Prison Labor

With the explosion of critical literature about the prison-industrial
complex in the mid-1990s came a rising outcry about the use of prisoner labor.
Women prisoners, however, were once again overlooked by both academics and
activists in this debate.

When asked, women in prison state that there are very few job opportunities
available to them and that almost none of these jobs are for outside
corporations. They believe that male prisoners have access to better jobs and
better wages, in some cases actually receiving minimum wage for their efforts.
While in reality, male inmates often receive little, if any, pay for their
work, they often have a greater variety of jobs to choose from.

One of the common threads among women prisoners is that if they do work, the do
so at jobs considered "feminine," such as cooking, cleaning, clerking or
teaching. Male prisoners also do this type of work but, for the most part,
mens prisons have more job choice. In Oregon, where Measure Seventeen
mandates that all prisoners work, male inmates have access to jobs which
provide them with skills such as small engine repair, cabinetry, welding,
furniture making, plumbing and computer programming.1 They also have the
opportunity of working for the clothing manufacturer Prison Blues, which,
although eighty percent of an inmates earnings are withheld for incarceration
costs, victim restitution, family support and taxes, pays a starting wage of
$6.60 per hour. These jobs are so desirable among the (male) prisoner
population at Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution that there is a three
year waiting list for an interview.2 Women prisoners, however, have been
excluded from this opportunity.

However, Barrilee Bannister observes that "most [of these] jobs are not
available to women prisoners."3 Bannister herself has not been assigned a job
because of her "attitude problem."4 The women who do have jobs do kitchen
work, cleaning and being orderlies.5 They are paid eight to eighty-four
dollars per month for their work, but the prices in commissary do not reflect
these wages. For instance, less than a months supply of toothpaste, soap,
shampoo and deodorant costs ten dollars.6 Thus, those making the minimum
salary often cannot afford to buy all of these items.

In the womens section of Canon City, Colorado, inmates fare little better.
All prisoners are required to either work or attend school. Until February
2002, the daily pay rates ranged from sixty-three cents to $2.53 for jobs such
as kitchen, laundry, housekeeping, maintenance, library, secretary and GED
teacher.7 Dawn Amos earned sixty-three cents for each of the four days she
worked scrubbing and buffing the floors. However, the prison administration
lowered inmate wages in March 2002. "I guess we were over budget or
something," Amos speculates. "Im sure thats a lie too cause the cops didnt
get a pay cut."8 As in Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution, the prices in
Canon Citys canteen do not reflect the womens income and purchasing power.
One generic Tylenol costs forty cents; a stick of generic deodorant costs
ninety-six cents; the cheapest soap available can be the equivalent of a days
earningssixty-three cents. Specific feminine items, such as tampons, cost
$3.60 and must be saved for, even by those with the highest wage. There are no
free items: "[They] dont give indigent people things cause technically there
arent any indigent inmates thats why they pay us."9

Unlike women on the outside, the women at Canon City have virtually no job
mobility. Amos states that "if you want to leave a job for another one, it
doesnt mean you can, it all depends on if your boss wants to let you go or
not."10 Thus, efficiency on one job can work against the ability to transfer
to another.

Most women, unlike Amos, are unable to get a job. Kebby Warner in Michigan is
still on the waiting list. Although there are ninety-six women on her unit,
there are only fifteen jobs available to them. And, despite the lack of jobs
at Scott Correctional Facility, the parole board holds lack of employment
against applicants. Once an inmate is placed on a job, she must work at least
ninety days. If she is fired or quits before then, she is forced to stay in
her cell for thirty days and risks being ticketed for "Disobeying a Direct
Order" or "Out of Place."11 The hourly pay scale on her unit ranges from
seventy-four cents to $2.08. Those who work in food service earn even less:
seventeen and a half cents to thirty-two and a half cents per hours.12 Unlike
Amos and Bannister, Warner does not receive money from family on the outside.
Thus, to mail a letter, she irons other inmates clothes in exchange for
stamp(s).13 Other women who lack both jobs and outside support are given seven
dollars each month, which the prison takes out of any future funds they might
receive.14

Not only do women have fewer job opportunities and little pay, they also
risk injury. At Dwight Correctional Center in Illinois, the average monthly
pay is fifteen to twenty dollars for forty hours of work per week.15 Women
working as seamstresses are paid "literally pennies by the piecework." Because
they are paid by the piece and the supervising staff is paid in proportion to
their workers output, "women rushing to make the cut-off day have injured
themselves on sewing machinessewing their fingers."16 Similar to the plight
of undocumented (female) workers in sweatshops, the inhumane conditions of
women prisons "industry" have garnered no attention or outcry from outside
groups and organizations.

Women are seldom offered what they perceive as the better, corporation-run
jobs. The Central California Womens Facility (CCWF) is one of the few
exceptions. Inmates work assembly-line jobs for Joint Venture Electronics.
They are paid $5.75 an hour for putting together electronics. However, after
the CDCs deductions for taxes, room and board, victim restitution, savings for
release and family support, they are credited only $1.15 to $2.30 to their
inmate account. Still, compared to a daily sixty-three cents or a monthly
eight to eighty-four dollars, their paycheck is considered high. One worker
stated that her electronics job was "a very good work opportunity." The other
workers also praised the program.17 The women were interviewed, however, at
the assembly line, presumably within earshot of the prison guards. What they
would have said about the program without fear of write-ups, pay docks or being
fired may have been different.

Work programs for women such as Joint Venture Electronics are still
relatively few. Because it is the best paying job at CCWF, Joint Venture has
the ability to refuse to hire women with disabilities.18 These programs not
only garner profits for corporations who save money on overhead, taxes,
vacation, sick leave, workers compensation and unemployment, but they also
keep prisoners from other, less desirable activities, such as organizing
against and/or disrupting the day-to-day operations of the prison.

Why have those studying and organizing around prison labor neglected the
female prison population? Perhaps it is because women prisoners themselves do
not list work as a priority. According to Juanita Diaz-Cotto and Chino Hardin,
former prisoner turned activist, womens first priority is release from
prison.19 Sexual abuse, inadequate medical care, education and separation from
children are also far more pressing issues than the lack of job opportunities
or minimum wage. This is not to say that women have never protested prison
laborin 1975, inmates at the North Carolina Correctional Center for Women
staged a five-day demonstration, specifically citing "oppressive working
atmospheres" as one of their concerns.20 And, just as outside workers have
used sabotage to express their dissatisfaction with labor conditions, women
prisoners can sometimes use their jobs to defy their captors. When Barrilee
Bannister was a cook in the kitchen of Oregon Womens Correctional Center, she
not only spit in the officers food but also showed her contempt for those
incarcerated for crimes against children by placing bugs in their food.21

Just as traditional womens work has been devalued and ignored by labor
groups and activists on the outside, when these same jobs are hidden behind
prison walls, they are even more easily overlooked and dismissed.

CONTINUE

NOTES:

Prison Labor

1 Letter from Barrilee Bannister. Postmarked 4 April 2002.

2 Prison Blues. http://www.prisonblues.com

3 Letter from Barrilee Bannister. Undated.

4 Letter from Barrilee Bannister. Dated 2 March 2001.

5 Letter from Barrilee Bannister. Undated.

6 Letter from Barrilee Bannister. Dated 12 May 2001.

7 Letter from Dawn Amos. Dated 15 July 2001.

8 Letter from Dawn Amos. Dated 15 March 2002.

9 Ibid.

10 Ibid.

11 Letter from Kebby Warner. Dated 29 April 2002.

12 Attachment A to Policy Directive 05.02.110. Michigan Department of
Corrections. 16 July 2001.

13 Letter from Kebby Warner to Anthony Rayson. Dated 7 March 2002.

14 Letter from Kebby Warner. Dated 29 April 2002.

15 Letter from Dwight Correctional Center. Dated 2 January 2002.

16 Letter from Dwight Correctional Center. Dated 20 March 2002.

17 "Inside Jobs." http://www.newsport.sfsu.edu/s00/prisons/correctio ns1.html

18 Letter from CCWF. Dated 22 April 2002.

19 "Fighting Homophobia in the Prison-Industrial Complex." From Cell Blocks
to City Blocks: Building a Movement in Search of Freedom. Conference at SUNY
Binghamton. Workshop presented 17 March 2002. Juanita Diaz-Cotto and Chino
Hardin.

20 Kurshan, Nancy. "Women and Imprisonment in the United States: History and
Current Reality." Monkeywrench Press. 25.

21 Letter from Barrilee Bannister. Postmarked May 2002.

CONTINUE