Can California’s most notorious prison become a rehab center? Ex-residents weigh in
Thanh Tran walked out of California’s San Quentin state prison on 11 May 2022 after 10 years behind bars. One month later, he hopped on a plane and flew 5,000 miles away – to Oslo, Norway.
While in prison, Tran co-founded and co-hosted a podcast called Uncuffed, and in one of his first segments recorded as a free person, he toured the facilities of Norway, known for having significantly better conditions and less restrictive policies than seen in the US prison system. He immediately noticed the bright colors, guards playing games with residents, lack of prison uniforms and the huge spaces for rehabilitative programs.
“It was mind-blowing to see officers connecting with incarcerated people and treating them like humans,” recalled Tran, who also spoke at the Prison Radio International Conference while in Norway.
Last week, the governor of California, Gavin Newsom, announced he would be turning Tran’s former prison, the oldest in the state, into the San Quentin Rehabilitation Center, focused on education, training and re-entry, and modeled in part after the Scandinavian system. It would be a major change for the 170-year-old San Francisco Bay Area prison complex, which houses 4,000 people, is home to the country’s largest death row and has a long history of human rights violations, including recent scandals involving systemic medical neglect, guard misconduct, overcrowding and solitary confinement and torture claims. It’s also known for its arts programs, college partnerships and newspaper.
The Guardian spoke with Tran and
James King – both are former San Quentin residents who are now advocates with the Oakland, California-based nonprofit Ella Baker Center for Human Rights – about life inside the prison, Norway’s system and the obstacles Newsom may encounter.This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.
Can you explain the concept behind Norway’s prisons?
ThanhTran: You can sum up the Norway model with two words: returning neighbors. The expectation is this person will be coming home one day, so what type of neighbor do you want returning? My groupvisited the Bastoy prison island, Halden prison and Oslo prison, and what I found most impactful was the culture between correctional officers and incarcerated people. Officers need two years of training in social work, and they said they take these jobs to help people. They go in with a lens of social work and care: how do we help people rehabilitate? I saw officers barbecuing with incarcerated people, doing a marathon race with them, exercising with them, hanging out, playing cards, just having a conversation. That was so powerful.
How does the Norwegian environment compare with the California department of corrections and rehabilitation (CDCR)?
Tran: It’s completely different. At the first CDCR prison I went to, most officers wouldn’t even call me by my last name, which I already found dehumanizing. They’d just call me “inmate”, “guy” or “You over there, come here!” San Quentin was a little better, but still the guards are trained not to connect with people: don’t tell incarcerated people your first name, keep a distance. They fear overfamiliarity. When you see an incarcerated person as a father, a brother, someone’s son, someone’s mother, it becomes harder for the officers to Mace them, lock them in the cell every night, hit them with a baton. California officers’ relationship with incarcerated people is a completely adversarial one, whereas Norway is about building relationships.
James King: Let me describe the San Quentin cell: it’s approximately 4ft by 8-9ft long, houses two bunks, a toilet and a sink. An average-sized person can stand in the middle and touch both walls. You share the space with another