Author: Amismafreedom
My family has hope that I’ll come home someday. So I do what I’m supposed to do. I play my part. Even though I know parole in Georgia is a joke.
I was arrested in March of 1996 for murder and a host of other charges. By the end of that year I was convicted and sentenced to life with the possibility of parole. In January 1997, they sent me to Ware State Prison. But that wasn’t my first time in the system. From 1991 to 1995, I’d been locked up at Lee Arrendale State Prison — most people call it Alto. That place was survival of the fittest. Nothing like prison today.
When I first arrived at Ware, I knew right away it was different. After intake, they let us step outside. Right there in front of the building was a flower garden. Bushes lined the sidewalk. People — prisoners — were walking up, down, and all around the compound without escorts. At Alto, all movement was under the escort of a correctional officer. And there were no flowers to be seen.
If I had to describe how it felt to move freely, though I was clearly not free, I’d just say strange. I either can’t really recall how it felt, or more likely I didn’t pay much attention. But prisoners treated each other much more differently at Ware than I was used to at Alto. In Alto it was survival of the fittest. But there was a code of respect that is absent today. Most of the white population were either on protective custody, paying for protection, or gay. There were a few white guys who had proven they could hold their own, but not many. White guys were preyed upon. They didn’t keep their own commissary — their war daddy kept everything. Ware was completely different. White guys and anyone who would have been preyed upon in Alto walked freely through the prison. They maintained their own property and commissary.
The officers at Ware were much more professional and personable than the officers at Alto. You would never find an officer sitting at a dayroom table playing cards with prisoners at Alto. But it was commonplace at Ware. At Alto it was commonplace for officers to be “hands on” when it came to dealing with prisoners. Hands on means the officers used physical violence when necessary, and some time when it wasn’t necessary, to assert authority. There was one lieutenant by the name of Ford. Lt. Ford carried a nightstick that was about as long as a broomstick, and he would use it. I didn’t have issues with any of the officers. But I saw what happened to others.
That was prison in the early nineties. But things changed. Changes started to become noticeable when GDC started cutting the budget. The first things to be affected were food portions. Educational and counseling staff were cut. Chaplain hours were cut. The position of recreational director was replaced with a recreational officer. This was somewhere near 2005 or so. Before that, there was much much much more to do. Recreation, educational and vocational programs, work details. The presence of gangs was nearly nonexistent.
Ware didn’t start seeing a drastic increase in gangs until around 2008 or ’09. Other prisons already had problems. And when those gangs arrived, everything changed. Alto was violent in its own right, but weirdly enough the violence was structured. Fights were generally settled one on one. Weapons were very rarely used. What would have been considered a gang at that time were city-based. If big fights broke out, they were generally city versus city. Gangs today claim structure, but there is no structure. They move with a mob mentality.
Prison today is definitely different than back in the nineties. It’s much more dangerous and deadly. Knives or any form of weapon is the default go to. Drugs and gang affiliations are largely the cause of the violence permeating the system. Debts are one cause for violence involving drugs. Theft of drugs is another. Prisoners involved in selling drugs don’t generally fight over territory. They’re more inclined to fight because someone attempted or was successful in robbing someone. A lot of fights start out as fistfights. But when it comes to gangs, they don’t like to lose and they don’t like for their gang affiliate to lose. By the end of any confrontation, knives have come out.
How are GDC administrations contributing to the violence? Short staffing. Improperly trained officers. Lack of constructive activities to occupy prisoners’ time. Prisoners are generally confined to their living area much of the day. Prisoners with no work detail or educational class get an hour of recreation outside of the cellhouse. Aside from that hour, prisoners sit with nothing to do. Many of these prisoners are young and full of energy.
People hear about what’s going on and they come to the conclusion that it must be prisoners serving sentences for violent crimes causing the trouble. I’ve seen social media posts where they state “inmates serving life have nothing to lose, they are never going home so they don’t care.” This is wrong. People working within GDC know that most of the violence is caused by short timers, but they do not correct the narrative. I don’t “think” that lifers aren’t the ones causing most of the violence. I know that we aren’t. In GDC, most of the statewide mentors are serving life. A large majority of administrative orderlies and educational aides are serving life. If you gave officers and administrators alike a choice of prisoners to work around, I’m certain they would prefer to work with and around lifers.
Short timers commit more of the violence, but they’re not the only ones. Still, it’s a combination of what they’re doing and what the administration isn’t doing. Prisoners are creative when motivated, and not every corrections employee is law abiding. That’s where the drugs come from.
It’s not too far gone. In order to begin to turn things around, Georgia has to address more than just the violence. They have to address the overcrowding. They have to deal with the gang issue, and it has to be in a way that makes would-be gang members question if it’s worth it. Harsher consequences for sure. And not so much better alternatives as more activities to engage in. But bringing back programs wouldn’t pull them from gangs. The gang situation has to be addressed.
That’s an easy one. They crave companionship. Being locked down is torture to them. I would institute a 23-and-1 lockdown protocol for the worst gang offenders. There was an incident between two gangs that spread to nearly every prison in 2010 or 2011. In order to get it under control, one gang — which was a relatively small gang — was locked down twenty-four hours a day. This lockdown lasted for well over a year. When they were let out, the violence did not resume. They operated differently. Right now if Georgia focused on the one gang that’s causing the most problems, they would see a drastic decrease in problems. Not immediately, because we prisoners know that GDC is not consistent. They will start then change course.
At the end of 2012, the beginning of 2013, there were a string of deaths at Hayes State Prison causing the prison to be placed on lockdown for a year. During this period Georgia instituted the “tier” program. This program was supposed to be for those prisoners who were proven problems. Nearly every prison compiled a list of prisoners who were deemed the worst, or those who had an inordinate amount of disciplinary write-ups. These individuals were placed on the tier. That’s how it started. But eventually prisons started putting individuals on tier who were troublesome because they wrote grievances or simply to be spiteful.
Tier was designed to be a four-phase walkdown program. You start at the highest phase with little to no property, 23-and-1 lockdown. Each level gives you back more property and more free time until you’re deemed ready to return to general population. But many of them are stuck. There are some that have worked their way through the program only to be transferred to another prison just before finishing. They would have to start over again. It’s quite intentional. There’s supposed to be a limit to how long a person can remain on tier, but if they can just transfer someone and restart the clock, that limit doesn’t mean much.
I’m not and have never been on tier. My information comes from individuals I’ve known on tier, and some secondhand information. But I’ve watched this system long enough to know what’s happening.
There is no rehabilitation in Georgia’s prison as things are being run. The absence of meaningful programs and activities to fill in downtime, and yes there’s something deeper. Even with programs and activities, there will be individuals who will not respond in a positive manner. GDC has adopted an officially unofficial policy of mass punishment. Instead of holding prisoners accountable for their own actions, GDC routinely holds everyone responsible for the actions of a few.
The most common thing is being locked down. But there’s also withholding commissary from everyone to having the cellblock shook down. Pretty much a part of routine. That’s exactly what it does and what they intend for it to do — have prisoners police themselves, which causes issues. GDC is short-staffed and many of GDC’s current staff are quite lazy. Example: each and every institution holds daily inspection by the warden or someone designated by them. Although prisoners are expected to be inspection ready from 8:30 a.m. until 4:30 p.m., it’s the officer’s responsibility to walk the cellblock to ensure that everyone is up and inspection ready. These officers will walk into the cellblock at perhaps 7:30, maybe 8:00, and announce “standby, prepare for inspection,” then leave without ensuring that prisoners are actually getting ready. If, when the inspection team begins their inspection of the cellblock, they notice prisoners or cells not prepared for inspection, the whole cellblock could face the consequences.
The resentment is turned inward, against the person or persons perceived as responsible. I don’t think that it’s a strategic plan to keep prisoners in constant state of resentment. But it’s quite obvious what happens when those things happen. So to not try and change how you deal with something, you would be guilty of intentional negligence. And that added layer of resentment does fuel more conflict. There are those who get hostile towards prisoners who were not ready. Then there are those who get hostile with the prisoners who direct their resentment towards other prisoners instead of towards the administration.
I’m firmly in the camp that directs my hostility towards the individuals who side with the administration. Sure, I don’t enjoy being locked down, shook down, or having my commissary taken. But if the officers did what they get paid to do, it wouldn’t be an issue. As for how I’ve handled this madness for the past thirty years, I just do. I try not to stress over things that I have no control over. I’m not a charismatic person, nor do I speak with the eloquence of a politician. Neither my words nor my actions can persuade other prisoners to see things the way I do. So I speak out when I do, and keep my head down when I don’t.
I’ve been considered for parole twice. Both times I was denied and given a setoff date of eight years each time. My next consideration will be in 2027. I expect to be denied again. In Georgia we don’t go before the parole board. The parole board holds these hearings with only our files for whatever they do. But there’s never a clear reason given. Everyone gets the same generic letter that states “due to the nature of your crime, the board thinks that you have not served enough time.” That’s just paraphrasing, but close enough. I think the majority of consideration is based upon the offense committed. No matter what you’ve done in twenty-nine years — staying out of trouble, how you’ve conducted yourself — it comes back to that one day in 1996.
It doesn’t sit well at all. But I made a promise to my family that I would do everything in my power to get parole. My family has hope, so I do what I’m supposed to do. When I’m denied it won’t be because of anything that I did. I can’t, won’t, tell my family that parole in Georgia is a joke. They have hope, so I’ll keep it alive by playing my part.