Burke: Monroe COVID crisis raises questions about prisons

By Tom Burke / Herald columnist

I’ve decided not to write about coronavirus. It’s been beaten to death, and I won’t pile on.

But something coronavirus-linked; a recent protest by inmates at the Monroe Minimum Security Unit, got me questioning prisons, and how they work.

Both inmates and employees in that perfect pandemic incubator had been diagnosed with COVID-19; and the virus’s presence profoundly frightened those serving out their sentence. They saw, at the time of the protest, little-to-nothing being done to protect them. As news stories reported, state Department of Correction employees and inmates were not consistently wearing masks. There was no real social distancing (it’s impossible in the confined spaces of the institution). Stress levels inside were in the red zone (due to short staffing and fear). And DOC employees, who were coming into the prison from outside where the disease was raging, were not being tested unless they reported sick

In short, everything the governor was telling us-on-the-outside to do, was not being done on the inside. The men there felt their lives were on the line. So they protested.

But as I studied the protest, I got thinking. “What’s prison for?”

It’s a simple answer, No? It’s for punishment and deterrence so people won’t do wrong again. (As the Old Testament says, “An eye for an eye.” But Jesus then says, “Blessed are the merciful.” Which is it, I’m wondering.)

And for retribution; as in, “You were addicted to drugs, so we’re going to get even by locking you up for five years.” But that doesn’t actually help solve the problem of addiction, does it?

Of course it’s to protect society by simply removing criminals from the population.

And there are people who must be separated from us. But the current national “prison” mindset doesn’t address the fundamental causes of crime; or how to treat those who age out of criminality (data shows most elderly felons have lost the youthful impulse for crime); or what to do with people after they’ve served their time.

Which brings us to prison’s fourth purpose: rehabilitation. How we, theoretically, reduce recidivism and, theoretically, provide the tools and support to keep people from going back to the slammer.

To me, prisons do a great job at punishment.

And a good job separating people from society.

As for deterrence, not as good. Nationally, recidivism runs over 80 percent, according to a Bureau of Justice Statistics 2018 report.

And rehabilitation? Even worse. (Hmmm, is there a relationship between less-than-optimal rehabilitation and recidivism?) The prison system in Washington state hasn’t kept prisoners physically healthy, let alone dealt with the myriad underlying issues behind much of the behavior that got people jailed in the first place. And while both private and public education programs, such as GED and vocational training, work well; higher education programs work even better and both real-life experience and academic studies prove the higher the degree, the lower the recidivism. But most advanced-degree programs could be much, much better funded and much more widely implemented.

But, you ask, “Who cares? Bad guys belong in prison, and tough on them.”

But what if it isn’t that simple? (And it isn’t that simple.)

Because solving the prison problem means changing the way we fundamentally think about jails and the people in them; what we used to call, back in the ‘90s, a “paradigm shift.” And that’s really hard to do. Theres’ so much baggage attached to criminal justice issues.

When the Office of the Corrections Ombuds investigated the protest, they found the prisoners had well-founded fears about COVID-19 and honest grievances. Protective “isolation,” which really meant solitary confinement, was called “grim.” It wasn’t akin to shelter-in-place. In solitary there’s no grocery deliveries, Netflix bingeing or Zoom; they had nothing to read; all personal items had been confiscated; water was brown, cold and undrinkable; toilets were leaking; and people were denied any contact with loved ones or their attorneys. And some put in isolation weren’t even sick.

So the ombuds concluded that the government didn’t make “attempts to ask the individuals in isolation what would make their situation more tolerable while they were afflicted with a potentially deadly disease through no fault of their own.”

Gentle readers, I’m not asking we suddenly, completely transform the criminal justice system in Washington or triple the Department of Corrections budget (although chronic staff shortages, due to insufficient funding, was a factor in the Monroe disturbance).

I am asking, however, we think hard about an issue affecting more than 17,000 Washington incarcerated and 8,000 DOC employees. I’m asking if there is a better way to address criminal justice than locking people up and throwing away the key?

(Note: Following the disturbance, the Ombuds’ report, and a court case, the DOC has worked to improve conditions; the governor is releasing 900 inmates held on nonviollent offenses to reduce over-crowding; and Monroe and other facilities are safer than they were.)

Tom Burke’s email address is t.burke.column@gmail.com.