Prisons across the country have suffered from severe staffing shortages — including South Woods State Prison in New Jersey, where I was housed until February. That prison detains over 3,000 people, from minimum to maximum custody.

On days when the prison was understaffed, we were locked in our cells with zero access to phones, showers or recreation. Sometimes this lasted for longer than 35 hours straight. We were not even permitted to leave our cells to receive food (it was served through slots in the wall).

Before I was transferred from South Woods State Prison, I spoke to three officers about the understaffing problem. All of them were senior officers with more than 10 years on the job. At that time, they said that the prison was about 30% understaffed. 

Recent reporting shows that the state prison system is about 300 corrections officers short. In January, NJ.com reported that “lawmakers and department leaders now characterize this as the most serious staffing crisis in decades.” I also sent a letter with questions to Eleazar Spratley, who runs South Woods State Prison, but never received a response.

The New Jersey Department of Corrections also did not respond to multiple requests for comment from Prison Journalism Project editors.

The officers who did clock in said they often worked 16-hour shifts multiple times a week. That can be a scenario for disaster. Those officers were fed up and exhausted. They barely saw their families. Some told me they had strained marriages.

I talked to one officer, who asked to remain anonymous, on the day he decided to quit his job. 

“My wife gave me a choice of either corrections or her and our newborn child,” he said. “Naturally, I chose my family.”

Another officer, who asked that I refer to him as E.R. because state prison policy forbids him from speaking with the media, said he was suspended for refusing mandatory overtime.

“I had to pick up my kids from school,” he said.

A third officer, who also requested anonymity, said he “hated” working for the New Jersey prison system. He had just purchased an off-road vehicle, but he could never use it because he was working so much mandatory overtime.

“My wife and I both work for NJDOC and we both get [mandatory overtime] too much,” he said. 

Officers working this mandatory overtime didn’t appear to want to be at work. I witnessed officers fall asleep at their posts, or find other means of entertainment, like bringing in flash drives on keychains so they could watch movies.

In March, I spoke to an incarcerated person, who asked to go by Mu. He was also detained at South Woods State Prison with me before being transferred to East Jersey State Prison, where we both now reside.

“When South Woods was short-staffed and locked down,” he said, “I saw the officer going into the office on the wing to sleep and watch TV.”

In a job where safety and security are paramount, that creates an opportunity for criminal behavior.

During the first week of January, over 12 cellphones and various other unauthorized items were discovered in the part of the prison where I was detained. This prompted a partial lockdown. Then a group of specialty officers was dispatched to look for more items and, as a result, destroyed my room and every other room in our part of the prison.

During the investigation, it was discovered that the cellphones and other contraband items had been thrown over the prison fence from a nearby wooded area.

It’s possible this occurred because corrections vehicles that were supposed to circle the prison to prevent such occurrences were visibly parked during their scheduled rounds. The officers parked in visible areas, usually by one of the recreation yards, where incarcerated people could see from their cell windows and yard. I’ve seen this myself when I’ve been on the yard.

In other words, it could be that the contraband was successfully thrown over the fences because nobody was watching.

Through my sister, I wrote to Emmanual Walton, an old friend at South Woods State Prison, to ask him about the staffing issue. “Even when officers are here, they are not here,” he wrote. “If their focus was on safety and security, then drugs wouldn’t exist inside the prison and finding phones would not be an issue.”

The kinds of staffing shifts that occur during these times don’t help the situation. When officer shortages happen, the prison pulls guards from posts that are deemed nonessential — like working the gym or the law library — to fill other posts. If the prison does not have enough people to staff every post, then officers are moved around and we are ordered to remain in our cells. During these times, we lose access to classes, programs, recreation time, the law library and other opportunities until adequate staffing returns.

If people don’t have healthy outlets to pour their energy into, they’ll find unhealthy ones, such as scheming to bring in drugs and using drugs or partaking in violence. 

Take these detrimental impacts on both staff and the incarcerated and the result is clear: no one’s safety is secure. I don’t entirely blame the officers for this; as in most workplaces, there is sometimes a disconnect between leadership and staff. I don’t even blame the special officers who trashed my cell. If their intent was to make this place safe, I’m OK with having to replace the numerous items they broke. But it does appear that the higher-level administrative staff is not in touch with what’s happening to the staff and incarcerated people on the ground.

At the end of the day, both staff and incarcerated people want the same thing: to be safe and make it home.