When I arrived at the ACLU office this morning, I set down my belongings and immediately followed the team into a staff meeting. In staff meetings, the team convenes to discuss upcoming events, including board retreats and new lawsuits. They’ve recently begun a new tradition of the “flying pig,” wherein one employee is presented the clay “flying pig” as a symbol of gratitude for accomplishing the un-accomplishable. A quirky aspect of the team, but one that shows the personality and pride and passion present in every aspect of their work.
We then conversed about proposed bills concerning the prison system, the general assembly’s omnibus budget bill, and a lawsuit against fees at the DMV. Overall, it was a productive and enlightening meeting.
I also began my week-long project of hosting the student webinar for incoming attendees of the ACLU Summer Advocacy Institute!
After I had finished, Jess and I went over to the Wake County Justice Center to watch some of the court proceedings. On the way, we stopped at Happy and Hale–she grabbed a tuna bowl and I, more coffee, as I had already eaten lunch (in hindsight, ordering coffee was probably not the most intelligent decision). We sat and discussed her engagement, her childhood in Las Vegas, and our shared experience in Speech and Debate. Jess is intelligent and sweet and beautiful (along with the entire ACLU-NC team): everything that I aspire to be.
When we entered the Justice Center, I immediately noticed the barrenness of the interior. The lobby area, before one approaches the security checkpoint, is straight out of a Science Fantasy movie. The walls are white, the lights are bright, and everything appears to have a yellowish tinge. I felt semi-uncomfortable with the multitude of police officers and the sterile-ness of the environment, but I quickly adjusted. Plus, after we’d made our way through security, the building’s aura was much more welcoming.
Jess and I walked up to the third floor of the building, into the Superior Courtroom. This courtroom is for those who have committed felonies and higher-level crimes and are awaiting conviction. The process is simple: the defendant appears either in-person or on video (most through video). The judge states their charges, sometimes states their bail amount, allows the defendant a few moments to argue for a lower bail amount, states the court date, and moves to the next defendant.
The proceedings began at 2 p.m., with the only two in-person defendants. Each stepped into the courthouse wearing stripes and accompanied by police officers. One, an Asian woman, was charged with aiding prostitution and had a bail set at $150,000. The other, a black male, was charged with possession of hard drugs at a prison facility for which he was a corrections officer. His bail was originally $75,000, but the judge was generous and awarded him a $20,000 bail. His bail was the only one reduced.
I noticed that, out of the 20 or so cases we witnessed, only two were those of white males. The rest of the defendants were either black or Latinx.
Following the in-person charges, the session moved to video. The quality was somewhat poor, but we could clearly discern the person on the opposite line, who was calling in from a jail holding center. Many defendants needed an interpreter, as they were not fluent in English. A few were on immigration detention, which caused the judge to refuse to reduce their bail. I found it interesting that most of the crimes were serious—larceny, possession of a firearm, stolen vehicle—but a rare few were minor, such as driving without a seatbelt with a revoked license. I also noted that, generally, one is not pulled over for driving without a seatbelt, so either the charged individual’s car/driving was problematic (not stated), or he was racially profiled, as he is Latino. One black man was charged with simply trespassing and claimed, tears streaming down his face, that he was simply aboard an Amtrak and received a ticket: he pleaded not guilty. Even still, he did not realize he had the right to argue for a bail reduction and was set to spend three days in jail before his court date. Three days is enough time for one to lose a job, parental custody, and credibility in general. That case broke my heart.
The last defendant we witnessed was a white homeless man sentenced on a $5000 bail for begging and failure to arrive in court for previous charges. It was obvious that he had some sort of mental delay or disability. He should be in a hospital—not bouncing between the streets and prison. At the end of his hearing, he said, “God bless you all.” As though he was happy to be back in jail. At least he receives 3 meals a day in the holding facility.
I haven’t really given myself an ample amount of time to process what I viewed today. Writing this post helped me, though. I’m not sure what to think, and afterward, Jess and I weren’t sure what to say. It was intense, for sure. A slight peek at 1% of the criminal justice system. At swim practice, my unexpressed frustration was released with exhausting physical activity. I am both physically and mentally exhausted. I do not regret seeing anything that I saw today. Nor do I paint anyone–the judge, the cops, those defendants charged with nonviolent crimes–as the bad guys. It’s the product of a system that is in need of not reform, but complete overhaul. It’s the fact that about 60% of these defendants were black men, because black communities are disproportionately targeted. It’s the fact that the large majority of these defendants cannot afford bail and are trapped in prison. It’s the fact that the prison system is cyclical in nature–many of those charged had multiple prior arrests.
I have become increasingly aware of my white skin and the privilege, the inherent power that it holds. I am not afraid of the police, because I am a white girl. I remind myself of this notion whenever I see a police officer, and it is guiltily reassuring.
I am not excluded from society. I do not lie in the margins–the curtains–of our fragmented country. My culture is not exploited. I do not have to feel representative of my race. I have not been systemically oppressed nor will I ever know what systemic oppression feels like. I have been struggling between white guilt and the truth that guilt is inherently unproductive for years, and I think the battle has resurfaced in the forefront of my mind.
I do not want to feel guilty. I should not feel guilty for a characteristic over which I have no control. I do not have to apologize for merely having white skin (although I can definitely apologize for the actions of those with white skin). Yet it’s hard not to feel guilty in a world with discreet and indiscreet racism penetrating every aspect of our lives, including the criminal justice system.
I’ve realized that I cannot fight this guilt. Instead, I must use my passion to invoke some sort of change, no matter how small. I owe it to everyone with less privilege than me. And I owe it myself, too.
