Jail

I remember the first time I ever heard the clang of jail doors closing behind me.  It was June of 1990, and I was a second year law student in my first year at the public defender clinic, affectionately known for decades as “Lega’ Aid.”  The primary responsibility of a second year law student taking the public defender clinic for the first time is to interview prospective clients.  Most often the client walks in the door of the office, and the student takes their information, that is, name, address, contact information, financial information, what they are charged with, and their version of the facts which led to the charges.  But also on that list of duties for the student are regular visits to the jail to conduct interviews.

Various jails have various routines for admitting lawyers and law students, but they all share the routine of waiting at an electronically locked door for the buzzer sounding your permission to walk through.  Most jails have a series of doors as you snake your way into the bowels of the beast that is a jail. That is, except for the jail in American Samoa.   I’ve gone into jails hundreds of times and still I get a little creepy feeling when a door closes behind me as I make my way to see my client.  Jails are bleak.  They are not fun.  They’re not relaxing experiences.  There’s the noise.  There’s the constant threat of violence.  And there’s a palpable feeling in the air of a desperate longing for contact with someone from the outside.  As I make my way into the jail, I try to be aware that I will retrace my steps directly to once again breathe the sweet breath of freedom.  Not so for our hapless charges locked up. 

The Tofulo Correctional Facility – The American Samoan Jail

I went with Junior to the jail to visit a client for whom I have an upcoming trial.  The gate to the jail is unlocked.  There’s not even so much as a lock ON the gate.  We walked in, and Junior handed a list to who appeared to be a trustee of the clients we wanted to see.  The trustee took the list and promptly went to the various buildings in which the prisoners are housed and rounded them up for us.  When my client arrived, he greeted me with the common, “I am so happy you came to see me!”  Kinda melts your heart.  So we discussed his case, and, of course he had evidence, and I’ll have to go back for several more visits before the August 12 trial.  Having the inmates free to walk out the gate should they so desire seems somewhat surreal to me, and I don’t quite know what to make of it just yet.  But by and by, I hope to come to understand it a little better.  Nevertheless, it is still a jail, and they are prisoners, and they know it.

Next:  The Heat