Forgotten Voices: Fears Rise as COVID-19 Finds its Way Behind Bars
Zachary Evans is serving the sixth year of his sentence at Lee State Prison. His parents, Leslee and Joel Evans were last able to visit their son two weeks before the lockdown began. Since then, at least six to eight staff members, according to Evans, have tested positive and one died. The guards whispered about a virus and wearing masks as they ushered the inmates to their cells. “I had no idea what was happening for a month,” Evans says.
Even during COVID-19, inmates are transferred from one prison to the other. “Two fellas were transferred to the prison. One started getting sick and tested positive and ended up in the population with the other inmates,” says his father. “The department of corrections is in charge of your destiny, so you’d better have a really low bar.” The repercussions from the officers’ error could have spelled disastrous if the inmates weren’t identified and separated again.
The once full courtyard, covered by fencing, is now off-limits to the inmates. “They let them out of their cells for about ten minutes, a couple of times a week,” says his mother. Evans shares his 14X14 cell with three other men, eating their boxed meals while seated on their bunks. There were no phone privileges, cutting friends and family off from their loved ones. The system shut down as quickly as COVID-19 appeared in the prisons, leaving thousands in the dark about what is happening to their loved ones.
“The only consistency,” says Evans, “is their inconsistency.”
The rehabilitation of the inmates came to a halt as the men were confined to their cells for months. Evans was attending the Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings, but “in lockdown, the support groups were canceled,” says his mother. For the people in recovery, the loss of interaction with their support group isolates the member, leaving them without the support that type of community provides. In AA, it is called fellowship, a shared experience in communal understanding and connection. Fellowship offers a chance for a recovering addict to connect without a substance in their system, strengthening their resolve.
The past two months have allowed for the commanding officer (CO) to ease the restrictions, allowing the education programs to resume, but not support groups, like AA. Evans relies on the comfort of seeing his parents when they visit and hearing their voices when they get to talk on the phone. He struggled with the dark times that COVID-19 brought to Lee State Prison. “There are still amazing men on the inside who are lights for Zach,” says his mom.
A CO pulled out a large bag of sports equipment after an eight-a.m. invitation to walk in the main courtyard, uncovered by fencing. “The feeling of the basketball in his hands brought a tear to his eyes,” says his mom. He was one of the few who took advantage of the early morning air, allowing the open space around him to ease some of his tensions.
A prisoner becomes a ward of the state, which should entail their right to protection against the pandemic. But not every prison has handled the past five months well. “Over a hundred inmates and a dozen staff members tested positive for COVID-19 before July, and one died, reports WABE. The information provided to the public from the Georgia prison system and its local jails hasn’t always aligned with the first-hand experiences of those who live in that system.
An inside source at The United States Penitentiary Atlanta (USP) cannot share his name because he is in possession of a contraband cell phone, and would be sent to the hole, therefore his identity will remain anonymous. The Federal Bureau of Prisons estimates that there are over 156,000 federal inmates. The living conditions the federal inmates are enduring increase tensions as COVID-19 continue to linger in the prisons. My source is in the third year of his 11-year sentence. He says, “We are quarantined the entire time, no sunlight, a 23 hour a day lockdown, and we come out for an hour to shower.” With the limited capability to social distance, cellmates are housed in pairs. If one roommate gets sick, it is likely the other will as well.
The Georgia prison system is waiting out the storm of the COVID-19 outbreak, denying access to the friends and family of inmates. USP has had its 1,730 prisoners on a 23-hour lockdown since March, leaving little time to bathe and walk outside. The thick stone walls of USP Atlanta are surrounded by two fences, each wrapped in razor wire. Since the pandemic hit, no outside visitors are permitted. As the sun set, highlighting the sharp edges of the razor wire, the massive building prepared itself for the night ahead.
Robert Snipes, 31, in the USP was found unconscious. Responders tried to resuscitate and took him to a local hospital. He was pronounced dead by hospital staff, reports FOX5.
With some of the country up in arms about having their freedoms stripped from them for having to wear a mask, imagine not having one at all when other men in your prison are testing positive for COVID-19, and you can’t escape. My source says, “They gave out a few cloth masks once, a few months ago.” But he says, “Over 50 people got COVID and one died.” He eats in his room in the shadows the light creates, from a place he can’t see out of. As people argue over their right to not wear a mask, men are dying in prison from not having one available. When someone on the outside feels as if they may have contracted the virus, they go to a testing site or doctor. Inside USP, my source says, “I honestly think I had COVID-19 already. I couldn’t breathe right. One of our counselors died and a few people tested positive, and they didn’t do shit but separate them.” What is taken for granted outside the razor wire fencing, is begged for inside the stone walls.
Communications Manager of Atlanta Department of Corrections (ACDC) Jamille E. Bradfield says, “If an arresting agency transports a detainee to ACDC who has an elevated temperature and/or is experiencing symptoms of COVID-19, the detainee will be refused entry and transported directly to Grady Hospital.” Prevention appears to be just one-way ACDC is working toward preventing a mass outbreak of COVID-19 from behind bars. “Based on Grady’s medical assessment of the detainee, he/she will either be admitted for further treatment, or treated, discharged and returned to ACDC where COVID-19 safety measures will be followed including issuing masks, temperature checks, hand washing, social distancing, and housing detainees individually in single cells until they are released from custody,” says Bradfield.
The correctional officers who work at the facilities, where thousands of men and women of Georgia are housed, are one of two culprits who bring the virus behind the razor wire. The Georgia Department of Corrections has reported over 590 staff members for testing positive, where almost 1,200 offenders have tested positive. “CBS News spoke with four correctional officers at USP Atlanta who complained of insufficient access to protective equipment and inconsistent communication about how many staff and inmates were infected at any given time,” says CBS News. Once inside, the guards are at the same level of risk to exposure as the inmates are, only they get to leave at the end of their shift.
The corrections officers have limited contact with each inmate or detainee, but we have all heard the CDC’s advisory about COVID-19 spreading in droplets that are spread with talking, coughing, or sneezing. There is no way to enforce every person in the prison to wear a face mask at all times if they have one or not. “Officers don’t wear their masks,” says Evans. But the guards do have access to proper face masks. “Corrections staff have been advised to exercise extreme precautions to prevent unnecessary exposure to the virus by using personal protective equipment (PPE), frequent hand washing, and practicing social distancing as much as possible,” says Bradfield. “Corrections staff are also issued masks ad have their temperature taken upon arrival to the facility for their shifts.” The asymptomatic carriers, whether inmates or officers, spread the virus with each breath they take.
The limiting of in-person interactions has forced the Georgia Department of Community Supervision (DSC) to find creative solutions for those released on probation from the jails and prisons. Public Information Officer Jamelle Washington says, “Our supervision officers have been using a robust technology platform to communicate with those under DCS’ supervision.” Technology has played a significant role in the interface between the probation officers and those on probation. “We believe in leveraging technology and have been using video interactions to complement in-person interactions,” says Washington.
The technology support systems that allow for video conferences, much like Zoom, have seen exponential growth in users in 2020. Zoom added 2.22 million new users in 2020 compared to a total of 1.9 million users in 2019. The precautions of DCS to restrict face to face meetings have limited the risk of exposure to COVID-19 for the caseworkers and former inmates. But the loss of interaction has the potential to minimize the sense of accountability a parolee may feel when they know they will be attending an appointment. The loss of interaction and support from the parole officer fractures the former inmates’ reliance on the state.
“Around the country, officers are using video and phone calls to keep in touch with people they supervise, but they lose some nuance and personal connection when they’re no longer in people’s living rooms, observing family dynamics, or visiting workplaces and having informal chats with whoever manages the person there, probation and parole professionals said in interviews,” reports The Marshall Project.
But the DCS has made provisions for parolees who have more urgent needs. “Amid the pandemic, entry into a DCS office was by appointment only and discouraged unless necessary. There was never a time when people were not allowed to come to the offices,” says Washington.
Wendy Bray in Gwinnett county Ga. has been on probation since her release from prison in December. Bray participates in the Drug Court probation system. “Everything is on Zoom, now,” says Bray. “But we still have drug tests three to four times a week and have to call in every day.” The Georgia Accountability Drug Court says that the parolee must stand in front of a judge once a week, maintain employment, attend AA and NA meetings, and meet drug test demands. Now, COVID-19 has altered the weekly meeting with the judge and is online only. “We still have to go and get tested at Viewpoint Mental Health, even if you are waiting for results from a COVID-19 test,” says Bray. “If you have come in contact with someone who tested positive, then you have to quarantine.” The drug court has implemented a maximum of two persons who are allowed in at a time and must have their temperature taken before entering.
As Georgia’s COVID-cases continue to rise, the restrictions that keep our inmates isolated will remain in effect. The USP prison guards and officers are not allowed to speak to the press directly, controlling the information available to the public in one, cohesive voice. The limited number of deaths in the prison and jail system is owed to the tedious lockdown regulations the system implemented. One death on the government’s watch is too many, but the men and women who watch over the inmates appear, for the most part, to be doing everything they can to protect themselves and the lives of the inmates. The evolution of the judicial system as it has coped with the ever-changing tides of the pandemic can learn a great deal about how to improve their work moving forward. When a prisoner is a ward of the state, it is the state’s responsibility to do everything it can to protect the human rights of those it is supposed to be caring for. As Evans awaits his parole date, the relief from moving on from life behind bars is the light at the end of the tunnel.
