I meant to link to this earlier this week, but my feature in the magazine this month is about how learning that an article I wrote was banned by the Virginia Department of Corrections led me into the world of prison censorship generally. Prisons have an obvious interest in preventing inmates from getting their hands on dangerous reading materials that might help facilitate an escape, but in practice, an unaccountable system ends up censoring material based on the whims of prison administrators -- everything from James Joyce to legal guides for inmates filing appeals. Much of this is the result of Clinton-era tough-on-crime laws that limit inmates' opportunities to challenge even the dumbest rules.
This article was interesting to write because one of the main sources is someone whom people might not view as particularly sympathetic, given his background, but who ends up being a rather able champion of the First Amendment anyway:
William R. Couch is the kind of inmate guards might be worried about. In the late 1980s, he worked as a repairman for Sears, and his house calls doubled as a way to scope out potential rape victims. In 1992, he pleaded guilty to raping three women after visiting their homes. The prosecutor described him "as close to a professional rapist as you can get," and the judge who sentenced him to life in prison compared him to serial killer Ted Bundy.
Three years in, Couch began working in the law library at Augusta Correctional Facility for 45 cents an hour -- a plum job for those inmates with the necessary skills. He slowly joined an unofficial fraternity of "jailhouse lawyers," inmates with the legal knowledge to help other inmates file cases. "I can't walk around the yard without being inundated with [questions]," Couch says. Through people like Couch, other inmates can access legal services without having to rely on unscrupulous attorneys squeezing money from inmates' families through a lengthy, hopeless appeals process. Couch is also unusually talented -- he's won several suits against the Virginia Department of Corrections while proceeding "pro se," or without counsel. In his first case in 2005, he forced a settlement with the state on behalf of a group of Muslim inmates who were being starved during Ramadan because of the facility's meal schedule.
Winning prisoners' rights cases is difficult -- even with a lawyer. For prisoners without legal representation, it's downright rare. "It's very uncommon for prisoners, many of whom have little education ... to actually prevail in a pro se case," says Rachel Meeropol, a staff attorney at the Center for Constitutional Rights.
You can read the rest here.
