Book 'Em
A beige-uniformed inmate eyed me solemnly as we shook hands and sized each other up. Ulises, my first ESL student in the Morris County jail, was a nonreader in his native language, and had difficulty participating fully in classroom activities. Since I hadn't been exposed to much illiteracy, I phoned a local tutor for insight. During our conversation, she suddenly snarled at me, "Why waste your time on someone like that? Why not teach someone who deserves it?" Good question, highly reflective of public attitude toward teaching incarcerated adults, and one I later asked myself: "Why do we bother teaching them ESL, and what results do we expect?" In search of an answer to my question, I visited several New Jersey jails and prisons, observing classes and interviewing staff and inmates. In the process I found that many of the challenges we face are common to educational programs in correctional facilities across the board. And I think _ answered my question. The issues in corrections education fall into three broad categories:
- External (government-related);
- Administrative (related to internal policy), and;
- Academic (related to the actual classroom and students).
The primary government-related complaint was the budget. Since money is a problem everywhere in education, this factor would not normally be worth a mention, except for the fact that public attitude affects policy and funding. Understandably, programs for prisoners fall low on the financial priority list. After all, why should "criminals" benefit further from society's limited resources, while law-abiding taxpayers struggle for adequate education for their children?
The rationale for offering ESL and GED to inmates has at least two justifications. The first is practical: Basic communicative competence is necessary in order to navigate the criminal justice system fairly. Basic academic and vocational skills are necessary, too, for a person to build a productive crime-free life. While education in itself cannot alter a person's morals, it can provide the individual with the tools to implement a change in lifestyle. And when that happens, society as a whole is the beneficiary.
The other aspect is motivational: When an inmate achieves success in a constructive activity, the individual is likely to attempt other endeavors. Also, a mutually respectful student-teacher relationship can influence inmates' redirection toward desirable social behaviors. To counteract public negativity, this rationale must be communicated to the general public. Some corrections educators do this by publishing articles or columns on the subject. Others invite local reporters to inspect the programs at their facilities. On one unfortunate occasion this well-meaning attempt at bridge building backfired when an inmate accidentally short-circuited the prison's lighting system while power-washing the kitchen walls. In time-honored journalistic tradition, the ensuing (and incorrect) news reports had the hapless hacks trapped in a darkened classroom with rapists and murderers while frantic prison guards tried to beat down the door.
Another statewide concern is the professional isolation experienced by ESL teachers in corrections environments. Institutions are widely dispersed, usually with only one ESL teacher per facility. These teachers are curious as to how their counterparts deal with those classroom issues peculiar to corrections, but have little opportunity for collegiality. Within corrections facilities, educational programs, though mandated, come low on the list of priorities. Educators and other program providers often feel relegated to second-class status, and officers and even administrators tend to disdain inmate programs as a necessary nuisance. Custody is, understandably, their main concern. There is a three-way communication gap between administration, custody, and programs. As a result, policies do not usually reflect the interests of rehabilitation, and restrictive regulations thwart efforts to recruit new students, get students to class promptly, or conduct classes creatively and realistically.
This situation is largely due to misunderstandings and false assumptions about one another's values and intentions. Occasionally our local county facility holds staff/volunteer meetings outside the jail, providing rare opportunities for social and intellectual interaction between officers and civilian workers. Regular staff meetings and functions including officers and program providers, as well as more open-mindedness on all sides, would go a long way toward reducing polarization. Despite these frustrations, and once past all the clanging gates and buzzing doors, teachers find themselves in a haven where men and women in beige uniforms are not just inmates, but students, human beings, even friends.
They come from contrasting backgrounds, from city streets, from comfortable homes. Their attitudes and abilities are as varied as their uniforms are identical. The greatest challenge is how to meet the range of language needs of such a diverse population.
The disparity is most commonly and effectively addressed with tutors, either civilian volunteers or trained inmates. Most jail ESL classes contain several students with extremely low-level basic skills. Like Ulises, my first student, some cannot read in their own language, or have no concept of grammar. Tutors work either with individual students or small groups, focusing on literacy or special grammar and vocabulary needs. In the Morris County jail, tutor training is provided by Literacy Volunteers of America.
In state prisons, some inmate tutors independently conduct their own off-hours ESL classes. For non-literate inmate-students, tutors and teachers rely heavily on pictures, oral work, and TPR. Inmates express various motives for participating in ESL classes. Most want to improve their English but other factors can influence their decision to join the class. For many, it's an alternative to watching TV, playing pinochle, and salivating over pornography. It's a chance to get off the cellblock, talk to other people, and see outsiders. And it counts in their favor at parole hearings.
While classes can take the inmates' minds off their situation, the opposite is also true; personal problems affect students' concentration. Isolated from family, they worry about their wives', children's, and parents' health and financial problems: One student was constantly worried about her dog! Anxiety, combined with frustration over their own inability to do anything, can overshadow any efforts to learn. At the county level, most inmates' cases are pending, so concerns over the outcome dominate their lives. For prisoners at state institutions, that issue, at least, is usually settled. Low skills, mixed motives, and overwhelming personal distractions produce students who enjoy learning only when it is entertaining. Adrienne Barclay, Educator at the Morris County jail, has developed a particularly effective program for keeping students' attention.
Adrienne opens class with general reviews and discussion. Following that, less able students move to tutoring groups, while advanced students use computerized grammar or word-processing software to study or write. Adrienne teaches the intermediate students, integrating vocabulary, grammar, and life-skills in thematic units. She reinforces grammatical structures with games and dramatized dialogs, often with hilarious results.
Several years ago, as part of a unit on the judicial process (a life-skill for them), she directed the class in a brilliant theatrical production. She began with a picture of a courtroom scene, and elicited identification of the different people in it: judge, defendant, prosecutor, bailiff, etc. The students as a group (all levels) developed a story behind the scene, including how the accused got there, what had happened, what was going on. Adrienne then prepared a diagram, a flow-chart, depicting the sequence of steps in the process (arrest, arraignment, plea, etc.). The class dramatized each act of the evolving script, ideas proliferated, and creativity blossomed. Students dressed up in borrowed neckties, firemen's hats, tin badges, and raincoats. Adrienne supplied props, including toy handcuffs, telephone, and cash register. Ultimately, after numerous revisions and rehearsals, a guard videotaped the final production. The inmates loved seeing themselves as judges, cops, lawyers, and businessmen. Everyone had a role.
One frustration during that time was student turnover. An inmate playing a part perfectly could be unexpectedly released or transferred. Student turnover, however, is a fact of life in jail. Inmates are happy to be going home, but teachers regret that many leave before developing the desired competence, and are lost to follow-up. To ensure meaningful instruction, lessons build upon one another, but each day's lesson must be self-contained.
Adrienne's theatrical venture captures the essence of why we teach ESL, and other subjects, to people in prison. When inmates are students, and when these students, through drama, become teachers, judges, and lawyers, they temporarily cast off the criminal identity that society, as a result of their past actions, has branded them with. They discover enjoyment in constructive pursuits, and realize they can derive satisfaction from legitimate activities.