It’s my 3rd day in 24 hour, solitary confinement. All I can
think to myself is, where are our advocates?
Since being moved to the hole after my cellmate tested positive for
COVID-19, I’ve sat in my cell in total isolation wondering, how does any of
this make sense?
This year prison life has been extraordinarily more
difficult than usual. Like everyone else in the free world, the people in
prison are dealing with the added uncertainty and stresses associated with the
pandemic. Prison has become more oppressive, restrictive and depressing and the
need for advocates and prison oversight is needed more than ever.
Starting this past March, as preventative measures, the
prison stopped our family members from visiting us, all religious services were
canceled, educational programs were closed, and strict lockdown procedures were
implemented. These restrictions have significantly added to the normal
stresses, helplessness and other difficulties associated with prison life.
Further, whether it has made the incarcerated any safer is very much in
question.
On Friday my cellmate tested positive for COVID and was
moved to a quarantine housing unit. He’s now amongst the 20% of the population
who have tested positive. And as for me, even though I tested negative and have
no symptoms, I was removed from the cellblock where I was housed and moved to the
Restrictive Housing Unit (the new name for “the hole”) to be
quarantined for 2 weeks. It should be noted, the cellblock where I was
previously housed was already on lockdown status; however, my celly and I were
allowed out of our cell, with 14 other men, for 1 hour a day to use the phones
to call our families, use the microwaves, clean our cells, exorcise, and take
showers. We also had access to what the
prison calls, “The Fresh Air Program,” where we were allowed to go
outside to the prison yard for 2-3 hours a week.
What’s most confusing is, instead of performing contact
tracing or being quarantined with the other 14 men who were exposed, the prison
administration has chosen, in a nonsensical, knee jerk reaction, to force me
(as well as the other men who’s cellmates test positive) to be moved to
“the hole” under 24 hour solitary confinement in segregation. We are
not allowed any recreation time out of our cells, time to exorcise, or any
fresh air in the yard. It is 24 hours a day, 7 days a week in total isolation
in a cell with limited sunlight and no social interaction. More worrisome is
that it’s widely known amongst prisoners — and all the experts and the courts
have agreed — that there are devastating, long term physical and psychological
affects as a result of prolonged solitary confinement. So, while the men in
this prison are desperately trying to stay healthy both physically and
mentally, in a place where social distancing is impossible, with the added
stresses and uncertainties of prison life during a pandemic, and while being
completely isolated from our support systems, MCI-Concord’s response is to
place us in solitary confinement with no recreation, no exorcise or fresh air.
We need help. We need advocates. Not only from the prison
reform groups, but also the courts, the legislature, and the mental health
community. The prisons are being decimated by this virus. Incarcerated people would rather suffer in silence then
report symptoms for fear of being sent to the discipline unit for quarantine. Although
they are now allowed to have their property, initially they were not. Cells in solitary
typically do not have electricity because people have started fires. Imagine
being sick and unable to at least settle in with a book or something to watch
on TV. Prison officials don’t know what to do. Correctional Staff are unsure
and frustrated as well. Social distancing is logistically impossible in
prison. It is during desperate times
such as these that advocates and prison oversight is needed most. The men in
prison are vulnerable. Like many these days, we’re scared, unsure, worried
about our families, and battling the feelings of helplessness and depression.
It is time for intervention. Please help.
Today is Saturday. Or is it Sunday? I’m not sure. These days it doesn’t seem to matter. I woke
today at 6:00am, the way I do every day. I stayed in my bunk until 6:30,
drifting somewhere between sleep and awake. As always, I hoped this was all a
bad dream. The cold cement walls, lumpy mattress and constant hum of mechanical
equipment snapped me back into my dismal reality. But now there is a fresh, new
hell to my reality… I am now on COVID-19 lockdown.
It’s day 29 of the lockdown. I decided that I am going to
walk you through a typical day caged in a prison cell during a lockdown at a Massachusetts
State Prison.
Let me start by telling you a little about the prison where
I am being held….
I’m currently confined in a medium security state prison
with a population of about 600 inmates. When I first arrived at this facility
there were twice as many inmates held here, but since then half of the cell
blocks have been condemned. The entire compound is surrounded by a 30′ wall,
topped with razor wire. In this prison there are both cell blocks and
dormitories. The “dorms” hold about 80 men. The blocks, where I am
held, hold up to 90 men, with 45, two-man cells. The blocks are 3 tiers high
(I’m on the 2nd tier) with 15 cells on a tier; each tier also has 3 shower
stalls. The tiers overlook and surround a small day room — what we call
“the flats.” On the flats there are some tables where inmates can
play cards or chess while out of their cells for recreation (“tier
time”). Two guards sit at a control panel observing the inmates and
electronically open and close the large, steel cell doors. Also on the flats is
a bank of 7 phones, side by side, about 2 feet apart, and a microwave to heat
food.
On April 27th, 24 days into the lockdown, all inmates were
issued face masks to wear during the 30 minutes we are allowed out of our cells
to shower and use the phone. We were advised, however, NOT to wear our masks
while in the shower. Thanks.
The global pandemic began to touch our lives within the
prison on March 12th. All nonessential personnel were prohibited from entering
the facility, meaning all visits with family and friends were canceled until
further notice. That was especially difficult for me. My visits are my physical
connection to my loved ones. Without my visits the isolation of confinement
becomes unbearable. In addition to visits, all educational, religious and other
programs were also canceled.
On March 25th someone finally decided that we should have
access to hand sanitizer, thus dispensers were installed in the cells blocks.
Then, on March 26th all of the prison guards were issued N95 masks and ordered
to wear them.
It was on April 4th, very early in the morning, before I woke, a notice from the Commissioner’s Office was inconspicuously slid under my cell door. The notice simply stated, “The Department has had a number of staff and inmates who have tested positive for COVID-19…. In an effort to slow the spread of the virus and deter infection, all DOC facilities will remain locked down….” It was further explained that we would be receiving food, mail and medication in our cells and we would be allowed 30 minutes out each day, 6 men at a time, to shower, use the phones, and clean our cells. So, for the last 29 days we have been locked in our cells for 23½ hours a day. No visits; no going outside; no sunlight; no fresh air; no exercise.
Men in prison handle the isolation of being confined to a
cage for 23½ hours a day in different ways. My celly — the man I am forced to
occupy a cell with — chooses to sleep 17 hours a day. For some, this is
preferable. Time passes quickly, you live in a dream state, and you avoid
reality. Over the years, however, I’ve noticed that people like him end up
spiraling into a void of misery, despair and depression. I have learned that
for me, maintaining some sort of routine and keeping my mind busy helps with
the psychological drudgery of the extended, extreme isolation and to combat the
constant threat of depression. It’s been my experience that the more structure
a man incorporates into his day while in the depths of prolonged confinement;
the easier it is for him to fight off the demons that try to take hold of his
mind. So, I stay busy.
My two man prison cell is a cement box, about 7 feet by 11 feet — approximately the size of your bathroom. In the cell is a metal desk bolted to the wall, a metal bunk bed, 2 footlockers (1 for each inmate to hold cloths, books, toiletries, etc.), and a stainless steel sink and toilet. There is a barred window to let in some natural light and hooks on the wall to hang my coat and a towel. Inmates are allowed to purchase some appliances such as a typewriter, a small TV and fan, and a hot-pot to heat water. Once a week I can purchase commissary such as toiletries, instant coffee and snacks.
In my cell I have the bottom bunk. This makes things easier
for me to move around the cell while my celly sleeps all day in the top bunk.
There’s really only enough floor space for one person at a time to move about
anyways. So I wake early every morning, watch the news and make a coffee while
I wait for morning count. (I drink a lot of coffee.)
There are 4 standing counts a day: 7:15am, 11:15am, 4:45pm,
and 9:45pm. All inmates are required to stand by their bunk to be counted by a
guard.
After count, meals are delivered to our cells by the guards
in Styrofoam trays. It’s usually cold cereal for breakfast (cornflakes or
puffed rice); a warm lunch (beef stew over rice or a chicken pattie); and for
dinner a cold sandwich (baloney, tuna, or pb & j). I’ve had worse.
Most of my day is spent reading. I read a lot of books; but,
mostly I study my legal work. I read reports, records, studies, case law, and
notes from my lawyers, etc. I read it, and then I read it again, re-read it,
and read it some more.
I also try to exercise everyday which can be challenging in such a small space. I do pushups, dips off my locker, and body squats. Again, it helps to fight anxiety and depression.
Finally, to occupy my time I write letters to my family,
watch some TV (I like the history, science, and nature shows on PBS), and wait
for my 30 minutes out of the cell.
When I think about it, my day is actually very regimented. I wake up, watch news and have coffee. They do count, then breakfast. I write a letter, more coffee, I read, they do count again. Then lunch. I exercise, read some more, coffee, watch TV, it’s count time. Dinner, mail is delivered; I read some more, watch some more TV, have a snack, last count. I go to bed, I wake up, repeat.
Something no one thinks about is using the bathroom…. All
I am going to say is, being forced to have to answer the call of nature, while
locked in a confined space with another man, for both men, is extremely uncomfortable,
humiliating, and dehumanizing. It is an indignity that we are forced to endure every
day. We have no choice.
Of course, what I look forward to most during my day is my
30 minutes out to use the phone. It is my chance to check on my family, and
connect with the people I love. It’s my lifeline. It comes at a different time
each day, but I’m always ready when it does. When my cell door opens, I rush
down the stairs and across the flats to the phones. Time is critical. It goes
by very fast. I call home and check that everyone is safe. I get a quick story
about my grandson. I reassure them that I am fine. We say good bye, I love you
and I miss you. It’s over. I leave a few minutes to rush up the stairs to my
cell to change and run to the showers. In and out. Time’s up. Lock in.
Sometimes if I need to call my lawyers, I don’t have time to
call home. I am unfairly forced to choose between speaking with my family or
accessing my attorneys. Some days I have to skip the shower just to get an extra
few minutes of phone time.
We receive very little information from the warden or his
staff. We learn more from the television then we do from administrators. There
are rumors that some of the guards have tested positive. We have heard other
rumors of inmates being medically quarantined. I have not been offered a test,
nor have I heard of any inmates at this facility being tested.
I watch the news every day. It’s incredibly disheartening to
see what people are going through on the outside. Every day I worry about my
family and the people I love. Some of my family members are on the front lines
and others are in the very high risk category. I feel helpless and guilty that
I’m not with them. I also see the number of deaths that continue to devastate
our state and our country, the thousands who are hospitalized, and those who
struggle the help them. I hear about the people who are affected financially by
this tragedy. I feel for all of the families who have been touched so
profoundly by this horrible virus. We, the men locked away from our families,
are not so isolated that we don’t feel the same frustration, heartache and
worry that everyone else is feeling. We’re just doing it locked in a cell.
I am, however, optimistic about what tomorrow will bring. Better days are coming. My daughter will graduate nursing school next month and my niece is graduating from college. I’m incredibly proud of both of them. And, my legal team has weekly meetings and continues to work on my case. Right now it’s about just getting through today, and taking things one day at a time. I continue to remind myself every day that after today, I will be One Day Closer…