Link
I read this today while I was at work, and it's horrifying. It's absolutely absurd to me that the guards are given the degree of deference they are.
Obviously, I can't share more than a few excerpts in this post, but it's a must-read. On a couple occasions I've placed excerpts that are connected next to each other, even if that isn't precisely the order they appear in the full article:
In response to her concerns, guards began retaliating by leaving her alone with groups of prisoners, taking an inordinate amount of time to open doors. Why these aren't fireable offenses baffles me.
This is already more than I intended to quote in this post, and there's a lot more in the article (along with narrative context and other stuff). It's just horrifying, the failure on every level of so many people. The failure of guards who Kryzkowski said were "decent people who treated the inmates with respect" to stand up to their abusive coworkers; the failure of the mental-health counsellors to form a more solid bloc in standing up to the abuses of the guards; the failure at the administrative level in how the T.C.U. is run. It's just an absolutely shitshow from top to bottom.
I read this today while I was at work, and it's horrifying. It's absolutely absurd to me that the guards are given the degree of deference they are.
Obviously, I can't share more than a few excerpts in this post, but it's a must-read. On a couple occasions I've placed excerpts that are connected next to each other, even if that isn't precisely the order they appear in the full article:
Shortly after Harriet Krzykowski began working at the Dade Correctional Institution, in Florida, an inmate whispered to her, You know they starve us, right? It was the fall of 2010, and Krzykowski, a psychiatric technician, had been hired by Dade, which is forty miles south of Miami, to help prisoners with clinical behavioral problems follow their treatment plans. The inmate was housed in Dades mental-health ward, the Transitional Care Unit, a cluster of buildings connected by breezeways and equipped with one-way mirrors and surveillance cameras. I thought, Oh, this guy must be paranoid or schizophrenic, she said recently.
In response to her concerns, guards began retaliating by leaving her alone with groups of prisoners, taking an inordinate amount of time to open doors. Why these aren't fireable offenses baffles me.
One Saturday in June, 2012, Krzykowski was finishing a shift when she heard that an inmate in the T.C.U. named Darren Rainey had defecated in his cell and was refusing to clean it up. He was fifty years old, and, as Krzykowski recalls it, he gave people unnerving looks, like he was trying to see inside you. He had been convicted of possession of cocaine, and suffered from severe schizophrenia.
Whats going on with Rainey? Krzykowski asked a guard.
Oh, dont worry, well put him in the shower, he told her.
Krzykowski remembers hearing this and feeling reassured. I was thinking, O.K., lots of times people feel good after a shower, so maybe he will calm down. A nice, gentle shower with warm water.
The next day, Krzykowski learned from some nurses that a couple of guards had indeed escorted Rainey to the shower at about eight the previous night. But he hadnt made it back to his cell. He had collapsed while the water was running. At 10:07 P.M., he was pronounced dead.
Krzykowski assumed that he must have had a heart attack or somehow committed suicide. But the nurses said that Rainey had been locked in a stall whose water supply was delivered through a hose controlled by the guards. The water was a hundred and eighty degrees, hot enough to brew a cup of teaor, as it soon occurred to Krzykowski, to cook a bowl of ramen noodles. (Someone had apparently tampered with the T.C.U.s water heater.) It was later revealed that Rainey had burns on more than ninety per cent of his body, and that his skin fell off at the touch.
Krzykowski said to the nurses that, surely, there would be a criminal investigation.
No, one of them told her. Theyre gonna cover this up.
At least eight other inmates in the T.C.U. endured abuse in a scalding shower. Among them was Daniel Geiger, who is now at the Lake Correctional Institute, near Clermont, Florida. When I spoke with his mother, Debra, who lives in North Carolina, she told me that she had not seen her son in several years, because prison officials had denied him visitation rights, claiming that he was dangerously unstable. She said that she had last talked to him in 2012, on the phone, shortly after he was transferred out of Dade. It was a brief conversation, and he appeared to have been overmedicated: he spoke with a slur and could not pronounce simple words. He told her that his weight had dropped from a hundred and seventy-eight pounds to a hundred and five. Although she was alarmed by this news, she did not suspect that he had been abused, only that something was being hidden from her.
In late February, Geiger was finally permitted to visit her son. She described him to me as being at deaths door, a gaunt figure with sunken eyes who mistook her for his wife and growled at the guards when they called his name. His arms were skeletalno wider than my wrists, she saidand there were deep-red marks on his neck. When she asked him what had happened at Dade, he peered up at the ceiling, pressed his face against the glass partition separating them, and said, I dont want to talk about it. She said that when her son was taking the right combination of medications he was relatively stablea point that she impressed on the warden before leaving. I told him that I kept him more or less normal for thirty-three years, and you all have destroyed him in seven, she said.
Krzykowski recalled that, as a child, her sister had occasionally stood up to their father, whereas she had always tried to win his affection by impressing him; when this failed, as it invariably did, she retreated into herself. Now, once again, she was trapped in an environment where she felt afraid to speak out. Even observing misconduct in the T.C.U. was risky, since the guards were on alert for the presence of anyone who might potentially expose them. If abuse was happening, the politically safest thing was to excuse yourself and go to the bathroom, Krzykowski said. Dont be a witness.
Earlier this year, the Miami-Dade medical examiner delivered a copy of Raineys autopsy report to state prosecutors. The report has not been made public, but its contents were leaked to the media. It concluded that the guards at Dade had no intent to harm Rainey, and that his death was accidental. This was technically correctthe aim of the shower treatment was to punish and torture Rainey, not to murder him. But the report implicitly absolved the guards, at least legally. No criminal investigation was recommended. Howard Simon, the executive director of the Florida A.C.L.U., criticized the report, telling the Herald that it underscored the need for a federal investigation.
In a recent survey by the Bureau of Correctional Health Services, in New York City, more than a third of mental-health personnel working in prisons admitted to feeling that their ethics were regularly compromised in their work setting. There was a pervasive fear that security staff might retaliate if health staff reported patient abuse. Violence toward inmates flourished at the citys main prison, Rikers Island, and it was often ignored by the dozens of counsellors and psychologists on staff. One counsellor who did not ignore it was Randi Cawley. In December, 2012, she reported having seen guards beat an adolescent inmate who was handcuffed to a gurney. But other witnesses refused to confirm her account, and Cawley began receiving threats: dead flowers placed on her computer, ominous phone calls. She felt so unsafe inside Rikers that she quit.
In April, 2015, I had lunch in Miami with another former employee in the Dade T.C.U., a behavioral-health technician named Lovita Richardson. She told me that, when she started the job, she couldnt wait to get to work. But one morning, at around ten-thirty, she walked out of the nurses station and saw, through a glass wall, a group of guards pummelling an inmate who was handcuffed. They took turns administering the blows while one of them stood watch. The inmate was a tiny man, maybe a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, Richardson said. She stood there, in stunned silence, until the lookout guard spotted her.
She wanted to report what shed seen, but a co-worker warned her that she would be imperilling herself. In the days that followed, the guards involved in the beating dropped by Richardsons office to tell her that they had taken care of everything. Their tone was polite, but Richardson started having nightmares, and questioned what kind of person she was. It makes you feel like youre letting them down, she told me, tears filling her eyes. They are at risk for their very life, and you know it, but youre not helping them out. (Disturbed by her experience at Dade, Richardson quit after less than a year on the job.)
This is already more than I intended to quote in this post, and there's a lot more in the article (along with narrative context and other stuff). It's just horrifying, the failure on every level of so many people. The failure of guards who Kryzkowski said were "decent people who treated the inmates with respect" to stand up to their abusive coworkers; the failure of the mental-health counsellors to form a more solid bloc in standing up to the abuses of the guards; the failure at the administrative level in how the T.C.U. is run. It's just an absolutely shitshow from top to bottom.