Constantly on the move: The reality of incarceration
Today's newsletter features a conversation with my friend Tony, who was incarcerated for over three decades. He talks about constant transfers and relocations that are a common part of prison life.
Hello Readers,
Before we jump into today’s newsletter, I wanted to share a quick update on my bro.
My last visit to him was on Memorial weekend. He was his same stoic, serious self. I think he’s still depressed and in a dark place.
After the visit, I told him I wouldn’t use the prison’s texting/app to communicate with him because I grew tired of trying to decipher and respond to his bizarre messages. (See this post for more explanation.) I decided maybe communication through the mail would be better so he could formulate sentences and paragraphs more cohesively, but he hasn’t written back.
In California, moving from prison to prison is a regular occurrence. My brother’s Central California Prison (called CCI) is his third prison, and its location in the mountains of Tehachapi is the closest to my parents.
This year, CCI is supposedly going to move 3,000 incarcerated men to his facility in Tehachapi. I say supposedly because I didn’t see anything official online—this information came from a correctional officer I spoke with during my last visit to the facility.
When I did some digging online, I recently saw a thread on Reddit that said CCI would close permanently in 2029. Again, I’m unsure if this information is accurate. If it is, it means my brother and the incarcerated people housed at CCI will need to transfer to a different facility.
Whether 3,000 people relocate to CCI or if the facility will permanently shut down, the incarcerated population will be forced to uproot their lives and learn the new rules and culture of another prison. Their families and loved ones will also need to navigate the change in distance and how that affects their ability to visit.
To shed more light on these transfers, I spoke to Tony, my go-to resource, whenever I have questions about anything prison-related. I wanted to share our conversation in a Q&A format.
Tell us about yourself and your background.
I served 32 years in prison for a crime I committed when I was 17. I've been out for almost seven years now.
Within the week of my release, I started volunteering with the Partnership for Reentry Program, also known as PREP, because I wanted to be in an environment where I could acclimate myself back into society. Most of the PREP staff members at that time were all formerly incarcerated.
Today, I serve as the executive director of this program. Our organization provides self-help correspondence courses and prison workshops to incarcerated men and women across California.
Once they're paroled, we offer the “returning home citizen support” and mentorship and guide their transition back into society.
Do you ever run across people that you’ve known when you were in prison?
All the time. Last year, we went to 16 different institutions, and in almost every institution I've been to, I've met somebody that I spent time with.
The lifer population is a small community, and they stick together. Many of them go to self-help, and they're very assertive in their rehabilitation. PREP offers in-prison workshops, and a lot of them attend. I always end up meeting somebody I did time with.
How does that feel when you see someone you did time with?
It's emotional because of survivor's remorse.
Many of these guys on the inside are really good guys. They can't just get through the parole board process and can't seem to get dates for their hearing. But they're really good guys and I know they've changed.
I agree. Even in my short time volunteering at a men’s prison, I’ve met such genuinely good and kind-hearted people who’ve made mistakes.
They say the difference between the inmate population and the staff is that the inmate population got caught.
Good one!
You mentioned it's expected for incarcerated people to be moved from prison to prison without any notice or reason. Can you talk more about that?
Doing time [in prison] means you're always in a transitory state. There are so many reasons why a transfer happens, whether it's an adverse transfer, which means the person got into some kind of trouble, or a non-adverse transfer through programming.
Adverse, like a fight?
Yes. Or if you get a lot of write-ups and your points go up, so they have to place you [elsewhere] according to your point level.
Is that the most common reason?
Not necessarily. There's the other scale, too, where it's a non-adverse transfer where the guys that do programs, they go to school, and then they get their points taken off with good behavior, get placed to a lower level that requires them to move prisons as well.
Also, some prisons, like the one near your brother’s, may lose funding. About three years ago, [the prison in] Tracy closed down. Right now, Chukawalla Valley State Prison is in the process of closing.
So, because of overcrowding and the three-judge panel ruling to ease the population, they are closing down some of the institutions and facilities.
What facility were you housed in for the longest amount of time?
I've been transferred five times during my whole incarceration. Once was due to a facility re-designation. Twice, it was a custody level change, and twice for a positive program change.
What does that mean?
Custody level changes, as in, points go down, so they have to place you accordingly. When I first started, I was level four, and I went down to three, and then two, so I was transferred each time I dropped a level.
You were transferred to a new prison, not within the same facility, right?
Correct.
Which prisons?
My very first prison was San Quentin.
When I first got to San Quentin in ‘87, I met all these OGs [“original gangsters”] and old-timers who had been there for decades. They’d share their stories with me, and it was a reminder of my situation. At that time, I just accepted the fact that San Quentin would be where I would spend the rest of my life.
Wow.
Two years later, they re-designated San Quentin from a level four to a level two yard. So they had to kick out all the level fours out of San Quentin.
Was that a huge population of people?
Yeah. I think back then, San Quentin held over 1,500 guys.
Going back to where you were arrested in Southern Cali… is it normal to be arrested in one place and then get moved to a different part of the state?
Yeah, because back then, there weren’t as many prisons. The prison-building population didn't boom until several years after I came in.
Back then, the only level four institutions were San Quentin, Folsom, and Soledad. Those were the three major places they sent you to, and they were all up north.
What was it like for your parents to visit when you were so far away?
During the first three years of my incarceration, I was located close enough to my family where I could receive regular visits.
But San Quentin was the furthest prison from my family.
When you were housed there, what was that initial visitation like for your family?
It was hard because they'd never been to a prison before. They didn't know the process [of how to visit].
Luckily, my celly at the time was also Korean, so his wife would visit. Eventually, my mom and dad carpooled with her to San Quentin for my first visit.
What are the chances! So your celly's wife lived in SoCal?
Yeah, in Koreatown.
How frequently did your folks come and see you at San Quentin?
Like every other month because it was an exhausting visit.
A typical travel plan would involve leaving L.A. after work on a Friday evening and then driving all night. They’d see me a couple hours Saturday and a couple hours Sunday, and drive back six hours, sleep, and then go to work Monday.
After San Quentin, where did you go?
From there, they gave me an option—Folsom or Tehachapi. So my choice was Tehachapi because it was a little bit closer to home.
I didn’t know you could get a choice. Did you know anything about either prison before making your decision?
No, I had no idea.
Did you ask around?
Yeah. Tehachapi was the newest prison. It just opened, which is why there was a lot of room for them to take the transferring guys from San Quentin.
I didn't want to go to Folsom because it was just as far as San Quentin for my parents. It was a no-brainer for me because I wanted to be closer to home, so I went to Tehachapi.
When you moved from San Quentin to Tehachapi, what was going through your mind?
I was nervous and scared every time I got transferred because it meant I had to leave friends behind. I had to stop the program I was attending, and I had to develop a new support system. Change is hard.
What can you take with you?
You are allowed to take [some of] your things. But because of space, they only let you take the bare minimum of what you have in your cell, which is about six cubic feet of property. You have to whittle down the stuff you want to take.
Transferring is frustrating and very intrusive because every time you move, they strip you out. It's due to security, but it's hard because a lot of times they don't tell you when you're going to go, what time, what day… all of a sudden, it’s like, “Hey, get ready, you're gonna be moving pretty soon,” but they could call you whenever. The process is not very efficient or planned out very well.
When you get to a new place, you're starting all over; you're at the bottom of the totem pole. You have to figure out—who's who on the yard, and get the lay of the land.
Also, when you try to get a job, you don’t get the one you wanted or the job you previously had at the other prison, so it’s challenging.
What was the most difficult transfer and why?
The most difficult was the transfer to San Quentin because that was my first real prison. All the places I had been to before that were just temporary locations. I got arrested when I was 17, so I did time in juvenile halls, county jails, and reception centers.
When they told me that I was going to San Quentin, at the time, it was a level four prison. You hear things and watch movies about how dangerous prison is going to be. So, I was scared and felt a lot of anxiety.
Did you ever move and realize it was better than your previous prison?
Yes, twice.
One of the transfers was when I left Tehachapi. Because my points went down, I moved to Lancaster because I thought it would have better programs. When I got there, I saw a flyer. It said if you have any woodworking skills, you could apply to R.J. Donovan to go into a “joint venture.”
A joint venture?
That means there's an outside company coming inside the prison, utilizing inmate labor. They even pay a minimum wage.
What did you make?
I made desks, cabinets, bookshelves.
How long did you work there?
I did it for a year, and then they switched me over to textiles to make clothing for a company called CMT Blues. They were making t-shirts for Kathy Ireland, JC Penney, and No Fear.
I remember Kathy Ireland and No Fear! So were there a lot of people in the program?
Even though there were a lot of flyers at Lancaster for this joint venture program, it was funny… nobody signed up.
Why?
I don't know. But I signed up after talking to a counselor, who gave me an application.
About a month and a half later, they called me to classification, saying, “Hey, you got approved for Donovan, you can go.”
As soon as I got approved, everybody in the whole block was like, “What? You got approved?” They didn't think that flyer was legit.
Why?
I think they thought it was too be true. There were only five of us that went to Donovan for that program.
When an incarcerated individual gets transferred, what do you think is important for the person’s family to know about?
If anything, I think it’s to keep their family, friends, and support network informed.
In the 32 years I've done, I don't think I stayed in one place or one cell for any longer than three or four years. I was always getting moved around.
So, keeping lines of communication open because, most people, like my parents and your parents, don’t have any understanding of the CDCR system. They don’t know the whys and hows that are involved when someone gets transferred.
Giving family members clarity as to what happens inside helps ease a lot of stress and anxiety for family members. So for me, I constantly called my mom to reassure her I was okay.
Tony, thank you so much for your insight. I really appreciate your time.
Of course, you’re welcome!
After my conversation with Tony, I realized that being a property of the state means you’re subjected to getting transferred at any time. I’ve talked to my brother about this before, but he seems to think he will do most of his time at CCI because he’s met people housed at Tehachapi for a decade or longer.
I hope his prison doesn’t close in 2029 because it’s only 2.5 hours from my parents. But if it does, maybe it’ll be good for my brother. Currently, he doesn’t have a celly (despite someone claiming to be his celly calling me a few weeks ago—weird story, more to come on that!) so he’s alone all day, every day.
The way I see it, change is a good thing, and for people like my brother (who is resistant to self-growth) moving to a different facility might force him to socialize and meet new people, which could make a big difference in his time behind bars.
I hope he meets good people and, like Tony, maybe even connect with a few wise “OGs.”
More stories…
Thanks to you and Tony for bringing the details of this unknown world to light.
This was a good read, I enjoyed this one. Tony has also been so kind and helpful with Samuel, we appreciate the introduction to him 🩷🩷