What Do Inmates Fear?

If you walked into the prison I teach in, you might think that it looks like a college campus, except for the razor wire. The brick buildings and the well maintained grounds are pleasant and clean. There is a chapel with qualified chaplains on staff, a food hall, administrative buildings, a large school staffed with fully qualified teachers, a medical and dental clinic staffed with fully qualified doctors, nurses and psychologists, a gym and playing fields with a coach on staff, a warehouse and even a small store.

The officers who work there go through rigorous training in which they are instructed on cultural awareness, use of force only as a last resort, and how to assist inmates in psychological distress. Inmates are fed, clothed, and cared for entirely at taxpayer expense. They pay $4 to see a doctor. Apparently, they want for nothing.

Yet I have never met a single inmate who thought he was well off. I have never met one who would think twice about giving up his place in an air-conditioned Electronics trade class for instant freedom. Why? What do they have to go back to?

Of course, there are no simple answers, but there are a few recurring themes in inmates' reasoning. First, they are in complete denial. This may be because of the trial/conviction process - If you say, "I'm innocent!" enough times, you start to believe it. Second, they forget how bad life was - the incompetent parents, the filthy crack houses, the violence, the anger, the broken hearts. And third, they believe in a future that has no basis in reality because they refuse to begin working towards it -

• "I'll start night school when I get out, but I can't worry about school right now."
• "I don't need job skills because my uncle/father/old boss will give me a job as soon as I want to start."
• "I don't have custody, or even see my kids, but when I get out I'm going to be a real good father."

But the single biggest reason that they all want to "escape" is Fear. And the single thing of which they are all most deathly afraid is each other.

One time, an inmate told me that all fights in prison are over one issue: "respect." An inmate who cannot garner respect from other inmates can look forward to being a Jun-Jun (joon-joon). He will hand over his possessions and do anything he is told, or risk being beaten severely, perhaps even to death. I only know this because that is what I am told "may" happen. Every single inmate who has ever walked into my classroom with a bloody face or an arm in a sling has told me it was an "accident" during a basketball game. Being known as a snitch is a sure-fire way of losing all respect.

We lock our doors and look upon the police as our allies. We check on our loved ones and know they are OK when we are not around. What must it be like to have no such security?

Inmates only have to work six hours a day. Their work is what the rest of us do for ourselves after our work day is done: food preparation and clean up, dorm cleaning, yard work, laundry. If they are in school, other inmates are busy taking care of their needs. It seems such an easy life. Why do inmates keep rejecting the opportunity for self-improvement when it is handed to them for free? For years, I could not accept the excuse that inmates offered for not concentrating on their studies: "My mind ain't straight for this." What does that mean?

I think it means that what every teacher learns in training about Maslow's hierarchy of needs is true. Safety is the most basic of human needs. Without it, we live in fear, and nothing else matters. Inmates are not afraid of being locked up. They are not afraid of the officers who guard them or of anyone in charge of them. They are afraid of the future, and of losing control of situations outside the prison fence. But most of all, they are afraid for their own safety. Their fear is paralyzing and pervasive. And until they can learn to deal with it, nothing else that we provide will make a difference for them.

In Stir

In stir, up the river, in the nick, down, locked up. So far, I have served just over 12 years behind bars, and it looks like I'll be doing life. I am a teacher in a state prison.

To protect the innocent, namely me, I can't give specific details such as names and locations, but I will say that I deal only with youthful male inmates who have mostly committed some fairly serious crimes for which the state determined that anything less than a year would not be enough.

I teach GED classes, which is to say, I teach. Everybody knows what teachers do, and anyone could do it, right? Most people have at least 12 years experience of observing teachers, so we all know what goes on. Is it different in prison? Not in the ways you might expect. First, let's expel Myth No. 1. There are no guards in the room. In fact, there are no guards anywhere in sight, most of the time. Considering there are always at least a couple of rapists and murderers in the room, that might seem a bit odd. Yet, the inmates are relatively well-behaved. They have had a fair number of classroom rules shoved down their throats over the years, so they know how to play the game. The difference when they get out of line in a prison school is that they will not be going to the dean's office; they will be going to a freezing, stinking, dark cell for an indeterminate number of days, with a cell-mate they don't know, who may be crazier than they are. Fear is a great motivator. More on that later.

As a state worker, I teach year-round, which is to say I do not get summers off. Really. I also get much lower pay than county teachers because there are no step increases, and the cost-of-living increases have ranged from 0 (yes, 0) to 3 percent, usually closer to 1 1/2 percent per year since I began. At this rate, I figure minimum wage will overtake my "salary" before I retire. So why do I do it? First, no parental contact. I have never had to speak to a parent. That's not to say that I couldn't, but they would have to ask to speak to me (prison policy), and in over 12 years, not one of them ever did that. I find that odd. Do you? Second, by state statute I am forbidden to take work home with me. And by prison policy, I am not allowed to do overtime. My day ends with the bell. Period. I know teachers in county schools who put in 100 hours a week. I do not envy them their summers off.

I started this blog for a class I am taking to do with educational technology. So let me finish up with a few words on that. Inmates are spoiled. I have six computers in my room. Inmates have the option of doing some or all of their studies on the computer. Of course, they do not have Internet access, you will be pleased to know. But they have a myriad of educational games available, and a full library of educational videos, School could not be any easier or attractive. Do they appreciate it? No. They complain that school is a punishment in itself and look upon computers as a supply box for tattoo guns (they steal the CD drive motors)! But I keep trying.

I have a few simulations that the inmates do periodically, and I try to work in the videos with the text readings. We have plenty to choose from, so that helps make lessons more interesting. Of course a ten-minute video followed by a mind-stretching writing exercise is not necessarily their idea of "fun," and there are many who will resist and complain every step of the way. So perhaps really I mean that it is interesting for me.

And then again, sometimes I feel as if I am pushing water uphill.