Mask On, Mask Off: The True Face of Incarceration
I have a cyst on my brain and suffer debilitating migraines at times. When I was in prison it took months and months of leaping hurdles and red tape just to simply get some over-the-counter Excedrin. That was the best they would offer, and I had to fight like hell for just that.
Others weren’t even that lucky. There was a man, Ted, in the bed next to mine who was incontinent, unable to eat or drink, unable to speak, who desperately needed medical attention. We fellow prisoners did our best to help him. People who society had written off as irredeemable were there for him at his bedside trying to ease his suffering. We pleaded with the prison staff to do something for him, anything. They could barely bring themselves to come out of their air-conditioned bubble. Nobody did anything until it was far too late and Ted died a miserable death in the indifferent jaws of a prison.
As officials discuss measures to limit the spread of COVID-19 in prison, it’s worth considering whether anyone can honestly expect an institution that operates like this to take care of prisoners during a pandemic.
This crisis has exposed what has always been a completely broken system. Florida’s prisons are ill-equipped mentally, emotionally, and materially to care for prisoners on their very best day, and everything has totally buckled under the weight of what’s happening now. COVID-19 has simply highlighted and magnified the cruelty that has been hidden from public view for so long. Guards staging fistfights among prisoners for the “privilege” of toilet paper. Serving prisoners rotten, spoiled food. Prisoners living with black mold and tainted water. Price gouging for basic necessities, food, and communication with loved ones. Incessantly berating and dehumanizing prisoners. Guards beating prisoners where the cameras can’t see them. Stomping on photographs of loved ones. I witnessed and experienced all of these things firsthand.
The prison system is utterly incapable of providing anything like genuine care. The basic kernel of humanity from which springs essential things like compassion and decency isn’t built into the mechanism of incarceration. It has no place there. The levels of apathy and malice are chilling. Capture, cage, harm, release, repeat - this leaves no room for humanity.
This is reflected in the COVID-19 statistics. As of September 23, there were 16,197 positive cases of COVID-19 in Florida prisons. That’s 1,881 per 10,000 people. To put that in perspective, that’s 487% higher than Florida overall. Even for a state with an appalling record of addressing this public health crisis, this is horrifying. (Update: As of January 20th, 2021, Florida now has the dubious distinction of the highest amount of prisoner deaths in the country because of COVID-19. Florida has the same amount of deaths as the entire Federal Prison System.)
Despite numerous calls for compassionate release for at-risk prisoners, 127 people have senselessly died behind a Florida prison wall due to COVID-19. That makes for a 133% higher death rate compared to the rest of the state. Fifty of those deaths came in August alone. Groups like Florida Prisoner Solidarity have denounced state officials for their failure to act. On August 22, body bags for each prisoner who had died were delivered to the front steps of the Department of Corrections headquarters. These deaths do lay at their doorstep. At this point, the state has executed fewer prisoners in the last four decades than they have let die of COVID-19.
Locally, cases in the Alachua County Jail continue to rise despite calls for the release of prisoners. On July 10 there were 13 positive cases at the jail; that number had more than tripled just one month later. The jail maintains a higher percentage of positive cases than the county overall, with the county positivity rate at about 4.74% and the jail around 6%. In other words, if you go to the jail you’re more likely to be exposed, which increases the spread inside and outside. As noted by Tyler Winkelman of the Health, Homelessness, and Criminal Justice Lab, “Jail and prison health care is public health. It’s community health.”
So what can be done? I have zero faith that the institution that allows daily atrocities in normal times will suddenly ensure that prisoners are safe during this pandemic. That suggests that the only way to protect those human beings is to get them out. I, therefore, echo the previous full-throated calls for the immediate release of all prisoners who are ill, immunocompromised, HIV positive, pregnant, as well as prisoners in an at-risk age bracket and people being solely held because of inability to pay cash bail. In addition, free communication, soap, cleaning supplies, and personal protective equipment should be made available to all prisoners. Staff’s use of PPE and routine testing should be mandatory. Prisoners should have continued access to the commissary, package rooms, libraries, and outdoor recreation spaces. The grossly inhumane practice of solitary confinement should end, especially as it’s being employed as a quarantine for sick or presumptively sick prisoners.
The Florida Department of Corrections’ tagline is “Inspiring Success by Transforming One Life at a Time.” I see nothing “inspiring” about my cellmate Ted’s agonizing death. I see nothing “successful” about the terrifying numbers of COVID-19 cases. I hope the pandemic has once and for all unmasked the true, brutal nature of our incarceration system.
