Landon hopes to be a barber when he leaves the Rogue Valley Youth Correctional Facility, even training at a small hair salon there.
But there’s one thing he’s worried about — his tattoos.
“I had at one point, a cross on my middle finger,” Landon said, “But that was when I was 15, and I ended up covering it up because I thought it was kind of disrespectful.”
JPR is only using Landon’s first name because he’s a juvenile offender. He’s been incarcerated at the Grants Pass facility for nearly two years, serving a sentence for manslaughter and robbery.
When he first arrived, his hand was covered in crude doodles: a mushroom, his ex’s initials and the Playboy bunny logo with the name of an adult film star.
“I, personally, was embarrassed of having that tattoo,” Landon said. “I'm a barber now, and so if I'm in a professional environment, I'm not trying to show up with a bunch of doodles on my hand.”
Not only is it immature, but the Playboy bunny also happens to be a gang symbol, forcing Landon to explain himself when he got locked up.
Landon hopes to get out by this time next year. While he should be set up for success when he leaves, the tattoos on his hand could make it hard to reenter society.
But that’s all changing for him now.
In a small room within the facility, Dr. Carolyn Hale holds the tip of a laser tattoo removal machine close to Landon’s hand. He’s there for his 10th, and hopefully one of his last, sessions.
“We’ve been trying to get this one removed for a little bit,” Landon said, pointing at the now barely visible bunny tattoo. “It’s kind of scarred into the skin, so we have to go pretty high for it.”
The laser, tuned to match the wavelength of the tattoo color, breaks the ink into small particles the body can remove. As the tattoos fade, the laser’s power must be turned up higher and higher.
“Some tattoos, you'll see people come in and they go, ‘This is already faded,’ so the body's already kind of doing that,” Hale said. “But with these, they're so dark that the body won't completely ever get rid of them.”
Landon said it doesn’t hurt as much as you think it might.
“In the moment of getting it removed, it hurts less than the tattoo needles themselves,” he said. Ice packs and a cold air machine help lessen the pain.
Hale said the number of sessions required depends on skin color, with darker skin tones typically taking longer.
Combating gang violence
The tattoo removal program started in the late 1990s, partly through the efforts of Griselda Solano-Salinas, director of inclusion and intercultural relations for the Oregon Youth Authority. She said it began as a way to combat gang violence, especially since many of the kids got the tattoos when they were very young.
“I have one who started applying tattoos when he was nine,” she said.
Solano-Salinas said that young kids often make bad decisions because their brains aren’t fully developed, and with something like tattoos, they may not feel the consequences until they are older.
“There was one youth that I remember that had so many tattoos, and they were all gang-related,” she recalled. “I asked him, ‘Why do you have so many tattoos?’ And he said, ‘Because I thought I was not going to make it after 18.’ So he was mentally prepared to die before he was an adult. That's the mentality. They are so into the gangs that sometimes they don't think when they make a decision.”
"They are so into the gangs that sometimes they don't think when they make a decision.”
The program started with a single laser and focused on removing gang-related tattoos. That mission soon expanded, though.
“We noticed that there were new tattoos that were not necessarily gang-related, but they were also impacting the youth,” she said.
She said they started removing what they call “antisocial” tattoos, as well as markings used on victims of human trafficking.
“Most of the tattoos that are human trafficking tattoos are in areas that you can’t see,” said Solano-Salinas. “And sometimes we don't know until they disclose that and say, ‘Can I remove this?’”
She said they originally prioritized tattoos in visible areas, like the arms or face. But after finding out that human trafficking markings can be traumatic reminders, they started to remove those, too.
The waitlist quickly grew. Since its start, the program has treated thousands of kids and currently serves about 60 incarcerated youth a month — all for free.
They aren’t forced into removing the tattoos. It has to be an intentional decision, when they’re ready to change their lifestyle. Participants are also not required to get rid of every tattoo, which OYA used to do.
“Now that people have so many tattoos, and not all of them are antisocial, we've been trying to just say, ‘Okay, then we’ll take off your antisocial tattoos,’” said Hale. “These kids are basically scribbling on themselves.”
For Landon, it was an easy choice. He said he instantly regretted some of his tattoos.
“I've been wanting a fresh start,” he said. “ And walking around with a bunch of really dumb tattoos doesn't look great. I want to get out. I want to have a job that I can sustain.”
Since he’s been locked up, Landon has been mentoring other incarcerated youth, trying to be a better role model for them than what he had as a kid.
“Some people I used to hang out with on the outside are in this facility with me now, and they're a lot younger,” he said. “And a lot of them look up to me. So I don't want them to look up to me for the wrong reasons.”
Going through this whole process hasn’t made Landon a tattoo hater. He said when he gets out, he’ll probably get more tattoos — just better looking and more professional.
Giving them a fresh start
Hale has been volunteering with the program almost since the beginning. Now a retired dermatologist, she said she wants to give these kids the best chance they can have.
“Having raised children, I understand how they make some really bad mistakes and their decisions aren't always really good,” she said. “And it seems tough to have to have those live with you forever.”
The Oregon Youth Authority recently purchased two more laser removal machines, one for Oak Creek – the only female facility – and another for Grants Pass.
With the new equipment, Hale said she has been volunteering more often. The program is currently looking for a doctor or nurse in Southern Oregon to help with the program. The machine isn’t hard to use, Hale said, and OYA provides training on how to operate it.
One frustrating part, Hale said, is that there’s a lack of data on how tattoo removal affects outcomes after release.
“We can't test recidivism because we can't follow what happens to kids afterwards,” she said.
OYA typically doesn’t stay in touch after release, and they only track recidivism rates for three years, starting from when a juvenile begins probation, parole or post-prison supervision. But a representative for OYA said they’re working on building the capacity to track recidivism based on specific variables, including the tattoo removal program. That data could help when applying for grants to purchase additional machines.
What keeps Solano-Salinas doing this work, she said, are former participants who reach out to share how far they’ve come.
“I have heard stories from them saying, ‘Thank you for removing my tattoos. Now I am a veterinarian assistant, or I have a job, or I have a family, and I won't have to explain to my kids that I was not a good person.’”
