William Avila

My name is Wilbert Avila. I am twenty years of age and working as an intern for the Campaign for Youth Justice. I am here to tell all of you my experiences being a juvenile at the age of sixteen in the DC Jail Department of Corrections Juvenile block, known as the “Quack”. They consider it the “Quack” because the DC Jail jumpsuit is orange like a duck and since you’re in a cell feeling dehumanized you start to Quack like a duck. My struggle was hard, my life scarred, and my mindset crippled.

Originally I thought I would only be in jail for a few weeks while I waited to go to court, but the weeks became months and I realized I was going no where because I was different from juveniles and adults. Since I was a juvenile charged as an adult I could not go to any group home for juveniles and because I was sixteen and I could not go to a house for adults. So, I was stuck in the DC Jail. I was viewed as a high danger to the community even though this was my first time in the criminal justice system.

When I went to my cell for the first time, the sound of a door made of bars opening was the first thing I heard. In my cell the toilet was dirty with fruit flies all over and red stains on the floor. I later found out that the red stains are from the juice that we are given during meals. I never had seen living standards like these before and now they were mine. “Was I made for this lifestyle,” was what I asked myself. That question was never answered. My friends my age, youth my age were sent to Oak Hill, a juvenile facility and I was mixed with adults because I was considered an adult. Do not show emotions like fear and power was what I thought when looking in the eyes of a 30 year old man, whose weight was about tripled my size. How am I going to defend myself? This man, like every man around me, could easily do damage to my small body. When all of us were being wrapped with chains from head to toe I could see and feel frustration and disappointment. Being surrounded with men triple my age I could only expect the worst. The stories about going to adult prison and facts about survival of the fittest was my reality now. I would be transformed into a rough creature. There was no where to run and no where to hide and deep down inside I knew I was walking into hell.

Days were long and boring; the adequate way to passing the day was to sleep, look at each other, or watch television. There was a small hallway with cells we sat on the cold floor to watch television. About seven months later we received a few chairs. Violence would be the only way to handle conflict between inmates. Fights occurred often inside the cell while the correctional officer was distracted. The fight would stop and no staff would know unless the person was badly beaten. If that was to happen, which did mostly every fight, by someone getting jumped or one on one fights they would be sent to the medical staff. You could not talk about the fights because you would be considered a snitch and was vulnerable to ending up in a bed in the infirmity. So we all kept our mouths closed. If you did not fight you would most likely be treated like a pet. You could beat and control but it would never defend itself.

The DC Jail virtually no programs to fill our time. I participated in the Free Minds Book Club and Writing Workshop. I found it beneficial, because it helped me express my reality of the inside and outside through words. We had a prep GED class. Why? Don’t ask me. We still are in the age to get a high school diploma. Also, why go if we can’t even take the GED at DC Jail? Were they thinking this youth group has nothing else to expect except a GED? Talk about low self esteem to be considered an ignorant person in society just because you are behind bars. Everyone was taught at the same level no matter their math or reading abilities, there was no challenge or stimulation. Like most kids on the block I stopped going even if it meant spending more time in my cell.

The mental health program was a time to go into a small overcrowded room and express our emotions. Useless was the definition I gave it. Our counselor would want us to talk about how we felt being in this predicament, in a state prison. It was hard for a young person, like me, to discuss emotions while being surround by other juveniles. He would lose any hope that someone would talk so he would just put a DVD in and called it counseling. If I was to request individual sessions it took about a month for someone to come but usually nobody came. Thus, all my anger and frustration would be kept inside, left to boil until I woke up on the wrong side of the bunk. That happened a lot because my mind was not growing but paused and for my fellow youth inmates their mind would be paused for years to come as they where being shipped out to the federal penitentiary with years on their shoulders. They would be sent far like Memphis, Pennsylvania, or Wisconsin leaving behind family and friends. It would be them against the world because that’s the way I felt.

In outside recreation the equipment we had was old and used up. We would ask for new equipment but the better equipment would go to the adults. So what we would end up with was another void spot to walk around in DC Jail. The programs were supposed to pass time, but what they really did was make me lose hope.

Being in the juvenile wing at the jail didn’t really mean anything because we saw adult inmates all the time during the day. A typical day for us would include 3 hours outside the cell in the morning. However, I was working on the detail so I got a little extra time out. This meant I would be out to pass the food and clean. All the juveniles would be put in their cells and I would be the one to go up stairs get the food trays from adults, come back to our wing and pass it out. Then an adult prisoner would come to our wing to give me our juices. That process and interaction would take place at all meal times. Those 30 minutes to an hour I valued because it was less time I had to be in the cage. After the food was eaten I would collect the trays one by one and give the trays to an adult who would then take it back to the entrance of the block. Working detail I also helped with the cleaning. When I was cleaning, sometimes our cleaning supplies would run out so I would be sent to the adult wing to get supplies like the floor liquid, an extra mop, and etc. Adults on laundry detail would also come to our wing to collect our dirty clothes.

All of this, my experience, is why I think we need more programs for youth. Juveniles today feel isolated. No programs existed for me. I sat in a cell for about a year. The sad part is that most juveniles are sitting in jail awaiting court while they could still be going to school and doing something beneficial. Instead of learning how to survive in an adult prison, there could be other places a child could be. I ask you, is that what you want future adults to learn: How to survive in a jungle of violence?