I arrived at the ACLU office at 7:45 a.m. sharp, an early start to an important day. I remained in the parking lot for a few moments until I witnessed Susanna’s car round the curb. Together, we headed the Durham Convention Center’s Perinatal Incarceration Summit, discussing topics ranging from her three daughters to my role as an ACLU volunteer and advocate.
When we arrived, we grabbed our nametags and entered the grand ballroom, which was segmented off to accompany approximately seventy-five people. Tables were clustered throughout the room, and college-aged to middle-aged women sat in each of the chairs. It was a diverse gathering of people, I pleasantly noticed–at least fifty percent of attendants were women of color. As the conference started, I unearthed my notebook from my backpack and began to take notes.
The conference encompassed everything from cash bail to prison to jail to pregnancy to reproductive justice. It was radical in nature, but in the best, most forward-thinking-radical way possible. It was formatted as a series of panelists–some of whom had given birth while incarcerated themselves. The information and subject matter is heavy and at times overwhelming, so I’ll do my best to present a general overview of the knowledge I gained (plus some of my own opinions derived from this knowledge).
Incarceration, in the broadest definition, includes imprisonment, probation, and parole. In America, over 7 million citizens are under surveillance by the criminal justice system, although they are not physically in jail or prison. In essence, America uses a system designed to criminalize individuals by methods of dominance, supremacy, and control. Pregnant incarcerated women, I learned, in many instances are not able to receive pre- and post-partum individualized care or attention, even if they are serving a sentence for a nonviolent or minor crime. In fact, pregnant women are often confined to a lifestyle of eating, sleeping, watching some TV, and walking while under strict surveillance. After childbirth, they’re handcuffed and expected to return to their normal, imprisoned lives in under two weeks. This treatment is degrading and demoralizing.
Additionally, besides being separated from their child, these women are often prohibited from keeping pictures of their children while imprisoned because these pictures might be a “disruption”. The true insidious nature of our criminal justice system is that it dehumanizes individuals while also generating copious amounts of profit. Even DUI programs are designed to amass revenue. Traffic laws are created in such a way that they will be broken, once again bringing in wealth. These women, these people, these humans, who are in some cases shackled during labor, are simultaneously constantly surveilled and invisible. That’s the irony of our so-called justice system. Persuading individuals to believe that they are nothing, but that their nothingness deserves to be monitored every single second. As if they weren’t transparent enough already.
Yes, these women have made mistakes–perhaps a misstep or a wrong turn somewhere—but they are people. Wonderful people, too. I had the privilege of listening to the stories of two women, both of whom had given birth while in prison. One woman began crying while telling her story, as this event was the first instance in which she had “come out of the closet” or shared the experiences of her incarceration. She described the degradation of bleeding while shackled and handcuffed and nine months pregnant, begging for treatment and receiving the most minimal amount. The second woman mentioned her three suicide attempts after her baby was ripped from her arms. It’s important to mention that both of these women were serving sentences for nonviolent, minor crimes, and that the only reason they were in jail was due to the fact that they were women of color. Needless to say, I shed many, many tears.
I left the summit with a profound sense of empathy for these incarcerated women. Those of us who have never been to prison, never will go to prison, and never will experience the subtle and deceitful effect of mass incarceration on our day-to-day lives are so incredibly lucky. For others, it isn’t quite as easy. For others, it’s a different narrative–one of poverty and racism and drug addiction and financial incentive. We must remember their stories, too. As I hopped back into the passenger’s seat of Susanna’s car, I knew that I must never stop being an advocate.
