Humanitarian Treatment of Humans?

Everyone on the tour of San Quentin was touched by the personal stories of the inmates we heard in the chapel. Emotional, we thanked them and wished them the best as Sam ushered us out for the next part of our tour.

Our next stop was the hospital. Though its establishment date of 1885 was carved above the entrance, it was a new and impressive building, the kind that made me feel good about the use of my tax dollars. 

Completed in 2009, the hospital’s façade remained reminiscent of the original, which was listed on the National Registry of Historic Places. But inside, it was modern and well-organized.

We felt an immediate pride at seeing it, since it was a treasured family friend who helped get it built and supplied with both equipment and professional practitioners. 

My father-in-law’s college classmate, U.S. District Judge Thelton Henderson found in 2001 that the level of healthcare provided within California’s prisons was in violation of the Eighth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution. In 2005, he formalized the order to improve the system by naming a trustee to take over the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation's (CDCR) health care program. He succeeded in making a lot of humanitarian changes. But the receivership has ended and with the blame and vigilante mentality that has scarred our country of late, I worry about continuing such progress. 

But Thelton remains positive. He was quoted in a 2018 article saying, “At this point, the arc of criminal justice is bent toward better conditions in our prisons—more humane sentences, more realistic treatment of people in our state prison system,” he said. “You can quote me as being optimistic in the long run.”

According to the article, “The judge visited San Quentin one last time, in 2015, to give a talk in the prison chapel. As he entered the room, the prisoners rose to their feet and cheered.”

Inside the hospital, we saw the state-of-the-art medical, dental, and mental health care services. Some of the patients were very old and frail. They didn’t look like predators anymore. 

There were rooms for group therapy sessions. These reminded us of the men’s status as criminals. Arranged in a semi-circle were cages that the men sat in, locked, when working with a therapist. Along with a seat inside each was a built in metal desk for writing.

A few men waited for a session in a locked room with a thick glass door. One of the men stared at me, a stony, objectifying stare. It was the only time during my four-hour tour inside San Quentin that I felt a sense of personal violation. 

Leaving the impressive facility, we made our way to the Dungeons.

(Continued in 100 Day Challenge #46)