San Quentin sits at the vanguard of CDCR’s modest rehabilitative efforts. Each month, the S.Q. News profiles any of a number of S.Q. programs. In this era of budgetary starvation, S.Q. remains steadfastly in pursuit of something larger.
One of the things that make San Quentin unusual is that dozens of prisoners are committed to helping fellow inmates turn their lives around.
While San Quentin is a prison, in some ways it is very different; set apart from other institutions in several fundamental ways. The most important, I believe, is often overlooked, minimized or disputed. With but a tiny few exceptions, San Quentin is the only prison in the state that recognizes and values the contributions made by inmates as mentors or facilitators.
For more than 35 years, California correctional theory centered upon punishment; in fact, the Penal Code states that the purpose of incarceration is punishment. Any rehabilitative efforts were provided by professional people coming in from the community, people working for the department such as teachers, mental health professionals, or chaplains. The essential nature of the effort relied upon the fact that these things were provided to prisoners by people who had the training.
I came to believe that these people, the vast majority of whom are wonderful, caring and eminently helpful, were better than me in all the ways that count. They hadn’t committed horrible crimes, and spent their lives in the grips of morbid drug and alcohol addiction. They had it all together; they lived lives of family, career and meaning — a valuable example to the men they worked with behind the walls. This belief was not something that I discussed with anyone, or even fully understood.
As valuable as their help is, some small, nagging voice kept whispering to me, “You are different from them.” I couldn’t count the number of discussions with staff and volunteers where I heard a prisoner say to them, “You just don’t understand what it’s like in here.” Empathic abilities aside, there is a ring of truth to that statement.
Within the rooms of 12-step programs, there is a belief that the power of peers helping each other is unmatched. Logically, it is quite easy to develop this assertion. If you want to learn to be a doctor, you go to a doctor to learn. The teaching doctor has already experienced everything that the student will experience, and is able to understand and recognize signs that the student is either getting it or not.
If a violent addict like myself wants to change my life, I would go to a violent addict who changed their life. That’s not to say I couldn’t gain anything from someone who hadn’t been a violent addict. But the violent addict who turned his or her life around can better communicate with me. Simply put, prisoners have something to offer each other that “outsiders” cannot match.
The San Quentin atmosphere benefits from utilizing inmate facilitators and peer educator/ tutors. The message is: prisoners offer something valuable. This sentiment is reinforced in the lectures, classes, and workshops — by the inmate facilitators and free staff alike. I am thankful to the staff members who truly believe in prisoners’ inherent value and the prisoners who paved the way.
Borrowing a line from Stan Lee of Spider-Man fame: with great power comes great responsibility. The bulk of this responsibility rests upon the shoulders of the inmate facilitators, mentors, and tutors.
The power in having prisoner-led programs lies in the belief that I can do it too. I believe that the longer someone remains on the path, the more they want to talk about it and pass on what they have learned, not because of an ego-centered desire to shine in the spotlight, but because of a true calling to help, to give a hand up
Over the last two years, San Quentin has experienced a massive turnover. Prisoners left who had been here for years, and men from institutions without any programs arrived. Most of us newcomers have not experienced anything like San Quentin’s inmate-facilitated programs. To put it bluntly, we need to know that the same opportunities exist for us that existed for you who came before.
VOEG –Where Survivors Meet the Perpetrators
The muggy summer air inside of a small classroom buzzed with a nearly visible electric tension. Eleven men and one woman sat in a circle attentively listening to a twelfth man relate a story plumbed from the depths of his soul. He appears close to tears, nervously wringing his hands, struggling to make the words come.
No one moved to comfort him, or ease his pain; instead, they encourage him through their supportive presence to go deeper, step further into the fire. Bolstered by their aid, he reveals personal secrets that he never believed he would tell another human being. The words feel like tearing off a Band-Aid — relief that the wound begins to heal, but the exposed skin is so tender that even a gentle breeze burns.
The lone woman in the room thanks him for his courage and allows a few moments to pass in silence, letting his story percolate in the hearts of the listeners.
The men in the room are all convicted felons, inmates living behind the aged walls of San Quentin State Prison. The majority of the 12 were convicted of murder, some having served more than two decades behind bars.
They all participate in the innovative and powerful Victim Offender Education Group (VOEG). Established in 2004 by Rochelle Edwards, VOEG operates upon principles culled from the Restorative Justice movement.
Jack Dison, a VOEG group facilitator and avid proponent of Restorative Justice methods, believes that healing will occur through the honest, courageous sharing of stories.
SHARING STORIES
“Everyone has a story,” Edwards says. “In our groups we share our stories in a safe environment in order to understand and connect the dots in our lives.” VOEG is not about coddling inmates, or making excuses. From the preliminary interview onward, the focus is on personal accountability. “When you come to VOEG, you must take responsibility for your crime,” Edwards is quick to add.
VOEG facilitators, assisted by experienced inmate co-facilitators, guide participants through a difficult and arduous curriculum intended to strip away layers of self-deception and reveal the truth buried beneath. At the culmination of the program awaits a powerful Victim/Offender dialogue.
Inmates sit down with victims of crime and share stories. The dialogues expose offenders directly to the suffering their actions caused. Victims have the opportunity to tell their stories without being restricted by the legal constraints they are subjected to during the criminal justice process.
The Enduring Problem of Over-Familiarity
San Quentin State Prison boasts the highest number of community volunteers and staff sponsorships in the entire state, if not the nation. Every day a veritable army of dedicated, altruistic men and women pass through San Quentin’s iron gates, bringing much-needed hope and compassion to the men imprisoned within the walls.
“There is a different mood in San Quentin, compared to other prisons,” says Jason, a young man who attends Patten University, chapel services, and plays tennis on the weekends with members of the Marin Tennis Club. “The number of volunteers creates an atmosphere of wanting to change.”
Vast Array of People
Volunteers range from state employees who sponsor various activity groups and programs, to people from the community who receive substantial training, to those who apply for, and receive clearance to conduct workshops, seminars, or participate in athletic programs alongside prisoners.
These vast arrays of people face a number of challenges during the course of their activities. The Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation provides training in recognizing and preventing the flow of contraband in and out of the institution.
“I found the training to be realistic and valuable,” says Peter Ainsworth, a teacher’s assistant. “Every person who works with inmates must create boundaries that cannot be broken; you have to decide what your own parameters are.”
Look to Title 15
One of the most difficult subjects to deal with, for prisoners, full-time staff, and volunteers alike, is that of over-familiarity. When approached regarding the official departmental definition of over-familiarity, members of the administration said that the definition is found in the Title 15 Code of Regulations, which states, “Employees must not engage in undue familiarity with inmates…” However, there is a particular lack of precision in the formal, legal language. Ascertaining exactly what “familiar” means is difficult.
What Volunteers Learn
Staff members discuss the issue during the annual three-hour classes that volunteers must complete in order to renew their security passes, known as “Beige Cards.” One volunteer who attended a September training session reported a member of the Investigative Services Unit (ISU) offered a series of prohibitions.
The officer said hand shakes are OK but no hugs, no friendly taps on the shoulder, no use of first names, no sharing of food, no disclosing of personal information such as addresses or family situation; never loan money, transport correspondence, or make phone calls for inmates.
Some inmates prey on volunteers with low self-esteem, especially women, the officer reported. At the conclusion, the officer stated that volunteers should adopt a professional attitude, with conservative dress and behavior.
Lots of Prison Lore
Most people connected to the department agree that over-familiarity is a valid concern. Prison lore abounds with tales of staff and prisoners who fall in love and cross the boundaries; other staff resign their positions and begin visiting a particular inmate. California newspapers report occasional instances of staff or volunteers caught trafficking drugs, tobacco, money, and cell phones.
There are also accounts of prisoners’ lives being drastically changed due to an ethical, yet profound relationship with a volunteer or staff member working with inmates.
Some inmate groups deal with very emotional, traumatic, and life-altering experiences. Participants in the Victim Offender Education Group, VOEG, share their deepest secrets and bare their souls in a group setting facilitated by one or more community volunteers. In order for the facilitators to provide the atmosphere needed for change to occur, they must, by necessity possess a level of empathy consistent with the work being accomplished. In situations such as this, volunteers and staff must maintain limits in order to continue the work.
Jack Dison, an experienced VOEG volunteer facilitator, recognizes the challenges that come with the territory, and notes that the programs and the work are the most important thing. “It would be tragic,” he says, emotion clearly thickening his voice, “if I ever did anything to harm the program.”
Maintaining Integrity
Prisoners understand that the success or failure of a program depends largely upon the relationships among the members, and how well everyone involved is able to focus on positive group and personal goals. Prisoners also understand that they must sometimes be the ones to maintain the line between allowable and prohibited behavior.
“We have to be proactive in maintaining the integrity of our groups,” says David Cowan, president of the Alliance for Change. “In the Alliance, we give an orientation workshop to new volunteers, and we have a written volunteer policy.”
Cowan notes that San Quentin provides fertile ground for positive personal change, and a large part of this comes from contributions made by the volunteers. “Understanding the importance of the San Quentin programs is the responsibility of everyone who participates in them,” says a North Block lifer. “We have to realize that the future welfare of our programs, and the ability to leave a legacy for other prisoners to benefit from, depends on how ethically we conduct ourselves now.”
Correctional officers are on the front lines of the struggle to maintain the security of the institution, and most agree that over-familiarity is an ongoing and unique problem.
“Some inmates will manipulate friendships and coax staff into improper behavior,” points out one veteran officer. “And sometimes volunteers will join groups just to set up a means to funnel contraband in.”
No Easy Solution
However, the officer suggests that there is perhaps too much emphasis placed upon some of the trivial, yet banned behaviors. He admits that bringing in even a harmless, trivial thing, such as a bottle of water or piece of fruit specifically for an inmate, can lead to more serious security breaches. “This issue will probably never be resolved,” adds the officer, “There is simply no easy solution, if it can be solved at all.”
Many San Quentin staff and inmates are hesitant to speak about the over-familiarity issue. “This subject needs to be talked about openly, and the stakeholders need to work together,” counsels one long-time staff volunteer. “People are complicated, and relationships are the most complex of all human interactions,” she states, noting that the inmate-staff relationship model is unlike any other.
Sports Volunteers
Recreation Coordinator Don DeNevi deals with a large volume of volunteers each week, and has to remain consistently vigilant. “I constantly have to remind my Beige Card holders that they are here to compete; that’s it.”
On Sept. 18 and 19, San Quentin CARES, in conjunction with Avon, sponsored its annual Breast Cancer Walk-a-Thon. A diverse variety of inmates, staff, and volunteers walked thousands of collective laps together, raising thousands of dollars for research and support.
A female volunteer, who wishes to remain anonymous, stated that there was nothing unusual or particularly noteworthy about a Breast Cancer Walk-a-Thon, but the fact that it occurred behind San Quentin’s walls made it so. “I could have been walking down the street in my neighborhood with these men,” she said, “the only difference is that I can’t hug them.”
One long-term inmate, having served over 30 years, reveals the sadness and pain that develops after decades without compassionate human contact. “I can shake hands with the men I see every day, and I can hug my friend. I can even shake hands with some of the staff and volunteers, but God forbid that I hug the woman who had been my mentor, adviser, and sobriety counselor for several years.”
He reflects upon the psychological impact that the deprivation of human contact has on an inmate. “When the officer I work with every day, eight hours a day, for six years straight has to put on a pair of rubber gloves before touching me, it reminds me to never forget that I am no longer human.”
New Addition to the Roster Of Faiths at San Quentin
The religious program at San Quentin has expanded its borders to include a small but dedicated group of Wicca practitioners. The group, or “coven” as they are known, meets Saturday mornings in the old MAC office in the chapel plaza.
Two Britons revived Wicca. Gerald Gardner, in September 1939, after having heard the word during an initiatory service. Gardner, “The father of modern Wicca,” founded one of the two main streams of the religion, known as “Gardnerian” Wicca. Alex Sanders developed the second denomination, termed “Alexandrian,” in the 1960’s.
Certain practices and beliefs are commonly held among all Wicca practitioners. Of primary import is the code of ethics entitled the “Wiccan Rede.” The origins of the code are somewhat in question, but adherence is required by nearly all Wicca sects. Taken in its simplified form, the Wiccan Rede simply states, “As ye harm none, do what ye will.”
Wiccans recognize and emphasize gender polarity, as seen in their “Sabbat” (Sabbath) rituals that focus upon the relationship between the Wiccan Goddess and God. Basic Wicca cosmology closely relates to the beliefs of animism, where all natural things are believed to have a spirit. Wiccans hold ceremonies for the four main seasonal cycles: Summer and Winter Solstices, and the Fall and Spring Equinoxes. Other practices include rites to honor the lunar cycles, and initiatory rituals marking adherents’ levels of development, usually denoted by ranks or degrees.
Another belief common to Wiccans is the Law of Threefold Return. Similar to the principle of Karma, Wiccans hold that whatever they do will return three times.
Modern Wiccans are found on every continent, with the highest percentages located in North America and Europe.
For more information on Wiccan practice, or to sign up to attend services, contact Jimmy Snider in 2N-24.
The Ups, Downs Of Hobby Shop Regulations
(Part 2 of 2 parts)
With the exception of suggestions for revising the cumbersome procedure for ordering materials and supplies, longtime hobby participant and artisan Renny Norelli feels that there is no reason to change the way the hobby program is managed. The in-cell program is a “proving ground for the hobby managers to observe and see what the new participants are capable of, and how much desire the inmate has for his chosen hobby.” The in-cell program has always gone hand-in-hand with the shop program. Inmates must progressively work towards the privilege of having a station in the main shop. Norelli suggests that without the in-cell program, the hobby manager will have to rely on guesswork when determining who is permitted a permanent station in the main shop.
Hobby regulations state that the program is available to all eligible inmates. In San Quentin, inmates of the General Population and Condemned Row are the only prisoners eligible. Condemned row is restricted to in-cell hobby participation; they are not currently permitted access to the Hobby Shop.
On March 16, 2009, former Warden Wong issued a revised Handicraft Operational Procedure. Setting aside 70 years of history, the new procedure reduced the in-cell hobby program to a degree equivalent to that found in level IV (the most restrictive) institutions. Currently, efforts are underway to submit changes to the warden’s office. “I am looking at other institutions and their hobby programs for comparison,” says North Block Captain H. Foss. “This current Operational Procedure does seem a bit restrictive.” [Per regulations, Institutional Operational Procedures permit annual revisions.]
Foss, a departmental veteran with experience in institutions such as Level IV Pelican Bay, understands the benefits of inmates utilizing free time in a productive manner. “The hobby program,” he says, “keeps men busy.” According to departmental veterans, inmate idle time tends to lead to negative behavior.
The San Quentin of today is both a relic of the past and a stanchion of the future of rehabilitative activity in California. With its roots dating back to 1852 and the dank, musty hold of a ship moored in the harbor, the place is much more that just a prison—it is an icon, a symbol of what has come before, and a lighthouse illuminating the future. Just as when Duffy took the first bold steps towards a modern, more effective approach to corrections, San Quentin maintains the tradition of being at the vanguard of California’s rehabilitation movement.
Duffy knew that in order to have both a safer environment, and an institution that provided actual rehabilitation, he needed to have a system of positive incentives to go along with the plethora of punishments. However, Duffy was a wise man, and knew not to confuse fairness with softness. He remained warden for a little over 11 years, but his legacy persists to this day.
As it turns out, the hobby program grew into the model replicated throughout the rest of California’s prisons. Unfortunately, San Quentin now is one of only two operational hobby shops in the state. With the exception of women’s prisons, Deuel Vocational Institute (DVI) operates the only other shop. Several other institutions have limited in-cell programs allowing men to paint, assemble pre-cut models, do beadwork and other, non-tool oriented handicrafts.
If nothing else, one can walk through the doors of the Hobby Shop and perhaps see the shade of Warden Duffy maintaining a watchful eye over his creation.
Sources:
California State Prison-San Quentin Operational Procedure SQP-101050-2, March 2009.
Time Magazine, inc., CALIFORNIA: Mister San Quentin, Monday, January. 1952.
Why All the Cuts in Rehabilitation
PROGRAM HEAD LISTS PRIORITIES
Six months after the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) announced plans to cut $250 million from the educational, vocational, treatment and other rehabilitative programs, the full effects have yet to be felt.
“Unfortunately, we were forced to cut some programs,” said the director of the Division of Adult Rehabilitative programs, Cynthia Florez-DeLyon, during an April 16 visit to San Quentin. Current policy calls for extracting a higher level of efficiency from the remaining programs and stabilizing the new educational models.
The new models call for three-hour classroom shifts that cycle more inmates through the programs. Current plans also call for increased reliance on community volunteers, paid inmate tutors and increasing the number of volunteer inmate tutors. According to Florez-DeLyon, the next year will likely involve working around unforeseen bugs and making modifications where necessary.
Florez-DeLyon outlined the state’s protocols for cutting vocational programs. Relying on a strict set of criteria purported to reveal the most effective programs, CDCR will look at whether a program possessed a standardized curriculum, whether it could be completed in 12 months, and whether it would result in a living wage for released prisoners.
In a May, 2001 study by the Washington State Institute on Public Policy (WSIPP), vocational programs were shown to be among the most effective programs at reducing recidivism and costs. Florez-DeLyon acknowledged the potential of vocational programming. “These (programs) were the hardest to cut, “ she said. Results indicate that slightly more than half of the state’s vocational classes were eliminated.
Department officials recognize the success of San Quentin’s programs. “San Quentin uses a model that we would like to replicate in other institutions,” said Florez-DeLyon. San Quentin has the highest rate of community involvement. From tutors driving in from Berkeley to help out in various education classes, to the men and women of the Prison University Project, to those who facilitate anger management and Victim Offender Education Groups, San Quentin remains at the vanguard of successful rehabilitative programs.
“There is no other place in the state (prison system) where I can earn a college diploma in a real classroom, and participate in groups that allow me to understand and begin to atone for all the pain and suffering I have caused,” said a graying but still vibrant Lifer.
Florez-DeLyon started her career in the California Youth Authority before receiving the nod to oversee the Division of Adult Programs. Her responsibilities include the Office of Correctional Education, Substance Abuse Programs and the Office of Community Partnerships.
A Promising New Way to Find Justice
A group of some 50 prisoners joined a mixed selection of visitors in the Catholic Chapel recently to participate in a restorative justice workshop and an introduction to Circle Processes. The prisoners ranged from first-time participants to skilled veteran “Circle-Keepers” who participate in twice-monthly meetings of the Interfaith Round Table.
“Circle process is about sharing and solving conflicts as a community,” says Sujatha, a visiting Circle Keeper, and facilitator of the April 24 workshop. “Everyone has a voice and in the circle, everyone is allowed to speak and be heard.”
Father Kirk, sponsor of the Interfaith Round Table, spoke in depth about restorative justice. “With restoration at the heart of the system, victims’ needs are centrally addressed.” This is in contrast to the current retributive model that uses victims as a tool to obtain guilty verdicts, Fr. Kirk pointed out.
Restorative justice models have been implemented in other parts of the world. New Zealand in the 1980s had one of the worst juvenile offense records in the world, and it was rising.
After implementing restorative, circle processes, New Zealand is now closing some of its adult institutions. “They are running out of people to put in prison,” said Sujath. Locally, facilities such as the San Bruno Juvenile Detention Center have used restorative models with admirable results.
Throughout the day long workshop the feeling of interfaith cooperation was reinforced through the sharing of prayers. Members of six different faith groups shared prayers in the spirit of community and commonality.
“It was a truly liberating experience,” said one H-Unit inmate. “For awhile, we weren’t a bunch of people in blue and people from the streets, we were all the same, and it felt great.”
Hobby Shop – Duffy’s Answer to Violence
In a dusty, busy room, men sit behind utilitarian workbenches, some carefully applying finishing touches to beautifully hand-made wooden jewelry boxes, some tooling raw strap leather into intricate belts; still others sit before large canvasses depicting panoramic landscapes or meticulously rendered portraits.
At first sight, one may believe the room to be part of a crafts guild, or a community arts center. And, in one sense, it is both. Then you look a bit deeper, pay closer attention to the men themselves. Most are older, not a great shock—it does take a lifetime to master some of the skills these men possess. They are all dressed the same, blue chambray shirts and blue denim pants dominate. Some have fading tattoos adorning every inch of exposed skin, excluding only their faces—except for teardrops beneath a questioning eye, or words scrawled on a thick, strong neck.
NOT LIKE A PRISON
The men around the room are intent on their work, concentration etched into their expressions. You would never guess that this was the hobby shop at one of America’s most famous prisons—San Quentin. After passing through the front door, beneath sharply serious coils of concertina and bands of rusted barbed wire, you no longer feel as though you are standing in a prison, much less one with as much brutal history as San Quentin. The men will engage visitors in polite conversation, always anxious to show their work, and extol the importance of having such a sanctuary behind the stone walls.
Despite the severity of the situation, visitors to San Quentin often have to remind themselves where they are, exactly. Sitting on some of the most expensive real estate around, the prison by the bay boasts the highest level of community involvement in the state, if not the nation. This creates an atmosphere unlike any other prison. The men living double bunked in the tiny, six-by-ten foot cells of San Quentin’s North Block have the opportunity to participate in perhaps the only rehabilitative, therapeutic environment to be found in California’s struggling prison system.
THE BAD OLD DAYS
History repeats itself in the microcosm of California Corrections. In 1939, America teetered on the brink of world war and San Quentin was one of the nation’s most violent, corrupt prisons. Corporal punishment was the rule of the day and as further penalty, prison guards chained men in the lightless, dank, unfurnished “dungeon.” They delivered food to the inmates in buckets, and there were no available programs beyond the opportunity to attend chapel services.
Gangs of ruthless convicts ran the prison yards with a measure of brutality not likely ever to be seen again. The prison guards exacted retribution 19th century style, wielding clubs, lashes, straps and hoses to beat the ordinary convicts; the “bosses” were left alone. San Quentin was so corrupt throughout the 1930s that a band of prisoners even managed to make a sizeable sum printing counterfeit bills in the photoengraving shop.
“The hobby program gives a man
something to look forward to”
-Inmate Hobbyist
In walks Clinton Truman Duffy. A small man, bespectacled and mild, his size and demeanor belying an iron will and compassionate sense of justice years ahead of its time. Within months of assuming the Warden’s office, Duffy fired the captain of the guards, eliminated the convict overlords and began feeding the men on trays in a new chow hall. Much to the chagrin of the guards, Duffy was known to walk around the yard, unarmed and without escort.
Warden Duffy allowed the use of radios in the cells, established the Hobby Program and made San Quentin the first institution to permit Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. Throughout his nearly 12-year tenure, Warden Duffy never abandoned his belief that San Quentin could rehabilitate as well as punish.
Administrators and prisoners alike recognize the value of activities that occupies leisure time and provides a balanced incentive/deterrent for positive behavior. “The [Hobby] program gives inmates something to lose, which helps modify their thinking in critical situations,” notes a prison psychologist.
‘I’M BASICALLY DEAD’
Not surprisingly, the prisoners themselves recognize this. “A man with nothing to lose has no hope. A man without hope is liable to do anything,” states one lifer. “I’ve been in the pen[itentiary] for over thirty years and I can’t count the amount of times I’ve heard a man in the hobby program say no to something that would have risked his ability to hobby. It’s like the family visiting; the hobby program gives a man something to look forward to.”
Mitch Smiley, a Lifer who has participated in the Hobby Program since 1984, wonders what he would do with his time without the Hobby Program. “The [hobby] program is the most important part of my daily life,” he says, “Without it; I’m basically dead to the world.”
NEXT ISSUE, PART 2: A step back but hope for the future.
3 Years Later – The Vanishing R in CDCR
Just over three years ago the state’s prison system woke up to a promising change. On July 1, 2006 the California Department of Corrections added the word Rehabilitation to the end of its official name — CDC became CDCR. All the system’s official ID, from the huge yellow stencils on inmate clothing to the patches on the uniforms of Correctional Officers, were in line to be changed. It takes time to do all this and even now the revisions continue. But maybe they should hold up on that effort. Rehabilitation could be in danger of vanishing. The state’s financial crisis has led to dramatic budget cuts within the prison system and among the programs most at risk are those geared to rehabilitation.
Whether slashing rehabilitation programs will save taxpayers’ money is questionable. Several studies have shown those programs to be strongly cost effective, reducing discipline problems and recidivism and thus reducing costs.
However, CDCR is cutting $250 million and laying off 600 to 900 employees from educational and rehabilitative programs. On September 23, Artist Facilitators (IAF) throughout CDCR received layoff notices, effectively destroying Arts In Corrections (AIC), one of the system’s longest running and most effective rehabilitative programs.
Founded in 1977 by the William James Foundation, AIC Facilitators oversaw the management of Contract Artists and Artists-in-Residence. AIC provided classroom workshops in drawing, painting, printmaking, creative writing, poetry and performance-based events in music and theater arts.
In 1982, San Jose State Professor Larry Brewster conducted an evaluation of AIC at four Northern California institutions: CMF-Vacaville, San Quentin, Deuel Vocational Institute, and CTF- Soledad. According to the data, AIC participants presented a 75 percent reduction in disciplinary infractions. This led to reduced hours spent on disciplinary actions and consequently, reduced costs to CDCR. Brewster’s findings showed that as AIC’s volunteer hours and programs expanded, costs to CDCR dropped nearly 33 percent.
“No economic, safety, or security concern is served by deleting the IAF position,” argues Steve Emrick, IAF at San Quentin. “Studies [like the Brewster Report] show that Arts programming provides a safer institutional environment.” The IAF, as a full-time state employee, oversees the stable of Contract Artists and Artists-in-Residence — ensuring that visiting artists need only focus on classes and workshops. “Outside artists have little or no knowledge of the paramilitary inner workings of a prison,” Emrick says. “As the IAF, I review all the supplies and materials the outside artists will be using.” Emrick, a sculpture and furniture artist with a MFA degree and a stretch as a professor at San Diego State University, reflects on his 21 years of experience: “I have found working with prisoners to be a rewarding experience, both professionally and artistically. I enjoy seeing individuals gain a sense of self and learn to identify themselves as something other than prisoners. “The Arts,” he says, “become a lifeline they can grab onto and pull themselves up out of the abyss.”
AIC IS NOT FUNDED
Elizabeth Siggins is Chief Deputy Secretary–Adult Programs. “We are all trying,” she says, “to do everything we can to change the way we do business, to continue providing programs to as many inmates as possible.” However, Arts in Corrections is part of the now-defunct Bridging Program,and,” Siggins says, “is technically not funded.”
She says CDCR is seeking other ways to provide programs to inmates: “We will rely more and more on volunteer support from the community, and training long-term inmates to be substance abuse counselors and literacy tutors.” She says, “I understand how important these programs are to inmates, so it is vital to use this fiscal crisis as an opportunity to improve the way we provide these programs. This is a difficult time for staff and inmates alike; to get through this, we must work together.”
However, depending on volunteers and outside help is exactly the current model of the Arts in Corrections program about to be ended, says Katya McCulloch, a contract artist who teaches block printing to a dedicated group of prisoners on Friday mornings. In 2008-2009, San Quentin AIC received no CDCR funding, while the William James Foundation provided nearly $74,000. “The Arts,” McCulloch says, “open a door to the rehabilitative process, teaching inmates how to follow-through and sustain their focus for extended periods.” Finished works by Katya’s students have been accepted into the permanent collection of the Library of Congress — a rare honor.
“Arts programming teaches skills which are difficult to quantify,” explains Lucinda Thomas, IAF at Lancaster State Prison. “It [the Arts] addresses the emotional component of learning, which is linked to the internal social change, which in turn, is linked to genuine rehabilitation.” After nearly 20 years working with prisoners, she notes that successful rehabilitation involves more than training alone. “You can teach a man to be a plumber, but if you can’t find a way to get him to deal with the emotional instabilities which contributed to his incarceration, you just released an angry plumber back into society.”
BIG IMPROVEMENT
AIC classes are always integrated, always open,” Thomas observes, “and that is an extraordinary thing.” California’s prisons are notoriously hyper-racist; every facet of daily life is dictated by racial politics. “Men who come to AIC classes have a chance to form bonds, find common ground in a shared experience, and create friendships with men they would most likely not talk to outside the AIC studio doors.” Thomas finds this bonding experience to be unique among the traditional programs offered in prison. “In one painting class you will find men with six different education levels from five different social backgrounds, diverse ethnic backgrounds, and even members of rival gangs.”
A CDC/ Arts in Corrections research study covering 1980-87 provided evidence for AIC’s contribution to reducing recidivism. A total of 177 randomly selected inmates were monitored after release. All had participated in at least one AIC class per week for a minimum of six months. After one year, 74 percent of the study group had achieved a “favorable” parole result, while the remaining parolees had a 49 percent rate, a 25 percent difference. After two years the gap expanded to 27 percent.
The Washington State Institute for Public Policy produced a pair of independent studies in 2001 on Evidence-Based Adult Corrections Programs. The programs aimed at rehabilitation reduced recidivism 13 percent. Among the most effective programs was vocational education with a benefit of $7.13 for each dollar spent. Despite this benefit, CDCR is cutting two-thirds of the vocational programs at San Quentin along with AIC.
When questioned recently about the loss of the AIC program, Acting Warden Wong said, “While we are losing the position [of IAF], we will try to maintain all the programs through the continued use of volunteers.”
‘So Tell Me, What’s So Bad About San Quentin? – New Arrival Says Many State Prisons Are a Whole Lot Worse’
Having just arrived at San Quentin on July 29, 2009, some would say that I have not really experienced the ‘Q’ at all, that the grin permanently etched upon my face is nothing more than honeymoon glow. I would argue the opposite.
My first morning on the yard was a definite shock—sensory overload. There was simply too much to do, and everyone was doing. Everyone had a plan, it seemed. Men wore hats declaring their memberships in various groups and clubs. A man practiced Yoga and T’ai Chi, his slow, deliberate movements giving a surreal quality by the early morning S.Q. fog. A mixed group of prisoners played tennis on the immaculate court, the sound of which played havoc on my childhood memories. A bulletin board in North Block listed all the programs I could join—the television even ran a scrolling channel proclaiming more activities.
As I walked the track that first morning, I smelled the salt of the ocean, saw palm trees blowing in the breeze; a man playing a trumpet—its crisp notes ringing clear and true.
A scoreboard in right-center field proclaimed the area as, “San Quentin’s Field of Dreams.” A baseball field in prison? Where was I? What was this place that had everything?
Well, not everything. Some-thing was definitely missing—a few somethings in fact. Where are the guns, the oppressive regulations, and the lockdowns? The overwhelming atmosphere of heavy, disconsolate dread that I’d lived under for the past 22 years–factions of opposing prisoners, engaged in a perpetual standoff under watchful hawk-eyed gunners. They had vanished, like the bayside fog beneath the late morning sun. None of the several hundred men on the yard that morning seemed the slightest bit concerned with me or what I was about, at least not in a negative fashion. Within a half hour, I had a tennis racquet in my hand, laughing my way to a sore belly with a cosmopolitan group of prisoners—stone walls disappeared, we could have been at any number of community tennis clubs.
By the evening of my fifth day in S.Q. I was signed up for the upcoming Patten University semester, enrolled in Non-Violent Communication, signed up for two Arts in Corrections classes, and joined the Pirates Baseball Team. Everywhere there was a current of moving forward—of dedication to a higher set of ideals—of prisoners taking charge of their own lives, dropping age-old habits steeped in nonsensical prison mentality. S.Q. has that elusive factor in successful rehabilitation: the Therapeutic Environment.
So, yes, I do walk around with a smile on my face all the time—even when it seems as though we are being harassed, I consider the alternative; I could be back in the war zones. Perhaps it is being new here which makes it all seem so profoundly innovative, and worth the little hassles. Or, maybe it’s just that I retain a degree of perspective that tends to be lost after the years. Whatever the case, there exists here something which is special and unique, and worthy of our genuine participation in all it has to offer. After all, the rest of the system is waiting, poised to lock us up in one of the non-programming warehouses, con-tent to allow us to feed on the miseries of one another until, at last, we die without ever having realized hope.