re-entry program that was just like the last.

The prison has changed; the inmates are worse; the problems more noticeable.  Into that comes Major # 3.  What’s he like?  He’s young, not even 40.  That in and of itself is different.  And, he carries himself like a military officer: pressed uniform, perfect posture.  He was a captain at a higher level, cut his teeth on the violence and degradation at level 4.  And, he’s checking things out.

No one, especially in prison, likes change.  But, some change is good, especially if it cuts down on knucklehead behavior in here.  So, I’m going to take a wait and see approach.  Now, if they’d only come and clean house on the re-entry program…

 

A passing thought:  Why do Americans think the 2^nd Amendment is so sacrosanct yet the 4^th Amendment can be circumvented in the name of security?  I’m not sure what I think of the NSA leaker, but I know this – the founding fathers were deeply concerned about Government’s ability to search without justifiable warrant.

No less than Ben Franklin remarked that people who are willing to give up their liberty for security will soon have neither.

I can tell you from living in here, under daily surveillance, that freedom and privacy matter.

Moving

A few weeks ago I finally was assigned a bottom bunk.  After almost three years here at Lunenburg, I switched from a “top rack” to a bottom one.  I had other opportunities to switch bunks in the past but decided I wanted a specific area with guys I thought I could live near.  And the area you live in is important.  Cleanliness and neatness matter especially when your personal space is less than two feet to the left or right.  And, being in such close proximity to five other men, you see, hear and smell everything that goes on around you.  You think you’ve “seen it all”, then some new chucklehead comes along and reminds you there is always someone out there more ignorant, more disrespectful, more slovenly, than you imagined.

It’s hard to describe living in such close quarters.  Your bunk becomes your personal island.  There is a list of don’ts in prison and most involve your personal living space.  You never sit on another man’s bunk; you never sit in their chair without permission; going in a man’s cut – without prior approval – is close to breaking and entering; you don’t “ear hustle”, listening in on another guy’s conversation – even when that guy is less than two feet away from you.  Finally, you don’t run your hustle around your bunk to call attention to your cut area.  No one wants the officers snooping around your cut.

Still, guys aren’t locked up because we’re smart.  Everyday someone will leave a plastic knife out (used to cut veggies, smuggled out of officer’s chow).  Everyday someone will leave their locker open with bags of fresh vegetables and fruit in broad daylight; or, they’ll have their TV blasting BET.  It’s stupid, disrespectful, and brings heat on the neighborhood.

So I was careful where I moved.  I didn’t want to live in the “trailer park”, six bunks full of dirty, redneck white guys with trash everywhere.  Nor did I want to move into the “projects”, six bunks of mostly young black guys who listen to RAP late into the night and play poker and tonk nonstop every weekend. 

And I’m happy with my move.  No more climbing up and jumping down from five feet.  I can sit in my chair, watch TV, and write.  And my neighbors are almost all quiet and studious.  If you can have such a thing as privacy and respect living with 95 other guys in the space of a basketball court, I’ve got it.  And, I know, things could be worse.

Lunenburg is changing.  We’re not sure why.  It could be the Gov’s re-entry program, or budget constraints on DOC, or the realization that compounds made for 800 overtax water and sewage at 1200, but the compound population is decreasing.

Those rotten, short middle bunks the warden spent months installing in buildings are being removed.  Top bunks in the middle two rows in buildings 2 and 3 were taken out as were rear bunks sitting in the Fire Lane.  That’s a reduction of 26 inmate beds per building side, 104 less beds on the compound.  And the guys who lived in those bunks?  They were transported elsewhere.  Buildings 5 and 6 are next.  That change will reduce Lunenburg’s capacity to approximately 1,000. 

We’re not sure if our college building (4) or the factory building (1) will also be reduced.  It would be great:  70 guys fighting over four showers and four commodes instead of 96.  But, with 88 students (and more coming in around October 1^st) the college building would need both A side and B side.

Moving is expensive.  To transport an inmate from one compound to the next costs money, but so does keeping a man locked up for a year:  $25,000 and counting.

Ironically, the bunk I moved into belonged to one of our first IT grads who went home.  He’s working, going to school and doing well.  And ultimately, that is the move we all dream about.

Dear Mr. Clarke

I want to thank you for your recent visit to Lunenburg.  You won’t remember me, but I was one of the dozens of nameless men that had the opportunity to meet you during your tour of the compound.  I’m one of the college tutors you saw as you passed through the programs/education building.  There were a fair number of things I wanted to say to you, but I instead just said hello and shook your hand.  Perhaps it was concern that the warden and operations officer wouldn’t appreciate my comments or maybe I just wanted to get a feel for the type of man you are, but I didn’t say some things that should have been said.  Here goes.

You have a tough job.  You are point man on a rusting old barge headed in rough seas toward the rocks.  I believe you are a decent man who sees the possibilities that exist for good in most of the men doing time in here.  But, you must know the current system Virginia has in place, denying imprisoned offenders even a rudimentary opportunity for early release, breeds a sense of hopelessness and distrust in the corrections system that is reflected in this state’s stagnant recidivism rate. 

Contrary to what the politicians tell the voters, abolishing parole has been a colossal failure.  You know it, I know it.  Anyone with an ounce of sense knows it.  Virginia is spending $1 billion a year to house almost 40,000 inmates.  The recidivism rate has actually crept up since 2000.  The vast majority of men and women behind bars are nonviolent offenders.

Prison doesn’t make a person better.  Prison – even at this low custody level – is dangerous, and dirty and not an environment conducive to change.  That some do, in fact, grow from this experience is a testament to their character.  Prison breaks a person; prison destroys.

I am a unique inmate.  I came from a life of privilege.  I was well-paid, well-educated with both college and law degrees.  I broke the law and deserved punishment.  But, sending me to prison will not make me a “good citizen”.  People will tell you I was that before.  Prison for me is a huge waste of taxpayer resources. 

But, I have grown in these three years.  I have met men who did not have the chances in life that I did and have watched them struggle through adult basic education class and earn their GED.  These men, largely forgotten and disparaged by “law abiding” society, well up with tears when they are handed their diplomas.

My friends ask me during visits why I wear my emotions on my sleeve for these men, why I work so hard tutoring in basic ed and the college classes.  It’s simple.  I believe everyone is redeemable, everyone deserves a second chance.

I know your faith is important to you. Mine is as well.  I urge you to meditate on Hebrews 13:3 -“remember the prisoners, as though in prison with them”.  My faith teaches me that no one is beyond redemption, no one who doesn’t deserve forgiveness and mercy.

You can make a difference.  You have the power and the faith to transform Virginia’s correction system.  Be courageous.  Be honest.  Let the Governor know there are better ways to manage corrections.  Push for increased earned good time. Money needs to be directed to education, alcohol and drug treatment and mental health care.  And, let offenders capable of working and contributing to society do so by looking at alternatives to incarceration; and remove the stigma of the “Scarlet F” (felony) from non-violent offender’s records.

You have a unique opportunity.  The men – here at Lunenburg at least – are willing to have faith that you can make a difference, that you’re not like all the other DOC directors and administrators who’ve come down the road selling the false “lockem up” mantra that has led to the dismal results we now see:  40,000 incarcerated, $1 billion spent per year.

You are in my prayers.  Trust your faith.  Make a difference. 

Trilogy

A good deal of interesting stuff has been happening here this past week. Here are the top three.



I. “Meet the New Boss”


The new warden is kicking ass and taking names and, so far, it’s OK because it’s all directed at the CO’s.


The former warden, Ms. Runion, was all about “therapy”. She had made a big push to make the COs a little kinder and gentler. Respect was her mantra. Officers were to treat inmates (sorry “offenders”, that’s the new word for being locked up) with respect.


Discipline was lax. The COs rebelled. “Screw that. We ain’t talkin’ nice to the inmates.” A number of COs began filing grievances against the warden.


Ms. Runion has been in the “system” since the 70’s. She has frankly spent too many years working in corrections to put up with whiny officers. The Department of Health’s civil commitment sexual predator facility needed a warden and she transferred. CO’s who were being made to “play nice with the inmates” celebrated. “We got rid of that bitch” I heard from a few COs.


Then enter Ms. Avent, a small, middle age African American woman who also has been in the system for years. She’s not “touchy feelie”. No, she’s about following the rules and being professional. And the CO’s are walking around in a daze.


“Officers will look professional.” She’s sent dozens home to shave and clean and press their uniforms. No longer do senior officers – Sergeants, Lieutenants, and Captains – joke around with CO’s. “You are their superior officers. Start acting like it!”


Rules are being enforced about movement on the compound and living standards in the dorms. I heard our building lieutenant (a woman) mutter as she walked by my bunk “I hate that bitch”.


The officers are, simply put, being made to earn their pay. Most old heads will tell you they can live under any set of rules as long as they know what they are. I agree. There’s too much crazy stuff that can happen in here when rules go by the wayside.


She’s tough, but so far, she’s fair.


II. “Rumors”


DOC has a new director. He comes from a state with a low inmate population and aggressive parole and re-entry programs. This week, Virginia’s Governor announced all departments must prepare budgets with a 6% decrease in funding. DOC is bracing for more cuts.


I met with the school principal this week. We are exploring expanding my creative writing program to a school wide writing lab for all GED students and community college enrollees. She told me our prison is being considered for a re-entry facility. Governor McDonnell has made inmate re-entry a priority. There is “talk” out there that a number of prisons will be modified to focus on getting inmates close to release properly prepared for re-entry to society. I’d stay here as an academic aide. A large number of inmates here (those not working as academic or vocational aides) would go to other prisons.


Is it a viable plan? I’m not so sure. If you want to bring DOC costs down and improve re-entry programs, re-introduce parole. Governor McDonnell could save billions over the long haul by returning Virginia corrections to a parole system with inmates being made eligible for early release based on performance in educational and vocational programs.


Think how enthusiastic an inmate would be to earn his GED if he was told “you become parole eligible with your degree”.


Every year around this time rumors run through prisons that “the Governors gonna bring back parole.” Perhaps this year, it won’t just be rumors.


III. “Man Down, Man Down”


The other afternoon our building called a medical emergency. As “Flo Rider” likes to shout out, we had a “man down”.


Briscoe, a gentle giant of a guy, was in the shower. His towel fell off the shelf. As he reached for it, he slipped and fell. Briscoe’s a big guy: 275 lbs. He hit with a “thud”. His head split open and he bled profusely.


Fortunately, within two minutes (a record for medical emergencies here), three COs and our new cute, young, blond nurse showed up with a wheelchair and emergency kit. As they stopped the bleeding and wheeled Briscoe down to medical, the nurse gently held his hand and said “hang on Mr. Briscoe. I’ll take care of you.”


Briscoe turned toward me and gave a big “thumbs up”. I started trying to figure out how I could slip and get the compassionate young nurse to hold my hand.


Briscoe’s back. His head is wrapped in a white bandage. He still has a huge smile on his face.


A final thought – the American Corrections Association will be here this week to evaluate the prison to see if this place operates as a prison within their standards. ACA’s certification matters to DOC. Funny thing is, you put lipstick on a pig, it’s still a pig. You can repaint buildings and press CO uniforms, but it doesn’t change the fact that this is still a prison. And prisons are dark, depressing, inhumane places and no certification can change that.