I Don't Believe In Prison Reform Pt. 2
The One Where We Break People
If you haven't read Part One of this series, please click here to start at the beginning.In my early thirties, I became a long distance runner to counter the high stress of working in community mental health. By age forty, I had logged thousands of solo miles on open, mostly back-country roads.
As a female, I have never laced up my shoes without knowing that I could be hunted during those runs. Everyone is a potential threat out there— especially the men who circle the block, yell, honk, and lean out their door to stare me down. I learned to run like Jason Voorhees was chasing me, which I only now realize was the polar opposite of stress reduction (‘Happy’ Halloween, btw).
The point of this series (and of any of my posts, really) is to engage in the hard work of asking how we might make our response to crime more rational and effective.
I listen to too many true crime podcasts not to consider despicable human behavior in these discussions. In my career as a therapist, I have also heard things that would turn your stomach. I know that people are capable of doing horrific things to other people— and that some individuals are not safe to be roaming out in free society.
And that still does not mean that American prisons are promoting our safety.
On its face, incarcerating dangerous people makes sense— but how we classify ‘danger' is the start of our problems. Of the 63% of prisoners registered as ‘violent offenders,’ fewer than 15% of them are serving time for intentional, premeditated homicide— the group that inspires horror films. Less than 1% are serving time for kidnapping (aka my running fear).1 Over 25% of U.S. murder convictions fall under the ‘felony murder rule’2 which stipulates that if someone dies during the commission of another crime, even by-standers can be guilty of being a violent murderer. Look up the Ryan Holle case. He lent his car to a college roommate, went back to sleep, and then got sentenced to life without parole for the murder his roommate committed halfway across town. The DA’s argument was that without Ryan’s car, the crime would not have occurred. That is felony murder, and a sleeping man was added to our list of ‘violent offenders.’
Buzz Phrases
If you only hear that my son had a gun concealed on his hip inside a Walmart where he was caught stealing a pair of shoes, you have one idea of his criminality. If you hear that he was in the middle of a 7-day-no-sleep bender on methamphetamines and that he has no memory of how he even got there, it should change the equation a little. Meth dependency does not excuse his actions, but it does alter how we endeavor to change his future behavior.
Increases in ‘violent crime’ rarely get explored through the lens of our own governmentally-mandated psychiatric deinstitutionalization and we still refuse to deal with the actual reality of our rampant drug and alcohol problems. A full 78% of violent crime in America involves alcohol or illicit drug use.3
Sharing this fact is not excuse-making. It is a relevant consideration in understanding criminology and rehabilitation— if people are out of their minds when they commit acts of violence, why aren’t we treating the source of their break with reality?
Until recently, being an impulsive juvenile at the time of your crime was also not a factor in sentencing. In a lot of states, it still isn’t. Treating young defendants as forward-thinking, fully rational individuals flies in the face of neuroscience and crime statistics. As the National Institute of Justice reports, “Few individuals remain active in crime after the age of 40. Barring exceptional circumstances for those who pose a clear threat to public safety, there is no empirical basis for incarcerating [juvenile offender] individuals for decades past mid-adulthood.”4 Half of the time we have no idea why we're paying to warehouse 70 and 80-year-olds in prison, other than for a classification they got 50 years prior.5
Troy can attest to this. He’s been there 41 years:
“My ideas about justice were not developed to favor me. With over forty years in prison, it’s a little late to say I’m trying to talk my way out of being punished. You may still think of me as an outsider, but I am one of you and justice is our common problem. If anything, I have more of a duty to be its custodian by virtue of my crime, not less. And I take that duty seriously.”
Troy murdered someone at age 20 and, on paper, he is noted to be a violent criminal. But at 61, he is anything but violent. It is for this and other reasons that I believe cultural buzz phrases like ‘violent crime’ and ‘violent offender’ have been used as propaganda in reform discussions.
In a society that needs to keep a $182 billion revenue stream churning for over 4,100 privately traded corporations and many more related industries, we have accepted ‘deterrent justice’ as the only viable option. We have bought-in (literally) on the notion that response to crime must be rooted in a deep fear and hatred of humans who break rules, and above all, that it is only effective if we hurt people badly for long, long periods of time in grossly anti-social places.
Don’t Shake Their Hands
I once talked to a prison guard who told me his, sadly familiar, story.
A two-decade veteran of the D.O.C., he had been placed under investigation after shaking the hand of an incarcerated man who had just successfully completed a substance abuse course. That guard endured an eight-month period of harsh scrutiny by his superiors (which placed his livelihood at risk). Although he was later cleared, he had been officially accused of violating a D.O.C. policy which claims any “unavoidable contact”— including something as benign as a mutually agreed upon handshake— is to be disciplined. This policy purports to prevent ‘over-familiarity’ between guards and inmates.
As if the guards don’t see these inmates’ buttholes and ball-sacks every day. That friends, is over-familiarity.
I also know three nurses who have worked inside of high-security prisons. They have told me horror stories about inhumane facility expectations while trying to care for their patients inside. Moreover, if an inmate expresses gratitude for a nurse’s kindness or care, it places the nurse into a hostile work environment wherein they fear losing their job and face real concerns for their own safety— not because of inmates but because of retaliating co-workers.
As Troy puts it,
“Both prisoners and D.O.C. employees have their own codes, and both groups spend their days fighting within and against each other.”
I was wrestling with all of this last week when Troy downloaded some ancient philosophy for consideration:
“When Plato and Aristotle were working out how to achieve a Just Society, both philosophers understood that justice can’t be merely mechanical or procedural— it requires some form of care for others.
Aristotle argued that justice alone isn’t enough for a truly good society; you also need philia (friendship/civic love). Under his definition, a ‘just society’ is one bound by genuine affection and shared purpose, not just by correct rules.
Most of what we do in America (even as prisoners) falls under a pointless, fragmented justice idea that deals in only rules and power hierarchies. We are only serving fear in here.”
Yup, like don’t shake hands with an inmate because this leads to humanization and hopeful attitudes that would reduce our meat-locker temperature control. And while it is difficult to discuss prison and love in the same paragraph, we have to be willing to admit that hatred isn’t needed to do justice properly. Troy says,
“We are at a fork in the road. One way leads us to employing justice with understanding, patience, and love. The other direction moves us into more violence, hate, and hurting. Either way dictates where we go as a society, and we can see where the latter has gotten us.
We call doctors, counselors, teachers, or even parents “good” at their job when they apply lessons, treatments, and consequences with an investment in society’s well-being. Long term outcomes for wholeness are the focus of any of our righteous actions—
Except inside our prisons.
Only here do we want to break people worse than when they came in. Only here do leaders belittle those who speak of love. Only here are victims told that the amount of hate and violence they call for is the measure of their loyalty to a victimized loved one. I understand a victim’s impulse toward hatred and violence when they have been hurt— they get a pass. But those who twist suffering into personal and political gain by enflaming it are a different matter. This despicable behavior has become a virtue in our culture.
Could it be that those leading us down the road of prison violence and hatred are, in fact, benefitting from that violence and hatred? It is a lucrative thing; careers and kingdoms are made from it.”
In fact, in order to make this series possible, Troy and I have learned to operate inside of a fiefdom where overlords block good intentions. We get a 15-minute phone call every day, according to his facility’s schedule, and it always ends abruptly.
This system is not run by a desire for increased personal awareness, accountability, or pro-social behavior. If it were, positive interactions like ours would be supported by prison officials and made reasonably accessible to consenting individuals on both sides of the fence.
Creating Good Neighbors
There are ways of doing prison which lead us to building better people and better outcomes— and not just in Norway.
Some American wardens have had enough after years of abysmal prison conditions and staff shortages. Troy told me to look up SCI Chester in Pennsylvania, and a fellow Substacker (thanks, Billie) sent me an article about The Farm outside of Bismarck, North Dakota. Though both places are on the spectrum of prison ‘reform,’ these corrections examples have moved beyond traditional punishment into a totally new paradigm for doing medium security prison time.
Imagine— inmates are called residents and they wear regular clothing.6 There are no fences. Individuals are properly treated for addictions and family visits are regarded essential. Residents can even apply for a day pass to visit home. Incarcerated men live in private quarters, share a communal kitchen where they cook, and have access to free outdoor green spaces (not a concrete yard). They come and go between buildings and open areas from 8:20am-8:00pm. They even have their own keys and drive loaders, forklifts, and other vehicles to do their jobs.
They grow plants. They shop for groceries with real money in the local Walmart (with a chaperone). They go to work, go to treatment, and go to school. Solitary confinement has virtually vanished because the ultimate goal of incarceration has become about creating good neighbors, not mentally-ill animals.
In the North Dakota State Penitentiary down the road, Block C is also now home to something called the U.N.I.T.Y. Village (short for “Using Natural Integrity for Teaching Youth”). In this maximum security placement, men under 25 are paired with an older incarcerated mentor (like Troy) who, through hard-won wisdom, can help shepherd and influence young people in the ways they wish they had been helped once upon a time.7
When these changes began, many corrections officers quit in fear that it would result in a ‘less safe’ environment with higher costs. Not only did the launch of these changes cost nearly nothing, violence has plummeted (which reduces fiscal budgets further). For the community— over the first two years of The Farm’s existence, North Dakota reduced recidivism by 16%.89
In Pennsylvania, there has only been one incident of a ‘verbal altercation’ and no violence since the inception of CSI in 2017.10 Earlier this year (2025), the Secretary of the Pennsylvania D.O.C. testified before House Representatives about the success of this model: “It’s looking very promising to the point where we’re looking to expand it to three other facilities, hopefully this year.”
The officers employed there have reported increased job satisfaction, and boy that is saying something.11
Coming Up
Last week I mentioned that Part Two would be the finale of this series, and this is where we planned to unveil Troy’s prison replacement framework which goes well beyond the examples above. But— as we worked through editing this week, it became apparent that we were doing too much in a single post and we would go way over standard newsletter length.
So here’s the pivot: there will now be a Part Three in this series— dropping this coming Tuesday. It will contain Troy’s complete blueprint for how we go well beyond prison reform. It examines the way we classify convicted individuals (maturity vs. security), how we actually build accountability, and how we develop real competency for safety and real freedom.
Here’s the harder part: we need to paywall Part Three. Troy’s intellectual property is in consideration for traditional publishing, and we have to protect that work. More than that, though, Troy has given 41 years to this system and if his ideas have value (and I believe they do), it is worth at least the cost of a cup of coffee to get a pre-published look.
If you’re unable to pay for any reason but you are passionate about this issue, please DM me— I want to get you a copy. If you are able to donate a one-time amount (of your choosing) to support his work and this discussion, please click below and I will make sure you get comped access to Tuesday’s article.
To everyone who’s stayed with us through this series thus far— your care, comments, and connection mean more than I can say. Please keep the conversation going below! If you would like to access all of my private posts forevermore, please upgrade your subscription to paid today.
To our current paid subscribers: this conversation only happens because of you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Love, Bridget
The Farm statistics.
Great post!
Many of these inmates are starving for love and kindness and, as hard as it may be to extend those things to the inmates convicted of the worst crimes, it really is a key to reforming them. Even if they never leave those prison walls, kindness and opportunities to work and learn, will very likely increase their confidence and intrinsic motivation to become kinder, rule-abiding members of their communities—whether they stay in prison or reenter society.