Rikers Island Today: Part One. A Culture of Callousness Seems ‘Unbreakable’
A recent report from a court-appointed Federal monitor cited an increase in violence, abuse, and mismanagement at Rikers Island. It spoke about the normalization of violence and a lack of transparency and urgency from those in charge.
I am here to say that young people are not the problem. They struggle (and fight) to stay safe in Rikers’ hellscape.
I was wrongfully arrested and placed on Rikers two times in my life. Although I was acquitted of charges on each case, the nightmares of incarceration never left my soul. I also worked on Rikers Island. I trained people to be facilitators, counseled those in need, developed programs, and strengthened personalities. But I could not relieve myself of the memories of my experiences as a detainee.
In 1993, I was arrested leaving a neighborhood building from making a supermarket delivery. During those days, gang colors were highly acknowledged and serious, and I happened to have on a pair of faded navy-blue sweatpants and a St. Louis red baseball cap. When I was arrested and charged with drug possession and loitering, I was taken to Rikers and left to survive.
As a 15-year-old I had to quickly learn to look up and toughen up. All the adults around me saw me as prey. I was never a fool or blind to the reputation Rikers Island had; I just never knew that everyone was left to defend themselves – even young people like 15-year-old William.
I remember being sent to the yard with a metal fence surrounding the people inside. The only freedom was the seagulls and sun looking upon me and others. I was approached by another young guy, and he said, “What that red be like?” and continued with “Let me hold on to that hat.” I had no idea of the meaning of his language. But I was immediately informed that my hat meant something in the gang culture. I felt so lost. I removed my hat and held it close, ready to defend what’s mine.
There is so much more I learned before the case against me was dropped/dismissed. I could never forget how cold the setting was, how cold the DOC [Department of Correction] was. I could never wrap my mind around how an adult could beat a young boy up with her hands and other grown men would join – all because he was looking back, talking on line, and walked into the officer by accident. Even after saying he made a mistake he was beaten.
I could never forget having to feel intimidated by huge men [of the DOC special unit], looking like they're on steroids. Whenever they came down a hallway, we all had to take our nose and place it on the wall, looking away from them. One turn of the head got you smacked, kicked, punched, slammed, choked, and thrown around.
Many of these stories you may not hear about – not as much as about the young men fighting one another. What people fail to realize is this: Who wants to be embarrassed and “clowned on” – made fun of – the rest of their time on Rikers Island all because they were jumped and beaten on by adults? And any beating left you to be clowned on.
I remember the strip searches and the way they used to dump our food on the ground or take our clothing. Once a shakedown is initiated, all of what the family brought [on a visit] would be taken away and never replaced. Any questions or fussing would get you thrown into the box or beaten on.
As an adult, I was again placed on Rikers Island for 11 months and four days after another wrongful arrest. I was stripped, searched, disrespected, deprived of things, and refused freedom and people, access to literature and education.
On Rikers, a beating is called a “beaten,” and I watched beatens after beatens provided by DOC staff. I witnessed food being tampered with. I watched people be deprived of recreation and leisure time. I watched shower time be stripped away and phone privileges be stripped away. I watched the same tactics once used on the younger me that made many young people act out and become frustrated.
I realized: It was all a game of: How can DOC rattle this box of people and let them loose on each other? I realized: This was not a place of safety or rehabilitation. What nailed it for me was watching a civilian working at the Rikers grievance office destroy detainee grievances all “because it was baseless.” At that point I knew that no one was to be heard.
A few years later, I returned there to work as an interim supervisor for discharge planners, helping people prepare for their return to the community. I supervised a team of 18 working at nine facilities.
Credible messengers – formerly incarcerated men and women who use their lived experience to mentor young people – also work at Rikers. They do so officially recognized organizations, and also informally through peer networks of support, conflict resolution, and survival. I am a credible messenger and have done this. I felt the difference and the hope for those inside because of so many credible messengers and counselors working hard to make a difference.
But DOC staff just has a culture that seems so unbreakable. This is no environment for peace, love, fairness, or safety.
This is no place for young people, not even a place for an adult. The real solution to reducing violence among young adults in City jails is:
Close Rikers and invest in communities.
Next week: Will new efforts to defuse conflict at Rikers Island work?