Inmates facing big virus risks not a priority for vaccinations
DENVER — Amber Johnson is terrified her 63-yearold father will get the coronavirus. He has high blood pressure and asthma and is pre-diabetic, and she worries he’s especially vulnerable as an inmate in Colorado, where outbreaks in prisons are raging.
Prisons across the U.S. have been hit hard by COVID-19. Social distancing is virtually impossible behind bars: inmates sleep in close quarters and share bathrooms. Masks, hygiene supplies and safety protocols are often lacking, and many inmates have health problems that make them susceptible to the virus.
Ms. Johnson believes a vaccine might be the only hope for her father, Ronald Johnson, who is serving time for theft, forgery and drug possession.
But in Colorado and most other states, prisoners aren’t near the front of the line for initial doses of COVID-19 vaccine now being distributed. Health care workers and nursing home residents are getting the first wave of shots, and many argue that those who break the law shouldn’t be a priority when many others are vulnerable.
“To think about him dying in prison is an awful thought because from what I’ve heard, if you have a loved one who dies in prison, you just kind of get the remains in a box. They cremate them and send them home,” Amber Johnson said. “You don’t have the opportunity to sit by them and hold their hand.”
Initially, Colorado had inmates in the second phase of vaccine distribution, set for the spring, behind health workers and first responders but ahead of other adults over 65 with health conditions. Prisoners were to be treated like others in group housing, including homeless shelters and college dorms.
But an outcry followed. Suburban Denver prosecutor George Brauchler said the plan would have allowed two men convicted of killing the son of 66-year-old state Sen. Rhonda Fields to be vaccinated before her.
“The people who murdered her son would get it before she would,” Mr. Brauchler said.
Democratic Gov. Jared Polis bowed to criticism earlier this month, updating the plan to prioritize age and health risks over where people live. Jail staffers will still get the vaccine in the second phase, along with first responders.
“Whether you’re in prison or not, if you’re 67 years old or at risk, wherever you are, you’ll have access to the vaccine when 67year-olds have access to vaccines,” Mr. Polis said.
Though Colorado changed course, California, North Carolina, Maryland, Delaware, Utah, New Mexico, Nebraska, Montana and Massachusetts have prisoners among the first to get the vaccine this winter. Some states also have taken steps to reduce COVID-19 risks behind bars by releasing nonviolent offenders early.
But even in states with the biggest prison outbreaks, inmates often weren’t on early vaccine distribution plans.
The federal prison system, one of the first government agencies to receive the vaccine, plans to administer initial vaccines to staff, not inmates, according to documents obtained by the AP.
For families of inmates, the uncertainty is gutwrenching. They’re pleading with officials to consider the transmission risks behind bars. Medical experts also have suggested that living arrangements in prisons call for higher priority.
“From a public health perspective, it’s also really important because what we’ve seen is they are hot spots,” said Maria Morris, senior staff attorney at the American Civil Liberties Union’s National Prison Project.
More than 249,000 inmates have tested positive and nearly 1,700 have died from COVID-19 nationwide. At a Colorado prison this month, nearly three-fourths of inmates caught the virus.
The ACLU of Colorado has been fighting for early release for some prisoners to lower their risk. Ronald Johnson has served 22 years and got his parole moved up to 2027, but his daughter worries that’s too late.
Amber Johnson said her father is a nonviolent offender who has sobered up, tutors other inmates, helps in the prison church and coordinates mental health courses. She says he deserves a chance to live, and that means a vaccine.
“The time is now,” said Ms. Johnson, who lives in Fayetteville, Ark. “It needs to be done urgently before somebody else dies — and somebody else will.”