In a state prison near Stillwater, Minn., past armed guards and wings of cells stacked one on top of the other, tucked in the corner of the computer lab, Richard Adams and Paul Gordon fervently discuss grammar.
Both of them are on staff Prison Mirror, a newspaper created by and for those held at the Minnesota Correctional Facility – Stillwater. Gordon has written a profile on a prison art instructor. He read it aloud to Adams.
“I wonder if there’s a certain style or preference to paint. ‘When I get time, I like Bob Ross, the guy who does the painting on the TPT channel,'” Gordon read, referring to the Twin Cities PBS channel. Adams leaned in, look confused on the face, and ask the person to repeat the sentence.
“Is that what he said?” Adams asked. “It sounds like you said you liked someone from the TPT channel.” He suggested Gordon add an attribution to the quote, such as “he said” or “he replied.”
This kind of talk has been going on in this prison for over a century. At Prison Mirror is one of the oldest prison newspapers in the country, dating back to 1887. Publications like this are not uncommon, but in an era when many journalism outlets in the free world are struggling to thrive amid multiple layoffs, journalism behind bars continues to thrive . .
“Overall, we’re seeing growth and a lot of interest in starting publications, even starting podcasts. So that’s really exciting,” said Yukari Kane, CEO of the Prison Journalism Project.
Thirty years ago, he said there were only six prison newspapers. Today, there are more than two dozen. That’s not considering the hundreds of incarcerated writers submitting their work to outside publications, like The Marshall Project’s Life Inside series.
Kane says work like this can provide a window into what prisons are really like, something prison administrators shouldn’t offer freely.
“There is a lot of information that people in prison see and experience every day. There are some reports that can only be done from the inside,” he said.
Although the newspaper did not spread far from the prison, it gave a sense of empowerment to the writers.
“Having a newspaper, it’s useful for everyone. It informs the population. It gives a voice,” said Gordon. “There’s a quote I like: You can either be an agent of destiny or a victim.”
The Stillwater inmate writes book reviews, legal explanations, and summaries of local, national, and international events for a monthly newspaper. One person recently submitted an essay about homesickness. Others wrote editorials criticizing the lock. Those on staff – there are only three of them – have to apply for these unpaid jobs, and they are highly sought after.
Adams said the project required a lot of reading and research about what was happening around the world and in prisons. There are challenges. They don’t have internet, for example, so they have to rely on print media and articles printed by prison staff.
‘They technically have freedom of the press, but they don’t free themselves’
The prison must also approve everything the newspaper publishes. Men say they can limit what they write, especially if they want to report on the more difficult aspects of their lives.
“I’m limited, they won’t let me print all kinds of crazy stuff about water or locks or detentions or anything, that’s understandable,” Gordon said.
Last fall, about 100 Stillwater inmates refused to return to their cells. Gordon said the disobedience was a way to protest the extreme heat, poor water quality, and understaffing, which often led to lockdowns. He plans to write about it, but says he has been retaliated against in the past for submitting reports to outside publications.
“I’m more aggressive when I write, and it was a learning experience for me,” he said.
Brian Nam-Sonenstein, senior editor at the Prison Policy Initiative, said punishment for doing journalism behind bars is common.
“You can lose what’s called good time credits, which means time off the sentence based on good behavior. You can go to solitary confinement. You can have your privileges revoked,” he said.
“They technically have freedom of the press, but they don’t free themselves,” said Kane, of the Prison Journalism Project. “So they face consequences and potentially with the work they do.”
In addition, anything approved by the prison administration can undermine any journalistic endeavor, although the ability to write freely varies between prisons, Nam-Sonenstein said.
“Incarcerated newsrooms should not be held by prison organs, but we must recognize the obstacles they face, especially if we compare them to the journalism of the free world,” he said.
Marty Hawthorne works at the Stillwater prison and oversees it Prison Mirror.
“They have a lot of freedom. My philosophy is: It’s a newspaper. It’s not my newspaper,” he said. “I believe he had every right to do what he did.”
He said that when they plan to publish something critical, they make sure that anyone they write to has a chance to respond. But he said he also pushed back when leaders tried to censor stories he thought were fair.
“Because that’s my job,” he said. “He’s the one who’s in jail, isn’t he? They have no power or authority. Someone should speak for them in this place.
Gordon, who is serving a nearly 20-year life sentence for murder, has worked at the newspaper for only a few months.
“I believe that my job is only to make a position, and then let people draw their own conclusions,” he said. “I hope to write something important and by writing, I hope to leave a different mark on the world than I have left.”
Patrick Bonga, senior editor for the newspaper, said including all parties to the story has changed the way we think about the world. He has been in and out of prison several times. Now to attack, he says the newspaper helps break the cycle.
“During the first 40 years of my life, opinions other than mine were not important. But now it is necessary to be objective and collect stories that are not the same, I have now started to practice in my own life a lot against bias. And that is a big thing,” he said .
For Gordon, creating a paper is not just about journalism. It’s about getting to the turning point.
“When we first came to prison, it was a journey to determine how to do this time. We came here and we are crazy in the world, that life cannot come out. We spend day after day trying to understand and find that one moment that we will make one decision, everything will be right,” he said. “Then we get angry at the people around us because no one helped us at that time. And this is the journey to finally get to the point where we are responsible for our own actions, where we can finally grow.
Adams said he wants to keep the story positive.
“I don’t want to bring the negative to the newspaper because we all know what’s wrong. Let’s bring something positive, what’s right,” he said.
He set up a suggestion box in his cell, for other prisoners to weigh in on what to read. He also wants to start an advice column. He was a father, and he thought that others would have questions about how to be a good father, even though his relationship with his children was mostly over the phone.
Now, he’s writing about things men can do if they’re freed to earn extra money — like driving for Uber and DoorDash, or selling flowers.
“You have a choice when you’re here, where you can change or you can go back and do the same thing you did here. You can go back and at least try to make a difference,” he said.
After all, many people in prison get out and return to their communities. Adams wants to give them hope and the tools to start over when and if they get the chance.