Tag: #politics

Today marked my last hours spent with the ACLU-NC and its staff, and although I know how much I’ll miss everything about the team I was blessed to be a part of, I also know that I’ll be seeing much more of this wonderful organization in the future.

Moreover, today was Undocugraduation, a symbolic graduation and lobbying day for high-school and college aged undocumented and DACA-receiving students. Currently in North Carolina, undocumented students are not given in-state tuition and are not eligible for many scholarships. Consequently, a college education is out of reach for even the brightest and most qualified of these minds. Passionate about the inequities present in our higher education system (which directly affect them), these students meet with representatives from their counties to advocate for a level playing field.

I arrived at 9 a.m. to assist in the ceremony set-up and material distribution. I was joined by about fifty other students, most Latinx, as the festivities began. I engaged in a wonderful conversation with a girl who’d just graduated high school and received a full scholarship to Guilford College. She–just like all of the other undocumented individuals I had the privilege of meeting–was compassionate, incredibly intelligent, and driven. She was similar to me in many aspects, and so I found myself pondering my situation as it compared to hers. I am far removed from the trials and tribulations of immigration; she is not. I am eligible for in-state tuition and any necessary financial aid; she is not. I have been raised by English-speaking parents in a well-resourced household; she has not. But I also found that we both want to study political science in college. We both have an artistic flair. We are both family-driven and down to earth. And, of course, the undeniable truth: we are both HUMAN.

Following the setting-up session, the students convened to discuss lobbying tactics with the legislators. The lobbying consisted of four roles: an introduction, statistics, a personalized story from an undocumented immigrant, and a hard ask to support tuition equity. We’d each split into groups based upon our own residential counties and lobby for the legislators representing that respective county. I teamed up with a group from Alamance County and undertook the role of the statistician/facts-teller/whatever you want to call it.

I’ll be honest–lobbying was frustrating. We didn’t meet with any legislators because the caucus was in session, but we had the chance to converse with a few LAs. The LAs were polite but not receptive to our words; they circumvented our questions, and occasionally motioned for us to leave. As a documented, privileged person, I was outraged by this behavior. I cannot even begin to imagine what my undocumented peers must have felt.

After the lobbying session had concluded, we debriefed and proceeded into the graduation festivities. I was inspired by the caps of the graduates–many were adorned with beautiful slogans–and the graduates in general. The ceremony was fairly brief; the “graduate” (some weren’t actually graduation) would state their college and/or high school and the major they’d chosen to study. After each individual spoke into the mic, the room cheered. These people were from all different areas of North Carolina, but they were a big, supportive family.

The graduation also consisted of a few speakers sharing their stories of their lives and struggles with education. One story implanted itself in my mind because of its raw honesty and vulnerability. Writing it in this blog will not do it justice, but I’ll try.

A girl rose to the mic and began to talk. She said that this current system, the one that pits immigrants against each other for a select amount of scholarships, is unfair and immoral. She said that she had applied for the Golden Door scholarship for undocumented students last year, which would guarantee a college education, was declared a finalist but ultimately denied. She related the story of her heartbreak and her desire to drop everything–all of her hard work–and give up. Luckily, her high school had a “13th grade” program, in which those wanting to pursue a college education but not given this opportunity were able to gain a college degree and credits. This student poured her heart and soul into this program. And this year, she was granted the Golden Roads scholarship. The student described her mom’s beautiful and supportive and emotional reaction when her mother learned of this honor. She will attend Meredith College on a full ride this fall.

My imperfect writing and limited vocabulary cannot recreate the invaluable amazing experience and knowledge I gained today. I hope, if anything, we’ve instilled one message into the minds of others:

When immigrant rights are under attack, what do we do? Stand up, fight back!

I did not have to arrive at the General Assembly until the late morning, as the earlier hours were lacking with legislative activity. When I entered the building, I found Sarah in the 1100 court, where she was waiting to meet with Senator Dan Blue, the Democratic minority leader, about cash bail reform. Various other lobbying organizations were in his office–including a college political group and black sorority–but we were not waiting for long. We were soon seated across from Senator Blue as Sarah explained the specifics of cash bail. Senator Blue is definitely on par with the ACLU about this issue and will be a champion in the weeks to come.

Following the meeting, I wandered around downtown Raleigh and met my friend for lunch. We enjoyed a quick meal of Happy and Hale (I ordered a wonderful smoothie and a vegan, gluten free brownie) and then I headed back to the legislative office building to debrief a bill concerning abuse in prisons that had been introduced in the general assembly. The ACLU found this bill problematic because it further criminalizes those with mental illness and does not respect personal bodily autonomy. The ACLU had partnered with other reform groups from across different political ideologies, which was interesting to witness, especially in this divided political climate. Overall, it was another enlightening and relaxing day!

I arrived at the General Assembly at 9 a.m. and met Jess in the 1100 court–our usual spot. I worked on my tasks for the student webinar until Susanna joined as at 9:30, when we headed into the judiciary committee public meeting room. The committee meeting was hard to hear, as I was sitting in the back of the giant space. I discerned that the senators were discussing the Rape Evidence Toolkit Bill, an adoption Bill, and a bill about barbers (apparently electrolysis is a big deal when you’re a barber). I left about forty-five minutes through the meeting and walked to the press conference for Senator Pittman, who has introduced a bill to arm teachers. My Why Wake Walks peers had advocated for my attendance to oppose this new bill. Luckily, the crowd in support was small (95% were old white men, I might add) and the bill was so controversial that the General Assembly refused to prioritize. I listened with pursed lips as Paul Valone from Grassroots NC (directly quoted in an N&O article opposing the Why Wake Walks agenda and vowing to “kill any bill proposed”) stated all of the reasons why willing teachers should be armed. Each man argued the right for a student to be able to defend his/her students in the case of a shooting, and all prefaced the shooting with a “when”–not an “if.” These men were smart and educated enough to know that there will be another shooting, but unable to recognize the fact that a gun in the hands of a school shooter is what causes a school shooting. Not a novel concept, but ungraspable for these individuals. Nevertheless, the press conference was informative. It was so interesting to be in a room with numerous people who share view points that are the polar opposite of mine– I had been introduced to a new world.

Following the press conference, I attended the Fair Courts, Fair Votes Rally with Sarah and Molly. The rally was centered around a few new General Assembly bills introduced to redistrict Superior Courts for partisan advantage, as well as the probably upcoming Voter ID law that will disenfranchise many marginalized individuals.

In conclusion, today was both de-stressing and educational. I look forward to my two final days to come.

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.

I arrived at the office today at 9:00 a.m. sharp (well, more like 9:05 because I had to grab coffee…). Then, I headed to my office–yes, I have my own office–and promptly sat in the desk chair. I’m totally kidding about the office part, by the way; my “office” belongs to a staff member currently on vacation, but it’s cool to imagine that I am actually an ACLU-NC employee!

I spent the next twenty minutes or so sorting through my previous notes and chatting with Sarah and Susanna. At around 9:30, we entered the conference room for an informal Friday campaign and policy meeting. At the meeting, the  conference participants and I discussed our weekly activities, strategies, and new knowledge. We began with a conversation about the new budget bill recently passed by the General Assembly. Unfortunately, although the Raise the Age bill, which changes the maximum age of an individual tried in the juvenile justice system from 15 to 17, will become law in November 2019,  hardly any money in this budget will be used to abet this process.

I got to learn about how the ACLU organizes information for conducting public information and other campaigns, and that was really impressive.

I was pretty hungry from all the discussing/toggling with the web, so I grabbed a nice smoothie from Smoothie King (I didn’t really know what I was doing, so the process took way longer than expected..) and sat back down at my desk. Sarah then proceeded to instruct Jessica and me on what to look for when we visit the Wake County Superior Court on Monday. We were told that each case takes about two minutes–enough time for the defendant to be charged and presented with a set amount of bail. The cases we’ll be viewing are higher level crimes, and most of those accused are not aware of the proper court proceedings and do not have an attorney. Thus, the heavy subject material.

In total, I learned a multitude of information today. Mostly that I can’t consider myself a staff member until I have my own office and learn to take less than an hour on a trip to Smoothie King. But in all seriousness, I’ve had an amazing time this week. I cannot wait to see what Monday will bring.

 

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.

 

 

 

 

Today involved a multitude of reading, walking/wading through the heat and humidity of downtown Raleigh, and meeting different members of the ACLU’s staff.

When I arrived at the site, I immediately headed to the Legislative Office Building. The usual parking lot was full, so I managed to find a spot about ten blocks away; let’s just say that I didn’t exactly look my best when I finally arrived inside the building. Nonetheless, I found Susanna, a member of the ACLUs staff team, and shadowed her as she scheduled meetings with legislators about a proposed election bill. The ACLU has two problems with this bill:

• It promotes greater use of photo ID
• It will provide a precedent for a highly possible future amendment that will enshrine the photo ID requirement in the North Carolina constitution.

The words “Photo ID” have a positive connotation. Most everyone has a photo ID. It’s common sense, right? Well, unfortunately, minorities and those with an incredibly low socioeconomic status (often minorities) do not own a photo ID. This amendment and bill discreetly disenfranchise marginalized groups of people through vague and obtuse language.

After learning about the nuances of this proposed legislation, Susanna and I separated. She had to see her daughter Lily’s (!!) dance recital, and I headed to lunch. I grabbed a smoothie at Raleigh Raw (overpriced hippie food, but I like to identify as a wannabe-hipster) and drove to the ACLU’s office. There, Sarah assigned me some reading about the next item on the ACLU’s agenda–cash bail reform. To say I was educated would be an understatement. My eyes were pried open with pliers in the most metaphorical way possible.

To put it simply, in my opinion, the for-profit bail system is disgusting. I’ll dive into the details. For-profit bail contributes to what liberals call “mass incarceration” and what conservatives call “over-criminalization.” Basically, it puts way too many people in jail and prison. Cash bail is the system in which a person convicted of a crime has two options: to pay bail or to be jailed. To be or not to be. The idea of bail is to ensure that individuals show up for their court hearings, but a simple text message system has been proven more effective.

Unfortunately, the bail system in place effectively criminalizes those who cannot pay (often blacks and other minorities). They are forced to live in jail–and after two days in jail, one is at risk of losing his/her car, job, child custody, and home. And 70% of those in jail–the definition of jail excluding long-term sentences and prison facilities–have NOT been convicted of a crime. That’s 450,000 people. As a result, many innocent individuals are forced to plead guilty as an alternative to being locked up for an indefinite amount of time. It’s common for those proven innocent to pay bail or bonds in installments for YEARS after their court hearings and have major debt as a result.

Additionally, bond agents use their positions of power to exploit the most vulnerable. Currently, 80 licensed bond agents in North Carolina have been convicted of using their positions to commit crimes–including but not limited to sexual assault and coercion, violence and drug trafficking.

I’m not sure exactly how to transition from a subject as weighty as cash bail, but I’ll try. After I finished my readings, Sarah gave me a tour of the office. I met so many amazing lawyers, communications managers, and interns. It was awe-inspiring to be around such an accomplished population density.

Sarah also updated me on the ACLU’s new campaign strategy to counter the for-profit bail industry. Ambitious, yes. Doable, also yes.

Prisons are economically inefficient and inequitable. The economic side drives fiscal conservatives to invest in reform, and “equity” pretty much drives anything liberal. Not to stereotype.

To summarize, today was incredibly powerful. Definitely a wonderful second adventure.

 

My first day of my Work Experience was a whirlwind. I embarked upon my journey at 8:55 a.m., when I shifted my car gears into drive and began blasting Kendrick (side-note: his concert was amazing) through my mediocre sound system. I arrived at the general assembly building with a couple of minutes to spare: I had allotted myself enough time to wade through the security line and head to the lobby, where I met Sarah Gillooly, the ACLU’s Director of Political Strategy and Advocacy. She was in quite a hurry–the state’s budget bill had been released the previous night and she was working on the release of a memo explaining its specifics. Unfortunately, I learned, the budget bill had been forced through the democratic processes using a loophole which allowed the combination of two separate bills in order to avoid discussion and expedite its passage.

Sarah led me to the appropriations committee room, and we listened to the testimony of the bill for a little under two hours. The sponsors of the bill discussed its different facets, including teacher pay, school safety, correctional facilities, and disaster relief. To be honest, most of the discussion was dry and the numbers went over my head. Nonetheless, I garnered a specific criticism about the bill: it allotted funds to SROs and teachers with arrest privileges as well as security equipment, but the word “gun” was not mentioned once. As someone who is quite passionate about gun reform, this was angering but not at all surprising. At least the arming of teachers had been scrapped.

We left the committee meeting at about 11:30 to eat lunch at the General Assembly Cafeteria (throwback my elementary school mother-daughter dates!). There, I met with another staff member of the ACLU, Susanna, and a younger intern. We discussed the following agenda, including the perinatal summit advocating for the rights of incarcerated women that I will be attending in Durham on Thursday. I learned that North Carolina has been harshly criticized for its allowance of shackling–chaining pregnant convicts to beds during labor–and that it is currently in the process of amending its policy (although I’d rather call the “policy” of shackling inhuman).

Following lunch, I followed Sarah around various offices in the General Assembly as she met with different legislators and legislative assistants.

My day pretty much ended at 1:30, because I had been invited to speak at a rally on Bicentennial Mall for the Poor People’s Campaign for demilitarization, gun reform, social justice, and equity. But speaking was an amazing experience, so I might as well talk about it here anyway.

At around 2 pm, I approached the makeshift stage on Bicentennial Mall. I said hello to my colleague Ava Autry (we’re basically professionals) and proceeded to climb the steps of the platform. I was slotted to speak after Reverend William Barber (a tough act to follow). I stood onstage as he presented his speech– wonderful, passionate, and enthralling—and then it was my turn to talk. I highlighted the absence of the word “gun” in the budget bill (applied learning!) and elaborated on studies detailing the importance of gun reform. Afterward, Reverend Barber expressed his pride in my speaking abilities and invited me to march with him back toward the general assembly building.

I took him up on the offer and we walked side-by-side. The experience still seems surreal–I mean, the great Reverend William Barber and the student, Lily Levin, marching next to each other? Who would have thought! Anyways, we marched into a building next to the general assembly building, where the budget bill appropriations committee was STILL being held. I realized that it was about 3:20, and I needed to leave to embark on my next adventure–swim practice–so I bid the other protesters goodbye, gave Reverend Barber a fist-bump, and left the premises. After I left, I learned that 12 protesters were arrested for purposeful trespassing. I wouldn’t trespass, but I’m glad I wasn’t arrested! That wouldn’t be in the Charger spirit.

All in all, what a day. Definitely not what I was expecting, but that’s life! Unexpected. I’m glad I had this adventure.