This article is one of the Prisonsucks.com Most Disturbing Criminal Justice Stories of 2005.

Another roadblock to the truth

Pennsylvania's prisons maintain an absurdly restrictive policy for interviewing inmates, says Bill Moushey, thwarting legitimate attempts to uncover injustices

by Bill Moushey and Robert Rider, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, June 05, 2005

In a Pennsylvania prison visitation room crowded with other inmates, veteran Harrisburg newspaper reporter Pete Shellem interviewed a notorious mob informer about his undercover work for the FBI, but it took a painfully long time because the wary, whispering inmate feared another convict would make him out as a snitch.

Just weeks after Post-Gazette staff writer Mike Bucsko was refused permission to have photographs made of an inmate for a story, the same prison warden allowed a photographer from USA Today to take pictures of the same guy.

Andy Sheehan, a KDKA-TV investigative reporter, says when it comes to television reporting -- whether intended or not -- the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections media visitation policy of rarely allowing cameras into prisons totally stifles coverage. In television, if there are no pictures, there is no story.

Those are just some of the effects of this state's prison media visitation policy that has become one of the most restrictive in the United States.

OK, let right-wing talk radio hosts lead the mantra: Do the crime, do the time! And I know you might be thinking: Please, who cares about how tough it is for reporters to do their jobs?

But while most prisoners are locked up for things they did, there are weekly headlines across the nation about hundreds of people freed over the past decade after proving they were wrongly convicted -- including seven individuals in Pennsylvania.

Over the past five years, the Innocence Institute of Point Park University has published numerous investigative reports about allegations of wrongful convictions in this region, including two instances where judges have reversed murder convictions. In one of the cases, a death row inmate once was four days from execution.

Sure, most convicts claim innocence. That's why the Innocence Institute's motto is: "Guilty Until Proven Innocent." But as I look back on the project's successes in causing cases to be reopened or reversed and read hundreds of prison letters claiming wrongful convictions each month, I wonder: How many more are there? With the restrictive policy employed by the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections that effectively suppresses coverage, we may never know.

In my work at the Innocence Institute, a partnership with the PG where students learn investigative reporting through examinations of real-world allegations of wrongful convictions, the policy places repeated roadblocks in the path to finding the truth.

Reporters have faced refusals and impediments of all sorts -- including one female graduate student ordered to remove her bra before an interview with a lifer because it had a metal liner.

All of this seems particularly absurd to this writer, whose travels have included prison visits all over the nation. I was once allowed to carry a laptop computer, a tape recorder, legal files and notebooks into the Supermax U.S. Penitentiary at Florence, Colo. -- known as the most secure prison in the world. In Pennsylvania, a reporter is allowed one pen and a notebook.

The pettiness in Pennsylvania -- which has nothing to do with security -- is laughable.

After one four-hour drive to a prison in Camp Hill, I was turned away from an interview approved in advance because the inmate had already done his only allowed visit for the day. The prison gatekeeper snickered.

Another time, I was only allowed to bring one pen and paper into an interview and when the pen ran out of ink, I was headed for another walk through the gantlet of security checks -- which would have doubled the time needed for the interview -- until a friendly guard let me borrow his.

On another recent day, a state prison official ordered reporters awaiting the release of a wrongfully convicted man off the expansive property surrounding the State Correctional Institution at Fayette to a road hundreds of yards away. No pictures.

It is clear the keepers of the prisons have accomplished what they set out to do almost a decade ago when convicted Philadelphia cop killer Mumia Abu-Jamal created an international furor (and a horde of media followers) with his claims of innocence through writings from death row.

Abu-Jamal was frequently interviewed under the state's previous policy of allowing media interviews (with cameras) as long as it was a matter of mutual consent and did nothing to interrupt the normal function and security of the institution. Someone didn't like how it was playing out, so Abu-Jamal and everyone else was effectively muzzled.

Now, if an inmate wants to do a media interview, he or she must use one of three treasured monthly family/friends visits and the media representative must seek approval in advance to bring a pen and paper in for the interview. That's it -- a pen and paper.

There have been numerous exceptions to this rule (although none for this writer, other than being allowed to occasionally use a private room).

Recently, photographers were allowed to make pictures without faces in a prison hospital. Others were allowed to photograph the last days of Western Penitentiary as long as no inmate faces were depicted. Photos of an art show, a musical performance and a few other things that make prison officials look good have been allowed.

But most of the time, the answer to media questions about interviews with real people with real issues that have even a tinge of controversy is a resounding: "No!"

No recording devices allowed.

No laptop computers allowed.

No cameras allowed, television or still.

That usually means -- no story.

Corrections officials say the policy change was made because of the high volume of requests for interviews and an associated dramatic rise in the inmate population.

"Reporter access to inmates is something that the DOC not only permits under its policy in a variety of ways, but welcomes," says Susan McNaughton, the department's press secretary. Inmates can call reporters (collect). And the policy still allows visits.

Especially braless graduate students, I guess.

"I truly believe they are trying to cut these guys off from the world and their freedom to speak out," said Shellem, who despite the policy has successfully written stories for the Harrisburg Patriot-News about wrongful convictions and systematic abuses.

Whatever the motives, the policy change made Pennsylvania the seventh-most restrictive situation in the country, according to a survey done by the Innocence Institute.

For instance, in Ohio, West Virginia and New York, the media are allowed interviews with all forms of recording devices in separate rooms.

As I toted all my equipment to the Florence Supermax visitor's room to do an interview with an associate of New York's Colombo Crime Family, I described to a federal prison official the media policy differences between that super-secure joint (which has housed folks like the Unabomber) and prisons in Pennsylvania.

He said barriers preventing physical contact make it safe there for use of electronic equipment. The other reason to allow equipment into that high security prison is as simple as it is loaded with common sense -- it enables reporters to get their work done and get out of the prison as quickly as possible.

It's the same common-sense approach taken in numerous other states.

If Shellem interviewed a mob informer in Ohio or New York or throughout the federal prison system, the inmate would not have been forced to use his own family visitation privileges and he would not have had to tell his story in a crowded room within earshot of other inmates who delight in torturing snitches. Talk about a lack of security.

In Bucsko's case, a photographer would have been able to make an inmate picture without having to suffer through the arbitrary rulings of a prison superintendent.

Sheehan says broadcast coverage of prison stories would increase dramatically if cameras were allowed inside institutions to tell the stories of inmates and not just programs.

The same goes for network television. In the past few years, the Innocence Institute has received numerous inquiries from producers seeking to cover some of the stories it has written about.

Whether it was "60 Minutes" or "20/20" or "Dateline NBC," once they learn there is no access for on-camera prison interviews, the stories are dropped until a person walks out the prison door.

When a person does walk free, the media will be lucky to get a picture of that because at places like the expansive new prison in Fayette County, news organizations have been ordered off state property.

All of those examples are from aggressive reporters who unsuccessfully have pressed prison officials into allowing them enough access to complete prison-related stories, some of which were about the wrongly convicted.

Common sense aside, I know of many other reporters who see how restrictive the policy is and simply give up the struggle through the bureaucracy before ever probing into an inmate's claim, leaving some inmates with legitimate claims without a voice.

That once again begs the question: How many more are there?

Bill Moushey, a Post-Gazette staff writer, is an associate professor of Journalism and Mass Communication at Point Park University, where he is also director of the Innocence Institute of Point Park (Bmoushey@pointpark.edu). Robert Rider, a graduate student in journalism at Point Park, contributed to this article.