Homeless in prison
What happens when your cell is not an accepting place?
“Prison already stripped my dignity and privacy, but when my peer told me I can’t come into the cell I was assigned, it hit differently,” said Vivian Stewart, who arrived at Central California Women’s Facility (CCWF) in July 2024.
Stewart is a small-framed woman in her 30s with fine shoulder-length hair and a limp that draws attention due to a metal rod poking out from under the hem of her pants. While speaking with her, I quickly realized she is a below-the-knee amputee.
Her first experience in the Reception Center (commonly referred to as A Yard, where new arrivals are processed) was literally being pushed out of her assigned cell as her roommates dramatically closed the door behind her. When it happened again on a general population (GP) yard, Stewart thought her disability could be the reason for her rejection.
Stewart was told to get out of the cell at the earliest unlock, at 9 a.m., if she wasn’t already at work. And she could not come in until unit recall, at 4 p.m. She was exhausted from trying to keep herself occupied all day every day in the dayroom.
“I felt like I couldn’t breathe from the humiliation,” Stewart said. “And it wasn’t about the bed; I was willing to sleep on the floor just to be accepted. It was about having no role, no welcome, no love… the feeling I am not wanted anywhere, and I have no place in the world.”
Stewart is not alone.
“Uh uh! You can’t come in,” has become a common greeting at CCWF, specifically for new arrivals coming from A Yard. This form of bullying is particularly harmful because in prison, your cell is one of the only things you “have.” Exclusion can spark anger, resentment and fear. Most people I talked to, though, described being denied access as humiliation and a deep feeling of rejection. Stewart said it felt like being “emotionally and spiritually homeless.”
Having briefly experienced homelessness in the free world, Stewart uses the comparison seriously. However, in the free world, she said, she was able to move when she felt unsafe. In prison, she is stuck.
A May 2025 CCWF arrival, Kaylea Peterson, made a similar comparison. “I didn’t have a safe place to lay my head in the free world and some rooms in prison give the same vibe,” Peterson said.
When Peterson, a short, rather timid woman in her 30s, landed in her first GP room, she said she wasn’t allowed to ask questions. And she was yelled at when she didn’t ask permission to do simple things, such as getting water. The times Peterson managed to fall asleep, she was woken abruptly because her roommates said they could feel her breathing and moving. Peterson felt especially trapped when programming was modified, which meant no dayroom or yard time.
Peterson had heard about people being homeless in GP while she was on A Yard. She was given advice to try and fit within the environment.
As the California Department of Corrections Office of Public and Employment Communications (OPEC) pointed out in a response to this story, new arrivals to an institution are provided a Reception Center Orientation Manual, which gives the individual instructions about special accommodations for their health and safety. Specifically, if an individual is experiencing issues at the institution, the Orientation Manual advises them to do the following:
“If you fear for your safety or have concerns about enemies, you should tell staff as soon as possible. According to CCR [California Code of Regulations], Title 15, Section 3378, any offender who claims enemies shall give enough information to positively identify the claimed enemy. Any offender identified as an enemy, shall be interviewed unless such interview would jeopardize an investigation or endanger any person. The results of the interview will be documented on a CDC 128-B, General Chrono form or on a Confidential 128-B form.”
Peterson thought she was prepared for her new roommates. But it was hard.
“I couldn’t be myself and walked on eggshells at all times,” she said. “I was really scared that I might get hurt, which increased my hypervigilance and anxiety.”
The problem can get bad enough that the bullied resident refuses to “house,” gets agitated, and ends up in a holding cell in the program office to keep them calm until staff from Mental Health (MH) arrive. CCWF certified peer support specialists, like Christian DeAnda, are often called in to help de-escalate the situation in the meantime.
“Usually, residents refuse housing due to not being accepted in their rooms,” DeAnda said. “Most of them are scared and distraught, grasping for any kind of help. And even when they receive the help, they still end up going to crisis.”
Mental Health crisis beds, known as crisis for short, are located in Building 805, adjacent to the Skilled Nursing Facility. A homeless person will go there after they spend time in the holding cell and are evaluated by MH. Because the area was designed as a suicide watch, residents cannot bring any of their own belongings and must wear a suicide restraint safety smock during their mandatory 72-hour stay. The crisis alternative became popular due to the many program modifications, when people cannot go to the dayroom.
DeAnda tries to advocate by letting officers know that residents are not refusing to be disruptive; they are refusing because they are homeless. But officers often can’t give the matter their attention because they have to deal with more urgent security needs elsewhere, DeAnda said. When an officer suggests a different room assignment, some already traumatized individuals refuse out of fear it could happen again. Many new arrivals to GP go straight to the holding cell upon arrival.
“I don’t even know what to do anymore because the problem continues to grow,” DeAnda said. “I have been in prison for 11 years and I have never seen it that bad where the common route has become: cage [holding cell], crisis, jail [restrictive housing unit, “RHU”], repeat.”
In reporting this article, I spoke to some institutional bullies and asked them why they don’t accept certain individuals. The reasons have to do with perceived bad behavior on part of the new arrival — the person appears to be on drugs or is not as clean as they would like, acts erratically and has mood swings, displays a visible attitude and does not accept criticism — or generally doesn’t fit with the “program” of the room, good or bad. “I don’t want to deal with their stupid ass problems,” one CCWF resident told me. “I am no one’s teacher.”
And it’s not just new arrivals who are affected. Elderly people are sometimes thrown out of their rooms because they can’t clean to the room’s standards, don’t move quickly enough, or get assigned to a lower bunk that someone else wants.
How can we solve this problem? The administration cannot easily address it because people rarely file paperwork about it. Incarcerated individuals do not want to tell because they don’t want to be labeled as snitches or stay quiet out of fear and retaliation.
When we spoke to the administration, CCWF Public Information Officer Lt. Monique Williams underscored that “it is imperative the incarcerated person notify or speak with the housing unit staff or supervisor if not sufficed with the outcome of the housing unit staff of any housing issues.” OPEC stated, “The safety and well-being of all who live and work in CDCR institutions is the Department’s top priority.”
CCWF Paper Trail staff generated some other suggestions that could make a difference:
With the understanding that officers oftentimes are dealing with more urgent security or institutional situations besides these refusals, it would be helpful if officers could accommodate with a “convenience” bed move that would spare the need to deal with a room refusal, crisis and reroutes to RHU. Housing and yard officers could be more mindful of what is happening in the dayrooms and yard, and perhaps even document the rooms that consistently have housing concerns, so as not to put the homeless or outcast on blast.
If room and bodily cleanliness are problems for certain individuals not accepting someone into their room, an etiquette class could be offered in the Reception Center which could include housing expectations and cleanliness standards as part of focused orientation. And perhaps there could be transition rooms on B, C and D yards so that new arrivals get to acclimate to the yard and meet people, and then figure out where to move to, like “fish row” at the men’s facilities.
It strikes me that we, residents of CCWF, must step up to make each other safe. Maybe when you see something, say something? We shouldn’t just tell on custody when they do something wrong and spare ourselves. There shouldn’t be a double standard.
Most of all, how can we practice community mindfulness? If we are part of the problem, think about all the consequences, including a reputation as a bully that could potentially be documented, which might prevent a person from obtaining freedom. By the way, no one wants to live with a bully either, so they might experience the same exact treatment. At the end of the day, a new arrival could surprise you.
Tiffany Smith, a resident of CCWF, reminded me of this. Smith has a solid build with dreadlocks going past her shoulders and a facial scar that appears intimidating. Smith told me when she first arrived from A Yard, she was greeted with the question: “How long do you have? That bed is spoken for.” But once the roommates got to know her, she was accepted.
“Why does the first moment have to be the worst moment?” Smith asked. “If you give people a chance you might meet your best friend.”
