The Prioritization of the Prisoner Community in the Relocation of Utah’s Draper State Prison

CLOSUP Student Working Paper Series Number 39 April 2018

The Prioritization of the Prisoner Community Versus the Host-Community in the Relocation of Utah’s Draper State Prison Anna Silver, University of Michigan

This paper is available online at http://closup.umich.edu Papers in the CLOSUP Student Working Paper Series are written by students at the University of Michigan.

This paper was submitted as part of the Winter 2018 course PubPol 495 Energy and Environmental Policy Research, that is part of the CLOSUP in the Classroom Initiative.

Any opinions, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this material are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the view of the Center for Local, State, and Urban Policy or any sponsoring agency

Center for Local, State, and Urban Policy Gerald R. Ford School of Public Policy University of Michigan

Anna Silver PUBPOL 495 003 Mills 25 April 2018

The Prioritization of the Prisoner Community versus the Host-Community in the Relocation of Utah’s Draper State Prison

Abstract A sea of carceral facilities has quietly seeped across the U.S. in the past several decades, yet almost no peer-reviewed research documenting the effect of a prison’s location on prisoners exists. To begin reversing this silence, this paper realizes a case study of the siting process used to relocate Utah’s Draper State Prison to Salt Lake City in 2015.

Using official reports and audio from deliberation meetings, the analysis seeks to determine whether the siting process prioritized the wellbeing of the “outside” community—defined as the local natural ecology and the host-community residents— over that of the “inside” community—defined as the prisoners—in consideration of environmental factors. Ultimately, the study finds no evidence of a clear prioritization of either group by the commission—the state legislators tasked with the siting decision—who primarily discussed how environmental factors would hinder construction. Furthermore, the high poverty rates of the host-community complicate the initial assumption that prisoners would be vastly less politically enfranchised than those on the outside. As the first study to explore the effects of prison siting on prisoners themselves, this research exposes the need of continued research regarding America’s urban prisons and the intersection of the environment and incarceration.

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I. Introduction Prisons, jails, and immigrant detention centers, all of which fall under the umbrella term of “correctional facility,” punctuate the landscape of the United States in an ever-growing constellation of confinement. As the number one carceral state in the world, the U.S. relies on these facilities to house the more than 2.3 million people who have all been deemed criminal (Wagner & Sawyer, 2018). Despite a 400% increase in those housed within the criminal justice system in the past few decades, and the corresponding boom in the construction of correctional facilities, little peer-reviewed research details the political processes that determine the geographic location of new correctional facilities (Kirchhoff, 2010).

In these processes, known as “prison siting,” politicians and community members consider a myriad of social, economic, and political factors. Ultimately, the location of new prisons affects both the host-community and all those who walk within the prison halls: staff, volunteers, and the prisoners themselves. While host-community members may have the opportunity to voice their opinions on proposed facilities, and thus have some autonomy in constructing their daily lived environments, the fates of the incarcerated are left to the whims of the criminal justice system. Therefore, an analysis of the prison siting process can help ascertain how the interests and rights of those often denied a political voice are either protected or ignored when new facilities take root.

Study of the relationship between prison location and prisoner welfare highlights the environmental and racial injustices systematically woven into the criminal justice system. Often, new prisons rest atop or near to environmental “brown sites,” toxic areas such as abandoned coal mines or defunct landfills (Loftus-Farren, 2017). These areas diminish the health of those living and working nearby, who, in the case of prisons, may have little power to choose their “homes” or workplaces. Because correctional facilities

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disproportionately house low-income people of color—40% of those incarcerated are black despite African Americans making up only 13% of the national population— prison locations most acutely affect already disadvantaged groups (Wagner & Sawyer, 2018). At the Rikers Island Jail complex in New York, for instance, 90% of those incarcerated are black or Latino. The jail was built on top of a landfill, and, as one former inmate who attempted suicide more than eight times while there described, “‘the smell alone would torture you… it smells like sewer, mixed with fertilizer, mixed with death’” (Rakia 2016). Others recount the effects of particulate pollution from a nearby waste transfer station that left window screens “‘caked with dust’” and left one inmate “‘coughing and spitting up blood’” (Rakia, 2016). Nicknamed “the oven,” much of the jail is without air conditioning, and the concrete floors, steel doors, and cinder block walls combine with the outside heat, driving one former inmate to “‘feel like I’m dying in the cell,’” and inciting another to riot (Rakia, 2016). As Rikers so clearly illustrates, the natural environment surrounding a carceral facility, as well as the built structure of the facility itself, both fundamentally influence the violence and pain of incarceration.

To better track this phenomenon, human rights organizations have begun to study how prison locations affect the incarcerated. The EPA’s environmental justice mapping tool, complete with a “Prison Locations” option, aims to “advance the struggle to recognize the environmental rights of prisoners” (Loftus-Farren, 2017). Similarly, in its Prison Ecology Project, the Human Rights Defense Center maps “the intersections of mass incarceration and environmental degradation” (“Prison Ecology,” 2016). Such work demands recognition of the constant interplay between the environment and incarceration, a relationship seldom acknowledged prior to the twenty-first century. In doing so, the maps shed light on the carceral facilities tucked away in America’s corners “completely out of sight for many Americans” (Gutierrez, 2016). Indeed, the urban

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setting of Rikers is the exception; from 1992 to 1994, 83 of the 138 prisons built rose up in small-town America. Acting as the purported “anchor for development in rural areas” such facilities remained conveniently out of sight for most citizens (Gutierrez, 2016).

Running parallel to the effect the environment might have on those on the inside, so too does a new prison affect the surrounding world outside of the facility walls, including the natural ecology and the human residents of the host-community. Hostcommunity residents often raise concerns about proposed prisons through the framework of NIMBYism, or the “not in my backyard” syndrome, in which they disparage the changes a prison might bring to their local landscape and identity.

Ecologically, the huge industrial endeavor of prison construction runs the gamut of concerns. Development of large tracts of lands often infringes upon the habitats of local plants and animals. The construction of the network of roads and utility lines that form the vital organs of daily facility operations may spread pre-existing contamination. The burden of supplying drinking water to large, and growing, prison populations might further saddle areas already grappling with water scarcity concerns. Beyond the natural environment, the residents of a host-community likely also feel the prison’s effects on their daily lives, even if they do not have any regular interaction with the facility.

Prisons change the fundamental character of a community, challenging existing perceptions of local identity, community safety, and quality of life. In short, prison siting is no one-way street. Just as the location carries consequences for the health and wellbeing of inside populations, new prisons likewise bring change to the local natural environment and residents of the outside host-community.

In the 2015 siting process that determined the relocation of Draper, a state prison in Utah, this duality becomes clear. In this case, a myriad of stakeholders discussed over twenty potential sites for the relocation, ultimately settling on a site in western Salt Lake

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City, the largest metropolitan area in the state. Throughout the decision-making process, people opined on how the new prison location would either enhance or implicate prisoner safety and wellbeing. Likewise, stakeholders discussed how the new prison would affect the local ecology and the lives of community residents on the outside.

While concerns pertaining to both the inside and outside of the new facility found light in the case of the Draper siting process, the way and frequency with which such factors were incorporated into the discussion underscores how a siting process may function to prioritize the interests of some groups over others. Because such little peerreviewed research exists detailing how prison location and siting processes affect the inside community, this paper sets out to explore how the rights of this group—the prisoners—were either protected or ignored in the siting of Draper. To do so, this paper analyzes how concerns pertaining to both the built and natural environment factor into the siting process as affecting the prisoners and the outside host-community.

II. Literature Review Existing academic literature exclusively explores the dynamics of the hostcommunity in the prison siting process, omitting any study of how prison inmates, staff, and volunteers are affected by prison locations. Investigation of the host-communities takes a variety of forms. Some studies, such as those by Che (2008) and Hooks (2004) analyze the effect a prison has or might have on a community after its construction and opening, typically quantified in economic terms. Hoyman’s (2006) and Martin’s (2000) studies, meanwhile, explore the community demographics and perceptions that help determine whether a prison is approved or rejected before the actual construction and opening of the facility. Still other studies, namely those by Armstrong (2014) and Farkas (1999) explore the dynamic interplay between political authorities and

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community members in the siting process, investigating how an unfavorable relationship between these two actors tempers the overall success of the siting process In a case study of the varied reactions to a proposed prison in a rural Pennsylvanian community, Che (2008) examines “the discursive struggle initiated” in choosing to use rural land as either an amenity or an economic base (p. 809). Che studies the nuances in community member’s personal connections to their Appalachian homeland, their opinions on in-migration spurred by the rich landscape, and the varied effects such in-migration might have depending on the use of land for amenity—namely hunting or fishing—or for economy: constructing a prison in an economically desperate area. Using primary and secondary sources including local newspaper articles, ethnographic research of residents, interviews with local officials, and observation of the county Planning Commission board meetings, Che ultimately finds that while the proposed prison does not garner unanimous support, an effective opposition is not mobilized due to a scarcity of financial resources and effective mobilization tactics. Che also concludes that such towns benefit less from prisons than commonly believed, because an influx of workers from other areas ultimately fill many of the employment opportunities created by new prisons (2008, p. 824). She suggests that small-scale projects tailored to “indigenous natural resources,” such as lumber harvesting and recycling programs in forested areas, stand a better chance of boosting local economies (Che, 2008, p. 827). The article explores how the interconnectedness of identity and environment plays out in the siting process, shedding light on a subtle form of NIMBYism at play in prison siting.

Following up on Che’s (2008) analysis of economic factors, Hooks et. al (2004), likewise examine how a prison might affect the economy of host-communities. Noting that prisons have become integral parts of many economic development plans, the

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authors study whether prisons typically boost local economic health, and thus act as a form of economic “innovation.� Using a longitudinal assessment, the authors analyze how existing and new prisons in counties across the U.S. affected public, private, and total economic growth between 1969-1994, looking heavily at employment rates to measure growth. Much like Che (2008), the study finds that prisons create no positive economic growth, and in fact may impede economic growth in already slowly developing rural areas. The study warns against a policy of prison construction as an effective economic planning tool, and calls into question the validity of economic-based arguments in favor of prison development (Hooks et al, 2004).

In a study that utilizes a less ethnographic, and a more quantitative approach, Hoyman and Weinberg (2006) examine the demographic characteristics that might influence a community’s support of a proposed prison. The authors analyze seventynine rural North Carolina counties that considered siting a prison between 1970-2000, studying the effect factors such as education level, mobilization of a NIMBY mentality, and racial diversity had on the ultimate passage or repeal of the proposed prisons.

Unlike Che (2008), Hoyman and Weinberg do not investigate how the addition of a prison consequently affects the community in question, but rather how the make-up of the community itself influences the birth or death of the nascent prison. Using a proportional hazards regression model, the study finds that home-ownership and class are more significant predictors of prison placement than is race. This finding suggests that a class, in addition to a race, -based interpretation of the environmental justice aspects of prison siting may be warranted.

Revisiting the idea of NIMBYism, Martin (2000) examines community perceptions of proposed prisons, attempting to fill a hole in pre-existing peer-reviewed research about prison host-communities. The study employs a Community Attitude

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Survey (CAS) to analyze the pre- and post-attitudes and perceptions of community members impacted by the prisons. Martin anticipates uncovering overwhelmingly negative community perceptions of new prisons, and is therefore surprised to find that such perceptions are not entirely negative. Depending on the strategy employed to “ease” a prison into a host-community, Martin concludes that negative sentiments can be quelled and local backlash minimized, though not extinguished completely. Given the current overcrowding of prisons and the salience of national discussion regarding the construction of new facilities, this study and its findings could shape policy by laying out tangible steps that could be taken to mitigate community backlash regarding new prison construction. While the study explores the dynamic interplay between a new prison and its host-community, the paper provides no insight on how incarcerated communities are influenced by prison location. The paper also focuses on community frustrations with the structure of the siting process itself, rather than on concerns about potential changes to the host-community due to the proposed prison.

Taking a different approach, Armstrong (2014) explores prison siting in an international context. Though this case study details a prison proposed for a former mining village in Scotland, the methodology and theoretical framework used can easily be translated to domestic cases. The article deconstructs the planning process for the Scottish prison, seeking to understand the three principle discursive spaces of objection in emotional, temporal, and spatial terms. Armstrong employs the analytical tool of the “stranger, as the outsider who comes to stay,” to understand how the addition of the prison contributes to “a constantly evolving sense of the local” (2014, p. 1). Utilizing documentary analysis of meeting minutes, planning submissions, environmental statements, and formal objection letters, she analyzes the discursive space of objection and the use of policy language as both a “form and source of policy power” (Armstrong,

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2014, p. 5). Armstrong concludes that the meaning of place is always in flux, and that this flux includes a dynamic relationship between the incoming stranger and the local community. This interplay becomes evident when local authorities attempt to incorporate community concerns into the siting process, and, in doing so imperfectly, distort those concerns. Though the actual stages of the planning process analyzed in this article may not be congruent with those in the U.S., the theoretical dimension of this analysis can still be used to better understand domestic processes of prison placement.

A content analysis by Farkas (1999) likewise touches on the interplay between local political leaders and community members in the siting process. The study focuses on a proposed prison in a Wisconsin community, examining the relationship between community members’ interests and the concerns of prominent authority figures charged with making the siting decision. Unlike the other articles included in this literature review, this article ties in the role of the media in defining and shaping the events that lead up to the prison siting, as well as the role of the media in providing a public forum for the articulation of various concerns. Farkas employs a qualitative content analysis of local newspaper articles, legislative reports, environmental impact statements, and interviews of locals. She finds that local officials utilized an authoritative, rather than a collaborative, approach to bring about the new prison, and recommended a more egalitarian siting process to enhance “successful siting and long-term acceptance” of the prison within the community (Farkas, 1999, p. 95).

Though this literature captures only one side of the prison siting “equation,” that of the host community, the analytical tools presented in these studies help guide the analysis realized in this paper. A wide array of factors contributes to the ultimate construction of a new prison, including the race and class demographics of a hostcommunity, perceptions of the economic promise of the facility, and the complex

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politics of local identity as inevitably changed—either positively or negatively—by the addition of a prison. An awareness of these myriad variables allows for a more nuanced analysis of the documents and statements regarding the relocation of the Draper prison.

Going forward, this paper attempts to bridge an analysis of host-communities and incarcerated communities by comparing what consideration, if any, is given to the wellbeing of the communities on the inside versus those on the outside in the context of prison siting. To do so, the paper sets out to answer this fundamental question: how does the framing of environmental concerns as pertaining either to the prisoners or to the ecology and residents of the host-community shed light on the priorities of the 2015 siting process that determine the relocation of Utah’s Draper Prison to Salt Lake City?

III. Methods Answering this question hinges upon first establishing a general overview of the Draper Prison Relocation, outlined by the Timeline of Milestone Events in Figure 1.

The siting process begins in June 2013, when Utah Governor Gary Herbert creates the Prison Relocation Commission (PRC), referred to hereafter as “the commission.”

Herbert tasks this group of state legislatures with determining the location of a new state prison to replace the outdated and overcrowded Draper State Prison that lies just twenty miles south of Salt Lake City (Price, 2013). The commission identifies twenty-six preliminary sites for consideration, all scattered throughout the state. In evaluating the proposed sites, the state contracts a consulting team to conduct technical evaluations of each of the sites according to a set of weighted criteria established by the commission members (Final Report, 2015). Through several rounds of site evaluations, and discussion between the commission and consulting team, the list of twenty-six potential

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sites slowly dwindles to a final three. A December 2014 commission meeting establishes these finalist sites as the following: •

I-80 / 7200 West (Salt Lake County)

•

SR 112 / Depot Boundary Road (Tooele County)

•

Lake Mountains West (Utah County)

At this point, the commission opens the floor to public comment, holding a hearing in June 2015. Residents of the three host-communities under consideration speak out in favor or against the proposed prison. A month later, the consulting team presents final technical evaluations detailing the pros, cons, and overall costs of developing the three sites. Finally, in August 2015, the commission unanimously votes to recommend the I-80/7200 West Site, referred to subsequently as the Salt Lake City (SLC) site for Gov. Herbert’s approval (Winslow, 2015). Herbert approves the site, and in 2017 construction of the new Salt Lake City prison begins (Hanson, 2017).

Figure 1: Timeline of Milestone Events in Siting Process

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This timeline and overview represent just one unique example of prison siting.

Across the nation, prison siting operates within differently-structured political processes. The nature of the process depends on the level of government at which the proposed facility will operate—be it state or federal—as well as the local community concerns that factors into the siting deliberations. Because such little congruency exists within prison siting, a case study best facilitates this study of how attention to outside versus inside communities played out in the siting of Utah’s new prison. Due to the ultimate approval of the SLC site and the unique environmental concerns presented at this location, this paper focuses its analysis exclusively on siting as pertaining to SLC. Official documents comprise a significant part of the analysis, as summarized in Figure 2. A “Final Report” from the commission, targeted at “improving our criminal justice system by building a leading-edge correctional facility” details the motivations, timeline, and site-evaluation criteria used in the siting (Final Report, 2015, p. 1). The report offers the most thorough description of the commission and its activities as told by the commission members themselves. A Site Screening Assessment Report, referred to as the “Site Assessment,” visually displays how each site fairs in the technical evaluations according to the pre-determined criteria (Site Assessment, 2015). Though the commission published this report, the consulting companies contracted by the state conduct the evaluations and compile the report data. Finally, “Salt Lake City’s Response on Proposed Sites for Prison Relocation,” referred to as the “Official Response,” provides an official host-community perspective. The document includes several reports: a memorandum from the SLC mayor, a transportation division review, a summary of concern from the public utilities department, and a memorandum detailing wetlands permitting requirements. This bundle of documents explains the myriad concerns held by the local SLC government authorities (Official Response, 2014).

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Figure 2: Key Written Documents Used in Analysis Document

Publisher Date

Shorthand

Final Report of the Prison Relocation Commission

PRC

Aug 17, 2015

Final Report

Utah State Prison Siting Program Site Screening Assessment Report — Round 2 PRC

March 27, 2015

Site Assessment

Salt Lake City's Response on Proposed Sites for Prison Relocation

Nov – Dec 2014

Official Response

SLC

Complementing the written documents, audio recordings of three key commission meetings contribute a human element to the analysis. SLC citizens find their voice in the public comment hearing that took place in June. In the audio, SLC citizens, interest groups spokespeople, and local politicians speak their minds to the commission members (June). Though members of other proposed host-communities also speak, the analysis does not include those who speak about these other sites. The next commission meeting in July focuses on the technical findings of the finalist sites that the state-contracted consulting firm, the Louis Berger Group (LBG), presents to the commission. The legislatures ask the firm spokesperson, Senior Vice President Robert Nardi, questions about each of the sites, but do not partake in debate or discussion amongst themselves (July). In the final meeting in August, Nardi re-iterates the key takeaways of the finalist sites. The commission members ask final questions about the sites. Nearly all the questions asked pertain to the SLC site. A commission member then motions to vote to recommend the SLC site for approval, and the site passes unanimously (August). Figure 3 summarizes the actors and key developments of the meetings, which provide insight into the framing of the concern factors raised during the siting process. While the written documents offer the most detail, the audio provides clarity as to what concern factors contributed most consistently to the deliberations.

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Figure 3: Key Commission Meetings Used in Analysis Meeting Date Actors

Key Development

Shorthand

Commission members, June 16, 2015 Citizens

Public comments re: finalist sites, including SLC site

June July

July 16, 2015

Commission members, Louis Berger Group

LBG presents technical site evaluations; Q&A with LBG and legislators

Aug 11, 2015

Commission members, Louis Berger Group

LBG presents key takeaways; unanimous vote to recommend SLC site August

In reviewing the documents and meetings of interest, this paper adopts an analytical framework that analyzes how concerns regarding (1) the built environment and (2) the natural environment in relation to either the inside or outside community factor into the siting process. Within this framework, the prisoners represent the inside community, while the natural environment and residents of the host-community together represent the outside community. The division of the outside community category into the subgroups of the environment and the residents allows for a more nuanced understanding of the different forms of NIMBYism at play. Each concern raised is analyzed according to the specific factor in question, the framing of the factor, and the stakeholder or actor who gives voice to the concern. The dimensions of this analysis can be visually summarized in a matrix, as outlined in Figure 4.

Figure 4: Natural and Built Environment Matrix of Analysis Factor

Framing

Stakeholder

Prisoners Environment Residents

Though the sources used in this analysis provide a full-bodied understanding of the commission proceedings and a detailed overview of the siting process, the limitations of the methodology warrant acknowledgement. Most significantly, the analysis heavily favors the official government voice. The consulting firm, as a state-

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financed entity, represents an extension of the state. Citizens and independent interest groups only factor into the analysis via the public comment hearing, which allowed speakers mere two-minute time slots. Furthermore, the hearing likely only attracted speakers who are politically informed and had the time and financial resources to attend the lengthy meeting. No currently incarcerated people could attend the hearing, although a handful of formerly incarcerated people and family of current prisoners do attend and speak. In a study focused on the protection prisoner rights, the lack of voices from this group presents a significant shortcoming of the paper.

Beyond prisoners and ordinary citizens, official interest groups and NGOs that participate in the Draper debate also fall beyond the scope of this paper’s analysis. The League of Women’s Voters in Utah, for instance, published an extensive review of the organization’s concerns regarding the relocation of Draper (Relocation, 2014). No members of the League speak at the hearing, and thus the analysis does not include insight on the group’s official opinion. Likely, other interest groups that do not attend the public comment hearing also shape the siting debate. The risk of introducing bias in locating such interest group reports and the overall lack of time and resources available to realize this study force the exclusion of these voices.

Finally, the analysis makes no use of the countless newspaper articles published about the relocation of Draper. While inclusion of media sources would introduce distortion into the analysis, news articles would also incorporate a wider range of voices. Rather than just studying those able to be physically present at state legislature buildings, the paper might have included all those with access to a journalist, who have a much wider range. Even so, the lack of knowledge regarding the relative prominence of various Utah newspapers and the media politics of the local areas in question render a journalistic study too ambitious an endeavor to pursue in this analysis.

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IV. Results 1. On the Inside: Prisoners and the Natural Environment The environmental concerns related to the inside prisoner population come in two forms: the natural environment and the built environment. Turning first to issues of the natural environment, we find that only Salt Lake City officials are represented in this section of the matrix. Reports from SLC Mayor Becker and the SLC Utilities Department in the city’s Official Response detail these concerns. Becker speaks to the dangers of potential seismic activity, reminding the commission that a 1909 earthquake “whipped the Great Salt Lake into 12-foot waves” (Official Response, 2014, p. 4). The mayor warns that, in the event of a similar earthquake, “tsunami-type waves” generated from the fault lines that “crisscross the lake” could “pose a particular safety risk to the inhabitants of the prison, especially because the inmates would be unable to self-rescue and easily relocate after a natural disaster” (Official Response, 2014, p. 4). Directly referencing the prisoners’ uniquely vulnerable living situation, the mayor frames the issue of seismically generated events as a direct threat to prisoner safety. Following suit, the Department of Utilities report outlines the risk of the facility’s liquefaction in the event of an earthquake. The report frames discussion of this danger with similar regard to the prison community, explaining that the “higher liquefaction potential” of the SLC site as compared to other sites “increases the risk to people who may be occupying buildings” (Official Response, 2014, p. 33). From liquefaction to tsunami-type waves, the SLC authorities point out how site-specific concerns of the natural environment could jeopardize the well-being of those incarcerated.

2. On the Inside: Prisoners and the Built Environment While Salt Lake City officials discuss natural phenomena, SLC citizens and state commission members shed light on concerns pertaining to the prisoners’ built

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environment. Interest group spokespeople, former prisoners, and family members of current prisoners all give voice to the dire need of a new facility via public comment.

Setting the tone, a member of Salt Lake City’s branch of the American Civil Liberties Union emphasizes that to “keep [the prison] in Draper essentially means keep [Draper Prison] … ineffective, falling apart, dangerous, and intolerable” (June, 40:20). She frames the reconstruction of Draper as an opportunity to “do the right thing for some of the most vulnerable people in our community,” and notes that the SLC site would increase access to the prison for visitors and volunteers (June, 40:37). Echoing her concerns, the Public Policy Advocate for the Disability Law Center describes how the “horrifying” built environment of Draper exacerbates disabled prisoners’ mental illnesses, often initiating an unending cycle of sickness, misbehavior, and punishment (June, 1:40:32). Such punishment typically lands inmates in solitary confinement in the maximum-security wing, where cells are so small that a “not very tall” person “couldn’t even lie across [them]” (June, 1:40:36). In both examples, spokespeople of human rights-minded public interest groups underscore the merit of relocating Draper in terms of improving the daily built environment for some of society’s most vulnerable.

Alongside public interest groups, citizens with direct ties to incarceration recount first-hand how the abysmal physical conditions at Draper warrant a new facility.

Two former prisoners explain the ineffectiveness of Draper’s current architectural model “in facilitating rehabilitative opportunities… to heal and grow,” and thus enhance the “welfare of everyone in prison” (June, 1:03:20). One recounts an archaic cell that “looked like a submarine tank” complete with a broken light, and argues for a new facility solely “from a brick and mortar perspective” (June, 55:37). The other urges all those “who don’t want [the prison] in their backyard or who wish to disregard the needs of incarcerated people” to empathize with prisoners and consider how improvements in

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the physical structure of a prison could facilitate rehabilitation (June, 1:03:15). Finally, the wife of a current prisoner at Draper highlights the physical and psychological benefits of a better prison, speaking to “the desperate need for a new facility to help the offenders’ health, safety, and self-worth” (June, 58:32). At Draper, her husband endures the chill of snow entering his cell through missing vents, as the lacking infrastructure exposes him to weather conditions to which most would not even subject their “cats and dogs” (June, 59:10). Painting grisly pictures of small, dark, and cold prison cells, all those with a personal stake in prison-life invoke empathy in their demands for an improved built environment to reflect the oft-overlooked humanity of prisoners.

Without venturing into the reality of life at Draper, the state commission members mirror the message of the above actors. In its Final Report, the commission paints the reconstruction of Draper not as an opportunity to build a bigger facility to house more inmates, but rather as a chance to construct a facility better-equipped to provide the “programming and training that will help [prisoners] avoid returning… after their release” (Final Report, 2015, p. 10). The report posits that a “state-of-the-art [facility] and highly efficient design,” would not only help lower recidivism, but also “better serve the needs of staff, volunteers, inmate families, and visitors” (Final Report, 2015, p. 7). Thus, the commission frames concerns of the prisoners’ built environment through a humanistic lens. The Final Report touches on how a better-constructed facility would enhance the daily wellbeing of all those who come to know the belly of a prison.

3. On the Outside: The Environment Inverting the arguments explored thus far, Salt Lake City officials and one SLC resident delve into the consequences a new prison would have on local ecology. The city’s Official Response notes that thirteen vulnerable plant and animal species listed as “threatened, endangered, and sensitive (TES)” on the federal and state level inhabit the

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site (Official Response, 2014, p. 35). Of these thirteen TES species, eleven, or 85%, have elevated status, and are listed as “vulnerable, imperiled, or critically imperiled” by the National Heritage Ranking (Official Response, 2014, p. 35). In addition to vulnerable species, the Official Response includes National Wetland Inventory maps that illustrate the proximity of fragile wetlands to the development site. SLC authorities point out that such land represents “known critical habitats for multiple bird species with national and international significance” (Official Response, 2014, p. 21). Echoing these concerns, a SLC citizen recounts the dangers of developing wetland that is “critically important” for the millions of migratory birds that take annual refuge at and nearby the site (June, 1:06:10). She frames a rejection of the SLC site as the “most environmentally… responsible” choice for the area’s “irreplaceable” land and her family’s ranch (June, 1:06:45). Connecting the animals and the wetlands to the prison, this citizen’s NIMBYism speaks to potential disruptions in the area’s natural equilibria.

The SLC Official Response also points to potential contamination from a nearby landfill as further implicating the health of the local habitat. The landfill sits “immediately adjacent” to the site, and has a known leachate 1 plume (Official Response, 2014, p. 21). The installation of buried utilities to power the facility and the “excavation or dewatering” needed to remedy high groundwater levels at the site would “draw water and environmental contaminants from the old landfill property onto the West Site” (Official Response, 2014, p. 21). Further spread of the plume could contaminate two nearby wetlands sites, further implicating the health of migratory birds (Official Response, 2014, p. 21). The city’s Official Response identifies the plumes

1

Leachate is a combination of liquid and solid waste that drains from landfills, often containing a “diverse of mixture of chemicals” (“Landfill Leachate,” n.d.).

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snaking from the landfill as an added risk to the area’s critical species and habitats already threatened by the mere development of the site.

4. On the Outside: Host-Community Residents The new facility would also affect the people of Salt Lake City, who fear the psychological effects a new prison might bring to an area facing disproportionately high poverty rates. At the public comment hearing, one resident of SLC’s West Side, the home of the proposed site, notes that the area’s poverty rate of 31.4% is much higher than the city’s overall rate of 19.9% and the state’s rate of 12.7% (June, 1:55:20). With four halfway houses, a hospice for the homeless, and a shelter for homeless youth, he posits that the West Side is already doing “more than [its] share,” and urges other areas to share the responsibility of providing social services (June, 1:54:44). The proposed prison, he submits, challenges his already waning belief “that the West Side is not being taken advantage of” by the state (June, 1:55:15). Following suit, the state representative of the West Side, Rep. Sandra Hollins, expresses her concern for the “environmental impact that [the prison] would have on our community” (June, 2:08:21). While sympathetic to the need to rebuild Draper, she challenges the proposed addition of yet another social service to her district by noting that everyone has a part to play “in the rehabilitation process of our citizens,” and the West Side is already doing its part (June, 2:07:29). The West Side “is not a NIMBY community, but we are not a just in my backyard community,” she summarizes (June, 2:07:14). The councilmember of the district, James Robins, echoes Hollins, criticizing “the redlining” of the district (June, 1:37:20). Here, Robins refers to the Federal Housing Association’s policy of explicitly denying housing loans to African Americans and other people of color from 1934 to 1968, a practice known as redlining (Madrigal, 2014). In all three examples, residents of the West Side decry the prison’s added burden on an already strained community.

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Two other West Side residents, both spokespeople for Latino interest groups, condemn the psychological effects the new prison would bring to their community. To the President of the Utah Hispanic Latino Group, moving the prison to his neighborhood would “send a clear signal” to the “mostly minority” residents, that the only capital investment policymakers see as fit for the area is a “five-hundred-milliondollar prison” (June, 1:22:14). The association of living near a prison would, in turn, make the area “known for the prison, [and] not the amazing communities that reside there” (June, 1:23:10). For a member of the League of United Latino Citizens and an employee at a local high school, the prison would practically invite students to begin their march down the school-to-prison pipeline in an area where education is already underfunded (June, 1:32:25). Both speakers drive home the negative psychological effects a new prison has in store for the West Side residents.

Only one SLC resident speaks to the effect the prison would have on outsiders’ perceptions of the community. She comments that many “tout Utah as one of the most glorious places in the world,” and posits that the prison and the “don’t pick up hitchhiker signs” installed alongside highways, would tarnish the city’s appearance to tourists and members of the business community who pass by (June, 2:16:10).

The commission’s Site Assessment initially includes a “Community Acceptance” criterion, which is assigned a weight of 15 points out of 100. However, this criterion is later removed because of the expectation that all “potential host communities will rate equally low” in the category (Site Assessment, 2015, p. 6). The Site Assessment also notes that the criterion is removed due to “the negative reaction of community leaders and the public to the prospect of hosting the proposed correctional facility within the Salt Lake City Metropolitan area” (Site Assessment, 2015, p. 6).

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Thus, it seems that though the commission remains aware of the host-community residents’ disapproval, they do not explicitly factor this sentiment into their reports.

5. The Exception: The Environment and Development Throughout the siting deliberations, stakeholders mention environmental concerns that do not factor into the matrix of analysis. These issues exist within a separate dimension: the development process. Though not included in the matrix of analysis, discussion of the implications environmental factors carry for construction represents an important component of this case study. Within this realm, the commission members, and thus the state, find their voice. Of note, some of the speaking points highlighted in this section come not from commission legislators, but rather from spokespeople of LBG. Because the state contracts LBG and provides the company with the criteria employed during the technical site evaluations, this paper analyzes the comments of LBG spokespeople as an extension and representation of the state’s voice.

The interplay of the environment and development centers around the issues of soil remediation, liquefaction risk, and landfill management. During the penultimate commission meeting, Chair Wilson expresses concern about the potential 18-month delay to development resulting from “expansive soil and liquefaction issues” (July, 1:44:20). He frames the delay as “significant” for financial reasons, noting that “time is money” (July, 1:44:20). Wilson also worries about the impact of the “landfill issue,” on construction, describing the landfill as “expensive [and] complicated” (August, 31:30).

Rep. Wheatley likewise questions the difficulty of circumventing landfill-related issues.

In a question and answer session with Nardi, the LBG spokesperson, Wheatley asks about potential “issues with contamination” and notes the need to give the landfill “wide berth during construction” (August, 26:05). In all cases, the commission members make no mention of prisoner safety, ecological health, or resident psychology. The legislators

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either explicitly frame their questions in terms of development setbacks, or do so implicitly by directing their concerns to Nardi, the expert on the construction process.

In his briefing to the commission, Nardi touches on the issue of the wetlands and on endangered animal species surrounding the site. He notes that the Endangered Species Act and Migratory Bird Act protect some species in the area, and the wetlands and navigable waterways nearby would need to be documented according to federal law (July, 36:50). Nardi frames these issues from a development standpoint, noting that they would add steps to the development process, but does mention the effect development might have on vulnerable species and critical wetlands themselves.

V. Analysis Analysis of the framing of the environmental factors at play, and of the various stakeholders responsible for bringing each factor to light provides insight into the priorities of the siting process. The Completed Matrix of Analysis, as shown in Figure 5, displays these concerns. In the matrix, “SLC” represents the SLC authorities written into the city’s Official Response, “Citizens” represents those who offer public comment, and “State” represents the commission members and LBG spokespeople.

Figure 5: Completed Matrix of Analysis

Prisoners

Environment

Residents

Factor

Framing

Stakeholder

Tsunami Waves

Prisoner Safety

SLC

Liquefaction

Prisoner Safety

SLC

Physical Facility

Recidivism/Welfare

Citizens, State

TES Species

Local Ecology

SLC

Wetlands

Local Ecology

SLC, Citizen

Landfill Plume

Local Ecology

SLC

Unfair Burden

High Poverty

Citizens

Psychological

Prison Pipeline

Citizens

Appearance

Tourist Attraction

Citizen

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1. Prisoners Findings concerning the prisoners’ safety and wellbeing are perhaps the most novel in this paper, as this area represents the only dimension of the analysis not represented by existing literature. Concerning the natural environment’s effects on prisoner safety, we find that only SLC officials raise concerns, while the state commission members remain silent. Perhaps this might seem logical, as local authorities likely know more about the area’s environment. Still, the commission members bring up liquefaction as a concern in their technical evaluations, where they frame the issue as an obstacle to development, and not as a risk to prisoner safety.

This juxtaposition shows that those spearheading the siting process are aware of natural environment concerns that may jeopardize prisoner welfare, but choose not to factor safety into their deliberations. The language with which the politicians explore the issue of liquefaction, framing the concern in terms of construction complications, demonstrates a manifestation of Armstrong’s (2014) concept of policy language as both a “form and source of power” (p. 5). The commission not only uses language, manifest in both written documents and meeting deliberations, to direct attention away from this aspect of prisoner safety, but also successfully does so by drawing upon its power as the ultimate decision-makers in the siting process.

Within the built environment, citizens—and specifically those with a direct tie to incarceration—dominate the conversation. Those who speak do not distinguish between any of the finalist sites in their comments; their priority is simple: rebuild Draper, no matter where. Thus, this category represents the only section of the matrix that does not pertain exclusively to SLC, but rather to all of the finalist sites. The overwhelming concentration of comments addressing the lived daily experience of prisoners as a function of their built environment demonstrates that, at least for the former prisoners

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who speak at the public comment meeting, concerns of the built environment far outweigh concerns of the natural environment. Perhaps prisoners feel their built environment most acutely, or perhaps this group of prisoners simply was not exposed to noticeable toxins or other environmental concerns while incarcerated in Utah.

No matter the reason, the important takeaway here stems from the relative infrequency with which the commission members address this issue in comparison to the concerned citizens. The commission only links prison infrastructure to prisoner welfare in its written report, and never in verbal deliberations. This relative silence may stem from the fact that the decision to improve the prisoners’ built environment has already been made; indeed, the commission owes its very existence to this decision.

Thus, it seems that concerns of the prisoners’ built environment, though acknowledged by the commission, do not play a central role in the siting process. Rather, this issue likely factors more prominently into the political steps that initiate the siting and into the eventual architectural planning of the new facility.

2. Environment The first form of NIMBYism concerns the effects of the prison on the natural environment, a prioritization of local ecology that demonstrates the fusion of identity and nature. Both SLC officials and an SLC resident speak to the inherent value of bird species “of significance” and critical wetland habitats, entities that give the area an irreplaceable meaning. Just as the residents of Appalachian Pennsylvania that Che (2008) observes see their natural surroundings as fundamental to their personal identity, so too do some of those in SLC. Yet, the state clearly does not reflect this concern, speaking only about the wetlands and endangered animal species in terms of the legal roadblocks they contribute to development. Here, the discussion of legality highlights an important distinction between SLC and rural Pennsylvania. While the Appalachians

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turn to small-scale projects that utilize indigenous natural resources, such as hunting tourism or timber harvesting, to combat the need for a prison, SLC can make no economic use of its migratory birds or wetlands (Che, 2008, p. 809) Thus, the SLC officials turn to state- and federal-level laws and policies that grant these natural entities official protection. It seems that in considering how best to protect natural resources during prison siting, a community’s strategy must first consider whether such resources can be sustainably utilized for economic gain or whether they have elevated legal status.

3. Residents The second form of NIMBYism at play differs from those discussed in existing literature, in which studies tie NIMBYism to protection of the natural world, to community safety, or to potential effects on tourism and outsider perspectives of a community. The West Siders’ profound denouncement of the new prison represents a stark shift away from conventional NIMBY notions of preserving nature, instead filling a new discursive space in which class, race, and the environment intersect. Their public comments paint a picture of the West Side not as home to pristine wetlands and flocks of birds, but rather as a “red-lined” swath of urbanity dense with an ever-growing concentration of social services. They frame their opposition in terms of psychological health and self-esteem, both housed within the emotional “geography of objection” that Armstrong (2014) defines (p. 550) Yet, this opposition extends beyond mere emotion, connecting to a deeper conversation of racial and environmental justice. While siting the prison in an area already home to social services may seem logical, the West Siders view the new prison as an exploitation and further condemnation of their poverty.

In a sea of literature that analyzes prisons as potential economic boosts in rural America, this case highlights how a prison might instead act as an oppressive tool—a block to economic development and a perceived “slap in the face” from state officials—

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when sited in a low-income, urban area. The West Siders seem to already understand the finding that Hooks et. al (2004) posit: a new prison generates no positive economic growth in a community, and may even impede such growth. Some also speak to racial demographics, speaking as representatives of Latino voters or referencing historic racist policies. Yet, acknowledgement of race pales in comparison to discussions of class, lending weight to Hoyman’s (2006) observations that socio-economic status, rather than race, may factor more prominently into prison siting. While arguments of class receive more overall “air-time,” an environmental justice lens would suggest that the two are inherently intertwined. Perhaps in this siting process, class acts as a proxy for race, providing a more tangible argumentative base from which to denounce the prison.

An overwhelming majority of SLC residents give voice to this form of NIMBYism, arguing that just as a bird species should be seen as vulnerable and wetlands as critical, so too should an impoverished community be seen as vulnerable, and their budding high school students seen as critical. The new constellation of concerns that comes with siting a prison in “red-lined” urbanity, rather than in a pristine rural community, warrants renewed study on prison siting. A new form of NIMBYism, that described by Rep. Hollins as “not just in my backyard” NIMBYism, has emerged and merits analysis. After decades of siting prisons with an “out of sight, out of mind” mentality, this case prompts inquiry into whether a new era of prison siting has begun (Gutierrez, 2016). The relocation of Draper to a city may not be a unique case, but rather a single data point in an emerging national phenomenon of urban prisons.

Finally, it may seem surprising that, at least in this realm, the commission members prioritize the inside community over the outside host-community. By relocating Draper in SLC, the commission betters the prisoners’ built environment at the expense of local residents. Yet, after accounting for the class and racial makeup of the

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West Side, referenced by neither state nor local authorities, this finding may seem less shocking. In short, the initial assumption that sparked this study, that the prisoner community would be vastly more disadvantaged and politically disenfranchised than the host-community does not hold; siting prisons is a much more nuanced endeavor.

4. Development Overall, the state seems to prioritize neither the outside nor inside community in the siting process, almost exclusively considering how environmental factors affect the timeline and cost of the development process. The state only factors into the matrix of analysis in a single category—prisoners and the built environment—highlighting a vast discrepancy between the appointed authorities of the siting process and all other stakeholders: the citizens and officials of SLC. Though not the focus of this analysis, countless citizens voice frustration with the structure of the siting process itself. Many feel that the public comment meeting cannot sufficiently capture citizen concerns, and criticize the commission for not adequately listening to residents when they do speak.

The residents’ frustration suggests that the siting process used to relocate Draper utilizes an authoritative, rather than a collaborative approach, just as Farkas (1999) observes in her study of a Wisconsin community. Farkas’ recommendation that a more egalitarian approach be used to better ensure the “successful siting and long-term acceptance” of the host-community seems to apply to Draper as well, in which prospects of long-term acceptance in the West Side seem dim at best (Farkas, 1999, p.

95). This similarity suggests a need for further study on the structure of prison siting processes to determine how they might better incorporate community concerns while minimizing tension between host-community residents and siting officials.

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VI. Conclusion Overall, this analysis strikes upon a surprising discovery: the siting process that determines the new location of Utah’s Draper State Prison prioritizes the environmental concerns of the prisoner community over the environmental concerns of the hostcommunity. This result hinges upon the fact that the prisoner community overwhelmingly speaks out in favor of improving their built, rather than their natural, environment, a decision inherent in the creation of the commission. The demographics of the host-community and the relative lack of conversation regarding the natural environment raise questions about current prison siting trends tending towards more urban locations than in the past. Going forward, future researchers should recognize that host-communities may view new prisons as oppressive tools depending on their demographics, a divergence from traditional views of prisons as economic sparks in rural America. To do so, researchers should look to analyze prison siting using a racial or environmental justice framework, rather than a cost-benefit lens. An inventory of the urbanity of all recently constructed prisons would help establish whether this new, justice-oriented discursive space applies to new prisons in general, or just to Draper.

In future siting processes, practitioners should consider how siting might better incorporate the concerns of host-community residents. A single public comment meeting with two-minute speaking slots does not give residents adequate opportunity to voice their opinions; indeed, many of the citizens who spoke feel compelled to devote their entire two minutes to express their anger at the structure of the siting process itself.

Future practitioners would be well-advised to center less of their deliberations around the technicalities of the development process, and adopt a more holistic view that incorporates the demographics of the communities under consideration. The fact that only the residents of the West Side speak to the area’s poverty rate and racial makeup

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underscores the disregard for this community displayed, either subconsciously or not, by the commissioners. Though replacing decrepit, aging prisons fulfills a noble and necessary cause, politicians must take care not to metaphorically step on communities of people who, though not incarcerated themselves, may still feel trapped by the lack of viable economic opportunities located near to them.

These findings might differ had Draper not been a state prison, but rather a federal prison, immigration detention center, or jail. Likewise, had Draper not been such a high-profile case, perhaps the siting process would have been realized differently.

Given the lack of related research, we find little clarity as to whether Draper represents other prison siting cases, or rather exemplifies a deviant case. Perhaps other siting processes include host-community voices to a greater degree, easing the collective anxiety and frustration that permeate the West Side. While the lack of voice given to the West Siders and the socio-economic positioning of the community raise serious concerns about the urban geographies of new prisons, this somewhat disheartening example prompts two hopeful insights. First, in overriding the West Siders’ objections, the commission does at least recognize the importance of improving Draper, a change wholly endorsed by former members of the incarcerated community. Whether building better prisons is enough to reverse skyrocketing incarceration trends seems doubtful; still, the recognition of prisoners’ inherent humanity in the push for a new facility is at least a step in the right direction. Secondly, though ultimately overridden, the West Siders’ near unanimous rejection of the prison signals a hopeful change in the national imaginary. If every American community rejects new prisons, perhaps the nation will be forced to reckon with a growing public distaste for carceral facilities. The plight of the West Side may thus be a harbinger of prison alternatives, a grassroots-level rejection of the inclination towards incarceration that affects those on both sides of prison walls.

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