Tag: rehabilitation

A WITNESS by George

On By Tony CassonIn WITNESS1 Comment

Death has been on my mind recently. A lot. And though Easter – the Christian celebration of Jesus Christ rising from the dead – has just passed, my mind keeps returning to death, to winter, and not to resurrection, to rebirth, to spring. Why do I feel the need to write about death, especially from inside prison?

This is my first blog post of 2015. January through March was a particularly gloomy time for me. Some of it was due to endless overcast days filled with chilly Louisiana temperatures and rain. Lots of rain. Some had to do with a prevailing feeling of loneliness. The winter was bleak.

I tried to force writing topics: New Year resolutions, finding hope in spite of being in Oakdale, blah, blah, blah – some way to launch 2015 in a positive and uplifting manner. However, all of my attempts felt Pollyanna-esque at best. So instead of veiling myself in false enthusiasm, I decided to cocoon myself in despondent introspection until my soul was ready to change seasons.

During this time, death struck. Fellow inmates, whose friendships now rank as dear as family, have lost loved ones on the outside. Aunts, grandmas, mothers have passed, carving emotional holes in my friends that are difficult to fill while incarcerated. There is no attending a wake, funeral, or burial service. Mourning or celebrating the deceased’s life in the community of loved ones is not an option. Given our current technology, it would be easier for an astronaut in the space station to be present via satellite than it would be for an inmate.

Prison is exile.

Diagnoses of cancer, diabetes, heart disease, or serious accidents are a death knell for the exiles. The haunting proclamation of mankind’s mortality cannot be ignored forever, though we all live our lives as if that bell will never toll. I’ve seen grown men collapse to their knees on the sidewalk from overwhelming grief after receiving such news from home.

Death becomes even more difficult to deal with when a fellow inmate dies of natural causes in his bunk. Life’s fragility becomes the spectre in the room who must be addressed. It is a cold, hard-hitting, unremorseful reminder to those of us locked away from our families, friends, and freedom that begs the question: could I be next?

Peter Becker died in his bunk on February 28, 2015. His sudden death highlighted the loneliness and abandonment of prison for me. For as many friends as I have made at Oakdale, and the many more that Pete had here, at the end of the day, or at any moment for that matter, it simply comes down to me and my maker. That truth is my spectre.

“He was a really good guy,” a close friend remarked in the hours after Pete’s passing. And then after a contemplative silence, “Prison is no place to die.”

I agreed on the surface. Pete was a good guy: curmudgeonly kind, loyal, charitable, good-humored with a wicked wit, and a proud father and grandpa. But “prison is no place to die” dug below that surface. It dug down into my psyche; seeping into my cocoon, feeding my gloom.

Prison is such a removal from real life that death, a reality in the free world, seems surreal here. Prison is supposed to be a place where you walk out the door after serving your time, not a place where you’re carried out in a body bag before your time. That dissonant chord struck me so profoundly that I was forced to seek a resolution to the question – why death here?

The month of March passed, and I still had no answer. Though unresolved, I am a realist. I know no one lives forever, and any breath could be one’s last. However, I felt the need to proclaim to the world, the universe, that “prison is no place to die” – for anyone! But a proclamation wasn’t what I was looking for, and proclamations from prison are not often heard.

In a moment of clarity, with Easter closing in, I realized I was seeking redemption as the answer. Pete’s redemption. More specifically, I was seeking his public redemption as a convicted felon. In a very real way Pete died twice, and I wanted to know where was his second chance – his shot at redemption?

Coming to prison is a form of death; a first death. The death of a life as one knew it. It is a painful, often times slow and very public suffocation of every aspect of life: financial, professional, personal, and familial. And in that dying, one passes from a known realm into one of the unknown – the Federal Bureau of Prisons (BOP).

Life here is an existence of bureaucratic illogic, which for those who deal with bureaucracy often, the word “illogic” is indeed redundant. To emerge from prison “rehabilitated” is to have personally tamed or exorcised the demons of one’s past in spite of the BOP staff’s best attempts to assist, or derail (depending on one’s level of cynicism), with federally mandated “re-entry” programs.

Programming boxes get checked, not because staff is concerned about the quality of the program offered or the proficiency of the inmate instructor or the inmate student, but because if boxes aren’t checked, staff get in trouble themselves by not having their supervisors check off their own personal performance boxes. BOP boxes must be checked. A checked box is the goal, not actual rehabilitation.

This is the realm, the life we live in prison, where Pete’s second death occurred. A death that was much more finite than the first metaphorical death he was subjected to by the prosecution’s path to prison. “Prison is no place to die” because the opportunity for public redemption is trumped by that death.

Where does one find the hope of spring when winter provides no glimpse of renewal?

Looking out of my cell’s window at April’s green grass and clover, the robin egg-blue sky, and feeling the sun’s warmth streaming in, I now see a ray of hope, a nod toward redemption as exampled in Pete’s incarcerated life; the life between his two deaths.

His redemption was witnessed by those of us who knew him as the man better because of his conviction to life rather than the man lessened by his conviction to prison. How I wish he could have been his own witness to the free world; that he had lived to reunite with his daughter and son, and taken his grandkids fishing – something he longed to do. He had turned the page on his past, and I witnessed a redeemed man. I’m sorry that more “outside” people – his family, friends, and the community at large – couldn’t have been a witness to that too.

Ultimately, maybe redemption isn’t a matter of how many people witness it. The fact that it was witnessed by those who were living the life alongside Pete may be evidence enough. And as a witness, maybe my testimony via this blog to those of you who have your freedom may lead you toward a path of understanding. An understanding which could shake off a winter of cold-heartedness and blossom a springtime of forgiveness and offered redemption.

I’m looking out my window again, and the medical team is speedily pushing a trauma gurney across the compound yard toward medical. On it an unconscious inmate is frantically receiving CPR. The struggle between life and death, even on this glorious spring day, continues inside the razor wire of Oakdale, as it does every second across the globe.

I hope there are testimonies of redemption for us all. Maybe it is time to break out of our cocoons and witness. Witness the opportunity for and the power of a second chance.

[Click here to read Tony Casson’s touching witness to Peter Becker, with whom Tony shared a cell while at Oakdale FCI.]

A Note From Tony: I was happy to wake up this morning and see this post by George from Oakdale FCI. George writes them and mails them to my ‘other’ Diane (still the original and best!), who types them and posts them for me (us).

Even when individuals are attempting to be constructive and live redemptive, introspective, and productive lives, our government, in its infinite wisdom, does not allow interaction between men in prison and those on supervised release.  I am grateful to Diane for her continuing support of those who are incarcerated, and of yours truly.

This post, while beautifully written and profoundly touching in its honesty, definitely shows a negative side to prison life which I would like to address. As Diane S. (my new, OTHER Diane!) struggles with adjusting to being an inmate’s wife, she cannot be shielded from the fact that these emotions do exist inside the confines of the prison environment.

That is not to say that life there is always mournful, morose, or melancholy, but it certainly can be a difficult place at times. There are times of laughter as well, and it is the rare individual who spends their entire time in prison living in a world of sadness, depression, or negativity. I know that George is, by nature, an upbeat and positive person, and from what Diane S. has written, so is her husband Chris. These men will deal with the ups and downs of prison life but will create more ups than downs.

I hope they find each other and get to know each other. George lives in my old housing unit, Allen.

George, thanks for writing so well. You honor these pages. Diane #1, you ARE still #1, and Diane S., you have my utmost respect and admiration.

“AMERICA’S CULTURE OF INCARCERATION – PART 5 – THE LAND OF LOST OPPORTUNITIES”

On By Tony CassonIn AMERICA’S CULTURE OF INCARCERATION2 Comments

By Tony Casson 

“You will be change into a different person.”
1 Samuel 10:6b NLT

“He who rejects change is the architect of decay. The only human institution which rejects progress is the cemetery.” Harold Wilson

There will always be a need for places in which to lock up those who present a danger to society or feel that their freedoms and their individual rights supersede another’s, thereby entitling them to live any way they please and take whatever they may want whenever they may want it.

The fact that prisons and jails are needed is beyond debate. However, there are several issues that are debatable: whom should we lock up? What do we attempt to achieve with them – and for them – while we presumably can demand their undivided attention and exercise a high degree of control over their daily lives?

This segment of the series is going to address those who are incarcerated. For the moment, we will not debate the hows and whys that got them all there. The questions that I will try to address are these: What opportunities are we missing to help those who are behind bars? Why do we not improve them, empower them in a pro-social manner, educate them and prepare them for a return to society as productive members? There is much talk about various programs but why does it seem like the success rate is so incredibly low?

As with raising children, there is no guaranteed method of rehabilitating individuals who have found their way into the nation’s jails and prisons. But just as there is a guaranteed way to fail a child, there is certainly a guaranteed way to fail an inmate and that is to do nothing to change those who have demonstrated a distinct need to change. While it is very true that the major impetus for that change needs to come from within the individuals themselves, the philosophy, the structure and the rewards are the direct responsibility of those who are in control of the programs and the environment in which they are administered. Unfortunately, these things are lacking, leading to rehabilitative efforts that are half-hearted at best and non-existent at worst. The attitude of the inmates themselves plays a big part in all of this but the blame lands more squarely on those who formulate, execute and monitor the programs and control the inmates’ lives and environment.

In many of the more than 4,000 prisons in this country, wardens feel that the purpose of a correctional institution is not rehabilitation but custody and public safety. However, those who feel that way are dangerously shortchanging the very society that will have to deal with these graduates of “schools of bad behavior” when they are released. Unless there is a genuine effort made to provide those in custody with rehabilitation, restoration and rejuvenation – a new “3 R’s”, if you will – society’s risk will be even greater upon their release than it was when they entered the system.

I have what I think are the positive, practical and manageable ideas on how to provide those “3 R’s” in a manner that could have a very positive effect on not only those who are incarcerated but upon the society that will eventually have to deal with them. My approach could have the added benefit of helping to lessen the negative impact on the families of those incarcerated. These things will be outlined in detail in an entirely separate article. For now, I only hope to raise the public’s consciousness that current policies and attitudes are accomplishing little and are actually contributing to lost opportunities that do nothing more than foster our culture of incarceration.

Reports vary but many indicate that the number of offenders who are re-arrested within three years of release from prison is as high as 67%. One source for this statistic if Byron R. Johnson’s 2011 book “More God, Less Crime.” Johnson’s book also states that an average of 2,000 individuals per day are released from prisons across the country. That is a staggering 730,000 men and women each year being returned to society, many of whom have done little, if anything, to prepare themselves for freedom. But for many of them, it was simply not a choice. Many individuals would respond if the proper environment was available, but the philosophy of those who actually supervise those behind bars is often in direct conflict with the official philosophy of the state or federal department setting policy.

For example, the official public policy of the Federal Bureau of Prisons leans strongly toward rehabilitation. Harvey Lapin, the BOP’s recently retired head, comes from this public culture of rehabilitation. But was that really where his efforts lay when he was the Director of BOP? Mr. Lapin’s history with the private prison industry speaks otherwise. The following realities of private prisons cannot be denied or ignored: They exist for profit; their product is human beings; they don’t make money if no one is in prison; regardless of public positions, privately, however, rehabilitation is the last thing they want if they are to encourage repeat business.

Immediately upon leaving his position with the BOP, Mr. Lapin went to work as an Executive Vice President for Correctional Corporation of America (CCA). In a bold public move, shortly after commencing work for CCA, Lapin sent a letter to every state offering to pay up to $250 million dollars for the right to operate their entire state prison systems. The state would then pay to manage their “property.” One critical caveat: the state must guarantee 90% occupancy.

This presents a serious quandary. If rehabilitation is important, effective and designed to succeed, prison populations should shrink. In fact, it should be a concrete goal to reduce prison populations by 50-75% nationally for myriad reasons, including humanitarian ones as well as for taxpayer relief.

How can a suggestion of a guaranteed level of incarceration of human beings be viewed as anything less than a shameless disregard for humanity; and any state that does business with companies that promote such disregard for humanity should have those responsible for approving the contracts investigated for political cronyism of the sort that contributes to corporate greed in a shameless business that should be unconstitutional in the first place.

Owing to the effectiveness of the American Legislative Exchange Council (ALEC), the whole private prison industry and their lobbyists as well as unscrupulous, insensitive and politically driven office-holders, this nation’s prison system is bursting at the seams and is such a strain on state and federal resources that rehabilitation has slipped considerably in importance, even in those rare instances where genuine efforts can be acknowledged. For the most part, what was already an ineffective system of unenthusiastically administered programs is now in more danger than ever before.

The Government Accountability Office (GAO) recently released a report titled “Growing Inmate Crowding Negatively Affects Inmates, Staff and Infrastructure.” Following the report, experts warned that “the ballooning incarcerated population puts inmates and guards at risk and holds back efforts to rehabilitate convicts.” Inimai Chettiar, a director at the Brennan Center for Justice at NYU School of Law said, “People will get out of prison, but they’re not being helped to re-enter society.”

I have demonstrated in past articles how the private prison industry arrives at its profit in part through the reduction in rehabilitation programs to lower recidivism. This has the added benefit to their bottom line of increased individuals returning to prison. There is no logical incentive for private companies to do anything that could potentially reduce prison populations. This should not be a difficult perspective for our politicians and our courts to understand and accept. We have already seen a case where the rehabilitation program consisted of daily crossword puzzles being slipped under the cell doors of inmates. We have also seen 52% of Louisiana’s state prison inmates languishing in parish jails for years with no rehabilitative programs available.

The concept of rehabilitation in this country is broken. Prison rehabilitation is more about lost opportunities than it is about working to transform individuals and give them an education, skills, self-respect, hope and a fresh start.

This is truly a tragedy since so much of a prison inmate’s daily existence is monitored, dictated, scheduled or controlled. With that much power being exerted over people, the taxpaying public has a right to demand better use of that opportunity to implement changes in the way inmates think and act. Can all of them be transformed into people who contribute positively to society? Of course not. But it often seems as if there has been a total collapse of effort to maximize the results.

Society has failed many of these men and women in their childhood. This calls into question our ability to call ourselves a civilized country should we fail them again.

We can do a much, much better job. But not until we eliminate this culture of incarcerating the highest number of people possible for the longest time we can, with the least amount of reason.

            More tomorrow…