Scenes of Prison
55. Sebastian
S ebastian was a frequent boarder in our Disciplinary Segregation Unit. He was a little bigger than most inmates, perhaps a little pudgy. His skin was quite fair, and his small eyes seemed to peer out through chubby cheeks. He fidgeted nervously as though his mind was always scheming for some advantage. His behavior closely matched the description of a sociopath. He just couldn’t seem to understand that he needed to think about the reactions other people might have to his words and his actions. As a result, he frequently found himself in conflict with staff and with other inmates, and before very long, he’d find himself once again being led into the Disciplinary Segregation Unit with his hands cuffed behind his back.
I watched Sebastian. He was on my caseload, and I wondered how I might help him.
During one of his stays with us on a rainy, dreary, cold morning, I noticed that he seemed very depressed. I wondered if it was the weather, but as I thought about it, I also wondered if being sociopathic and depressed at the same time might be a dangerous mix. I also noticed that his birthday was the next day.
Young children always celebrate their birthdays, but I had a hard time imagining Sebastian as a young child at his own birthday party. Still, I considered that some positive recognition of his birthday might help lift his spirits. However, I couldn’t go out and buy him a present. I couldn’t give him anything of value. This was a rule that constrained my behavior.
It was mid-morning, and most of the work had been done. We were waiting for the lunch meal to be delivered, and I was sitting at a desk doodling on a piece of paper. I was thinking of Sebastian when the idea came to me that I would draw him a birthday card. A doodled birthday card. Nothing special. Just some doodles on a scrap of paper. So I did.
I drew a picture on a folded piece of paper of the governor standing in front of the state capitol waving a greeting. “Happy birthday, Sebastian,” it said on the inside. I took the birthday card to Sebastian’s room and slid it under his door, and I watched his reaction as he read it. I expected a smile, but there was no smile. He didn’t have much of a reaction at all. He seemed to be thinking about something, and he studied the card for a minute, maybe longer. I was puzzled. Finally, he looked at me, and I could see in his face that something was wrong.
Suddenly, Sebastian stepped quickly to the door holding the card in front of him as he came.
“You’re ridiculing me!”
“You’re taunting me!”
“The governor, my ass!”
Sebastian spoke quickly and angrily. He seemed genuinely upset with me.
“You think it’s pretty funny that I’m locked up in here!”
“You’re going to go tell everybody this great joke you played on me, pretending that the Governor cares about me and sent me a birthday card!”
The outburst continued for at least a minute. It seemed genuine, and it only grew in intensity as the seconds passed and he repeated his charges. He was injured, and I was the one who had inflicted the injury.
I protested. I offered explanations of my intent. I was only trying to lift his spirits, I said. I apologized, once, twice, three times, but my protests, excuses, and apologies fell on deaf ears.
“The governor, my sweet fat ass!” he shouted.
I wondered how much longer this outburst would last and how it would end, and then, suddenly, everything changed. Just as quickly as he had worked himself up into a rage, his anger disappeared. He stepped close to the door. His voice took on a conspiratorial tone as he lowered his volume and said something I didn’t hear.
I stepped closer to his door myself, so I could hear him through the closed door.
“Tell you what,” he began. “I’ll forget this whole thing if you’ll bring me in a little weed.”
What!!!
“He must have been joking,” I thought to myself, and I searched his face for a sign. There was no sign. This was no joke. He was serious.
He had the card in his hand, and he believed he had a significant advantage over me. He thought he could force me to do what he wanted me to do, and he wanted me to bring him some drugs. He was intending to force me to do it whether I wanted to or not.
I told him that I would not bring him any drugs, but he persisted in his demand. I would bring him drugs, he said, or he would push this birthday card fiasco until it cost me my job! He believed he could do it, too.
Sebastian thought he was sure to win this contest. He believed I would be bringing him drugs. He was pretty happy with himself. He was going to get some drugs. It wasn’t going to be such a bad birthday after all.
I left his room and went to my supervisor’s office. I told him what had happened.
“Demanding payment is a violation of the Inmate Code of Offenses,” he said. “Write him up.”
I didn’t have to think it over for very long, and I wrote a description of the conversation on a Misconduct Report. I described the incident and listed Sebastian’s demands for payment, and I turned it in. My report set in motion our system for sanctioning inmates for their misbehavior.
Sebastian went before our Disciplinary Committee and was found guilty of the charge of Demanding Payment and served a sanction of a few more days in Segregation. I was called up to the office of an assistant warden where I explained my actions, and I received some valuable advice: no more birthday cards.
From this encounter with Sebastian, I gained an insight into how inmates gain power over staff.
If an inmate can possess something, like a piece of paper with a personal message from an employee, then the inmate can twist the meaning of it so it appears the employee has done something wrong. Next, comes the demand for a real violation by the employee. If the employee, fearing for their job, complies, then further demands will come thick and fast.
An employee couldn’t even escape by quitting their job because trafficking is a felony, and the inmate would be happy to turn in a now-stopped source of outside contraband. The employee’s only choice is to continue. The employee is under the power and control of an inmate.
If I had failed to write a misconduct report after leaving Sebastian’s room that day, then I would have compounded my problem. Failing to report misconduct would have been a violation of rules that govern me, and then, that failure could have cost me my job, too.
Of course, there would be no harm if no one knew about it. Just Sebastian and me. Our little secret. Only to be divulged if I failed to deliver something Sebastian wanted.
However, secrets in the prison are impossible. The other inmates aren’t stupid, and they have eyes and ears, and they’re watching and listening to everything that happens all the time. Inmates hoping to gain some favor with the administration regularly report such “secrets” to security. Inmates call these talkative prisoners “snitches.” Ironically, nearly all the inmates would become snitches if they saw some advantage for themselves in doing so.
It was a close call. A close encounter with a devious, cunning, and ruthless inmate. I was lucky. I made the right choice to consult my supervisor immediately and to follow his instruction.
Some time later, Sebastian was transferred to another prison, and I learned that at that new facility he had committed suicide. When I learned of it and thought about my experience with Sebastian, I wondered if in death, he had found some relief.
Discussion
- The author encountered an inmate who believed he had found a way to force the author to traffic drugs into the prison. Have you ever encountered another person who tried to force you to do something you didn’t want to do? How did you respond?
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