In late January, with a polar vortex blasting the wintry East Coast, the power went out in part of the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn, New York, a federal facility for inmates awaiting trial. For the next week, according to a flurry of news reports, an untold number of the 1,600 prisoners in the infamous jail remained locked in dark cells, shivering in freezing temperatures, with little or no heat or hot water—and no idea about what was going on. Reportedly, medication was not regularly dispensed, and food, when delivered, included a supper of undercooked oatmeal. On top of that, lawyers, family members, reporters, and even lawmakers could get few answers during the blackout. After Congressman Jerrold Nadler toured the jail, he decried “an absolute lack of urgency or caring on the part of the leadership, particularly the warden.” The U.S. Justice Department said it would investigate.
When we talk about civic architecture—which is featured in this issue—we usually mean places like courthouses, libraries, or community centers. Yet prisons are civic buildings, too—albeit a category that offers the least transparency or public accountability of any institution paid for by tax dollars.
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