UX Shouldn’t Hurt

“I couldn’t find visiting hours, the number didn’t work, and the form crashed. My brother thought we forgot about him.”

Pain, by Design

Incarceration is already dehumanizing.

The website should not deepen that harm.

Yet it does.

Outdated interfaces, inaccessible forms, and punitive language combine into a digital barrier. For Elmwood Correctional Facility and the San Jose City Main Jail, these websites are often the only point of contact for families, advocates, and recently released individuals trying to reconnect or prepare for hearings.

They are not simply inefficient.

They are hostile by omission.

Evaluation Criteria

This review applies standard UX heuristics through a civic and trauma-informed lens:

• Clarity of navigation
• Findability of critical information (visitation, commissary, release)
• Language accessibility and reading level
• Mobile compatibility
• Tone of voice and emotional impact
• Trauma-informed interaction patterns

The experience was evaluated with empathy.

The interface offered none.

Problem 1: Basic Information Is Buried

On both sites, users must click through multiple layers to find essential information.

Elmwood’s visiting rules are buried inside a downloadable PDF, outdated and written in legal language.

The Main Jail’s visitation page redirects to a sheriff’s subpage with no hours listed.

Several users reported arriving on-site without realizing visits must be scheduled days in advance.

Adding money to a loved one’s account is no easier:

• Commissary links route through external vendors
• Redirects are inconsistent or broken
• Interfaces are confusing and not mobile-friendly

These are not passive failures.

They prevent connection.

Problem 2: Mobile and Language Failures

Most users access these systems from mobile devices.

The experience degrades immediately:

• Navigation menus fail to expand
• Buttons misalign
• Text becomes unreadable
• Translation options are absent or unreliable

In a region as diverse as Santa Clara County, the lack of Spanish, Vietnamese, or Tagalog support is not a gap.

It is exclusion.

Problem 3: Tone That Pushes People Away

The language across both sites reflects control, not care:

• “Failure to comply will result in denied access.”
• “Do not contact this line regarding inmate well-being.”
• “Funds sent incorrectly will be confiscated.”

There is no acknowledgment of the emotional state of the user.

No recognition that people may be anxious, grieving, or trying to help.

The system speaks in warnings.

Never in guidance.

What Better Design Could Look Like

Even within institutional constraints, design can create clarity and dignity.

A human-centered jail website would include:

• A clear entry point for visiting a loved one
• Step-by-step guides with visual cues
• Reliable commissary tools with confirmation states
• Multilingual support with visible toggles
• SMS alerts for scheduling and status changes
• Language that guides instead of punishes
• Direct access to medical, mental health, and advocacy resources

Connection is not a luxury.

It is part of rehabilitation.

The Cost of Getting It Wrong

Every broken link delays a visit.

Every unclear form delays communication.

Every failure in the interface becomes a failure in the relationship.

A jail website cannot fix the system.

But it shapes how the system is experienced.

When that experience is confusing, inaccessible, and indifferent, it reinforces the very harm it claims to manage.

What This Really Is

This is not about visual design.

It is about dignity.

It is about visibility.

It is about care.

A jail’s website should never hurt more than the incarceration it represents.

Right now, too many do.