There’s a poster on the wall in my prison unit, at the Washington State Penitentiary, that says a lot about the state of drug addiction behind bars.
In bright red, all-caps letters, it advertises “NARCAN” and a kit with instructions for the nasal spray that prevents death by opioid overdose, a kit available to people leaving prison. It’s a sign of the times that this is what people need when returning to society.
In my 20 years incarcerated in the Washington state prison system, I have witnessed illicit drugs — from marijuana to methamphetamine — enter prisons and the often-punitive response from guards and administrators. With fentanyl-laced Spice and other potent opioids rising in use, more incarcerated individuals are overdosing.
It’s “a profound issue,” Jim Kopriva, a spokesperson for the Washington State Department of Corrections, told a Prison Journalism Project editor in a phone interview. He estimated that a quarter of the state’s prison population — approximately 14,000 people — have a diagnosed opioid use disorder. The department says that about 63% of the population has some kind of substance use disorder.
Between 2001 and 2018, state prison deaths caused by drug and alcohol intoxication rose by 611%, according to the Bureau of Justice Statistics.
On the Narcan poster, which is hung on walls in prisons across the state, there is also a toll-free number for a recovery helpline. But when you call it, you get a message that the number is restricted.
Kopriva said the number on the poster “should have been tested” and that the posters would be taken down and replaced.
In some ways, that poster — its clear admission of a crisis and its number to nowhere — is a small example of a much larger problem with substance abuse treatment in Washington’s prisons. In my experience, if you request treatment for a drug or alcohol problem, you will find confusing information and empty promises.
Unsuccessful efforts to curb drug flow
Washington State Penitentiary has gone to great lengths to try to prevent the flow of illegal drugs, but it’s focusing its efforts on the wrong target.
In 2022, the department began confiscating mail and providing residents copies of their correspondence “in lieu of the original,” according to the policy. But this expensive and time-consuming measure — it costs 20 cents per copy, and mailroom staff told me they process between 400 and 1,200 incoming letters a day — has done little to combat illicit drugs entering the facilities.
On April 12, 2024, an announcement from the state prison system posted in my unit read: “Now that the pandemic is over and we’re returning to normal operations we have noticed a rise in violence, contraband, and overdose.”
It is true that people behind bars have found clever ways to get drugs. But everyone inside knows that guards are also responsible for smuggling contraband, a reality that has been repeatedly documented across the country.
Still, Kopriva said the mail scanning is effective. “We regularly find stuff,” he said. “It’s a couple of times a month.” He did not provide exact figures.
Kopriva said the department sees “unbelievable attempts every single day” of people trying to get contraband into the prison — from drones dropping packages, to parents placing drugs on their children during visitations.
Too few treatment options
When it comes to available treatment options at my facility, it’s hard to get a straight answer. The offerings that I’ve experienced myself or heard about through others are not adequate to meet the overwhelming need.
Shortly after the first announcement, we received a second one about substance abuse disorder treatment. It said treatment was available and directed individuals to contact their classification counselor — who is responsible for assessing a prisoner’s needs with regards to housing, programming and treatment — if they believed they had a problem.
“We are here to help you,” read the announcement.
I did as suggested, but both my counselor and staff from the chemical dependency team said they were unaware of any such treatment.
My prison offers a chemical dependency class, but it is nothing more than general education about addictive substances and their various effects. It is available in the residential treatment units, which are dedicated to serving people with severe mental health needs.
A medication-assisted treatment program, which is considered the gold standard for people with opioid addiction, is also available for some prisoners. The drug used in the treatment, Suboxone, reduces withdrawal symptoms and quells opiate cravings.
But in conversations with residents and staff at my prison, many people are confused about who qualifies and when people are able to start the program.
“If you’re incarcerated in a Washington state prison with an opioid-use disorder, a very specific set of circumstances must occur if you want access to addiction treatment medication,” reads a report from January 2024 by the Washington State Standard.
According to the news organization, circumstances in which you might qualify for the treatment include: if you are leaving prison within 90 days; if you have returned to prison after violating parole; if you have a six-month or shorter sentence and are already being treated; or if you encounter a nurse or doctor willing to advocate on your behalf to the department.
Beyond educational courses and medication-assisted treatment, the Washington Department of Corrections says it offers three tiers of addiction support in every one of its 11 prisons.
Kopriva, the spokesman, said these services range in intensity from rigorous in-patient treatment to more hands-off outpatient programs.
When asked how many spots are available in these programs throughout the state prison system, Kopriva said: “Not enough. With the scale of the addiction crisis, we do not have the resources to serve everybody.”
Kopriva did not provide specifics about enrollment at Washington State Penitentiary. In my conversations with people at the prison, including staff with the chemical dependency department, no one could confirm that all three tiers exist here.
Punished for seeking help?
The dearth of options and the lack of transparency about them are only part of the story.
If they ask for help with addiction, some people at my prison fear they may receive a rule violation and a temporary loss of privileges, including phone use, commissary access and recreation time.
In a policy handbook provided to prisoners, the following is considered a “category b, level 2 violation”: “admitting use or receiving a positive test for use of an unauthorized drug, alcohol, or intoxicating substance.”
Kopriva refuted the claim that people in the Washington state prison system are punished after asking for help with their addiction. “That is just not the case,” he said. “Treatment is not an exception from infraction [for being caught with drugs]. But you will not be infracted for seeking treatment.”
And yet the vague policy language is yet another source of confusion and uncertainty around addiction treatment here.
In 2023, in response to the opacity around all of this, I wanted to see more support programs offering incarcerated people a safe place to open up about struggles with drug and alcohol addiction. I started pushing the administration for an Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous program. The prison’s superintendent told me that this required a qualified outside sponsor who could pass a background check and be willing to regularly attend. I had little luck finding one.
Eventually, I submitted a proposal to the superintendent using different language. I said I wanted to start “a prisoner-led addiction recovery support group.” To my surprise, I received news that it was approved during the course of my reporting this story.
Maybe this group will be a stepping stone toward more robust treatment programs at the Washington State Penitentiary.
(Additional reporting by PJP editorial director Mason Bryan)