Being a Corrections Officer is not a "Stepping Stone"
Maybe it was a police officer or an FBI agent, but one thing was for certain. She didn’t want to be a correctional officer. Yet there she was, on her first day, standing next to me as a correctional officer recruit. I’ll call her Kim.
Now, how did I know Kim wanted to be a police officer or FBI Agent? As her trainer, it was the very first thing she told me. I didn’t even get a chance to introduce her to the profession before she told me that corrections was just a stepping stone for her. I must admit, it really bothered me. Who on earth was she to say it was a mere stepping stone? Being a correctional officer is an honorable profession.
I was hoping her answer for the future would be related to growth and development within the correctional field such as Warden, Major, Cert Team, or Internal Affairs. Instead, her focus was outward-facing.
Even though I found what she said to be insulting, I held my tongue. Because I was her trainer, instead of becoming angry, I took on the responsibility of influencing a change in her perspective. She was new and had yet to see the value of the important work being done in corrections. It was my job, even my duty, to show her the way.
First, I had to grasp the idea that corrections was just a mile marker for Kim, and she believed she was on her way to bigger and better things. That’s fine. I am in no way trying to discourage someone from living what they consider to be their best life. In the meantime, especially while training, she needed to keep her focus on the here and now. Her plans for tomorrow should not distract her from the value of what can be learned today.
I noticed that her desire to be somewhere else was distracting her from learning and recognizing the value this profession has to offer. More importantly, being distracted kept her from looking within and bringing to light what she could offer the profession. For her, working as a correctional officer wasn’t really a choice. It was a burden. Seeing this profession as a stepping stone was her way of justifying her decision to become a correctional officer in the first place.
How did I come to that conclusion? She told everyone else that corrections was simply a way station, and her real dream was to be somewhere else. It was the first thing out of her mouth every time she had a chance to meet someone new. By saying that corrections was a stepping stone, she was justifying her current position that she felt was inadequate. Forget that many of the people she met were in the field. She failed to recognize how that was negatively perceived by others. She wanted more without even realizing what she had right in front of her. The mindset was to get in and out as quickly as possible. This profession seemed to be beneath her, and she made it known in most of her interactions.
Every time she shared her outlook with senior officers, disgust came across their faces, some less subtle than others. She was pushing them away by making them feel inferior. I knew I had to confront her.
“Do you see correctional officers as law enforcement professionals?”
Kim quickly answered, “No! They’re nothing like police!”
And there it was. She wanted to cross over into law enforcement because she didn’t feel like corrections was law enforcement. Before I even had the chance to discuss the noble occupation and compare the work done in prisons and jails with the work done on the streets, she’d already made up her mind that the work of a police officer or FBI agent was far superior to a “jail guard.”
Back when I first entered corrections, I noticed that the work being done behind the wall was misunderstood. Some people took a rather simplistic view, seeing correctional officers as turnkeys, babysitters, screws, or just plain guards. They were seldom seen as law enforcement professionals.
Even though this recruit entered the belly of the beast, her eyes remain closed. She chose only to see things that confirmed her preconceived notions. Overall, her belief remained that correctional officers were not equal in value to officers on the streets. She viewed her potential move outward as a move upward.
I certainly didn’t see it that way. Correctional officers are equals in the law enforcement family. I said to her, “You are going to trap yourself in this profession if you refuse to allow yourself to see more. What if you’re unable to move outward? What if this becomes your career?”
“That’s not happening, Gangi. I won’t allow it!”
I wasn’t going to debate with Kim. I wasn’t going to try and explain that sometimes life isn’t fair and doesn’t always go the way we want it to. Instead, my goal was to show her the value of the work being done in corrections. If I wanted to lead by example, I needed to show that even the most tedious of job assignments have value. I illustrated the importance of the work being done, perhaps she would come to value the profession. And if it did become her career, she could at least come to appreciate it. Perhaps I could start something with a tiny spark.
“This work has tremendous value, so take time to find it. Don’t lose focus on the now!”
During my first three years on the job, I came across many correctional officers who had aspirations to be somewhere else. With many years in, they remained in this profession because they faced limited opportunities to move outward. They believed that corrections was their first stop to something bigger and better. Every day they were expecting that phone call with the news that they could leave corrections behind. Most wanted to switch over to the sheriff’s department or become a police officer. So, they waited. Weeks turned into months and months turned into years. Usually, that day never came.
I’m not saying we shouldn’t be hopeful, but it’s a mistake to push aside our lives and a chance to grow in our profession while looking to something else entirely. These officers waited for the call that never came while overlooking opportunities for growth.
Promotions, lateral transfers, none of it mattered. They were focused on becoming a police officer, county sheriff, or FBI agent. As each day passed, their dreams got further and further away. Often, they began to feel trapped. Instead of finding freedom of choice, they felt forced to settle.
Those who took the promotional exam and failed, or interviewed for a new position somewhere and didn’t make it, would often think, “Eventually, I’ll be that police officer or sheriff, so none of this really matters.” There was little motivation to do better. They could not see the value of living in the now because “now” didn’t much matter to them. Their eyes were always set toward the future while today came and went.
I didn’t want that to be the same fate for this new recruit. Fortunately, the value I was hoping for was discovered during a cell search. Before we began our search, I explained to Kim that cell searches can be very tedious work. Nine times out of ten, these searches simply result in finding nuisance contraband. There are “go-getter” corrections officers who become disenfranchised when they go all out on a search and only come up with extra sugar packets in an inmate’s pocket or maybe an extra blanket hidden deep inside a foot locker.
On the surface, searches tend to be a maximum effort for minimal results. But if you look a bit deeper, there can be tremendous value in the work.
I told Kim that searches are vital to the safety and security of the correctional facility. I wanted her to know there is a level of trust that comes from support staff members when they see us exhausting every effort to find something that can pose a threat to people within the correctional facility.
“Your signature in the search log solidifies that trust and tells the other staff that you have completed your job to the best of your ability. One hundred and ten percent. Staff wants to trust you and believe that you are doing everything you can to make their day as safe as possible.”
Now, I could have spent all day simply showing her the “how” of things: how we scan the room, how we break it down into quadrants, that sort of thing. However, in the end, the “how” becomes meaningless without the “why.” I wanted Kim to be motivated by the importance of the work and the value it could have for others.
During the search, she did exactly as directed. First, she scanned the room to get an idea of the different locations an inmate could hide contraband. Then, she broke the cell down into quadrants. Lastly, she took her time and went through everything thoroughly and professionally. At one point, I even took a step back to watch her in action. Kim was intent and focused.
