MARTHA PAYNTER: Pandemic proving disastrous for women in Nova Scotia federal prison
Martha Paynter is a registered nurse, a PhD candidate at Dalhousie University School of Nursing, and the chair of Wellness Within: An Organization for Health and Justice.
The news that 49 people (24 prisoners, at least 25 staff) have now tested positive for COVID-19 at the Nova Institution for Women, a federal prison in Truro, brings a nightmare we foresaw in March 2020 into reality.
As a registered nurse who researches prisoner health, and as a community advocate for people in prisons for women, I have responded to the impact of the pandemic in the context of prisons.
For two years, there have been steadfast calls for decarceration as the only meaningful solution to prevent the pandemic from spreading inside correctional facilities. Although, in spring 2020, Nova Scotia made headlines for releasing 42 per cent of women from the provincial jail into community, the federal prison made no effort to do the same. Now it is too late.
There are at least five reasons why COVID-19 in prison is a disaster far beyond what we have seen in the community.
First, the speed of transmission in a congregate environment. With one third of the incarcerated population already testing positive, there is no possible way to safely separate those who are infected from those who are not. Spread will continue.
Second, incarcerated people have complex health histories, including high rates of chronic disease, mental illness, and substance use disorder, placing them at much greater physical and emotional risk from the impact of infection.
Third, prisoners do not have control over their lives. Although over 90 per cent of prisoners at Nova chose to be vaccinated, they are still inadequately protected from omicron. A near-guarantee of contracting a potentially lethal virus is not part of anyone’s sentence.
Fourth, most of the prisoners are mothers and parents. They have already endured inconceivable trauma, separated from their children during a global crisis that has caused rates of mental illness and suicide to skyrocket. With COVID-19 now inside, they and their kids are very, very afraid.
Fifth, health care is one of the leading sources of prisoner complaints to the Office of the Correctional Investigator, the federal prison watchdog, at the best of times. What will health care look like now?
On top of all of this, 50 per cent of women in federal prisons in Canada are Indigenous, while Indigenous people represent only five per cent of the general population in the country. Despite calls from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and the Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women and Girls’ Inquiry to urgently address the numbers of Indigenous people behind bars, the problem only worsened in recent years. There can be no reconciliation while such a grossly disproportionate number of Indigenous people are not only subjected to the torment of incarceration, but the terror of COVID-19 infection in a space where they have no autonomy and inadequate health resources.
Most people incarcerated in federal prisons for women have experienced childhood abuse, sexual assault, poverty and trauma. Prisons do not increase public safety — they are ripe for the spread of disease, and high turnover brings those infections into nearby communities. Prisons are ill-equipped to provide care.
In 2019, a young mother, Samantha Wallace, died of pneumonia while incarcerated at Nova Institution, reportedly after days of neglect. There can be no rehabilitation while people are fearing for their lives because of the dangerous conditions of confinement.
Further, with 25 of Nova’s staff testing positive — a number that is sure to rise quickly — the prison faces serious threats to operational viability. The prison was already understaffed. How many of the positive cases are among health-care staff? Will there be sufficient staff to escort prisoners to external appointments, and for inpatient hospitalizations, if necessary? Under lockdown conditions, and when staffing levels are low, violence in prisons tends to escalate.
Meanwhile, at least 74 prisoners have tested positive for COVID-19 at the provincial Central Nova Scotia Correctional Facility in Burnside, although there are none (yet) in the women’s unit.
Correctional Services Canada has a legislated duty to provide healthful conditions, to provide health services at professional standards, and to consider health in all decisions affecting a prisoner. Preventing the current disaster should have dominated CSC’s plans for the past two years, and every effort made to find community-based, supportive housing options. Instead, restricting visitation was a dominant strategy to restrict infection.
What can we do now? Well, stop putting more people in prison, right now. As Halifax-based prisoner rights advocate Sara Tessier recommends, start by “Suspending suspensions.” People who violate parole will be sent to police cells, then provincial jail, then back to federal prison — putting them through at least three dangerous sites to become infected or infect others. This cycle only amplifies harm.
For people who are not yet infected, immediate action must be taken to secure safe, community-based supportive housing. In a housing crisis like the one we are in now, this is extremely trying. Organizations like Elizabeth Fry and Coverdale have worked themselves to the bone to house people released from carceral systems and must be adequately and consistently funded for these efforts. Right now, we face an emergency, but only reliable long-term funding will support the development of strong alternatives.
Federal prison is a $2.4 billion/year operation. We need to stop throwing money at this system and redirect it to meaningfully address the trauma and poverty that drives criminalization. The horror of mass infection at the Truro prison must finally change our thinking.