Some believe when prison doors clang shut, they also close on most of our involvement with that community. Occasionally, LEOs head to prison to talk to an inmate, but except for those who work in conjunction with federal or state prison systems, few of us give much thought to what happens to the prisoners after they’re incarcerated. We should.
In a study released by the Prison Policy Initiative in the spring of 2016, there were about 1.351 million people incarcerated in state prisons and 211,000 in the federal system. The remainder of the 2.3 million individuals in custody resided in local jails, youth detention facilities and other types of detention. But we’re going to concentrate on the state prison population at the moment. Even more specifically, we’re going to look at a program in North Carolina that is proving success can take many forms.
The Maury Correctional Institution in Greene County, N.C., houses a special cellblock: the inmates assigned to it are all veterans who received honorable discharges. And what makes this area different from others—other than the obvious commonality of their military service—is that they self-impose a higher standard of discipline upon themselves, and that makes this block more manageable and thus open to true rehabilitation. That’s of interest to everyone in the criminal justice system.
The veterans in the Greene County unit have bonded to the point where they are referred to as a “community within the prison community,” according to press reports. Inmates there have established rules governing their “members” and hold themselves to higher levels of cleanliness and order than the remainder of the prison population. In other words, they conduct themselves as if they were still active duty members of the U.S. Armed Forces.
I grew up around the military. My husband’s a veteran (as are many LEOs) and my father was what was known as a “lifer,” in that he served his country for three decades. My sister and I grew up as military dependents and often the discipline and standards to which my father were held were imposed on our household. It’s not as harsh as it sounds. We were expected to be on time, respectful of our elders and grew to understand that we represented both our parents and the military in our daily dealings. So military discipline was something we knew and understood and I can see why it works in a prison system.
The military imbues its members with a special camaraderie not always found in other walks of life. LEOs have that same bond with one another, a mutual sharing of circumstances, understanding of the type of job we have and willingness to put our own lives on the line for a brother or sister in blue. By self-imposing military standards on themselves and one another, veteran cellblocks have more control over their lives and are able to lean on one another for support and validation. This has led to cellblocks that self-police to a certain degree and foster atmospheres that may prove better and more receptive at rehabilitation.
I’m not Pollyanna. I don’t believe every inmate is salvageable, but some are and a lowered recidivism rate benefits everyone. North Carolina plans to expand its veteran blocks to other units with the hope that they will lower violence in prisons and promote a better future for inmates who are paroled.
I wonder what other benign commonalities might work in a prison setting? This sounds like a possible win-win.
