As states continue to deal with unprecedented fiscal strain, most are taking steps to reduce their inmate populations and costs while protecting public safety and holding offenders accountable. In the current fiscal climate, states are increasingly forced to do more with less and make difficult decisions about competing priorities. The National Conference of State Legislatures recently reported that corrections and public safety spending were above budgeted levels in seven states, including Alaska, where corrections spending exceed the state’s $258 million corrections budget by $9 million.

While funds to manage expensive prison systems have lessened, so too have resources for services such as treatment for substance abuse and mental health. For example, Minnesota lawmakers recently considered a significant reduction of funding for a model in-prison treatment program that has been shown to reduce recidivism by 25 percent. Thus, the viability of alternatives to incarceration programs and reentry services may be compromised in the current environment.

One out of every one hundred adults in America is incarcerated, a total population of approximately 2.3 million. By contrast, according to a report published in The Economist, the number of imprisoned adults in America in 1970 was only one out of every 400. The United States has 5% of the world’s population, but 23% of the world’s reported prisoners. It is not clear, however, that these high rates of imprisonment are leading to safer communities. One study by two professors at Purdue University and Rutgers University has estimated that were we to increase incarceration by another ten percent, the subsequent reduction in crime would be only 0.5%. The state of Florida provides a useful example. Over the past thirteen years, the proportion of prisoners who were incarcerated for committing non-violent crimes rose by 189%. By contrast, the proportion of inmates who committed violent crimes dropped by 28%. For this benefit, Americans are paying dearly – between $18,000 and $50,000 per prisoner per year depending upon the state. The nation is also reaching a point where it simply does not have the capacity for so much incarceration. In 2009, the number of federal inmates rose by 3.4%, and federal prisons are now 60% over capacity. (Source)

A pair of reports filed with Congress in recent months say the federal prison system isn’t keeping pace with the influx of inmates. A January 22 report by the Congressional Research Service found that overall “the federal prison system was 39% over its rated capacity in FY2011” and that medium security male facilities are even more crowded – 55 percent over capacity. A General Accounting Office report filed late last year made the reached the same conclusions. However, it also revealed a federal Bureau of Prisons (BOP) “staffing shortage in excess of 3,200.” Those are thousands of jobs that aren’t being filled because of federal budget cuts. (Source)

State taxpayers pay, on average, 14 percent more on prisons than corrections department budgets reflect. the aggregate cost of prisons in FY2010 was $39 billion, $5.4 billion more than their corrections budgets reflected. When all costs are considered, the annual average taxpayer cost in these states was $31,286 per inmate. (Source)

Costing $2 billion annually, the Michigan Department of Corrections continues to take a big bite out of Michigan’s budget. Today, 43,365 prisoners are in the Michigan system. That’s roughly 15 percent fewer than the 51,500 who were in the system in 2006. The MDOC budget for 2006 was about $1.9 billion, roughly $100 million less than the $2 billion Gov. Rick Snyder is recommending for the upcoming fiscal year. Despite fewer prisoners and employees, the budget has increased — mostly because of increased employee costs. (Source)

Budget woes have impacted state corrections departments in large and small ways. For instance, state budget cuts have eliminated the positions of the five individuals who handled the Illinois Department of Corrections canine unit. While the workers landed other jobs within the state’s sprawling prison system, the dogs were let go. (Source)

Today, the government of the city of Philadelphia spends seven cents out of every tax dollar on holding people in its jails. That is more than it spends on any other function besides police and human services and as much as it spends on the streets and health departments combined. Its spending on jails is nearly as high as that of Cook County, Illinois, even though Cook County, which includes the city of Chicago, has more than three times as many residents as Philadelphia. Over the last 10 years, the departmental budget has more than doubled, reaching $240 million in the current fiscal year. That figure, however, understates the true cost of prison operations, as it does not include employee benefits. With benefits, the number is about $290 million. (Source)

The budget challenges impacts counties as well as states. The crisis in jail funding that racked up a $5 million shortfall is sapping the Pierce County, WA budget this year and into 2014. The Pierce County Council is to decide whether to lay off 16 corrections deputies as part of a $3 million cut in the county jail’s budget for 2013. County Executive Pat McCarthy recommends filling the rest of that gap with $2 million from reserves and increased sales tax revenue. At the same meeting, McCarthy will present her proposed budget for 2014. It would add another $2 million from increased property and sales tax dollars to offset the jail’s shortfall for next year. Her new budget isn’t expected to require laying off more corrections deputies next year as long as the jail’s budget is cut this year. The jail’s deficit outlook turned even bleaker last week. Undersheriff Eileen Bisson said the Sheriff’s Department expects jail contract revenue to drop next year by $706,000 more than previously projected. (Source)

The strategy of closing prison facilities to cust costs brings challenges of its own. Governor Quinn’s decision to close Illinois prisons has raised overcrowding problems to epic proportions. It all began In December 2009 when the Associated Press reported that IDOC had released about 2,000 prisoners early through a program called MGT (Mandatory Good Time) Push. At least one inmate released early committed murder after his release. As a result Governor Quinn stopped MGT Push and all other prisoner early release programs. In February 2012, Governor Quinn presented a remedy to Illinois budget issues by closing 14 prisons and juvenile justice facilities. The closings, according to Quinn’s budget office, will result on saving the state nearly $62 million. The Illinois prison system, originally built to handle approximately 33,000 inmates (before closings), is currently housing over 48,000 inmates. The legislature had previously sent Quinn a budget that included enough money to run the prisons and other health facilities, but the governor vetoed that money. In December 2012, an Alexander county judge lifted an injunction which gave the governor the go ahead to begin the prison closures. Unions that represent the prison guards as well as civil liberty watch dog groups stated that the judge disregarded obvious safety concerns that will arise from added overcrowding due to closures. (Source)

To help address these funding shortfalls, prisons can no longer count on federal grant programs. The federal grant funds are shrinking, however. Overall funding for Department of Justice grant programs has dropped by 43 percent since 2010.

As a result, prison systems large and small are looking for new sources of funding. One traditional source of funding has been prison payphone commissions. However, due to a recent FCC decision, this source of funds is expected to shrink, with further cuts expected to come as the FCC targets other calling types beyond the long distance rates targeted in this order.

Increasingly prisons are to offering “optional” services to prisoners and their families such as email service and mp3 players to help generate revenue. Only those who can afford the service will purchase. However, the revenue to the prison can be significant and reoccurring given the ongoing nature of these service offerings. The meshDETECT secure prison cell phone solution is another such optional service that can offered to raise revenue. In addition to reducing the value of contraband cell phones in prison, commission earnings can be an alternative to the burden of imposed fees on those least likely to be able to pay.

The post Prison Budget Blues appeared first on meshDETECT® Blog.

An interesting look at prison life in Massachusetts. The article states that there are only three inmate phones for over 800 prisoners. By providing a secure cell phone solution such as meshDETECT, the prison can significantly increase detainee access to their families while limiting the safety risks of the prisoner movement necessary to get the prisoners to the pay phones.

It’s where no one wants to go.

The shower floors are scarred from the blades of sharpened shanks. There are no televisions, radios, or hotpots allowed, and no access to the canteen. Pay phones on wheels are rolled to cells for brief calls, and some prisoners play chess by calling out their moves on separate boards in separate cells, where prisoners are required to spend 23 hours a day.

Pedro Tapia, 30, of Hyde Park, who was serving up to 15 years for armed robbery, was in the segregation unit – or hole – at MCI-Shirley medium-security prison for his third time after being accused of verbally assaulting a staff member.

“Everything is hard about being in here; you have to be mentally strong,” he said while in a cage-like outdoor space for his hour of fresh air. “I read so much that my eyes start to twitch to the point that tears come out.”

Unlike at minimum-security prisons, where inmates have much more freedom and are on a glide path to release, the vast majority of the state’s 11,500 prisoners live in a world bounded by monotony, violence, and strict routines, where barred doors and barbed wire etch the horizon and the purpose is punishment.

My visit to the hole was one stop on a three-day tour of the state’s prison system, including a period during which, with my permission, the state Department of Correction stripped me of my regular clothes and locked me in chains, to let me experience incarceration in a more personal, first-hand personal way. (Everyone interviewed knew I was a journalist.)

Over three days, I saw from an inmate’s perspective the stark difference between the bleak, highly controlled world of medium and maximum security — from which no one has escaped since 1990 — compared to the relative freedom of minimum-security prisons.

Our journey began at MCI-Cedar Junction in Walpole, a former maximum-security prison surrounded by 20-foot-high walls, eight observation towers, and five strands of electrical wire that has become the gateway to prison life in Massachusetts. Most inmates stay in this sprawling 56-year-old facility, which smells like formaldehyde on hot days, for two to four months while awaiting a permanent assignment.

New inmates are strip searched – with every orifice checked – scanned for metal objects and other contraband, fingerprinted, and given starchy gray scrubs, ill-fitting canvas shoes without laces, and a paper bag with essentials, including a dull razor, seven pairs of underwear, and a special pen designed so it can’t be used as a weapon. Any possessions, including their street clothes, are either destroyed or mailed home.

Correction officers and other staff check newbies for gang symbols, conduct medical and psychological evaluations, and advise them that bad behavior could affect whether they are classified to a maximum-security prison or a lower-security facility.

Cedar Junction is far less tense since it became a reception center in 2009 and assaults against other prisoners and staff have dropped more than 50 percent. Still, many of the 800 prisoners — 300 more than it was designed for — are on edge, especially when it’s hot. The food is marginally edible and most live in cramped cells with another prisoner, sharing a toilet and standing for six inmate counts a day.

“The yard is despicable, they don’t allow you anything to cook with, and nobody can get on the phone, because there are only three,” said Keith Cousin, 24, of Dorchester, who was convicted of illegally possessing a gun in June.

As he sat in his cell on a sweltering summer day, he said he was adapting to life behind bars. “It’s a very, very depressing place to be,” he said. “But I understand this isn’t a hotel.”

My department guides told me to remove my street clothes – sparing me the strip search – and don the polyester gray scrubs and shoes, which felt like vices on my feet. Then, they locked my ankles and wrists in double locked cuffs, with my hands linked to a waist chain to limit mobility.

That’s how I dressed for my visit to a holding cell at Cedar Junction, a sallow, fluorescent-lighted space with concrete walls and steel bars, where they served a lunch of what they described as “seafood surprise,” with something that loosely resembled apple pudding in a Styrofoam cup. I could muster only a few nibbles.

Afterward, they escorted me to a waiting transport van, a jaunt that made me appreciate the pain of moving too quickly in ankle cuffs. They locked me in a backseat with little legroom, behind grated windows, with doors that don’t unlock from the inside, and drove us to Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center, the maximum-security prison in Shirley.

No one has ever escaped from Souza-Baranowski, the state’s newest prison, which is not surprising, given all the special fences, motion-detection sensors, nine guard towers, and 372 cameras recording 24 hours a day. Just to get inside, we had to go through two separate gates and the driver had to step out of the van to show guards he isn’t being held hostage.

It was there, waiting between the two gates, that the guards decided I should change back to street clothes. Even though everyone had been told that a reporter was in the vehicle, guards were still startled when I climbed out of the van to stretch.

Prisoners are not supposed to exit the vehicle, I learned.

Upon arrival, new inmates must go through another full strip search — inmates have been found hiding razors and paper clips beneath their tongue and cell phones and lighters in their rectum. They are allowed televisions, typewriters, fans, and portable radios, but they all have to be a specially designed see-through, tamper-resistant brand only available through the prison’s canteen.

For better-behaved prisoners, the next step may be a short trip down the hill to MCI-Shirley’s medium-security prison, which like Souza-Baranowski is surrounded by a double ring of tall fences and microwave detection devices.

At orientation, new prisoners learn the rules: Sneakers must be all white to avoid gang colors. Windows of cells can’t be covered. Pictures of families are allowed but naked women aren’t. They have to stand for count four times a day and obey directions from correction officers.

They also learn about the greater number of programs available in medium security: Some prisoners study to be line cooks and others to become barbers. They have more free time, too, to play board games, cards, and rap with other inmates.

In the chow hall, a tinderbox where sitting in the wrong place can be a provocation, there are separate tables where Latin Kings, Boston and Springfield gangs, Muslims, and sex offenders, among others, segregate themselves.

When I arrived with a photographer at the medium-security prison, our presence seemed to be known by every inmate within moments of our arrival. Inmates were eager to talk to us, and we interviewed whomever we chose – aging brothers serving a life sentence for a joint-venture murder, a repentant father of four convicted of dealing drugs, a couple during visiting hours who described how they maintained a relationship through his three decades in prison.

Our escorts refused to allow us to interview just one inmate, a prisoner who said he had been in the same dorm room as Tamik Kirkland, who had escaped from the nearby minimum-security prison a few months before and allegedly shot a man to death. They claimed it was for legal reasons.

Among the inmates we met in medium security was Joseph Labriola, 66, one of the few who succeeded in escaping from a Massachusetts prison. A decade after he was incarcerated for killing a drug dealer in 1973, he spent 93 days on the lam, before the FBI captured him living with a stripper in Nevada.

He impressed upon us the deprivation and danger of life behind bars, the monotony of the constant routine, and the sense that many inmates, despite their anger, appreciated why they were there and the need for their punishment.

But if he could, Labriola insisted, he would run again.

“I would rather be outside that fence and die in a snowstorm than die in this prison warm,” he said.

Author: David Abel
Source

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