APDS in the News

In his inaugural address, President Joe Biden pledged to combat the sting of systemic racism, boldly promising that the “dream of justice for all will be deferred no longer.” He took his first steps toward making good on that promise by signing a slew of executive orders focused on equity — including directing the U.S. Department of Justice to improve prison conditions.

But Biden brings to this mission a checkered history with race and criminal justice. As a senator, he sponsored the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act of 1994, helping to further fuel an era of mass incarceration that disproportionately impacted the lives of black families across the country. I understand, first-hand, just how cruel that system can be. Two years after the 1994 Crime Bill was signed, I was sentenced to prison for life, with little hope for parole. I was 17.

Biden did not likely set out to imprison a generation of people like me. Indeed, he admitted last year he hasn’t “always gotten things right.” As president, Biden must work to atone for his role in Washington’s legacy of mass incarceration, foregrounding policies that will not only reduce our prison population but also set individuals already incarcerated up for success. Education is an essential part of this goal.

I would know. Education saved my life. Growing up, I was a smart kid who loved to read, but I was never a good student. I was too distracted by the crews beefing with one another outside my window, too anxious about the sounds of gunshots and squealing tires. By the time I was arrested, I had long stopped caring about school. In prison, however, education served as my guiding light. Over the next 16 years, I earned my high school diploma, graduated from vocational shops, and earned my associate’s degree. A judge agreed to my early release and I returned to society a changed person –– and with a blueprint for a successful life after prison. Too few are given the same opportunity.

Just over one-third of state prisons provide college-level courses, serving just six percent of incarcerated individuals in the United States, despite research overwhelmingly demonstrating the positive impact education can have on recidivism. Inmates who participate in educational programs are 43 percent less likely to return to prison. They have lower rates of unemployment and higher personal incomes. Prisons with college programs experience less violence.

Last month, Congress lifted its decades-long ban on providing federal student aid to inmates, rolling back a key component of the 1994 Crime Bill. But another, major roadblock remains: More than 40 percent of incarcerated individuals have not yet earned a high school diploma.

High school graduates earn, on average, more than $8,000 more each year than those who don’t complete high school. Many go on to college and dramatically increase their earnings. Any serious effort aimed at prison reform must focus on helping incarcerated individuals clear that first educational hurdle. The Biden administration should require all inmates to work toward earning a high school diploma or equivalency, no matter the sentence.

The administration should also create a national standard for allowing inmates to earn good time credit through education. In states like Indiana, prisoners already receive time off their sentences for completing approved education programs. For completing a basic literacy program, GED program, or technical education program, for example, inmates are awarded six months off their sentences. The federal government should look toward these kinds of state programs to craft clarifying guidance at the national level.

While providing prison education at such a scale may have been an immense challenge in the past, advances in technology leave little room for excuses today. Current conditions at most prisons are akin to a one-room schoolhouse, a setup that has only grown more challenging during the COVID-19 pandemic. We can do better. Low-cost tablets, computers, and other tools can help prisons create hybrid learning experiences that marry the best of in-person teaching with the greater affordability and accessibility technology provides.

Unfortunately, too many prisons still rely on outdated and overpriced technology that only hinders educational attainment, including predatory tablet contracts that exploit inmates and their innocent friends and family. The Biden administration has a moral, economic, and social imperative to ensure prisons have the resources and guidance they need to remove these barriers.

We have come a long way from the environment that produced the 1994 Crime Bill. And so too have the kinds of tools necessary to ensure wide and meaningful access to high-quality prison education. If President Biden is to ever make amends with the communities he helped injure — if he is to ensure the promise of justice for all is no longer deferred — he must prioritize educational opportunities for incarcerated individuals.

Chris Wilson is a formerly incarcerated individual who has received national recognition for his book. He attributes his post-release success to an exceptional prison education and his development of what he calls “the master plan.”

This year gives about 463,000 of the more than 2 million Americans behind bars — and President-elect Joe Biden — a chance at a fresh start.

Buried deep in Congress’ latest COVID-19 relief deal is a provision that would allow the incarcerated the chance to better themselves, and their communities, through higher education.

For almost 30 years, prisoners could use federal aid to pay for a college education. By 1993-94, 23,000 of the 4 million Pell Grant recipients who received a portion of the $6 billion program to pay for higher education were in prison. By that time an estimated 772 in-prison programs were operational inside1,287 correctional facilities in the United States.

Today, 2.3 million people sit in prisons or jails. Research suggests that those who participate in well-rounded education programs are 43% less likely to commit another crime after release than those who do not. But—while people in prison have widely varying learning needs—many inmates are unable to access any education at all, and what programming does exist looks like a one-room schoolhouse. We cannot unleash the potential of incarcerated learners without scaling learning tools that are accessible, rigorous, and personalized.

Join us for a conversation with Chris Wilson—the author of The Master Plan, a book about his experience being sentenced to life-in-prison at age 17 and finding his way out through education—and Harris Ferrell, the CEO of APDS, an ed-tech provider in corrections. Together we’ll explore how accessible, ethical technological innovations can bring every prisoner the educational resources necessary to live a productive life on the outside.

At 17 years old, Chris Wilson was sentenced to life in prison. Now 41, he recalls that moment and says, “It was like receiving a death sentence.” But after 16.5 years in prison, he turned his life around. And in the eight years since his release, he has become an author, entrepreneur, philanthropist, and advocate for incarcerated individuals in America. For Second Chance month, which was created to draw attention to challenges faced by formerly incarcerated individuals, I had the pleasure of speaking to Wilson about the impact that the Second Chance Pell pilot program had and the impact that lifting the ban could have.

Wilson points out that society often labels incarcerated individuals as “monsters” who are beyond redemption. But all too often, important questions aren’t being asked. “This monster that you described, how many times has society failed this person before the crime was committed? How many foster homes has this person bounced around? How many times was this person abused? How many times have we failed to provide services to help this person? We don’t talk about that, but we’re quick to label this person a monster,” he says.

According to Prison Policy Initiative, incarcerated individuals are more likely to come from low-income backgrounds. Wilson shared his own experience as a young Black child growing up in a low-income community in Washington D.C. and the trauma that accompanied it. “My neighbor was murdered and I had to go to school the next day. There were no school counselors at my school to talk to. I couldn’t do my schoolwork that week. And things like this happen every day in Black and Brown communities.” At this time,  P-12 policy doesn’t provide adequate social-emotional support to students who need it. Instead, those students are over-policed in schools and eventually pushed out — resulting in the school-to-prison pipeline.

So, from an early age, society repeatedly fails communities of color, and the culmination is an overrepresentation of people of color in prison. “The system is designed to punish and oppress,” Wilson says. And once these individuals are released, there are few opportunities available to them. They “check the box,” indicating that they have served time, and experience the “collateral consequences of incarceration.” Oftentimes, difficulties of finding work after release increase recidivism. However, studies show that a college degree or even some college greatly reduces people’s likelihood of returning to prison.

After realizing that he would live out his life incarcerated, Wilson spent three days in his cell, writing goals of who he wanted to become, and the steps he needed to take to be released from prison. He decided that the first step toward achieving those goals was to educate himself. “That was the genesis of The Master Plan,” he said. He got his GED, became a Rattcliffe Scholar at University of Baltimore, got his bachelor’s degree in sociology and taught himself to read, write, and speak three different languages (Spanish, Italian, and Mandarin). Over a 10-year period, his petitions for release were denied five times. The sixth time, he told the judge what he had accomplished, and the plan that he had crafted for his life after release. She told him, “I’m going to give you a shot. But you’ve got to finish the plan.”

Because of the 1994 Crime Bill, incarcerated individuals have been banned from receiving Pell Grants to pursue postsecondary education. As a result, the number of in-prison education programs available has dropped significantly — from about 350 in the early 1990s to about 12 now. However, thanks to continued bipartisan support, 67 sites have just been identified to participate in a new Second Chance Pell program, bringing the total up to 130. Now, people like Wilson will be able to benefit from taking classes and earning their degrees. He speaks about how fortunate he and his classmates were to have that opportunity, and how, as a result, they got their degrees and are “doing well out in society.” He adds, “About half of us went back to get additional degrees. And that’s just a good return on taxpayer dollars.”

Since being released, Wilson has started multiple businesses and is currently partnering with American Prison Data Systems to provide incarcerated individuals with tablets, free of charge. With tablets, people can contact their family members, use educational apps, or even learn to code. He is also working on a curriculum for The Master Plan, so that incarcerated people can use his book as a blueprint to build their own plan and reach their goals. “And now I tell people, you can set goals for yourself. You can educate and discipline yourself, and you can achieve those goals. I am a walking example of it.”

Right now, there are 2.3 million incarcerated people in the United States. Based on a study sponsored by the Federal Bureau of Prisons, people who are able to participate in educational opportunities while incarcerated are significantly less likely to return to prison. Reinstating Pell Grants for individuals who are incarcerated will offer a chance to pursue higher education, preparing them for return to life outside of prison, and providing opportunities for higher paying positions, and reducing the probability of recidivism. The new sites identified to participate in the Second Chance Pell program are a constructive start toward building the change necessary to rehabilitate individuals returning to society after incarceration. Lifting the ban on Pell Grants provides incarcerated individuals with a college education and possibilities for a better future. Every person deserves that chance.

While the coronavirus pandemic has upended the lives of millions of educators, students, and families, it has laid bare – for many, the unique set of challenges for incarcerated learners who are already accustomed to navigating isolation with limited resources.

The last few weeks have seen an unending stream of heartbreaking stories from correctional institutions which remind us just how vulnerable our prison system is to an unexpected crisis. Which got me wondering how incarcerated students have been affected by such massive upheaval, amid the imminent safety crisis unfolding in jails and prisons.

I learned that for the 2.3 million Americans who are incarcerated everyday, education can be a rare connection to purpose. Research has shown that correctional education makes prisons safer for both inmates and staff, reduces the odds that students will re-offend after they’re released, and increases the likelihood of post-release employment.

That data has drawn the interest of an unlikely group of allies, from President Donald Trump and country’s largest association of prosecutors to Senator Kamala Harris and Bernie Sanders. There is now growing, bipartisan support to amend the federal higher education law to ensure incarcerated people are eligible for federal Pell grants.

But, after decades of policies that ballooned the U.S. prison population and cut spending for incarcerated students, incarcerated learners still, for the most part, face an uphill battle.

To find out more about how the coronavirus pandemic is playing out for incarcerated learners across the country, I spoke with Susan Lockwood Roberts, the president of the Correctional Education Association.

Alison Griffin: Even under normal circumstances, educating incarcerated learners comes with its own unique set of challenges. What kind of barriers are correctional educators facing during the pandemic, which may not be obvious to those of us looking in from the outside?

Susan Lockwood Roberts: Every correctional administrator’s biggest concern must be keeping everyone behind the fence safe. That includes those who are incarcerated and those who are staffing the facility.

Social distancing in prisons and jails is almost impossible.  As a result, many facilities have gone into lockdown mode, meaning that incarcerated people are unable to leave their housing units unless necessary. So, programming has all but ground to a halt.

For example, in many states, education and other rehabilitative programming have either stopped or dramatically downsized. Where programming continues, class sizes are reduced so there are fewer people gathering together. This means that students who might have been going to class five days per week before the pandemic might only now be going two or three days a week.

In some states, staff access is limited to essential personnel—which pretty much means custody officers, medical staff, and food services. No one else is able to enter. If allowed, the best teachers can do is to create “packets” of assignments to be distributed to students who have to complete them on their own with little or no guidance.

While many classrooms in the free world have grown accustomed to having at least some technological support in their classrooms, which has eased the transition to distance learning, decades of divestment in correctional education have left most incarcerated students with few resources for success. Incarcerated learners are used to scraping by with the bare minimum, but this crisis is helping to expose just how little our society invests in them.

Griffin: Why is education important in the correctional setting, and, specifically, why should facilities continue to make education a priority during the pandemic?

Lockwood Roberts: During a pandemic, the health of everyone inside the facility must be the highest priority. But, when there are ways to keep learning going without jeopardizing the health and safety of either students or educators, it can serve a significant purpose.

Today, there are 2.3 million Americans in prisons or jails. They are disproportionately black, brown, and low-income. They are also disproportionately unlikely to have had prior access to quality education. In my experience, this is a group of learners who value educational opportunities, and are able to translate their learning into tangible contributions to society after release. In fact, research suggests that incarcerated people who participate in well-rounded correctional education programs have 43% lower odds of recidivating than those who do not.

Unfortunately, when correctional facilities are forced to shut down indefinitely, limiting incarcerated peoples’ movement even more than is typical and banning visitors and volunteers from entering, a profound negative impact is felt by everyone inside the facility. While we don’t yet have data on the effects of this pandemic, we often hear that rates of conflict, disciplinary infractions, and violence inside facilities spike when individuals do not have access to programming. Cramming people inside small cell blocks, without providing any way for them to stay productive or even distracted, will inevitably lead to an even more grim atmosphere.

Facility shutdowns can also have serious effects on the mental health of those who are incarcerated and the staff who supervise them. It is hard for people in the free world to handle quarantine, and we have all kinds of resources to keep us busy, from internet to television to video calling platforms to exercise, that are unavailable in correctional facilities. Many incarcerated people depend on visits from loved ones and programming to build a routine that feels meaningful. Having that all interrupted — even though incarcerated learners understand that the disruption is necessary — makes it that much harder.

We would never recommend that facilities have non-essential staff or volunteers come in during a pandemic; viral outbreaks are almost impossible to contain in prisons and jails, and preventing infection must be the top priority right now. But we know that, with the support of facilities, policymakers, and educators, it is possible to keep incarcerated students learning through a shutdown.  

Griffin: What kind of innovative solutions have you seen facilities implement in order to keep education programs running?

Lockwood Roberts: The best solution for incarcerated learners is the same solution that K-12 schools and colleges across the country have implemented: virtual learning. Devices like Chromebooks and tablets — which can be secured and connected to contained internet or cellular networks — can’t completely replace in-person instruction, but they can connect learners with large libraries of content, offer adaptive programs that provide greater support and differentiation than paper materials, and connect learners with their educators.

Some jurisdictions that had already obtained these devices are able to continue their programming with relatively few interruptions. For example, 18 states have partnered with a company called American Prison Data Systems, or APDS, to implement the use of educational tablets for incarcerated individuals. These devices include many of the same digital programs students in the free world use, as well as large libraries of e-books, rehabilitative video exercises, and other resources. And, unlike many other tablet providers, this company does not charge incarcerated learners or their loved ones to use their devices. Other companies, such as ATLO Software, use Launchbooks (a secure laptop) to provide educational and other rehabilitative programming to learners.

While all facilities are facing roadblocks in continuing their programming, the facilities that have already implemented these kinds of solutions are finding it much easier to keep learning going through this pandemic. But, these kinds of solutions are still the exception, not the standard. The vast majority of incarcerated people do not access any education at all — much less education supported by quality digital learning technology.

Griffin: Today, incarcerated people face some of the highest risks associated with this outbreak, and we’re hearing heartbreaking stories from facilities across the U.S. about prison and jail populations struggling to cope. Even beyond the logistical barriers created by the COVID-19 outbreak, the emotional stress must make it difficult for students to continue to learn. How can correctional educators support their students through this time? 

Lockwood Roberts: The best thing anyone can do is try to connect and encourage those who are dealing with the emotional stress associated with this outbreak. For many people, the sense of isolation can be one of the most damaging aspects of incarceration, and it can make re-entry even more difficult. Real, personal interactions can be hard to come by. So for many incarcerated learners, having some time every week with an educator who treats them with respect and dignity can be a major benefit of education in itself.

The easiest way for correctional educators to encourage their students is through virtual contact. Educators whose students have access to educational technology devices are in the best position to stay in touch with their classes. Others may be able to send their students electronic messages through telecommunication tablets that some facilities have implemented, although these messages often come with hefty fees. If those options are not available, educators can mail their students materials and words of encouragement.

It’s important that students have access to resources that can engage and stimulate them during this time — but for some, it may be even more important to know that folks on the outside care about them and are thinking of them. Whenever possible, correctional educators try to provide both of these benefits to their students.

Griffin: What additional resources or tools are correctional educators saying the need in order to get through this crisis?

Lockwood Roberts: The most simple resource correctional facilities need is books. Many prisons and jails are already short on books, and because many facilities have limited movement, incarcerated individuals are unable to visit their libraries. Some jurisdictions have e-books available on digital devices, but depending on the device provider, the download of the e-book comes with a cost to the user.  Most incarcerated individuals are indigent and have few avenues to make money, so the purchase of e-books is not an option. If e-books are not available, some facilities have authorized outside groups to mail books to individual students.

Many educators and facilities are working to see whether they can expand their digital infrastructure to connect students with education technology.  Some of these solutions can actually be implemented fairly quickly, with minimal set up, and can connect students with an extensive suite of learning resources.

Lastly, educators want content that students can navigate with little guidance. Even if they have to turn to hard copies, they want material that is self-explanatory, offers students clear instructions, and is engaging.

Something as simple as a book or a learning opportunity, which people on the outside take for granted, can make a world of difference for a learner completely cut off from the outside world, family, and loved ones. These are the kinds of investments that our correctional system is able to make and cannot afford to ignore.

Our country has spent the last several decades dismantling what was once a thriving correctional education system. Those actions were reflective of our broader willingness to write off incarcerated people. But, today, U.S. prisons and jails house millions of human beings, and we simply cannot afford to write them off.

Today, the United States spends $86 billion every year on a correctional system that is not working. We incarcerate our citizens at almost double the rate of any other developed country, and states spend 860 percent more on incarceration now than they did 30 years ago — but, still, the US correctional system does not prepare inmates for successful reentry into society. Ninety-five percent of people in prison will be released someday, but states rarely invest in their rehabilitation.

Finally, that mindset is beginning to shift.

Enter APDS, a public benefit corporation working to reduce this number dramatically by providing individualized education, rehabilitation, workforce training, and reentry support delivered via secure tablet computers inside of correctional facilities. For years, researchers have consistently found that recidivism rates are lower and employment outcomes are better when inmates have access to quality education, workforce preparation and rehabilitation. This program prepare inmates for successful re-entry into society, empower returning citizens to rebuild their communities by serving as possible role models and advocates, and creates safer prisons by disrupting the monotony and hopelessness that lead to violence.

APDS brings a revolutionary edtech solution designed specifically for corrections. APDS partners with correctional jurisdictions to map out a solution that fits their programmatic objectives and technology infrastructure. Prisons and jails face a myriad of challenges in delivering high-quality programming to everyone in their custody. They must balance security and custody constraints, facilities without wireless infrastructure, and program struggling to meet widely varying learning needs. APDS has built a solution that can be tailored to address each jurisdiction’s specific needs. Every other technology provider working in corrections charges inmates, or inmates’ loved ones, to use their devices.

APDS takes a different approach. APDS charges departments of corrections — never students or their families — for their tools. Their approach is based on the premise that correctional education tools that charge students just further entrench inequity and disillusionment within prisons. For an educational solution to fulfill its promise, it must be accessible to everyone.

Harris Ferrell, CEO, APDS says, “We focus first and foremost on outcomes – how can our technology and services be used to improve educational attainment, rehabilitative progress, and workforce readiness for every incarcerated learner? Every decision we make concerning our platform serves our goal of maximizing learning. We are not trying to make money off of our students, which would detract from the work we do to build the highest quality learning experience we can. Our goal is to enable departments of corrections to transform their correctional facilities into education centers.”

Since its founding in 2014, APDS has worked to bring the highest quality personalized learning technologies, which have become standard fare in K-12 classrooms, into the correctional setting. The company designed secure tablet computers that could connect to its networked data center and provide students secure access to approved content. The APDS learning management platform is designed to assess the individual educational, rehabilitative, and workforce readiness needs of each learner. The APDS platform then crafts a personalized learning plan and tracks each learner’s progress through the content – measuring progress achieved and time on task to report back to on-site staff. Their data portal enables the jurisdiction to determine where their learners need more support, assess whether interventions are working, and recognize learners who commit themselves to their learning pathways. Learners, in turn, are able to earn digital credentials and certificates as they progress, plan for a post-release job search by building a resume and exploring career opportunities in their area, and prepare for major credentialing exams like the GED.

Today, with deployments 88 facilities across 17 states, APDS continues to expand its footprint. With significant investments in product development, the company plans to launch its next-generation learner portal later this spring, which will incorporate new best practices in creating an easily navigable, engaging user experience. “As more and more correctional facilities commit to offering high-quality educational options, incarcerated learners are proving that their success is worth investing in. As a society, we cannot afford to write off everyone in prison or jail. We cannot afford to miss out on that much potential. In providing incarcerated learners with educational opportunities, we’re working to finally shut down the correctional system’s revolving door,” concludes Ferrell.

One big barrier to sustaining education via remote instruction during the COVID-19 pandemic has been students’ unequal access to advanced technology tools. Laptops and internet connections are not available in every household, and even students who usually have such resources available may now find themselves competing for them with siblings or parents studying or working from home.

But educators who want to make sure they reach every student don’t have to resort to mailing printed worksheets. In between high-tech and no-tech solutions for remote instruction, there’s a lot of middle ground to cover.

Here are three alternative ideas for how to ensure students can learn from home when necessary.

Any Device Will Do

Americans have lots of consumer technology tools to choose from, and they haven’t all made the same selections. According to a 2019 Pew Research Center report, 96 percent of adults own a cell phone and 81 percent own a smartphone. About half own a tablet computer, while three-quarters own desktop or laptop computers.

Using learning material and platforms that are accessible on any device may help more students stay on track with schoolwork while they’re stuck at home. That’s the approach the College Board is taking this spring with its adapted AP exams. The tests will be device-agnostic, meaning students will be able to complete them at home using computers, tablets or mobile phones, or even write their responses by hand and take a photo of them to submit.

The teenaged boys at Red Wing juvenile detention center are accustomed to six hours of school a day. They typically gather in classrooms to learn social studies, math, science and language arts from teachers who work at the corrections facility, located about 50 miles down the Mississippi River from St. Paul, Minnesota.

Educating the 70 or so students poses challenges even on the best of school days. About 70 percent of residents at Red Wing qualify for special education services. They arrive with disparate academic histories, so some of them need to earn biology credits, for example, while others don’t.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, the difficulty of teaching each teenager has only increased.

“It’s a moving target,” says Patty Popp, director of special education for the Minnesota Department of Corrections. “It changes by the day, sometimes by the hour.”

With schools and colleges across the U.S. closed to try to slow the spread of the coronavirus, many students and instructors are grappling for the first time with questions about how to sustain learning when they can’t meet face to face.

That’s not a new problem for educators who work with jails, prisons and juvenile detention centers, where access to learning is often limited by security concerns, technology constraints and facilities designed for incarcerating—not teaching—people.

“Prison education is the ultimate distance learning model in many ways,” says Arti Finn, co-founder of American Prison Data Systems, a company that produces tablet computers used in prison education programs.

Pandemic conditions have introduced novel challenges for corrections education, however. Since the virus threatens the health and safety of people who live and work inside detention facilities, many sites are operating under new policies intended to prevent contagion. These new rules can interfere with learning programs that may have already been tenuous to begin with.

Although juvenile facilities are required by law to educate residents, adult jails and prisons are not, with some exceptions, says Susan Roberts, president of the Correctional Education Association. That means the leaders of prison facilities for adults largely have leeway to adapt or pause education programs as they see fit.

During the pandemic, the association has been holding weekly calls with state directors of correctional education, and these conversations have revealed a continuum of responses.

Access to libraries has been reduced at many facilities. At some, educators are no longer allowed inside, although they may be able to deliver paper materials for students to complete in their cells. At others, class sizes have been cut to limit exposure, so that students used to attending two daily school sessions now only participate in one, or only go three days a week instead of five.

“They’re totally shutting down, to trying to do things virtually if there’s a digital option,” Roberts says. “At most correctional facilities, that option isn’t available.”

Going Digital

A jail in Washington, D.C. is one facility that does have digital tools at its disposal. The detention center has had to modify its face-to-face classes to encourage social distancing, says deputy director Amy Lopez, but some incarcerated adult students are still able to continue their personalized learning plans by taking classes via tablet computer. The jail is working with leaders of programs that typically meet in person to try to develop online versions.

“So our for-credit students are still earning credits, and some of our partners, like the Pulitzer Center, have created and sent us lessons that are normally web-based to be loaded onto the tablets as well. For our students who don’t have tablets, we’ve been taking them paper-based lessons,” Lopez said in an email interview. “We also reserved some tablets, and when we had to quarantine some residents for observation, we’ve been providing them with tablets, too.”

At Red Wing, educators have tried to balance the need to reduce students’ exposure to other people with the reality that teenagers don’t take well to being cooped up.

“Especially with juveniles, to expect them to stay within their cottages all day is pretty tough,” Popp says.

A new rotating schedule allows half of a unit’s residents to travel to a classroom for face-to-face instruction while the other half stays put and teachers come to them. In-person instruction time has decreased, and to make up for lost hours, students now have more access to online curricular tools via tablets, which since last summer have been slowly introduced for classroom use.

“We went from that to ‘Everybody gets a tablet,’” Popp says. “It’s been a whirlwind for our teachers.”

Red Wing educators who are sick or at high risk of infection are staying home. Like their counterparts at traditional schools outside the world of corrections, they’re figuring out how to do their jobs remotely via technology.

“There’s one teacher who is out who is still teaching her course,” Popp says. “Another teacher is out for COVID leave who is overseeing all the oversight of the tablets, working with an assistant on-site to make sure the tablets are running. There’s a multitude of functions she’s able to do from home.”

As prison facilities and systems improvise, the Correctional Education Association awaits guidance from the U.S. Department of Education about the best ways to sustain learning behind bars during the pandemic. Doing so is a priority not only for students, but also for wardens and prison administrators who appreciate the role education plays in rehabilitating incarcerated people, Roberts says.

Unfortunately, though, as the health crisis worsens, “whether or not you get special education services might not necessarily be the No. 1 priority. No. 1 might be to keep the virus from spreading in the population,” Roberts says. “We want you to be alive.”

The Massachusetts Department of Correction is launching an education program for prisoners.

In a bid process, the state chose American Prison Data Systems, a public benefit corporation, to provide 228 tablets to incarcerated people in 10 prisons, according to a news release.

The tablets include programs on GED preparation, vocational training and re-entry planning, among others. There are no costs for using any programs on the tablets.

Incarcerated students in other states who used the corporation’s tablets were more than twice as likely to pass the GED and 70 percent more likely to complete their post-release re-entry plans compared to their peers, according to the news release.

Research shows that every dollar states invest in prison-based education can save taxpayers up to $5 in reduced incarceration costs.

Last year, West Virginia contracted with a company, Global Tel Link (GTL), to provide free tablets to prisoners. These kinds of initiatives are rapidly becoming more popular, as states grapple with the legacy of four decades of tough-on-crime policies and renewed public calls for more rehabilitative prisons.

And it sounds great. Until inmates realize the company charges users every time they use the tablets, including 25 cents a page for emails and 3 cents a minute to read e-books. By that calculation, most inmates would end up paying about $15 for each novel or autobiography they attempt to read. To people who have little to no money, that’s not a benefit. That’s exploitation. The only beneficiary, aside from Global Tel Link, is West Virginia, which receives 5% of the profits.

GTL isn’t alone in profiting off of prisoners. Exploitation of prisoners for profit is cropping up more and more across the criminal justice landscape.

JPay, which is owned by Securus Technologies, charges inmates to make calls, send emails and listen to music and audiobooks. In some states, Edovo (Education Over Obstacles) has charged inmates to rent tablets.

Many prisons now ban in-person visits, then allow companies to charge $12.99 or more for video calls. Prison phone calls can cost up to $3.99 a minute. Prison shoes fall apart within weeks, and replacements are only available from a special catalog. Only sweatshirts are provided for the winter. Meals are nutritionally insufficient and, over time, must be supplemented to maintain good health.

All these necessities — shoes, jackets, phone calls, canned tuna from the commissary — rack up fees well above the market rate on the outside. But they often aren’t paid for by prisoners, who have little or no means to earn income. They are paid primarily by families who are often among our poorest. This hidden tax drives already vulnerable communities deeper into poverty and hopelessness.

But a charge to read is especially egregious. The great resource in prison is time: the time to think and improve. The best way for prisoners to fill that time is to read. Reading opens up access to instruction across any subject. It teaches job skills. It reminds those left behind that a world exists beyond the cage.

I would know: It happened that way for me. At 18, I was sentenced to life in prison with little hope of parole. For two years, I was depressed and hopeless, with no purpose or goals. Then a fellow lifer introduced me to books. I started reading every day: history, self-help, newspapers, textbooks, biographies. Reading taught me not only could I make the world a better place, but how to make it a better place: by getting others to read, too.

He and I founded a weekly book club. We got our GEDs. Our Maryland prison didn’t offer a college degree program, so we researched and wrote a proposal that helped persuade them to start one.

We taught résumé writing and career guidance classes. We helped more than a hundred of our fellow inmates prepare for success in the world beyond the fence. We made dozens of life-long readers. We gave ourselves hope and purpose and the tools for success.

It never would have happened without free books. At one point, my family spent hundreds of dollars over just a few months answering my collect calls. But they didn’t have endless amounts of money to continue that, and I certainly didn’t have money. The idea of spending 3 cents a minute on a book was impossible. I didn’t have 3 cents.

You can’t imagine how life-changing it was to realize that my purpose was right there, free for the finding, between the covers of our prison library’s books.

We don’t have to give in to this sort of vulture capitalism. There are charities that provide free books and reading materials. American Prison Data Systems, where I work as the director of engagement, charges correctional systems, not inmates, for tablets. They provide a free online reading library for anyone using their devices, in addition to adaptive education programs.

In institutions where tablets are not yet an option, prisoners should simply get access to the books already in prison libraries, which are frequently restricted.

Each of those simple steps, though, ladder up to a large question: Will society value the potential of men and women behind bars? Over the past several decades, this country has become numb to an unimaginably bloated prison system. The only way we can get around the pain of knowing that 2.3 million people are behind bars today is by telling ourselves that people in prison deserve retribution. This is a dangerous line of thinking if we allow it to justify a prison system that terrorizes and traumatizes millions of people a year — who are disproportionately black, brown or low-income — without providing pathways to rehabilitation.

Being locked in a cage for years is sufficient retribution in itself. Everything else in prison should be about rehabilitation.

When prisoners have resources for growth and maturation, they return to society as better parents and family members, active contributors to their communities, and productive workers. Their loved ones are less likely to be drawn into the cycle of violence, their communities grow safer, our economy becomes stronger and they are far less likely to return to prison.

I was lucky. I made it out. I wrote books, with the fellow lifer I mentioned earlier, that proved our good intentions, and our sentences were reduced. If we hadn’t, the state of Maryland would likely have paid more than $3 million (about $44,000 a year at likely 35 more years each) to keep us locked up for our full terms. That’s just for the two of us. But instead, we’re free. We’re working. We’re running businesses. We’re paying taxes. We’re paying it forward and inspiring others.

There are not a thousand inmates in prison right now like us. There are not 10,000. There are hundreds of thousands. Imagine where we’d be if our society made a few basic investments — like covering the costs of books — for each of them. Imagine how much human potential we’re losing every day we fail to do so.

More and more incarcerated students are getting access to educational technology. These technologies offer access where education is limited, but not much is known about the quality of the programs.

Getting an education in prison can make all the difference for inmates, even reduce their chances of going back after they are released. But it is hard for prisons and jails to offer classes. They don’t have enough space or money, oftentimes. That is where tablets come in. Students behind bars can use tables to take online classes, do research, read e-books. There is a lot that new technology can’t fix, though, as NPR’s Jenny Gathright reports.

JENNY GATHRIGHT, BYLINE: There is virtually no classroom space at the D.C. Jail, and there’s not a lot of money to hire more teachers. But 31-year-old Keith Sweptson doesn’t need a traditional classroom.

KEITH SWEPTSON: Right here, I’ma (ph) show you…

GATHRIGHT: Sweptson is holding a tablet, the tool he’s been using to get his GED. Before he got to jail last year, he had a ninth-grade education.

SWEPTSON: I work tabs, so this – you know, you could tab a lot of things. See? They have Khan Academy.

GATHRIGHT: Sweptson pulls up a screen full of different tabs, like a Web browser. It’s how he saves his assignments and instructional videos.

SWEPTSON: And it gives you – it’s like a teacher online, just, like, on a chalkboard, like, right – it shows you examples and stuff like that.

GATHRIGHT: D.C.’s Department of Corrections is expanding its programs so more students here can use the tablets to take college courses, get their GEDs, learn English. Tablets don’t require much space. All you need are charging blocks and a few tutors who can offer students one-on-one help. They’re also relatively inexpensive to implement.

Quincy Booth, the head of the D.C. Department of Corrections, says many students here in D.C. like learning on the tablet because it gives them more control.

QUINCY BOOTH: The tablets allow people to learn in their own pace and in their own way, as well as it allows people to learn privately.

GATHRIGHT: But Booth knows that there are advantages to in-person instruction.

BOOTH: We know that tablets can’t be the be all, end all.

GATHRIGHT: That’s why local professors come and teach here, and the jail offers hands-on vocational training.

BOOTH: At the end of the day, you have to have personal touch, personal connection. So we have to have a mixture of offerings.

GATHRIGHT: But with limited space and limited resources, more and more prisons are offering online education. They’re partnering with schools like Ashland University, based in Ohio. They have programs in as many as 50 jails and prisons across the country, including here in D.C. It’s a highly scalable model. If you can deliver a class online to one student, why not hundreds or more?

MICHELLE TOLBERT: Because it is so scalable, it can quickly grow without really knowing whether or not it’s a high-quality education.

GATHRIGHT: Michelle Tolbert researches adult education at the think tank RTI International. She says correctional facilities need to be critical consumers when it comes to tablets. She says there hasn’t been enough research on the quality of the programs these tablets are providing. And plus, many of the vendors who supply the tablets aren’t primarily educational organizations.

TOLBERT: Most of them have a history of supplying other services and facilities, like music and videos and pay phones. And they see education as a new market and a new way to make money.

GATHRIGHT: In West Virginia, for example, a tablet company is charging inmates by the minute to read e-books. Tolbert says the tablets do have a lot of potential, though, because they can help incarcerated students have experiences that students on the outside might take for granted.

TOLBERT: Think about it. I mean, we all do our research online. If you don’t have access to online resources, it’s very hard to do a research report for a college classroom.

GATHRIGHT: And this is not a typical college classroom. New technology like tablets can’t solve problems inmates are having with their basic needs at the D.C. Jail. The D.C. Department of Health has cited the jail numerous times for problems like leaky roofs and walls, improper handling of food and a failure to maintain acceptable room temperatures. Booth told NPR the jail works to address issues as soon as they hear about them.

As for Sweptson, he says things in the jail changed for him after he got his tablet and got the chance to move to a specialized education unit.

SWEPTSON: Big difference – on the other units, it’s a lot of problems walking around.

GATHRIGHT: Sweptson says he’s less stressed here because when he’s bored, he can pick up his tablet and read a book or watch a TED talk. His studies have also gotten him thinking about the next steps in his education after he passes the final test he needs for his GED.

SWEPTSON: I never had college on my mind before I came here, but now it’s like it’s on my mind. Like, I really think I’d do good in college.

GATHRIGHT: After he’s sentenced, Sweptson will leave this jail and get sent to a federal prison. Whether he has access to college and what form that access takes depends on the federal institution.

Jenny Gathright, NPR News, Washington.