Public Criminology

I’m feeling especially proud today of my current Inside-Out class at the Oregon State Penitentiary.  This is a class where students get deeply invested in the material.  To help facilitate their investment and involvement, one of their assignments is to write a letter to the editor or an op-ed piece to a local newspaper.  They can choose to send it individually or just turn it in to me; I had success one quarter getting a batch of them published together.  This quarter, the students did the work all on their own.

Two separate pieces were published in different local newspapers today.  First, here is the content of an op-ed written by Shelby, an outside (OSU) student, and published in the state’s largest newspaper, The Oregonian:

I recently attended a community breakfast hosted by the Marion County Reentry Initiative in Salem. According to its website, MCRI is dedicated to “rebuild lives, promote community safety and save taxpayer money by breaking the cycle of criminal activity.” I heard about the event through a brief article in the Salem Statesman Journal. The breakfast was meant to provide information for community members on how to help released Oregon prisoners reintegrate into Marion County society. Although I don’t live in Marion County, the opportunity was appealing to me because I’m currently taking a class called Inside Out.

Every Monday, my fellow Oregon State University classmates and I drive from Corvallis to the Oregon State Penitentiary. This unique class is held inside the maximum-security prison and it consists of 30 students — 15 of them from OSU and 15 of them OSP inmates. We come together once a week to discuss crime, communities, prisons and prevention. Through this exclusive opportunity, I’ve viewed all four topics in ways I never have before. The Inside Out program is one small way of helping a select few inmates prepare to re-enter mainstream society. Through our class they are able to feel tied to the community again. But we must be prepared to help all inmates.

The damaging stigma attached to prisoners by our society is clear for all to see. Even after serving their time, they forever bear the label of ex-convict. We often hear, “You do the crime, you do the time,” yet we continue to punish these individuals long after they’ve served their sentence. After being released, many face difficulties finding jobs, obtaining student loans, securing housing and readjusting to mainstream society. Unfortunately, many fall back into criminal ways and re-enter the prison system.

At the community breakfast state prision chief Max Williams said, “Ninty-three percent of prison populations will eventually be returned to communities. Therefore we must have a strategy to help them readjust.” He also pointed out that it’s a community problem that needs a community solution. This concept is something we’ve discussed in great detail in our Inside Out class. If community members could actively help ex-inmates transition rather than shun them from our communities, the likelihood of them recidivating is much lower, making our communities safer. MCRI is one organization that’s helping ex-inmates have a successful re-entry, but without community support, those individuals will forever be locked into the stigma.

This isn’t an easy concept for most to gladly accept, but Marion County is up for the challenge.

And here is the content of a letter to the editor written by an inside student, Jeremy, and published in the Salem Statesman-Journal:

As I sit here listening to election results on the west coast, I’m reminded that it is both privilege and a responsibility to vote.  I didn’t always feel that way – as a working class kid, I was never really convinced that my vote “counted”.  I’m still not sure one vote makes a significant difference, but I do know that I owe it to my incarcerated students to vote knowledgeably and responsibly on issues that concern us all.  And I owe it to my on-campus students to set an example of civic responsibility.

Chris and I wrote a small paper last year on “The Price and Promise of Citizenship,” in which we argued the United States should extend the vote to non-incarcerated felons.   My favorite critique/response said that we were too modest in our goals and didn’t take the argument far enough.  I have several former “inside” students out in the community now – released from prison and building new lives for themselves.  I hope they voted in this election and made sure they had a voice in local politics for the first time in a long time, perhaps for the first time ever.

In Oregon, we vote entirely by mail.  Although the mail-in vote is definitely convenient, I miss the camaraderie of waiting in line at my local polling place for my moment in the booth.  I miss feeling the connection to the community, but I vote anyway, taking my civic duty seriously.  When you are fortunate enough to have a voice, it is both a privilege and responsibility to use it.

Flopped. That is what the men in prison call it when they go in front of the parole board and get back a disappointing decision. Essentially, the board defers a decision but the men will be allowed to petition and be heard again in 2-10 years.

In July, I wrote about my day with the parole board where I observed two “Murder Review” hearings.   As I wrote then, the stated purpose of such hearings is to:  ”determine whether or not the inmate is likely to be rehabilitated within a reasonable period of time so that the offender’s sentence may be converted to life with the possibility of parole, post-prison supervision, or work release.”

To give a quick summary, the cases I sat in on were both for aggravated murder; the question was whether the convicted men could prove themselves “rehabilitatable” so that they might have the possibility of parole at a future date.

The first man presented over 100 pages of records, proof, and testimony that he has worked hard in his 20-years in prison to change and grow.  He has “programmed” persistently and thoroughly, participating in many educational and cognitive courses and experiences over the years.  His crime was a truly horrifying case of domestic violence – there really is no excuse for that crime and no making up for it, and the man acknowledges that.  Members of the victim’s family came to testify at the hearing, and their grief and pain was readily apparent.  They fear his possible release 10 or more years in the future, and they hope that he will serve natural life in prison.   The district attorney who attended the hearing called this man “a monster” and also asked that he be found “not likely to be rehabilitated in a reasonable amount of time.”

Three months later, the decision is in and the man was flopped.  He can petition to go in front of the parole board to attempt to prove himself “rehabilitatable” again in two years.  I’m told it could have been worse; he could have been flopped for 10 years.

He has about 9 years left on the mandatory part of his sentence, so he had no hope of getting out any time soon.  But I’m left to wonder, what does it do to one’s psyche when you are told you are not rehabilitatable and given a list of reasons why the parole board believes that is the case.   It’s hard to imagine a more negative label.

The man just got the decision from the parole board this week and he is still processing it.  He’s trying to figure out what more he could have done and what more he can do over the next years to prove himself worthy of the possibility of a second chance.  I don’t know what it will take for him to get a more favorable decision; it’s obviously difficult to prove and judge change and possibility.  I am very glad that I was simply an observer in this process.   I would hate to have to go in front of a board every 2 years to prove my possible future worth or to have to sit in judgment on someone else’s.

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I spent eight hours with our state’s parole board yesterday.  I sat in on two “Murder Review” hearings, the stated purpose of which is to:  ”determine whether or not the inmate is likely to be rehabilitated within a reasonable period of time so that the offender’s sentence may be converted to life with the possibility of parole, post-prison supervision, or work release.” 

The individuals in both of these cases were charged with aggravated murder; for both of them the question was whether they could prove themselves “rehabilitatable” so that they might have the possibility of parole at a future date.  One has at least 9 more years to serve on the mandatory part of his sentence before he can even be considered for release; the other is nearly 70 years old and is hoping for a chance to re-connect with family on the outside rather than die in prison.

The circumstance of the cases were quite different, and so were the hearings.  I’ll focus on the first, though, because it raises some difficult moral, ethical, and behavioral questions.  The first man presented over 100 pages of records, proof, and testimony that he has worked hard in his 20-years in prison to change and grow.  He has “programmed” persistently and thoroughly, participating in many educational and cognitive courses and experiences over the years.  His crime was a truly horrifying case of domestic violence – there really is no excuse for that crime and no making up for it, and the man acknowledges that.  Members of the victim’s family came to testify at the hearing, and their grief and pain was readily apparent.  They fear his possible release 10 or more years in the future, and they hope that he will serve natural life in prison.   The district attorney who attended the hearing called this man “a monster” and also asked that he be found “not likely to be rehabilitated in a reasonable amount of time.”

I was very impressed with the members of the parole board.  They had clearly done their homework in preparing for the hearings, and they patiently listened to testimony and took notes for the 8+ hours of these hearings, not even taking a break for lunch.  After the testimony of the inmates and their attorneys, they asked careful, thoughtful, and very probing questions, pushing the inmates to look deeper within themselves to answer the difficult questions.  Being a member of the parole board must be a thankless job – I doubt they get much credit for giving second (or third, or fourth) chances, but they undoubtedly face a great deal of public scrutiny and criticism should a release decision turn out badly.

The decisions will come later after the parole board has time to review and reflect on the evidence presented.  But here is the question: how can and should we judge change?  Even if an inmate has turned his life around in prison, does he deserve another chance at life in the community?  He can’t change the circumstances of his crime, but if he really has changed himself, is that enough?  Should it be?  How much weight should the victims’ fear, grief, and pain hold in parole decisions?  Can we ever really know if an inmate is ”rehabilitated” enough or if he is just a master manipulator as the victims and prosecutors believe and claim?  Is it worth the risk to grant even the possibility of parole?

Big questions.  I don’t have any clear answers at this point, but I definitely came away from the hearings with a lot to think about…

I originally wrote this as a comment on a post on solitary confinement over at co-author, Chris Uggen’s blog, but it sort of took on a life of its own as I reflected on my recent experience briefly visiting several different semi-isolated wings of a state prison, so I thought I would share those thoughts here.

It’s interesting to think about the varying levels of harm in different versions of solitary confinement.  I’m convinced that true isolation – such as some supermax prisons proudly proclaim – literally drives inhabitants crazy, but it’s less clear what effects shorter-term and semi-isolation may have on inmates.

I recently went into the isolated wings of a state prison for a research project and spent a very brief amount of time talking cell-front to men in the disciplinary segregation unit, the intensive management unit, and administrative segregation.

Although physically a more pleasant space with at least some natural light and prison bars on the doors rather than headache-causing metal-on-metal mesh, the administrative segregation unit is the one that sticks in my mind.  The men are there because – for various reasons – it is literally not safe for them to be out in the general population (it’s similar to the idea of protective custody).  They will likely spend their entire sentence in that wing; they probably will not have the opportunity to earn their way to general population with good behavior the way that those in IMU and DSU have.

The cells are double-bunked, share walls, and have somewhat open, barred fronts, so sound definitely travels.  My escort and I happened to be there at meal time, so the guys were eating their meals off of their prison trays in their cells, reminding me that they have almost no time out of their cells and virtually no contact with anyone other than those in that wing.

It’s probably impossible to fully understand the prison experience, and especially the varying harm caused by different levels of segregation/solitary confinement without having lived it, but that shouldn’t stop us from studying it and learning what we can.  It must be completely terrifying to spend your entire sentence in the relative isolation of administrative segregation and to then try to make it in the free world.

The New York Times just ran an interesting story that offers a nice follow-up to the numbers Chris posted on victimization in juvenile facilities.  The story, “A Glimpse Inside a Troubled Youth Prison,” tells about the experiences of a young man named Edwin during his incarceration in a juvenile prison.  By Edwin’s account, he “feared for his safety, received little counseling and left no better prepared for life outside than when he arrived there.”

The story relates many problems: the constant threat of violence – particularly for young and vulnerable inmates; inadequate health care and counseling; over-medication of youth; and issues stemming from a volatile young staff.   Edwin also points out that he was a difficult “client” of the juvenile system, but he did manage to develop close relationships with individual staff members.  In the end, the story reports that Edwin doesn’t blame the institution – he never expected much in the first place.  At age 18, he is now trying to build a life on the outside; he earned his GED and is considering college.

Much of my research has dealt with life inside juvenile prisons and this short news story is a good introduction to many of the issues facing administrators, staff, incarcerated youth, and concerned community members.  The commissioner of the agency that runs New York’s juvenile prisons is quick to acknowledge the problems; she is quoted in the story as saying: “Unfortunately, that is the experience of many young people in the system…I have absolutely no reason to question his individual experience. They deserve better…(Edwin) makes my case for transformation of the juvenile justice system. He makes my case for why we need change.”

So the case for transformation is  made in a very public forum.  But, the administrator’s statement raises more questions than answers: what might this transformation look like and when might it take place?  Can we expect significant changes in the near future?  And, finally, how will the agency be accountable to the public(s) it serves?

The Salem Statesman-Journal ran a story today highlighting the compassion of inmates in the Oregon State Penitentiary.  Guys inside the prison read a story about a 2-year-old girl who was hit by a truck and killed in November; her family was unable to afford a gravestone, so her grave was unmarked.

Inmates were touched by the story and donated $670 for a gravestone.  The money was collected from guys who generally make between $40 – $100 per month.  They had never met the girl or her family, but they had empathy for them and wanted to help.  More than just thinking about it, they dug deep and contributed in a very meaningful way.As one of the inmates said:  “Even though we’re in prison, we still have hearts.” 

Some of the guys mentioned in the story have been my students.  I have been amazed by the generosity of inmates in donating to families and organizations in the community.  The feel compelled to give back in big and small ways, and – usually without public recognition or fanfare – they reach out with whatever help they can offer to children in need.

We don’t get to hear about these stories very often.  I’m glad to be able to post a positive story within the realm of public criminology.

Have you heard about the new LA Gang Tours?  The website details their mission as follows:

The mission of LA GANG TOURS is to provide an unforgettable historical experience for our customers with a customized high-end specialty tour. We will provide customers with a true first-hand encounter of the history and origin of high profile gang areas and the top crime scene locations in South Central, Los Angeles. Each tour bus for LA GANG TOURS will have a guide from the South Central areas who has gained hands-on knowledge and experience of the inner city lifestyle. The objective is to create jobs for the residents of South Central, Los Angeles; to give profits from the tours back to these areas for economic growth and development, provide job/entrepreneur training, micro-financing opportunities and to specialize in educating people from around the world about the Los Angeles inner city lifestyle, gang involvement and solutions.

The first tour took place on January 16th and was sold out.  Tours cost $65 per person and are conducted on a 56-seat unmarked bus.  Former gang members narrate the tour and provide testimonials along the way.  Customers must sign a liability waiver that describes the tour as “inherently dangerous” and warns of the risk of death. The New York Times reports: ‘…after careful consideration, it was decided not to have residents shoot water guns at the bus and sell “I Got Shot in South Central” T-shirts.’  If these tours are striving to be legitimate educational experiences, that was probably a wise choice.

Interesting idea.  These gang tours may serve a function similar to prison tours where participants are offered an “inside” view of an unfamiliar culture, often shattering the stereotypical images featured in the media.   It’s too early to tell, obviously, whether this is a promising entrepreneurial endeavor that will benefit these communities or if these tours will turn out to be exploitative and/or truly dangerous.

Thoughts?  Would you go on a gang tour?  Why or why not?

So, I have been following the case of Philip Scott Cannon on this blog for over a year.  Scott was one of my favorite students and collaborators in the Oregon State Penitentiary, and I am thrilled to report that the the charges against him have been dropped.  After serving 11 years of a life sentence, Philip Scott Cannon walked out of jail yesterday afternoon a free man.

This is big news in Oregon.  Imagine spending 11 years locked up without the possibility of parole for murders you did not commit. Imagine watching your children grow up as measured in their prison visits.  Imagine losing your house and your business in the original trial, and having your father mortgage most of his assets in an effort to prove your innocence.  Questions of compensation will be sorted out later, I’m sure.  For now, it’s a whole new world for Philip Scott Cannon to explore and hopefully enjoy.

How would you start over?  Scott sounds pragmatic:

“I’ll see what the rest of life brings,” Cannon said. “The reality will probably hit in the next couple days.”

For his first night as a free man, Cannon wanted to spend it with his family, including two sons ages 10 and 20 and the new family pet, a 4-year-old mixed-breed dog named Hope.

“(We’re) gonna pick up some hot dogs and have a quiet night at home,” he said.

What a wonderful (although much belated) gift for this holiday season.  Merry Christmas, Cannons.