It happens to some of us. Someone you love is incarcerated, and suddenly you have to do things you never dreamed you’d ever have to do, beginning with research to determine how you can communicate with and support your “loved one.” (The system refers to the inmates as “loved ones.” YOU love them. The system doesn’t.)
Society has all sorts of offenders, and we have consequences for them. My opinion is that prison hard time should be reserved for the worst of the lot – you know, murderers and thieves, psychopaths and sociopaths – but a large percentage of those incarcerated suffer addiction and / or mental illness. (Addiction is mental illness.) Naturally, you’re angry with your loved one for getting himself (or herself) into this mess, but if he has any support at all, you’re IT. You see his good along with his bad, and so you cherish and encourage the good.
Don’t be fooled by the resort-like atmosphere set forth by the prison website. That picture of a kitchen well-stocked with nutritious food is not reality. Don’t be taken in by the warden’s friendly grin. Don’t think that guards and staff members are caring and compassionate. Remember those prison movies where we actually have sympathy for the inmates because the warden and the guards are so heartless and corrupt? Well, those are based on fact.
The system also says that they will help your loved one by providing treatment, educational opportunities, chapel, and positive social interactions. If this is true, it doesn’t happen for everyone. Statistics show that if an inmate doesn’t have mental issues when processed into prison, he will when he is released. He will need plenty of help and encouragement, and again – you’re IT.
Don’t hesitate to make contacts within the system on behalf of your loved one. Follow your instincts. Don’t be afraid of being rebuffed. If you’re worried about your loved one, call the prison and ask questions. Document or record your calls. If the worst happens, as it did to us, you will have documentation that you served notice.
Once incarcerated, your loved one can call you, but calls are expensive. He can message with you through the prison email system but only after you establish an account within that system. For the most part, it worked well for us, but all communication is subject to review. Nothing is private. Save any messages you receive from your loved one.
The prison experience is at least tolerable if the inmate has money in his commissary account. I think the Idaho prison system provides a blanket, towel, and slipper socks. For some reason, the prison provided these to us with Milo’s effects, and I was appalled by their worn condition. In the beginning, the prison also provides a few necessary toiletries – toothbrush, toothpaste, and soap. It’s not much. However, with money, an inmate can buy food and supplies to make life more comfortable – shoes, a pillow, a second blanket, exercise shorts, underwear, etc. Our son Milo was hypoglycemic and needed snacks to augment his meals, which tells you that the average man is not provided enough food. He bought a hot pot to warm ramen soup and make tea, and he also bought a small fan – cheap goods sold at a premium.
The corrections system in our country breaks those who come into it. It not only penalizes offenders but also their families. The concept of the “debtors’ prison” is alive and well in our country. Many of the incarcerated are poor to begin with, and a family that loses its breadwinner is at risk of homelessness. As incongruous as it seems to most of us, some families don’t have computers, which means they can’t visit with their loved one or supply him with commissary funds. Often an inmate has lost his family and everything he owns, which opens the door for a host of other problems, including hopelessness and homelessness. KW
[For a perspective on current prison life, I read the blog, Book of Irving.]
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