In the last several years, some states have decided the word “inmate” has got to go.
In 2022, New York officially swapped out the word for “incarcerated person” in its law books. Washington State did the same for its state statutes, websites and internal communications. More recently, Oregon opted for “adults in custody” instead of inmates, and California is in the process of overhauling its regulatory language to use “incarcerated persons.”
It appears the same changes might soon come to New Jersey, where I’m incarcerated. Assembly Bill 2609 would replace “inmate” with “incarcerated person” across all state statutes. (Similar legislation was introduced in June 2024, but never passed.)
Despite the previous unsuccessful legislative push, the New Jersey Department of Corrections has already mostly replaced the term with incarcerated person on its website and public-facing documents — and has also worked to replace the term in its internal documents or messages.
But to be honest, whether the new legislation passes or not, I don’t think these changes will help me much. For people like me, the new terminology has done little, if anything, to reduce the dehumanization we experience.
Person-centered language came out of the disability rights movement. It evolved with the understanding that language shapes action — leading to person-centered care through policy reform and improved treatment. It was never intended to be a stand-alone remedy. In other words, while there may be good intentions behind the desire to change the language around incarceration, lawmakers and NJDOC officials must dig deeper to actually make a difference.
More useful legislative initiatives might update officer training procedures and improve screening of prison staff, whose focus should be on respect and humanizing treatment.
Contrary to what folks on the outside might assume, there are people in prison who use the word “prisoner” as a form of self-empowerment. For them, and myself, this term is more accurate because it connotes being held against one’s will. There are also those who prefer the term “convict” because it doesn’t denote guilt or innocence but simply identifies that a person was convicted of a crime and that they are incarcerated. The idea that there is one “right” term that all of us inside will find more appropriate than others is itself misguided.
We all know that people in prison are not permitted to act like people. Every day we are ordered not to be too friendly or converse too much. We are ordered to not smile and laugh with staff because “undue familiarity” is grounds for disciplinary action.
We cannot give food to someone who is hungry, soap to someone who has none or gifts to someone to bring cheer on a holiday. Even handing someone a Q-tip to clean their ears is a violation.
In addition to denying our capacity for empathy, connection and kindness, prisons also neglect our basic needs. We are constantly told we can’t have something essential, whether it’s a phone call, a shower, outside recreation, food that is not spoiled and so on. We pray for each day to run as smoothly as possible. If not, and a lockdown is called, we are warehoused in our rooms with no productive or constructive outlets to keep us sane — let alone help us grow or improve ourselves. My previous prison, South Woods State Prison, where I was transferred from in February, was so short-staffed that we were already locked down most weekends.
Even when there is proof that people inside are trying to be the best they can be, there is little recognition or support for their efforts. At South Woods, for example, the tier housing about 100 residents who are pursuing a college education was the most peaceful when I was detained there. Perhaps because we all have something to lose, that tier — an incentive tier, which theoretically allows more privileges — has had the least amount of disciplinary infractions, incidents and cases of illicit drug use in the prison.
Despite this, we are treated no differently than other inmates. In fact, some supervisors want to see our higher education program, NJ-STEP, dismantled because we are getting a “free” education while they have to pay for their kids’ college; staff are not shy about revealing this sentiment.
Current reporting shows that the harsh climate of prisons is only continuing to deteriorate. It is safe to say that today, the New Jersey state prison system has fallen short of its mission to promote rehabilitation and reintegration. By definition, anything that dehumanizes — especially in such a visceral, systemic way — cannot reinforce anything person-centered.
Being called a person, even an incarcerated person, will be meaningful when the systems using this language are actually humane. If not, they may create negative associations with what it even means to be a person.
If not accompanied by systematic change, using the term “incarcerated people” is nothing more than window dressing. Meanwhile, behind the pretty curtains, the brutal reality of incarceration will continue to degrade our humanity.