The Legacy Letters

by Janice Landry

  John also underlined correctional staff “witness critical incidents on a more frequent basis than most professionals.” It is a shocking thought many people may never consider.

  “When you think of the makeup of some of the higher security institutions … they [the inmates] don’t get along sometimes. That can be confrontational to the point there is violence. We know that they can manufacture all sorts of weapons. I mean I can make a weapon out of a toothbrush. I can make alcohol out of potatoes … and a bit of yeast. So there are all of those things that come into play in that unique environment. In the higher securities, it’s not once in a while, it’s all the time,” said John.

  He also said there once was a “suck it up” attitude for correctional workers who faced stressful and traumatic situations. The climate, of not wanting to talk or being afraid of the stigma surrounding mental health issues within the correctional services, is slowly changing.

  “That’s what Kathleen [Roberge-Ward] and I started to do about six years ago with CISM [Critical Incident Stress Management] and EAP [Employee Assistance] … Those sorts of programs were always in the shadows, not just within corrections, but within a lot of organizations. What we were trying to do is take it out of the shadows and make it part of the culture, as much as anything else in corrections. We are making inroads. We are getting there. A lot of the work we do now is before anything ever happens,” he explained.

  John and his co-presenter and colleague have spent years educating and training the entire Ontario region so “their training is up to date.” There are eight institutions within the Ontario region, according to the Correctional Service Canada website: seven for men and one for women. John has worked and trained CISM staff at all of them.

  He has also travelled to both the Atlantic and Pacific regions within Canada, as his work nationally effects change and helps employees cope and be effective within the institutional system. Preventative measures, training, and education are now a primary focus. It is a forward-thinking approach that is catching on, because of tactical and patient people like him. “It used to always be reactive, so that’s a shift. Some-times that makes people uncomfortable because it is such a change.”

  And many people do not like change.

  “Twenty-four hours a day we deal with the offenders. But they also watch us twenty-four hours a day,” he said. “There’s a whole program I do on ‘boundaries’ and how the offenders can manipulate staff to do things they shouldn’t be doing, or to turn the other way … and there’s training for that, but [that reality] is a level of stress. As much as they’re under a microscope, so are we.”

  John said when, as a parole officer, he sits down with offenders to work or talk with them, trying to access possible lower security or parole, “You always have in the back of your mind, What are they really saying? What’s their agenda? It’s never as straightforward as you and I [speaking] … That carries over into your real life, if you will. I only trust half a dozen people. Because I’m very choosy on who I trust, just because of the nature of this work,” he revealed.

  JL: “Does it affect your ability to have quality relationships?”

  JB: “Does it impact your family life? Does it impact your life outside of work? I would say it does, because it’s almost like you have a radar for bullshit, because you have to. So if somebody on the outside tries that – you’re all over it.”

  As soon as he said “all over it,” he snapped his middle finger and thumb together, the cracking sound underlining his last point.

  Point taken.

  He gives another work/life example: when he is at work, or other correctional officers are on the job, they repeatedly give direction to the offenders. They tell people what they are going to do, how they will do it, and when to do a specific task or requirement. Additionally, if the offender does not want to take direction, or follow orders and rules, people like John Bredin also explain the consequences and repercussions.

  “That doesn’t work at home. You spend a lot of time in the garage when you try to do that at home,” he said, smiling. I do not ask if the parole officer knows this from experience, but it is heavily implied.

  “But it happens, not just with corrections; police officers, same thing – anyone who gives direction and expects results. What we try to do [preventatively] is educate people to … not come home and bark orders. Take the dog for a walk first and change from being ‘that person’ to being a husband or a wife, or a brother or sister, or whatever that may be.”

  That is easier said than done on a day-to-day basis over many years. “We have to keep that ‘face’ up in front of the offenders, despite anger, sadness, or negative emotions, because if they see weaknesses, they manipulate that, so that takes effort, and that’s stressful as well. And that wall has to come down after work because it doesn’t work well outside of work,” John explained.

  The stressors faced within prisons can lead to mental health illnesses, including PTSD, according to John. He said statistics in Canada about PTSD within corrections are not as up to date and accurate as he would prefer, but research from a correctional outreach program in Colorado suggests the PTSD rate among American correctional officers sits at approximately 27 percent.

  “We’re saying it’s probably close here,” John said.

  The parole officer estimated that number in Canada is between 17 and 20 per cent of correctional officers who have been diagnosed with PTSD as of 2016. That number is astounding.

  JL: “Is that something that’s affected you?”

  JB: “I haven’t been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, but I would say it [work] affects you, because it’s a negative work environment. We get positive things out of it when we can, but it’s a prison. So I’ve been called ‘jaded.’ When we first start in corrections, or law enforcement for that matter, we have this naiveté bubble that the world is generally a safe place – that goes away. So you become jaded. So when I talk to new employees, I say, Be careful of that; be aware of that, because that’s detrimental to you outside of corrections.”

  JL: “What is?”

  JB: “That attitude: everything is negative, that the world is dangerous. For instance, if you have a police officer or a corrections officer walk into a restaurant, they’ll sit in the corner with their back against a wall so they can see who’s coming.”

  Having worked alongside of a lot of officers as a former crime reporter, I have witnessed this myself.

  There are organizational stressors that go hand-in-hand with working in corrections. He offered the following examples: policy changes, changes in a person’s responsibilities, or work hours evolving.

  “If you go from being a food service officer to a parole officer, that’s a whole new ball game … Inmates look at you one way – you’re just the guy that they didn’t get their ice cream [from] this week. So they treat you accordingly. As a parole officer, now you have a say in their correctional plan and how they move along [so] you get treated a different way.”

  JL: “You’re affecting my freedom.”

  JB: “Right, so you get treated a different way.”

  JL: “Jaded – people have said about you. What, exactly, do you think they mean by that?”

  JB: “I’m suspicious of everything. The trust issue … and if I don’t take that armour off when I come home from work, I can be more reactive than I need to be. I can anger quicker.”

  If something is not done when he expects it to be – for example, if he hires someone for renovations and they fail to show up two or three times – “My reaction is pretty severe. I don’t put up with stuff,” he said. Because of the way he does things in and out of work, he expects the same of others. “If you tell me you are going to do something, I expect you to do it.”

  JL: “You’re used to, in your world, what you say – goes.”

  JB: “Right, not so much domestically, but especially professionally.”

  The parole officer explained some of the other stressors wi
thin corrections:

  1.Exposure to critical incidents.

  2.Interpersonal conflicts due to long shifts.

  3.Traumatic stressors, daily or hourly, depending on the institution.

  4.Serious injury.

  5.Hostage taking.

  6.Witnessing another person being mutilated or dying.

  7.Exposure to scenes that trigger negative memories.

  John has personally experienced many of these situations, with the exception of “witnessing a person being mutilated or dying.”

  “And that’s not a definitive list,” he explained.

  “It’s not necessarily the incident; it’s the person’s perception of it, which differs from person to person,” he said.

  He remarks, “Because of those stressors listed, some people develop corrections fatigue which is similar to compassion fatigue … it’s more like you become numb, and it’s more or less [you becoming] robotic in your daily functioning, because it’s worn away at you.”

  “When I work outside of the institution for fire departments, we talked with them about CISM and trauma and also invite the spouses, so there’s an understanding that when your husband or your wife comes home, and they’ve had a bad day, you know what that means, you know what they can do about it and what’s available,” said John.

  That educational component is critical because he also said many people “hide” how they feel or what they have experienced to “protect” their families, a sentiment I have heard echoed by many first responders across varying agencies.

  John is starting pilot projects within CSC to also assist family members. He is an advocate for “as much pre-incident stuff as possible … what we are trying to do is change a culture; [it’s] something new, something different. So everybody’s [saying], What’s wrong with the way we used to do it? Well, here’s what’s wrong with the way we used to do it. But we’re here.”

  ‘Here’ meaning that John has just co-presented this material nationally at the Common Threads conference. ‘Here’ meaning he is now disseminating his work and research through a journalist and author he does not know, despite having trust issues. ‘Here’ meaning that progress is being made and people are starting to listen and understand that first responders take many roles and work and volunteer for many agencies and organizations.

  “It depends on whether you want to look at the glass half-empty or half-full. We’re a lot further ahead than we were six to ten years ago,” he said.

  He agreed, at this point in the interview, that he is “jaded.”

  JL: “But you talked to me?”

  JB: “But we’re only talking about what’s already been approved.”

  JL: “Are you a little outside of your comfort zone?”

  JB: “A little bit. But if we’re going to change this culture, you have to press the boundaries a little bit.”

  JL: “You saw my [Common Threads] presentation, so you know I care.”

  JB: “And some of the people who said you’re okay, I respect.”

  JL: “Did you ask around before you sat [down] with me?”

  JB: “Maybe. I do my research. I have to; it’s part of my job.”

  Because of his trust issues, granting the interview was a huge step for him and a big win for me. Interviews with correctional staff are not common.

  JB: “I can’t preach this stuff about moving ahead if I’m not willing to do it.”

  As part of that “moving ahead,” a major internal Correctional Service Canada initiative is the production of a video addressing the issue of PTSD within institutions.

  John said he and others had noticed fire, police, and EMS within Ontario had a similar production they were using as an educational tool. “We started looking for people in CSC diagnosed with PTSD who would participate.”

  They used CSC video cameras and produced the video at no external cost. They have done the interviews and edited the video. The piece has received regional approval as of December 2014. When we spoke, the video had not yet been green-lighted by national headquarters for internal use, but it has since been approved and is currently available as a training aid. His ability to see the big picture is why John Bredin is an in-demand speaker on the subject of mental health within corrections. “Some people have reacted by saying the video is great and it should be used in training across the country,” he said.

  With that, John played three excerpts of the video for me. As a result of it not being in approved circulation, during our interview, and because of the personal nature of the anecdotes, I will not reveal the name of the person interviewed for the video, or the prison where she works. The female correctional officer spoke on-camera about her PTSD and what led to her diagnosis. She has worked in CSC for twelve years.

  The corrections officer began by telling the audience she was “reluctant” to share her experiences, feelings, and how PTSD had affected her in the video, but decided to participate because she felt it was important to speak up, “… so people don’t think they are the only ones suffering from the symptoms.”

  The officer was present for a hostage taking in a maximum security unit where she still works. It occurred at the end of a long stretch of days on shift. The night before the incident, there had also been another traumatic occurrence: an assault. She had to stay late at work. She said people felt they were too exhausted to work the next day. She said to herself, ‘Oh, it’s just one more shift – you can get through.’”

  She went to work anyway.

  It became clear that next morning “things were not okay within the unit.”

  She had a “bad feeling” something might happen and even said so to a co-worker. She ate lunch outside the unit, which she said she never did.

  When the hostage taking started to unfold, she was not in the immediate area. She was outside the unit and was called in to respond. It did not “… register right away that was what was happening,” she explained, as chaos erupted. She ran to get a video camera. It was her responsibility to record the event, as required.

  John explained that protocol. “When an incident happens, part of the procedure and protocol is that it is videotaped; that was her role the day of the hostage taking,” he said. “… Everything is scrutinized, so everything is filmed.”

  It was during videotaping that the correctional officer finally realized exactly what was happening. The hostage taking lasted for five and a half hours.

  In the aftermath, there were tasks to be done and reports to be written. It was a while before she went home. The adrenaline, post-incident, lasted for a couple of days. Once the shock wore off, her co-workers called her, wanting to talk.

  People were supportive, she said in the video. She took three shifts off from work. She said she “felt it was important for me to go back and face where it happened.”

  She went to see a therapist shortly after the hostage taking, “because it was a major incident and people told me I should.” Her therapist described her as a “simmering pot.” She was told she was always on a “low boil.” The correctional officer said she saw the therapist for a few sessions. Then the sessions stopped.

  Over the years, she went through several more incidents of varying degrees within the prison. She checked off her own mental list: “I got through this, I got through that,” she said in the video clip.

  Her PTSD was “slowly settling in,” she revealed to the camera.

  She decided to join the Emergency Response Team, where she became an instructor and leader and placed herself “at the forefront for any incidents.”

  She handled them well, she thought. She later realized she experienced detachment in order to cope. She started distancing herself from people both inside and outside of the prison. She said she felt most comfortable with co-workers who she thought understood what she had seen and continued to see.

  She began speaking less and less to people in her personal life. Relationships with her family and friends began to suffer. She was edgier, felt angrier, and wou
ld lose her temper more quickly.

  The officer is succinct and concise. Hers is the only interview I am allowed to see. She “developed a hardness to protect myself … I sort of shut down. I did not like making myself vulnerable … I stopped talking, basically.”

  As part of her healing, she joined the CISM team within Correctional Service Canada. Her own support training and talking to others is now helping her. She said she feels less alone in her experiences; knowing others have been through similar traumatic events has led her to believe it’s “a lot more common” than she initially thought. “That knowledge is comforting to me,” she said in the video.

  She now wants to talk even more to help others. She has advice for others who will eventually view the video, beginning with: know yourself and do what works for you. “The thing that works for one person may not work for another,” she explained, suggesting that could come in the form of treatment, finding someone to confide in, or living a healthy lifestyle. “Take the time to get to know yourself and what works for you.”

  She also said her PTSD symptoms “can crop up out of nowhere,” and that others who experience the same should not be discouraged if and when that happens.

  John explained, “One of the complaints we hear, and it’s not unique to corrections, is that ‘Nobody gives a shit; nobody cares.’ We’re starting to change that; here’s a group that cares. That’s sort of the message we’re trying to get out.”

  “I want to leave you with this last video because I don’t want you to think working in corrections is all bad. There’s a lot of pride in what we do, too. [It’s] a brotherhood and a sisterhood,” he stressed.

  John wrapped up our interview by showing a short news video in which CSC was given the Freedom of the City in Kingston, Ontario, on May 31, 2015. Kingston and surrounding area are home to several of Canada’s correctional institutions.

  In the video, both Kingston’s mayor and the CSC Commissioner, Don Head, spoke on-camera about the Freedom of the City, which is the highest honour a city can bestow on any individual, group, or organization.