Off the Rails: A Documentary About Darius McCollum: A Review

Maxfield Sparrow
unstrangemind.com

“I have spent more than half my adult life in prison.” -Darius McCollum.

Darius McCollum, a Black Autistic man now in his early fifties, was first arrested for “stealing” trains in 1980 when he was 15 years old. Documentarian Adam Irving discovered McCollum on Wikipedia, was fascinated, and tracked down McCollum while he was in Rikers Island Prison. The two exchanged letters and phone calls for six months, and finally met while McCollum was still incarcerated. After McCollum’s release, the two spent three years filming the documentary. 

I put the word stealing in quotes—even though that’s a word I’ve seen McCollum use for what he does—because that’s not what his actions look like to me. He’s not “hijacking” or “stealing” transit vehicles so much as illicitly operating them… and even then with careful consideration for human safety. McCollum’s deep interest in transportation was encouraged by New York City transportation workers who thought he was a cute kid, and sort of adopted him without thinking about the long-term repercussions of breaking the rules with him. As workers got more and more lax about the lines they were crossing, McCollum’s fate got woven tighter and tighter into the net he’s trapped in today.

I was eager to watch Off the Rails because I have been following Darius McCollum’s story for decades. I had also never heard McCollum speak before watching this film, and was immediately surprised by how well-spoken he is. I hate to admit my bias, but I didn’t expect someone who has spent half his adult life in prison to be such an open-hearted person, and such a clear and compelling communicator. We all have our preconceived notions to get past, and I’m grateful McCollum helped me see one of mine.

Reflecting on my reaction and its larger implications, I realized that this is how deep the vulnerability of being a Black Autistic man goes: so far down that being a kind and personable human being and a compelling communicator could not save him from getting boxed in by life’s circumstances and getting arrested and imprisoned more than thirty times, instead of getting the help he’d requested for years.

When I stop to think about how law enforcement and the criminal justice system tend to deal with Black Autistic men, I realize Darius McCollum is lucky to still be alive.

Off the Rails is beautifully shot, and sensitively arranged. Darius McCollum comes across as genuine, likable—and very aware of his compulsions. I liked his matter-of-fact, deeply honest take on his transit activities: He knows what he does is illegal but somehow he doesn’t come across as a scofflaw. He cares about the passengers on the vehicles he drives, and he thinks about how to brighten their day and help them understand they’re not just on a train ride but an adventure. Off the Rails made me care about Darius McCollum’s fate on a deeper level than I had before. Anyone who cares about the fate of Autistics in the justice system in general or Darius McCollum’s case specifically should watch this film.

Through the course of the film, I slowly began to get a feel for McCollum’s soul-deep connection to the transit system. He memorized the subway when he was eight years old, and in many ways considers the subway his home. He even says he’s married to MTA. Other people who got to know him describe his dedication to providing quality service for passengers as something benevolent and committed. People from all walks of life spoke of Darius McCollum as being extremely likable, affable, gregarious, and just a nice guy—despite a lifetime of being mistreated and misunderstood.

When McCollum was twelve or thirteen, his parents had him committed for nine months. (This was following a traumatic event at school.) Despite his young age, he was given electroshock therapy while in the hospital. After he was released, he felt he couldn’t trust anyone at school, and instead just wanted to be where he felt safe and valued: the subway. Transit workers took a liking to Darius and had him run errands and do chores for them. He was friendly and eager to make everyone happy.

When a transit worker let Darius drive the train for the first time, the feelings of acceptance and self-worth he felt were so powerful they determined the course of the rest of his life. Darius would do anything to get another taste of that feeling: the feeling of being exactly where he was meant to be, doing what he was born to do: drive trains.

Sadly for Darius McCollum, the city of New York held a different view. McCollum applied to work for the MTA when he was 17 and again when he was 18. Both times he was turned down. The documentary didn’t explicitly say so, but Darius assumes (and I agree) that the MTA didn’t want him after he had been arrested at age 15 for driving a train. Darius McCollum’s arrest generated a level of publicity that was hard for MTA to live down. The only thing Darius wanted was to work for MTA—and that was the last thing MTA wanted.

His life then turned into a revolving door between driving and jail. McCollum had lockers in the subway and slept at stations or in train yards. He drove buses and trains nearly every day, but he’d only drive a few months at most before he’d get caught and sent back to jail yet again. He never stopped pursuing his dream of working in transit, whether he had a transit job or not. Thirty years of devotion to his passion is not a phase or a whim: every fiber of McCollum’s being yearns to serve the public as a transit driver.

“He sacrificed his freedom and he sacrificed half his life for this. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.” -Ray Sanchez, Transportation Reporter, Newsday

McCollum’s story was perennially interesting to the New York Post and other media outlets, and when he brought his Asperger’s diagnosis into the courtroom—trying to get the treatment he needed as a disabled person who needed help with his impulses to drive buses and trains—the media exploded all over again. The disclosure backfired when McCollum ended up with a deadbeat lawyer he was not able to fire. The judge said that his Asperger’s diagnosis meant McCollum was not fit to manage his own affairs, and not of sound enough judgment to fire his lawyer and try to get one who would actually fight for him. As if that weren’t bad enough, the next judge McCollum got did a Google search on Asperger’s and decided in her own (very non-expert) opinion that Darius McCollum couldn’t possibly have Asperger’s or any compulsion out of his control and ruled harshly against him.

“The best outcome for Darius would be for him to be hired by the MTA.” -Marcia Scheiner, Autism Employment Specialist

That, of course, is never going to happen. The MTA has made it clear: Darius McCollum is not to be trusted. That leaves McCollum outside his proverbial gates of paradise, banished into the wilderness forever.

He did eventually get rid of the deadbeat lawyer, replacing him with Sally Butler, a lawyer who was initially skeptical of McCollum's case but grew to become one of this greatest supporters. His parents also deeply love and support Darius but were forced to do so from a distance: they moved to North Carolina, hoping to get their son from the trains, only to have the justice system restrict McCollum to New York as terms of his parole—effectively leaving him trapped with the objects of his compulsions, the trains, and stripped of the supportive presence of his parents.

The documentary tries to end on a positive note, with Darius McCollum finally out of prison, finally not on parole or probation, and finally able to move to North Carolina to be with his mother. He’s uncomfortable but adjusting and decides he’s 50 years old and it’s time to be done with trains … but then three months later … Darius McCollum is arrested yet again, this time for driving off in a Greyhound bus. The documentary closes, saying he’s currently on trial and facing fifteen years.

That was November of 2015. What has happened in the two years since the close of the documentary?

Because McCollum had three felonies already for illegally driving trains and buses, he actually faced 25 years to life in prison for stealing the Greyhound bus. A year after he took the bus, his lawyer turned down a plea that would have offered three and a half to seven years in prison. Prosecutors pitched the same deal two more times, then switched to a 5-10 year deal that would have required McCollum to plead guilty to second-degree larceny. That deal was turned down as well.

McCollum sat for two years in Rikers Island during these offers. Near the end of 2017, McCollum and his lawyer were offered an insanity plea that would result in McCollum being locked indefinitely in a prison for the criminally insane. This plea, too, was initially refused. Prosecutors were not pleased that McCollum was pushing proceedings toward trial instead of negotiating.

But just before trial started, McCollum finally accepted the insanity plea in January, 2018, and was sent to Kirby Psychiatric Hospital on Ward Island while awaiting a special trial. McCollum would be examined at that trial by doctors who would determine the course of his incarceration. If McCollum were judged to be dangerous, it would affect his commitment. If he were deemed dangerous, he might spend the rest of his life in a maximum security facility. If he were not considered a danger, he could go to a lower security hospital and get the treatment he’d been asking for. His mother could visit him, and he would be in an environment aimed toward his rehabilitation.

That special hearing began in May, 2018. McCollum took the stand and when asked how many times he had commandeered trains and busses he responded that he estimated he’d driven about 5,000 trips illegally. Meanwhile, Hollywood is planning a movie about Darius McCollum, called Train Man. Julia Roberts may even play McCollum’s lawyer, Sally Butler.

MTA has filed suit against McCollum, citing law that says a criminal may not profit from his crime. MTA is filing as the wronged victim and demanding McCollum’s cut of any proceeds from the Hollywood venture. On May 30th, McCollum’s lawyer posted on Twitter: “Prosecutors questioned Darius today about a pillow fight with his roommate at the psychiatric hospital, and tried to use that to suggest he was dangerous. Really, a pillow fight?”

The special hearing continued into June. McCollum’s lawyer quit updating the Twitter feed. No news stories have been published. I am unsure where Darius McCollum currently is, or what his fate might be. I worry about him. He doesn’t belong in prison or in a rough criminal psychiatric hospital. At one point his lawyer asked to have him moved back to Rikers Island because it was safer than the hospital, where Darius had already been attacked. Kirby Hospital is notorious for housing the most violent criminals.

The justice system failed Darius McCollum. He never got the therapy he needed, and repeatedly asked for. Everyone, right down to Darius himself, agreed that he needed treatment for his irresistible compulsions, but instead he just got locked up repeatedly. After the 9/11 attacks, McCollum helped Homeland Security and MTA authorities discover and seal the weak places in the transit system that were vulnerable to terrorist attacks. Then the city “rewarded” McCollum for his compliance by denying his freedom on the grounds that he was too eager to help Homeland Security and would be just as eager to help a terrorist.

After over three decades of notoriety and even a bit of celebrity, Darius McCollum has vanished from view. May he be well and may we never forget the lessons he has taught us at such high cost to himself.

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Off the Rails is a 2016 American documentary film about Darius McCollum
Written, directed, and produced by Adam Irving
Zipper Bros Films, 1 hour 30 minutes
Available through Amazon
www.offtherailsmovie.com

For further information about Darius McCollum and his case:

www.freedariusnow.com

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What Happens to Autistic People in Prison?

What happens to autistic people in prison? We spoke with Clare Hughes, the Criminal Justice Coordinator for the United Kingdom's National Autistic Society, about the unique experiences of and considerations for incarcerated autistic people. Clare has been leading on the NAS's work expanding its accreditation programme to police forces, prisons, and probation services. Note that while some discussed issues are UK-specific, many can be generalized.

Photo © Dave Nakayama/Creative Commons license
[image: Prison cell bars, with the background cell itself slightly out of focus.]

Clare Hughes: We don’t know how many autistic people there are in prison in the UK: information about people diagnosed with autism isn’t collected routinely for the general population, let alone for prisoners, and many will be undiagnosed.

HM Young Offender Institution (YOI) and Prison at Feltham diagnose young people in the prison, if they are there long enough. In February 2016, they identified that 4.5% of their population had a diagnosis of autism, which they’d received either before or at the prison. It also requires main grade prison staff to refer prisoners they suspect are autistic.

From discussions I have had with prison governors, they don’t think that numbers of autistic prisoners are large, but the impact on the prison can be significant as they struggle to identify the best ways to support them. Some prisons are aware that autistic prisoners are spending—and often choosing to spend—extended periods in Care and Separation Units (segregation), as they are quieter environments, without contact with other prisoners.

The National Autistic Society is currently actively working with eight prisons, who have registered with Autism Accreditation. Autism Accreditation is a quality assurance programme that has been in existence for almost 25 years.

HM YOI Feltham in West London was the first prison to achieve Autism Accreditation in 2016, after we’d worked with them to develop the specialist Autism Accreditation Standards for prisons. We have since had over 30 prisons interested in Accreditation, following a letter recommending Autism Accreditation sent to all prisons in England and Wales by the then Minister for Prison, Probation and Rehabilitation, Andrew Selous MP. The Minister also asked us to look at developing accreditation standards for probation services which have done and these are currently being piloted. Following this work, we had police forces interested in the programme.

Thinking Person's Guide to Autism: Is there a sizable autistic population in UK prisons?

Autistic people can end up in the prison system, just like anyone else. Although the exact number of autistic people in prison isn’t known, in HMYOI Feltham in February last year, they represented 4.5% of the population. (Note this is an ever-changing figure, as people are released and others arrive.)

What is clear is that research has found that autistic people “represent some of the most vulnerable people in the offender population.”*

Prison governors have told me that, although the number of autistic prisoners isn’t high, they can have a significant impact on the prisons as staff struggle to identify the best ways to support them. Some of the prisons I have visited identify that autistic prisoners are spending, and even choosing to spend, extended periods in the Care and Separation Units (segregation), as they are quieter environments, without contact with other prisoners.

* Talbot, J (2008), No one knows: Prisoners Voices: Experiences of the criminal justice system by prisoners with learning disabilities and difficulties. London: Prison Reform Trust.

TPGA: Does the population the National Autistic Society works with include suspected but undiagnosed autistics?

Hughes: Our Autism Accreditation programme is designed to be beneficial for all autistic prisoners, whether they have a diagnosis or not. For a prison to be accredited, their staff will work with us to implement standards developed specifically for prisons across every area of their work, which will ultimately improve the identification and support of autistic prisoners. These changes include familiarising staff with autism, allowing autistic prisoners to use communal areas at quieter times and making reasonable adjustments to the building, such as creating areas with less clutter. The changes are all relatively straightforward but they can make a huge difference to the lives of prisoners and staff alike.

The development of the prison standards for Accreditation started in 2014 when the mental health team at HMYOI Feltham (run by Barnet, Enfield and Haringey Mental Health NHS Trust) asked if we would consider developing our existing Accreditation standards, which have been running for around 25 years. The prison had previously audited their mental health services against another audit tool, but felt that in order to provide the best outcomes for autistic prisoners, they required a specialist response and, most importantly, a whole-prison approach as autistic prisoners were affected by a wide range of issues, including the physical environment. We then worked together to develop standards relating to the custodial aspect of the prison, education mental health and primary care.

As part of this, we also looked at a thematic review that had been carried out by Her Majesty’s Inspectorate for Prisons and Probation in relation to the treatment of prisoners with learning disabilities and/or autism in the criminal justice system and incorporated their recommendations, particularly around improved communication, which will, of course, benefit to anyone with communication issues.

The then minister, Andrew Selous, heard about the work taking place at HMYOI Feltham and visited to learn more. Following his visit, he wrote to all prison governors across England and Wales, encouraging them to consider Autism Accreditation. Feltham has since become the first prison or YOI to be accredited, and the project last year won the Royal College of Speech and Language Therapists’ Sternberg Clinical Innovation Award. This was shared between project partners Barnet, Enfield and Haringey Mental Health NHS Trust (who provide the mental health services at the prison), the National Autistic Society (NAS), and HMYOI Feltham. We’ve also had another 30 prisons and YOIs contact us to express interest in Autism Accreditation and are currently working with eight of them, including Feltham.

TPGA: Do you know if the proportion of incarcerated autistics is similar in other countries?

Hughes: We are no aware of any definite prevalence data about any prison population, nor how this compares to the UK.

TPGA: Does being autistic affect one's chances of being incarcerated? If so, why?

Hughes: The vast majority of autistic people are law abiding and respect the rules of society. Indeed, in many cases, autistic people are unusually concerned to keep to the letter of the law.

But there are of course cases where autistic people, like anyone else, can commit a crime. There are also cases where someone's autism may have a bearing on their behaviour. For instance, autistic people can have difficulty understanding unwritten social rules or how the world works, which can leave them open to being taken advantage of by others (Autism Together have been running a campaign around this so-called mate crime).

Autistic people can also be misunderstood by professionals within the criminal justice system, which is something I’m trying to change in my work. There’s a tendency, particularly in relation to some serious crimes including terrorism and sexual offences, for criminal justice professionals to interpret ‘odd’ as ‘dangerous,’ which may bring autistic people into contact with the criminal justice system or to their behaviour being seen as more serious in its intent. For example, if someone commits an offence related to a special interest, they may speak about it in great depth and passion when asked, leading people to think they are cold and calculating. Likewise, many autistic people struggle with eye contact and this can be interpreted as having something to hide.

More and more professionals are starting to understand more about autism and the different ways autistic people may respond to situations. This should help prevent people’s behaviour being misinterpreted and lead to better responses to divert autistic people from offending, or improved programmes to help prevent further offending.

TPGA: What kind of problems do autistic people encounter in prison that tend to be specific to their disability?

Hughes: Autistic people can have extreme sensitivities to things like light and sound, so the often busy and loud prison environment can be a real challenge. Prisoners shout to other prisoners, prison officers shout to prisoners, prison officers shout to other officers, there is the sounds of keys jangling, heavy cell doors being banged, an almost constant smell of cleaning products, strong smell of food at mealtimes, and minimal natural light. All of these can be incredibly challenging for autistic people, especially as there’s nowhere to retreat to.

However, there are other elements of prison that work well for autistic prisoners, who can struggle with change and seek out routine. Prison life is very structured and fairly predictable, with everyone receiving a set of rules when they arrive and seeing the same faces each day. But a sudden break to this routine, can be really hard for autistic prisoners. For instance, if there’s an unannounced cell search or an incident.

Rules aren’t always adhered to as rigorously as some autistic people would like to see and there are times when they may become confrontational with others about this. It’s a unique experience to have written rules of what is expected of you and others and, understandably, it’s really difficult for autistic people where others don’t stick to these rules.

There are ways to help autistic prisoners to cope with these challenges, which is something we make clear in our Autism Accreditation work. Some prisons are beginning to provide information to prisoners explaining that these sudden disruptions can happen, what the process will be before, during and after, and why staff will be unable to tell them when and why this is happening. There will still be autistic people who will be very anxious about this, but their anxiety will be reduced by having prior knowledge that this kind of thing happens and what the process is and, wherever possible, trained staff who understand how challenging this is for them.

TPGA: Are there some situations in which autistic prisoners' experiences are, relatively, not entirely negative, with regards to providing routine, etc?

Hughes: There are elements of prison that work well for autistic prisoners. Prison life is structured and fairly predictable, with everyone receiving a set of rules when they arrive and seeing the same faces each day.

I’ve also seen first-hand how understanding and support from prison officers and staff can transform the lives of autistic prisoners. For instance, there was an autistic man, who also had OCD and ADHD, in one of the prisons that I worked in. When he arrived, staff didn’t fully understand what any of those acronyms meant, but they knew that he was vulnerable. They provided a support system around him made up of other prisoners and prison officers and saw a real change in his behaviour. The autistic man even said that prison had been the best thing that had happened to him. I have met some incredibly passionate prison officers who want to learn more about autism and the best strategies for supporting people in the prisons that they work in.

TPGA: Do you see many cases in the UK similar to that of African-American autistic Neli Latson, whose arrest and incarceration were largely due to lack of supports and understanding about autism?

Hughes: This is a really shocking case. While it’s in the US, which has a different criminal justice system to the UK, and we’re not aware of such a serious UK case, Neli Latson’s experiences do highlight how autistic people can get caught up in the criminal justice system and how misunderstandings around autism can escalate things. This, and other cases in the UK, demonstrate why it’s so important that the police and other criminal justice personnel have autism training. This would help them to understand the additional communication challenges faced by autistic people and how to prevent escalation.

The NAS has also got lots of information for autistic people and criminal justice professionals on our website, including tips and guides: http://www.autism.org.uk/cjp

TPGA: What kinds of practices and policies would you like to see change, for the well-being of the autistic people in question?

Hughes: The most important change would be to have autism training delivered as a matter of course to all staff working in the criminal justice system, from police and courts to prisons and probation.

We’ve shown how this can work, through our project at HMYOI Feltham and early work with police and probation services. A growing number of staff are also calling for this too as training has a significant impact on their ability to carry out their role. It’s important that each of the agencies share this information with one another too, so they can learn and spread best practice.

Quality standards like Autism Accreditation can also help ensure that there’s the best possible autism practice relevant to each criminal justice agency.

We also believe that there need to be more specialist programmes to divert autistic people from committing offences, sometimes unwittingly, and where they have offended, to prevent re-offending, which understand the particular motivations and communication styles of autistic people.

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