Visiting Pelican Bay Prison
In one of the most beautiful parts of the country, thick with redwoods, fresh air, and ocean, the state of California built its only “supermax” prison in 1989. Just north of Crescent City, about 15 minutes from the Oregon border, Pelican Bay is a 7-12 hour drive for families of people imprisoned there. They don’t get many visitors.
There are two parts of the prison. In the photo above, the top building is the “special housing unit”, which is prison-jargon for solitary confinement. Note that there is no ‘yard’ space to go outside in that facility. There are many ‘pods’, with 8 men housed in each pod, who must stay in their pod. The pod includes cells, a small bare common area, and the ‘outside’ area where a person can do their ‘rec’ time when out of their cell. It’s a concrete box with very tall walls and mesh covering the top, where sometimes you can see the sun. Men housed there spend 23 hours a day in their cell, with one hour each day to use the shower and rec room. Until a massive, well organized hunger strike of tens of thousands of CA prisoners led by prisoners in solitary, there were 1500 men held in indefinite solitary confinement – some lived there for decades. In this episode of Ear Hustle, four men who served between 8 and 28 years in solitary share their memories of what it’s like.
Today, thanks to brilliant organizing and advocacy, the number of men in solitary at Pelican Bay has been reduced from 1500 to 150. The rest of the pods have been converted to a lower security prison, though the physical structure is unchanged. The other half is a maximum security (level 4) prison where men are held in general population.
Earlier this month, I traveled to Crescent City to join a group of people brought together by Smart Justice California, One for Justice, and the Anti Recidivism Coalition (ARC) to visit with people inside Pelican Bay. I had heard of this infamously brutal prison and the hunger strikes, but my concept of it was hazy. I jumped at the chance to join this unusual visit, where we would tour many spaces inside the prison that are generally closed off to visitors.
ARC runs a coaching program in prisons across the state, staffed and run by formerly incarcerated men, and several of these coaches were with us throughout the trip. Before going into the prison, we visited the coast. When ARC picks up a man from one of their programs who has just been released after years and years inside prison walls, this is the first place they bring him. The contrast between this wild and beautiful ocean scene and the cramped, dark, soul crushing prison interior was extreme.
On our first day at Pelican Bay, we hustled inside out of the chilly drizzle and went through a careful sign in process. We were welcomed by prison leaders who have advocated for more programming and provided essential inside support for our visit. (It’s a strange feeling to manifest gratitude towards the friendly jailer.) After some intros and rules, we were directed through several secure gates, with a small number of people going through gates at a time. We walked across a barren patch of ground, a stark contrast with the lush California landscape outside the walls, and into the concrete bunker.
We first visited the side built for solitary that has mostly been converted to a level 2 security facility (two steps lower than the max). To reach level 2, men have to have a very low number of points, which are set by things like the nature of the crime committed and whether they were married before the age of 26 (!). The cutoff for level 3 is 59 points; a lot of men come in over 160 points, and the most they can get reduced every year is 12 – this assumes a perfect record with no write ups – which is why everyone we spoke to had been inside for decades already – it takes that long to get to the lower security clearance. Meanwhile, there is so much pain inflicted on the body and psyche in these places, and so much time lost.
We met with prisoners working in several specialty programs. In one classroom, a man eagerly showed me a thick binder full of photos of dogs he has worked with in the dog training program. One dog that this man trained was adopted by his wife, who lives close by in Crescent City. In another room, a person talked about his efforts to transform into a more thoughtful and humane person after decades inside. Late in his introduction, he mentioned that he had been a child soldier in Liberia, which he said may have affected his world outlook (understatement of the year). The men from the art pod (who are all self-taught — see this link for some of their stories) had painted floor to ceiling murals down a 100 foot+ hallway, which added a cheerful patina to the extremely grim surroundings. They are not allowed to sell their art for income, but have raised thousands of dollars for charity.
Above us was the metal catwalk that armed guards used to patrol with their guns pointed when prisoners were being moved between pods, before the hunger strike changed things. We also spoke to some of the 150 men who are still held in solitary confinement (ultra max security). I talked to a man in a cage, through a metal wall with round holes punched in it that made me feel dizzy to look through them, who was 12 days away from finishing an 18-month solitary confinement sentence. We discovered that we both love watching PBS science shows about space.
On the second day, we went to the other side, a maximum security area where men live in general population (not pods). We walked past a large yard, separated by a tall fence, and were directed into a gym filled with about 60 chairs, where we visitors sat intermixed with a group of prisoners. We introduced ourselves and the prisoners said one thing they were proud of – almost every person talked about their efforts to get a college degree inside the prison. We split into small groups. One trend I noticed was how much the men talked about self-improvement and the need to rise beyond their broken home upbringings. I didn’t hear talk about the need to undo structural disadvantages, but that may just have been my group. The three prisoners in my group looked about 20 years old, and all were looking at long years ahead of them. All shared their plans for the future. One showed me his business plan for a mobile education unit to help people in his neighborhood. They had a lot of hope and determination for the future, and they are going to meet a lot of obstacles when they come home, given severe limits on jobs and housing for people with felony records.
I asked several men about the impact of the recent law change making phone calls free, meaning the person at the other end doesn’t have to accept a collect call (see here to learn more about that campaign). One said he recently talked to his sister for the first time in years. Several said that it was giving them new motivation to keep on the rigid and disciplined path necessary to make parole. Since Pelican Bay is too far away for all but the most dedicated visitors who can afford the travel, these calls are a lifeline to family.
If you are interested to learn more about what life is like inside prisons, you may be interested to check out the Douglass Project, where you can do a virtual prison visit.