ILLITERACY REINFORCES PRISONERS' CAPTIVITY

ILLITERACY REINFORCES PRISONERS' CAPTIVITY
State prisons are crowded with inmates lacking a basic education -- Their dismal job prospects mean they're likely to land back behind bars
- James Sterngold, Chronicle Staff Writer
Wednesday, December 27, 2006

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(12-27) 04:00 PST Norco, Riverside County -- Gregory Davenport, a congenial 46-year-old in prison blues, shared with a visitor to the big state penitentiary here a common inmate's lament -- he left behind two well-educated daughters with whom he could not correspond because he could not read.

But Davenport, serving time for a burglary conviction, is one of the lucky ones. He has finally made progress in his long struggle with illiteracy, a breakthrough he described while holding one of the more sought-after prizes in California's overburdened corrections system -- a classroom seat. He had to wait a year to get into a class in a cramped trailer at the prison in Norco, the California Rehabilitation Center, but now he gets six hours a day of instruction and help with a learning disorder.

"When I came in, I couldn't read at all," said Davenport, who is from a rough neighborhood in Los Angeles. "Now I don't have to ask the other guys to read my letters for me. When I want to write a letter, I get my dictionary and I can do it myself."

Convicts typically enter the corrections system burdened with loads of heavy emotional baggage -- drug addiction, alcoholism, scars from childhood abuse, mental illness and family meltdowns. But the most common companions for those who have failed to find a place in the legitimate world are illiteracy and stunted educational backgrounds.

Roughly two-thirds of California's 173,000 inmates read below a ninth-grade level, according to corrections department figures, and more than half read below a seventh-grade level, making them functionally illiterate, unable to read and follow complex written directions. A total of 21 percent read below a third-grade level.

Research has shown that arming inmates with a solid education is one of the surest ways of reducing the rate at which they end up back behind bars after being released. Officially, California has embraced education as an important form of rehabilitation, but the reality is far different. Just 6 percent of inmates are in academic classes, and 5 percent attend vocational classes.

Some experts regard that as one of the saddest among a long list of failures in the deeply troubled prison system. Not only does an education make it much easier for a parolee to find and hold a decent job, but, unlike drug users, there are no relapses for those who escape illiteracy.

"There is not a lot of causal evidence that specifically says people with educational skills won't commit crimes, but there is definitely a strong correlation between educational ability and staying out of prison," said Peter Leone, a correctional education expert at the University of Maryland.

A comprehensive study by the Washington State Institute for Public Policy, the research arm of the Washington Legislature, found that general education programs reduced the recidivism rate by 7 percent and vocational programs by 9 percent, among the best records of in-prison programs.

The academic and vocational programs cost the state about $1,000 a year per inmate but, the study concluded, vocational education produced a net benefit to the state of $13,738 per participant, and the educational programs $10,669 per inmate, in the form of lower crime rates, fewer victims and less criminal justice spending.

California's shortcomings are particularly glaring given that there is a state law mandating that the corrections department bring inmates to at least a ninth-grade reading level by the time they are paroled.

But the law, which says the department should achieve a 60 percent success rate at a minimum, is virtually ignored. Many of the prison educators say there is almost a complete disconnect between such legislative goals and what actually happens inside the prison walls.

"If we were working in a perfect world, that would be something we would try and achieve," said Rob Churchill, acting superintendent of education at the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation.

What has made the problem even more urgent is the overcrowding crisis. California's 33 prisons are operating at roughly double capacity. Dayrooms are often jammed with double bunks. Programs for the inmates, from medical care to drug treatment, are breaking down.

One result is that California has the worst recidivism rate in the country, close to 70 percent. That is a key reason that the prisons budget, now more than $8 billion a year, is rising faster than most other state spending.

Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger declared a state of emergency in the prisons this fall because of the spiraling problems, and the Legislature singled out education as one potential solution. For the current fiscal year, it appropriated $52.8 million for special recidivism reduction efforts, with the largest amount, $21.1 million, for education.

But then there is the reality: Enrollment in traditional academic and vocational classes is actually dropping, from 32,100 in fiscal 2001 to 21,800 in the past fiscal year.

And those figures may be overstating inmate participation. According to the Legislative Analyst's Office, inmates miss classes 24 percent of the time because of frequent lockdowns, which are often a result of dangerous overcrowding, and they miss 19 percent of classes due to teacher absences.

With classroom space sparse, waiting lists long and teacher vacancies high -- about 20 percent -- the corrections department has dabbled with a new approach. It has been trying to get some inmates into an alternative education program, called "bridging," as a stopgap.

Bridging focuses largely on life skills, not traditional subjects like math and reading. It involves handing inmates a packet each week and then expecting them to study on their own. While some say the program benefits a few highly motivated inmates, many experts say that it is difficult if not impossible to accomplish much because overcrowding makes dorms and cells noisy and cramped.

"Bridging is the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen," said state Senate Majority Leader Gloria Romero, D-Los Angeles, who is leading efforts to tackle the prison crisis. "I'm an educator and that program doesn't teach anything."

Mike Weaver, the principal of education programs at the California Rehabilitation Center, defended bridging, but only in some cases.

"Forty percent of my guys can't really read, so what good does it do to give them a packet and tell them to go study it?" Weaver asked.

But there are indications that bridging may serve a less obvious purpose.

One of the enticements to get inmates into programs is to offer credit, or reductions in sentences, for every day they are enrolled in a class. They can shave months off of sentences just by getting enrolled, even in the bridging program. Thus, the higher the enrollment numbers, the faster the department can push the inmates out.

The corrections department has long been adamant that it will not release inmates early just to ease overcrowding.

But the educational programs, especially the bridging program, appear to provide a way around this policy. That is particularly true in the reception centers, where inmates stay for a few months when they first enter prison.

There are no formal classes at the reception centers, and prison officials have pushed bridging programs in the centers to overcome that problem.

"The main purpose of bridging was to get them in a credit- earning status quickly," said Janet Blaylock, the assistant superintendent of prison education.

The overall system is so ill-equipped to actually achieve real goals that not only is the state corrections department missing its educational objectives, it does not even know by how much because it does not track the educational level of departing inmates.

"California has not done any type of research on educational outcomes," said Blaylock. "We don't have the infrastructure because we're not hooked up electronically. Any records we have are kept manually."

The prison at Norco is actually one of the better institutions in the state. With 4,001 inmates, the prison is operating at 221 percent of its design capacity, but it has been producing more than 100 graduates from its GED program a year -- there will be more than 200 in 2006 -- and has few teacher vacancies.

There is room for only 9 percent of the inmates in academic classes, but many of those who make it express satisfaction.

Leo Brown, 42, described how one of his daughters had graduated from high school last year, with another lined up to earn her diploma next year. His voice turned into a whisper when he added that he had entered prison reading at a fourth-grade level. Having gotten into a basic education class, he now reads at an eighth-grade level and has a shot at earning a GED.

"It don't look good if my kids have degrees I don't," Brown said. "It's hard to face sometimes where I'm at."

At Norco, 321 inmates are enrolled in academic classes and 247 are on waiting lists. Another 126 inmates are waiting to get into English as a Second Language classes. The situation is far worse on the vocational side, with 225 inmates enrolled and 348 on waiting lists.

"We could double or triple the vocational classes alone and they'd fill up immediately, but we don't have the space or the equipment," Weaver said.

The situation is much worse at many other prisons. At the California Correctional Institution in Tehachapi (Kern County), for instance, there are 14 academic teacher vacancies, 36 percent of the authorized slots, and four vocational teacher vacancies. Some class conditions are almost unbearable.

"Our dayrooms have been invaded with bunks so we've been forced into holding some of the classes in the dining halls, and it's very, very tough," said Robert Lee, the principal. "The acoustics are terrible. Everyone is on those little hard seats at little metal tables. It makes it all very difficult."

He said that filling the teacher vacancies has been extremely difficult, in large part because salaries are too low.

"People like to say it's not a money issue, but it is a money issue," Lee said.

One of the tools the teachers at Norco use is inmate tutors and mentors. The inmates say that shame and embarrassment are among the biggest barriers to getting undereducated inmates to overcome illiteracy, and inmates who have been through that battle are sometimes best at being able to sympathize with the problem.

"I'm just another guy in blue," said Paul Krieger, 32, who is serving his fourth term in prison, this one for residential robbery, and is now working on a college degree. "I can talk to them. I know how it feels to be incarcerated. I feel inadequate as a father being in here. For most of these guys, they think an education is just another unattainable goal, and I can show them it's possible."

Gabriel Velasquez, a 20-year-old serving a sentence for robbery and assault, entered prison with a seventh-grade reading level. Next month, he will take the test for his GED and says he is confident he will pass, and that piece of paper will be a key to changing his life.

"People hide illiteracy," said Velasquez. "No one in here wants to look vulnerable."

E-mail James Sterngold at jsterngold@sfchroni cle.com.

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