Update 10/02/2020: On Thursday, Indiana Department of Correction Commissioner Rob Carter announced a pay increase for agency staff. Correctional officers will receive $19 per hour, with an increase to $20 within a year. The previous starting pay rate was $16 per hour.
The announcement said other agency staff would receive raises, as well.
鈥淚鈥檓 writing to thank all of you for your service during this unprecedented time,鈥� said Carter in an email to staff. 鈥淚 am proud of each and every one of you.鈥�
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Amanda Kohlhepp had plans for a career in corrections. She worked a few years as an officer at the men鈥檚 prison in Plainfield, Indiana, before she made sergeant in 2018, and hoped to keep moving up. She wanted to write policies 鈥� sensible ones that made life easier for staff and for people who are incarcerated.
鈥淚 wanted to move up the chain. I wanted to make a difference,鈥� she says. Kohlhepp even joked that when she became a warden, her partner could be a stay-at-home mom.
In April, she transferred from a men鈥檚 prison to the Indiana Women鈥檚 Prison in Indianapolis. 鈥淚t was known you can promote quickly at IWP,鈥� she says. 鈥淥nce I got there it was like, 鈥業 know why 鈥� everyone quits.鈥欌��
Staff retention is a long-standing issue within the Indiana Department of Correction. There are consistently hundreds of vacant positions across the department鈥檚 adult facilities, but the problem has gotten worse during the pandemic.
In April, the National Guard was activated to help with staff shortages, and even were required to come to work if they had no COVID-19 symptoms. The number of department vacancies grew from 888 at the end of February to 1,171 in July 鈥� the highest number since records were posted online in 2014.
Side Effects spoke with four former and one current staffer at the Indiana Women鈥檚 Prison, which reported 30 employees retired or were terminated from March through July. They describe severe staff shortages, harsh working conditions and a staff culture that prioritized punishing the women in the facility 鈥� issues that grew during the pandemic-related lockdown. They say their superiors pushed staff to go against department training, and that their efforts to treat women with respect only invited scrutiny. Those issues, they say, have hastened turnover at the prison.
Charlene Burkett, the ombudsman for the corrections department, notes the vacancy problem in her 2017 and 2018 annual reports. She says the problem has gotten worse 鈥� and can have troubling consequences.
鈥淚t's especially bad right now because of COVID,鈥� she says. 鈥淭here's been a lot of retirements within the department.鈥�
Burkett, whose office fields complaints about the department, says that as staffing numbers decline, complaints rise 鈥� along with incidents within the facilities. 鈥淲hen you have low staffing numbers, it creates a dangerous environment."
Corrections officials declined to be interviewed for this story. David Bursten, the department鈥檚 spokesperson, wrote in an email that the agency has held 150 recruiting events this year. 鈥淲e seek to attract people with fresh perspectives who can make the Department better through diversity and a true commitment to changing lives.鈥�
鈥淎s you prepare your story, you can help spread the word that there are career opportunities at the Indiana Department of Correction,鈥� Bursten wrote.
Bursten鈥檚 written statement, read to her over the phone, made Kohlhepp laugh out loud.
Kohlhepp says transferring to the Indiana Women鈥檚 Prison was a shock. When she arrived in April, the prison was locked down to prevent the spread of the coronavirus. Women were confined to their cells, most of which have no running water or toilets. The custody staff spent much of their time on door duty, monitoring dozens of cells for women needing the bathroom 鈥� many of the prison鈥檚 doors must be unlocked manually. Women were urinating in cups, sometimes skipping medications that could cause them to urinate more.
Kohlhepp says the summer heat compounded those issues. Emails show that staff had to call numerous medical emergencies during the lockdown, and even correctional officers had problems.
鈥淚t is well over 100 degrees in those rooms,鈥� she recalls. 鈥淚'm sweating my ass off, and I'm in the open.鈥�
Kohlhepp says she once showed up to a unit to find an incarcerated woman draped over a wheelchair, nodding off, slurring her words and unable to give her name 鈥� signs of a heat stroke. The officer on duty never called the medical staff.
Kohlhepp called a signal 3000 鈥� a medical emergency 鈥� and put ice packs in the woman鈥檚 armpits, something she remembered from lifeguarding at Walt Disney World.
When the prison finally unlocked the cell doors, corrections officials said it was because of the heat. Kohlhepp says it was actually a result of media coverage highlighting onerous lockdown conditions, calling it a 鈥淐YA thing鈥� 鈥� cover your ass.
She says the women鈥檚 prison had a different staff culture, too. There was pressure on the staff to be stricter with the inmates, to 鈥渓ay hands on鈥� women when she would have preferred to de-escalate a situation. Officers frequently punished women for minor infractions that would have received warnings or gone unnoticed at the men鈥檚 prison, she says.
鈥淭he women get treated worse than the men,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t was an everyday struggle with my morals.鈥�
In one particular incident that still bothers her, Kohlhepp says a woman flailed and accidentally kicked her. Kohlhepp wasn鈥檛 injured, but she says the woman was given nine months in solitary confinement for the offense.
Kohlhepp and other former staff say the prison was consistently short-staffed. Officers were forced to work overtime nearly every day, an additional four hours on top of their 12-hour shifts. Kohlhepp was often relegated to a post 鈥� normally a CO鈥檚 job, not a sergeant鈥檚 鈥� and was sometimes the only staff member overseeing several units.
鈥淚 was a sergeant on paper, but really I was a glorified officer,鈥� she says.
One of her duties was to act as a member of a quick response team, which would deal with emergencies in the facility. Kohlhepp says that department policy dictates that the team must have four members, but she often responded to such emergencies alone. No one had her back.
鈥淧robably 85 to 90% of the time I was there, I was the only person responding,鈥� she says. 鈥淭hat's not safe, period. I don't know how they're getting away with it, but they do.鈥�
Of the four former corrections staff who spoke to Side Effects, only one volunteered that she worried about contracting the coronavirus. Instead, they mostly shared complaints similar to Kohlhepp鈥檚.
鈥淚 felt like an outcast because of how I treated my offenders,鈥� says Sarah Knorr, who left the department during the pandemic. 鈥淭hey basically want the officers to treat individual human beings like animals 鈥� maybe even worse.鈥�
Knorr says some staff mistreated the women in the prison. They wouldn鈥檛 always unlock cell doors for bathroom breaks, which forced inmates to pee in cups and pour it out the window instead. She frequently heard officers to refer to the women as 鈥渄umb bitches.鈥�
鈥淎 lot of the officers, they have anger issues,鈥� she says, adding that sometimes they even yelled at her.
The treatment of the inmates gave Knorr nightmares: 鈥淚 would wake up thinking I was having to lock a door.鈥� She often cried on her way to the prison, and when she left, she took work home with her.
鈥淚'm supposed to be having fun with my family, and I'm worried about what the next officer is doing to my unit,鈥� she says.
In June and July, outdoor temperatures in Indianapolis rose into the 90s. Knorr says it was even hotter inside, especially in the cells. The heat made Knorr and other officers sick and 鈥渇all out.鈥� Knorr once passed out at her desk.
On July 3, Knorr says, the administration still directed them to shut and lock women in their cells. She worried an elderly prisoner would suffer from heat stroke, or even die.
She walked out and never went back. 鈥淚鈥檝e never had a job affect me as bad as IWP,鈥� she says.
Renee, another former officer, also saw veteran staff mistreat inmates, including a sergeant who yelled at and chest-bumped inmates. 鈥淲hy are they doing that?" she says. "That鈥檚 not our training. That goes against our core values.鈥�
Renee, who asked to use only her middle name because she worried speaking out might affect her future job prospects, says her superiors frequently yelled at her and her fellow officers. She received multiple writeups for missing work, even though she had valid excuses, including doctor鈥檚 appointments.
Her superiors labeled her 鈥渙ffender friendly,鈥� she says, and ordered her to make three writeups a shift, which can result in punishments for the inmates. But some days, the only infractions she saw were masks worn under women鈥檚 noses. Renee said in those instances, she followed her training, telling women to pull their mask up rather than write them up.
When her superiors threatened disciplinary action for failing to meet the quota, she quit during a shift. 鈥淚 have been pushed over the edge,鈥� she recalls telling one of her bosses. 鈥淚鈥檓 not doing this anymore.鈥�
She added that earlier that shift, the commanders had told them the prison was too short-staffed to respond quickly to an emergency. 鈥淚 mean, that鈥檚 scary,鈥� she says.
As a sergeant at the men鈥檚 prison, Kohlhepp says her bosses trusted her to do her job. But at the women鈥檚 facility, her superiors would watch her every move through the security cameras.
During one particularly grueling shift in May, as she hustled to let women in and out of their cells for bathroom breaks, she said her commanding officer called her a dozen times in three hours, nitpicking her actions based on the limited view of the cameras.
鈥淎ll they do at that facility is watch cameras. Not to watch the offenders 鈥� it鈥檚 to watch the staff,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t just shows a complete lack of trust.鈥�
Kohlhepp snapped at her supervisor, who wrote her up and sent her to the deputy warden鈥檚 office for discipline.
Around that time, Kohlhepp recalls, she became short with her partner and her family. 鈥淚 burned through my sick time because of stress. I'm in therapy now because 鈥� I can't deal with what they're doing. It's so frustrating.鈥�
She aimed to transfer back to the men鈥檚 prison. Meanwhile, Kohlhepp felt like her superiors were looking for a reason to fire her. In July, they found one.
Kohlhepp says she slipped up while working the segregation unit, where women are held in solitary confinement. 鈥淚 was exhausted, irritated that I was working a post.鈥�
Two women in that unit would write on the walls using feces and blood. Kohlhepp took pity on the woman assigned to clean it up, and offered her a cup of coffee.
Another woman on the unit was known for throwing urine at officers 鈥� except for Kohlhepp, who had learned that treating the woman with respect, and the occasional snack, kept her dry.
The woman asked for an ice pop, and Kohlhepp obliged. She assumed the woman had already been given one 鈥� there鈥檚 no other reason she would have known to ask, Kohlhepp says.
In Indiana prisons, giving an 鈥渁rticle鈥� to an inmate, even food or drink, is known as trafficking 鈥� a criminal offense. David Bursten, the department spokesman, wrote in an email that 鈥渘o matter how trivial the item trafficked, at some point in the future the offender will threaten the staff member that the trafficking events will be reported, thus jeopardizing the staff member鈥檚 employment.鈥� The concern is that inmates would use that information against an officer later and get them to bring in other contraband.
The current and former employees say trafficking is a frequent issue in the women鈥檚 prison and people caught trafficking are not always fired.
鈥淚t might seem like it鈥檚 black and white, but it鈥檚 really not,鈥� says a current staffer at the prison, who asked to remain anonymous because they didn鈥檛 have permission to speak to the media. They say trafficked items at the prison aren鈥檛 usually drugs or cell phones 鈥� but food and hygiene products, which are in short supply.
鈥淭hey鈥檙e going to ignore it if it鈥檚 somebody they like, who鈥檚 in their good graces,鈥� they say. 鈥淚f it鈥檚 somebody they don鈥檛 like, they鈥檙e going to crack down on it and use it as a way to get them out.鈥�
Bursten acknowledged that trafficking does not always result in termination. 鈥淭he totality of the circumstances are weighed when making decisions to retain or dismiss personnel as a result of substantiated allegations,鈥� he wrote.
When Kohlhepp arrived to work one day soon after, she was met at the entrance by internal investigators. After about 20 minutes of questioning, she was placed on unpaid leave and sent home.
She thought about writing a resignation letter, but held off because she still hoped she鈥檇 get demoted instead of fired. But on Aug. 7, the deputy warden called to let her go. The termination letter she received in the mail cites conduct unbecoming of staff, neglect/dereliction of duty and trafficking.
The Department of Correction declined to answer questions about Kohlhepp鈥檚 termination. It referred Side Effects to the State Personnel Department, which also declined to provide specifics.
鈥淚t wasn't like I was giving them drugs or smuggling in cell phones,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t's just something to relieve a little bit of the shit that they've been going through. That's what that got me 鈥� fired.鈥�
Meanwhile, in late September, a current employee says, the prison has had to limit outdoor recreation time, and even call officers in on their day off, because of the staff shortage. About 5% of positions at the Indiana Women鈥檚 Prison are vacant, according to the July 31 human resources report.
And the women鈥檚 prison is not the worst off.
Thirteen of the state鈥檚 18 adult prisons report vacancy rates of more than 10% 鈥� five facilities have rates higher than 20%. The Miami Correctional Facility, which is currently experiencing a surge of coronavirus cases, reports 156 vacancies 鈥� 28% of its total positions. At least thirty-eight people left the prison in July alone.
On Sept. 14, the corrections department sent out its annual culture assessment. Select current employees have the chance to provide feedback, and agree or disagree with statements like 鈥淢y ideas and opinions are welcomed and considered at the facility/district鈥� or 鈥淪taff treat offenders with respect.鈥�
Kohlhepp says in the past, the survey led to the department changing its policy on beards. Still, she doesn't expect meaningful change from the process. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 really feel like it does anything. It鈥檚 just more of a bitch session.鈥�
鈥淜ey to retention is letting staff know their efforts are appreciated,鈥� wrote Bursten, the department spokesperson. 鈥淲e conduct recurring events to express appreciation, recognition and thanks to those who serve, and to acknowledge the best among our ranks.鈥� He mentioned various awards corrections leaders give to staff, and that the first week of May is Correctional Professional鈥檚 Appreciation Week.
鈥淲e get pens every year,鈥� Kohlhepp says. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 the appreciation.鈥�
When Kohlhepp spoke to Side Effects in September, she was delivering food for Door Dash, and planning to start a job at a Lowe鈥檚 call center in November.
She struggles with what would have happened if she never transferred from the men鈥檚 prison. 鈥淚鈥檇 still be doing what I was doing,鈥� she says. 鈥淭he pension, the retirement 鈥� all this time that I put in got tossed aside like a piece of trash.鈥�
Given her aspirations, it shouldn鈥檛 have been a relief to leave the women鈥檚 prison, but it was.
She says, 鈥淚鈥檓 not really sure of my money situation right now, but I鈥檓 mentally at peace."
This story was produced by , a news collaborative covering public health. Jake Harper can be reached at jharper@wfyi.org. He's on Twitter .
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