We were at yet another set of meetings at local government offices and moving from place to place because our conference rooms were booked by other groups. On the way to the last conference room which was really a storage room with tables and haris in it, we were hit in the face with the strong scent of fresh paint. I screwdd up my face and toldm my collague that I was definitely going to faint because of the fumes and when I truned back around I saw the painting crew: they were all male and dressed in white jumpsuits with thick black stripes. On their heads, they wore square rimless painter's caps that were also striped in black and white. They looked something like the outfits Eddie Murphy and Martin Lawrence wore in the movie "Life". Actually, this is almost an exact replica of their clothes.
The mena were uniformly nice and respectful as we passed through -- they took off their caps as the ladies walked through their work cordon and called ahead, "Be careful," "Wet walls," and "Coming through!" I thought it was some kind of schtick. I turned toward my colleague and said through gritted teeth, "What is this? Why do the painters have to dress like convicts?"
"They are," she replied. "This is how they work off their time. They don't get paid, but they can get shorter sentences."
Oh. so the jurisdiction gets free labor, while the men pay down their debt to society and maybe pick up a skill that can be used for employment afer incarceration. Still, I couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for the guys -- they were genuinely respectful and it seemed like they were being used by the state. By the same token, I couldn't see the people on the other side of their criminal transactions -- the people robbed, homes burglarized, innocents beaten, or kids hurt in a DUI accident -- victims are almost always anonymous and forgotten. I never feel ambivalence about the guys who do work detail as I speed by on the side of the highway, but somehow being in close quarters with, and looking into the eyes of, another human being in captivity outside of the context of his prior actions, haunts me. Do you have any opinions or feelings about prison labor?
The mena were uniformly nice and respectful as we passed through -- they took off their caps as the ladies walked through their work cordon and called ahead, "Be careful," "Wet walls," and "Coming through!" I thought it was some kind of schtick. I turned toward my colleague and said through gritted teeth, "What is this? Why do the painters have to dress like convicts?"
"They are," she replied. "This is how they work off their time. They don't get paid, but they can get shorter sentences."
Oh. so the jurisdiction gets free labor, while the men pay down their debt to society and maybe pick up a skill that can be used for employment afer incarceration. Still, I couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for the guys -- they were genuinely respectful and it seemed like they were being used by the state. By the same token, I couldn't see the people on the other side of their criminal transactions -- the people robbed, homes burglarized, innocents beaten, or kids hurt in a DUI accident -- victims are almost always anonymous and forgotten. I never feel ambivalence about the guys who do work detail as I speed by on the side of the highway, but somehow being in close quarters with, and looking into the eyes of, another human being in captivity outside of the context of his prior actions, haunts me. Do you have any opinions or feelings about prison labor?
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