Reynaldo Colón was up at 6:30 a.m., bouncing about his cell as he prepared for a rare in-person visit with a friend. He trimmed his beard and washed his face in the stainless steel sink, then removed a clear plastic bag from his gray property box. In it he’d neatly stored his newest blue uniform and a pair of fresh white shoes with a few dryer sheets so they’d smell nice. Once dressed, he sat in his bunk, anxiously waiting to be called.
At 7 a.m. came the announcement that visits were canceled. Again. The facility would be on lockdown due to short staff.
As Colón put his visiting clothes away, he tried to hide his disappointment.
Because of understaffing, Pinckneyville Correctional Center regularly cancels dayrooms, which means no access to phones, showers, school programs, the law library, yard and gym, and all visits are canceled (both in-person and video). The John Howard Association, an independent organization that monitors prisons in Illinois, reported that facility lockdowns rose 285% from 2019 to 2024.
These cancellations are apparently for the sake of staff and facility safety. But in doing so, the Department of Corrections trades one safety concern for another.
“Lockdowns hurt everyone,” said Jennifer Vollen-Katz, the executive director of the John Howard Association, in an interview with WTTS, Chicago’s PBS station.
Lockdowns make connecting with friends and family extremely difficult for us, putting strain on relationships. The increased feeling of isolation causes emotional distress, leading to a rise in substance abuse and tensions that create a higher probability of violence. It is a perfect storm that makes prison an even more volatile place to be.
For years, the COVID-19 pandemic made people around the world feel isolated and exacerbated feelings of loneliness, anxiety and depression. For individuals in custody in Illinois, it’s as if the pandemic never ended. We are still consistently confined to our cells and are rarely able to see or interact with family and friends.
When I interviewed Colón in January, it had been weeks since he had any type of visit. He told me due to lockdowns, his video visits had been canceled at least twice a month since late 2023. In November and December, he had a total of eight video visits canceled.
When this happens, staff typically don’t inform visitors as to why visits are canceled. “What’s crazy about it is sometimes my people think I’m lying,” Colón said, shaking his head. “Because of my bad history in prison, they think I’m causing trouble and losing visits. They blame me.”
In a passing conversation, another person told me that, on one recent Sunday, his 12:30 p.m. in-person visit was canceled because of short staff. But no one sent an e-mail to his family to inform them. They had taken time off work and saved up money to travel five hours from Chicago, only to be turned away at the gate. It made his family question whether it was worth making the trip to see him again and caused an argument between them.
During these frequent lockdowns, our commissary is also delayed, interfering with our ability to add money to tablet accounts to send electronic messages to friends and family. People go days without being able to contact anyone.
Research shows that a lack of visits has negative effects on the emotional stability of incarcerated people. Isolation worsens feelings of depression and anxiety. Being continuously locked in a cell, unable to regularly interact with loved ones, puts extra strain on relationships, which can be devastating.
This instability causes erratic emotions. From my view inside, violence becomes much more common. When we are let out of our cells, people rush to use the phones because they don’t know when they’ll get their next chance. Not long ago, I was sitting in the health care unit as six men were marched through in handcuffs after a fight in the dayroom over accessing the phone.
Violence isn’t the only outcome of these negative feelings. Individuals in custody, a population that already suffers from high rates of trauma and addiction, are more vulnerable to low self-esteem and substance abuse when they are unable to interact with loved ones.
I have a history of drug and alcohol abuse. Though I have been sober for 12 years, during the past year more frequent lockdowns have led to thoughts of using again.
Colón, who has struggled with substance abuse as well, said that when his visits are canceled, he feels “like shit.”
“When I feel like that, I wanna get high,” he said.
I interviewed Tony Davis about his experiences since these lockdowns began in early 2023. He told me about living with someone who would binge smoke any time the facility was locked down. His cellmate would stumble around the cell. Once, he hit his head against the wall hard enough to cause bleeding. And on many other occasions he would throw up and pass out.
“I wouldn’t know if he was alive until he came to a bit later,” Davis said.
This put Davis in a compromising position. If staff walked up during this time, both of them would face discipline. If he alerted staff himself, he would be labeled a snitch.
The Illinois Department of Corrections acknowledged recent problems with substance abuse along with high rates of disciplinary infractions during officer-led protests about staff safety in September 2024. Yet it seems facilities are willing to trade one for the other as long as the main concern for safety is ours.
“Increasing isolation, limiting productive activity, and keeping people from seeing or communicating more readily with their loved ones is not only painful, it also amplifies the already tense and harmful culture and climate that exists in many prisons,” John Howard’s Vollen-Katz said.
