It seems that last week’s column struck a nerve, and that's good.
Sometimes the truth needs to sting before it sparks change.
This week at FCI Fairton, we actually witnessed a small, rare glimmer of progress.
For starters, after what felt like an eternity, the dormitory finally received a fully operational temporary air-conditioning unit.
And get this: it actually blows cold air inside the building, rather than outside into the Jersey humidity.
I know, it sounds like basic common sense, but around here, even the bare minimum feels like a luxury. So yes, a small victory, and believe me, I’ll take it.
But let’s talk about the real story. One of the few bright spots at Fairton is the safety team. They genuinely do a commendable job.
The correctional officers who walk the beat day in and day out go above and beyond to keep this place running smoothly, and for that, they deserve recognition.
This past week, they even toured the dorm alongside an administrator, checking over safety protocols and removing items deemed hazardous. It was responsible, proactive, and exactly what they’re supposed to do.
Now, here’s where things took a turn from professional to downright childish. As this walkthrough was happening, the administrator in tow a man whose job, let’s remember, is to lead by example, decided to spend the better part of the tour making sarcastic quips about installing marble floors and a jacuzzi in the bathrooms.
His point? That inmates only “complain” and will never be satisfied.
Imagine that: a federal corrections administrator, on the taxpayer’s dime, resorting to snide mockery rather than accountability.
It was less leadership and more temper tantrums. Let me be clear. I am not a troublemaker.
I’m a get-along-to-go-along kind of person.
I value politeness, kindness, and compassion. But don’t mistake my civility for weakness.
I call a spade a spade, and if that makes some people uncomfortable, so be it.
The truth is this: with the kind of resources the Bureau of Prisons receives, there is absolutely no excuse for the sheer incompetence and lack of self-accountability on display at Fairton.
Public servants are entrusted with titles and responsibilities not for prestige or power trips, but to perform actual duties to uphold regulations, maintain order, and ensure basic human dignity, even within prison walls.
Yet here at Fairton, the culture is the exact opposite. It’s a regime built on intimidation and neglect.
If it weren’t so tragic, it would almost be comical. Take, for instance, the infamous black mold situation. You’ll recall that it was first spotted weeks ago.
The response? Cover it up and move on. Out of sight, out of mind.
Never mind that it’s a genuine health hazard. Never mind that it lingers, festering above the ceiling tiles, while administrators parade around calling their half-hearted inspections “safety checks.”
For six straight weeks, I’ve pointed it out. For six consecutive weeks, no action has been taken.
Their approach reminds me of someone sweeping dirt under a rug and then boasting about how clean the room looks. It’s absurd.
Frankly, I wouldn’t trust some of these administrators to run a fast-food restaurant, let alone a federal correctional facility.
At least a fast-food chain demands discipline, professionalism, and accountability. Here, those qualities are in critically short supply.
And let me say something directly: this is prison. It’s not meant to be comfortable. Nobody here is asking for luxury. But there is a world of difference between comfort and dignity, and the latter is not optional. It’s mandatory.
Dignity is the bedrock of justice. It’s what separates a civilized society from a punitive circus.
Yet at Fairton, dignity seems to be the first casualty of mismanagement. As for the administrator’s beloved marble floors? Personally, I find marble to be cheap, gaudy, and tacky. But that’s beside the point.
The real issue is that while leadership mocks, minimizes, and deflects, the actual problems remain unaddressed. That, my friends, is the heart of the matter.
So until next week, I’ll continue to share these dispatches from what I can only describe as my own personal hell here at FCI Fairton in South Jersey. If nothing else, you can count on me to keep shining a light where others would rather keep the shadows.