Aside from remote wilderness locales, disaster, or war zones, I'm unsure if there’s such a thing as complete and utter severance from the outside world. Someone can get a signal somewhere; the internet may serve as a backup, or you may even be able to walk, drive, or swim to reconnect with loved ones. But when your only portal relies on a single string of numbers and that portal collapses, the consequences reach farther than you might think.
Twice this month, Securus has pushed an update into our system that’s severely hindered our ability to interact with the world around us. Literally everything we do—from accessing our tablets for email, school, and commissary orders to using the phone—relies on a single PIN. The first outage reset the PINs of approximately 1,300 people here in Washington and took two days to resolve. A week later, the next update affected 13,000 across three states but was fortunately fixed in less than 24 hours. This timely fix is due largely to the efforts of our Securus liaison, Ms. Freese-Turns, who came in on a Sunday to help facilitate a solution. She wears a lot of hats around here and deserves everyone's thanks.
The loss of connection may seem trivial, and many hold the belief that we prisoners get what we deserve, no matter the hardship. But few consider this:
We don’t suffer alone.
As incarcerated individuals, we become inured to our environments. Living day in, day out, under the same stresses and obstacles for months, years, and decades, we form callouses that protect us from the sanity-grinding abrasions of this existence. Our loved ones do not. They may develop skills and tactics to cope with our separation, but they are (luckily) spared the need to develop the same military-grade social armor we do.
When the only connection to the outside world is severed, it creates all manner of negative situations and stresses. First, consider that we incarcerated individuals and our loved ones must work out a mutually reciprocal schedule for communication. Both parties have mandatory schedules and lives, just like anyone else—the difference is they can’t call us. They might send a brief email, but there's no guarantee it will wind its way through the Securus mailroom gauntlet in time for a punctual reply. So it falls on us to keep our appointed call and visit times.
When that fails, our people are left wondering: Did Michael get in trouble? Was he hurt? Was there a riot? A plane crash? Zombie plague? What the hell is happening?! And aside from the general worry of someone who cares for your well-being, other problems arise.
Take Shane and his wife, who are already struggling. He’s returned to prison for violating his terms of release (he had three White Claws on the day he defended his wife from a hammer-wielding attacker and was honest about it) and will be here for at least the next 18 months, despite committing no crime. They’re the owners of a lucrative business, have three boys, and are your typical red, white, and blue middle-class family. Suddenly, Shane is yanked back into the system for doing what any husband worth his salt would do, and his wife is left juggling everything alone.
Shane spends a lot of time on the phone, doing everything he can to help his wife manage life. He networks with contractors to cover his absence, guides his wife through processes that were his responsibility, calls his sons to make sure he’s there for them daily, and reaches out to his customers to keep their confidence and his business afloat so his family will survive. It’s a stressful and tough situation. Arguments happen, disputes occur, confusions need clarifications, and when communication is cut in the middle of all this, it only worsens the situation. This latest incident nearly cost Shane his marriage because of where their conversation was when it was abruptly halted. Had it lasted a day more, there likely would’ve been no recovery.
Everyone has their issues and is responsible for the health of their interpersonal relationships, but that doesn’t excuse Securus from its role in making things worse.
And this is just one example of how a breakdown in communication can exacerbate existing issues. Though minor, the blog posts I’d written didn’t finish sending. I’ve also heard dozens of others in the last few days as well: kids freaking out because dad didn’t call, a mother worried if her son got to a critical medical appointment, an important missed legal call that may cost a guy another year of his life because of filing deadlines. Even if it doesn’t, the stress it puts on him and his husband is incredible.
Securus needs to do better. We all understand that technology constantly evolves, updates occur, and are even welcomed (usually), but there’s a method to doing it responsibly and with consideration. Yes, we are prisoners, yes, we are bound by state contracts and have little to no recourse for other providers, but that’s no excuse for deliberate indifference.
If not for us, be better for our people. They’re doing time with us, but they’re not the ones doing the time.