“You know, a lot of people think the prison system isn’t working. People think the prisons are just a place to put people who haven’t learned to function in society, people who could be taught to be productive, if only society would give them a chance. It’s really a shame, we just throw people away in prisons. … But enough about the staff.”

-- Late Night Comedien (fictional)

What Kind of Job, Indeed

Couple of Chicks Not Talking. On a Christmas morning, so far it was just me and one other in the room, waiting for our guys. A Corrections Officer was there, looking down from a desk on risers. It was quiet: after Merry Christmas, there wasn’t much to say.

Glancing up at the desk, we caught the CO gazing at us, with a perplexed look. It was if she was thinking, about us: Now, who would choose to spend Christmas Day inside a prison? The other one smiled at me, as I gave the CO a look back, in reply, as if to say: Sister, I was just wondering the same thing about you.

No Way to Say Goodbye. The family gathers around – everyone who is available, that is. It is disappointing that the missing one was denied compassionate leave to be there. Well, actually, it was approved in two layers of review but denied at the last minute on the third round.

So, everyone (and I do mean everyone) is waiting now, but the phone is not ringing. Eventually, it is too late. Eventually, the bereaved learn why he didn’t even call. Someone caught him smoking in a forbidden place. And, knowing his family’s situation, and having other disciplinary options, they revoked his phone privileges as punishment.

Hardship Post. It’s 3 pm, time to go. The relatives and friends and lovers who have stayed this long line up at the grated gate to leave. Everyone knows it’s forbidden to take anything out that wasn’t brought in, except an unopened snack or can of soda. It’s been announced; we’ve been told. And we are all preoccupied with the facts and meaning of our own departures.

Still, we all feel it, witnessing – a CO makes a show of confiscating the grainy brown paper towel a mother is using to wipe her tears.

I’m trying to remember, is this the same CO, a few weeks ago, who interrupted a family bowed in prayer together, saying their chairs were improperly arranged? It was another one, though, who made a 7-year-old girl cry, invoking some rule that a father can’t hold a child older than 6.

This was around the time I complained to the Warden in a letter. I wrote, “… your staff are undermining family relationships and placing additional stresses, even on young children and older adults …”

The Warden’s reply contained the usual citations of regulations and program guidance, etc., etc. The COs are in compliance, she assured me.  (The COs are always in compliance). She further assured me, “We continue to remind our staff of the importance of performing difficult duties in a professional manner.” Difficult duties.

What Kind of Worker? You can make a case that prisons create good jobs where jobs are scarce. Some COs do seem to belong somewhere else (and, sadly, they know who they are).  But many are no more employable outside the walls than the stereotypical ex-offender. Would you want these people in your office, shop, regiment, precinct, or business enterprise?  Cruel people.  People who don’t have enough judgment to let a lady weep into a paper towel.  People who are challenged to spend the day in a room full of families sitting around talking.  No, you wouldn’t. Look at it this way: Prison jobs are keeping the global workplace safe.

For more objectivity and less irony, read Kurt Stand’s “Three Pieces on Unions and Prisons,” posted next door. Ted Conover in his book Newjack is more factual and offers a valuable, valid perspective – that of the prison worker.

by Lisa Foley Stand -- October 2005