When I worked at the county jail in my twenties, I thought being a good correctional officer meant being liked. I wanted inmates to think I was reasonable. I explained every decision, gave people the benefit of the doubt, and occasionally bent a rule because I didn’t want to be an asshole.
The truth was, I was a people-pleaser; a nice guy, and easy to manipulate.
Years later, when I returned to corrections, I understood something Rookie Mathena didn’t: inmates don’t need you to be their friend. They need to know where the line is, what happens when they cross it, and whether that line will still be in the same place tomorrow.
Every corrections academy teaches officers to be “firm, fair, and consistent.” It’s repeated so often that it starts to sound like meaningless corporate bullshit.
But those three words may be the most important lesson you’ll ever learn in corrections.
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Firm doesn’t mean being an asshole. Some officers think authority equals yelling, threatening, and walking around the prison or jail like they're Batman. That's not firmness; it’s insecurity. It's the sign of someone who feels like they need to prove how badass they are.
Being firm means giving clear directions, setting a reasonable deadline, and following through when the inmate refuses. You don’t need to yell. You don’t need to insult anyone. You don’t need to lose your temper like a child.
Instead, say what you mean in a calm, professional voice. If the answer is no, say no. If you give an order, be prepared to enforce it. Repeating yourself twelve times only teaches people that the first eleven orders don’t count.
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Fair doesn’t always mean equal. Two inmates can commit what appears to be the same violation and receive different responses based on the circumstances, their behavior, and what the officer actually witnessed.
That doesn’t automatically make the response unfair. Fairness means applying the same standard without playing favorites. The inmate who tells you jokes, cleans the dayroom, and calls you “boss man” doesn’t get a free pass. Neither does the one who works for you, gives you information, or makes your shift easier.
The moment inmates believe your decisions can be purchased with favors, flattery, or convenience, you’ve lost more than credibility. You’ve taught them they can control you. Listen to the facts, follow policy, and make decisions you can articulate in an incident report or an Inspector General inquiry.
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Consistency creates predictability. Predictability may sound boring, but boring is extremely valuable inside a correctional institution.
When inmates know that Officer Mathena checks every cell, secures every tray flap, verifies every pass, and doesn’t negotiate over movement, they eventually stop wasting time trying to convince Officer Mathena otherwise. They may not like the rules, but they know what to expect.
Inconsistency creates confusion, conflicts, and manipulation. If you allow something on Monday, prohibit it on Tuesday, and forget the rule exists by Friday, every interaction becomes a struggle.
“But you let me do it last time.” Maybe you did. And now you’ve turned one bad decision into an unofficial policy.
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Every exception becomes an expectation. You may think you’re helping someone “just this once.” The inmate thinks you’ve established precedent.
Inmates possess a remarkable institutional memory when it benefits them. A man who cannot remember his work assignment can somehow recall the exact date, time, weather conditions, and phase of the moon when you gave him an extra roll of toilet paper. Once you make an exception, he expects it again. His bunkmate expects it. The inmates at the neighboring wing hear about it, and now half the dorm believes they’re entitled to the same treatment.
There are legitimate exceptions. Emergencies happen. Supervisors issue instructions. Policy allows discretion in certain situations. But make exceptions deliberately, not because somebody annoyed you long enough to make it easier to give in.
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Your reputation precedes you. Inmates talk. Officers talk. By the time you’ve worked a post a few times, the entire compound has probably formed an opinion about you.
They know which officers enforce the rules. They know which ones can be distracted, flattered, bullied, or exhausted into changing an answer. And they know who's an asshole for the sake of being an angry little douche-canoe.
Your reputation can make every shift easier, or it can turn every shift into eight hours of stress for you and your coworkers. If you’re known for being firm, fair, and consistent, inmates may not always like you, but most will understand how to deal with you: follow the rules, speak respectfully, and don’t waste time trying to manipulate you. That is a hell of a lot more valuable than being popular.
Firmness establishes the boundary. Fairness gives the boundary legitimacy. Consistency keeps it from changing every time someone complains.
You don’t need to become a tyrant. You don’t need to treat everyone like garbage or prove how tough you are. You simply need to say what you mean, enforce the rules impartially, and remain the same officer when things go sideways. Be professional. Be predictable. Make decisions you can defend, and don’t let convenience erode your standards.
Until next time, stay firm, stay fair, stay consistent, and try not to become tomorrow’s Daily Cluster.
– D. Mathena
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