Perspective: Abuse in our prisons is killing our humanity

Yahoo

23-03-2025

'Don't tell anyone,' said a prison guard, lowering his voice, 'but I'm not here to be violent.'
We wore protective vests and carried handcuffs, pepper spray and a radio with a button to press if attacked. I had been hired as the first Latter-day Saint chaplain in the federal prison system and the first female chaplain at that particular penitentiary.
By the time the officer confided in me, I was hearing rumors of abuse in our isolation unit: officers withholding food; verbally and sexually harassing incarcerated men; physically assaulting them. I reported these rumors to my supervisor but saw no response.
Advocacy groups have long raised alarms about abuse in prisons beyond the view of cameras. Numerous incidents highlight the severity and pervasiveness of this issue.
Nearly a year into my time in the prison, one guard bragged that he and other guards punished incarcerated men beyond what the courts assigned. They did this in the isolation unit, where cameras were scarce. When I told my supervisor, he said the guard might be joking. I wrote a report to a special investigations team, but I had no evidence to corroborate the claim. I do not know the outcome of my report, because I resigned shortly after filing it.
My worries about violence within prison walls have resurfaced due to recent events. Ten former New York state prison guards have been charged for their role in the fatal beating of Robert Brooks on Dec. 9. Body camera footage shows officers pummeling Brooks while handcuffed on a medical examination table at Marcy Correctional Facility. If the officers had not been wearing body cameras — which they seemingly didn't realize were recording — the true cause of Brooks' death might have never come to light.
During the trial of the officers implicated in Brooks' death, thousands of New York State correctional officers went on a strike that lasted 22 days and cost the state millions of dollars daily. During this period, at least seven prisoners in New York facilities lost their lives. One of them, 22-year-old Messiah Nantwi — imprisoned at a facility just across the street from where Brooks was killed — may have been assaulted by officers. Nine incarcerated men alleged that he had been beaten by staff.
The protesting officers demanded safer working conditions, fewer mandated shifts and the repeal of the Halt Act, which limits solitary confinement. New York Gov. Kathy Hochul and the New York State Correctional Officers and Police Benevolent Association reached a tentative agreement outlining key provisions to address these concerns.
More state and federal policy makers should consider similar provisions. Correctional officers in facilities across the nation face burnout under extreme conditions. Mandatory overtime shifts lead to chronic sleep deprivation, impaired cognitive function and compromised safety. Overworked staff navigate violent conditions where it is easier to maintain control when prisoners are seen as objects rather than people. Incarcerated individuals, already scarred by systemic injustice, are further exposed to violence, deepening the cycle of harm and survival rooted in trauma.
In my year serving inside the prison in 2021, I witnessed the consequences of this cycle. One officer recounted how a prisoner murdered a fellow officer. Every day, he wondered who might be next. All of us — incarcerated men and staff — constantly scanned our surroundings in a life-threatening environment where the fear of death was a matter of course.
We need a rethinking of policies that created today's mass incarceration system. Not only is the system unjust; it's unsustainable. But addressing systemic issues and creating policy change takes time — time that officers and incarcerated people don't have when their lives are at risk daily.
Deaths continue to occur beyond the reach of surveillance. A 2024 Justice Department report examining deaths in Federal Bureau of Prisons facilities from fiscal years 2014 to 2021 found that in at least 64 cases, cameras were either absent, inoperative or failed to provide sufficient coverage. Of those cases, 18 deaths were classified as homicides. More recently, on Dec. 30, in the isolation unit at a federal prison in Pennsylvania, Terry Flowers died after being 'placed in a holding cell where he continued to spit at and kick employees until he became unresponsive,' according to a local news report. It remains unclear whether this was a standard medical emergency or if other factors contributed to his death. Flowers' family and the public may never know.
As a chaplain, I communicated with families whose loved ones had died, whether from a medical emergency or assault. I witnessed the pain of families questioning what had happened. The uncertainty of not knowing the cause of a loved one's death behind bars deepens an already painful situation. I recall a particularly emotional conversation with a father who kept saying, 'I'm just trying to bury my son.'
For everyone's sake — incarcerated individuals, staff and families — we need to immediately increase surveillance in all prisons, as Hochul proposed in New York. This not only deters abuse of those incarcerated but provides legal protection for officers when prisoners file false claims against them.
Understanding the mental toll of isolation, the high rate of suicides in isolation units and the impact of these units on officers, we should limit the time incarcerated individuals spend in isolation and the time officers work in isolation units. Prioritizing adequate rest after standard shifts rather than imposing overtime is essential to maintaining safety and well-being in high-security settings.
Finally, independent reviews, in addition to those of the Department of Justice, should be conducted to help prevent systemic abuse and increase accountability. Their results must be made public for transparency and accountability.
Reforming our prison system requires a fundamental shift in how we view punishment, accountability and human worth. The call for reform is not just about preventing death. It's about seeing our shared humanity and reclaiming our responsibility to one another.