Editor's note: Several of the seven people now incarcerated at Auburn Correctional Facility who were interviewed requested anonymity due to fear of retaliation. Several family members requested anonymity as well.
AUBURN, N.Y. — In late May came the news from Albany: The first day of family visits — suspended due to COVID-19 — would be pushed to August.
Cliff Graham, an inmate at Auburn Correctional Facility, an all-men’s maximum security prison, saw the memo, typed a message on his tablet and waited in his cell for his 15 daily minutes of Wi-Fi.
For two months he had been confined to a cell for at least 22 hours a day. There were no more Alcoholics Anonymous courses. No religious services or classes from the Cornell Prison Education Program. Recreation time was cut from three hours to one, when most inmates had to choose between the line for a 15-minute shower or the line for a 15-minute phone call.
Some hadn’t showered for weeks. Others washed themselves in buckets.
Since March 14, New York state had suspended visitation and programs as some prisons became coronavirus hotbeds.
“Inform the community that this has now become a psychological issue ... I highly believe the suicide rate will increase based on these ‘measures’ that they are employing in the prison system,” Graham wrote to his father, an anti-violence activist and youth mentor in nearby Syracuse. “Its not the same as in society. they are leaving prisoners with no mental or physical outlets to release their built up tensions and frustrations.”
That tension continued as May, June and July passed with next to no movement in Auburn. Graham stayed in his cell. An inmate was barred from his grandfather’s virtual funeral. Another missed his appeal date as courts closed.
Another factor in that tension: discrepancies between Albany’s emergency protocol and how it was followed by staff, according to dozens of interviews with inmates, loved ones and experts.
Most correctional officers stopped wearing masks in May, according to inmates and loved ones. Some deny inmates access to kiosks, where they plug their tablets in for Wi-Fi. Some guards stop-and-frisk or strip search inmates with no mask or gloves on, several inmates said.
Meanwhile, for nearly five months, inmates were often frustrated with the lack of protective measures against the virus. One described the measures as a “joke.” Another called it “inhumane.”
They were given 3 ounces of bleach to spread out among galleries of 43 cells from mid-March until July, when they received more. Some inmates scrubbed their own soap on wet rags to wipe down their bars; others used their own shampoos. They tried to protect themselves against a virus they knew about through state-issued memos and glimpses of cable news in the rec yard.
"I can't say the relationship [between staff and inmates] has changed, but it's just — with the new policy — it is like a tension,” said one inmate, speaking anonymously.
His family usually visits for two days at a time as part of the monthly Family Reunion Program along with regular visitation. He would stay in a trailer with his wife and four kids, and they would watch movies and play board games. Lately his wife has had to explain to their kids why they couldn’t see him every week. He hadn’t seen his 18-month-old daughter in nearly five months when he spoke in early August.
“The population is being restricted and being told they have to wear masks, and they have to social distance and you can't go to programs and you can't see your family,” he continued. “But you get officers coming in that don't abide by any of the rules that they're supposed to abide by."
Auburn Superintendent Timothy McCarthy declined to comment when reached over the phone.
A source within the New York state Department of Corrections and Community Supervision (DOCCS) who asked not to be identified said the state’s policy was carefully planned using recommendations from the New York State Department of Health and Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
Three free phone calls and two free emails are available per week. Inmates socially distance in mess halls, where hand sanitizer dispensers hang on the wall. Inmates have tablets and can download music and games in their cells. Correctional officers are required to wear masks. About 2,263 inmates have had early release as of Aug. 12. DOCCS’ Office of Special Investigations conducts in-person compliance monitoring for the mask requirement.
‘Is this the time?’
Deviations from policy are nothing new. Described by experts and advocates as quick, casual events that happen at the discretion of corrections officers, they can take many forms.
According to organizers from inmate advocacy groups Unchained and RAPP, sometimes that means packages are being withheld. Or inmates are kept in cells during meals. Some inmates say the departures from state policy have them feeling even more isolated.
"It's a variety of emotions,” Graham said. “Like, stress one moment, optimistic the next, depressed one moment, hopeful the next. It varies based on either the outside communication or what kind of dialogue that I have.”
One inmate, who asked for anonymity, remembers his body temperature going from 96 to 102 and back again over the course of a week. He forgets what month it was: “as soon as it hit hard in this country.”
The medical staff gave him a mask and led him to an empty room to quarantine. They locked the door and he had no outside contact. He wondered if he had COVID, but didn’t know for sure. He still doesn't. Like many others who had coronavirus symptoms or vulnerable health conditions there, he wasn’t tested.
“I started getting scared,” he said. “I started talking to God, like, ‘Is this the time?’”
Two weeks before Graham wrote to his father, the Correctional Association of New York (CANY) filed the “He Has a Home to Go To” report to DOCCS.
They surveyed 91 family and friends of inmates across the state. The result: 84.6% said their loved one did not have access to hand sanitizer. About half had regular access to soap. Families said their biggest concern was a lack of personal protective equipment, followed by facility staff response to COVID-19.
Major concerns from the report were family and friends’ worries about COVID-19 and the inability of inmates to fight the virus inside state correctional facilities.
“This concern is exacerbated by the lack of confidence in DOCCS’s response to the pandemic within its prisons; there is a widespread perception that DOCCS is failing to follow guidelines to mitigate the spread of and treatment for COVID-19,” the report says.
A DOCCS spokesperson called the report “false” and “biased and self-serving.” It serves “to promote the organization’s attempt to garner attention and relevance,” they said.
CANY is the only organization allowed to investigate state prisons in New York that is independent of DOCCS.
“What we're hearing is that there's a fair amount of variation in implementation that can't be accounted for by individual facility operations,” said Jennifer Scaife, executive director of CANY. “In other words, inconsistent screenings for the virus by nurses, inconsistent protocols around quarantine and operations, [inconsistent] use of masks by correctional officers.”
“Right now we’re right next to each other on the phone, from people that work in the mess hall, industry, everybody’s cluttered up together,” said an inmate in a phone interview. “So all that separation and space is not even taken into account.”
Another inmate said recreation time is cut short to make the yard less crowded, but they often stand close to each other in lines for showers and phones. They sit two seats away from each other in the mess hall, but often stand close together in lines for food.
By July, inmates over 55 became eligible for testing at Auburn Correctional Facility. After that other inmates became eligible: those with symptoms and those who are quarantined due to contact tracing, among them, DOCCS said. By Tuesday, staff had administered 128 tests at Auburn, with 123 negative and five pending. As of May 6, the facility held 1,341 inmates, according to an audit.
Not everyone dissatisfied
The inmate who became sick thinks DOCCS’ plan was well-executed and that the staff is doing the best they can.
It’s a sentiment echoed by some housed in the honor block, which gives inmates more freedoms including cooking and regular 30-minute phone calls. They’re let out of their cells more often than the one hour of rec time. Inmates with no disciplinary infractions within a year are eligible for honor block — “you tend to walk that thin line,” one said.
Life in Auburn remains incredibly lonely, they said.
“I’m not really fighting for rights in here,” said the inmate who was sick. “I’m fighting for my right to get out.”
In the one hour that they leave their cells for rec time, inmates in the general population (nonhonor block areas) have to plan what they want to do ahead of time: They can stand in the lines for a shower or phone call, buy goods in the commissary, do a quick workout or catch a program on cable news from the TV in the rec yard. There’s almost never time for more than one.
Most choose between a shower and a phone call.
Some galleries of cells are let out late, leaving the inmates sometimes spending the full hour in a line.
“It’s so burdensome, because the law of nature is to be active,” Graham said. “Nothing grows without activity. Your muscles, your mind.” He often chooses between calling his father and taking a shower. Sometimes he washes himself in a bucket. “And if you don’t have reading material and you’re not communicating with the outside world, you don’t have that spiritual hope.”
Two committees — Inmate Grievance Resolution (IGRC) and Inmate Liaison (ILC) — are meant to serve in part as a link between administration and inmates. DOCCS credited ILCs in part for the reopening of state-run prisons. Administrators visit different blocks and take complaints from inmates every few weeks.
But inmates on both committees said they’re frustrated with the lack of change stemming from feedback from the committees.
Aug. 5 marked the first day of visits. But instead of eight-hour visits it’s two or three, where inmates and loved ones sit on plastic chairs separated by two lunch tables.
Several inmates hoped tensions would ease as Auburn Correctional gradually reopens. One said, “I don’t see it ever going back to normal.”
Two weeks later, movement is slowly picking up. Change is coming again. Once again, they don’t know what that entails.
This story has been updated.