Updates

Incarcerated labor can reduce the burden on taxpayers, improve the prison system and prepare people like me for life after prison.

[Originally published by Prison Journalism Project.]

By James Mancuso

Idaho spends almost $75 a day to house me and every other person in its prisons. At around 8,000 people incarcerated, that’s nearly $220 million a year. Imagine if you had an item in your garage that cost $75 a day to store, all the while becoming less and less useful. Would you simply keep it there?

This is the reality for the majority of people behind bars. I too used to lead a stagnant life where I had no job and no responsibility. I was placed in storage, all on the taxpayer’s dime. I didn’t worry about where my housing, food and clothing were coming from.This life of dependence can continue once people leave prison with few work skills and mounting debts.

What if the state instead gave everyone jobs? Not only would that save the state and its taxpayers money. If done responsibly, it would help people on their journey toward rehabilitation.

The 13th Amendment abolished slavery for everyone except those convicted of a crime. As harsh as that sounds, I agree with the intent of the amendment, with the exception of how it has been historically used against Black and brown people to exploit them. Work would offer an opportunity to prepare incarcerated individuals for a self-sufficient life after prison, while making use of their labor to improve the prison system.

Roughly 30% of people incarcerated in Idaho work some kind of job. They provide janitorial and maintenance services inside prisons, and help with state road projects, firefighting and forest initiatives. A smaller number work in trades based on vocational training programs, according to data provided by the Idaho Department of Corrections.

At the Idaho State Correctional Institution, around 130 incarcerated people — myself included — are employed by Idaho Correctional Industries in full-time construction and manufacturing jobs. We make items that are sold to nonprofits and government agencies. Right now we are making 170 maple bunk beds and end tables for the military. The metal shop recently made truck racks for Idaho Fish and Game. The graphics shop makes street signs and plaques, and once even made promo stickers for a landfill.

These jobs give people real-world work experience and skills, and ease the burden of incarceration for the taxpayer. The only real problem is that the program has limited capacity which means few people benefit.

Expanding programs like this could provide low-cost labor for construction, manufacturing and farming — industries that lie at the heart of the United States’ current trade battles. At my aging facility, the large recreational field is in complete disrepair and the crumbling medical annex stairs are unusable. With budget cuts to state agencies, I doubt these repairs will be made. Our labor could fill the gaps.

Expanding the vocational training program could have other benefits. In Maine for example, a new program allows incarcerated individuals to work remotely. According to reporting from Maine Public radio, not only do 10% of wages of people earning above a certain level go back to the DOC for room and board, assaults on staff have drastically declined too.

Idaho retailers and wholesalers could work with similar programs to build businesses that would benefit all state residents, generate tax revenue and provide jobs for more than just the incarcerated. Picture poultry barns we build that could provide eggs to the prisons be sold wholesale or offered to the Idaho Foodbank. This could be done with all kinds of agricultural products. We could even run culinary production facilities that cater to Idaho-based companies.

To safeguard against exploitation, Idaho would need to change how it manages its incarcerated population. I propose medium custody, labor-centric facilities where those willing to work and follow the rules are offered full-time jobs with degrees of freedom similar to what they could expect on college campuses. Workers could be paid a wage of $1 to $4 an hour. This would allow the state to benefit from the labor, while allowing incarcerated residents to develop valuable work skills, begin to pay debts incurred inside and save some money for release. Those who have demonstrated they can thrive in this environment should automatically be granted parole when they are up for it.

Of course not everyone agrees. Prison labor is a well-known catalyst for abuse that can include backbreaking tasks, inadequate nutrition, dangerous work conditions and meager wages. Some critics argue an emphasis on labor would deprioritize investments in education, mental health or reentry programming.

But I think these investments go hand in hand. I make $1.75 an hour in my manufacturing job, enough every month to save $50, purchase about $60 in phone time, buy hygiene essentials and coffee, and donate a little to the Idaho Foodbank, all while paying 20% of my wages to my owed restitution. Working hasn’t stopped me from my education and reentry goals. I’m currently taking a weekly computer class and a victim empathy class, and I participate in a peer mentoring program.

Idaho already has an example it could build on: the community reentry centers, where individuals nearing release live and work in communities. Because operating costs are partially covered by the residents’ wages, daily costs are almost $17 less per resident. And these employed residents keep a lot more money in their pockets. According to a report by the office responsible for evaluating Idaho state programs, residents in reentry centers had an average account balance of $5,605, compared to $58 for people in prison who work jobs.

Expanding the model to people who are not yet close to release would reap huge economic and social benefits, for both the prison system and the people it incarcerates.

In my experience, most incarcerated people want to contribute to society to make up for the damage they have done. By taking more of us out of storage and putting us to work, Idaho could help people repay their debts to the state and its taxpayers, while also giving us a leg up to succeed once we get out.

On October 05, 2015, the Honorable Judge Steven Hippler handed me a 15-to-40-year prison sentence for two count of arson. During my sentencing hearing, he said it wasn’t clear from what affliction I suffered and whether I was capable of responding to treatment. Starting in 2021, I began writing Hippler on an annual basis to share how I’m serving my time in prison and attempting to reconcile the harm that I’ve caused others. I don’t know if he reads my letters because he has yet to write me back. Maybe he never will, but I find it nonetheless important to include him in my efforts.

12/25/25
Greetings Judge Hippler,

I hope this update finds you in good health and spirits! Would you believe I kept so busy during year 11 of my incarceration that I again didn’t have time to take up an institutional job? Not to worry, Your Honor, I’m taking steps to change this in April, when a highly coveted position becomes available in my facility’s Audio/Visual department, where a local nonprofit empowers prisoners to participate in commercial video production work for commercial pay.

Here’s some of what I did do this year:

• • • Helped manage and grow my prison’s peer-mentor program
    • Worked with a Berlin (Germany) artist to create a specialty coloring/fun book
    • Participated in a Victims Impact class piloted at my prison
    • Answered ACLU-Idaho‘s request to share my experiences with Idaho’s criminal justice system
    • Gained membership into the Prison Journalism Project (PJP) chapter for the Society of Professional Journalists
    • Interviewed for an awareness campaign with the Institute to End Mass Incarceration, on the subject of prison journalism
    • Completed an A/V training course using DaVinci Resolve software
    • Completed and repeated a course on Advanced Investing
    • Entered PJP’s new Learning+ program
    • Published several written works away from my blog
    • Maintained a positive attitude while watching skin cancer spread on my face
    • Completed an Idaho State University administrative services course
    • Joined the advocacy platform prisonprofessors.org
    • Appeared in profile with 20 other U.S. prison writers during the launch of PEN America’s Incarcerated Writers Bureau
    • Received a brief mention online from People Magazine
    • Co-published an illustrated story on Idaho prison life with an amazing artist and elder who crafted the limited-edition bookmark I am enclosing as a token of our blossoming friendship About the PJP articles

I’ve also enclosed [“Who Should Care for the Elderly in Prison?“, “The Value of Mentors in Prison“] — I’ve been sending out copies to Idaho media, sheriffs and lawmakers. I plan to develop relationships with local jail officials so that I might connect those in their custody with mentors when I’m released.

Keep up the good work, Your Honor. And thank you for serving Idaho!

Happy holidays,

Patrick Irving
Bookofirving82431.com

IDAHO DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTION Resident Concern Form

Resident: Patrick Irving IDOC Number: 82431
Institution, Housing Unit, & Cell: ISCI 13A-12B
Date: 12/21/25 To: Health Services Administrator Russell Hill

Issue/Concern: “I first reported a disturbing growth on my nose 1/8/24 during a routine physical. A biopsy performed 5/13/24 failed to confirm it was cancer. The provider who performed the biopsy refused my request to see a dermatologist, stating the issue was cosmetic and would likely heal itself.

After performing a second biopsy Nov. 2025 and identifying the now aggressive growth as cancer, medical staff attributed the initial false results to an insufficient sample and indicated the need for reconstructive surgery once the cancer is removed.

Please describe the steps you will take to treat my medical issue with urgency and honor all medical recommendations to result from prior inadequate treatment.

It is my absolute pleasure to introduce to you some of the most dedicated writers working from within U.S. prisons today!

I couldn’t imagined when I started this blog that I would be profiled among them by PEN America’s Incarcerated Writers Bureau. According to pen.org, [The IWB] “is a digital resource that will make professional and creative opportunities more accessible to writers in U.S. prisons. The website features information for publishers, literary agents, and journalists seeking to work with incarcerated writers, a searchable roster of featured writers, and a database for publishers and media platforms to submit opportunities for writers working from prison.”

Check out IWB webpages here.

The IWB earlier this year invited me to speak over video on the importance of using person-centered language in media writing. The invitation followed the video presentation I delivered last year to forensic linguists at Aston University in Birmingham, England. I am grateful to Idaho Department of Correction officials for approving me to present to the Aston audience. But by denying the IWB’s request to leverage my personal and professional experience, the agency missed an amazing opportunity to positively impact national discourse surrounding public safety issues.

Click here to view videos by other prison writers involved with the IWB

View People Magazine’s online mention of the IWB and Patrick’s endeavors here.

It’s that time of year again, folks! The 2025 Cookies for Corrections drive is wrapping up. And according to my favorite radio host, Mark Renick, the goal this year is to hand-deliver holiday warmth and cookies to at least 6,000 Idaho prisoners. It’s a logistical feat that rivals nearly everything the Romans accomplished! The cut-off date for contributions is December 8th, and there are multiple Treasure Valley locations where you can drop off store-bought cookies or leave funds to fuel the cause. To learn more about Cookies for Corrections and ways to participate, visit svdpid.org.

Spared from euthanasia, these pups patrol a strip of prison land in Idaho to keep people from escaping.

By James Mancuso

[This article was originally published at the Prison Journalism Project and appears here with author’s permission]

Around nearly every prison is a fence topped with razor wire. Just beyond that fence is often another one, creating between the two a forbidden zone where only weeds grow — and, in the case of Idaho State Correctional Institution, where guard dogs roam.

Dogs are not rare in prisons. There are dog training programs in prisons across the country, including here. And prison systems in some states rely on dogs to detect drugs or even attack prisoners, including in their cells. The United States may be the only country in the world where it is legal to use attack dogs in this way, according to reporting from Business Insider.

But having dogs patrol prison grounds to stop or deter escapes appears to be rare.

The guard dogs at our prison were referred to as “former death row inmates” in a 2009 story from the Associated Press. That’s because prior to working in prison the dogs had exhibited sufficiently violent behavior that they were scheduled for euthanasia. Then they were given a last chance as prison guard dogs.

“Those same instincts that make them a bad pet make them good sentries,” a guard who headed the sentry dog program, which began in 1986, told the AP. At the time, the program had a stock of 24 dogs, “mostly German shepherds, Rottweilers and Belgian malinois, with a few boxers and pit bulls,” the AP reported.

These dogs have long intrigued me, especially because of what they have in common with incarcerated people. I tried to find more details, but a sergeant told me she couldn’t answer questions about a security program. Left to fill in the blanks myself, I did as much boots-on-the-ground reporting as possible, and even attempted to interview a dog.

Are the dogs happy?

One day, my friend Shawn Kerrigan and I were walking around the big ball field when a kennel wagon came to pick up a dog. The dogs work in shifts, covering the prison 24 hours a day.

“Those dogs are happy,” Shawn said. “They get to go back to their kennel where they have toys, air conditioning and food.”

“I thought they were just cycled through the dog runs,” I said.

“No,” Kerrigan said, shaking his head definitively. “They have a building … where they are treated very well.”

Kerrigan, who has been in the prison system for the last 30 years, said former incarcerated dog handlers told him about the building.

I have seen incarcerated people working these doghandling jobs, but I haven’t been able to speak with them.

The dogs are supposed to bark when someone approaches the fence, according to the AP’s reporting: “Get too close to the fence and they will bare their teeth, bark and lunge. Set foot in their space and they will attack.”

In 2009, an IDOC staff member told the AP the dogs were used because they were cheaper than hiring people, and more dependable in some ways than modern technology like motion detectors and electric fences.

So far, I’ve found that most of the dogs between the fences ignore prison residents. But a few interact with us. One German shepherd with a pink collar has perked up and barked at me when I’ve jogged past the ball field, the perimeter of which he patrols outside.

Another dog gamefully “chased” me along the 50-yard fence during my seven-lap jog in our recreation yard. When I walked to cool down, she whined at me and wagged her tail expectantly. I indulged her and took off sprinting, letting her chase me. I figured it was good practice for her, and she was enjoying herself.

When I’ve seen the dogs getting picked up from their shift, I’ve been amazed at how obedient they are. They are so well behaved it has made me wonder what they had done to end up here. It’s probably similar to how you might wonder what we did to end up in prison.

Better than death

Randy McKinney spent 27 years on Idaho’s death row before his sentence was commuted to life without the possibility of parole.

McKinney said the dogs are a good metaphor for what happened to him.

“Those dogs got a limited second chance,” he said. Though they weren’t given a second chance at freedom, they got a second chance at life.

“It’s better than death,” McKinney said.

One person at our prison, Shane Smith, told me the dogs should be put out of their misery.

“I’m just saying, they have to sit there all day, every day, and barely get any human contact at all,” Smith said.

I told him that I’d seen dogs jumping in the kennel wagon by themselves, and how they wag their tails when they get a chance to bark at prisoners or guards. I told him what Kerrigan said about the dogs having nice breaks from their work inside. Smith said he’d never noticed any of that, so maybe they didn’t really mind being on patrol.

I guess only the dogs would be able to tell us if they are happy.

I tried to interview a large black dog with plenty of white hairs in his muzzle, but he kept his head down and ignored me. He must know about the signs hung on the fence near the prison gates that read:

“DO NOT INTERACT

OR APPROACH THE

WORKING K9”

I suppose he’s trying to avoid getting in trouble for talking to me. He must not want either of us to be sent to solitary confinement for unauthorized communication.

Other prisoners I’ve spoken to love seeing the dogs. Zach Vitale constantly tells me what breed each dog is whenever we walk around the ball fields. Most residents I’ve spoken with think it’s a great program and that more dogs that are sentenced to die should get a second chance.

“When I was on death row, I felt like society was saying I was worthless and had no value,” McKinney said. “I bet those dogs felt the same way when they were confined to a small kennel at the pound after getting condemned. They might not know the seriousness of their circumstances quite like I did, but [they] probably appreciate where they are at versus where they were. I know I do.”

 

I’m learning skills that will help me after I leave here.

[This article was originally published at the Prison Journalism Project]

The day I was processed into prison 10 years ago was the lowest point in my life. After setting fire to two houses in a drug-induced psychosis, I had lost everything and fractured all of my relationships. I owed $262,000 in restitution fees. I felt alone, like a waste of life. And I didn’t care if I survived my prison sentence.

Having been through the system before, I already knew what to expect: terrible food, daily power struggles, peer pressure, violence, low-paying jobs, and a chaotic, frenetic, weekslong intake and classification process.

During processing this time around, I regularly watched from my cell as new arrivals filed in behind me, wearing ill-fitting white jumpsuits and carrying their worst mistakes on their shoulders. Many of them overwhelmed staff with urgent needs and questions.

“The nurses don’t have my medication!”

“What’s wrong with the phones?”

“Where are they going to send me?”

“When can my family come visit?”

Staff were impersonal and abrupt in their responses. They had neither the time nor resources to address each query and issue.

Back then, I never imagined that I would help others adjust to prison. But over the decade since I landed here, I became part of my prison system’s welcoming crew. I pull people from their cells for fresh coffee and orientation, where I introduce myself and share ways they can spend their time in prison.

The difference between the level of support people entering Idaho prisons are provided today versus what I received 10 years ago is just one example of how Idaho corrections is trying to change its prison culture.

To power this culture shift, corrections officials are recruiting help from those in custody and on community supervision.

My involvement started in 2024, when I was selected to participate in a 10-week course designed to train individuals in Idaho prisons to become peer mentors. The course was developed by Michael Copenhaver and Chris Shanahan. Copenhaver is out on parole, and Shanahan is currently incarcerated in a community reentry center. Between them, they have more than 50 years of carceral experiences, making the pair well suited to grow and standardize the program across the state.

A peer mentor is a person who uses their lived experience to support and mentor their peers. Those operating in Idaho prisons commit to abiding by facility rules, decreasing divisions among staff and residents, and practicing inclusion and confidentiality.

More than 1,000 Idaho prisoners, or roughly 12% of the state prison population, are now involved in the initiative, according to Copenhaver. The only requirement to join is a desire for personal growth.

The 2024 course was facilitated by other residents who worked beyond their initial training to become certified instructors. It focused on peer advocacy, self-empowerment, the stages of change and motivational interviewing — a collaborative counseling style that helps people identify needed behavioral changes and find the internal motivation to make them a reality.

Participants today advance through the program by achieving certain milestones, like completing and facilitating peer-led workshops, logging service hours around the facility, and serving in various capacities.

After completing training, I was elected to serve as the proposal writer for my mentor group’s steering committee. The five-person committee performs administrative functions for the group. Some of our duties include managing data, developing curricula and forming the partnerships necessary to achieve our strategic goals.

Recently, corrections accountants challenged us to create revenue streams and become more self-sustainable. So we formed an outreach and fundraising subcommittee and started a proposal to develop a worm farm and bring fertilizer to market.

The peer mentor group at my facility goes by the name Pillars as a reminder to our members that we hold one another up to keep the roof from coming down on us all.

Nearly all of our mentors work full-time jobs in addition to volunteering with the group.

Brian Watford works as a reentry specialist in the education building. There, he connects residents preparing for release with health, employment and housing resources, and assists community organizations who visit our prisons to do the same.

“I make 40 cents an hour, but I’m not really in it for the money,” he said. “I just get a great feeling connecting with the men as they come in, and helping those who need it to navigate prison.”

One of the organizations with a part-time presence in our facility has offered him a job upon release, Watford added.

One of my favorite posts is the processing center for all men entering Idaho prisons, so no one has to experience what I went through 10 years ago.

We welcome newcomers in a multipurpose room attached to a foyer that connects two large housing units. I line up by the door with a rotating team of mentors. A fresh pot of coffee brews on the table beside us as the newest arrivals walk in, each one greeted with hearty handshakes. For the next 45 minutes, we deliver a PowerPoint presentation with tips for how they can make the most of their stay.

“I don’t know which prison you’re going to,” I say, pointing to a slide showing pictures of mentor teams at other facilities. “But I do know that these men will be waiting to greet you and support you when you get there.”

In that moment, their anxious faces fill with hope and inspiration. It’s that look that tells me why this program is so important.

My hope is to apply the skills that I’m learning with Pillars in a way that allows me to pay off my restitution when I leave prison. Perhaps one day, I will even return through the employee entrance to continue my work.

 

[Behold! I give you my testimonial, to bring light into your life and strengthen ongoing efforts in criminal justice reform!]

A great man once tapped with his thumbs on a frustratingly expensive prison messaging device, “When confronting a bureaucratically driven machine designed to further break down broken people, it helps to clog the cogs with compassion, support and perseverance.”

That’s why I’ve joined PrisonProfessors.org, a genius, nonprofit creation from the mind of Michael Santos that allows me to better evince the measures I’m taking to reconcile my sordid past.

PrisonProfessors.org is a free platform on which incarcerated individuals can publish book reports, biographies, journal entries and more. Those who sign up on this platform control the power to make this information publicly available to potential employers, landlords, parole officers, spouses, etc. — basically, anyone who might search their name to learn more about their involvement with the justice system. They also provide Santos and partners the data he requires to more effectively advocate for criminal justice reform.

How did I discover this resource from prison bunk, you ask? Through the Edovo app, which is free to use on my ViaPath tablet.

Edovo offers an extensive learning library that caters to your loved one’s interests. It also provides them the option to share a code that allows others to view their progress and engagement. (View my Edovo certifications and transcripts by visiting edovo.org/transcripts and entering: HN3-5WM-KTQ.)

By encouraging your loved ones to pull up the Edovo app and search “Prison Professors Profile Tutorial,” you can help them to discover how simple the profiles are to set up and manage through the mail or with the assistance of supporter who has internet access.

In addition to a free Prison Professors profile, Santos also offers the following courses at no cost, resources permitting:

Preparing for Success After Prison
Digital Economy Course
Incarcerated Life and The Law
Earning Freedom
Straight-A Guide: Begins with Attitude

He even has a course for juveniles . . .

As for the dude himself, he spent 26 years in a federal prison after being convicted for trafficking cocaine. But he attests to preparing for his release while still waiting to be sentenced. Since his release over a decade ago, he has authored several books, made many wise investment decisions, instructed at the university level and engineered significant carceral changes. He is a friend to all who are involved in the justice system, regardless their occupation, trial stage or sentence.

Click here to view my bio and first journal entry at PrisonProfessors.org.

Those who type in my name as a referral when setting up their profile will be identified by the site as part of my tribe.