Stories from inside: Journalism as a path through and window into incarceration
In June 2023, Juan Moreno Haines was up for parole after 27 years of incarceration. He had a job lined up as editor-in-chief at Solitary Watch, a watchdog news organization that reports on harsh conditions of isolation in prisons and jails. But he was denied parole and sent back to San Quentin State Prison.
He still became the editor of Solitary Watch.
“We just said, we’re not gonna let the system get in the way of doing this thing that we really want to do,” said Jean Casella, director of Solitary Watch. “So we decided to do it anyway.”
Incarcerated journalists like Haines have changed the way news organizations cover the carceral system. The work benefits incarcerated journalists too. Writing about one’s experience and participating in a newsroom of incarcerated people is rehabilitative, illuminating for them the possibilities of life behind bars.
That’s true even though prisons and jails are among the most restrictive environments for journalists. Despite pushback, both prison newspapers and news outlets outside of prisons have expanded their published reporting and narrative writing in recent years, especially after the COVID-19 pandemic, where isolation in prisons was deadlier than ever before.
Since assuming editor-in-chief position on Nov. 16, Haines has used a tablet to join Solitary Watch newsroom editorial meetings from his prison cell. He’s limited to 15-minute calls, so he has to repeatedly hang up and call back. Haines does not have internet access nor a reliable quiet working environment. He can’t legally get paid more than $30 a week for his work.
Such barriers are part of life in prison, Haines said. “We have to figure out ways around these things. I’m literally walled off from the rest of the world. But I have a story to tell.”
Incarcerated journalists are the best messengers
The U.S. currently incarcerates over 2 million people. More than 122,000 of them are held in solitary confinement each day, and nearly 40,000 are younger than 18. The experience of incarceration varies by state, facility and individual, but most states limit communication in and out of facilities.
In all but five states — Massachusetts, Connecticut, Minnesota, Colorado and California — families pay exorbitant fees to communicate with incarcerated people over the phone or through electronic messaging. Access to these services is often limited to a certain time and can be revoked at any time, most frequently as a disciplinary measure. Even physical mail is subject to inflated postal fees and restrictions that keep incarcerated individuals from the original documents written by loved ones.
“The public needs a richer, more nuanced understanding of the system itself, the harms, the inadequacies, the things that aren’t working, the things that are broken,” said Nicole Lewis, engagement editor of The Marshall Project. “Incarcerated journalists are the best messengers. They’re living the experience, day in and day out, and can tell us in extraordinary detail, just what is so wrong, what is broken.”
That’s why the reporting of Haines and other incarcerated journalists is essential to the nuanced coverage of the criminal justice system we see from nonprofit news organizations.
“[Incarcerated writers] always have been our eyes and ears,” Casella said. They have access to places that mainstream journalists don’t and can “see for themselves what the conditions are like, what it looks like, what it smells like, what it sounds like, how people are treated,” she said. “Their articles brought a perspective that isn’t already out there.”
Solitary Watch publishes firsthand accounts of solitary confinement through its Voices From Solitary series. The organization also leads the Ridgeway Reporting Project, an annual program that awards grants to about 15 incarcerated journalists to pitch, investigate and write their own stories inside prisons. In 2020, through this program, Haines wrote about the devastating consequences of a flu diagnosis: being sent to solitary confinement. The Appeal, a nonprofit newsroom that reports on the U.S. criminal justice system, published Haines’ article, which helped shape the understanding of what became a catastrophic trend when COVID-19 hit prisons.
“Prisons aren’t working the way people think they ought to be working, and they haven’t worked for 150 years,” Haines said. “People are getting out of prison in worse shape than when they came in. Writing about what works, what doesn’t work, and ways to improve the system was my whole reasoning behind getting into being an incarcerated journalist.”
Writing about what works, what doesn’t work, and ways to improve the system was my whole reasoning behind getting into being an incarcerated journalist.
Storytelling inside prisons can take many forms, but narrative, first-person writing is a more accessible approach for those untrained in the technicalities and standards of journalism.
Humanizing stories of incarceration makes for better storytelling and a wider understanding of the realities in prison for readers, said Jesse Vasquez, executive director of the Friends of San Quentin News, the nonprofit that fundraises and supports operations of the California prison.
“We’re not trying to dismantle the system, we’re trying to make it to where people understand the systemic issues,” Vasquez said. “Whether it’s poverty, homelessness, mental health, or incarceration, nobody understands that better than reporters who have to find the person that highlights that epidemic. Nobody wants to read about cold, bland statistics; they want to read about people. At the center of every great story is people.”
Journalism opens the door to rehabilitation and skill-building for incarcerated reporters
Telling people-centered stories also benefits incarcerated journalists.
“People see writing up their story as an opportunity to clear the air and set the narrative right about their case and about the crime and about all of the many reasons that they landed in that position,” said Lewis of The Marshall Project. “We have an understanding of just how fundamentally powerful it is to be able to say, in your own words, ‘This is what happened to me. And this is what I did.’ Because the system itself is not necessarily interested in some of the more nuanced facts about the crime.”
Some U.S. prisons have been expanding and diversifying their rehabilitative programming around writing, storytelling and self-expression. Those efforts empower incarcerated people to share their stories
“I believe wholeheartedly that the newspaper makes a difference for the incarcerated in our community by highlighting different options that are available,” said Vasquez, who wrote for San Quentin News before his release in 2019. “People tell you this system is railroading you into something and you believe that until you learn different. And the only way you can learn different is if you’re exposed to different views. The newspaper did that for a lot of us inside of the carceral system.”
In his final term, former California Gov. Jerry Brown commuted nearly 250 prison sentences, 16 of which belonged to contributors to San Quentin News. Some found careers in journalism after their release from prison, like Rahsaan Thomas, who founded Empowerment Avenue, a nonprofit organization that supports journalists and storytellers who are or were incarcerated and encourages mainstream outlets to publish and pay for their work. Empowerment Avenue has partnered with The Prison Journalism Project (PJP), Solitary Watch and more to edit and polish work by incarcerated journalists.
The recidivism rate for former contributors to San Quentin news is 0%, according to Vasquez.
Along with publishing stories from over 710 incarcerated writers from more than 230 prisons, PJP develops training materials, conducts in-person workshops, and teaches journalism skills inside prisons. Their writer relations team is staffed by formerly incarcerated women who transcribe, edit and offer feedback to PJP contributors.
“The toolsets that incarcerated journalists have are much more limited than what we have out here,” said Yukari Kane, a PJP co-founder. “Part of the challenge is figuring out ways to use the tools that they have access to, to develop compelling stories that couldn’t be told from out here. Our goal is to get them to meet the standards that exist outside. We provide them sometimes with tough feedback, but in a way, that helps them feel proud to be doing this work and empowers them.”
Prison newspapers can also feature the educational, rehabilitative and artistic programs offered at different facilities. Sharing these opportunities is a significant part of San Quentin News’ coverage.
“We’re not trying to dismantle the system, but we can highlight opportunities,” Vasquez said. “We can showcase success cases of how somebody else found resources so that other people can not recidivate. There is value in giving somebody purpose, skill sets, and mentorship.”
Building sustainable models for incarcerated journalists
Nonprofit news leaders recognize the value incarcerated people bring to communities — and the rest of the media is starting to see it too.
In 2023, PJP pieces were published in The Guardian, Al Jazeera, Rolling Stone, Public Health Watch, and The New Yorker, where an article on listening to Taylor Swift while incarcerated went viral, recognized by The Sunday Long Read as one of the best stories of 2023.
There is funding available for investigative journalism by incarcerated journalists. There also are journalists on the outside who are eager to partner with journalists on the inside, offering different perspectives and resources.
Empowerment Avenue fuels dozens of these outside-inside partnerships such as an article published in Alta last year about persistent parole denials and gubernatorial reversals. Joe Garcia, who is incarcerated in San Quentin, handled the immersive, investigative reporting, while co-author Kate McQueen contributed research, fact-checking, and outside reporting.
“We are not saying ‘you as an outside reporter, just use the inside person as a subject,’ but rather have them be a partner and together produce something that each one can bring something unique to the story,” said McQueen, who is the publisher of Wall City, a magazine produced by San Quentin News.
Much of the attention and resources for incarcerated journalists, through programs built by nonprofit newsrooms, have been around for the lesser part of a decade. The incarcerated journalists we see starting careers after or prior to their release are the first in what may become a larger trend.
“Juan’s future is going to be with reaching out and cultivating voices,” Casella, the Solitary Watch director, said of Haines, the publication’s top editor. “We want a correspondent in every state reporting on solitary confinement. That’s a long way away, but we could have a lot more eyes than we do now.”
Haines also aspires to double the number of yearly Ridgeway Reporting Project reporters and continue to mentor reporters in San Quentin.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life,” Haines said. “I feel that committing journalism is my payment to society.”
