I recount the indignities of prisoners, detailing the harsh conditions and neglect endured in an Arkansas jail.
My name is Scott Linn. I am a 59-year-old inmate awaiting transfer to the Arkansas Department of Corrections (ADC) on a 30-year sentence. I reside at the Ouachita County Correctional Facility (OCCF) in Camden, Arkansas. At the time of this writing, I have been here for seven months and 12 days, waiting for my transfer to ADC. I am housed in a smaller pod with up to 13 other inmates who are either ADC-bound (already sentenced) or are awaiting court on misdemeanor or felony charges.
OCCF is designed to house up to 250 inmates. It is not designed to house prisoners for an extended period of time. Inmates here are less visible to the public with regard to the condition of daily life.
There are inmates here on a misdemeanor charge for almost a year without trial. One in our pod falls into that category. His bond is set at $1,800. The cost to bond out is 10% or $100 plus $80 of fees. He has no outside support. The maximum penalty he could face is one year. His year is tomorrow. So this is his trial date. He should be released; he received the maximum penalty by default. Yet, he’s still dealt with the daily indignities we all face.
Some of these daily indignities might seem inconsequential. Some indignities are more serious. All are cumulative to our physical and mental well-being. The stress of incarceration is magnified at the beginning of the process. Many inmates, like myself, faced a year or more of difficulties prior to incarceration. These difficulties add to the daily indignities and make you wonder if life will ever improve.
Personally, I lost a business. My wife was fired from her position as vice president of human resources. She had to relocate to find employment and for protection from social media, property, and physical threats. My wife and mother-in-law both battled cancer. After 34 years of marriage, we are divorcing to isolate her from my situation.
I entered OCCF with this background. Now, I deal with daily indignities. Before giving more detailed examples, here is a “flash bang” list:
- No visits: Phone and kiosk communication only if you have the 39 to 49 cents per minute required.
- No activities: Except for occasional “yard call” in a roofless pod.
- No nail clippers: Except as randomly provided by guards (2-month wait last time).
- No shaving supplies: We can purchase Magic Shave for $11.25.
- No haircuts: Magic Shave for the bald look.
- No reading material: We get 2 or 3 tablets daily with access to Gutenberg.org. No searches of content. Batteries are sometimes charged, sometimes not.
Rather than provide an extensive bullet list, here are several examples of daily indignities.
My first example is our “mattress.” During intake, we are provided with only a blanket and a yoga mat. If you are unfamiliar with a yoga mat, search for the Gaiam Essentials yoga mat. I believe it is 3/8” foam. The mat might be acceptable to a young person on a camping trip. It might be okay as a barrier under a sleeping bag. For a 59-year-old seven months removed from a hip replacement, it is woefully insufficient. Add a second hip and knee that are arthritic. I asked for a second mat as both hips are bruised. “No” was the answer. Don’t forget, mats wear out. No replacements.
As for the blanket, I still use the unwashed blanket I was issued at intake. Why? Requesting a washed blanket requires giving up your current blanket at breakfast. The blanket returned later in the day may be only partial or filled with holes. I balance the smell of the original blanket versus the risk of less than a blanket. Mat and blanket are just a tiny indignity.
The second example of daily indignities is our pod’s one community shower, toilet, and sink. Twice weekly, jail trustees “clean” our pod—or at least the pod is scheduled to be cleaned. Occasionally, cleaning is simply skipped. When it is cleaned, it is usually dust mopped, the bathroom is sprayed with cleaner, the floor scrubbed using a bristle brush on a broomstick, and the debris is swept up with a broom and dustpan.
The black mold and 1/8” of scum remain as a coating on the shower walls and fixtures. The handrail grips are fitted with trays between the rails and the wall. There are no draining holes. Imagine the gunk accumulated in these trays. The sink has cold water only. Our drinking water comes from this sink. Hot water for instant coffee comes from the moldy shower. OCCF doesn’t provide a meal beverage except for an 8-ounce milk carton twice weekly with cereal. The rest of our fluid intake comes from the sink or the moldy shower. Need to rinse out that foam cup? Don’t drop it in the shower.
My third example isn’t specifically a daily occurrence for me but likely for the facility. Around 9:30 PM this past Tuesday, a jailer escorted me from our pod to receive legal mail. Regular mail is scanned and available at a kiosk in the pod. The paperwork was my divorce documents from my attorney. This legal mail had been opened and scanned into OCCF’s system, and the “sign here” sticky notes were supposedly replaced in their original position.
The metered return envelope was considered contraband. I could only use it if I read and signed everything right then. So, I just signed and stuffed documents into the metered envelope my attorney provided. The likelihood of being escorted the next day to use the envelope was unlikely. I’ll read the divorce decree someday—hopefully. Daily indignities keep accumulating.
Contributing to this accumulation, inmates are housed in a stressful environment. Some inmates suffer from pronounced psychological issues. Most inmates are from varied socioeconomic backgrounds. Clashes are not uncommon. Inmates succumb to the pressure. This leads to my fourth example, the “pickle suit” or “turtle suit.”
If an inmate is suicidal, expresses suicidal ideations, or needs a “time out,” he is taken to isolation. He is stripped naked and fitted in the “pickle suit.” The suit is like an oversized baseball catcher’s chest protector. Sleeveless, the suit wraps around, to be tied in the rear. The suit is roughly knee-length. It is made of canvas, about as thick as an oven mitt. If you react negatively, you will be strapped to a restraint chair. The chair has an opening in the rear of the seat for defecation and urine.
While I have not experienced the “pickle suit,” a pod mate has on more than one occasion. The inmate gets no yoga mat, blanket, pillow, or even toilet paper. Pieces of toilet paper are provided upon request. There, he remains for three to seven days. For up to seven days, the inmate just shivers and attempts to sleep on a concrete bed. All privileges are taken: no phone calls, commissary, or personal items. I, for one, will never seek help with my mental state!
To me, this pickle suit treatment might make immediate suicide attempts unsuccessful. But I imagine future attempts are more likely to be terminal.
These four examples are just a small sample of daily indignities. They are cumulative. I’ll admit that inmates can certainly be crude, disrespectful, and even dangerous. However, OCCF does not provide an environment that rewards positive behavior. I understand what self-regulation skills are. I have had a life that has developed those skills and rewarded them. OCCF does not reward those skills, nor does it endeavor to teach them.
Instead, we are the less visible prisoners awaiting our fate at trial or transfer to the Arkansas Department of Corrections.
I have written more than one draft of this story because I became depressed after I completed it. I had not realized how I had suppressed my reaction to the daily indignities here addressed.
I’ve been lucky in life. I have had the opportunity to lift others up… hundreds of people due to my direct efforts. Today, I am reminded through these daily indignities that I am worthless. The light at the end of the tunnel is too dim to recognize. I can only grope in the darkness in a direction I hope is correct. My steps are more stumbles than strides. Numbness is a defense. Callousness is a danger. Daily indignities continue to accumulate. What is rehabilitation? Will we stumble upon it as we grope our way forward?
Scott Linn #183608
Arkansas Department of Corrections
Ouachita River Correctional Unit
P.O. Box 1630
Malvern, AR 72104
