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Deaf Harris County inmates seek more assistance | Chron.com - Houston Chronicle
Christopher Fuentes' hands fly in front of him, recalling his recent stay inside the Harris County Jail after a violent Super Bowl Sunday fight with his brother landed him there.
Once inside, his initial appearance before a judge was translated for him through a sign language interpreter.
While Fuentes had a million questions racing through his brain at the time, he sat silently as he was signed to.
"I was too scared and sat there," Fuentes says now. "He (the judge) said everything I said would be used against me."
Once the jail hearing was over, deputies motioned for him to sit in front of a television, where a videotaped reading of the inmate handbook was translated into sign language.
"You watch the TV with the rules," he said. But if Fuentes had questions, there was no one to ask, he said.
In the past few years, the Harris County Jail has made several accommodations for deaf inmates — everything from identifying them with special wristbands to videotaped instructions in sign language to the installation of special phones.
"As they continue through the housing, we attempt in every way to accommodate them," said Deputy David Crain, a sheriff's department spokesman.
Statistics on how many deaf people live in Houston or are incarcerated here are hard to come by. The Census estimates that in 2006, at least 164,857 had some sort of "sensory" disability, which can include visual impairment. Jail officials say they rely on deaf people to identify themselves as such. Last year, 35 did.
Inconsistencies raised
Advocates for the disabled and deaf inmates say modifications provided in the jail for the deaf are not consistent enough to be thought of as reliable.
Fuentes said he needed the kind of information not covered in the inmate handbook or the hearing, things like where to get toilet paper, soap, a bandage for the knife wound he suffered in the fight. When he tried to ask other deaf inmates, through sign language, he said, a deputy separated them, putting them in different cells.
"No talking," Fuentes said he was told by a deputy. "You can't talk to each other."
When Fuentes was taken to the cells, he was placed among hearing inmates where he then scrambled to learn the kind of minutia those capable of hearing take for granted.
Also, when Fuentes first entered the jail, he tried to point out his knife wound to officers.
"They just ignored me," he said. Later, he received toilet paper from another inmate to wrap the wound. Court records make a note of the wound two days after his arrest.
Six days later, Fuentes said, he received a visit from a doctor but only after his mother, Rose Fuentes, contacted Mental Health and Mental Retardation Authority of Harris County.
As a teen, Fuentes was diagnosed as bipolar and received services and medication from the authority. When Fuentes' mother explained the situation, she said a doctor came within 24 hours to check out the injury and prescribed antibiotics.
Fuentes said he learned quickly that officers, their hands full with managing hundreds of hearing inmates, have little time to communicate with a deaf inmate with pen and paper.
Special phones
Crain says the agency has done much to accommodate all disabled inmates, including the deaf. He pointed to the special phones that have keyboards so the deaf can send messages to an operator who will make the inmate's call and read the messages to the recipient. Unlike hearing inmates, the deaf are allowed as much time as they need with the telecommunications equipment.
Crain said he found Fuentes' experience puzzling since it is policy to keep deaf inmates together when space allows it.
As for what occurred inside the jail to address the knife wound, federal health care regulations prevent the jail from releasing those details, Crain said.
At least three deputies at the jail who are certified in sign language receive an extra $150 a month for their ability.
"There are more who sign than we pay," he said. "There are a lot of people there who can sign."
But deaf inmates say better access to interpreters is needed.
"This is the story I keep getting," says Detra Stewart, a Houston-based liaison for the deaf who reports obstacles to information in the criminal justice, court or hospital systems. "Linguistic presence and due process are not happening with deaf people."
Christopher Fuentes' hands fly in front of him, recalling his recent stay inside the Harris County Jail after a violent Super Bowl Sunday fight with his brother landed him there.
Once inside, his initial appearance before a judge was translated for him through a sign language interpreter.
While Fuentes had a million questions racing through his brain at the time, he sat silently as he was signed to.
"I was too scared and sat there," Fuentes says now. "He (the judge) said everything I said would be used against me."
Once the jail hearing was over, deputies motioned for him to sit in front of a television, where a videotaped reading of the inmate handbook was translated into sign language.
"You watch the TV with the rules," he said. But if Fuentes had questions, there was no one to ask, he said.
In the past few years, the Harris County Jail has made several accommodations for deaf inmates — everything from identifying them with special wristbands to videotaped instructions in sign language to the installation of special phones.
"As they continue through the housing, we attempt in every way to accommodate them," said Deputy David Crain, a sheriff's department spokesman.
Statistics on how many deaf people live in Houston or are incarcerated here are hard to come by. The Census estimates that in 2006, at least 164,857 had some sort of "sensory" disability, which can include visual impairment. Jail officials say they rely on deaf people to identify themselves as such. Last year, 35 did.
Inconsistencies raised
Advocates for the disabled and deaf inmates say modifications provided in the jail for the deaf are not consistent enough to be thought of as reliable.
Fuentes said he needed the kind of information not covered in the inmate handbook or the hearing, things like where to get toilet paper, soap, a bandage for the knife wound he suffered in the fight. When he tried to ask other deaf inmates, through sign language, he said, a deputy separated them, putting them in different cells.
"No talking," Fuentes said he was told by a deputy. "You can't talk to each other."
When Fuentes was taken to the cells, he was placed among hearing inmates where he then scrambled to learn the kind of minutia those capable of hearing take for granted.
Also, when Fuentes first entered the jail, he tried to point out his knife wound to officers.
"They just ignored me," he said. Later, he received toilet paper from another inmate to wrap the wound. Court records make a note of the wound two days after his arrest.
Six days later, Fuentes said, he received a visit from a doctor but only after his mother, Rose Fuentes, contacted Mental Health and Mental Retardation Authority of Harris County.
As a teen, Fuentes was diagnosed as bipolar and received services and medication from the authority. When Fuentes' mother explained the situation, she said a doctor came within 24 hours to check out the injury and prescribed antibiotics.
Fuentes said he learned quickly that officers, their hands full with managing hundreds of hearing inmates, have little time to communicate with a deaf inmate with pen and paper.
Special phones
Crain says the agency has done much to accommodate all disabled inmates, including the deaf. He pointed to the special phones that have keyboards so the deaf can send messages to an operator who will make the inmate's call and read the messages to the recipient. Unlike hearing inmates, the deaf are allowed as much time as they need with the telecommunications equipment.
Crain said he found Fuentes' experience puzzling since it is policy to keep deaf inmates together when space allows it.
As for what occurred inside the jail to address the knife wound, federal health care regulations prevent the jail from releasing those details, Crain said.
At least three deputies at the jail who are certified in sign language receive an extra $150 a month for their ability.
"There are more who sign than we pay," he said. "There are a lot of people there who can sign."
But deaf inmates say better access to interpreters is needed.
"This is the story I keep getting," says Detra Stewart, a Houston-based liaison for the deaf who reports obstacles to information in the criminal justice, court or hospital systems. "Linguistic presence and due process are not happening with deaf people."