Statistics are notoriously slippery, but the figures that suggest that violence has been disappearing in the United States contain a blind spot so large that to cite them uncritically, as the major papers do, is to collude in an epic con. Uncounted in the official tallies are the hundreds of thousands of crimes that take place in the country’s prison system, a vast and growing residential network whose forsaken tenants increasingly bear the brunt of America’s propensity for anger and violence.

Crime has not fallen in the United States—it’s been shifted. Just as Wall Street connived with regulators to transfer financial risk from spendthrift banks to careless home buyers, so have federal, state, and local legislatures succeeded in rerouting criminal risk away from urban centers and concentrating it in a proliferating web of hyperhells. The statistics touting the country’s crime-reduction miracle, when juxtaposed with those documenting the quantity of rape and assault that takes place each year within the correctional system, are exposed as not merely a lie, or even a damn lie—but as the single most shameful lie in American life.

From 1980 to 2007, the number of prisoners held in the United States quadrupled to 2.3 million, with an additional 5 million on probation or parole.

[…]

Victims in juvenile facilities, or facilities for women, have an even tougher time: usually it’s the guards, rather than the inmates, who coerce them into sex. The guards tell their victims that no one will believe them, and that complaining will only make things worse. This is sound advice: even on the rare occasions when juvenile complaints are taken seriously and allegations are substantiated, only half of confirmed abusers are referred for prosecution, only a quarter are arrested, and only 3 percent end up getting charged with a crime.

In January, prodded in part by outrage over a series of articles in the New York Review of Books, the Justice Department finally released an estimate of the prevalence of sexual abuse in penitentiaries. The reliance on filed complaints appeared to understate the problem. For 2008, for example, the government had previously tallied 935 confirmed instances of sexual abuse. After asking around, and performing some calculations, the Justice Department came up with a new number: 216,000. That’s 216,000 victims, not instances. These victims are often assaulted multiple times over the course of the year. The Justice Department now seems to be saying that prison rape accounted for the majority of all rapes committed in the US in 2008, likely making the United States the first country in the history of the world to count more rapes for men than for women.

America’s prison system is a moral catastrophe. The eerie sense of security that prevails on the streets of lower Manhattan obscures, and depends upon, a system of state-sponsored suffering as vicious and widespread as any in human history. Dismantling the system of American gulags, and holding accountable those responsible for their operation, presents the most urgent humanitarian imperative of our time.

Progressives lament the growth of private prisons (prisons for profit). But it’s sadism, not avarice, that fuels the country’s prison crisis. Prisoners are not the victims of poor planning (as other progressive reformers have argued)—they are the victims of an ideological system that dehumanizes an entire class of human being and permits nearly infinite violence against it. As much as a physical space, prisons denote an ethical space, or, more precisely, a space where ordinary ethics are suspended. Bunk beds, in and of themselves, are not cruel and unusual. University dorms have bunk beds, too. What matters is what happens in those beds. In the dorm room, sex, typically consensual. In prisons, also sex, but often violent rape. The prisons are “overcrowded,” we are told (and, in fact, courts have ruled). “Overcrowding” is a euphemism for an authoritarian nightmare.

While the attempt to count the number of rapes in America’s prisons is new, the problem is not. Alas, it’s one quite unlikely to go away because the overwhelming majority of Americans are perfectly happy to shift the risk of violent crime off our streets and out of our neighborhoods and into walled communities where people regarded as little more than vicious animals are housed. That they face a good chance of being raped while there is variously seen as fodder for jokes, the wicked getting their just desserts, or collateral damage. It’s virtually inconceivable that political will to do something about the problem will coalesce any time soon.

via Jimmy Gerrond

The Good News About Prison Rape

Jan Lastocy only had a few months of hard time left on her sentence before she was home free. An inmate at Camp Branch women’s work camp in Coldwater, Michigan, Lastocy was serving an 18-month to 10-year prison sentence for attempted embezzlement. Prior to her sentencing, she had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. She and her husband of 18 years were hoping her time in prison would give her the break she needed for her meds to kick in and pull her life back together.

“He thought I would be safer on the inside than I would be on the outside,” Lastocy tells Take Part. “He had no idea the kinds of things that happen in these facilities.”

Jan Lastocy only had a few months of hard time left on her sentence before she was home free. An inmate at Camp Branch women’s work camp in Coldwater, Michigan, Lastocy was serving an 18-month to 10-year prison sentence for attempted embezzlement. Prior to her sentencing, she had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. She and her husband of 18 years were hoping her time in prison would give her the break she needed for her meds to kick in and pull her life back together.

“He thought I would be safer on the inside than I would be on the outside,” Lastocy tells Take Part. “He had no idea the kinds of things that happen in these facilities.”

“Unless you’re in that situation, where someone has total control of you, you can’t understand how hopeless it is. You’re told what to do and when to do it at all times. I didn’t take a chance on not doing what I was told.”

The abuse went on for nearly six months before Lastocy was transferred to a halfway house.

The issue of sexual assault in American prison and jail systems is rarely talked about in any kind of solution-oriented way. It’s often treated as a hyperbolic joke. “We have this stereotypical notion of ‘Bubba’s going to be your best friend. Don’t drop the soap in the shower,’ ” Lastocy says.

But prison rape is no joke—and it happens all the time. A recent report by the Bureau of Justice Statistics estimated that nearly 1 in 10 inmates in America had been sexually assaulted in custody. That’s out of a prison population of 2.3 million. You do the math.

Last week, however, a major step was taken toward ending prison rape for good. After nearly nine years of waiting, the U.S. Department of Justice finally issued a series of steadfast guidelines for preventing sexual abuse in our correctional facilities. The guidelines mandate intensive screening of prison staff—who are believed to perpetrate half of the sexual assaults inside prison walls—the ability to report sexual assault to an outside agency, as well as ensure medical treatment and mental health counseling for victims.

“This is a sea change moment in the decades-long fight against sexual abuse in detention,” Chris Daley, deputy executive director of the prison advocacy group Just Detention International, tells TakePart. “For the first time, we now have uniform policies in place for inmate safety.”

Two retired Los Angeles County sheriff’s supervisors Monday painted a violent picture of life inside Men’s Central Jail, recounting for a county jails commission tales of deputies beating prisoners, ignoring bosses, forming cliques and engaging in off-duty misconduct.

The former sergeant and lieutenant, who both retired in 2007, said they felt their efforts to discipline wayward deputies were undermined by a top manager they accused of ordering supervisors to “coddle” young deputies in the jail.

Daniel Pollaro, the former sergeant, complained that deputies used inappropriate force against inmates as a form of discipline. He cited one example in which he learned that a deputy beat an inmate being moved to a cell on the floor where Pollaro worked. The deputy, he said, left the bloodied inmate without reporting the incident or seeking medical attention for him. The inmate’s injuries were discovered during a later shift, and the deputy was suspended, Pollaro said.

Some deputies, he said, routinely arrived late for work and ignored orders from direct supervisors, preferring instead to listen to rank-and-file deputies who had worked at the jails for several years and earned the informal title of “OG,” short for “Original Gangster.”

Alfred Gonzales, a retired lieutenant, echoed Pollaro’s testimony about insubordination and excessive force, telling commissioners that one hard-core gang member broke down during an interview about how a deputy had broken his jaw while he was handcuffed. “I didn’t deserve this,” Gonzales said the gang member told him.

He said he grew alarmed by the off-duty behavior of some deputies, including several arrested for assault and drunk driving, and by how large numbers of deputies assigned to the same floor made it a habit to arrive and leave work together and would not mix with colleagues from other floors.

Gonzales recalled being so concerned that he compared the cliques to gangs in one conversation with a young deputy.

“I said, ‘You guys, this is reminiscent of a gang….This is how gang members act,’” he told the commission.

The commission, which is investigating allegations of jail violence, was created by the Board of Supervisors soon after news broke last year that the FBI was investigating allegations of inmate abuse and other jail misconduct.

Gonzales began his testimony by explaining he had agreed to speak “not to malign or bring discredit upon the Sheriff’s Department” but to show what was occurring at the nation’s largest local detention facility from 2003 to 2007, when he was assigned to the jail.

He and Pollaro said they believed Undersheriff Paul Tanaka undermined jail manager’s efforts to prevent the deputy cliques and deal with insubordination.

They cited a 2006 proposal to regularly move deputies around the jail as an effort to break up the cliques. Tanaka, then an assistant sheriff, blocked the move after complaints from deputies. The commission made public an email forwarded by several deputies in which they complained that the change “would anger and force many to leave.”

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