By Major Dylan Hager (ret.)
Monday marked the start of National Correctional Officers Week, and with it a chance to recognize the men and women who work behind the wall. As a retired major who spent more than a decade in state prisons, I know even simple appreciation for an often thankless job can feel hard-won. But acknowledgment alone isn’t enough, especially if we are unwilling to confront the conditions that make this work so difficult in the first place.
If we want to truly honor correctional officers, we must address a system that too often undermines the well-being of both staff and the incarcerated, while delivering diminishing returns for public safety. That kind of change will not happen overnight, but it is already taking shape in facilities across the country in ways that are improving safety and stability.
A system that wears everyone down
For decades, corrections has leaned on isolation, control and deprivation to maintain order. In practice, that approach has created tense, dehumanizing environments. Officers carry constant stress and burnout, leading to alarmingly high rates of suicide, PTSD and substance abuse. At the same time, incarcerated people are denied real opportunities to improve themselves and are often left just trying to survive. The result is a system that wears everyone down and sends people back into the community no better, and sometimes worse, prepared to live stable, productive lives.
Anyone who has worked inside a prison sees this over time. Many officers adjust their approach accordingly, focusing less on punishment and more on prevention. In my years with the Colorado Department of Corrections, the work that mattered most was not writing disciplinary reports or responding to incidents, it was stopping problems before they started. That meant noticing when someone was beginning to spiral and stepping in early, or building enough rapport to defuse a situation with a conversation instead of force. Those moments rarely show up in official documentation, but they make facilities safer.
Why human connection matters
That kind of work depends on human connection. There is ongoing debate in corrections about how language plays into this, whether to say “inmate,” “resident” or something else. Those discussions have their place, but in my experience, what matters more is how you treat people. A simple, respectful interaction, “Mr. Smith, how are you doing today?” can help create an environment that reduces tension and keeps everyone safer. Professional, humane interactions should be seen as a core part of the job, not a liability.
Too often, though, the system pushes in the opposite direction, treating people primarily as threats instead of individuals who will eventually return to the community. That mindset leads to glaring contradictions. Early in my career, I helped release someone from maximum security back to the public. Inside, he was treated as an extreme risk, never unrestrained around others, fully shackled even to walk a short distance, and moved only with armed transport.
On his last day, we escorted him, still in restraints, in a secure van with multiple staff, and then released him into the community with no housing plan. He walked out homeless.
If someone is too dangerous to move 10 feet unrestrained inside a facility, how does it make sense to release them unprepared into the community? That is not a serious safety strategy. It raises a basic question: If we are not using incarceration to prepare people for life outside, what are we doing?
Reform that improves safety for everyone
Reforms in Colorado, including changes to administrative segregation, have started to address this by focusing more on engagement and preparation. That same shift is happening elsewhere. States like North Dakota have reduced solitary confinement and encouraged officers to act as problem-solvers and partners, not just enforcers. In Pennsylvania, units like “Little Scandinavia” focus on mentorship and more normalized living conditions. Programs like the Vera Institute of Justice’s Restoring Promise initiative in South Carolina have reduced violence while improving staff safety and job satisfaction.
These efforts show that a different approach is possible. When people are treated with basic dignity and given real opportunities to stabilize and grow, facilities become safer. When people leave prison better prepared, communities are safer too.
Many correctional officers already understand this. They see every day what calms a situation and what makes it worse. They know respect, consistency and decency go further than constant escalation. They also feel the frustration of working in a system that too often works against itself.
This National Correctional Officers Week, we should do more than say thank you. We should listen to what officers have learned and commit to building a system that supports safety, inside prison and out.
And to every correctional officer still inside those walls: I see you. I stand with you. I know what this job demands, the vigilance, the restraint, the humanity you bring even when it is hard. Your unseen efforts to keep facilities safer through respect and early intervention are the backbone of this work. You deserve more than recognition. You deserve safer conditions, real mental health support and a system that works with you, not against you.
About the author
Major Dylan Hager (Ret.) spent more than a decade with the Colorado Department of Corrections, serving as a correctional officer, shift supervisor and captain before reaching the rank of major at the Trinidad Correctional Facility. There, he managed facility operations, administrative services, educational and recreational programs and volunteer services. Hager is also a member of the Law Enforcement Action Partnership.