Shane Staggs wrote about his experience in solitary confinement for Street Roots while he was sitting in the Disciplinary Segregation Unit at Oregon State Penitentiary in March. (His letter has been edited for clarity; the underlines are Staggs'.) This article is part of a Street Roots report on inmates' experience with solitary confinement.
A Solitary Mind
by Shane Staggs
This is a lonely place. As I wander in this state of seclusion, anxiety follows. Panic meets depression, simultaneously, colliding with many other mental and emotional deprivations I need most at this time in order to feel human.
In solitary confinement, the un-requested sounds of keys and muffled radio correspondence have become indicators of time. They mark the nameless hours by which no clock tracks; according to our overseer the warden, inmates deserve no sense of the passing of time.
I shall be content with that only because all else is silent in the sensory deprivations forced upon me by my arrival to the Oregon State Penitentiary’s Segregation Unit.
My one-man cell: A bathroom with bars and a bed is where I spend 23 hours and 20 minutes a day by myself. Forty minutes to shower and shave before I must return to my box. Lost in deep thoughts and confused over how I’ve ended up residing in such a place, I’m in my head a lot. Still a strong mind is the only reason I am able to avoid suicidal contemplation.
I look for answers to my many questions but have yet to find them, I am left to guess, or assume. … Today one of my questions is why I’ve just read in the Statesman Journal that an ex teacher got sentenced to 180 days in county jail for molesting a child for close to a decade; my mind is left to pray that not only does that man meet with karma for his actions beyond the half year sentence his judge imposed on him, but also that the young man he abused recovers in a way that allows him to enjoy life without fear of seclusion himself.
My next question is why? Why am I serving a full year (365) days in solitary confinement for an unjustified allegation in prison?
I am in constant awe of the Oregon Department of Corrections. This “organization” has no organization. I cannot be convinced otherwise.
Furthermore, is it necessary that every night I am forced to try and fall asleep to the off-beat drumming produced by a mentally unstable schizophrenic?
This cruel and unusual punishment on the other inmates and I is inhumane; worse is that the mentally vulnerable are subject to the same inhumane conditions, tipping that precarious balance that is their instability, while at the same time invading my own sanity, putting me at risk of potentially becoming what I see, what I hear even as this is being wrote and read – an “unstable mind” diagnosed by forces beyond his control.
How does being in his cage away from others help me? How does it aid in rehabilitation? Does it make sense to remove me from general population when I am not threat to others?
The judge in my case has already done the ultimate punishment. If I cannot be involved in a program, or a club, or many other pro-social activities due to non-punitive segregation, how can I succeed? If the testimony of a desperate inmate with a drug problem is all administration needs to put me in a box for a year at a time, despite my achievements in self-help classes, gainful employment and mentorship, you may as well label me a “target.” I do. A target not only to the “desperate,” but also to the pathological failure who is most envious of my success.
Is it fair to force me to cut ties from my life, to remove a son from his father’s reach? Is it healthy to force my shoulder, away leaving no familiar surface for my wife to cry on? Depriving me of life and liberty?
I would like to know why ODOC thinks this kind of treatment is necessary in the slightest fashion.
I feel it is very important to have communication from loved ones while in prison; it is evident that such connections aid in fostering healthy relationships and therefore reduce the risk of recidivism upon a prisoner’s transition into society.
This form of “non-punitive” solitude does the exact opposite; indeed, it presents the alternative: Immersement into the deviant lifestyle to which a previous offender is most accustomed.
To be alone is a scary feeling. In a place like this, trusting is hard, and knowing who to trust is even harder.
I chose the former, it is easier to trust no one. Cold, dingy, dark … I feel what I witness. As I get minimal sleep tonight, I’ll prepare for tomorrow.
If I can overanalyze just enough to make logical exceptions for my conspiring thoughts … It just might be a good day.
Shane’s story
Shane Staggs grew up in Clearwater, Calif., what he describes as “a small dead-end town” in the northern part of the state. He has never met his biological father, and growing up, he rarely saw his mother. She was battling a heroin addiction.
As a kid, he lived under his stepfather’s roof, and he was the only multi-racial person in the household – a fact his cousins made sure he was constantly aware of.
Staggs became so accustomed to domestic violence and abuse from his stepfather, he said, that eventually it was the mental anguish that affected him more than the physical pain he endured.
When he was 9, he began stealing his stepdad’s weed so he could share it with his friends. He said he got higher from the feeling of finally being accepted than from the THC. But that changed as he got older.
He moved to Eugene as a teenager and began to sell drugs to college students. By age 17, he said, he was pushing large quantities of cocaine, pills and MDMA. He drank and popped pills. Pills graduated to heroin.
“I was smart. I just had zero guidance,” he said. “My priorities were all wrong.”
It was around this time he began to reconnect with his mother. The two would bond over methadone and OxyContin. He said these were some of his happiest memories.
In his early 20s, he moved to Washougal, Wash., where he shared a four-bedroom home with a friend and his then-girlfriend. He said he had a “legit” painting business and was staying out of trouble, although he was still using drugs.
Then his mother died of a heroin overdose.
In quick succession, Staggs lost everything.
When he got back from his mother’s funeral in Colorado, there was an eviction notice on his front door. He headed back to Eugene, where he began selling drugs, forging checks and committing other crimes. During that time, his girlfriend gave birth to his son. As soon as he cut the umbilical cord at the hospital, the state took the boy because the mother had drugs in her system.
Shortly thereafter, his girlfriend was sent to prison. Already spiraling out of control, he felt he had nothing else to lose at that point. Staggs went on a five-day crime spree, kicking down doors and robbing people. The spree escalated to kidnapping when he and his accomplice forced two University of Oregon students and another woman, on separate occasions, to drive around town and make ATM withdrawals.
“I finally got caught,” Staggs said. “I can honestly say I am thankful for that.”
As Staggs began to detox on the floor of the Lane County jail, he was looking at an indictment for 14 counts of Measure 11 crimes, which carry mandatory minimum sentences. He was soon handed a 17 1/2-year sentence, which he began to serve in 2010.
During Staggs’ incarceration, he’s been sent to solitary confinement three times – once for four months after a fight, and twice, nearly a year each time, for drugs. Two of those times, he was found guilty based on information gleaned from confidential informants. He maintains his innocence.
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