The main enemy in jail is boredom. While reading is not a popular hobby among inmates, many do rely on it for relief. Inmates’ access to books is via the book cart, which is supposed to make regular rounds. However, for at least one dorm, it appeared only twice over two consecutive days during a period of 4 months.
Religion consoles many inmates. For Catholic prisoners, there is supposedly a Catholic service every Sunday morning. But, unless a fellow inmate tells you so, one would never know it, because the COs do not mention it. Nor do they announce it or invite anyone to go. Other services are, again, supposedly available, but rather than being informed what and when they are, inmates must find out from each other. Even if an inmate does learn about a service, he may miss it entirely because no CO is around to bring him in time. Just like their ought to be dry ceilings and climate control in the cells, there ought to be widely-known and regularly-scheduled religious services for inmates of all faiths. The reality is that within span of several months, Christian services will be called only 2 or 3 times. Inmates report never hearing a service called for Jewish or Muslim inmates.
Not only does the jail force inmates to call collect to use the telephone, but their only option is to dial 0, the most expensive method. The only function the phone has is to permit such collect calls. Not even free calls (800 # calls) are permitted. These restrictions are not only a burden to the inmate, but also to the recipient of the calls, usually the family - who by his absence is already struggling financially. Given the myriad of options available to call collect, there is absolutely no reason to require inmates to dial 0. To do so is only gratuitous punishment to the inmate and to his family. To call through 0 there is a $5 connection fee, and then the price is about $1 per minute. One inmate told his friends that he called his mother twice, and the phone bill exceeded $150. Another inmate called his wife twice a week over a period of four months, and his phone bills exceeded $3000. Obviously, there is no reason not to permit inmates from being able to use calling cards, or at least a discounted collect call method. Forcing inmates to call only through dialing 0 is an unnecessarily burdensome policy designed to profit not only from their mistakes, but through the misfortune of their innocent families and friends.
In an environment without fresh, circulating air, 60 men cramped together inhaling one another’s breath, sickness is more common than health. When inmates arrive, they inevitably are afflicted by what inmates refer to as “the county cold.” Soon the person is sneezing and coughing, sometimes covering his mouth, sometimes not. On “the outside” a cold typically lasts about a week. But, given the multiplicity of germs inside a large dorm and the resulting weakening of the person’s immune system, upon finishing with one illness another one immediately descends. It is not uncommon for an inmate to experience two or more consecutive illnesses. One inmate had a persistent, dry cough for more than two weeks. Another was sick about three weeks with three different illnesses. Each time he recovered from one, after about a day of health, he experienced the familiar feeling of his nasal passages again swelling. His cough lasted about a month.
The jail administrators are not, of course, interested in the health of the inmates, nor, therefore, in improving the conditions of the dorms to reduce the frequency of illness. One example is of an inmate who failed the mandatory tuberculosis (TB) test upon arrival, but who was nevertheless placed among 50 other inmates. That particular inmate, after many months at PCJ, was released to the custody of a drug program. Only days later, he was discharged from the program and returned to PCJ because he failed another TB test. He could only return to the program if, after X-rays were taken, it was determined that he did not have TB. Of course, about one month passed before the X-rays were taken. Because he had already failed a TB test, he should have been isolated and treated. Instead, he was housed with 50 inmates even after the drug program remanded him to PCJ. Tuberculosis is a highly contagious airborne disease, and this inmate’s test indicated he was not clear of it. But, this fact was not enough to separate him from a large population. He was ultimately cleared of having TB, but no one could predict that conclusion. The people who had breathed his air for months considered themselves lucky when he left.
If an inmate requires health care, the procedure is to complete a “request for medical care” form, and then wait to be called to the nurse practitioner. Unfortunately, after completing the form, it is usual that the inmate must wait four or more days before seeing the nurse practitioner, and not uncommon that he will never see her. Only very rarely will an inmate see her in fewer than two days. For dental care, inmates typically wait months, while their decay and pain worsens. Being provided medical care in reasonable time is the exception rather than the rule. The example below is illustrative.
One inmate slipped from the third bunk while on his way down, and seriously injured his knee. A lieutenant witnessed the fall, since it occurred during roll call. But he did nothing, nor did any other officer. The inmate soon realized the extent of his injury, given its massive swelling. At about 11:35 pm a CO was informed of the problem. The CO said he would obtain some ice. After waiting forty-five minutes without the CO returning, the inmate called his parents, and asked them to call the jail and request medical attention. The call was made, and a CO almost immediately brought the inmate to the nurse. The nurse gave him a pain-reliever, and told him he should place some ice on the swelled area. After returning to the dorm, the CO said he would return shortly with ice. After thirty-five minutes he still did not return, so the inmate called his parents again and intended to ask them, again, to call the jail and see that ice is brought. While he was on the phone, the CO brought the ice, about forty minutes after he dropped off the inmate. The CO who first saw the inmate and promised ice returned about an hour after that, with no ice. In total, about two and a half hours passed between the time of the accident, and the inmate receiving ice. The following day, the inmate was brought to see the nurse practitioner. She wrote a prescription for Motrin for the pain. But the inmate never received the medicine.
In every dorm, several inmates will be HIV+. Typically, the inmates are aware of who among them has HIV. In one dorm, HIV+ inmates were permitted to serve food. In the one case, one served drinks. That is, he dipped his glove-covered hand into a vat of Kool-Aid and filled a cup. In another case, an inmate served the trays of food. While it is true that the inmates, like all servers, wore gloves, taking the risk of contaminating the food was not necessary, nor is it excusable.
No inmate would deny that these examples are perfect illustrations of medical “care” at PCJ. Male inmates, of course, are too concerned with ego and macho to complain about not being cared for, especially to their wives, mothers, sisters, and daughters. But, those women have a right to know how their men are being (mis) treated.
One episode of brutality by the COs toward an inmate is illustrative. In this case, several federal inmates were being brought to speak to their attorneys. While in the elevator, an inmate insinuated that the police dog which accompanied the COs was homosexual. Then the inmate suggested that the dog’s handler was also gay. After separating the offending inmate from the others, one sergeant and two officers thoroughly assaulted him.
The prevalence of official brutality at PCJ is difficult to determine, since no one is willing to discuss it. Officers will not for obvious reasons. Yet, inmates will not do so either, for reasons of pride and fear. Inmates feel that being beaten is their problem alone, and it is a problem that they will solve eventually, somehow. Nevertheless, the idea that beatings occur much more frequently than the “not at all” claimed by PCJ officials is nonsense. Correctional officers enjoy their power, and an inmate only needs to disobey slightly before that power is used, and abused. Being threatened by a handcuffed inmate is not supposed to be the CO’s threshold to use force. One inmate, aged 21, made a disrespectful comment to an officer while dinner was being served. After the trays were collected, the offending inmate was taken outside by the insulted officer and a sergeant. Those in the dorm could see the inmate being placed in a headlock and yelled at. But, when he returned, the inmate did not talk about it.
Inmates are provided three meals per day, roughly six hours apart. Breakfast is served about 4:30 am, lunch at 11:30 am, and dinner at 5:30 pm. One unfortunate consequence of the time that breakfast is served is that it is only 5 ½ hours after final roll call, and 2 ½ hours before the first one. The result is that even if inmates immediately fall asleep after last roll call, they would only have 5.5 hours of sleep prior to breakfast, then only another 2 until first roll call. Indeed, the longest span during which an inmate can sleep without interruption is after dinner and before last roll call, a period of about 6.5 hours. The predictable consequence of their fragmented sleep schedule is irritability, which obviously enhances the chance for violence. The ability to sleep, to escape the reality of one’s daily life, is one of the few pleasures of inmates, but they are never granted it for long.
Even if it were possible to sleep though breakfast and attempt to sleep for longer than 5 hours, almost no inmate does so because they are all constantly hungry. Beginning in the summer of 2002, the portions of food have been reduced to subsistence level, the quality has been degraded, and the variety has been limited. Further, between dinner and next day’s breakfast – a half day – an inmate must go without food.
No meal is ever filling, and so much of an inmate’s life revolves around food. Hunger is a constant companion. Inmates gamble, fight, steal, and bully, all for food. It is indisputable that inmate hunger, together with fragmented sleep, are the primary causes of practically all dangerous behaviors. The inmates, for months on end, are tired and hungry. They will consequently be disruptive, and even violent.
Inmates are provided the opportunity to obtain goods from the jail’s commissary. An account is created for each inmate, and that money may be used to purchase commissary items. Of course, the jail arbitrarily takes $25 of this money as an “enrollment fee,” as if most of the people in that jail can afford such a “fee.”
The commissary items are notoriously overpriced, especially the food, which is what most inmates buy, due to their continual hunger. Candy bars are 75 cents each, while they can be purchased out of jail for 3 and sometimes 5 for $1. Drake’s honeybuns are 90 cents. The jail surely obtains them for nickels. PCJ’s profit margin certainly would make even the old Robber Barons feel guilty and extortionistic.
Yet, it is not only the inmate population who is being robbed by the PCJ commissary, so too are the residents of Passaic County. The commissary itself is populated by over $250,000 worth of COs, none of whom contribute anything substantial to its functioning. They do not even contribute security, since none of the inmates are, or will be, serving time that exceeds the seven-year escape charge they would receive if they tried to get away. The commissary is typically staffed by six inmates. These people are responsible for filling the inmate orders, organizing the bags, restocking the inventory, and cleaning the room. There are five officers assigned to the commissary. One of them takes the cart full of bags to the cells and dorms. But, the others really do nothing. One officer is styled “the commander” of the commissary, as if it were a Navy destroyer rather than an oversized cupboard. The primary responsibility of the other officers is to watch the inmates. It cannot be to ensure that the inmates are not stealing, since the inmates only have a small shirt pocket in which they might try to hide items. The room that contains the commissary is intended to hold about 6 persons, but, like the rest of the jail, it is overcrowded. About 12 persons are in there at any given time. In terms of production, the presence of the 6 inmates is justified, while that of 5 of the 6 officers is not. But, the county pays handsomely for them to be there.
Along with the inmates and officers in commissary are the mice. The mice are so comfortable there, and so numerous, that they actually nest there. More than one time one of the officers has killed baby mice living alongside the food that the inmates will eat. The potential for contamination of the food with so many persons touching it, inside such a small room, along with vermin and the associated feces, is obvious.
Passaic County Jail correctional officers are among the best paid state employees. They start at approximately $45,000 per year. Their average salary is more than that of a police officer patrolling the streets of New Jersey’s third largest city, Paterson itself. An officer with 12 years experience is paid more than $70,000, while a sergeant with about the same years of experience is paid $84,000. Officers of these ranks walk the halls, escort inmates, and do little else. Lieutenants and captains break the $100,000 per year level. It is difficult to believe that their administrative tasks justify taxpayers spending more than $8,000 per month on them for each one. Inmates often amuse themselves by wondering how it is that COs actually earn their money. It isn’t dealing with unruly inmates, because such is so rare. It isn’t by solving complex problems, since the unvarying procedures and rules prevent any. It isn’t by strenuous physical labor, since inmates perform all of that. How it is that officers of any rank justify their high pay is a mystery to inmates, as it should be to taxpayers in such an economically needy area as Paterson. While COs discuss their boats, cars, and vacations, families in Paterson – who probably know someone in PCJ, are worrying about their electricity bills and their food supply.
COs and inmates at PCJ originate in the same socioeconomic class. Many inmates and COs know one another from school, work, or otherwise growing up. The obscenity of the inmates’ language is completely matched by that of the officers, because their vocabularies are the same. Being a CO is surely the only profession in which the administration not only permits obscene language, but engages in it themselves. Indeed, the only difference between the two groups is that the officers have power, while the inmates do not. And the officers do not permit inmates to forget this difference.
During an inmate’s day he will hear officers utter countless unnecessary physical threats, provocative (and immature) name-calling, and other forms of derogation. Officers do this to remind their captive audience that they have power, while inmates are powerless. However, officers fail to recognize that being behind bars all day does not permit inmates to forget their status, and that officers’ disrespectful behavior only succeeds in enhancing the potential for violence and disruptive behavior. But, like typical bullies, cowardly COs cannot resist taunting inmates while hiding behind the safety of their badges and the bars. That COs exude politeness and respect toward former inmates they may see on the streets is a truth that amuses inmates who have witnessed it.
Given that the main responsibility of COs is to provide security, any laxity on their part should be disturbing. Unfortunately, laxity is common. It is laxity among COs that causes drugs to constantly infiltrate the jail, and that permits certain jail rules to be broken, especially the prohibition on inmate smoking.
Smoking is prohibited within the walls of PCJ. But the administration smokes in the building. The COs smoke in the building. And the inmates smoke in the building. Inmates tasked to clean administration offices find, and steal, cigarette butts they find in the trashcans of this smoke-free building. The butts are hidden in the shirt pockets or in the shoes. They are missed during the pat-downs conducted by COs before re-entering a cell. Back in their cells, the inmates dissect the cigarettes, and remove the remaining tobacco. The tobacco is then sold to other inmates for food. It is sold not only to inmates in the same dorm, but the trade is widespread in the facility. Inmates who work throughout the jail leave their own cells with a bag of makeshift cigarettes in their underwear. While passing through, or while performing their cleaning duties, these dealing inmates simply linger in front of the bars of other cells and dorms. As the cameras record, candy and tobacco is passed between the bars. Either no one is watching the camera feeds, or no one cares.
The tobacco is rolled into a cigarette using newspaper, toilet paper, or food packages. They are lit by lighters stolen from the offices, also missed during the pat-downs. In the occasional absence of lighters, clever inmates used stripped wires from their radios connected to a AA battery to create enough heat to begin burning the cigarette. The elicit tobacco trade would be impossible if the PCJ administrators followed their own codes.
Inmates engaged in this trade are seldom caught. Inmates who smoke never are, despite that the stench of smoke passes easily through bars and into the main corridors. Even after 30 minutes, a passing CO should detect the smell of smoke. Of course, in an effort to mask the smell, inmates foolishly spray into the air a surface disinfectant located in every cell. Because it is scented, inmates consider it an effective air freshener. Inmates smoking in a cell will spray the disinfectant continually as they smoke, hoping to conceal the odor. The unexpected scent of disinfectant wafting through the halls near a cell should be as suspicious to a CO as the smell of smoke, but apparently neither is noticed.
Ironically, one of the best sources of tobacco is the Internal Affairs office. Internal Affairs is responsible for investigating rule violations of any kind in the jail, whether by an officer or an inmate. Smoking is supposed to be completely banned at PCJ. But, the very people responsible for investigating infractions are the ones inadvertently providing the means through which the smoking rule is violated by inmates.
Sometimes a brave or foolish inmate will inform the COs about the smoking. The COs will take the names of the offenders. But nothing will ever happen – except that a CO may offhandedly comment to the inmates that one of them is a “snitch.” Action is taken, however, when drug use is reported in the cells. Drug use by inmates is not rare. Crack, heroin, and cocaine all find their way into the cells and dorms. One cause is that inmates will have hidden drugs in their clothing prior to their arrest. Their clothes are packed in a box and stored in a large room. The drug-possessing inmate will transmit word to inmates who work in the clothing storehouse that drugs are located with his belongings. The working inmates will then obtain the drugs, use and distribute them to whatever extent they can. Such a trade is could be avoided if COs conducted a thorough search of the inmate and his clothing. Obviously, that is not happening.
Some inmates are fearful of drug use in their dorms, and gather the courage to tell COs. Typically, their reward for providing the information is to be at best ignored, at worst to be revealed as a snitch by the very CO in which the inmate confided. An inmate thought to be a “rat”, or someone who informs on fellow-inmates, risks being severely beaten by his cell-mates.
Society is notably unsympathetic to the treatment of prisoners. But society has also decided that correctional institutions should rehabilitate as well as punish. Americans have decided that jails should, in addition to separating a convict from society, should also improve that individual so that when he is released, he is better than when he went in. The goal is to constructively use the time he is being punished to teach him, and to prepare him, to be a positive contributor to his community. The community is thus supposed to be doubly protected by a jail or prison: Protected immediately by separating the prisoner from everyone else. But also protected in the future by transforming a criminal to a productive member of society. The long-term protection is much more important then the short-term protection. Separating a person from society for a few months or a year is only temporary relief for the injured society. If rehabilitation fails then another crime can occur, or more if the offender is not caught. But if rehabilitation succeeds, then the society will benefit from the unique talents and characteristics of the reformed ex-convict. His attachment to society means there is one more person to defend it against those who may violate its laws.
While PCJ naturally succeeds in its one goal of punishing the inmate by separating him from society, it clearly fails in the goal of preparing inmates for a successful return to the outside. It fails because the people who operate it apparently do not recognize it as a worthwhile goal. They do not care that inmates leaving PCJ will be more angry, more bitter, perhaps more dangerous and vengeful, then when they went in. That is because the COs do not live in the communities that will suffer from the effects of inmate mistreatment. The COs do not go home to where just-released inmates are acting on their pent-up anger on those around them.
Based on the truth of what occurs within those walls, do the officers and administrators really deserve the high salaries they receive? And, despite the charges or crimes of the inmates, must they sleep among roaches and dripping ceilings? Should officers remain unpunished for beating inmates with impunity?
The sheriff is an elected official. How his jail is administered is an issue the electorate should consider. His warden, deputy warden, and many of his officers can verify the truth of what has been written here. They all must realize that adequate pat-downs, vigilance, and simply better organization and discipline would solve most problems at PCJ. More important, the culture must be changed to focus on the most crucial goal of any such institution: rehabilitation by means of humane treatment and opportunities for improvement.
The public, of course, may not care if inmates smoke or are given small portions of unidentifiable food. Such things may seem petty. However, these matters are important because they serve as a barometer to how an institution responsible for the long- and short-term security of the city is being governed. The public may not be alarmed about the failure to prevent mice from nesting among the food supply. But they should be alarmed about the failure to achieve the one goal for which PCJ exists: security. When there is inability to perform sufficient pat-downs, inability to prevent drug usage, inability to provide access to adequate medical care, inability to ensure access to religious services, and inability even to follow their own smoking ban, there is no security.
Most of all, the public should be alarmed about the failure of the highly-paid Passaic County Jail officials to realize that they can help to ensure community security in the future by helping inmates transform themselves right now.
