In the summer of 2022, a group of incarcerated men fought the Contreras Fire, which would burn more than 17,000 acres of wildland west of Tucson before finally reaching the Kitt Peak observatory.

It was Juneteenth, the anniversary of the liberation of the last enslaved people in the United States. The temperature hit 99 that day. A Black prisoner was alarmed by the corrections officer briefing the firefighting crew.

“We start talking about work we were getting prepared to do,” the incarcerated individual would later write, “and he says ‘happy emancipation proclamation whatever the f--- that s--- means.’ And mind you, I am the only African American on the crew… I was taken aback and felt belittled.”

He is one of thousands of the Arizona incarcerated who may face racism and discrimination while on prison work duty.

According to statistics released by the Arizona Department of Corrections this past summer, Blacks comprise 15.7% of the incarcerated population while accounting for less than 6% of the total population. The incarcerated population of Hispanics and Native Americans also outpace their numbers relative to the general population.

Currently, there are 17,054 incarcerated people enrolled in work programs. According to the latest data released by the Arizona Department of Corrections Rehabilitation and Reentry, 1,416 incarcerated people work for Arizona Correctional Industries, a private company who contracts prison labor out to businesses, 1,306 work for intergovernmental agreements (in which they are leased out to other governmental agencies, such as the Department of Transportation), and the remaining incarcerated workforce (15,368 people) work in the Work Incentive Pay Program. This last program performs essential labor within the prisons, such as cooking, cleaning, and maintenance.

These workers may face discrimination with little recourse except via an informal complaint process, placing incarcerated workers at the mercy of the system.

I acquired 21 Inmate Informal Complaint Resolution forms relating to labor issues filed at the Arizona State Prison Complex Tucson between 2019 and 2022 from a public records request to the Arizona Department of Corrections, Rehabilitation, and Reentry.

Seven of the complaints alleged discrimination, eight alleged harassment, three alleged unsafe working conditions, two alleged they had not been paid, and one complaint alleged they had not been given work intentionally.

For incarcerated people, these informal complaints represent the primary means of self-advocating for better worker protections.

“I’m a hard worker,” the firefighter wrote. “I do what I am told and to the best of my capabilities and I should not have to listen to things like that in the workplace.”

“And I feel if I was any race but Black I would have a good job, a job that doesn’t feel like I’m picking cotton from a field or working the kitchen.”

The complaint process

The informal complaint process is the primary tool prisoners have at their disposal to address problems of discrimination, but the results are unclear.

The first step in the process of addressing a workplace grievance is to file an informal complaint, at which point the complaint will be reviewed by the facility Unit Grievance Coordinator, who may reject the complaint outright if it does not meet specific filing guidelines.

After this step, an Informal Grievance Responder located within the facility attempts to resolve the complaint, and provides a written response to the inmate in 15 workdays.

I requested all Inmate Informal Complaint Resolution forms and all non-medical grievance forms filed across the state from 2019 to 2022 that dealt with labor issues. In a response by the Arizona Department of Corrections Public Access Center, they asked the request to be narrowed to specific complexes, otherwise the request “may prove to be overly burdensome.” After this initial request was narrowed to include only the Arizona State Prison Complex Tucson, the department granted access. This resulted in 21 Inmate Informal Complaint Resolution forms relating to labor issues filed between 2019 and 2022.

Requests for other complexes are still pending, and the Arizona Department of Corrections has not yet responded to requests for comment.

The resulting 21 records are a small snapshot of the entire state. As of July 2023, the Tucson complex incarcerated 4,584 individuals and the Phoenix complex incarcerated 558 individuals, or approximately 15% of Arizona’s total incarcerated population.

Olivares-Pelayo says incarcerated people facing workplace discrimination might be better off remaining silent, which may explain the limited number of labor-related complaints filed.

 “In my experience, you’re shit out of luck and no one cares,” he says. “And you get treated like a disciplinary case. I think that’s one of the things that is most communicable, is that there is no inherent sense of fairness in prison labor.”

William Clark, who is currently incarcerated at the Douglas-Eggers facility, says that work assignments and rule changes can occasionally be arbitrary, which may in part explain workers speculating on the causes of their dismissals or reassignments.

To refuse work inside Arizona prisons is considered a major ticket, one step below assault and drug possession, and an abrupt rule change in policy that did not excuse work when someone visited him nearly had severe consequences for Clark.

“They gave me this ticket and it was serious,” he writes via an e-messaging service for incarcerated individuals that is closely monitored by the prisons. “I could've lost my scholarship because of how serious it was.”

“In my experience, you’re shit out of luck and no one cares,” Olivares-Pelayo says. “And you get treated like a disciplinary case. I think that’s one of the things that is most communicable, is that there is no inherent sense of fairness in prison labor.”

Rachael Steenbergh-Tideswell, a lawyer representing the EEOC, confirmed that incarcerated workers are not covered by EEOC guidelines, stating one way the guidelines could change is through the courts, though no case has currently moved up the federal court system. 

If the problem of discrimination within the incarcerated workforce moved through the court system, the commission would adapt, she said.

When asked if the EEOC might take a position on this issue at some time in the future, EEOC communications representative Victor Chen declined to speculate.

Can Arizona Prisoners Organize for Better Conditions? 

One recourse for incarcerated individuals facing systemic abuse, like all workers, is to organize for better working conditions.

For example, in 2018, prisoners at Lee Correctional Institution in South Carolina launched an 18-day series of hunger strikes and work stoppages following a deadly riot.

But such organizing comes with grave risks in Arizona prisons.

One reason is the huge dependence Arizona prisons have on incarcerated labor, says Wanda Bertram of the Prison Policy Initiative, a nonprofit based in Massachusetts.

“The major misconception about prison labor in this country is that people who are incarcerated are working for private companies,” she says. “That’s not true. The truth is that of the approximately one in every two people in prison who have some kind of job or have some kind of work assignment is working for the prison.”

John Fabricius, a formerly incarcerated individual who is now the executive director of Arizonans for Transparency and Accountability in Corrections, stresses the serious danger one might face for engaging in organizing activities or work stoppages.

“The words ‘extreme prejudice’ in the way they deal with that does not sufficiently describe how the state would respond to that,” he says. “They deal with that heinously.” Punishments can include solitary confinement, disciplinary tickets, transfers, and possible investigation to determine whether or not the member is part of a security threat group, says Fabricius.

Luminaria reached out to the Arizona Department of Corrections via phone and email for its perspective but received no response.

In addition to retaliation from the state, Arizona prison labor operates within a strict social hierarchy. A work stoppage, says Olivares-Pelayo, would only happen with the approval of the top members of the incarcerated class. “It would seem to me there would not be a systemically organized strike without buy-in from the very top of inmate social organization,” he says.

Fabricius seconded this assessment.

“We’ll take care of each other inside our own hierarchy,” Fabricius says. “It has to be a really, really, really serious issue for everybody to get on board with a work stoppage, because of retaliation.”

In order to effectively address discrimination in Arizona prisons, one of the main areas of improvement would be an increase in staff, along with the necessary training to meet Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion standards, says Molly Gill, the Vice President of Policy for the nonprofit Families Against Mandatory Minimums, located in Washington, D.C.

“All of these prison systems in America are strapped for cash and understaffed,” says Gill. “And so anytime you’re going to put more requirements on them, you’re talking about a staffing issue.”

The 13-member commission includes formerly incarcerated people, legislators, criminal justice workers and medical experts.

Without certain resources, such as a budget and a full-time staff, Gill’s view of the commission is one of tempered optimism.

“I think it does lack some important resources that I hope won’t hinder its ability to do the work, but we’ll see. In some ways, it is a little bit of an experiment,” she says.

Along with the establishment of the commission, the installment of Dr. Ryan Thornell as the new director is a source of hope, says Fabricius. “The Director of the Department of Corrections under Arizona law is given almost absolute power,” he says.

And according to Fabricius, Thornell is entering the role with the right intentions.

“I believe that he is centered correctly,” Fabricius says. “I believe that he is looking at these issues, and he is looking to implement some changes inside the department relative to some of the bigger problems.”

In the meantime, Fabricius is looking to the publication of the commission’s report this fall to point to clear, resolvable issues.

“We cannot rely on the government to tell us how the government is doing,” he says. “I don’t want to see a political document come out of this. I want to see a document that is actually detailing specific issues that we can solve.”

Legislative solutions 

One of the most direct ways to enact prison reform in Arizona would be through the Legislature.

In 2020, for example, Rep. Kirsten Engel, D-Tucson, led an effort to raise the minimum wage to $3 per hour for inmates who work ACI jobs. But even that modest reform bill – which would only affect a small percentage of incarcerated people – died in committee.

Diego Rodriguez, who served in the Arizona House of Representatives representing the 27th district from 2019 to 2021 and helped write what would become Gov. Hobbs’ executive order along with Fabricius, says that a lack of transparency, which the commission seeks to address, and exploitative labor conditions, go hand in hand.

“Arizona’s prison system, you can easily describe it as lacking accountability, lacking transparency,” Rodriguez says, “and now clearly moving towards where it sees incarcerated persons as resources to be exploited as cheap labor.”

The legislative possibilities for meaningful prison reform, in Rodriguez’s view, are blocked by an organized Republican party that does not want to be seen as soft on crime.

“I got to be honest with you, without sounding partisan, the Republican party is the biggest impediment in trying to get something passed,” Rodriguez says.

Walt Blackman, who formerly served as a Republican in the Arizona Legislature and is currently running to represent the seventh district in the house, disagrees. In his view, there are Republican voices who support prison reform.

“Solutions require buy-in from both parties,” Blackman said in an email exchange, “as well as from the communities most affected by the criminal justice system. Blaming one party for the complexities of prison reform may be an oversimplification and could potentially hinder productive dialogues that could lead to real change.”

Blackman says that he and other Republicans are working on specific prison reform measures.

“Some of my Republican colleagues and I have been exploring avenues for reform, including improving conditions within prisons, providing more mental health services, and establishing job training programs for inmates to better prepare them for reintegration into society,” Blackman said.

Other states have established independent oversight of their prisons. Both Washington and New Jersey have created permanent offices of prison oversight. New York has created a statewide body with mandatory prison inspection duties, while Pennsylvania and Illinois created bodies with discretionary monitoring authority. Michigan has a family advisory board.

Of these options, Gill says New Jersey’s permanent oversight is a productive model for other states.

“The ideal solution is to have the legislature create a permanent oversight body like the one in, say, New Jersey,” Gill says. “You have an ombudsman, whose got a staff, an annual budget, and the power to investigate complaints and inspect facilities.”

But such sweeping reform requires a willing legislature, something that may prove difficult in Arizona.

One of the reasons, in Rodriguez’s opinion, is the moneyed interest in maintaining the current status quo.

“Now you have the aspect of these private companies who get access to this below market-value labor, with little or no risk of liability on their part,” Rodriguez says. “There’s a lot of money involved in that, and, in my opinion, that has a lot to do with the problems we have in trying to achieve criminal justice reform in Arizona.”

In terms of solutions, one area Rodriguez pointed to is the need for families and loved ones to humanize those close to them who have been incarcerated.

“It’s so easy to dehumanize people who have been convicted of crimes,” Rodriguez says. “As opposed to seeing it as a dynamic process. That it’s not just a name and a case number. It’s a person, and they have families, and they have kids, and they have parents, and they have potential to make something more of themselves if they’re given a chance.”