Scenes of Prison
30. A Daily Humiliation
S trip searches are routine in a prison. In our Disciplinary Segregation Unit, we strip searched inmates whenever they returned to their rooms from their exercise hours outside on the yard. We also strip searched them whenever they returned from a meeting off the Unit, for example, a medical appointment or a visit with a family member or friend in the Visiting Room.
Whenever segregation inmates left their rooms, they had to be escorted. Handcuffs secured their wrists to a chain wrapped around their waists, and leg irons secured their ankles. Finally, another chain was attached to the handcuffs, and an inmate shuffled along with staff following close behind holding a large metal ring that was attached to the other end of the chain. Once back in his room, we removed all the inmate’s restraints and began the strip search.
One by one, inmates removed articles of clothing and handed them to staff. We examined them and placed the clothing in a pile on a desk or chair. Finally, with the inmate standing stark naked in the middle of his room, we directed him to lift his genitals and then turn around and pull his butt cheeks apart to expose his rectum for inspection.
As a fellow human being, it was easy for me to imagine trading places with an inmate and being forced to strip naked and endure this humiliation. It was also easy to imagine resistant and violent actions inmates might take in reaction to this indignity that we might prefer they didn’t choose. We needed a diversion.
I developed and executed a strategy. When I escorted an inmate, especially when the end of the escort was going to involve a strip search, I became very chatty. I rattled on about this and that, and I did my best to distract the inmate. I wanted him to react to my conversation rather than to the indignity he was about to endure. My most successful tactic was humor to get an inmate laughing. I’d tell stories, but I found with strip searches, self-deprecating humor worked best.
“You know,” I’d begin, “you would think having smart kids would be a blessing,” I’d say. “Well, I have smart kids, and I can tell you they haven't listened to a thing I’ve said since they were in the seventh grade.”
“‘Oh, Dad said that,’ they’d say, ‘that’s the problem. It must be wrong,’” I’d say.
Often, inmates protested. “Oh, no, Mister Larsen. I know that’s not true.”
“Oh, yes,” I’d insist. “You know, whenever we all gather together for a special meal, I’m the dumbest one sitting at the table. Just ask my kids. They’ll tell you.”
Sitting together for a special meal with family . . . inmates could identify with that. Feeling boxed into the role of an outcast or the dumbest one at the table . . . they could identify with that, too.
“Oh no, Mister Larsen. You’re not dumb,” they’d say.
Often, I’d hear chuckling as I chatted away embellishing the story, and the strip search would be completed quickly and easily. My strategy of distraction worked perfectly every time. Well . . . except one time, when it didn’t.
Trevor was a tall, thin man. When he returned to his room from the exercise yard, he did not find my conversation amusing. He didn’t seem to be listening to me at all. I soon learned what was on his mind.
We completed the strip search, but when he turned around and spread his butt cheeks, a white cylindrical shape protruded from his anus. This was a first for me. This is why we conducted strip searches - to stop the movement of contraband within the prison. And there it was, right in front of me, neatly packaged into a cylindrical, cellophane-wrapped package about three-fourths of an inch in diameter, which was now protruding an inch from his rectum.
After exposing his butt cheeks, he turned and faced me, and he began to get dressed. He was trying to intimidate me. His actions said, “So, what are you going to do about it? Nothing, I’ll bet.”
Well, no, I thought. I'm not going to tackle you and pull down your pants and pull that package out of your rectum. That’s true. I don’t have to. But I am going to follow the procedure we have for situations like this, and we will be getting that package, and we will be charging you with a rule infraction. I just don’t know which one it will be, not yet, anyway.
I used my 2-way radio to call for a security officer to come to the cell. When the officer arrived, I told him why I had called for him. We directed Trevor to put his hands behind his back, so we could put on handcuffs, and he complied. Next, we added leg irons, and we attached the chain that we called a “come-along” to his handcuffs. Then, the officer left with him. They would go to the Control Unit where staff would use whatever means was necessary to retrieve the package from Trevor’s anus. It would not be pleasant.
As he started on his way and climbed the stairs to the level of the entrance door to leave the Unit, Trevor knew exactly what lay ahead for him. The officers in the Control Unit would be taking his package from him, and he could do nothing to stop them. As he neared the exit door of our unit, he paused, shook his left leg slightly, and out from his pant leg dropped an object: six inches long and wrapped in cellophane, it was the package I’d seen protruding from his anus.
Problem solved!
A security officer who had arrived to assist in the transfer noticed the package on the floor and picked it up before I had a chance to warn him what the package was and where it had been.
“Look what I found,” he said.
New problem.
Oh my, I thought. What should I tell him? He wasn’t wearing latex gloves.
As he walked toward me holding the package up to his face examining it, I said “You can place it right here,” and I directed his attention to a piece of blank paper I had placed on a nearby table. He did so, and then he hurried out the door to catch up with another officer who was leading Trevor down the hall to the Control Unit. I didn’t have a chance to tell him anything, and I hoped he washed his hands before eating his lunch.
Lying on the table in front of us on a piece of paper, this package would be our evidence, and we would secure it in a plastic evidence bag and submit it for analysis, but we would be wearing latex gloves when we handled it!
Discussion
- The author stated that it was easy for him to imagine trading places with an inmate and experiencing humiliation when being strip searched. Do you share this feeling?
- How would you feel about conducting a strip search?
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