There’s a common misconception that education in prison is free. I’ve heard this from staff at my prison, South Woods State Prison in New Jersey. Some staff have paid for higher education for themselves or their children, or have been priced out of doing so, and they resent the idea that I and my peers are possibly getting free rides.
But that sentiment overlooks several key points: We must qualify for our funding. We don’t receive the same college experience as outside students. And we don’t benefit from modern technology like outside students.
It’s true that I haven’t paid out-of-pocket tuition for my associate degree in liberal arts from Raritan Valley Community College, or my bachelor’s degree in justice studies from Rutgers University. Pell grants, scholarships and other funding have covered that cost. But my fellow students and I are never automatically granted funding. We have to fill out the same financial aid forms every year, in hopes that we qualify. If we don’t qualify because of a technicality, we hope that the school or NJ-STEP will cover the costs. As you can see, to attend college in prison is not a free or easy ride.
Some students, including myself, have been given scholarships because of our academic records. I graduated with my associate degree with a 4.0 GPA. I am finishing up my bachelor’s degree and have a 3.967 GPA, because of a pesky B-plus I got in one class.
This is despite the fact that I don’t benefit from the amenities or atmosphere of a traditional college campus. There are no student clubs, arts performances, sports teams or extracurricular activities as part of my schooling. We also have no sprawling campus library — far from it.
Beyond that, I’ve had little access to computers in prison, and we can’t access the internet. I took a computer literacy course for my associate degree. And after that ended, I have been allowed only limited computer sessions. My college counselor must schedule those sessions, and my prison does not always approve them. For one class this semester, I had to handwrite my entire 50-page paper and do research the old-fashioned way — by cross-referencing citations in bibliographies and requesting physical copies of all the academic articles I needed. After redrafting my senior thesis several times, I had written 400 pages by hand.
I still got an A on it, though.
This is largely the opposite of the current college experience, where students utilize Google searches, Microsoft Word, spell-checks and even rely on artificial intelligence to complete entire assignments.
That’s not to mention that prison is significantly less conducive to learning than an on-campus university. On the way to class I’m searched by guards. They’ll shuffle through my schoolwork, sometimes mixing up my assignments.
If I’m late to a class, I risk a disciplinary infraction and losing my ability to go outside or use the phone for anywhere from five to 15 days. And more recently, the staff at my prison has ended our access to a communal study hall. They turned it into a game room, which has left us trying to study alone while awkwardly sitting on our beds under poor lighting.
Even with these challenging circumstances, professors have told us that we are among the best students they’ve taught. We are engaged and grateful for the opportunity to learn. And that’s despite the fact that we can’t even choose the majors we are most passionate about. Only two majors are offered at my prison: a liberal arts major for the associate degree and a justice studies major for the bachelor’s degree.
When I leave prison, I hope to join an honor society like Phi Theta Kappa and pursue my graduate degree. That’s an underlying benefit of college education in prison — and one that benefits all of society. These college opportunities are designed to help us quickly reintegrate into our communities.
Keeping me from returning to prison is something that everyone should value, even the staff at my prison. But I understand part of the reason staff are upset about education. There’s one area we are probably in agreement: College has gotten way too expensive. I definitely would never be able to afford it without a ton of assistance. I grew up dirt poor.
In 1990, one year’s tuition for a student at a public four-year institution cost about $1,800, or $4,200 if you adjust for inflation, according to the Education Data Initiative. But that average cost for a student now has increased to about $10,000 — and the annual cost is close to $30,000 for out-of-state students.
I would love for college to be more accessible and affordable for prison staff and their children, but that doesn’t mean college access for incarcerated people needs to be taken away.
As much as my peers and I have valued our educational opportunities behind bars, we’d much rather be free than receiving a funded but limited college education inside prison. Not everyone in prison is guilty, and many of those who did commit a crime have been punished harshly with near-life or lifetime sentences. At the end of the day, we are still paying for our education. But instead of paying for it with our money, we are paying for it with our freedom.