As You Can See, This Facility Was Built With Mental Health in Mind

I started getting trained at the longer-term jail facility after working in booking for two months.  I’m getting a tour and the guy providing it, I don’t remember his title or which agency he was with, but I do remember how proud he was of the facility.

“We have windows in the day rooms here and, as you can see, this facility was built with mental health in mind.” 

While he’s talking, I’m watching one of the nurses do “pill call,” which is the term they use for passing out morning meds.  She’s going cell to cell and the inmates have to get on their knees or hunch over 90 degrees in front of the cell doors to reach their hands through the pass-throughs, which are about knee height, and get their pills poured into their hands. I get the creeps watching this. The posture is reminiscent of a priest providing communion.

A deputy walks in and says, “Wilson smeared diarrhea on the walls again, can we get some workers in there and get him in another cell?” Another deputy says, "That fucking guy, yeah, on it," and he radios for inmate workers needed on the unit.

The nurse continues to a cell door where the inmate is not ready with her hands out and the deputy starts banging his baton on the cell door loudly saying her name, "Hey! Pill call!"

The nurse says, “Oh, she’s deaf, so you have to flash your light on her to get her attention.”

I’m for windows.  I’m for more windows than they have and it’s clear someone fought hard for them or there wouldn’t be this much pride attached. But in this moment, as I experience this jail for the first time, I am struggling to see the positive impact they’ve had on these caged-crawling-deaf-diarrhea-smearing human beings. 

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Review

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This story is powerful, visceral, and unflinchingly honest, offering a searing critique of the inhumanity of carceral systems and the disconnect between institutional pride and the harsh realities of incarceration. It’s a sharp, observational piece that captures how small moments—like the posture of receiving medication or the dehumanizing treatment of inmates—reveal the deeply embedded cruelty of a system that claims to prioritize care.

The central theme of this story is the illusion of progress in dehumanizing systems. Despite claims of being built with “mental health in mind,” the jail’s practices reflect anything but compassion. The stark contrast exposes how superficial reforms often mask systemic cruelty.

The way inmates are forced to hunch or kneel to receive their medication evokes religious submission but is stripped of dignity and meaning. The pride in having windows is painfully ironic when juxtaposed with the degrading conditions inside—suggesting that cosmetic improvements do little to address systemic harm. The discomfort grows as the tour progresses, signaling a realization of how deeply flawed and oppressive the system truly is.