Locked Up in the Rush County Jail

Tears fall from her chin; she carries a never ending uneasiness. Ashamed she waits.  In a nearby cell, he fidgets, knees bouncing uncontrollably, repentant without a path to forgiveness, he waits for a phone call.  Both have made serious mistakes. Life-altering condemnation results, closing off future options. I do not know these two personally, but I can “see” them sitting alone, or with a cellmate, or standing in shackles in a courtroom.  Such scenes continue across my state and our nation.  Each person has a name, a history, a family, friends, and enemies waiting on the outside.

They have “done harm.”  Some crimes are extremely serious, I understand.  Much of the damage, however, has been done to themselves and their loved ones. This self-harm is often rooted in addiction or psychological illness. Some are dangerous to themselves and others.  Sometimes, not always, these who sit and wait have journeyed through poverty, homelessness and/or abuse. We all lose. In Indiana alone the estimates are that opioid addictions cost the state between $4 billion and $5 billion in lost revenue, incarceration, and recovery expenses every year.

I write of “Rush County” jail more as metaphor than the actual place. There is a Rush County; Rushville, Indiana is the county seat. It is grand old town, where Wendell Willkie headquartered his 1940 campaign as the Republican candidate for the President.  It is east and south of Indianapolis.  Traveling south and east it is on the way to Cincinnati. With a population of roughly 6,200, it is like hundreds of towns dealing with the scourge of addiction and other illness. It is a symbol that across the board, once arrested, so many are rushed to vilification, only to languish in jail.  It is quick judgement and slow justice. The wheels of our legal system grind ever more slowly as so many weep and wait for that phone call.

In Monroe County, my home, our jail is a disgrace – overcrowded, unhealthy, and understaffed. Monroe is regarded as one of the most progressive counties in Indiana, yet every month seems to find another incident reflecting the horrors of our jail. We have a fast train into jail and a slow walk to trial. This, despite a sheriff, judges and commissioners who diligently seek to change the situation and build a safer facility.  It is already too late for so many. 

Our county jail is only a few blocks from where I live.  Walking along the sidewalk paralleling the jail I see scrawled messages in chalk or paint.  These are messages of hope, love and encouragement to prisoners who can look out and see what friends and family have written.

Over my decades as a pastor, I have met with, walked alongside, and known far too many who are like the two persons imagined in the opening paragraph. I do not know names of those currently in Rush – or Monroe – County facilities.  I do know these are not only imaginary.  These exist, just as surely as you do, good reader.  I know parents and spouses, children today who have loved ones being held, awaiting trial.  

I may not know or understand all the “crimes,” but I do know there are currently over a half-million such persons held in over 5,000 local jails and youth detention centers in the U.S.  There are another 1.5 to 2 million persons held in state and federal prisons. Our nation consistently has the highest incarceration rates in the world.  Our practices still have the mark of primitive and counterproductive logic.  It is built on monistic, either-or understandings of human behavior and psychology.  It is not far removed from shameful practices of shunning, exclusion, and projecting our fears on the most vulnerable among us.  Are there evil actors? – yes, of course.  Might our systematic response be greatly flawed? – yes, of course.

Frankly, much of what continues is often based on simplistic theologies of good and evil that are subject to manipulation and misuse by the wealthy and powerful.  We have become experts at isolation and seem to know very little about restoration. Our young believe our systems are rigged in favor of the wealthy. Are they not? I find myself thinking of the families who see loved ones locked up for minor crimes of addiction, while at the same time watch a former President of the U.S. use his power and wealth to manipulate the current court systems to avoid trials and dodge accountability. 

We spend more than $182 billion on incarceration each year in the United States.  Increasingly this is built on “for profit” prisons, that turn incarceration into a profit-making venture with the inmates as customers-without-a-choice facing exorbitant expenses for phone calls or other prison “benefits.”

I am far from being an expert on how to best address these concerns.  There are many acronyms for efforts underway, already proposed and practiced. Over the years I have seen us turn to more flexible sentencing, home confinement, halfway houses, drug courts, mental health courts, restorative justice and/or restitution options, community service, etc.  It is a complex system, filled with obstacles and some more enlightened practices.  My appreciation for conscientious judges, defense and prosecuting attorneys, sheriffs, jail and police officers is enormous.  I am grateful for, and applaud, all those who are pushing for reform, for a better way.  Still, too many languish behind bars, weeping alone and waiting for that phone call.