by Samantha SheetsCan you imagine being enclosed in one location—a single room--for months on end? Or only leaving that room for an hour a day? Or simply being accused of a crime you may or may not have committed? Imagine you are rotting in a cell as hope begins to fade away like it did when the jury first declared you were “guilty”. Will anyone be able to reach you or help you? One Thursday evening, instead of getting off the R train at the Whitehall station in downtown Manhattan, I got off at Queens Plaza. I was heading toward the Q100 bus, embarking on a journey to the last stop. The last stop is Rikers Island, the penitentiary for criminals with short sentences. I was to wait at the bus station for my coworkers who would also be receiving this once-in-a-lifetime tour. I am a “College Aide” for the Department of Probation, and since Rikers Island is affiliated with the Department of Corrections, we were able to visit, and to bear witness to the lives of those incarcerated. The bus ride to the correctional van that would take us through the security gates was filled with discussions. The things we discussed were the do’s and don’ts of what is acceptable behind the eldritch wired fence. We were to leave our electronics in the locked van, and carry an identification card at all times. We entered the facility and quickly learned it was on lockdown for reasons they chose not to specify. One week prior to this, we were given instructions on how to dress. All skin was to be covered, including our feet. While this struck me as abnormal at the time, once we passed security and a rigorous metal detector, I realized why these limitations were put in place. We were led down a series of lengthy hallways, into an area with a set of five holding cells. The five cells were divided by borough and held a variety of inmates with a range of ages and races--all men. These inmates had their arms stretched out through the bars and were making obscene statements and gestures from the moment my group entered; the entire scene was extremely intimidating. This was not how prison was portrayed on Orange is the New Black. We were given a brief presentation of what to expect from this tour, but with these noisy grown men looming around us it was difficult to remain attentive. We learned about the establishment of Rikers Island prison in 1932, and the creation of a new section within the facility which was opening later that day. The new facility exclusively includes men ages 18-21. The unit is supposed to create new initiatives in hopes of getting these men back on their feet, and on the right side of justice. We never heard what these initiatives were to be. The room itself reeked of bleach, and although it had been recently painted, the walls were already chipping. The cells themselves remained bare, with heavily stained bedding. Not far from the cells was an “education center”, which included six metal tables and chairs, spaced several feet apart. Long chains were attached to the chairs to ensure prisoners would not attempt to move their seating. The restraints made me think back to a giant corkboard chart shown to us at the beginning of the tour. The chart showcased the number of ”incidents” that have occurred within the facility in the past month. Color-coded pins were used to indicated where the event occurred and the type of incident. Whether it is a simple fight, or the more extreme a murder, they used the board to keep track of potential gang activity within the facility. An assortment of pins scattered the entire board. A majority were blue, indicating a fight had occurred involving the use of a weapon. As the tour commenced we continued to see more disturbing aspects of the facility. This included a bleak five-by-five concrete fenced-in box for inmates to get some “fresh” air. Then, from the compact outdoor area, we were speedily led to the medical center. On the walk there, a heavily chained inmate passed us. Both his feet and hands were chained as he shuffled through the hallway. Our tour guide suggested we not make eye contact with him. Aside from this particular inmate, every other inmate we passed in the halls was simply instructed by a single officer to hug and face the wall. But in this inmate’s case, he was surrounded by several officers who were covered head to toe in protection gear. We were not supposed to pass him but were rapidly pushed into the next area of the tour. This made me question: what else were they not showing us on this tour? The inside of Rikers Island penitentiary was grim. And my final question arose: is Rikers Island an inhumane place? The location fills you up with mixed emotions. You pity these people, but you are constantly reminded of the crimes they committed because pictures of their faces are plastered on the door to their cells with notes on their arrest. Feces cover their walls, but you are reminded by the guards that they not only smeared it there themselves, but they put themselves into this situation. You hear only the guards’ side of situations, while inmates can be heard screaming from their solitary cells. Their basic needs may be met, but their lives are immensely restricted. And while you know they are let out for one hour’s recreation time, you understand that all these restrictions exist for specific reasons. As you walk down hallways that feel labyrinthine, you are reminded of the giant corkboard that they showed you earlier, showing the levels of violence all over the institution. You are reminded of an area in which a murder possibly took place, potentially hours before your arrival. You ask yourself: is this the only way a prison can be run? Do people come out more violent than they went in? The experience was eye-opening; the glorification of prison on television shows masks the grim truths that occur behind these closed walls. Being inside those enclosed walls as a visitor for only a few hours, I felt my own hope slowly slip away. The sense of hopelessness endured is truly what makes Rikers Island inhumane.
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