Fortresses of Solitude: Journalists Barred from Prison Isolation Units

The following essay by Solitary Watch’s James Ridgeway appears in the current issue of the Columbia Journalism Review, which also includes an excellent story on the difficulties involved in reporting on prisons in general. For more on prison media policies, see our accompanying article by Rachel M. Cohen.

adx-florence-4Supermax prisons and solitary confinement units are our domestic black sites—hidden places where human beings endure unspeakable punishments, without benefit of due process in any court of law. On the say-so of corrections officials, American prisoners can be placed in conditions of extreme isolation and sensory deprivation for months, years, or even decades.

At least 80,000 men, women, and children live in such conditions on any given day in the United States. And they are not merely separated from others for safety reasons. They are effectively buried alive. Most live in concrete cells the size of an average parking space, often windowless, cut off from all communication by solid steel doors. If they are lucky, they will be allowed out for an hour a day to shower or to exercise alone in cages resembling dog runs.

Most have never committed a violent act in prison. They are locked down because they’ve been classified as “high risk,” or because of nonviolent misbehavior—anything from mouthing off or testing positive for marijuana to exhibiting the symptoms of untreated mental illness.

A recent lawsuit filed on behalf of prisoners in adx, the federal supermax in Florence, CO, described how humans respond to such isolation over the long-term. Some “interminably wail, scream, and bang on the walls of their cells” or carry on “delusional conversations with voices they hear in their heads.” Some “mutilate their bodies with razors, shards of glass, sharpened chicken bones, and writing utensils” or “swallow razor blades, nail clippers, parts of radios and televisions, broken glass, and other dangerous objects.” Still others “spread feces and other human waste and body fluids throughout their cells [and] throw it at the correctional staff.” While less than 5 percent of US prisoners nationwide are held in solitary, close to 50 percent of all prison suicides take place there.

After three years of reporting on solitary confinement for Solitary Watch, a website I co-founded, I’m convinced that much of what happens in these places constitutes torture. How is it possible that a human-rights crisis of this magnitude can carry on year after year, with impunity?

I believe part of the answer has to do with how effectively the nature of these sites have been hidden from the press and, by extension, the public. With few exceptions, solitary confinement cells have been kept firmly off-limits to journalists—with the approval of the federal courts, who defer to corrections officials’ purported need to maintain “safety and security.” If the First Amendment ever manages to make it past the prison gates at all, it is stopped short at the door to the isolation unit.

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40 Years in Solitary: New BBC Program on the Angola 3 Case

This month marks 40 years in solitary confinement for Herman Wallace and Albert Woodfox, the two members of the Angola 3 who remain in prison–and in 23-hour lockdown–in Louisiana. They were placed in solitary confinement following the 1972 murder of a prison guard, for which they were convicted on highly dubious evidence. They believe that they were targeted because they were members of the Black Panther Party–and that they remain in solitary today for the same reasons. (You can read our stories about the case on MotherJones.com, here, here, and here.)

A new half-hour BBC radio program provides comprehensive and moving coverage of the case. It features Robert King–the third member of the Angola 3, who was released when his conviction was overturned after 29 years in solitary. It also includes interviews with lawyers, family members, activists–and Solitary Watch’s Jean Casella.

You can listen to the full program here, and read the accompanying article here.

You can also sign Amnesty International’s online petition demanding that Wallace and Woodfox be released from solitary confinement.

We’ll be writing more about the Angola 3 next week.

Herman Wallace's sketch of the dimensions of his prison cell

Herman Wallace's sketch of the dimensions of his prison cell

The Silent, Terrifying World of a Deaf Prisoner

My article “The Silent Treatment” appeared on the Mother Jones website a few days ago. It tells the story of Felix Garcia, a deaf man framed by his own siblings for a murder he did not commit, and given an effective life sentence. His experiences during 30 years in the Florida prison system have been horrendous, but many of them are shared by the tens of thousands of deaf and hard of hearing inmates in prisons and jails across the country. What follows are the opening paragraphs; please click through to Mother Jones to read the article in full.

“This is a collect call from a correctional institution,” says the robotic female voice at the other end of the line. After a moment of confusion, I realize it must be Felix Garcia, whom I’d visited several weeks earlier in a northern Florida prison. He is serving a life sentence for a robbery-murder for which his own brother now admits to framing him. I’d sent him a card for his 50th birthday. It had a picture of flowers—something he probably hasn’t seen in 30 years—and some lame words of encouragement. Now he’s calling to thank me and to plead for help.

His words seem surreal, relayed in the emotionless drone of a TTY operator: Four of his fellow deaf inmates have tried to commit suicide—one somehow managed to swallow a razor blade. It sounds like he’s thinking about doing the same. “Please,” the voice intones, “will you phone my lawyers? I can’t get through to them.”

Felix has been deaf, for all practical purposes, since childhood. For most of his three decades behind bars, which began when he was 19, he’s been housed in the general population with few special services for his disability. His experiences are the stuff of TV prison dramas: He’s ignored or taunted by guards, raped and brutalized by other prisoners. Last year, he tried to hang himself.

“Felix,” I plead awkwardly. “You are not going to kill yourself. Please, please, hold on.”

“I won’t do it,” he says finally. “I have Jesus.”

I repeat: “Do not kill yourself.”

“Yes, sir.” The call abruptly cuts off.

After staring at the phone for a few minutes, I call Pat Bliss, the 69-year-old paralegal who has been working on Felix’s case since 1996, when the Lord told her to minister to prisoners. Pat lives in southern Virginia, almost 600 miles from Felix’s Florida  prison. She doesn’t have a lot of money, doesn’t know sign language, and  isn’t a lawyer. But for the last 15 years, she has crafted his defense  strategies, written motions and briefs, and helped usher his case through  the state and federal courts. For the past five years, Felix has called her “Mom.” One lawyer I  talked to calls her “an angel.” And that’s something Felix needs more than anyone I’ve ever met…

Read more here.

Felix Garcia and Pat Bliss can be contacted by mail at: P.O.  Box 493, Wytheville VA 24382.

“God’s Own Warden”: Inside Angola Prison

Editor’s Note: The latest issue of Mother Jones magazine includes James Ridgeway’s long article on Burl Cain, warden of the nation’s largest prison, and possibly its most notorious. The former slave plantation is known for the fact that 90 percent of its more than 5,000 prisoners will die behind bars, and also for holding two members of the “Angola 3″ in solitary confinement for nearly 40 years. More recently, it has also become known for the “miracle” wrought by its controversial warden, who is said to have transformed the prison with the help of Christianity.

It took the threat of an ACLU lawsuit for James Ridgeway to gain access to Angola. The resulting article offers an alternative narrative on the miracle at Angola. The opening section of the article follows; the full article can be read on MotherJones.com.

It was a chilly December morning when I got to the gates of Angola prison, and I was nervous as I waited to be admitted. To begin with, nothing looked the way it ought to have looked. The entrance, with its little yellow gatehouse and red brick sign, could have marked the gates of one of the smaller national parks. There was a museum with a gift shop, where I perused miniature handcuffs, jars of inmate-made jelly, and mugs that read “Angola: A Gated Community” before moving on to the exhibits, which include Gruesome Gertie, the only electric chair in which a prisoner was executed twice. (It didn’t take the first time, possibly because the executioners were visibly drunk.)

Besides being cold and disoriented, I had the well-founded sense of being someplace where I wasn’t wanted. Angola welcomes a thousand or more visitors a month, including religious groups, schoolchildren, and tourists taking a side trip from their vacations in plantation country. Under ordinary circumstances, it’s possible to drive up to the gate and tour the prison in a state vehicle, accompanied by a staff guide. But for me, it had taken close to two years and the threat of an ACLU lawsuit to get permission to visit the place.

I was studying an exhibit of sawed-off shotguns when I heard someone call my name. It was Cathy Fontenot, the assistant warden in charge of PR. Smartly dressed in a tailored shirt and jeans, a suede jacket, and boots with four-inch heels, she introduced me to a smiling corrections officer (“my bodyguard”) and to Pam Laborde, the genial head spokeswoman for the Louisiana department of corrections who had come up from Baton Rouge to help escort me on my hard-won tour of Angola.

Everyone was there except the person I had come to see: Warden Burl   Cain, a man with a near-mythical reputation for turning Angola, once   known as the bloodiest prison in the South,  into a model facility. Among  born-again Christians, Cain is revered  for delivering hundreds of  incarcerated sinners to the Lord—running the  nation’s largest  maximum-security prison, as one evangelical publication put it, “with an  iron fist and an even stronger love for Jesus.” To Cain’s more secular  admirers,  Angola demonstrates an attractive option for controlling the  nation’s  booming prison population at a time when the notion of  rehabilitation  has effectively been abandoned.

What I had heard about Cain, and seen in the plentiful footage of  him, led me to expect an affable guy—big gut, pale, jowly face,  good-old-boy demeanor. Indeed, former Angola inmates say that prisoners  who respond to Cain’s program of “moral rehabilitation” through  Christian redemption are rewarded with privileges, humane treatment, and  personal attention. Those who displease him, though, can face harsh  punishments. Wilbert Rideau, the award-winning former Angolite  editor who is probably Angola’s most famous ex-con, says when he first  arrived at the prison, Cain tried to enlist him as a snitch, then sought  to convert him. When that didn’t work, Rideau says, his magazine became  the target of censorship; he says Cain can be “a bully—harsh, unfair,  vindictive.”

“Cain was like a king, a sole ruler,” Rideau writes in his recent memoir, In the Place of Justice.  “He enjoyed being a dictator, and regarded himself as a benevolent  one.” When a group of middle school students visited Angola a few years  ago, Cain told them that the inmates were there because they “didn’t  listen to their parents. They didn’t listen to law enforcement. So when  they get here, I become their daddy, and they will either listen to me  or make their time here very hard.”

Another former prisoner, John Thompson—who spent 14 years on death  row at Angola before being exonerated by previously concealed  evidence—told me that Cain runs Angola “with a Bible in one hand and a  sword in the other.” And when the chips are down, Thompson said, “he  drops the Bible.”

Who is the man who wields so much untempered power over so many human  beings? I wanted to find out firsthand—but when I requested permission  to visit the prison and interview Cain, back in 2009, Fontenot turned me  down flat. Cain, she said, was not happy with what I had written about  the Angola Three, a trio of inmates who have been in solitary longer  than any other prisoners in America. Two years and much legal wrangling  later, I was here at Fontenot’s invitation, ready to see the Cain  miracle for myself…

Read the rest on MotherJones.com.

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The Scott Sisters’ “Debt to Society” and the New Jim Crow

Jamie and Gladys Scott walked out of prison today into the free world. The sisters were convicted, on dubious grounds, of an $11 armed robbery, and sentenced to life in prison. Both sisters lost 17 years of their lives behind bars before Mississippi Governor Haley Barbour suspended the remainder of their draconian sentences; Jamie also forfeited her health, and is now suffering from end-stage renal disease. Yet the sisters’ “debt to society” is still far from paid.

First and foremost, the conditions of their release stipulate that Gladys Scott must give Jamie Scott a kidney. From the very beginning of this medical scandal, in which Jamie’s health was further compromised by inadequate prison health care, Gladys offered her kidney for transplant to her sister. For the governor to mandate this donation is both unprecedented and unconscionable. As others have pointed out, releasing Jamie Scott before she has this costly life-saving surgery could also stand to save the state a considerable amount of money; a donation from her sister could save even more, and is apparently part of the price of their freedom.

At the same time, the Scott sisters will have to pay out money to maintain their freedom. Rather than pardoning Jamie and Gladys, Barbour suspended their sentences. According to Nancy Lockhart, a legal advocate who played an instrumental role in the sisters’ release, each will have to pay $52 a month for the administration of their parole in Florida, where their mother lives and where they plan to reside. Since they were serving life sentences, that means $624 a year for the rest of their lives. Both women are now in their thirties; if they live 40 more years, each will have paid the state $24,960. Of course, Jamie, in particular, will be lucky to live so long.

The consequence of failing to pay the fees charged for parole or probation can be a return to prison. As the Southern Center for Human Rights has documented, such fees are part of a larger system that adds up to what are in effect modern-day debtor’s prisons:  

Contrary to what many people may believe, there are debtors’ prisons throughout the United States where people are imprisoned because they are too poor to pay fines and fees.

The United States Supreme Court in Bearden v. Georgia, 461 U.S. 660 (1983), held that courts cannot imprison a person for failure to pay a criminal fine unless the failure to pay was “willful.”  However, this constitutional commandment is often ignored.

Courts impose substantial fines as punishment for petty crimes as well as more serious ones. Besides the fines, the courts are assessing more and more fees to help meet the costs of the ever-increasing size of the criminal justice system: fees for ankle bracelets for monitoring; fees for anger management classes; for drug tests, for crime victims’ funds, for crime laboratories, for court clerks, for legal representation, for various retirement funds, and for private probation companies that do nothing more than collect a check once a month.

People who cannot afford the total amount assessed may be allowed to pay in monthly installments, but in many jurisdictions those payments must be accompanied by fees to a private probation company that collects them. A typical fee is $40 per month. People who lose their jobs or encounter unexpected family hardships and are unable to maintain payments may be jailed without any inquiry into their ability to pay or the wilfulness of their failure to pay.

This system of imprisonment-by-poverty in turn fits into what author Michelle Alexander, among others, have called “The New Jim Crow”–an America in which mass incarceration has become the new means of wielding control over poor African Americans. For more on how Mississippi and other southern states have historically used fines and imprisonment to extend the institution of slavery, see today’s post on the Prison Culture Blog.
 

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After 16 Years Behind Bars for an $11 Robbery, the Scott Sisters Will Be Free at Last

The following announcement was issued today by Haley Barbour, Governor of Mississippi, regarding Jamie and Gladys Scott. We were among the first non-local media sources to write about the Scott sisters case, back in March. The full story of their arrest and incarceration, and Jamie Scott’s struggle to stay alive in prison, can be found here and here, while a report on the movement to free the sisters can be found here.

Dec. 29, 2010

GOV. BARBOUR’S STATEMENT REGARDING RELEASE OF SCOTT SISTERS

“Today, I have issued two orders indefinitely suspending the sentences of Jamie and Gladys Scott.  In 1994, a Scott County jury convicted the sisters of armed robbery and imposed two life sentences for the crime.  Their convictions and their sentences were affirmed by the Mississippi Court of Appeals in 1996. 

“To date, the sisters have served 16 years of their sentences and are eligible for parole in 2014.  Jamie Scott requires regular dialysis, and her sister has offered to donate one of her kidneys to her.  The Mississippi Department of Corrections believes the sisters no longer pose a threat to society.  Their incarceration is no longer necessary for public safety or rehabilitation, and Jamie Scott’s medical condition creates a substantial cost to the State of Mississippi.     

“The Mississippi Parole Board reviewed the sisters’ request for a pardon and recommended that I neither pardon them, nor commute their sentence.  At my request, the Parole Board subsequently reviewed whether the sisters should be granted an indefinite suspension of sentence, which is tantamount to parole, and have concurred with my decision to suspend their sentences indefinitely.   

“Gladys Scott’s release is conditioned on her donating one of her kidneys to her sister, a procedure which should be scheduled with urgency. The release date for Jamie and Gladys Scott is a matter for the Department of Corrections.

“I would like to thank Representative George Flaggs, Senator John Horne, Senator Willie Simmons, and Representative Credell Calhoun for their leadership on this issue.  These legislators, along with former Mayor Charles Evers, have been in regular contact with me and my staff while the sisters’ petition has been under review.”

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Massachusetts Prisoner Who Exposed Sex-for-Snitching Ring Sent to Solitary

The inmate at Massachusetts’ Norfolk Prison who blew the whistle on a sex-for-information ring operated by guards (as reported here last week) has been placed in the hole. Timothy Muise, an activist with the Lifers Group inside the prison, said in a letter that he had been visited by Assistant Deputy Commissioner Paul DiPaolo, the state official in charge of stopping rape  in prisons, who told Muise he was looking into the  allegations. When asked about the investigation, the Massachusetts DOC spokesperson said she could not comment one way or another about any investigation, and when Solitary Watch requested an interview with DiPaolo it was denied.

In a subsequent letter, dated November 7, Muise additionally said a  Department of Corrections senior investigator had  been in the prison for three consecutive days investigating the sex-for-snitching allegations. Then, last Saturday, November 13, Muise phoned friends to tell them he had been taken to solitary confinement. The reasons for putting him in the hole are unclear. According to one story, he was placed there because he had received a letter containing the Solitary Watch blog post on the sex ring. Another story has it that Muise was organizing a protest over the ring, involving people both inside and outside the prison. He told friends he expects to be disciplined, but doesn’t know how. Muise might be sent to a maximum security prison or have his activities restricted at Norfolk. He has told his family he is being treated in a professional manner and is in good shape. A prison spokeswoman said the Department of Corrections would have no comment.

Muise believes the existence of this hitherto unknown operation is responsible for the state’s high number of prison suicides. The inmate suicide rate in Massachusetts is four times the national average, with eight suicides this year alone–including one in June at MCI-Norfolk, the state’s largest medium-security prison, which also had two high-profile suicides last year.  
In his original letter to Solitary Watch, Muise wrote::

Abusive and sadistic guards move weak and vulnerable prisoners into housing units they oversee and manipulate them into engaging in sexual activity with each other (many of these men are homosexuals, sex offenders and men with mental health histories) and then they [the guards] force them to become informants under the threat of revealing their secrets to the general population.

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Sex-for-Snitching Ring Reported at Massachusetts Prison

A prisoner at the Massachusetts Correctional Institute at Norfolk has written to Solitary Watch to report the existence of a “sex for information’’ ring run by guards within the prison. He says the existence of this hitherto unknown operation is responsible for the state’s high number of prison suicides. The inmate suicide rate in Massachusetts is four times the national average, with eight suicides this year alone–including one in June at MCI-Norfolk, the state’s largest medium-security prison, which also had two high-profile suicides last year.  

The prisoner, who says he has become the advocate for others too frightened of retaliation to talk, himself fears retaliation  from within the prison. He  has reported the ring at MCI-Norfolk to the Massachusetts Department of Corrections and has, he says, already been interviewed by Assistant Deputy Commissioner Paul DiPaolo, the state official in charge of stopping rape in the prisons. In granting this interview, the corrections hierarchy is bypassing lower-down officials within the prison, according to the prisoner. Each prison has an official responsible for rape suppression.

In a letter to Solitary Watch, the prisoner, who chose to remain anonymous over concerns for his own safety, wrote:

Abusive and sadistic guards move weak and vulnerable prisoners into housing units they oversee and manipulate them into engaging in sexual activity with each other (many of these men are homosexuals, sex offenders and men with mental health histories) and then they [the guards] force them to become informants under the threat of revealing their secrets to the general population.

In another letter to a friend, the same prisoner wrote: 

The officers that are involved in this ring are also behind…abusive treatment that makes this environment hopeless (suicides), and issue a disproportional amount of disciplinary reports, as well as create so many abusive situations through manipulating informant information, creating false rumors about prisoners, and spreading CORI [Criminal Offender Record Information] protected information around the prison.  They have gotten away with it for years here at Norfolk, and each time a prisoner attempted to bring it to light they were transferred, had weapons placed in their cells, were tortured with cell searches and strip searches on an almost daily basis, which eventually lead to the general feeling that you could not address these issues.  As I am sure you know I DISAGREE!  This all lead to this “sex for information ring.”  They got so bold, so brazen, that they dared to do the unimaginable.  Men have caught HIV because of it, may have been subjected to unspeakable abuse that could not be proven, and to complain could make your life so much worse.

The Massachusetts Department of Corrections would not comment on this report when we queried the department on behalf of Mother Jones. “We cannot confirm this and do not comment on investigations,’’ DOC spokesperson Cara Savelli wrote in an email. She turned down a request for an interview with Assistant Deputy Commissioner DiPaolo: “I’m sorry but your interview request has also been denied.’’

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Another Suspicious Death in Maine State Prison’s Lockdown Unit

Maine Attorney General Janet Mills reportedly will review the results of an investigation by the state police into the death of a prisoner named Victor Valdez, who died last November in the Special Management Unit (SMU) of Maine State Prison. While the Maine Department of Corrections says he died of natural causes, inmates who say they witnessed the incidents insist he was beaten and abused by prison staff, who also hindered him from receiving treatment for a serious medical condition.

Lance Tapley, who has written before about abuses in the SMU,  published a lengthy article on Valdez’s death last week in the Portland Phoenix. As Tapley described the situation:

[Valdez] was a very sick man. His kidneys had failed, and he had required dialysis treatment several times a week for eight years, via a stent implanted in his arm. He also suffered from congestive heart failure, cirrhosis of the liver, and lung problems, according to court documents filed prior to his sentencing in 2009 to four years’ incarceration for a 2008 aggravated assault in Portland…While at the prison, which is in the coastal village of Warren, he received his dialysis at Miles Memorial Hospital in Damariscotta.

Various inmates described the treatment of Valdez in letters to the Maine Prisoner Advocacy Coalition, a group that actively opposes the abuse of solitary confinement in Maine’s prisons. One reason for the beating by guards, one letter said, was their anger at having to take Valdez to dialysis treatments at a nearby hospital early in the morning. An inmate named Jeff wrote to Coalition member Judy Garvey that staff had “ripped out” Valdez’s dialysis tubes in order to cart him off to the SMU for breaking a prison rule, “and he bled all over the place.” Another inmate named Joel Olavarría Rivera, a friend of Valdez, wrote to Garvey in Spanish (here translated by Eda Trajo of El Centro Latino in Portland):

I saw how the officers abused Victor Valdez. I saw the officers cover him with pepper spray and they took him away to check his blood pressure, and afterwards they put him back in the cell without cleaning the cell or him. When the officers put him back in his cell I could smell the pepper spray because it’s so strong. And Victor fell on the floor and he stayed like that with all that stink of pepper spray.

In 10 minutes they called code blue. When the medics came Victor was foaming at the mouth, which came from the pepper spray. They left the pepper spray on him and they didn’t clean it. I thought he was dead because he was a sick man and the pepper spray made it difficult to breathe. The next day they brought him back one room closer to mine, and he tells me that they didn’t want to take him to dialysis and that they forced him to sign a document that says he doesn’t want to go to dialysis. And he doesn’t read English and they don’t even translate for him. He can’t miss dialysis or he’ll die and therefore they’ve forced him to sign for his own death.

Shortly before his death, according to Garvey, inmates were ordered to return to their cells immediately. Valdez, who was hard of hearing and had limited English, did not respond right away. Other prisoners told Garvey he was then beaten and pepper sprayed. Valdez died less than a week later.

Initially Denise Lord, the Associate Corrections Commissioner, told the Bangor Daily News that Valdez had died of “medical causes in the hospital.” However, as Tapley points out:

[N]o state medical examiner looked at Valdez’s body, despite a prison protocol requiring the prison to notify the state police to see if they wished to investigate a prisoner’s death. The medical examiner’s office, part of the attorney general’s office, works hand in glove with the state police. The medical examiner’s office assistant told the Phoenix that Valdez’s death “didn’t meet our criteria” because he was “sick enough” to have died from natural causes. In such a case, a prison physician would sign the death certificate, she said. But who signed it and the cause of death listed is information unavailable to the press and general public, according to the state’s Office of Vital Records.

According to Tapley’s article, Valdez’ mother, at the time traveling out of the country, gave permission for his body to be cremated.

After Garvey and other prison reformers launched a campaign for an investigation, Attorney General Mills asked the state police to prepare a report on the causes of death. She is expected to announce the findings soon. In the meantime, Garvey has sought information from Associate Corrections Commissioner Denise Lord on the details surrounding the death. She forwarded to me some of her questions, followed by Lord’s answers:

1) Did officials from MSP/DOC notify the State Police following Victor Valdez’s death? Did these officials ask the State Police whether they wanted to conduct an investigation into the death?
Lord: The department, by our policy, routinely notifies the State Police of a prisoner death.

2) Was there an autopsy performed on Victor Valdez?
Lord: This is medical related information and is confidential. The department cannot release this information. This information can be provided by the next of kin.

3) Who certified Mr. Valdez’s death and at what date and time?
Lord: Medical information is confidential and we cannot disclose this to a member of the public without consent…

5) Did Mr. Valdez’s family make the decision about cremation or did the DOC make that decision?
Lord: Our policy is to notify the prisoner’s next of kin to discuss the arrangements.

6) Where did the cremation take place?
Lord: Again, this is information that should be provided by the next of kin…

8 ) Do you have contact info for Victor Valdez’s out-of-country family and if so, would you please share it with us? Were Victor Valdez’s out-of-country relatives notified of his death or was there not a contact?
Lord: Our policy requires notification of next of kin in the case of a prisoner death…

10) Would you please supply the start and end dates during November 2009 when Mr. Valdez was in the SMU?
Lord: Housing assignments within a correctional facility are not public information.

Tapley cites Paul Wright, editor of Prison Legal News, who told him that it is “quite common for prisons to cover up and restrict the info on prisoner beatings, deaths, etc., and it generally works quite well. . . . The use of laws on medical privacy to cover up wrongdoing is also fairly widespread.”

This is not the first suspicious death to take place in Maine State Prison’s SMU. The death of an aging prisoner named Sheldon Weinstein is referenced in Tapley’s article, and was also described here on Solitary Watch by former Maine State Prison chaplain Stan Moody.

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No Legal Defense for the Poor

Even among advocates of criminal justice reform, most (ourselves included) tend to focus on the draconian punishments that await the convicted–when in practice, it is the trial process that finishes off the accused, who is sold down the river after going through a mockery of justice. The crisis in defense of the indigent informs much of the work of the Southern Center for Human Rights, a leading advocate for the rights of prisoners and of the accused, which deals with what is effectively a caste system within our criminal justice establishment, where one kind of justice is offered to the wealthy and another kind to poor. This inequality may be nothing new, but the structures designed to mitigate it–the system by which lawyers are appointed to defendants who cannot afford them–is reaching new lows.

Earlier this month, a Georgia Superior Court Judge, ruling in a case brought by the Southern Center for Human Rights, wrote: “The Georgia indigent defense system is broken. It is a mega-bureaucracy adrift with no rudder. No business, nonprofit organization or government agency could survive under the present scheme.” Judge J. David Roper wrote earlier this signed a consent order to provide better legal representation to the poor in Georgia’s Northern Judicial Circuit. According to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution:

Among other things, [the order] calls for the state public defender agency to provide counsel in the Northern circuit within 24 hours after a defendant is found to be indigent. It also sets case load limits for lawyers and monitoring of their performance.

A lawsuit, one of a number slapped on the state public defender agency, was filed last year on behalf of Northern circuit defendants. It said funding problems that have plagued the agency for years had eroded its ability to provide prompt representation for the poor…

In 2008, defendants sat in jail for prolonged periods because there were no lawyers to represent them at bond hearings, according to testimony at a hearing in March. Sometimes indigent defendants appeared at their criminal arraignments without representation, almost shutting down criminal prosecutions.

This case, dealing with one rural judicial circuit in one state, highlights what is merely a somewhat extreme version of a nationwide problem. In June, the American Constitution Society, at its annual convention, presented a panel discussion on “the federal role in improving indigent criminal defense.” The panel included Steve Bright, who heads the Southern Center for Human Rights and has spent his life representing the interests of poor prisoners in the South, along with Laurence Tribe, the Constitutional scholar from  Harvard Law School who is now working within the Justice Department to improve legal representation for the poor, along with several others.  A link to the video of the panel is here, while An American Constitution Society Issue Brief proposing federal action to reform indigent defense can be found here.

Bright painted a dismal picture of the judicial system: “There is no advocate system in many parts of this country,’’ he said. Most of the cases involving indigent  defense are in the state system, where the accused are dependent on the government– the same government which is trying to put them in jail. There are few public defenders and they receive scant funding;  in Miami, for example, prosecutors get $4.3 million a year as opposed to $150,000 for public defense. The loyalty of the lawyers tends to be to the judge, not the client, since lawyers literally cannot afford to alienate the judge. There is often ”no chance to raise a defense,’’ Bright said.  “The cases are rigged like professional wrestling matches.’’  

During the 1960s, the Justice Department was known for its support of civil rights movement, and the federal courts were seen as sanctuaries for the victims of state injustice. That is no longer true today. The 1960s was also the last time—and probably the only time—anyone in this country spoke seriously of providing widespread, accessible defense services to the poor. This happened as part of Lyndon Johnson’s anti-poverty program, with the creation of the neighborhood legal defense teams to give people in localities advocates for all sorts of problems with landlords, police, government bureaucracy. It was in Chicago, Obama’s home town, where Saul Alinsky fought Mayor Richard Daley tooth and nail in an effort to make the new poverty program work. At that time, the lawyers were paid by the federal government to represent the poor. After Johnson, Republicans successfully ripped these programs to pieces.They became principal targets in the right wingers’s defunding campaign. Now nobody talks about them; instead of financing any defense, the government literally seeks to privatize defense advocacy by recruiting well-heeled law firms to do their part pro bono.

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