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Editor’s Note: Absence of Light is a project created in collaboration with incarcerated people at Auburn Correctional Facility in Auburn, New York.

Every morning I wake up to the same ringing. You know that bell at school that rings at the beginning and end of the day? That same bell rings for up to five minutes nonstop every morning at 7 a.m. I’m so accustomed to it that I wake up before it goes off and put headphones on so I don’t have to hear it. I say to myself the same thing I’ve said for the entirety of my incarceration — “I can’t wait to go home” — and begin my daily morning ritual.

We don’t have hot water running in the sink. Only cold, so I wash up with it. The officer does the count around 7:05 a.m. and, as usual, he walks by without a mask. I shake my head and say “chow” — we have to do that in order to go to breakfast and work.

Around 8 a.m. we are let out of the cells. It’s mandatory for all inmates to wear masks, but the rules don’t apply to officers and staff. Here they feel they are above the law. 

So I walk to chow, and as I descend the stairs, I walk by dozens of officers without masks who are closer than 6 feet apart. Even the sergeants don’t wear them. They don’t care about our lives here. In their eyes, we don’t deserve to live. Because of them, a few inmates have lost their lives to COVID-19, and they see it as a victory. There is no point in telling them to put their mask on. We can get written up or possibly worse. I continue on my path to chow.

The mess hall is a petri dish. Inmates are forced to wait in line closer than 1 foot apart, and here, the officers try to enforce social distancing. It never works out — there are too many inmates here, and they often sit us next to or across from each other, and you have to take your mask off to eat. I hurry up with my food. I’m always the last one to arrive at work, so I don’t want to take any more time sitting here risking my life.

I start my way to work and pass by more officers, some with their mask and some without. And often, they speak of having been infected, but still, they come to work. I don’t know how they are allowed to.

They have industry here, where inmates can work for up to 45 cents per hour so they can take care of themselves or send family money. Trust me, there are a lot of inmates really dedicated to hard work even if it is for so little. 

I work for the grievance office. I try to be a voice here for other inmates who are having issues. While some we can’t help, such as the occasional assault on inmates by officers, we help those who have problems such as missing property or cell damage, among other things. Honestly, I’ve seen enough to make me disgusted with the way things work here. I just want to go home.

Being that grievance is the only program running during this pandemic, me and four others are about the only inmates allowed in the school building so we can take care of the work the staff doesn’t want to do. No one wears a mask in the school building. I do because I have asthma and I take my life seriously, especially after losing my grandfather to COVID-19. I don’t want to take unnecessary risks.

After my morning shift, I go back to my cell for the 11 a.m. count, and it starts all over again, bell and all. Depending on the day, we have recreational time for about one hour except night rec, which runs from 7:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. Today we have 1 p.m. rec, so I don’t go to work in the afternoon. I usually have to work until 2:30 p.m. everyday except weekends.

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More columns from Absence of Light:

• COVID-19, a Capitol breach and shifting power: A look at 31 days imprisoned
• Absence of Light: Bubbles
• Absence of Light: Happiness and suffering

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After lunch — during which I most likely didn’t eat because the meat is something I can’t identify — I get ready for yard so I can call family and loved ones. We only have an hour, so we have to use it wisely — either phone calls, workout or shower. I currently have medical showers, so I check that off my to-do list.

I opt for the phones, which only run for 15 minutes each group, and there are only three groups today. I try to get on at least two of them because one group is never enough time. After that, I have about 10 minutes to workout, so I hit the pull-up and dip bar and bang on as many sets as I can until they end yard time. Outside, social distancing is enforced in only one part, and that’s the phone line. They don’t care about the showers or the library. They only enforce it with the phones because they know we want to call home, and they do their best to make contacting home difficult. I don’t understand it.

This piece was written by a Syracuse resident currently incarcerated at Auburn Correctional Facility.

Published on February 24, 2021 at 8:04 pm