By Sonder Smith
Perhaps the most profound reaction was fear: the men, young and old, who were beckoned to the artwork and suddenly froze. Eyes big and bodies small as the artist reassured them that they were alright. That he had been there too and that it was just an art exhibit to raise awareness. They were safe. They could still leave.
The exhibit was a prison cell — a replica of the one local artist and activist Kevin Ballou had lived in while he was incarcerated.
Far more shocking than seeing a jail cell sitting across from the Rascal House was the sheer number of people who stopped and shared their stories. A college-aged girl was eagerly awaiting the release of her brother this summer. An old man with a sunny smile and a voice like Tom Waits struck up a conversation as he was setting up tents next door, part of a charity walk for multiple sclerosis. he had walked away from a cell like that years ago.
Hearing statistics of incarceration rates is one thing; stopping and talking with so many who have been deeply and personally touched by the system is entirely another.
Almost every single person who stopped by was a local. They were Clevelanders. Neighbors. There are so many members of our community who have been traumatized by living through the physical, emotional, sexual, psychological, financial, and medical abuses of imprisonment. But, at the very least, they remained in their community while incarcerated. Even if they weren't home, they were close enough that family and friends could ride the RTA to visit.
The Justice Center may be ugly — Brutalist in both architectural style and life-altering function — but it is efficient: trials, legal consultations, family visits are all under one roof.
While the Cuyahoga County Justice Center is a visually unappealing building, brown with Brutalist architecture, it is efficient. Attorneys, judges, defendants, and incarcerated citizens are all contained within one structure. Once you are there, everything — trial, legal consultation, or family visitation — is just an elevator ride away. Judgment above. Punishment below. It could be a convincing biblical metaphor if not for the glaring issues with the actual administration of justice.
It took nine human lives being lost within a year for former Cuyahoga County Jail director Ken Mills to be removed and convicted in 2019. A US Marshal Service investigation found the conditions of the jail to be "inhumane and dangerous" where access to basic rights such as food and medical care were denied or used as punishments. The county has settled millions of dollars in cases for civil rights violations. Perhaps the hell metaphor was apt after all. But no human being, guilty of crime or otherwise deserves the conditions at the Cuyahoga County Jail. Neither black robes nor golden badges make anyone God enough to absolve them of condemning community members to death.
Clevelanders don't want their families and friends subject to that. We don't want to fear that for ourselves and those we love. When given the opportunity for public comment, the people of the city have said time and time again that they want investment in other resources: in diversion, community care, and reform.
The county has other ideas. Cleveland was given until May 24th to either accept a jail, which the city would help pay for, or be forced to relocate neighbors to a different and newly constructed site. Rather than using funds to invest in projects that would nurture the city and its community members, the county is trying to strong-arm investment into torture and death.
Rather than using funds to invest in projects that would nurture the community, the county is trying to strong-arm investment into torture and death.
The proposed new jail was hailed by its program planning team as a “community resource”. In an April 21st site selection meeting, that same team outlined how the new jail could require up to 50 acres of land and house 2,400 beds (36% more beds than the current jail can safely accommodate). Part of the plans include ability for further expansion, hence the need for such sizable plots for site selection. While Clevelanders pass people's initiatives for safer police through Issue 24 and organize through coalition building to reject the inhumane and deadly systems currently in place, the city and county fight to expand them. Adding more beds does nothing to reform the existing harm. It just makes it easier to perpetrate on more community members both within Cleveland and Cuyahoga County.
Records of meetings with the Justice Steering Committee show notes from public comment sections that describe the strong community antipathy for the jail with page after page of different community members and groups speaking out against the project.
The conditions at the current jail are abysmal. But it’s not because the building is old, it’s because it is steeped in careless disregard for human life. A new façade, courtesy of what will amount to nearly a billion dollars of taxpayers’ money (accounting for union demands and environmental abatement) will not change that.
What it will do is make it more difficult for incarcerated individuals to meet with their lawyers and attend hearings. Public defenders are already overburdened with sparse time for their existing clients. Creating logistical barriers makes the administration of justice even more fraught in a city already struggling to do right by its residents.
The conditions at the current jail are abysmal. But it’s not because the building is old, it’s because it is steeped in careless disregard for human life.
A rehabilitation of the current jail would be both more cost-effective (estimated between $300-428 million to fix) than new construction and avoid the aforementioned logistical issues. However, improvements to the existing structure would not provide the tempting possibility of an impressive profit to the contractors pushing so hard for the project or to the county that could benefit from future land development. Their attempts to fill their coffers could choke the funds and freedom out of Cleveland.
When will local leaders learn that the city will not consent to its own damnation? When community members communicate and ask for healing and reform, the county responds with more cement, iron, and death. The $550 million the county is asking for a new jail would be blood money wrung from the very citizens who would be harmed.
Cleveland and Cuyahoga County need to say “no” to the new jail and “yes” to community care. Otherwise, we will never move forward.
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