Standing in the prison hallway after class, my classmate Evan asked me a sobering question: "How do I forgive the person who murdered my dad?" Knowing we would need more time to tackle that issue, I promised to talk with him after class the following week. Unfortunately, that class never came. The Building Blocks program in which Evan and I met was terminated, and I still have not had the chance to speak with him again. 

Why would a successful community empowerment program achieving positive results suddenly be eliminated, even though it cost the Department of Corrections nothing? The answer is simple: the DOC cares more about keeping prisoners working than helping them prepare for life on the other side of the prison walls.

For years, prison officials have said that rehabilitating prisoners is a priority. But a rehabilitation program can only be successful if it helps prisoners heal from the traumas that are so common among prisoners and deal with the everyday stress of being incarcerated. When prisoners talk honestly, it quickly becomes clear how many of us struggle with traumatizing experiences that often lead to criminal acts and self-sabotaging behavior. Building Blocks was developed by prisoners for prisoners, to address our mental health and urgent needs. 

Despite the positive impact that Building Blocks was having, DOC administrators sacrificed the program on the altar of prison labor.

Unfortunately, within this inhumane prison system, rehabilitation stops being a priority when it conflicts with prison labor, which keeps prisoners working for low wages or none at all. Prison officials shut down the program when the small amount of time we spent with each other in mutual aid conflicted with the demands of prison labor.

In March 2023, we were told that COVID-19 restrictions would loosen across Washington's state prisons on April 3. We were all relieved, but some of us understood that the pandemic had exacerbated the longstanding mental health issues for the incarcerated, which is why we remained focused on the much-needed program we had launched just a month prior.

Building Blocks, a faith-based class designed to help prisoners heal from past and ongoing traumas, was the product of two years of planning, curriculum writing, and meetings with the prison's program coordinators. We sought community support to make sure the program succeeded. Pastor Zachary Bruce Sr. of Freedom Church of Seattle purchased 100 Building Blocks books so all students had their own copy of the curriculum. Anthony Curtis, the founder of the Black Equality Coalition, used social media to spread the news about the positive impact of Building Blocks. Rion Tisino, the founder of Tisino Family Services, offered to be the primary Building Blocks sponsor, enabling the prisoners to hold a space in the chapel.

For three weeks, 24 incarcerated individuals—Black, white, Hispanic, and Native American—sat down for two hours every Thursday and talked about what's important in our lives. We discussed love at length—especially how its presence and/or absence had shaped the way we see ourselves and other people. One 22-year-old prisoner shared how he'd struggled with insecurities as a result of growing up as an immigrant in America. Devonte Crawford, a 26-year-old prisoner, openly spoke about being molested by his uncle as a kid, something he had never talked about prior to the class.

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"This class initiated the healing process between me and my family," he said. "Had it not been for Building Blocks, I would've never been able to release that heartache I've carried for years."

One by one, we spoke about our internal battles, and how we could help one another use the curriculum's Biblical principles to step into a healthier life. Week after week, prisoners with various ideologies and belief systems were talking about how the class was helping them heal. As a result, the Building Blocks program nearly doubled in size in the first month, and facilitators started planning a second class. The increase in participation was a clear indication that these prisoners wanted a safe place where they could be transparent, break down barriers that hinder healthy relationships, and develop a sense of their own value. 

"It's crazy how I can sit across from somebody I would've never spoken to, and talk about our families, kids, and upbringings," fellow prisoner Jeremy Stevens said. "I'm starting to see that a lot of us struggle with the same things, and this class is helping me see these people differently."

The lives of these individuals had been brightened, and it wasn't hard to see how contagious it was becoming within the prison. The Washington Correction Center's chaplain and both facility program coordinators told me they were amazed at how highly the prisoners spoke about the program. As word spread outside the prison, more clergy and community members asked to become Building Blocks volunteers. The program was helping establish a healthy sense of community in the prison after the isolation of the pandemic. 

Then one day, it was over. 

Delta Crew 5, a Cal Fire inmate hand crew from Suisun City, California, working to fight fires in Solano County in 2012. When the state later shifted low level offenders to county jails instead of state prisons, the move raised public concern over the cost to replace the thousands of prison laborers with higher-paid workers. (Michael Macor/San Francisco Chronicle via AP) Rehabilitation stops being a priority for officials when it conflicts with prison labor—abruptly shutting down programs, citing labor costs.
Delta Crew 5, a Cal Fire inmate hand crew from Suisun City, California, working to fight fires in Solano County in 2012. When the state later shifted low level offenders to county jails instead of state prisons, the move raised public concern over the cost to replace the thousands of prison laborers with higher-paid workers. (Michael Macor/San Francisco Chronicle via AP)

Despite the positive impact that Building Blocks was having, DOC administrators sacrificed the program on the altar of prison labor. During a brief conversation, the associate superintendent of the prison told me that the class was terminated after staff members complained to him about prisoners leaving work to attend a program they'd never heard of. When multiple prisoners expressed their frustration over DOC's actions, a number of staff members who had no exposure to the class began describing Building Blocks as "toxic programming." How could a program helping prisoners talk about love, forgiveness, overcoming social/environmental pressures, identity, emotional intelligence, and healthy choices be toxic?

Building Blocks simply didn't align with the DOC's goal of maximizing the use of incarcerated bodies to keep the prison functioning, regardless of the psychological problems that perpetuate the cycle of imprisonment. 

This was not the first time the DOC has prioritized prison labor over the well-being of prisoners. Prison officials announced on July 25, 2022, that prisoners would not be excused from work for video visitations with friends and family, even though research shows that social relationships, friendships, and family ties are the strongest determinants of mental health and physical well-being. 

While the prices that prisoners are charged for supplemental food and hygiene products have nearly tripled in the past two years, the prisoner wages remain the same at 42 cents per hour.

These visitations, which prisoners have to pay for, enable people approved for a prisoner's visiting list to schedule video visits with their incarcerated loved ones. On the outside, there is FaceTime, but we have Securus Technology. The video visitations are essential for all prisoners, especially those whose friends and family are unable to make it to the prison in person because of disabilities, lack of transportation, or simply being unable to afford to travel.

Video visitations help prisoners create strong familial bonds, which smooth reentry into the community and reduce recidivism. But prison officials consider those goals nonessential, a nuisance that interferes with prison labor. A prisoner who leaves a job for video visitations can be subject to disciplinary action, or "cell-confinement." That means a prisoner will be confined to their cell for a determined number of days, prohibited from going to the prison yard, gym, or day room. The normal 15 hours out of the cell is reduced to one hour, when they are permitted to shower or use the phone. This is the barbaric punishment for a prisoner leaving a prison job for 30 minutes to visit their children, spouses, mothers, fathers, and friends. How does that square with the DOC stated alleged concern for rehabilitation?

In addition, the slave wages that prisoners are paid make DOC's approach to rehabilitation seem foolish. While the prices that prisoners are charged for supplemental food and hygiene products have nearly tripled in the past two years, the prisoner wages remain the same at 42 cents per hour. It is what DOC calls a "gratuity" for prisoners who scrub toilets, cultivate fields, and do maintenance work to keep the prison functioning. To put this in perspective, a prisoner must work 20 hours before they can afford a case of Top Ramen that currently costs $7.99 on the prisoner's store list. That's nearly three days of required work to purchase noodles. In Washington, three hours of work at minimum wage would cover the cost of an entire month's phone bill. For a prisoner, that same three hours of labor would only cover the cost of one phone call to their family. 

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Some may argue that developing a work ethic is essential to successfully transitioning prisoners back into society. Without the ability to support oneself financially, formerly incarcerated individuals are more likely to drift back to "crime" after release. Fair enough, but it's hard to develop a work ethic with so many unresolved stressful life experiences, whether it's the isolation from family or past trauma that runs deep in many prisoners' lives. 

I think about Evan, the young man who'd been in and out of prison numerous times, and his powerful question after our third Building Blocks class: "How do I forgive the person who murdered my dad?" After making that promise to set aside time after our next class to unpack the trauma he lives with, I was devastated when—in the name of keeping prisoners working—that next class never came. Because Evan resides in a separate unit, we rarely see each other. Is DOC's version of a work ethic going to help him deal with his trauma when he is released back into his community?

If the DOC continues to care more about prison labor than the deeply rooted issues that create mental health problems, incarcerated individuals may get out of prison ready to work—but they won't be prepared to handle the hurts and pains that have distorted their lives. And that harms not just the prisoner, but also the communities they will return to.

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Antoine E. Davis is serving a 63-year prison sentence in Washington state. After graduating from The Urban Ministry Institute, he received his pastoral license at Freedom Church of Seattle. He is the author of the Building Blocks curriculum, which focuses on helping young community members overcome past and present traumas that lead to destructive behaviors. Davis is working on a book about how the power of faith produces healing for those impacted by trauma. Follow Antoine on Twitter @Antoineedavis