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News :: Prisons |
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Another Community With Jail Suicides |
Current rating: 0 |
by Sandra Ahten
Email: spiritofsandra (nospam) hotmail.com (unverified!)
Phone: 217-367-6345 |
16 Jun 2005
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This is a re-post of an article written by Dana Green of the Ravalli Rupublic in Montana. She references Champaign County. |
Seeking solutions to self-destruction
by Dana Green - Ravalli Republic
When he heard about the third suicide, Sheriff Dan Walsh felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.
It was December 4, 2004, in Champaign County, Ill., a racially mixed community of 186,000 people. 25-year-old Terrell Layfield, in jail for giving officers a false name during a drug arrest, had hung himself in his cell using his bed sheet.
Walsh, elected county sheriff in 2002, oversees two jails in Urbana, a growing town 90 miles from Springfield. As many as 350 prisoners are housed in the separate facilities, with up to 30 prisoners entering its walls each day.
Two inmates had killed themselves earlier in the year - the first in June, the second in July. One inmate, Joseph Beavers, had managed to commit suicide only six hours after his intake interview, using a telephone cord to strangle himself in his booking cell.
In six months, three young men were dead - with little explanation of why.
Only a mile from the Champaign County Jail, on Vine Street in Urbana, Sandra Ahten read about Layfield's suicide in the newspaper with a growing sense of outrage.
Ahten, a local artist and diet counselor, had first-hand experience with incarceration at the county jail: the year before, her 22-year-old son had been arrested. Ahten thought about how isolated and scared her son had been as an inmate, cut off from family and friends.
Ahten began to do research on how many suicides had occured in Illinois county jails over the past year. The numbers surprised her. Throughout the county jail system, there had been eight suicides in the state of Illinois - and three had been in Champaign County.
"I didn't know if this was normal," Ahten said. "There was no press releases ... it was just reported as another death. It didn't look like there was going to be an investigation."
Ahten acknowledges that, for her, the deaths were a very personal matter.
"Having had my son in the jail, it is a very real place - it is part of our community," Ahten said. "For most people, they just drive by. Inmates are a forgotten population."
Closer to home, Ravalli County Sheriff Chris Hoffman is now grimly familiar with the Champaign County sheriff's predicament.
On Feb. 20, 2004, Mark Daniel Wilson was found hanging in his cell at the Ravalli County Detention Center in Hamilton.
In September, detention officers found another inmate strangling himself with his bed sheets, but managed to lower him to the ground and transport him to the hospital.
Then in March, a sudden string of suicides, one after another, caught the attention of the community.
On March 21, Bradley Palin, 42, a father of four, hanged himself only a week after being arrested under suspicion of starting two fires in a rural neighborhood south of Hamilton.
In April, detention officers found Ryan Heath, a 27-year-old Hamilton High School graduate, dead in his cell.
One month later, Scott Lewis, incarcerated on methamphetamine charges, was also found dead of an apparent suicide.
At a press conference on May 23, Hoffman expressed frustration at the string of deaths within his facility.
He also pointed out that Ravalli County was not the only detention center facing a sudden rash of inmate suicide attempts.
Hoffman cited Sheriff Walsh in Champaign County - he too had to explain to his community why a handful of young men had died under his watch.
Hoffman promised that the National Institute of Corrections would send an expert consultant to assess the Ravalli County Detention Center for weaknesses in their suicide prevention policies.
But Hoffman told the grieving families gathered at the courthouse press conference that sometimes suicides were in the hands of only one person - the inmate.
"They made choices that ended them in (jail)," Hoffman said. "We are reactive. They get the chance to do what they do first."
For Lindsay Hayes, jail suicides are a difficult problem - but they are also a preventable one.
Literally and figuratively, Hayes has written the book on jail and prison suicides. A project director for the National Center on Institutions and Alternatives in Mansfield, Mass., Hayes has conducted hundreds of jail suicide assessments across the country for the National Institute of Corrections.
In 1980, he wrote the only national study on suicide in correctional facilities for the U.S. Department of Justice. Hayes now serves as editor for the NIC publication Jail Suicide/Mental Health Update, a quarterly newsletter.
Inmate suicides are a problem every detention facility - large and small - must face, according to Hayes.
According to the latest figures from the Justice Department's Census of Jails, suicide is the second leading cause of death in the nation's jails - second only to illnesses and other natural causes, and far exceeding death rates from AIDS, drug overdoses and injuries.
However, if natural causes were broken down into separate illnesses, suicide would be the leading cause of death, Hayes said.
"Every jail is susceptible to suicide - they are incarcerating people," said Hayes.
But when jails experience a string of suicides over a short period of time, in Hayes' experience, there is usually a serious problem.
The census figures agree: Only five percent of jails that reported suicides had more than one death occur in a one-year period.
When Hayes heard that four suicides have occurred at the 78-bed Ravalli County Detention Center, three since March, shock crept into his voice.
"That's one of the largest ratios of suicides to number of beds that I've seen in 25 years of research," he said. "There's something very wrong at that jail."
But what is wrong can be fixed, in Hayes' opinion.
After studying more than 1,500 cases of jail suicide nationwide in his career, Hayes has outlined eight factors that go into an effective detention suicide prevention program.
Those eight factors include thorough officer training; careful intake screening; effective communication between law enforcement and mental health counselors; a safe environment to put suicidal prisoners; and rigorous observation techniques; as well as medical intervention, reporting and assessment when a suicide attempt occurs.
These elements should be in place in every correctional institute: large or small, well-funded or not, according to Hayes.
"It doesn't have much to do with the size of the jail or the resources available," Hayes said.
Law enforcement officers can be trained to identify suicidal signs in prisoners. Inmates can be screened more closely during the intake process. Communication between officers and mental health staff can be improved, so that if an arresting officer sees telltale signs, that information is passed along effectively down the line to counselors.
It is easy for communication to break down between the numerous staff members that deal with each inmate, according to Hayes.
"An arresting officer might have heard something on the scene at the arrest and didn't pass it along to mental health staff," Hayes said.
Officers also must learn to recognize the type of inmate most at risk, Hayes said.
The typical suicide within the jail system is a young, white, single male, incarcerated for a nonviolent offense. Often, a suicide will occur within the first 48 hours after a prisoner is booked.
Inmates who successfully commit suicide are often intoxicated or under the influence of drugs at the time they are arrested, Hayes said.
"The level of intoxication plays a huge role," he said.
Overwhelmingly - 92 percent, according to census figures - suicide victims die by asphyxiation, using bed sheets or clothing.
After multiple suicides, local officials at smaller detention facilities often blame a lack of funding, or say that there's little they can do about suicide, according to Hayes.
But that's simply not true, he said.
"If they didn't have this problem two years ago, they need to evaluate their program," he said.
Whether a jail holds 78 beds or 5,000, officials need to make sure that all eight of those factors are in place - in practice, not just in an unopened policy manual, according to Hayes.
"It's one thing to have a policy that looks good on paper, but then it (might) not be happening in practice," he said.
Most of the program elements cost little to put into place - changing an intake screening form or training, for example, can be done with minimal cost, according to Hayes.
In the end, it becomes a matter of priorities.
Top elected officials, from county commissioners to the sheriff, must have zero tolerance for suicides in their jail if the program is to be successful, says Hayes.
"You don't have to accept inmate suicides in your jail system," Hayes said. "A lot of it has to do with attitude. You can't be 100 percent successful. But there are a lot of things a sheriff can do to prevent a completed suicide in their facility."
At Orange County Jail, suicide prevention has become a mantra - from elected officials to rookie deputies.
The vast jail system, five facilities known as the Orange County Complex, books an average of 60,000 prisoners a year. It is the fourth-largest jail system in the state of California and the thirteenth largest in the nation, holding about 5,000 inmates each day.
Despite its vast size, the jail system's low suicide rate reflects a commitment to prevention - at every level.
As of this year, there have been only five successful suicides in the last decade, according to Kevin Smith, Administrative Manager for Correctional Mental Health for the Orange County jails.
Smith credits the low suicide rates to a sense of teamwork between deputies, health care professionals and counselors.
"It's truly a collaborative team," Smith said. "I feel that is one of the key ingredients. There has got to be leadership from the top down."
Mental health staff is on site - if they determine the inmate to be at risk, preventative steps are implemented. The inmate is placed in a mental health center, guaranteeing more effective observation. The jail system has also designed a special smock so that at-risk prisoners cannot use clothing to strangle themselves.
In addition, each deputy holds a laminated card in his or her uniform pocket, listing symptoms to look for, Smith said.
The card represents each officer's commitment to prevent another suicide on his or her watch, according to Smith.
"They touch that card every time they change their uniform," Smith said. "It's sort of a symbol that pulls the group together."
In Champaign County, Sandra Ahten had decided that three suicides were three too many.
Ahten began to show up at county commission meetings. She argued that the jail's restrictive visitation and phone call policies were contributing to the escalating number of suicides.
After an initial phone call, inmates had to pay collect to call outside - often as high as $6 for a 15-minute call, according to Ahten.
Visits were also heavily restricted - the sheriff's department only allowed 50 visitors per day, and family members often had to wait hours trying to get in, according to Ahten.
These restrictive policies left family members unable to detect warning signs of depression, according to Ahten.
In early March, Sheriff Walsh loosened visitation and phone call rules, allowing inmates more access to their families.
Ahten and other members of Champaign-Urbana Citizens for Peace and Justice, a grassroots citizens group, also pushed for a National Institute of Corrections assessment to be conducted.
The report, released in March, indicated that training for officers needed to be expanded, and that all inmates should go through a screening process, conducted by mental health professionals, within two weeks after intake.
The report also recommended that prisoners at a high level of risk for a suicide attempt be monitored more closely.
In the wake of community activism, Sheriff Walsh turned to the Champaign County Board of Commissioners to help fulfill the report's goals.
The county commissioners were committed to ending the cycle, according to Walsh.
Since the report came out, the detention center has tripled its clinical staff, and brought in a part-time in-house psychiatrist. Officers now do not have to take the security risk, as they did previously, of bringing prisoners off-site for mental health evaluations.
"The county Board has been very supportive," Walsh said. "I said, 'I know money is tight, but we need to do this.'"
Within his department, the attitude regarding inmate suicide has also changed significantly, according to Walsh.
"The officers are much more vigilant," he said. "They're trying to pay attention to even the small details about how an inmate is acting."
According to Sheriff Walsh, the changes have relieved a weight on the shoulders of his team, which includes about 185 full- and part-time officers and support staff.
After the third suicide, depression and anxiety had begun to affect the ranks of his department, according to Walsh.
"From the officers to me, you know these people," Walsh said. "(These) are members of the community - they're just in a secure environment."
Preventing suicides in the jail was important to the community - but also to the morale of detention staff, Walsh found.
"We are hoping that by doing this, it will improve things for inmates - but also my employees," Walsh said. "They were under (enormous) stress."
When multiple suicides occur, bringing in the NIC to do a jail assessment is the right first step, according to Hayes.
The National Institute of Corrections, under the auspices of the Justice Department, offers technical assistance, resources, and information to state and local correction agencies across the country.
The NIC helps local detention facilities plan for expansion, provides information on mental health issues among inmate populations, and conducts operational assessments and inmate management reviews, said Jim Barbee, a correctional programs specialist with the NIC's jails division.
An NIC assessment is scheduled at the Ravalli County Detention Center this week, and that could help target policy problems, Barbee said.
"Sometimes a set of fresh eyes helps," Barbee said. "Sometimes (officials) are so close to the forest they can't see the trees."
But for the Ravalli County Detention Center, a professional assessment is only the beginning, in Hayes' view.
The NIC assessment is strictly non-regulatory - a consultant will be sent in only when requested by local law enforcement officials, and they have power only to make recommendations, not to enforce any changes.
"This is not an investigation," Barbee said. "Our sole purpose is to provide technical assistance and problem solving."
Once the assessment is conducted, the community needs to remain vigilant to be sure elected officials are committed to making necessary changes, Hayes said.
Sheriff's departments can - and should - be held responsible for suicides within their facilities, according to Hayes.
"Ultimately, they are responsible for what goes on within those walls," he said.
But the community also can play a large role in tackling the root causes of inmate suicides.
In Champaign County, Aaron Ammons, a CUCPJ co-founder and activist, says that the group's members have tried to take a hard look at the bigger social problems facing their community - of which jail suicides are just one symptom.
Drug use, lack of mental health counseling, suicide rates among the general population and overzealous prosecutions can all play a role, Ammons believes.
Ammons said that prosecutors in Champaign County have pursued felony convictions at a rate that leaves little hope for first-time and nonviolent offenders.
Cuts in mental health funding have also played a role, Ammons added.
Ultimately, the community sets the priorities - and they have the choice of whether or not to take action.
"(The community is) going to have to stay vigilant," Ammons said. "The elected officials are going to think you'll go away. But officials must know that the (public) is not going to go away."
Ammons said that his organization's efforts to eliminate jail suicides go beyond merely protests - it is about shaping the kind of community where everyone is safe and protected, even those who have broken the law.
"They can see we're not just out here protesting," Ammons said. "We want to be part of this process - to help them do their jobs better."
For Sheriff Walsh, that job now includes not just locking up prisoners, but also protecting them.
"These people downstairs Å they are almost like my children," he said. "I have a statutory duty to take care of them."
As for Ahten, she has become a tireless advocate for inmate rights, who has gained the grudging respect of local elected officials and community leaders in Urbana.
Ahten is now working on a new goal - to provide a library service for Champaign County inmates.
Despite the fact that the jail is less than two blocks from the University of Illinois campus, inmates do not have access to books, according to Ahten.
Her ultimate goal, Ahten says, is to get the community to see inmates as real people with problems - not just statistics in the daily newspaper.
A recovering alcoholic, Ahten said she has compassion for individuals struggling to turn their lives around.
In her view, community resources should go toward tutoring, job training, drug counseling and recovery - not just adding beds in the jail.
"What I'm hoping to do is get the whole community thinking about the jail," she said. "As a community, we can start to think preventatively. These people are not put away and never coming back. They are community members. You can't pretend they don't exist."
In Ravalli County, the families of the inmates who committed suicide are just starting to ask questions - to try to find out why.
Becky Rickman, Ryan Heath's maternal grandmother, lives in Portland. Rickman traveled to the Bitterroot to help her daughter, Linda Heath, Ryan's mother, when she heard the news that Ryan had been arrested for an alleged sexual assault.
Trying to set aside visitation hours for other family members, Rickman was unable to see Ryan in the two weeks before his death.
Rickman still doesn't know why - why Ryan was so despondent, or whether his death could have been prevented.
"I didn't get in to talk to him at all," she said. "Somewhere there was a breakdown in communication."
Ryan was severely hearing impaired - but Rickman said she still doesn't know whether detention guards were aware of that fact.
Mostly, Ryan's family simply wants answers, Rickman said.
"The whole family feels his death was entirely needless," Rickman said. "Right now, all I can say is that there is a great deal of unanswered questions." |
See also:
http://ravallinews.com/articles/2005/06/08/news/news01.txt
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This work is in the public domain |
Comments
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Re: Another Community With Jail Suicides |
by Jamie Lewis
ROSEooxxo (nospam) aol.com (unverified) |
Current rating: 0
10 Jul 2005
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I am Scott Lewis's wife, and this has to be the sadest period I have ever experienced in my entire life. I'm gonna get right to the point, what bothers me the most, is that I had sent Scott a letter to the Ravalli Detention Center, mind you we had not had contact in a few months, and it wasn't until I had gotten cancer, and contacted his mother because she was a cancer survivor, that she told me he was arressted. Anyhow, Scott never got that letter, because there was an unknown substance on it. It was my tear drops, and the same thing happened with the next letter. I did not know that about the first letter until I got the second one returned to me. My point, I would like to make is, when you have an inmate, who was brought in because 911 was called because he took a bunch of pills, and then when the police come, he tries to get the officer to shoot him, the inmate is in maximum security, he was suicidal coming in, you see he has not had even one visitor, because his family lives in Omaha, Ne, why, would it have been so f------- hard for them to either go read him the letter, or make a copy of it! Cause now my husband is dead without ever knowing I was there for him, I didn't just abandoned him in his time of need. We were married 17 years, and had seperated for many reasons, but I am telling you this, if he would have gotten my letters, this would never have happened, it would have gave him hope, he would have made it through this, I know this, as sure as I'm sitting here balling my eyes out. Now I have to live with this the rest of my life. Not to mention the phone call I missed at his moms house because I was going through chemo, and was to sick that night to make it up there. I'm sure he thought that night I abandoned him to, and just didn't care anymore,but he wouldn't know that wasn't the case because,,,, he never got my letter. I had such a hard time when I knew they were about to close his casket for the last time. I wanted to crawl right in there with him, so he would know I was always there for him, and would never abandoned him, and was still there for him. I just didn't want to let him go, or believe he was gone. I still can not come to terms with his death, or the fact that he is gone. I think as small as that detention center was, they could have taken 2 minutes to read him that letter. Only if,,,,, runs through my head so unbelievably often, you have no clue. Only if he woulda got that letter, or only if they could have taken 2 min. to read it to him. Only if , only if, only if, only if........
Sincerely,
Jamie Lewis |
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Re: Another Community With Jail Suicides |
by Jamie Lewis
ROSEooxxo (nospam) aol.com (unverified) |
Current rating: 0
10 Jul 2005
|
I am Scott Lewis's wife, and this has to be the sadest period I have ever experienced in my entire life. I'm gonna get right to the point, what bothers me the most, is that I had sent Scott a letter to the Ravalli Detention Center, mind you we had not had contact in a few months, and it wasn't until I had gotten cancer, and contacted his mother because she was a cancer survivor, that she told me he was arressted. Anyhow, Scott never got that letter, because there was an unknown substance on it. It was my tear drops, and the same thing happened with the next letter. I did not know that about the first letter until I got the second one returned to me. My point, I would like to make is, when you have an inmate, who was brought in because 911 was called because he took a bunch of pills, and then when the police come, he tries to get the officer to shoot him, the inmate is in maximum security, he was suicidal coming in, you see he has not had even one visitor, because his family lives in Omaha, Ne, why, would it have been so f------- hard for them to either go read him the letter, or make a copy of it! Cause now my husband is dead without ever knowing I was there for him, I didn't just abandoned him in his time of need. We were married 17 years, and had seperated for many reasons, but I am telling you this, if he would have gotten my letters, this would never have happened, it would have gave him hope, he would have made it through this, I know this, as sure as I'm sitting here balling my eyes out. Now I have to live with this the rest of my life. Not to mention the phone call I missed at his moms house because I was going through chemo, and was to sick that night to make it up there. I'm sure he thought that night I abandoned him to, and just didn't care anymore,but he wouldn't know that wasn't the case because,,,, he never got my letter. I had such a hard time when I knew they were about to close his casket for the last time. I wanted to crawl right in there with him, so he would know I was always there for him, and would never abandoned him, and was still there for him. I just didn't want to let him go, or believe he was gone. I still can not come to terms with his death, or the fact that he is gone. I think as small as that detention center was, they could have taken 2 minutes to read him that letter. Only if,,,,, runs through my head so unbelievably often, you have no clue. Only if he woulda got that letter, or only if they could have taken 2 min. to read it to him. Only if , only if, only if, only if........
Sincerely,
Jamie Lewis |
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