Conditions of Confinement -- Giving Effect to Legal
As discussed, the CCRA provides that
prisoners in administrative segregation shall be given the same rights,
privileges and conditions of confinement as the general population, except
for those rights, privileges and conditions that can only be enjoined
in association with other prisoners or cannot reasonably be given owing
to limitations specific to the administrative segregation area or security
requirements. The Task Force found that "the operational reality has been
that inmates, their advocates or program staff have had to demonstrate
why they should be provided the same rights, privileges and programs.
The legal reality is that the CSC has to demonstrate why they should not
be provided" (Task Force Report at 50). To get a more informed picture
of the national situation, the Task Force distributed a questionnaire
to all segregated prisoners in late 1996 and received responses from almost
four hundred. The purpose of the questionnaire was to determine whether
prisoners had the same, less, or more access to rights, privileges, and
services while in segregation. The responses confirmed that, under current
practice, administrative convenience and security considerations had all
but eclipsed legal programming requirements. This confirmation has important
implications for the issue of independent adjudication. Just as independent
adjudicators are not likely to allow administrative convenience to overshadow
the requirements of justice, so also would they be less likely to permit
the abridgement of the Serviceís lawful requirements regarding programming
for administrative convenience or ill-defined security considerations.
At the time prisoner Glen Rosenthal responded to the questionnaire,
he had served a year in segregation at Edmonton Max. In addition to checking
off the list of questions, he offered these reflections:
In the course of completing this survey I have found
it extremely difficult to convey the reality of living in this segregation
unit for nearly a year. I have spent fifteen years in many different prisons
and have found myself in the segregation units of most of them at one
time or another. Never have I experienced anything remotely comparable
to what I am experiencing now. It is one thing to be locked in a cell
for a year, and that of itself is bad enough. Add to that the fact that
you have no idea how long it will continue . . . And add to that the fact
that your health has deteriorated to the point where you doubt you will
ever be healthy again . . . You canít sleep more than three or at best
four hours at a time. You are constantly getting awoken by music blasting,
barriers clanging open and shut. You are always tired. You have gone from
a hundred and fifty pounds to a hundred and ninety pounds and every muscle
in your body is either knotted or atrophied. The warden told you he would
transfer you to B.C., so your wife moved there six months ago and you
have watched your marriage fall apart one piece at a time since then.
You have been wearing stinking rags for so long you donít notice it anymore.
You look older, fatter, disgusting to yourself when you look in the mirror.
Your self-esteem is sub-zero . . .
You want to complain about the rags you get for clothes
but you know the cleaners will spit in your food or urinate in your coffee
if you do. You want to complain about the guard who miscounted your phone
calls for the month, only giving you one or two, but you know next month
you wonít get any if you do. You want to complain about not being transferred
but you know that this will piss somebody off and you will never get out.
You canít bear the thought of people you love seeing you in this condition
so you donít take any visits. Your life is so static there is nothing,
absolutely nothing left to write to anyone about. Your once passionate
and hopeful phone conversations with your wife turn into a string of uncomfortable
silences and misdirected frustrations. But she is the only one who will
listen, and then one day there is no one. You spend twenty hours a day
on your back, somewhere between waking and sleeping, trying to keep your
mind out of the dark places but you canít. Your mind seems full of thoughts
that donít belong there. You canít carry a conversation anymore because
you are afraid one of them will slip out. You donít tell anyone because
you are even more afraid of the medication they might think you need.
I donít use words like "afraid" easily. I have always
identified myself with being up to whatever challenge came my way, and
so far I have. I have never faced a challenge that threatens who and what
I am more than this last year in this segregation unit. It is no exaggeration
to call this cruel and unusual punishment. Though the circumstances here
are likely more the product of indifference than malice, it is no less
insidious and destructive. My health is gone, my life has fallen apart,
parts of me that words canít describe will not recover from this. And
I did nothing wrong. All this is happening to me because the machine isnít
working and no one seems obliged to fix it.
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