Inside a state prison near Stillwater, Minn., past the guards and the wings of cells stacked one on top of another, tucked in the corner of a computer lab, Richard Adams and Paul Gordon are fervently discussing grammar.
Both men are on staff at the Prison Mirror, a newspaper made by and for the people held at the Minnesota Correctional Facility 鈥� Stillwater. Gordon had written a profile on the prison art instructor. He read it aloud to Adams.
鈥淚 was curious if there was a certain style or something he preferred to paint. 鈥榃hen I get time I like Bob Ross, the guy that does the painting on the TPT channel,鈥欌�� Gordon recited, referencing the Twin Cities鈥� PBS channel. Adams leaned in, a confused look on his face, and asked him to repeat the sentence.
鈥淚s that what he said?鈥� Adams asked. 鈥淚t sounds like you鈥檙e saying you like the guy from the TPT channel.鈥� He suggested Gordon add an attribution to the quote, like 鈥渉e said鈥� or 鈥渉e replied.鈥�
Conversations like this have been happening in this prison for more than a century. The Prison Mirror is one of the oldest prison newspapers in the country, running since 1887. Publications like this aren鈥檛 common, but in an era where many journalism outlets in the free world are struggling to thrive amid scores of layoffs, journalism behind bars is actually growing.
鈥淥verall we do see a growth and a lot of interest in starting publications, starting podcasts even. And so that's really quite exciting,鈥� says Yukari Kane, CEO of the .
Thirty years ago, she says there were estimated to be only six prison newspapers. Today, there are . That doesn鈥檛 take into account the hundreds of incarcerated writers submitting work to publications on the outside, like
Kane says this kind of work can offer a window into what prison is actually like, one that prison administrators aren鈥檛 necessarily going to offer up freely.
鈥淭here's a lot of information that people who are inside prisons see and are experiencing every day. There's some reporting that can only be done from inside,鈥� she says.
Even if a newspaper doesn鈥檛 circulate far beyond the prison yard, it can offer a sense of empowerment for its writers.
鈥淗aving a newspaper, it's beneficial to everybody. It informs the population. It gives you a voice,鈥� Gordon says. 鈥淭here's a quote I like: You can either be an agent of destiny or a victim of it.鈥�
The Stillwater prisoners write book reviews, legal explainers, and summaries of local, national and international events for the monthly newspaper. One man recently submitted an essay on homesickness. Another wrote an editorial criticizing lockdowns. The men on staff 鈥� there are only three of them 鈥� had to apply for these unpaid jobs, and they鈥檙e highly sought after.
Adams says the job requires a lot of reading and research about what鈥檚 going on around the world and the prison. There are challenges. They don鈥檛 have the internet, for instance, so they have to rely on print media and articles printed out by prison staff.
鈥楾hey do have freedom of the press technically, but they're not free themselves鈥�
The prison also has to approve everything the paper publishes. The men say that can limit what they write about, especially if they want to report on the harsher aspects of their lives.
鈥淚 am limited in the sense of, they're not going to let me print all types of crazy things about the water or the lockdowns or getting restrained or anything like that, which is understandable to a degree,鈥� Gordon says.
Last fall, around 100 Stillwater prisoners . Gordon says the disobedience was their way of protesting extreme heat, poor water quality, and staffing shortages, which he says often result in lockdowns. He plans to write about it, but says he has been retaliated against in the past for sending reporting to outside publications.
鈥淚 was a lot more aggressive in my writing back then, and that was a learning experience for me,鈥� he says.
Brian Nam-Sonenstein, a senior editor at the Prison Policy Initiative, says punishment for doing journalism behind bars is common.
鈥淵ou can lose what are called good time credits, which are essentially time off of your sentence based on good behavior. You could go to solitary confinement. You could have your privileges revoked,鈥� he says.
鈥淭hey do have freedom of the press technically, but they're not free themselves,鈥� says Kane, of the Prison Journalism Project. 鈥淪o they do face consequences in and potentially with the work that they do.鈥�
Plus, having everything approved by prison administration can undermine the whole journalistic endeavor, though the ability to write freely varies widely across prisons, Nam-Sonenstein says.
鈥淚ncarcerated newsrooms are not necessarily fully captured organs of prisons, but we do have to recognize the constraints that are placed on them, especially when we compare it to free world journalism,鈥� he says.
Marty Hawthorne works at the Stillwater prison and oversees the Prison Mirror.
鈥淭hey have a lot of freedom. My philosophy is: It's their newspaper. It's not my newspaper,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 believe they have a right to do what they're doing.鈥�
He says if the men plan to publish something critical, he makes sure whoever they鈥檙e writing about has an opportunity to respond. But he says he also pushes back when leadership tries to censor stories he believes are fair.
鈥淏ecause that is my job,鈥� he says. 鈥淭hey're incarcerated people, right? They don't have power or authority. Somebody has to speak up for them in these places.鈥�
Gordon, who has been serving a life sentence for nearly 20 years for murder, has been working at the paper only for a few months.
鈥淚 believe my job is only to lay out the positions, and then let people come to their own conclusion,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 hope to write something that matters and through writing, I hope to leave a much different footprint than the one I've already left on the world.鈥�
Patrick Bonga, a senior editor for the paper, says including all sides to a story has changed the way he thinks about the world. He鈥檚 been in and out of prison multiple times. Now in for assault, he says the newspaper is helping break that cycle.
鈥淔or the first 40 years of my life, any other opinion other than mine did not matter. But now just having to be objective and to put stories together that aren't one sided, I'm now starting to practice in my own life a lot of fight against bias. And that's a big thing,鈥� he says.
For Gordon, making the paper isn鈥檛 just about journalism. It鈥檚 about getting to a turning point.
鈥淲hen we first come to prison, it's a journey to figure out how to do this time. We come here and we鈥檙e mad at the world, that life didn't work out. We spend day after day after day trying to figure out and find that one moment where if we would have made that one decision, everything would have went right,鈥� he says. 鈥淭hen we get mad at the people around us for nobody helping us in that one moment. And it's a journey to finally get to the point that we take responsibility for our own actions, that we can finally grow.鈥�
Adams says he wants to keep his stories positive.
鈥淚 don't want to bring negativity to the paper because we all know what's wrong. Let's bring some more of what's positive, what's right,鈥� he says.
He set up a suggestion box in his cell, for other prisoners to weigh in on what they want to read. He also wants to start an advice column. He鈥檚 a father, and he thinks other men will have questions about how to be a good dad, even if their relationship with their kids is mostly over the phone.
Right now, he鈥檚 writing about side hustles men can get once they鈥檙e released to make a little extra money 鈥� things like driving for Uber and DoorDash, or selling flowers.
鈥淵ou have a choice while you're here, where you can change or you can go back out there and do the same things that got you in here. You can go back out there and at least try to make a difference,鈥� he says.
After all, most people in prison get out and return to their communities. Adams wants to give them hope and the tools to start over when and if they get the chance.
Copyright 2024 NPR
