A new report finds using computer tablets in prisons in Connecticut and nationwide isn't filling the void of books.

The Prison Policy Initiative report notes more states provide access to tablets for prisoners. In 2019, only 12 states allowed them - now, 48 do.

But tablet use is increasing at a time when accessing physical books is a challenge due to bans.

Connecticut has close to 2,500 titles on its banned list, though some deemed explicit include medical books.

Wanda Bertram, communications strategist with the Prison Policy Initiative, said these devices make blanket book bans easier to impose.

"Someone who is eager to learn and to read books to escape the world that they're living in, is not going to find a ton on tablets that's going to be that stimulating for them," said Bertram. "The books that are offered on tablets don't seem to be filling the void that's left when prisons choose to restrict access to physical reading."

A PEN America survey finds 84% of prisons have implemented 'content neutral' book bans.

This means instead of being able to directly send an incarcerated person a book, friends and family members have to choose a title from a prison-approved vendor.

Experts say limiting literature can be counterintuitive for prisons. Studies show increased literacy rates, reading, and education programs in prison are key to reducing recidivism and reincarceration.

Pandemic-induced staff shortages are lingering in prisons, which also has led to library services being restricted or cut entirely.

Bertram said she thinks books are critical for people behind bars, noting they can aid with mental health or allow people to plan for life after incarceration.

She said prisons can ensure incarcerated people's access to books.

"Not only are libraries a valuable resource when it comes to just allowing people to read, they're also valuable as a place where people can meet and talk to each other," said Bertram. "Some of the most impactful peer-to-peer or incarcerated people-led programs that have come up in prisons originated in libraries."

While she said she wants to be more optimistic, the growth of computer tablet use is coming at the cost of accessing physical books.

A 2023 Marshall Project review finds state prisons explicitly banned over 50,000 books.

At the same time, 23 states, Washington, D.C., and the Federal Bureau of Prisons say they evaluate books on a case-by-case basis - but use vague rules and have little oversight.

An Illinois documentary takes a deep dive into the Illinois Prisoner Review Board and the politics that influence its decision-making through one man's fight for a second chance.

"In their Hands" follows the life of Ronnie Carrasquillo, who was charged with murdering a plainclothes Chicago police officer in 1976. He was 18 years old when a judge sentenced him to 200 to 600 years in prison. Despite earning a bachelor's degree in theology and creating a committee with other prisoners focused on education and rehabilitation, Carrasquillo was denied parole more than 30 times.

"Every year I went to the parole board, they said, 'You're the same guy, you're still the same gang kid, you're still the same gang leader,'" Carrasquillo recounted. "So they can evolve, but they want to marginalize me and hold me in that position that 'you're still this.' So I used to say, 'I'm the oldest 18-year-old that you know.'"

Carrasquillo spent nearly 50 years in prison before finally being released at age 65 in 2023. An appellate court ruled his sentence was excessive and his profuse parole denial unfair. The film is available on all PBS digital platforms.

Carrasquillo grew up in Chicago during a time where racial violence and street gangs were prevalent. Along with highlighting the factors leading to Carrasquillo's crime, the documentary offers a snapshot of the kinds of extreme sentences young people receive that lead to mass incarceration.

Dan Protess, producer and director of the documentary, said he used Carrasquillo's story to expose the systemic issues in the criminal legal system, including how officials prioritize economic interests over rehabilitation.

"Who are these parole board members?" Protess asked. "What are the political considerations in their appointment? Who in Springfield, the state's capital, is looking over their shoulders? And what other parties might be able to influence them in their decision-making?"

Protess added he hopes the film draws attention to the parole process he believes often gets overlooked, and the great need for reform.

According to state law, the review board consists of 15 people appointed by the governor and the Senate, who must have five years of experience in areas ranging from law and policing to medicine and social work. At least six must also have juvenile experience and no more than eight members may be of the same political party.


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A bill pending in the West Virginia Legislature would increase the length of penalties for "serious" felony convictions, but critics have said it would contribute to prison overpopulation.

The state Senate passed Senate Bill 136 by an overwhelming margin last week. The House of Delegates has yet to consider the measure.

Kenneth Matthews, West Virginia economic justice associate for the American Friends Service Committee, said extending the minimum time prisoners must serve before a parole hearing would pack the prisons with more people waiting for a conditional release.

"Increasing penalties for offenses will create an increase in the prison population that's already overpopulated and create an increase in the aging (prison) population in the state, which is also overpopulated," Matthews outlined.

West Virginia's overall jail population in 2024 was about 11,000, with an incarceration rate of 674 per 100,000 residents, considerably higher than the national average of 614.

According to the Prison Policy Initiative, the state's 10 regional jails were initially built to hold 2,883 people -- but they house more than 4,400 people on any given day. The bill's Republican backers, who have a legislative supermajority, said state law is not stern enough on serious offenders.

Matthews countered the numbers do not back up their position.

"West Virginia is already kind of tough on crime," Matthews pointed out. "We're not the lowest in terms of sentencing and penalties in the country or even in our area, and we're not like an outlier in terms of lower penalties for certain offenses."

He added proposed sentences of 40-60 years for murder before people are eligible for parole would significantly expand the number of older, less-dangerous members of the prison population.

"They have a geriatric wing there and they have actually instituted a job, called the orderly, where their whole job is to push individuals around on wheelchairs and take care of their needs throughout the facility," Matthews emphasized.


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Programs allowing incarcerated people to receive reductions in their sentences help lower chances of reoffending, according to a recent analysis.

North Carolina has earned time policies, enabling people to reduce their sentences by up to 30%.

Sarah Anderson, associate director of criminal justice and civil liberties at the conservative public policy think tank R Street Institute, said needs-based assessments when someone enters incarceration typically determine the programs to help a person improve themselves and succeed outside of incarceration.

"Whether it's a literacy program, other education programs, certain job programs," Anderson outlined. "Then for individuals with behavioral health or substance use issues, there's a lot of treatment opportunities."

People who complete evidence-based recidivism-reduction programs can see their time in prison decreased. At least 38 states have either earned time or good time programs, or both. Good time programs reduce sentences by incentivizing good behavior.

Anderson pointed out "truth-in-sentencing" laws became popular during the War on Drugs and required people to serve a certain percentage, usually 85%, of their sentence before becoming eligible for reductions. The approach waned in the 1990s but Anderson noted truth-in-sentencing laws saw a resurgence after the pandemic because of increases in crime, despite evidence such laws do not improve outcomes.

"These types of incentive programs actually work far better to prevent crime in the future than does just requiring somebody serve 85% of a sentence without any type of an incentive to even participate in a productive program while they're incarcerated," Anderson reported.

Anderson emphasized truth-in-sentencing laws also went away because the cost to imprison someone can strain state budgets. The cost to incarcerate someone in North Carolina last year, for instance, was on average more than $50,000 annually. Anderson argued the cost means we should ensure people do not go back to prison.

"It's sort of incumbent on us to make sure that if we're incarcerating people and they are in state custody that we're doing everything we can to make sure that the time that they're spending in there is the only time that they're going to be spending in there," Anderson contended.


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