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Tank Williams CDC# V74237 :: Friends blog

August 26, 2008

 

[inmates]

State Saves Money; Prisoners Line Up A Potential Career

By STU WOO

MARIPOSA, Calif. -- When Tamara Evans was convicted last year of receiving stolen property, she had no idea it would lead to a potential career in firefighting.

The tall, cheerful 30-year-old was in California state prison earlier this year when she applied to become an inmate firefighter. Now, after battling blazes for seven weeks, she is building a résumé that she hopes will land her a dream job: as a U.S. Forest Service firefighter.

"I kind of did this just to get out of prison and the prison mentality," says Ms. Evans, a former butcher from San Diego who helped fight a fire in this entryway to Yosemite National Park two weeks ago. "I didn't realize I would enjoy it as much as I do."

California fire officials can use the help from the state's 4,000 inmate firefighters. After a historically dry spring, the state has been scorched by 2,100 wildfires that have charred 1.1 million acres -- a modern-day record -- since late June.

To fight the blazes, the state has called on 21,000 firefighters, with some coming from as far as Australia. The work is dirty, and fraught with risk, as was evidenced again on Aug. 5 when a helicopter crashed while shuttling crews from a blaze in Trinity County, killing nine people aboard and seriously injuring four others.

The financial cost to fight the fires has been staggering as well, which is another reason California's 62-year-old inmate program -- one of a number across the arid West -- is so helpful now. Inmates get $1 an hour, compared with $15 or more for professionals doing the same work. California isn't required to pay prisoners minimum wage.

State prison officials estimate that inmate firefighters contribute three million hours and save the state more than $80 million a year.

The dollar-an-hour wage irks Susan Tucker, director of the Open Society Institute's After-Prison Initiative, a New York-based prisoners' advocacy group. "The problem is that when people leave prison after so many years, they have nothing," she says. "How are they going to make it?"

There is little complaining about pay on the inmate fire lines. The wages are far more than the dollar a day for work in prison. And depending on their sentences, some of the inmate firefighters also get as much as two days off their terms for each day they spend in the fire camps.

For some, the biggest benefit is potentially lining up a new career outside prison walls. Between 3% and 5% of the inmate firefighters become professional firefighters for state, federal or private crews after their release, according to estimates by the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation. Some municipal fire departments in California bar ex-convicts from employment.

Fire captains often give job recommendations for inmate firefighters, who "certainly have an advantage" over firefighting applicants with no experience, says Dan Sendek, a spokesman for the state Department of Forestry and Fire Protection. Mr. Sendek says he knows several former inmates who have excelled as state firefighters.

The inmate firefighters work on hand crews, using chainsaws, shovels and other tools to clear brush -- creating a "fire line" over which it is harder for flames to jump. They often toil alongside professional firefighters, with the only visible difference being the prison-orange jumpsuits the inmates wear, compared with the traditionally yellow firefighting garb.

Kelly Bradshaw, a 39-year-old Long Beach, Calif., resident serving a three-year sentence for drug dealing, contends the prisoners often work harder than the professionals. "Some of them are sitting on their engines pumping water," she says. "We're out there cutting the lines."

The prisoners are supervised by only a couple of unarmed guards or fire chiefs. Although there is the occasional inmate fistfight, problems rarely arise, says Marvin Hopper, a program manager for the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection. The inmates are screened; only minimum-custody inmates and those without a history of violent crime or arson, are allowed to apply to the voluntary program.

A handful of the inmates do try to run every year, but most are caught quickly, Mr. Hopper says. Most of the inmates in the program -- who spend their time in community-service camps statewide when not fighting fires -- have three years or less left on their sentences, says Ray Harrington, the camps liaison captain for state prisons.

Many of the inmates appear to enjoy the work. Prisoners at a base camp here for the now-contained Telegraph fire, which began burning 10 miles west of Yosemite on July 25, say that besides getting practical training there are fringe benefits, like better food.

"I don't hate nothing about it," says Joshu Ferguson, as he leans against a makeshift fire-information center after getting off a 24-hour firefighting shift. Mr. Ferguson, 30, of Long Beach, who was convicted of dealing drugs, says he plans to apply to become a state fireman upon his release from a four-year sentence in February.

He shares the same aspiration as Gabriel Martinez, a 32-year-old Lake Elsinore, Calif., resident convicted four years ago of grand-theft auto and gang activity. Mr. Martinez says he plans to get his former gang's tattoos removed from his knuckles and join a firefighting force after his release in 2011.

"If I can work for a dollar an hour here, why can't I work out there?" he says.

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It’s ‘back to school’ for thousands of S.C. inmates

An inmate works on a welding project inside South Carolina’s Camille Graham Correctional Institution’s Welding Vocational Program building, Tuesday.  The welding course is part of the institution’s high school program. The prisons school district, which is operated by the Corrections Department and monitored by state education officials, has more than 6,000 inmates who have already earned a GED in the district’s nine high schools around the state.

By MEG KINNARD

COLUMBIA, S.C.  It’s not yet “back to school” for South Carolina youngsters. But thousands of state prison inmates are already hitting the books behind bars, learning reading, welding and arithmetic lessons in a prisons-only school district.

About 60 percent of the state’s 24,000 inmates do not have a high school diploma when they enter prison. On average, they have less than an 11th grade education, according to the state Department of Corrections.

That’s something officials want to change.

The prisons school district, which is operated by the Corrections Department and monitored by state education officials, has more than 6,000 inmates who have already earned a GED in the district’s nine high schools around the state.

“Education is the basic building block for everything,” warden Judy Anderson said Monday, during a tour of the 1,600-inmate Camille Griffin Graham Correctional Institution, one of several prisons where students go back to school.

In many ways, classrooms at the state’s oldest women’s prison resemble traditional high school classrooms — the only difference being the tan prison uniforms worn by the inmates.

And, unlike most school programs, there is no semester length; courses range from two weeks to six months, depending on how quickly a student learns.

Students in one classroom take notes and follow along in textbooks as their instructor discusses the importance of nutrition and healthy eating habits.

In a computer lab across the hall, 15 inmates click away on desktop computers, practicing multiple-choice questions posed by instructions to help ready them for the GED exam.

When students aren’t in class or doing maintenance work elsewhere on prison grounds, thousands more — about 11,500 statewide, since 2002 — are earning vocational certificates in skills ranging from word processing to welding.

The inmates say the programs help them not only pass the time behind bars but also prepare them for life after prison.

In the welding shop at Camille Griffin Graham, half a dozen women practice their skills in booths along the walls, their faces shielded by flip-down masks as sparks fly from the metal before them.

One, an experienced welder who also serves as a teaching assistant, says her student work helps her forget the fact that she’s living behind bars.

“If I didn’t enjoy it, then I wouldn’t be down here,” says Christy, 36, who received her GED in March and worked as a welder for several automakers before coming to prison. “It’s like walking into a different world. I’m not in ... prison.”

Saquandra, 23, an inmate who dropped out of school after tenth grade to care for her daughter, says its the instructors and teachers around her who have pushed her to get her GED.

“It’s like they bring a whole other hope to me, and a light bulb popped off,” said Saquandra, who hopes to become a geriatric nurse after her release in about a month.

She adds she doesn’t want her daughter “to take the same path that I took.”

Both the classroom and vocational training are vital for inmates as they work to better themselves in preparing to transition into the work force, says a former South Carolina prison inmate who now runs an employment agency where he teaches inmates to make resumes and do job interviews.

“I basically want to give them hope,” said Steve Harbin, 60, a former state employee who served five years in prison for breach of trust with fraudulent intent. “If they leave here and they don’t have any hope, what are they going to do?”

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BY LINDA SATTER

 

Little Rock attorney David Bowden said Monday that he is considering challenging all the way to the U. S. Supreme Court, if necessary, a divided appeals court panel ruling upholding a state prison policy requiring male inmates to cut their hair and trim their beards.

Bowden represented Michael J. Fegans, now in his 50 s, who in late 1991 began serving time in the state Department of Correction for aggravated robbery, second-degree battery and attempted escape.

Fegans started his time in prison as a Baptist but, inspired by radio broadcasts of Jacob O. Meyer, converted to a Christian sect called Assemblies of Yahweh, which requires its members to follow Old Testament law.

In keeping with his new religion, “Fegans eventually concluded that he should follow a kosher diet and refrain from ‘rounding the corners’ of his hair and beard,” said an opinion released Monday by a three-judge panel of the 8 th U. S. Circuit Court of Appeals in St. Louis.

Two of the three judges upheld a ruling by U. S. District Judge James Moody finding that the prison’s grooming policy didn’t violate Fegans’ right to religious freedom because it served compelling state interests and wasn’t more restrictive than necessary to assuage security concerns.

Prison policy requires male inmates to keep their hair length above their ears and no longer than the middle of the nape of the neck in back. It limits facial hair to a “neatly trimmed mustache.” The appellate majority noted that the prison director, Larry Norris, had testified in a nonjury trial over Fegans’ 2003 lawsuit that the facial-hair rule keeps inmates from being able to change their appearance, and that long beards and long hair could be used to hide contraband.

The majority also upheld Moody’s ruling that the prison system’s failure to provide kosher meals for Fegans for a year and a half was unconstitutional, for which he awarded Fegans $ 1, 500 in damages.

In his appeal, Fegans complained that the amount of damages was insufficient, in that it amounted to just $ 1. 44 per meal, and that punitive damages should have been awarded as well. The appeals court disagreed and rejected the argument that the prison violated Fegans’ right to equal protection because it lets female inmates wear their hair shoulder-length.

After the grooming policy became effective on April 20, 1998, Fegans’ refusals to trim his hair and beard resulted in disciplinary sanctions that Bowden said resulted in him being denied “good time” credit, which cost him another seven years in prison.

Bowden said Monday that Fegans is now in federal prison near Memphis, where he isn’t required to cut his hair, regularly receives kosher meals and is even leading a Bible study class.

The majority opinion was written by U. S. Circuit Judge Steven M. Colloton of Des Moines and joined by U. S. Circuit Judge William Jay Riley of Omaha, Neb., while the third member of the panel, U. S. Circuit Judge Michael J. Melloy of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, issued a partial dissent.

Melloy said he believes that the majority gave too much weight to Norris’ testimony justifying the grooming policy. Melloy said that under the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act, or RLUIPA, which has existed since 2000, “prison officials have the burden of establishing that their policy is the least restrictive means to achieve a compelling government interest.” Melloy said that, unlike testimony in a 1996 8 th Circuit case, Schriro v. Hamilton, that the panel relied on, he didn’t believe the reasons given were “fully developed.” Citing an earlier 2008 decision out of the 9 th U. S. Circuit Court of Appeals, under Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act, Melloy said, “Prison officials cannot ‘ justify restrictions on religious exercise by simply citing the need to maintain order and security in a prison. They... must demonstrate that they actually considered and rejected the efficacy of less restrictive measures before adopting the challenged practice.” Bowden said he plans to seek a rehearing before the full 8 th Circuit and, if that fails, will likely appeal to the U. S. Supreme Court.

He noted, “There is a considerable split in the circuits over this issue of grooming.”

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 by Gabrielle Fimbres

TUCSON - Aminah Elem draws a picture of a pretty princess, climbing the stairs to her sparkly pink castle.

"She's going to jump, swoosh, into the water," says the girl with eyes the color of chocolate.

While Aminah, 5, dreams of princesses and castles, her grandparents are guiding her toward a path different from the one chosen by her parents, who are in prison.

The Tucson child is one of 3 million in the U.S. and 95,669 in Arizona with a parent behind bars.

Statistically, Aminah is more likely to be locked up some day. Children with a parent in prison are as much as seven times more likely to be incarcerated, according to Pima Prevention Partnership's Arizona Children of Incarcerated Parents Bill of Rights Project.

But Aminah's grandparents, Linda and Richard Napoli, are helping her create a different future for herself.

"We are trying to break the cycle," said Linda Napoli, 62.

Linda and Richard, who is 67 and disabled, have helped raise Aminah since she was a baby.

Aminah's mother, Melinda Elem, 35, is serving a life sentence for conspiring to have a woman she believed was pregnant with her husband's child to be murdered in 2003. The woman was not injured.

Aminah's father, Tyrone Elem, 30, is in prison for drugs and is due to be released in 2015.

To help Aminah understand emotions over her parents' incarceration, she is part of the Shooting Stars program at the KARE Family Center.

KARE is a program of the Arizona's Children Association and Casey Family Programs.

The free program offers support to children with parents in prison and their caregivers - often their grandparents. Adults meet to talk about their struggles and concerns during a meeting of "Outmates," for people with a loved one in prison. Children gather in another room for an art and writing project, led by Tucson author Marge Pellegrino.

At a recent meeting, Pellegrino helped kids make pop-up books about their dreams.

"We use expressive arts to help children deal with issues in their lives regarding the incarceration of a parent," said Nikki Byrd, who started the program four years ago. "We're letting kids know there are other choices in the world other than doing drugs, getting arrested and going to prison."

Children often have profound problems.

"Some unfortunately are drug babies and have their own issues," Byrd said.

Aminah's grandmother said the program is empowering.

"If it wasn't for the KARE Center, I don't think I'd be able to cope," Napoli said.

The center also provides therapy for Aminah.

The Napolis believe it is important for Aminah to stay connected to her parents.

They take her to see her mother in Goodyear once a month and her father, who is in Buckeye, every three months. KARE helps the family pay for gas money and lunch.

Aminah treasures photos of her parents.

"I feel sad sometimes because I miss Mommy and Daddy. I want them to come home with me."

Byrd said statistics show that parents and children fare better if a strong connection is maintained.

Providing children with resources makes it less likely they will be incarcerated, Byrd said. And it eases the transition when the parent is released.

"You may think that a parent is the most terrible parent in the world, but to the child it's their mom or dad," Byrd said. "They love them."

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August 25, 2008

The television screens at the Kalamazoo County Jail have been switched over from regular TV shows to "Cellblock to Classroom," a series of educational programs funded by several nonprofit groups in the community.

KALAMAZOO -- "Oprah" is off the air at the Kalamazoo County Jail.
Regular television shows were replaced last week with educational programming during most daytime hours.

Although some inmates grumbled about the change, Lt. Gail Sampsell, second-in-command of the jail, reminded them during a tour of the facility Thursday that they "had no control over the TV anyway."

The channel change came from "The Cellblock to Classroom Program," started by a group of volunteers primarily from St. Thomas More Catholic Student Parish who have been involved with Bible studies at the jail.

The idea that more needed to be done to educate jail inmates came to parish member Frank Sila when one participant called himself a responsible man because he didn't beat his wife in front of the children.

"I expected a punch line to a bad joke," Sila said. "He was dead serious."

Knowing the jail is strapped for cash and unable to do more than warehouse offenders, Sila and his group researched ways to get helpful ideas to inmates.

There is no way to move inmates to classrooms, but there are televisions in most cell blocks -- about 60 throughout the jail.

Grants totaling $50,000 from the Catholic Diocese of Kalamazoo, the Fetzer Foundation, the Kalamazoo Community Foundation and other donors allowed the group to pick up commercially produced programming and pay for the computer hardware and software to run the new system, along with several new flat-screen monitors.

Capt. Tom Shull, who is in charge of the jail, said he was skeptical when first approached. But the idea eventually made sense to him.

"Instead of watching mindless TV for 16 hours a day, it's 'How to write a resume,' 'How to be a better parent,' 'How to avoid an STD (sexually transmitted disease).' And there's some network TV, the news."

The new program, which contain no religious overtones, begins in the morning with a section on jail rules, meant to bring new inmates up to speed on what to expect in the facility. It typically returns to regular television scheduling at 6 p.m.

"They suck. They're loud. And it keeps me up all day," inmate Anthony Hood said of the educational shows. Other inmates in his cell said they'd rather see the educational shows reduced to once a week so they can watch regular TV.

Tracy Leighton, 36, of Kalamazoo, said she liked the programs and learned from them. In on an "unlawful-driving-away-a-motor vehicle" charge -- which she said was linked to drugs and depression -- Leighton said she was ready to listen to the messages, particularly those on addiction.

Her cellmate, Alyssa Goertler, however, complained that it was hard to see and hear the television in their cell block and that most of the programming didn't apply to her.

"I learned a lot more about prison and drugs than I ever needed to know," she said.

What would she rather see a program about?

"Cosmetology," she said. "That's my thing."

Terry Collins, a self-described "20-year veteran" of the corrections system in for a parole violation on a weapons charge, said he'd rather see more information on programs available to offenders when they get out of jail.

"We're getting a lot of young guys into the system," he said. "They don't know what's out there.

"Some of the first-time-felon programs they're showing, though, they're obsolete already."

Sila said there are plans to create commercials or full programs about agencies and services available in Kalamazoo, such as Community Mental Health and Gryphon Place.

"I see these people (in jail), and they get caught up in the system ... and don't know how to get out," he said.

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 BY MARTHA BELLISLE

For decades, Nevada prison inmates have tapped out their legal briefs and appealed their convictions on old typewriters perched atop shelves in their cells.

But last year, corrections officials swept through the state institutions and confiscated hundreds of the portable writing machines, arguing parts could be converted into weapons. To support the new ban, they cited two incidents: one in which an inmate died and another when a guard was threatened.

In a growing pile of lawsuits against the state and the Department of Corrections, inmates are protesting the new rule, saying officials are using the security argument as an excuse to try to slow their legal complaints about Nevada's overcrowded prisons and difficult living conditions.

They also say the increase in violence in the prisons is the result of failed policies that have forced more and more inmates together into smaller spaces. Trying to quell the flow of suits challenging these issues by taking away their writing tools, they say, violates their constitutional rights.

The Nevada attorney general's office filed a response asking the federal court to proclaim, once and for all, that the department "has a legal right to declare typewriters unauthorized property," and that the ban on typewriters does not violate inmate rights.

"Historically, typewriters have been an issue because their parts can be turned into weapons," said Greg Smith, a former guard and current spokesman for the Department of Corrections. "The attacks precipitated more discussion for a ban."

Gary Piccinini, a senior officer with the department, said in a memo that several parts in particular are deadly. The rubber roller on one type of typewriter has a hollow piece of cylindrical metal inside that's 14 inches long and "is very heavy and could be used as a club." The cylindrical piece in the Brother typewriter "can also be made into a stabbing weapon," he said.

The Canon typewriter has two other metal parts that can be sharpened into a slicing type weapon, he said.

While not involved in the suits, the American Civil Liberties Union of Nevada said typewriters are a critical part of the pro se legal process, in which individuals represent themselves, and efforts should be made to allow their use.

"It's disappointing that the department of corrections could not have found a middle ground that protected inmate safety while allowing some access to typewriters," said Lee Rowland, a lawyer with the group's Reno office. "Inmate restrictions should be linked to actual and demonstrable safety risks, especially when they affect a fundamental right such as access to the court system."

Nicole Moon, spokeswoman for the AG's office, said the ban was not meant to stop lawsuits.

"The ban on typewriters was implemented for safety and security, and is in no way intended to affect inmate litigation," she said.

Packed cells

As with many prison systems across the country, Nevada's correctional facilities are busting at the seams.

Gov. Jim Gibbons used those words to describe the conditions during a tour of a correctional center last year, and Howard Skolnik, director of the Department of Corrections, told reporters: "To say we are in a crisis is not an exaggeration."

By last May, the state housed 13,113 inmates, 1,196 over capacity, Skolnik said. The influx forced prison officials to house inmates in program rooms, activity centers and even tents. At the Warm Springs Correctional Center last year, four inmates were being squeezed into cells measuring 12 feet by 12 feet.

The prison population is projected to top 21,000 by 2016.

Inmate killed

At Ely State Prison, the state's only maximum-security facility, violent inmates who had been living alone now share their space, a situation in which there has been at least one death.

In December 2006, Anthony Beltran was killed, allegedly by cellmate Douglas Scott Potter.

The weapon was "the roller pin from inside the platen of the inmate's typewriter," Greg Cox, deputy director of operations for DOC, said in an affidavit. "It is easily accessible and easily concealed."

That was the first incident that sparked the typewriter ban, the attorney general's staff said in its response. The second was March 2007, when an inmate tried to stab a guard with a weapon that had been "fashioned from a piece of an inmate typewriter."

Officials announced the following day that typewriters were prohibited at Ely, and by May, extended the ban to all prisons.

Inmate Russell Cohen filed motions for injunctions in at least seven legal actions, saying the ban was unconstitutional. The state responded with its filing in June 2007.

At least 13 actions have been filed in federal court over the typewriter issue, said Alicia Lerud, a deputy attorney general. Three other federal cases are pending in which the documents have not been served, she said, and at least four cases in state court over the typewriter ban.

Some inmates at the Ely facility say the attack on Beltran was destined to happen, regardless of the weapon used.

"It is simply irrational to blame the December 2006 attack on a typewriter, when televisions, extension cords and even prison boots have been used and are available in situations similar to the December 2006 incident," inmates Travers Greene and Paul Browning said in their handwritten motion.

"When an inmate is committed to inflicting harm on another," they said, "the failed policies of the administration -- not the weapon involved -- creates the opportunity for injury. Under these failed policies, it was only a matter of time before an actual murder to (sic) occurred."

Browing said in an affidavit that Potter told him that he had "repeatedly pleaded with prison officials not to place him in the cell with Mr. Beltran and if this happened, there would be trouble."

Potter also sent prison officials three notes stating his violent intentions.

In the first one, Potter said he wanted to be in a single cell, and said, "I have no intention of living in lock down with whoever you decide I am to live with, so make sure he is big, knows how to fight, and ain't afraid to die."

In the second note, Potter said he wouldn't live "24/7 in a box" with someone.

"I give fair warning that whoever you move in I will physically assault savagely," he wrote.

He said he would testify for the new cell mate in the lawsuit he would surely file "for you guys knowingly placing him in harm's way."

On Dec. 28, 2006, prison guards were preparing to take Beltran and Potter to the showers. As was routine, they started to handcuff the inmates through the food slot before opening the cell door, Las Vegas lawyer Jeff Galliher said in a wrongful death suit he filed against the Department of Corrections on behalf of Baltran's family.

They cuffed Beltran first, Galliher said, and "as soon as Beltran was completely restrained with the handcuffs, Potter ran from the back of the cell and began striking Beltran on the right side of his body with what appeared to be a silver colored bar."

An autopsy found Beltran sustained 14 puncture wounds that struck his lung, heart and liver. He died in the cell.

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Washington , Aug 11 (ANI): In its fresh report, the international human rights body the Amnesty International has said that female inmates in US jails are prone to sexual abuse by male officers. According to the report, sexual abuse is rampant, particularly those who are young or who are incarcerated for the first times.

The male officers in the US jails ask the female inmates to return sexual favours in lieu of basic facilities extended to them, and most of such instances go unreported, and if reported the offenders are simply transferred to other wards, said the Amnesty report.

Sexual abuse is virtually a fact of life for incarcerated women in the US , said the report the findings if which are reinforced by a study conducted by the US-based Human Rights Watch, which says that being a woman prisoner in American prisons can be a terrifying experience.

The Human Rights Watch report found that male correctional employees have vaginally, anally and orally raped female prisoners and sexually assaulted and abused them. It found that in the course of committing such gross misconduct, male officers have not only used actual or threatened physical force, but have also used their near total authority to provide or deny goods and privileges to female prisoners to compel them to have sex or, in other cases, to reward them for having done so.

There are often male correctional officers watching women undressing and showering. The women are often afraid to report such incidences. Not only do the guards frequently threaten to take away visitation rights to keep them quiet, they also have complete access to each inmates file, which includes any reports against the guards. If a guard is reported and punished, the punishment usually only consists of his transfer to another facility, the Daily Times quoted the Amnesty report as saying.

According to current estimates, more than 50 per cent of all female prisoners in the US have experienced some form of sexual abuse. The number of women incarcerated in the US is ten times more than in Western Europe, whose female population is equal to that of the US . African-American women are eight times more likely to be incarcerated than white women.

Besides, the rampant sexual abuse, medical neglect is common for women in US prisons. One such example is the failure to treat seriously ill inmates. This includes treatment for diseases ranging from diabetes to AIDS. Another example is the lack of qualified medical personnel in the prisons. This means that frequently non-medical staff is used in medical situations.

In some instances, women have been impregnated as a result of sexual misconduct, and some of these prisoners have faced additional abuse in the form of inappropriate segregation, denial of adequate health care, and/or pressure to seek an abortion, says the Human Rights Watch report.

One of the clear contributing factors to sexual misconduct in US prisons for women is that the US allows male correctional employees to hold contact positions over prisoners, that is, positions in which they serve in constant physical proximity to the prisoners of the opposite sex.

Under the United Nations Standard Minimum Rules for the Treatment of Prisoners (Standard Minimum Rules), which constitute an authoritative guide to international law regarding the treatment of prisoners, male officers are precluded from holding such contact positions. However, since the passage of the US Civil Rights Act of 1964, US employers have been prohibited from denying a person a job solely on the basis of gender unless the persons gender was reasonably necessary to the performance of the specific job.

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By Larry Hertz

Eight years ago, Brooklyn resident Eliot Garner was sent to state prison for five years after he was convicted of attempted robbery. When the day came for Garner to be released from prison in 2005, he believed he had paid his debt to society for his crime.

But as Garner was about to leave the prison, he was in-formed he would be under the supervision of a parole officer for the next five years. When he asked why, Garner was told this period of so-called "post-release supervision" was part of all sentences handed out to people convicted of violent crimes - and under state statute, attempted robbery is classified as a violent crime.

The state Department of Correctional Services contended it had the right to impose post-release supervision. But Garner filed an appeal. And three months ago, the state's highest court, the Court of Appeals, decided Garner was right: He shouldn't have to serve his period of post-release supervision if a judge never told him about it.

"Only a judge may impose a (post-release supervision) sentence ... the Department of Correctional Services may not do so," the court said in its April 29 ruling.

The ruling by the Court of Appeals, coupled with similar decisions issued by four other state appellate courts and a federal appeals court, has affected the sentences of an estimated 10,000 state inmates and former inmates, according to David Bookstaver, spokesman for the Office of Court Administration.

In spring, the state Legislature passed a law outlining how these cases ought to be remedied. Now that the new law has been passed, judges who imposed post-release supervision and failed to mention that portion of the sentence must bring the affected defendants back to court. Several are expected to come before Dutchess County Court Judges Gerald V. Hayes and Thomas J. Dolan this month.

Elon Harpaz, a New York City Legal Aid attorney who handled Garner's case, said the mix-up stemmed from "muddy language" contained in the 1998 law that provided for post-release supervision of inmates convicted of violent crimes.

"The law didn't make it clear that judges were obligated to pronounce this post-release supervision, which is really just parole with another name," Harpaz said. "It left judges in a state of uncertainty."

The new state law gives some inmates the option of withdrawing their pleas and starting their cases over, but most defendants will probably be reluctant to do that, because they would have to negotiate new plea deals. But the law allows judges, with the consent of the district attorney, to waive post-release supervision for defendants who were not informed about this portion of their sentence.

District Attorney William Grady said the new law could potentially result in new trials for some of the defendants who elect to take back their guilty pleas. But Grady said he expected most of the cases returned to the Dutchess courts to be resolved without a trial.

"By voiding a plea, the offender reinstates the entire indictment, including many more charges than he pleaded guilty to," the district attorney said. "Therefore, if the offender were convicted after a new trial, he would be facing much more prison time than he had already in fact served."

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August 24, 2008

The real will survive!

Hello everyone! I've never done this before. I dont even know where to start, so Im gonna just dive right in. First off, I'd like to thank you for logging on. This is a damn good service for inmates. This round I'll just tell yall about me. I know manslaughter sounds bad but its unintentionally killing someone. I was playing with a gun and killed my friend. A guy I was with on and off. I know you say that I shouldnt have been playing with the gun. You're right, I know this and knew it then. But the gun wasnt loaded, or so I thought. Ive seen my little brother take this gun anpart and clean it the week before. So, I was 100% sure this gun wasn't loaded. I played with two other people the same week with that same gun. Cocking it back and shooting it. It just kicked back in place.

Then that night a few minutes before in the bedroom I locked it back and shot it. No bullet but the next time a bullet came out. One was stuck in the chamber.

March 1, 2000 my life changed forever. Ive never forgiven myself, I never will. I took a life, someone who I love very much. Someone my child seen as a father, I feel lower than dirt for that. My daughter was two years old at the time. I was raped June '97 had my daughter March '98. You do the math. I love that little girl more than anything. I see me all in her. She's ten now and I hardly get to see her. That's hard on both of us.

You know when they say,"You find out who's real when you get locked up. " I have two sisters, two brothers, two half brothers and a God sister. Both of my parents are alive and I have a God father. My uncle Roger got out in '01, he has been down every since. I get a card from every month. My God sister, Charlotte, has been down this whole time. I even ran up her phone bill while I was in county. My God father James Roy also writes. Not a lot, but he writes. I'm a simple person, signing a card will please me. Inmates are big on pictures, because we like to see whats going on. Okay, I'm going to end for now, this won't be all I write about on my blogs. Just wanted to give yall some insight on me.

Before I go I have to write: R.I.P. to Poppa '00, Geneva '02, Big Daddy '06, Bobby Joe Jr. '07, and my nephew Quindrick Shanard Darnell '07 One love stay up and dont let anyone or anything get you down. If you think you got it bad, know there is someone in the world worse than you.

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Mary K. Reinhart

Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio's tough-guy policies spawned pink underwear, chain gangs and two meals a day for jail inmates, as well as an international media following. He's parlayed the jail's reputation as a hell-hole into four terms in office.

But now that a 30-year-old federal lawsuit alleging unconstitutionally inhumane treatment for inmates in his jails has been re-energized by a new judge, the sheriff's office is playing up the softer side of incarceration.

The class-action lawsuit, first filed in 1977 and finally headed back to court Tuesday, alleges that inmates who have not yet been convicted of a crime are denied adequate food, health care and housing in violation of constitutional provisions that protect them from punishment.

In papers filed with U.S. District Judge Neil Wake, attorneys for inmates paint a horrifying portrait of life inside the county jails, from fetid conditions in overcrowded intake units to cries for medical care that go unanswered.

But Jack MacIntyre, an attorney and chief deputy for the sheriff's office, said the jails pass constitutional muster, and then some.

Both pretrial and sentenced inmates have access to outdoor exercise, recreation areas, educational programs, religious services and substance-abuse classes, he said.

They're screened for health problems, fed a balanced diet and may receive medical, psychiatric or psychological services, he said.

"It's way beyond constitutional minimums," he said. "The jail in this county is not punishment. But it sure is not a free ride."

Wake will hear from expert witnesses, jail officials and inmates during hearings that begin this week and are expected to last nearly a month. Following an order from Wake, experts for both sides were permitted to examine records and tour jail facilities in June.

At issue is the county's 1998 request to end provisions of a consent decree, and subsequent motions to toss it out under a federal prison reform act intended to rein in inmate-rights lawsuits.

The inmates say the sheriff and correctional health officials never abided by terms of the agreement, and in the years that passed, health care, food, sanitation, overcrowding and other conditions at the jails have only worsened.

Since 1993, taxpayers have spent more than $30 million in settlements, verdicts and attorneys fees in separate cases where inmates have sued because of injury or death.

"The sheriff is providing unsafe jail environments for people who are arrested and not even convicted. And that's not right by anyone's standards," said Phoenix attorney Debra Hill, who represents the inmates in the class-action lawsuit.

"People should not become ill because they are served bad food in jail," she said. "They should not contract diseases because they are placed in a cell with an infected inmate. They should not be denied needed medications."

The inmates are suing both the sheriff's office and Correctional Health Services, a separate agency responsible for inmates' medical, mental and dental care, including monitoring of chronic conditions like HIV and diabetes, as well as serious mental illness.

It's up to the county's outside legal counsel, led by Phoenix attorneys Dennis Wilenchik and Michele Iafrate, to prove that pretrial inmates are housed and cared for in accordance with their federal rights, rebutting legal claims that they are at "substantial risk of serious harm to their health or safety" and that jail and health officials have acted "with conscious disregard for that risk."

Wake has ordered that the county's motion to end the suit be based on jail conditions from July 1, 2007, through June 30, rather than picking up where evidentiary hearings left off in January 2004.

In the lawsuit, the inmates say overcrowding at the Fourth Avenue Jail intake unit subjects them to "pain and to substantial risk of significant injury." Pretrial inmates account for about two-thirds of the jail population.

They say medical and mental health problems are missed during initial screenings, violence goes unreported, supervision is inadequate, inmates have no access to showers, soap, toothpaste or toothbrushes, and that toilets and sinks - shared by as many as 30 men - are often clogged with feces and inoperable.

"Defendants do not adequately supervise or perform security walks or welfare checks in Intake despite the fact that very little is known about inmates at this stage of the process," a pretrial brief said.

Inmates may languish for days in intake, according to the brief, forced to sleep on concrete floors, while sitting on benches or literally on top of each other.

MacIntyre said many of those who spend longer than 24 hours in the intake unit are illegal immigrants awaiting transfer to federal authorities and suspects who face charges from multiple jurisdictions, some tacked on after their arrest.

Even if the jails are crowded, MacIntyre said, there's no proof that those conditions have led to increased violence or other safety problems, which is required to prove a federal rights violation.

MacIntyre said intake areas are 10 times the size they were before the Lower Buckeye and Fourth Avenue jails opened in 2005.

"We've read some of their pleadings and I'm stumped by what it is they want us to rebut," MacIntyre said. "Neither of their experts said that they find a specific violation of constitutional standards."

Inmates' attorneys have dropped the vast majority of claims from the original lawsuit, he said, because they have no merit. Those issues included education, staff training, religion and visitation.

"As far as I'm concerned, the plaintiffs have abandoned the lion's share of the issues," MacIntyre said.

He conceded that the remaining matters - medical care, mental health care and housing conditions - are the most critical.

"But if this was a horrible jail, would there only be concerns about the top issues?" he said.

Hill will argue that mentally ill inmates are given little more than medication, if that, and critically ill inmates are allowed to become sicker while incarcerated.

Mental health care is inadequate, inmates allege, in part because there aren't enough staff members to provide it. Correctional Health Services is recruiting for several mental health positions, including a psychiatrist, therapist, psychologist, nurses and infection control coordinator.

"Defendants house acutely psychotic or otherwise mentally ill detainees in segregation units where they receive little or no mental health treatment," Hill wrote. "Essentially, these individuals are being warehoused - locked down in segregation for being mentally ill."

The county responds that Correctional Health Services has won accreditation by the National Commission on Correctional Health Care, a voluntary program that, for a fee, accredits more than 500 jails and prisons nationwide.

Prior to 2003, the jail's clinics were licensed by the state Department of Health Services.

Hill says accreditation does equal constitutional care, a view supported by experts and previous court rulings.

Opening statements and testimony begin Tuesday with Correctional Health Services.

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