To Survive in Prison, Desperate LGBTQ Inmates Turn to Office Work
How America’s short-staffed prisons came to rely on the administrative skills of incarcerated queers.
by B Speaks
Across Georgia’s vast and broken prison system, incarcerated people perform the labor that keeps facilities running. From kitchen work to maintenance, inmate labor is intrinsically woven into daily operations. Among the most influential roles are the administrative jobs, clerical assignments that place incarcerated people in close contact with wardens, unit managers, and administrative security staff. These positions process paperwork, maintain records, coordinate inmate movement, and ensure the institution keeps moving in a manner that is in compliance with GDC Standard Operating Procedures.
While these roles are technically open to anyone, many have noticed LGBTQ identifying people seem to find themselves holding administrative positions at a noticeably higher rate. The pattern does not stem from any official directive. Instead, it emerges through a mix of institutional demands, safety considerations, social dynamics, and the skillsets many LGBTQ workers bring to the table.
LGBTQ incarcerated people face heightened vulnerability, harassment, targeted violence, and social isolation and these experiences are all well-documented, according to The Guardian For those navigating such environments, administrative jobs can offer a safer alternative to general population work. “Being in the office gives me a little bit of breathing room and exposure to staff willing and able to help when my parole dates come up with recommendations," said Maya, a transgender woman incarcerated in a Southeastern Georgia facility. “It’s not perfect, but it’s better than being stuck in the dorm all day where people stare, whisper, or try me.”
Staff often place vulnerable inmates in assignments located in controlled areas, close to officers and supervisors. These environments offer more stability, predictable schedules, and physical spaces where harassment is less tolerated. For some administrators, it simply makes practical sense. One veteran officer explained, “If someone is at risk in the dorms and they’re good with paperwork, putting them in the office with me helps everybody. It keeps them safer and it keeps us organized, especially since we are understaffed”
Beyond safety, many trans and LGBTQ people enter prison with strong interpersonal or clerical skills. Some have previous experience in office work, customer service, or administrative fields. Others possess high literacy levels, rely on precision and professionalism as survival tools, or have the emotional intelligence to navigate complex interactions between incarcerated individuals and staff. Their reliability doesn’t go unnoticed. As one Deputy Warden put it, “Some of my best detail workers happen to be gay or transgender. They’re detail-oriented, they communicate well, and they understand critical boundaries between staff and inmates. In this environment, that goes a very long way with me.”
Another important dynamic shaping administrative assignments is the relationship between LGBTQ inmates and female staff. Across several Georgia facilities, female officers often report feeling more comfortable working closely with LGBT inmates, especially gay men and trans women, because they are seen as less likely to make sexual advances or behave inappropriately. This comfort can lead to deeper trust and smoother communication as well as a more productive work place.
“I don’t have to worry about weird sexual comments or boundary-pushing,” said Officer Daniels, a correctional Lieutenant with more than ten years in the system. “With the LGBT inmates who are placed in my detail, it’s strictly professional and work related. They do their job, I do mine, and there’s no tension. I also notice they are more willing to do projects and tasks other inmates have no knowledge of how to even start.”
These relationships can lead to significant dependence. When an inmate detail worker learns the intricacies of scheduling, paperwork, or communication logs, staff often come to rely on them heavily. “They count on me more than they say,” said T.K., a gay man who works in administration. “Half the time I’m the one explaining to new officers how we do things here. They’ll joke that I run the area myself.”
But closeness to staff is not without risks. Visibility can provoke resentment among other incarcerated people, some of whom may view administrative workers, especially those who are LGBTQ, as “pets” or “favorites.” That perception can create social tension. “People assume you’re snitching just because you work near officers,” Maya said. “It’s not true, but it can stick to you.”
This tension unfolds against the backdrop of ongoing legal and medical challenges for transgender inmates in Georgia. Recent lawsuits have highlighted gaps in gender-affirming care, inconsistent housing policies, and shifting medical guidelines. These changes affect day-to-day life, including job stability. A trans inmate placed in an administrative role may suddenly be moved, reassigned, or restricted based on classification decisions or interruptions in healthcare.
“It’s like your whole world can change overnight because of some memo,” T.K. explained. “One day you’re the administrative orderly everyone depends on. The next day you’re moved across the compound for ‘medical reasons’ and nobody explains anything.”
Despite these challenges, many LGBTQ and trans inmates view administrative roles as the best option available. The work can provide structure, temporary safety, and the rare sense that their contributions matter. Still, the system relies heavily on this labor, often without compensation or adequate safeguards.
Advocates argue that the state must acknowledge this reliance. “When institutions depend on marginalized people to perform essential administrative work, they have an obligation to ensure those workers are protected, not exploited,” says Dr. C, an advocate involved in recent litigation. “That means transparent assignment procedures, consistent protections, and recognition of the vulnerability many LGBT inmates face.”
Meaningful reform would require clearer guidelines about how administrative positions are filled, stronger protections for workers who become highly visible due to their roles, and adequate staffing so inmate clerks are not forced to compensate for systemic shortages. Training staff to navigate gender and sexuality issues professionally would also help prevent bias and strengthen boundaries.
LGBTQ incarcerated people play a significant and often overlooked role in maintaining the stability of Georgia’s prisons. Their skills, reliability, and ability to communicate across lines of authority and population groups have made them indispensable. Recognizing their contributions, and ensuring their safety, is essential to creating a just, humane, and operational correctional system.
B Speaks is a writer and advocate interested in prison/criminal justice reform, LGBTQ rights, and government/cultural criticism. A graduate of the University of South Carolina, B served as a political strategist and grassroots organizer in Washington D.C. Currently incarcerated in Georgia, B writes to expose and challenge the realities of the carceral system, advocating for justice reform and the voices often left unheard.