Hazing, humiliation and terror
Women employed at federal prisons face myriad challenges in particularly difficult work environment
MVICTORVILLE, Calif. akeup, earrings and perfume are off limits. So are smiles.
Even the swing of a ponytail can attract unwanted attention, so women slick their hair back into a style known as the “bureau bun” — as in the Federal Bureau of Prisons. They wear oversized uniforms to hide the faint outlines of their undergarments, or cover themselves from neck to thigh with baggy black windbreakers known as “trash bags.”
For women who work in federal prisons, where they are vastly outnumbered by male colleagues and male inmates, concealing every trace of their femininity is both necessary and, ultimately, futile.
“They never even see what you are wearing,” Octavia Brown, a supervisor in Victorville, Calif., said of the inmates she oversees. “They see straight through it.”
Some inmates do not stop at stares. They grope, threaten and expose themselves. But what is worse, according to testimony, court documents and interviews with female prison workers, male colleagues can and do encourage such behavior, undermining the authority of female officers and jeopardizing their safety. Other male employees join in the harassment.
And while women who report harassment face retaliation, professional sabotage and even termination, a New York Times examination found, the careers of many harassers and those who protect them flourish.
When an inmate thrust his penis against Jessica Hodak, at the time a secretary in California, and threatened to rape her, she wanted to discipline him. But her manager pressured her to let it go, she said in a lawsuit. When an inmate groped a guard named Melinda Jenkins, she was ordered to play down the episode, according to a pending complaint with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. When she refused, the complaint says, managers made her submit to an unwanted medical examination that involved exposing her breasts to a colleague.
In one extreme instance, Wynona Mixon, a case manager who reported being raped by an inmate in a Tucson, Ariz., prison, suddenly found herself facing incarceration: She was criminally charged with raping her attacker.
Some high ranking officers who harassed women faced few repercussions. The same was true for their supervisors. The accused were often transferred to other prisons and given promotions, only to be reported for harassment again. And so the cycle continued.
In 2010, the EEOC issued a damning report, saying that the Bureau of Prisons systematically mishandled harassment claims and that retaliation there was “unusually high” compared with other federal agencies. The bureau today has more than 10,000 female employees, but women say little has changed for those who dare to speak up.
“Once you go through it, you’re pretty much blackballed from the government,” said Quantina Ponder, a correctional officer in Miami whose harassment complaint against a high-ranking officer
was upheld in 2015. “I know if it’s any kind of promotion or anything that I work hard for, I’ll probably never get it because of my situation.”
In May 2017, the House Oversight Committee opened an investigation into the agency, writing that despite continuous allegations of sexual misconduct, “the BOP continued to award bonuses to top administrators.”
Prison officials declined requests for interviews. In an emailed statement, the agency said it would not discuss individual cases, but “allegations of misconduct are taken seriously” and may be referred to the Office of Internal Affairs or the Justice Department’s Office of the Inspector General for investigation.
“We are committed to ensuring a safe workplace that is free of discrimination and harassment and
dedicated to the principles of equal employment opportunity,” the agency said.
In 2017, the Bureau of Prisons agreed to pay $20 million to female employees at the Coleman prison complex in Sumter County, Fla., more money to each plaintiff than any other Title VII gender discrimination settlement of the past decade. A judge found that, among other problems, managers had routinely ignored complaints about masturbation by inmates in front of female employees, known in prison slang as “gunning.”
One of the more than 135 women who provided testimony said it happened in the hallway, the shower and the activity room. “I probably saw 25 to 30 inmates masturbating during this one shift,” she said. Another affidavit described two female officers left alone with 70 inmates, several of whom took out their penises. When the women called for backup, no one came.
“It was the most humiliating and embarrassing incident I had ever been through in my life,” one of the women said. “I was terrified.”
When the women at Coleman tried to discipline inmates, according to case documents, male senior officers mocked them. They fed the disciplinary citations into the shredder and cut the inmates’ punishments short.
A lawsuit similar to the one in Florida claims that officers in Victorville used “gunning” as a reward for good behavior, moving favored inmates into “observation cells” where they had a better view of female staff members. On Friday, lawyers said a tentative settlement had been reached in the case but the terms were confidential because they had not yet been approved by a judge.
Some employees say they are caught in a system where the cost of challenging sexual misconduct is high, while those who commit or enable harassment thrive. Even the $20 million settlement at the Coleman prison complex in Florida did not stop the rise of managers there.
Roy Cheatham, who oversaw guards at Coleman, was promoted to warden at another prison, where he was found to have helped protect a lieutenant on his staff from sexual harassment complaints. Cheatham, who did not respond to attempts to reach him, then returned to Coleman with a promotion.
During his earlier time at Coleman, Cheatham had overseen Louis Williams, who according to the lawsuit had significantly reduced the punishments inmates received for “gunning.” After the settlement, Williams was promoted and moved to Wisconsin, where he was accused of harassment or retaliation by four subordinates. One case was deemed unsubstantiated and the rest are pending. He is now a warden in California and did not respond to attempts to contact him.
Two of the complaints were from supervisors who said that when they tried to protect their staff members, Williams responded with intimidation, threats and bullying. One, Norman Perkins, took a demotion to escape. Another, who asked not to be named for fear of further retaliation, said she has been permanently shunned.
“Nobody will vouch for me. I’m not trusted with anything,” she said. “They think, ‘If you weren’t here we’d have a man in your place.’ ”