#texas prisons

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‘It’s torture’: brutal heat broils Texas prisons, killing dozens of inmates

Legal action aims to force criminal justice department to air condition prisons, where 85,000 are at risk of heat illnesses

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

THE TEXAS BUILDING TENDER SYSTEM

Selection Since BTs were charged with control responsibilities in a large maximum security prison, the selection of inmates who were physically equal to the task was critical. As one officer put it,

[S]o you try to pick people that are somewhat physically capable of taking care of themselves, larger guys, more muscular guys, people that generally know how to handle themselves physically, fighting and that kind of thing.

The ability and willingness to use physical force was usually reflected in the criminal histories of BTs. Of the 18 head BTs at Johnson in 1981, for example, eight were doing time for armed  robbery, five for murder (one was a professional enforcer and killer), one for possession of a firearm, and one for rape. The others were in for burglary or possession of a controlled substance. It was no coincidence that violent criminals were selected for BT jobs. In fact, certain types of criminals were favored over others. The following quote from a ranking officer underscores who was selected:

I've got a personal bias. I happen to like murderers and armed robbers. They have a great deal of esteem in the inmate social system, so it's not likely that they'll have as much problem as some other inmates because of their esteem, and they tend to be a more aggressive and a more dynamic kind of individual. A lot of inmates steer clear of them and avoid problems just because of the reputation they have and their aggressiveness. They tend to be aggressive, you know, not passive.

As a group, these inmate elites tended to be older than the general population in TDC. The modal age category in TDC in 1981 was 22 to 27 (33%) and 72 percent were under 33 years of age (TDC, 1982). The average age for head BTs at Johnson was 39. All the members of these elites were multiple recidivists and all were doing long sentences, with the average sentence being 32 years (see Schrag 1954). This compared with the TDC population average sentence of about 21 years (TDC, 1982). The guard staff filled the regular BT positions with an almost equal number of whites and blacks, while only a handful of Hispanic inmates were ever recruited for these positions. The staff mistrusted most Hispanic inmates, perceiving them as dangerous, too clannish, and, above all, "sneaky." Hispanic inmates, primarily for cultural reasons, were tight-lipped and generally avoided any voluntary interaction with the staff or other inmates. They feared being labeled as pro-staff because other Hispanics would commonly take reprisals for snitching--inside as well as outside the prison world. The staff had great difficulties in making inroads into the Hispanic inmate society, so they "hired" mostly blacks and whites. However, power was not equally distributed across inmate groups. The predominantly rural white ranking staff kept the “real" power in the hands of the white head BTs. That is, of the eighteen head BTs, there were fourteen whites, three blacks, and one Hispanic. The ranking staff members were prejudiced and "trusted" the white BTs more than BTs from either minority group. In short, with the help of the staff, a white con power structure, similar to a caste system, dominated the inmate society just as the "old con" power structure ruled Stateville (Joliet, Illinois) from the 1930s through the 1950s (see Jacobs 1977).

Although final selection of BTs and Head BTs was done by the staff, BTs already in place played a primary role in the process. Indeed, selections made entirely by the staff were relatively rare. One BT was chosen by staff alone when an assistant warden at Johnson learned that a former BT had arrived at the Diagnostic Unit to begin a new prison term for a life sentence for multiple murder. An officer was dispatched to bring him straight to Johnson and a waiting BT job. Similarly, an inmate who had been a convict guard on the Cummins Farm in Arkansas in the mid-1960s was quickly placed by officials in a BT position when he arrived at Johnson.

Much more typical, however, was recruitment b y BTs, especially head BTs. Potential BTs were usually, but not always, identified among the runners or strikers w h o m the BTs had already informally distinguished from the population in the cellblock. If a runner appeared to have "snap," or good sense, and a willingness to work for '%he man," then the head BT would talk to other BTs to gather additional information about the candidate. In many cases, a BT would have known the candidate in the "free world" or perhaps in a juvenile facility. If all feedback about the potential BT was favorable, the head BT would tell a captain, major, or assistant warden that he thought the inmate would "make you a good hand." Once an inmate was recommended for a BT position, he was interviewed by several ranking security personnel on the unit. The interview was essentially a screening device to determine a candidate's loyalty. The following quote from an officer captures the purpose and meaning of this interview:

I'll ask him things like why he wants to be a BT. Why do you want to work for me? You know people are not going to like you and what do you expect to get out of the job? These are the kinds of things I'm going to ask; what his motives are, are you going to be loyal to me? What are you going to do if an officer gets attacked? These are the kinds of things I want to know. It's very possible for them to lie, but at least you can find out, do they really want to be a building tender or maybe somebody just threw their name out.

Answers to such questions revealed both attitudes toward staff and possible deportment under stress. Those inmates who were inclined toward violence in every situation were typically  rejected by the staff. Thus, instead of violence and extreme authoritarian conduct, the major desirable characteristics appeared to have been common sense, the ability to handle and manage men, as well as the ability to use aggression with some discretion. When officers on the unit decided that a candidate would make a good BT, his name was forwarded to the Classification Division, which in turn reviewed the inmate's records. Unit recommendations did not guarantee a job - - the Classification Division  approved about half of the unit's selections.

Inmates at Johnson and other TDC units were selected, promoted, and rewarded for pro-authority orientations, which were evidenced when BTs would condemn the competence, intelligence, and morality of other inmates during conversation with officers. Indeed, it was common to hear BTs openly refer to the other inmates as freaks, perverts, "pussies," or derelicts, which aided the BTs in isolating themselves psychologically from the "degenerate masses." But such behavior was more than just verbal, since BTs regularly protected officers. If an inmate struck an officer, doubled up a fist as though he were contemplating such an action, or even cursed at an officer, a BT or more frequently several--would attack the offender. Perhaps the best example of this allegiance to officials and the solidarity among BTs was their involvement in quelling a riot at Johnson in the fall of 1981. As a response to overcrowding, TDC had installed large tents within the compounds of several units, including Johnson. The riot began when inmates housed in the tents started several fires and broke windows in the nearby gymnasium by throwing rocks and other debris. Within a relatively short period of time, officers and approximately 150 BTs and runners converged in the gymnasium. While the officers were armed with riot batons, the BTs had brought clubs and pipes, and several wielded long wooden toilet brushes. One inmate even passed out blackjacks from a paper sack. When all the "troops" were assembled, the warden addressed the inmates: "Anyone who don't want to kick ass can just go on back to his house (cell)." The inmates cheered in support of the warden's declaration and waved their weapons in the air. The door to the gymnasium was then opened and officer and inmate elites (who identified themselves by wearing bandanas) attacked the 200 or so rioters in the tent area. Most of the rioting prisoners were injured in some way, many quite seriously.” - James W. Marquart a & Ben M. Crouch, “Coopting the kept: Using inmates for social control in a southern prison,” Justice Quarterly, 1:4 (1984): pp. 449-502.

[moontyger]

Dozens Who Died In Texas Prisons During The Pandemic Had Been Granted Parole, New Report Shows | Houston Public Media

At any given time, thousands of Texas prisoners have been approved for parole but not yet released. At least 42 of those people died in the 12 months after the coronavirus first swept the state.

Last year, as the coronavirus killed hundreds inside Texas lockups and sickened tens of thousands more, prisoner rights advocates unsuccessfully pleaded for state officials to more quickly release the thousands of people in prison who had already been approved for parole.

Now, a new report shows delays in release have been deadly.

In the first year of the pandemic, 18 people who had already been granted parole died with COVID-19 before they could walk out of prison, according to a report released Thursday from the University of Texas at Austin's Lyndon B. Johnson School of Public Affairs. At least another two dozen parole grantees died in prison from reasons unrelated to the coronavirus in the same period, largely due to chronic health issues.

"While COVID has dramatically exacerbated this problem, the data also tells us that this phenomenon is not unique to the pandemic era," the report stated.

At least 26 people died in prison in 2019 after having been granted parole, according to the report.

In April, about 10,800 people held in Texas prisons had already been approved for parole, according to data from the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, accounting for 9% of the state prison population. More than a quarter of them had been granted parole at least six months earlier, and nearly 900 people had been waiting for more than a year.

The large number of parole grantees in prison is not unusual. At any given time, thousands of people are held in Texas prisons despite having a parole approval in their hands. That's in part because the Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles requires most prisoners to first undergo additional educational or rehabilitative programming before their parole release, which can last from three to 18 months.

Some of the programs are specific to the person's conviction, like addiction and sex offender treatment programs. But many prisoners are assigned to complete a more generic life-skills program that lasts three months. In 2019, less than a quarter of those granted parole were approved for release without delay.

During the pandemic, those classes — and the parolees' releases — were often pushed back. Before March 2020, a person granted parole remained in prison an average of three to four months before being released, according to the report. That average increased to six months in the pandemic, with a typical delay ranging from five to 11 months. Eleven people who died in prison during the pandemic had been approved for parole more than a year earlier, the report found.

[brodenmickelsen]

Lawmakers Dispute The Cost Of Cooling Down Hot Texas Prisons

Texas prisons are dangerous places for a host of reasons. Despite being in areas where summer temperatures soar, many of them lack air conditioning.

[brodenmickelsen]

Suicide Of Texas Prisoner Highlights The Psychological Effects Of Solitary Confinement

Increasing numbers of prisoners are spending long periods locked up alone in the United States. Experts say solitary confinement is putting severe

[transpondster]

Death of Dog Trainer Highlights Strenuous Heat and Working Conditions at Texas Prisons

Seth Donnelly was one of the many inmates Texas prison officials use as prey for dog hunts. He died from heatstroke after collapsing on the job in Abilene.

Then, two months ago, Donnelly called home, ecstatic about a new job training dogs to catch escaped prisoners. Deborah was happy but grew nervous once she learned more about the assignment: the hours her son spent outside the prison gates laying scents for the hounds to track; the trees he climbed to hide from the dogs; the stifling, 75-pound “fight suit” he wore for protection when the dogs attacked. Seth Donnelly.  

Soon after he took the job, Donnelly complained about the heat. “Very hot today and tomorrow is supposed to be 102,” he wrote to a friend on June 19. “There that Texas heat is. I’m exhausted from work today and I may have gotten a little too much sun as I’m a little red.” It appears to have been Donnelly’s final letter. Two days later, he collapsed after finishing an early morning training run with the dogs, during which he’d been wearing the suit. According to a local justice of the peace, his internal body temperature was 106 degrees when he arrived at the hospital. Donnelly died on June 23 at 1:06 p.m. after doctors took him off life support. A preliminary autopsy lists the cause of death as “multiorgan failure following severe hyperthermia.”

You read that right:  “...many inmates Texas prison officials use as prey for dog hunts.”

[nathanbernier]

Most prisons in Texas have no air conditioning, creating sweltering conditions affecting not just prisoners, but prison guards as well. KUT's Nathan Bernier learns more from Brandi Grissom, the Austin bureau chief for the Dallas Morning News. Read her full story here: http://ift.tt/29piN20 Photo by Robert Stringer, used under a Creative Commons license.