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<h1>Prisoners Deserve to Survive Natural Disasters, Too</h1>

<p>The United States have been rocked by two major hurricanes this month, Helene and Milton. In both instances, as the skies darkened and flood waters rose, thousands of incarcerated people were either evacuated at the last possible minute—or were simply left behind. Organizations such as <a href="https://fighttoxicprisons.wordpress.com/about/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Fight Toxic Prisons</a> and <a href="https://www.jailhouselawyersspeak.com/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Jailhouse Lawyers Speak</a> have worked tirelessly to hold officials accountable, <a href="https://fighttoxicprisons.wordpress.com/2024/10/07/urgent-prisoners-left-in-evacuation-zones-ahead-of-milton-evacuateflprisons/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">pressure prisons to evacuate people</a> and stockpile supplies when needed, highlight voices from inside the walls, support loved ones, and uncover what’s really happening.</p>



<p>Each year, those who live near the Atlantic Ocean, particularly those near the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean, brace themselves for <a href="https://www.noaa.gov/news-release/highly-active-hurricane-season-likely-to-continue-in-atlantic" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">the return of hurricane season</a>. As the water temperatures increase and mix with warm, humid air, tropical thunderstorms form and gather speed. Once a storm’s <a href="https://oceanservice.noaa.gov/facts/hurricane.html#:~:text=When%20a%20storm's%20maximum%20sustained,hurricane's%20potential%20for%20property%20damage." target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">winds reach 74 miles per hour</a>, the storm is officially classed as a hurricane—and people on land begin paying much closer attention. Between June and the end of November, the looming threat of high-speed winds, heavy rainfall, and coastal flooding hangs in the air; those who live closest to the water make emergency plans, keep an eye on their vulnerable neighbors, coordinate mutual aid efforts, and hold onto hope that, this year, they’ll be safe.</p>



<p>If a hurricane does make landfall, many in the area of impact will have the option to drive, fly, or run away from the danger and ensure their families are warm, dry, and far from danger. Some will choose to stay behind in spite of the risks, but thousands of others will be left with no choice at all. Prisons and jails are often <a href="https://www.themarshallproject.org/records/4803-prisoner-evacuation" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">the last places to be evacuated</a> when natural disasters hit. While people on the outside are given ample warning, the incarcerated are at the mercy of prison staff, government officials, and state politicians.</p>



<p>On Sept. 26, 2024, Hurricane Helene smashed into northwestern Florida and quickly made its way toward Tennessee, Georgia, and North Carolina. When it made landfall, its winds whipped the air at 140 miles per hour, causing massive flooding and destruction across all four states. Authorities were well aware Helene was on its way, with each state declaring a state of emergency ahead of the storm. “There will be no place for you to go if things get bad,” <a href="https://apnews.com/live/hurricane-helene-tracker-maps-updates#00000192-2fcb-dc36-af9f-3fdb73830000" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">officials with Cedar Key Fire Rescue</a> on Florida’s Gulf Coast warned. “This is going to be a life-threatening surge. It is nothing to take lightly.”</p>



<p>Yet, even as the hurricane barrelled down, people incarcerated in prisons and jails in multiple states were not allowed to evacuate. Instead, <a href="https://www.vox.com/climate/377272/hurricane-milton-florida-jails-prisons-manatee-pinellas-lee" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">they were moved to higher floors</a> or, as was the case in Florida, to “<a href="https://theappeal.org/hurricane-helene-destruction-incarcerated-people/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">hardened dorms</a> built to withstand high winds.” In other cases, they were simply <a href="https://x.com/JailLawSpeak/status/1844175152365568374" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">locked in their regular dorms</a>.&nbsp;</p>



<p>Less than two weeks later, Hurricane Milton hit Florida again, knocking out power for millions, throwing up <a href="https://apnews.com/live/hurricane-milton-florida-tracker-updates" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">38 tornadoes</a>, and causing widespread flooding. The lead-up to the storm was grim, and photos of fleeing residents stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic only added to the alarm. Tampa Mayor Jane Castor went on television to tell Floridians, “If you choose to stay in one of those evacuation areas, you are going to die.”</p>



<p>For the second time, though, thousands of the state’s incarcerated people—including more than <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2024/oct/09/inmate-evacuation-hurricane-milton-jail-prison-florida?utm_source=substack&amp;utm_medium=email" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">21,000 located in mandatory evacuation areas</a>—were left with no option but to ride out the storm behind bars. The <a href="https://www.fdc.myflorida.com/weather-updates" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Florida Department of Corrections</a> stated it had “successfully relocated” 5,950 people ahead of the storm—out of 28,000 who lay in the hurricane’s path. As Jordan Martinez, an organizer with watchdog Fight Toxic Prisons, told <a href="https://www.democracynow.org/2024/10/10/milton_prisons" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"><em>Democracy Now</em></a>, the number of evacuees only made up a small percentage of the individuals in harm’s way and some of the evacuations barely qualified as such.</p>



<p>The majority of those evacuated came from work camps, halfway houses, and work release centers, and in many instances they were “evacuated” to theoretically stronger facilities nearby. For example, women at Lowell Work Camp, a section of the Lowell Correctional Institution in Marion County, Florida, were evacuated just a few dozen yards away … to another part of the same prison complex.</p>



<p>“The fact that they are unable to evacuate people in mandatory evacuation zones goes to show the complete lack of prioritization of the lives of incarcerated people during hurricanes,” Martinez said. “If we are prioritizing the safety of our communities, those communities must include the incarcerated people inside that are themselves organizing on the inside to fight for better conditions, and quite often being forced during hurricanes to prepare to protect their communities via forced slave labor with sandbags or in cleanup in the aftermath.”</p>



<p>As Martinez noted, the trouble does not end once the wind stops blowing, either. Hurricane damage can disrupt incarcerated peoples’ access to light, clean water, food, and medical supplies, leaving them cold, hungry, thirsty, or sick for days or weeks at a time. Power outages can cut them off from communicating with their loved ones and the rest of the world, which also hamstrings their ability to report unsanitary or dangerous conditions inside their facilities. It also leaves them unable to check in on their own communities, or to find out whether their own families are safe.</p>



<p>When Helene slammed into western North Carolina, prisoners in multiple facilities outside Asheville told <a href="https://theintercept.com/2024/10/04/hurricane-helene-north-carolina-mountain-view-prison/?utm_source=TMP-Newsletter&amp;utm_campaign=491641fede-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2024_10_08_10_53&amp;utm_medium=email&amp;utm_term=0_5e02cdad9d-491641fede-%5BLIST_EMAIL_ID%5D" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"><em>The Intercept</em></a> about losing access to running water—and having to relieve themselves in plastic bags. As one woman’s husband told her, “We thought we were going to die there. We didn’t think anybody was going to come back for us.”</p>



<p>Elsewhere, Jailhouse Lawyers Speak, a nationwide collective of incarcerated individuals who provide support and legal resources to other prisoners, were able to share <a href="https://x.com/JailLawSpeak/status/1844175152365568374" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">a report from inside a maximum security prison in Florida</a> as Milton tore through the state: “Power’s out in here, and the COs are hiding in their offices while we’re left in the dark. We’re shouting for meds and updates, but no one’s listening. Just trying to hold on and hope this storm doesn’t swallow us whole…”</p>



<p>Another message illustrated the inhumane conditions inside as the storm raged, mirroring the hellish conditions stirred up by Helene: “Toilets backing up, feces running over. We’ve been told we’ll have to lay in it. No movement allowed.”</p>



<p>While incarcerated people can be denied the most basic level of hygiene inside their dorms, they are also often the first to be drafted to clean up after a climate disaster. As <a href="https://theappeal.org/hurricane-helene-destruction-incarcerated-people/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"><em>The Appeal</em></a> reported, both <a href="https://floridapolitics.com/archives/699267-gov-desantis-prison-labor/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Florida</a> and <a href="https://x.com/SCDCNews/status/1841446391828087023" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">South Carolina have called on incarcerated workers</a> to clear roads and haul debris after Helene and Milton. During a press conference, <a href="https://floridapolitics.com/archives/698983-desantis-helene-convicts/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis</a> cheerfully framed this forced labor as “utilizing” the state’s “resources.” “They do prison labor anyways,” he said. “The good thing about that is you can use that on private property, not just on public.” He also noted the cleanup “would cost us way more money if you had to do that through some of these private contractors.”</p>



<p>Unsurprisingly, Florida and <a href="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/58e127cb1b10e31ed45b20f4/t/65b974d55c35ee77d9a1dcea/1706652885542/2024+-+CBA+of+Ending+Prison+Slavery+Report.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">South Carolina</a> are two of seven states in which incarcerated workers are <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/article/2024/jun/21/florida-unpaid-prison-labor#:~:text=The%2013th%20amendment%20of%20the,the%20majority%20of%20prison%20jobs." target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">paid nothing</a> for nearly all prison jobs.</p>



<p>As the climate crisis worsens, incarcerated people and those who love them will continue to worry that every new weather emergency may mean a death sentence unless real, concrete action is taken and laws are put into place to ensure state and local county officials are prepared in advance to evacuate everyone who may be under threat, regardless of their address or legal status.</p>



<p>Amid this ever-growing threat, incarcerated people, their loved ones, and organizers are on the front lines, advocating for themselves and their co-prisoners. “We urge the public to understand our plight as people in jails and prisons,” a member of Jailhouse Lawyers Speak told <a href="https://x.com/democracynow/status/1844375948629582125?s=46&amp;t=aZ52hx4_UEExT09xi5eJbg" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"><em>Democracy Now</em></a>. “We suffer during natural disasters and lock our dark cells, not knowing if we will survive or not.”</p>



<p>Publications such as <a href="https://theappeal.org/hurricane-milton-florida-jails-prisons-evacuations/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"><em>The Appeal</em></a>, <a href="https://www.themarshallproject.org/records/4803-prisoner-evacuation" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"><em>The Marshall Project</em></a>, and <a href="https://theintercept.com/2024/10/04/hurricane-helene-north-carolina-mountain-view-prison/?utm_source=TMP-Newsletter&amp;utm_campaign=491641fede-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2024_10_08_10_53&amp;utm_medium=email&amp;utm_term=0_5e02cdad9d-491641fede-%5BLIST_EMAIL_ID%5D" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"><em>The Intercept</em></a> are also closely following the impact of the climate crisis on prisoners and amplifying the stories of incarcerated individuals who have been subjected to dire conditions or left behind during catastrophes. Every letter, every social media post, and every phone call counts. The louder the public outcry about this cruel practice becomes, the less likely officials will give a repeat performance the next time a deadly storm starts brewing.</p>



<p>“This is not just a logistical failure, it’s a profound moral failing,” the member of Jailhouse Lawyers Speak emphasized. “While entire towns are evacuated and communities band together to seek safety, we remain locked within these walls, treated as less than human. It is heartbreaking to think that while the world preps for survival during a pending natural disaster such as Hurricane Milton, we are still treated as if we don’t matter, as if our lives can be tossed aside in the name of protocol. We must end this normalized routine. We beg the public to pay attention and have a heart of compassion.”</p>



<p></p>

<p>This article originally appeared in <a href="https://www.yesmagazine.org">Yes! Magazine</a> at <a href="https://dev-wp.yesmagazine.org/opinion/2024/10/24/hurricane-prison-milton-helene">https://dev-wp.yesmagazine.org/opinion/2024/10/24/hurricane-prison-milton-helene</a>.</p><link href="https://dev-wp.yesmagazine.org/opinion/2024/10/24/hurricane-prison-milton-helene" rel="canonical"/><p>Yes! Magazine is a nonprofit, independent media organization dedicated to telling stories of ... . Learn more at <a href="https://www.yesmagazine.org">Yes! Magazine</a></p><img id="republication-tracker-tool-source" src="https://dev-wp.yesmagazine.org/?republication-pixel=true&post=122297&ga4=G-74QJNNY44Z" style="width:1px;height:1px;">

Prisoners Deserve to Survive Natural Disasters, Too

The United States have been rocked by two major hurricanes this month, Helene and Milton. In both instances, as the skies darkened and flood waters rose, thousands of incarcerated people were either evacuated at the last possible minute—or were simply left behind. Organizations such as Fight Toxic Prisons and Jailhouse Lawyers Speak have worked tirelessly to hold officials accountable, pressure prisons to evacuate people and stockpile supplies when needed, highlight voices from inside the walls, support loved ones, and uncover what’s really happening.

Each year, those who live near the Atlantic Ocean, particularly those near the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean, brace themselves for the return of hurricane season. As the water temperatures increase and mix with warm, humid air, tropical thunderstorms form and gather speed. Once a storm’s winds reach 74 miles per hour, the storm is officially classed as a hurricane—and people on land begin paying much closer attention. Between June and the end of November, the looming threat of high-speed winds, heavy rainfall, and coastal flooding hangs in the air; those who live closest to the water make emergency plans, keep an eye on their vulnerable neighbors, coordinate mutual aid efforts, and hold onto hope that, this year, they’ll be safe.

If a hurricane does make landfall, many in the area of impact will have the option to drive, fly, or run away from the danger and ensure their families are warm, dry, and far from danger. Some will choose to stay behind in spite of the risks, but thousands of others will be left with no choice at all. Prisons and jails are often the last places to be evacuated when natural disasters hit. While people on the outside are given ample warning, the incarcerated are at the mercy of prison staff, government officials, and state politicians.

On Sept. 26, 2024, Hurricane Helene smashed into northwestern Florida and quickly made its way toward Tennessee, Georgia, and North Carolina. When it made landfall, its winds whipped the air at 140 miles per hour, causing massive flooding and destruction across all four states. Authorities were well aware Helene was on its way, with each state declaring a state of emergency ahead of the storm. “There will be no place for you to go if things get bad,” officials with Cedar Key Fire Rescue on Florida’s Gulf Coast warned. “This is going to be a life-threatening surge. It is nothing to take lightly.”

Yet, even as the hurricane barrelled down, people incarcerated in prisons and jails in multiple states were not allowed to evacuate. Instead, they were moved to higher floors or, as was the case in Florida, to “hardened dorms built to withstand high winds.” In other cases, they were simply locked in their regular dorms.

Less than two weeks later, Hurricane Milton hit Florida again, knocking out power for millions, throwing up 38 tornadoes, and causing widespread flooding. The lead-up to the storm was grim, and photos of fleeing residents stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic only added to the alarm. Tampa Mayor Jane Castor went on television to tell Floridians, “If you choose to stay in one of those evacuation areas, you are going to die.”

For the second time, though, thousands of the state’s incarcerated people—including more than 21,000 located in mandatory evacuation areas—were left with no option but to ride out the storm behind bars. The Florida Department of Corrections stated it had “successfully relocated” 5,950 people ahead of the storm—out of 28,000 who lay in the hurricane’s path. As Jordan Martinez, an organizer with watchdog Fight Toxic Prisons, told Democracy Now, the number of evacuees only made up a small percentage of the individuals in harm’s way and some of the evacuations barely qualified as such.

The majority of those evacuated came from work camps, halfway houses, and work release centers, and in many instances they were “evacuated” to theoretically stronger facilities nearby. For example, women at Lowell Work Camp, a section of the Lowell Correctional Institution in Marion County, Florida, were evacuated just a few dozen yards away … to another part of the same prison complex.

“The fact that they are unable to evacuate people in mandatory evacuation zones goes to show the complete lack of prioritization of the lives of incarcerated people during hurricanes,” Martinez said. “If we are prioritizing the safety of our communities, those communities must include the incarcerated people inside that are themselves organizing on the inside to fight for better conditions, and quite often being forced during hurricanes to prepare to protect their communities via forced slave labor with sandbags or in cleanup in the aftermath.”

As Martinez noted, the trouble does not end once the wind stops blowing, either. Hurricane damage can disrupt incarcerated peoples’ access to light, clean water, food, and medical supplies, leaving them cold, hungry, thirsty, or sick for days or weeks at a time. Power outages can cut them off from communicating with their loved ones and the rest of the world, which also hamstrings their ability to report unsanitary or dangerous conditions inside their facilities. It also leaves them unable to check in on their own communities, or to find out whether their own families are safe.

When Helene slammed into western North Carolina, prisoners in multiple facilities outside Asheville told The Intercept about losing access to running water—and having to relieve themselves in plastic bags. As one woman’s husband told her, “We thought we were going to die there. We didn’t think anybody was going to come back for us.”

Elsewhere, Jailhouse Lawyers Speak, a nationwide collective of incarcerated individuals who provide support and legal resources to other prisoners, were able to share a report from inside a maximum security prison in Florida as Milton tore through the state: “Power’s out in here, and the COs are hiding in their offices while we’re left in the dark. We’re shouting for meds and updates, but no one’s listening. Just trying to hold on and hope this storm doesn’t swallow us whole…”

Another message illustrated the inhumane conditions inside as the storm raged, mirroring the hellish conditions stirred up by Helene: “Toilets backing up, feces running over. We’ve been told we’ll have to lay in it. No movement allowed.”

While incarcerated people can be denied the most basic level of hygiene inside their dorms, they are also often the first to be drafted to clean up after a climate disaster. As The Appeal reported, both Florida and South Carolina have called on incarcerated workers to clear roads and haul debris after Helene and Milton. During a press conference, Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis cheerfully framed this forced labor as “utilizing” the state’s “resources.” “They do prison labor anyways,” he said. “The good thing about that is you can use that on private property, not just on public.” He also noted the cleanup “would cost us way more money if you had to do that through some of these private contractors.”

Unsurprisingly, Florida and South Carolina are two of seven states in which incarcerated workers are paid nothing for nearly all prison jobs.

As the climate crisis worsens, incarcerated people and those who love them will continue to worry that every new weather emergency may mean a death sentence unless real, concrete action is taken and laws are put into place to ensure state and local county officials are prepared in advance to evacuate everyone who may be under threat, regardless of their address or legal status.

Amid this ever-growing threat, incarcerated people, their loved ones, and organizers are on the front lines, advocating for themselves and their co-prisoners. “We urge the public to understand our plight as people in jails and prisons,” a member of Jailhouse Lawyers Speak told Democracy Now. “We suffer during natural disasters and lock our dark cells, not knowing if we will survive or not.”

Publications such as The Appeal, The Marshall Project, and The Intercept are also closely following the impact of the climate crisis on prisoners and amplifying the stories of incarcerated individuals who have been subjected to dire conditions or left behind during catastrophes. Every letter, every social media post, and every phone call counts. The louder the public outcry about this cruel practice becomes, the less likely officials will give a repeat performance the next time a deadly storm starts brewing.

“This is not just a logistical failure, it’s a profound moral failing,” the member of Jailhouse Lawyers Speak emphasized. “While entire towns are evacuated and communities band together to seek safety, we remain locked within these walls, treated as less than human. It is heartbreaking to think that while the world preps for survival during a pending natural disaster such as Hurricane Milton, we are still treated as if we don’t matter, as if our lives can be tossed aside in the name of protocol. We must end this normalized routine. We beg the public to pay attention and have a heart of compassion.”