During my first winter in prison 22 years ago, I received legal letters I could not read. Back then, I had to wait for someone else to read letters for me because I didn’t read or speak English.
The deadline to file my first appeal was fast approaching. I knew I could not rely on the public defender’s office because they would only do the minimum to represent me. Feeling desperate, I filed a pro se brief representing myself — a daunting task in any language.
But how could I write a legal brief when I didn’t understand the law, and there was virtually no one to provide legal assistance in the language I best understood? I stood no chance at all. The court denied that appeal.
Ever since I entered the New Jersey State Prison, legal access for the Spanish-speaking population has been scarce.
As soon as we arrive, the clock starts ticking for those of us looking to file an appeal. Typically, you have to file within 45 days — the first of many legal deadlines throughout our incarceration. We can try to seek help in the library, but all the law books are in English and it can take two weeks to even get access to the room. There are rarely Spanish-speaking paralegals available to help us. That puts us at a disadvantage from the start.
Hanging throughout the prison are posters that read, “Interpretation Services are available upon request for the following languages.” They list about 20 languages, including Spanish, Korean, French, Arabic, Cantonese and American Sign Language. But, in my experience, when we request these services, we are told that the translator is not available, that they do not translate legal documents, or that someone will call us back when a translator is available. Sometimes we don’t receive an answer at all.
Once, a Spanish-speaking friend of mine wanted to read all of his legal documents to better understand his legal options. He requested the interpretation services advertised on the wall. Later he received a letter from the New Jersey Department of Corrections, written in Spanish, that indicated the potential cost to the department to translate nearly 2,000 pages of legal documents: $31,877.85. They considered this amount “unreasonable” given the alleged existence of “alternative” options.
The letter, which was written in Spanish and which PJP editors have reviewed, explained that the advertised interpretation services applied only to “quasi-legal” issues — personnel and process questions internal to the prison — and encouraged my friend to access Spanish-speaking legal assistants and to request additional time in the law library.
In an email to a PJP editor, a spokesperson from the New Jersey DOC said the state prison system has a “comprehensive language assistance policy” in line with federal civil rights requirements.
The policy “includes the use of professional interpretation services, translated materials, and bilingual staff to support communications during intake, medical care, safety procedures and other critical interactions,” the spokesperson wrote.
He added that there are cases where translation “has been recommended or arranged when deemed necessary for comprehension or due process, particularly if the matter was court-ordered.” But, the spokesperson went on, “free legal translation services are not explicitly required to be provided by NJDOC.”
Even in cases where we are able to understand our legal documents, we are met with another barrier: technology. Outside prison, the legal system is digitizing. This prison is slow to catch up.
Due to advancing technology, courts rarely send paper into prisons. Instead, they send legal materials on flash drives. This is convenient for courts and lawyers, but inside the New Jersey State Prison, we are still using floppy disks. We generally only have access to a computer a couple times a month for about 90 minutes, barely enough time to read the legal documents, let alone understand them.
The state spokesperson said that computer access is generally scheduled ahead of time and “may vary depending on facility programming, security levels and staffing.”
Newer computers are rarely available, but when I do get access, I struggle with the technology. According to the state, three prisons in New Jersey offer computer literacy instruction, but mine isn’t one of them.
Language and technological barriers prevent us from ever having complete access to our legal material, which can have devastating consequences — consequences I have experienced firsthand.
Upon incarceration, prisoners have a one-year window to file a petition of habeas corpus in federal court, the vehicle for challenging their imprisonment. However, New Jersey does not provide legal assistance for this process, so prisoners must navigate the petition themselves.
When one element of my case was re-examined by the state trial court, I was poorly advised by a paralegal who said this would pause the one-year habeas filing clock. I had little legal experience, and my English was not strong enough to conduct my own legal research. By the time I realized the mistake, I was six years late and permanently lost the opportunity to have my detention reviewed in federal court.
After this lesson, I learned how important it is to know how to read your legal material. It took me almost two years to start feeling proficient in English, and of course that didn’t include the legal vocabulary, which remains a struggle. Some people take more time than others and some are never able to grasp the language at all.
The stakes are high because courts do not accept ignorance as an excuse.