And I recalled an article in the New York Times from several weeks or days ago about a prisoner’s cemetery somewhere in Texas.  There, inmates were put to final rest, some dying from age or disease, many at the hands of an executioner’s needle.  As the article pointed out these were men who had lived lives of disrespect for others, some had died hardened, but most tempered by time and age into different humans than when first incarcerated.  The article said the graves were dug by fellow inmates, who at each burial took a moment of silence and respect for each dead soul lowered into the arid earth.  That moment, I would suppose, is their affirmation of continuity.  How different from mine.  

But these “right” are available if you are free.  Once incarcerated, a phone call is subject to grossly inequitable fees.  The reason for the fees is not clear, but in every state there is a middleman, a firm that controls most of not all phone calls from prison.  The firm charges a fee for administering the phone systems, that fee is in turn charged to those making the call.  

The purpose is supposedly to make prison calls secure and safe, though what this firm does to make all this true other than collect money is not certain.  

It is very unfair.  A man in prison who calls his wife, mother, child or friend has no money.  If the family member or friend wants to maintain communication with the inmate, they must agree to what anyone would term outrageous fees.  And, most often, these fees are to be paid in advance or with credit card.  

What makes it unfair is the taking of money from those who can least afford it.  It is easy to say there should be no sympathy for those who have committed a crime, but denial of communication hurts all, the criminal and his family.  Should the young child whose dad has sold drugs and been involved in a fight, be denied communication with his father?  And when the Dad is imprisoned, income for the family is less, making it a Sophie's Choice of sorts: food for the child or communication with his father.  

Who are these firms?  There have been plenty of articles on the subject: just do Google searches.  In Massachusetts a prisoners’ right group began a petition or lawsuit recently.  Their website states:

Petition Seeking Relief from Unjust and Unreasonable Cost of Collect Telephone Calls from Prisoners -  This is a petition filed with Massachusetts Department of Telecommunications and Cable on behalf of prisoners, family members, lawyers, and others who seek relied from the excessive costs and poor quality of telephone calls from prisoners in state and county facilities. 

However, any lawsuit against this illogical system has to be seen more an inquest: who and what is this all about.  However it is an underground problem, one that does not effect anyone important, only the poor and prisoners.  Someone is making money, that's for certain.  Someday, perhaps, there will be an answer.  

That has changed in recent years however, and exchange of police reports, and general discovery in criminal trial practice has become commonplace.  The final bastion to overcome are prisons, which in general have no need nor desire to provide inmates with technology nor spend money on such devices as computers or cd/dvd players.  That is changing, as lawyers and the courts provide more and more materials in digital format for the client to review.  The right of a defendant to have prepare and assist in preparation of his case and defense is breaking down any final barriers to technology in prison, and it is now possible to send a client files and video of evidence in cd or dvd format for viewing.  It is a great help, for the client and to the lawyer and ultimately to the courts and justice.  

He was in prison, in fact he had been in prison many times over the past decade as his son repeatedly ran afoul of the law and was repeatedly imprisoned for a series of minor but criminal acts.  He had become familiar with prison's many regulations and requirements, from donning all personal belongings into a locker that cost a quarter to lock, to the eversameness pale-orange plastic seats.  It seems as if prison had become second nature, perhaps now after ten years a second home.  

His son was a drug addict, since a teen, and that addiction had led to fights, thefts and other altercations.  The first infractions were dealt with gently, some dismissed, as police and prosecutors, some the man's friends, had hoped his son would learn, reject his life and seek a life like his Dad’s. Each time this approach failed, until it became apparent punishment was necessary.  The man couldn't remember at this point when the turning point was reached, by now imprisonment had become routine, an expected outcome each time his son achieved a brief period of freedom from his most recent prison bid.  The tradesman had raised his son otherwise, to follow perhaps in his footsteps or take another path to a profession.  It was not to be, those paths were long-since closed, not taken.  

A guard appeared nearby, placing her paperwork near a metal detector.  It was time to pass, to make a visit to a son.   

It was Christmas Eve in prison, his green jumpsuit an indicator he was under sentence for whatever crime he had committed several months or years ago.  Green for sentenced, Orange for awaiting trial.  Mixed in with the Green and Orange from time to time were inmates dressed in the classic black and white striped garb.  Perhaps these men had committed some infraction of the many prison rules and were on some special detail or punishment.  It was not clear at first glance.  

The guard room across from the visiting area was filled with prison technology, monitor screens, three across, surveyed rooms, cells and the visiting area as cameras switched views once each ten seconds or so.  The man in green had stopped at a cell door near the guardroom, he had on his fixed smile, a cell door opened and he passed through.  Smiling.  On to a better cell for Christmas?  

Prisoners are no different, and holiday periods, Christmas in particular, bring emotional difficulties.  Attorneys can and do try to meet with clients especially at this time of year, bringing at least some sense of solace to what can be seemingly interminable loss of liberty.  Hopefully, family members visit as well, as lawyers are a poor substitute for meaningful family relationships.

Recently I met with a prisoner, within days of Christmas.  He is a young man, with a calm demeanor.  The meeting went well, lasting a couple of hours while reviewing various evidence in his case and discussing issues in the case.  As we sat activity passed by us, easily visible through a plate glass window.  Some prisoners were garbed in a classic white and black striped shirt, each secured tightly in shackles to their hands and feet.  None seemed particularly dangerous as they passed, presumably they were clad in such garb as part of a punishment for perhaps talking back to a guard or something more serious.  

Another passed, dressed in a green jump suit, he too in leg shackles, shuffling as fast as possible to keep up with guard who were accompanying him to another location within the jail.  He was smiling as shuffling, apparently going to an improved location.  

In the middle of all this another inmate appeared, without shackles, carrying a plastic bag filled with personal belongings.  Free at last apparently, and about to be released.  A Merry Christmas.  

For today's trial it was a master of a lifetime of criminal conduct by the client, and a try at understanding the nature of psychologist testimony as to the client's potential future dangerousness.  The government was attempting to commit the client civilly as too dangerous to let lose on society.  If the client loses, he faces a very uncertain future, and could wind up spending the rest of his life in the civil equivalent of a prison.  In fact, the client recognized his dilemma.  When discussing the trial and testimony, the client would break down and cry: "I don't want to die here."

It could happen.  There is certainly little sympathy for a man in his situation: a lifetime of crime, hurting other people, seemingly uncontrollable.  If he gets out, his past dictates he will hurt someone again.  But then maybe not, and how can we punish someone for in essence future conduct.  We'll have to see.  

However, in the humdrum of a busy urban street these edifices blend in, and it takes a watching eye to see the goings and comings.   We were staying at a relatively inexpensive hotel along Smith Street, and directly across the street was a local police station.  The building was entirely non-descript, no windows, brickwork facade, the only entry that could be seen from this view was a chain-link gate which slid wide enough for waiting cruisers to enter.  Once inside the gate slid shut and the black and white would then be permitted further entry when a second gate opened, leading the car deep into an underground network of locked doors and prison cells.  (Black and White is a euphuism, police cruisers today are painted more gaily, these were blue and white, to make them more affable and friendly)

On this day, the hotel's windows were open for fresh air, and one could see cruisers lined up at the end of their shift, waiting entry or just waiting, one officer leaving work another beginning.  On the next block was one of Brooklyn's large courthouses, it was Sunday so closed, but Monday it would receive those arrested over the weekend and being held next door in the underground police department cells.

Years ago I had tried a federal case here in Brooklyn, just down the street.  It was a "white collar" case, involving computers and software technology.  The result for the client was a good one, and sitting here sipping coffee, the moment brought back memories.

But the town is likely best known for its "Correctional Complex" located about five miles south of town along Route 18.  A visitor takes a left off 18, and enters a road winding through lowland and scrub only to shortly enter a broach swath of cleared land filled with various jails, prisons, mental hospitals and treatment centers.  Old Colony Correction Center ("OCCC" in the vernacular) is first up, housing felons of various types, usually of lesser threatening nature.  Behind are large brick structures covered with ivy and missing walls, which guards say are the remains of older institutions since replaced.  At the end of the road is the Massachusetts State Hospital, which houses, amongst others, those who are in common parlance criminally insane.  Entering the State Hospital is in itself somewhat intimidating, but that is for another blog entry.

In between OCCC and the State Hospital, on the right, is the Massachusetts Treatment Center.  The TC, as it is known, houses sex offenders, the scourge of the criminal justice system and indeed the scourge of society.  Many if not most of those committed here are not doing time for any crime.  In fact, most have long-since completed any punishment meted out for whatever sexual crime they may have done, the majority pedophiles.  These men, they are all men, are held for what they might do upon release.  It is an odd law, being held captive for what may happen, but the idea has won approval as constitutionally sound by all courts, and most states have such laws.  

The TC has as its entry a newly repaired concrete stairway of two levels.  The prior stairway had been in disrepair for some time, half blocked from use by wooden barriers, and the useable part marred with shattered concrete and broken stairs.  Upon entry to the TC, one is greeted by an expanse of mahogany-like or perhaps mahogany benches with a wide triangular centerpiece.  The centerpiece had been replete with flora until recently, when it was removed for some unknown reason.  

The TC is a village of the damned.  A purgatory between crime and punishment.  Time, criminal justice has stood still.  

Just before entering the main visiting area, if one turns, there is a clock above the TC entryway.  It has no hands.  It has been in that condition during the time and viewed by this writer.  Appropriate.