Guards Put Their Case to the Public

Twenty years ago, leaders of California’s prison guards union decided they had an image problem. So they coined a catchy new slogan, boldly proclaiming that correctional officers walk “the toughest beat in the state.”

Now the guards are speaking up again -- with a passion. As a wave of scandal and the budget crisis put their profession -- and those who practice it -- on the defensive, prison officers are striking back with an up-close-and-personal public relations blitz.

The union will soon hit the airwaves in major cities with a television ad that recounts the beating of a female officer by an inmate -- and warns that staffing cuts will put more guards at risk.

Plans also are afoot to broadcast on cable a 28-minute film that depicts the dangers inside prison, blending footage of riots and tattooed cons with vignettes of officers assaulted on the job.

Copies of the movie, “Hard Time,” were recently distributed to state legislators, opinion leaders and the media, along with a brochure, “In Harm’s Way,” and fliers featuring the battered face and story of Suzi Jones, the officer attacked in March.

Meanwhile, prison tours for the press and lawmakers, complete with chartered bus, coffee and pastries, have been organized by union leaders as well.

“The only time you hear about anything that happens behind the walls is when there are allegations of abuse or riots or escapes. So it gives a jaundiced view of the job we do,” said Lance Corcoran, vice president of the union, the California Correctional Peace Officers Assn.

“We’re reaching out to bring the reality of the job to the public, and so our members see that somebody is standing up for them.”

The 31,000-member union has long been known for savvy public relations. But Corcoran said the annual budget for such outreach -- about $500,000 -- will more than double this year, an increase driven mostly by the expense of buying TV advertising.

That comes in addition to a variety of goodwill efforts by the union, including college scholarships, donations to crime-victim groups, and a “Thumbs Up” program that fingerprints schoolchildren so parents and police can better search for them should they turn up missing.

Though expensive, Corcoran said, the campaign is vital to help counter the recent tide of reports, legislative testimony and other portrayals that have demoralized officers while giving the profession a black eye.

Perhaps the most stinging criticisms came in January from a federal court investigator, who said guards and top corrections managers embrace a corrosive “code of silence,” protecting employees who abuse inmates and commit other wrongs. After that report, legislation was introduced to establish a code of conduct for officers, overhaul the penal system’s internal disciplinary efforts and force other reforms.

The Schwarzenegger administration has acknowledged widespread problems and pledged to root out corruption. What it has not done adequately, Corcoran said, is vouch for its men and women in uniform.

“I recognize that not everyone I represent is worthy of the badge, but the vast majority are moms and dads and good people,” he said. “We will spend whatever it takes to defend them and speak up for them, because the Department of Corrections has completely failed to do it.”

The union’s promotional effort comes at a time of unusual uncertainty for correctional officers, perhaps the most anxious period since eight guards were accused -- and acquitted -- of staging “gladiator fights” among inmates at Corcoran State Prison in the late 1990s.

Over the last few decades -- a time of dramatic expansion of California’s incarcerated population -- guards enjoyed steady gains in salaries, benefits, training and political clout.

Now, however, the union is undergoing intense scrutiny from lawmakers, while staffing cuts are on the table, prison closures seem likely, and Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger is pressuring officers to accept a rollback of salary increases.

Two years ago, then-Gov. Gray Davis signed a contract with the union that provides raises of as much as 37% by 2006, and permits officers to retire at age 50 with as much as 90% of their salary. All but one legislator voted for the deal.

Recently, however, lawmakers have had second thoughts, especially given the budget crisis. Sen. Jackie Speier (D-Hillsborough), co-chairwoman of a hearing on the contract in March, questioned union President Mike Jimenez about its provisions in a long, testy exchange.

In an interview, Speier said the Legislature “absolutely” has to block the 11.6% salary increase slated for this year because other budget priorities, such as “ensuring AIDS patients get their medicine, or helping kids with cancer and cerebral palsy,” are more urgent.

“You have to respect an organization that puts together this kind of a deal for their members,” Speier said. “But the game’s over.”

Such talk infuriates union leaders, who say they negotiated their contract in good faith and work jobs that carry unusual risks.

To buttress their case, and ensure that lawmakers and other Californians grasp the realities of their workplace, they are circulating “Hard Time” and the story of Jones.

Ray McNally, a Sacramento consultant who has provided the union with political and public relations help for 15 years, wrote and directed “Hard Time,” filming inside maximum-security prisons such as Corcoran and Pelican Bay.

McNally also puts out “Assault Alert,” a periodic press release that announces attacks on prison staff.

He says, and a Department of Corrections spokeswoman confirms, that 3,215 prison staff members were assaulted in 2002, and that the number is rising.

“The reality of prison life is a story that typically isn’t told,” McNally said.

“In most movies, you see a bunch of bull-necked, knuckle-dragging guards and all these inmate poets, these gentle souls. That works in Hollywood, but it’s not reality.”

Accented with edgy rock music and a grainy montage of images, the film features interviews with guards recalling riots and attacks, footage of confiscated weapons fashioned by inmates and shots of violent melees among prisoners, whom one officer describes as “animals.”

“Behind the concrete and razor-wire of California prisons,” the narrator says, “you enter a world almost impossible to imagine. Brutal. Violent. Unpredictable. Where gangs battle for control and inmates attack officers ‘to make their bones.’ ”

Speier said that “Hard Time,” which cost $75,000 to make, and the other promotional efforts “look like nothing more than damage control” by the union.

She also argues that though prison guards “definitely have a difficult job,” more lives are lost in the line of duty by large police forces, and that “it’s hard to argue that they walk the toughest beat in the state.”

John Scott, a San Francisco attorney whose clients include inmate families and officers with civil cases against the Department of Corrections, also questions the message.

“There are a lot of hardworking, honest, devoted officers who deserve to be applauded,” Scott said.

“But why do they get paid so much? Why do they have great benefits? Because it’s a very dangerous job. If you don’t like it, go teach Sunday school.”

Jones, the officer assaulted while working at the maximum-security prison in Folsom, is a 14-year veteran. She suffered a broken nose, cuts, extensive facial bruising and other injuries in the March 18 assault, and remains on leave.

“I thought he was going to kill me,” Jones said of her attacker, who jumped her in the prison barber shop and pummeled her face until several other officers responded.

Jones, 52, said she remains seriously shaken, with headaches and other complications. She volunteered to tell her story for the union’s campaign because “I want people to know that these guys I work with aren’t Boy Scouts, they aren’t in here for parking tickets.

“I work in a maximum-security unit, and the job is not hard unless you realize who’s in here,” Jones said. “I work with bad guys, and it’s getting more volatile every year. Society needs to know this.”

Cynthia Kirshner is the union’s chapter president at the prison where Jones works. She believes legislators are trying to scramble out of the budget crisis on the backs of correctional officers, and she cheers the stepped-up public relations campaign.

“Are officers demoralized? My God, yes,” said Kirshner, a 17-year prison employee.

“Do we have to get out and defend our profession? Yes we do, and we’re fools if we don’t.”