This is a guest post from my friend Dr. Laurie Schaffner. Laurie is a professor of Sociology with appointments in the gender and women studies program as well as the criminal justice program at the University of Illinois at Chicago. Laurie is the author of the excellent book “Girls in Trouble with the Law” and many other publications. She also serves as an adviser and ally to Girl Talk.

I thank Laurie for sharing her notes with Prison Culture.
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Since 2007, I have been spending time with folks involved in the juvenile legal system and the broader youth advocacy movement in Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico. In 2006, the state congress of Jalisco passed a new reform law. The idea of the change was to move from a paternalistic tutelage approach to infusing the system with a more transnational children’s rights perspective. At that time, I was curious to see how this new approach would come about. Interestingly, but not unpredictably, it was not working smoothly for either the traditionalists working with youth who were convinced that young people who commit crimes should be punished and rehabilitated, or us youth advocates who were persuaded that the legal system should not be utilized at all when addressing the social problem of vulnerable youth in crisis.

Thanks to William Schaffner and Memo Konrad for giving me good suggestions. May Betty Foster rest in peace, and a big huge welcome to Aleeya in the family!

* * *
21 enero 2008 01 Ninas en conflicto con la ley El Tutelar
1600 hours to 2200 hours

Image 1. My co-investigadora

Youth advocate and co-investigator Maria de Socorro de la Mora Carnalla

Coco and I went to meet the Director of the short-term detention facility for youth located in Guadalajara, known as el Tutelar. At that time, it was Licenciado Sergio Saavedra Medina, Director of the Tutelar, (according to his tarjeta: Director del Centro de Observacion, Clasificacion, y Diagnostico del Estado), which is actually (since the law changed) the Diagnostic Center.

Image 2. The exact name and address of el Tutelar

We decided our primary mission for this visit was multiple, but not exhaustive:
• To figure out where it was and what it was
• To introduce ourselves
• To get some basic information, such as, how many girls are there, and for how long?
• To find out what programs they are offered
• To figure out how we could participate in what is ongoing.

Coco and I met in Juarez Park in central Guadalajara to take a bus to the Tutelar (Ruta 633) /// which I realize stops like two blocks from my house///

We were both dressed a little more formally than for street outreach work with youth and it took like an hour to get there. Actually it didn’t really get there, it dropped us off and we had to walk about six long blocks before we found it.

The Tutelar is a huge multi city-block facility, walled off by one chain-link fence topped with shiny new barbed wire, the kind with little knives in it ///find out later it is called razor wire/// at the street level. About ten feet in from that first fence is another brick wall topped with barbed wire as well. Like most penal structures, it looks as if you couldn’t escape without inside assistance.

Image 3. A sign on the perimeter of el Tutelar

Also similar to detention centers world-wide, el Tutelar is set apart from residential and commercial activity on purpose—juvenile delinquents, out of sight-out of mind. There is a huge sort of warehouse, parking, storage space for ///el ayuntamiento? /// bordering on one side (Calle Puerto Guaymas) and what I thought was Periferico Sur on another. We didn’t circle the entire structure because it was so large, the street was all torn up, and we didn’t really have time.

That was because, although we arrived on time at 1600 hours for our appt, the Director had been “called away on an emergency.” The clerk called him up and told him we were there and then she said he was “on his way and would arrive in approximately one half hour.”

///which didn’t make sense—if he’d been called away on an emergency, wouldn’t he just not have been available?///

We decided to walk around the perimeter during the wait, but the Tutelar is too large to circumambulate ///circumnavigate?/// in one half hour.

Before we departed, we photographed the wall of announcements in the “lobby,” especially one obviously (?) made by a youth warning other “sexually active youth” to get tested for AIDS (see photos).

Image 4. Rules for entering the detention center.

Hard to read, but the list of rules for what you can and cannot bring into the juvenile facility includes don’t bring in chewing gum, candy, weapons, pornography, alcoholic beverages, glass containers, sharp items; don’t wear platform shoes, (for men: earrings in any part of your body; for girls and women only: don’t wear earrings anywhere but in your earlobes, skintight clothing, shorts, miniskirts,) “ropa sport cholo;” however, you can bring in toilet paper.

Image 5. More rules for entering el Tutelar

These images, obviously not taken by a professional photographer (taken by me, actually) are difficult to read in this reproduction. More rules here include orders to present yourself sober and not under the influence of any mind-altering substances, with appropriate clothing, identification, and proof or your relationship to the minor in detention. The other rules are bureaucratic in nature: secure proper permission for the visit, your papers must have the proper seals and stamps in ink, and the like.

Image 6. Sign made by youth in lobby of el Tutelar

I liked this sign because it looked like maybe the youth made it.

First of all, of course, you have to speak to an armed guard, give him your paperwork, and (hopefully) get “buzzed in. Hopefully, because any visitor can be refused entry at any time for any arbitrary reason, unless you have a written order from your boss’ boss.

A small room, maybe 8 feet by 10 feet, the lobby at the Tutelar Is equipped with a huge Coca Cola machine, a bulletin board, and 4 chairs. As we were waiting initially, a group of people ///a family?///came walking in.

One man seemed about 50 years old and had long black curly hair, old ill-fitting jeans, and a kind of starter jacket—old, turquoise and black parachute silk material. I sort of thought he seemed like a Mexican hippy from back in the day. Of the four persons, he carried himself as the most entitled, not hunched, tentative, or humble. He spoke last, double-checking information in a clear voice. The woman/mother of the detainee spoke first, “Disculpe, podemos traer una cobija para //nuestro hijo///couldn’t hear exactly how she said it///

The mother appeared as a 30-ish senora with slacks, sweater, nothing matching, working class or poor, black ponytail. Her daughter //detainee’s girlfriend?// was dressed straight from the Saturday Calle Javier Mina tianguis—skintight jeans, large sneakers, babydoll t-shirt, après-ski jacket (baby doll, fake down, furry-lined hood), hair in ponytail, black eye-makeup. The third person was an older man, maybe grandfather. Several questions and answers were exchanged, something like this:

MOTHER: Podemos traer cobija aqui para el detinido? Podemos traer ropa tambien?

CLERK: Les dan cobijas y comida. Puede traer ropa, pero no mezclilla, color negro, azul, ///I can’t remember what other colors exactly, but there were definite colors not permitted//

DAUGHTER: Ah, yo se, tenemos aquellos pantalones cafes podemos llevarle.
HIPPY/OLD SCHOOL MAN (FATHER?): Hasta que horas estan abiertos? Cuando abren? Todos los dias? Aqui dejamos la ropa?

///I was thinking, how pathetic and unfair—they worry about bringing blankets, clothes, and food to their detained children. Probably the young person told them during visiting hours, “It’s FREEZING in here at night and I haven’t changed my socks in two weeks.” He probably told them he’s hungry all the time. Then I was remembering when Raul stabbed Aunt Margaret in Cuernavaca in 1976, how we had to bring sheets, blankets, nightgown, and food to her in the Red Cross. Same deal with Daddy in the carcel in Guatemala City///

El Lic. shows up and invites us into his office and begins to inform us of who he is and what happens here in el Tutelar.

This is a Centro Diagnostico, not a long-term facility, so the youth stay “only” 90 days while they are “diagnosed” and it is decided where they should go (home? La Granja ? (which is the long term facility).

The Tutelar, as it is still called, has 288 beds. The youth residents’ areas are formed into what everybody called modulars. Each of the 8 modulars has its dormitorio with 36 beds, bathrooms, cocina y sala; and, apparently, their DVD and television. Module 2 is for girls, Modules 3-4 are for “internos adolescentes libres—6 meses” which are youth that can come and go somehow. Modules 5-9 are for boys.

At that time, there were five girls assigned to this Centro Diagnostico, but one was away in the hospital porque ella dio luz. She will return with her baby. There were a total of 151 boys at the time of this visit (but the numbers changed throughout the interview—more about that later).

We asked, “Where are all the girls at? There are only five girls in the Guadalajara area in detention?” We were informed that “all the girls are at La Granja.”

El director emphasized that all youth can meet with the Director (himself) at any time. He seemed proud or wanted to have it be known that “his door is always open” ///which of course made me immediately think that he never allows anyone in there///

Next, we were told that there is a chronograma de actividades that includes obras de teatro, futbol, actividades de artes and culturales, and deportivas

I remember (we were both writing fast and furious during the interview) he ran down this daily schedule that was like, get up, bathe, make beds, have breakfast, go to school, recreation, can bathe again, TV, dinner, groups, sleep.

///As soon as he said that the youth can bathe twice a day, I thought to myself, “This guy has no idea what he’s talking about or what goes on here”///

We are told that the groups that come in regularly include Alcoholics Anonymous and religious visitors.

The youth are separated by various classifications that include edad, sexo, aptitudes, actitudes, y antecedentes.

Each youth has a team assigned to him/her: psychology, social work, teacher, and a preceptor tecnico who accompanies, orients, and guides the young person through the system experience.

They all have access to doctors—medical, psychological, and psychiatric.

He said that 90 percent of the youth are here for “el robo.”

Sounds great! ///NOT/// He made it seem like a pretty nice place with great people.

Image 7. Workers taking a break

Then he said there was no way we could get a tour of the residents’ units/modulars, observe a program, or meet with any staff.

* * *
8 May 2008
After meeting with his boss’ boss, we return for the royal treatment with a complete tour and access to every inch of the Tutelar at our disposal. Here are abridged notes from that first day on the inside.

It is HOT! A sweltering, go anywhere you can find air conditioning or be in a pool kind of day, the luxuries very few Tapatios can actually enjoy. Trying to beat the heat, we show up at about 0800 hrs.

We are directed to another person, a woman, Director of a Sub-division, Facilities Management. She graciously takes us through the process of leaving all our bags, going through security alarm systems guarded by people with guns (which also included being in a private room with a woman guard who “pats you down”) and sort of opens to another door which deposits you at the beginning of a long walkway leading to the modulars and other buildings.

We asked to see the school, so we began there. The school consisted of about three cinder-block structures, approximately 15 feet by 20 feet each, with open air “windows” built into the brick walls.

A) it was HOT! The schoolrooms felt like kilns inside.
B) There was nothing but some chairs and tables, a few (broken down?) old computers, a library that consisted of about 20 books and a primary school curriculum
C) There were no youth anywhere in any classroom

///I believe the Mexican Constitution requires free mandatory public education for all Mexican citizens—check this////

The “teacher” seemed like a sweet little old lady, she explained that they had no books or curriculum, that the majority of boys could not yet read, most of the boys “just slept in and played futbol or went to job training,” and she was about to retire.

We move on to see the main kitchen where the meal are prepared, we tour the workshop areas where boys are learning to repair things—old broken down stoves, bicycles, refrigerators ///there was actually a whole room full of broken shit for them to learn on/// met with the social work department, the medical center, the legal department, the counseling department, and much more. …

We have pages of notes detailing this ethnographic and interview data, but for this short entry I wanted to share one particular observation that has haunted me for years.

As we are walking through the modular living units, I ask, “What about the gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, transitioning youth? What policies and procedures do you have in place to guarantee their rights and freedoms?” ///We had already requested a copy of the Policy and Procedures Manual///of course, one was never produced for us.

We were informed that there were no homosexuals here and that that kind of behavior was not permitted.

We continued our tour of the living spaces and began our tour of the medical facilities. We met one young man laying in a bed with a stomach ache, and another in a chair in the hall with a headache. We go through one room and into the next room that has six beds, six boys, all decorated with flowery blankets, lots of stuffed animals and clothes of shiny or flowery fabric strewn about, and a TV blaring. Six young boys look up at us in surprise and curiosity—all wearing make-up, skirts, dresses, doing each other’s hair, looking quite comfortable, actually. Relaxed, talking, comraderie, laughter were my first impressions.

I think I was as astonished as they were. I know our tour guide was taking aback, I think she forgot that they were here. All I could think was, “How could you tell us in one breath that there are no sexual subordinate groups here and then walk us through this module?” Then, of course, I realized they were housed in the medical modular and became worried for their emotional and psychological well-being.

Pues, ni modo, the tour continued on, and as all good research goes, one is left with more questions than which they began…

Image of a youth protester at a rally in Guadaljara

Addendum: I initially only published a part of this poem. So sorry about that. I was in the midst of my sporadic posting at the time. Here is the whole poem.

My name is James Shields. I was born in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, November 7, 1945, came to Massachusetts at the age of twelve. I settled in the Roxbury section with my mother, three sisters, and three brothers. I attended various schools in Roxbury.

I left school to acquire a job to support myself because my mother was unable to get things I desired, so I became a dropout. But soon I learned that I would need more than ambition and strong desire to work. I was in desperate need of more education in order to live a life of comfort as well as pleasure.

I became interested in writing because I saw a field through which I could present my ideas so that those who may be at the point that I was when I made the wrong decision in my life-style may become conscious through my written thoughts.

I believe the thoughts of the “new-breed writers” will increase the positive productivity of our public, moving them progressively forward. I say: We all as people have something to say. Let’s open the ears of our minds, because the liberation of our souls comes from knowledge we intake through the ears of our minds…On!

Time Was Spent
By James Shields

Time was spent wondering what the outcome of the trial would be,
and if in this court of the humane society,
can there be justice for me?

Time was spent in a cell with rats and roaches, with cracks in the wall.
In my face at night, the loose paint from the ceiling,
in my face it would fall.

Time was spent talking to brothers who had been kidnapped from society
to pay an unjustified penalty;
brothers who had fought hard in the war –
not for capitalistic gain,
but for what they believed to be their country.

Time was spent writing letters to people across the country
to aid me in this bid for freedom from this iron hell.
But aid came to me not, turning my mind into a piece of steel,
my blood into lead, my heart hollow with hate deeper
than a well.

Time was spent watching my brothers chained together,
sometimes ten in a straight line,
with looks of depression on their faces…
and hopelessness took over their minds.

Time was spent witnessing the funky judge’s giving out
to my brothers ridiculous time,
and watching them pimping lawyers
crossing them out of every dime.

Time was spent cursing loud, cursing hot, cursing strong and cursing heavy,
my blood filled with hate.
I never knew that I was a part of an inhuman practice;
I regret my vision came late.

Time was spent watching black women being left menless,
black mothers being left sonless,
black children being left fatherless,
time after time after time.

Time was spent trying to keep my family together,
while being behind a wall;
but they too were prisoners —
we were only experiencing different faiths, that’s all.

Time was spent stressing the importance of unity to my black woman in this situation of involuntary exile,
hoping she would not choose before I had a chance to
orient her on how to accept my new life-style.

Time was spent with my body hard nights, and extending into the mornings,
paining with ungratified passions
then comes the sound of the keys turning in my brain,
where my freedom AWAITS.

Yes, time was spent.

Kanye West and Jay Z released their new collaborative music project this week. I downloaded the CD from itunes and I won’t offer my review because I don’t really think it matters. However, I did find one track titled “Murder to Excellence” particularly noteworthy. The song addresses “black-on-black crime” specifically murder and also makes reference to police brutality by focusing on the case of Danroy Henry.

As someone who laments the fact that mainstream rappers tend to avoid consequential topics like the prison industrial complex, structural racism, and sexism, I really should be happy that “Murder to Excellence” exists. Yet I instead find myself profoundly unsatisfied and even slightly depressed. Here’s one verse by Kanye that references Chicago’s homicide rate:

And I’m from the murder capital where they murder for capital
Heard about at least three killings this afternoon
Looking at the news like “damn! I was just with him after school”
No shop class but half the school got a tool
And “I could die any day”-type attitude
Plus his little brother got shot repping his avenue
It’s time for us to stop and redefine black power
41 souls murdered in fifty hours

Do you know what came to mind when I heard these lyrics? I thought this is “Self-Destruction” circa 1989 except immeasurably less conscious or sincere. For those of you who remember when that song was released in the late 1980s, we were two years away from the New Jack City era and the rappers involved in creating and releasing that track had the good judgement to call themselves the “Stop the Violence Movement.” We at least had a sense then that there was a community of like-minded people who were lending their voices and energy to the effort to curb community violence. No one really believed that a song would “stop the violence” but it did offer a rallying moment.

Here’s another Kanye verse from “Murder to Excellence:”

Is it genocide? Cause I can still hear his mama cry
Know the family traumatized, shots left holes in his face about piranha-sized
The old pastor closed the cold casket
And said the church ain’t got enough room for all the tombs
It’s a war going on outside we ain’t safe from
I feel the pain in my city wherever I go
314 soldiers died in Iraq, 509 died in Chicago

This verse provides a description of the violence that some communities in Chicago experience. I appreciate that it’s not Kanye or Jay Z’s role to necessarily offer any solutions or deep insights into the root causes of this interpersonal violence. I really do get that. This should ideally be a role that social scientists fill. Yet we have a stunning lack of public intellectuals in our culture who can translate academic research for the general public. So I find myself actively longing for others to step into this void. I wish that rappers could move beyond description and offer more analysis. This is desperately needed and could serve as an invaluable form of popular education. I know that it is unfair of me to ask rappers to do this when people with PhDs can’t.

Coincidentally, this week is also the premiere here in Chicago of a new critically-acclaimed documentary by Steve James called “The Interrupters. I have previewed clips from the film here over the past few months. I saw an unfinished cut of the film back in December when it was over 3 hours long. I then spent a day with other community organizers and activists providing feedback to the director James and the producer Alex Kotlowitz.

The documentary follows three violence interrupters from a local Chicago organization called Cease Fire as they try to prevent shootings in communities across the city [note: I have several critiques of the Cease Fire model which I will not address here today]. It is a film that asks how we can dramatically reduce homicides in American inner cities. The film is engrossing primarily because of the stories that it tells about both the interrupters (who are amazing people) and about the people who they try to engage. It also allows you to act as a fly on the wall observing (from a safe distance) parts of Chicago that most people ignore. The film is getting terrific reviews and as a work of art these are well-deserved. However, I have to admit that as someone who works daily to uproot violence, the film falls short for me. And you know what? There is nothing that the filmmakers could have done to change that. They were making a film about public interpersonal violence and in this they did a masterful job. The film that I want to see though is one about structural oppression and the role that the state plays as the chief purveyor of violence in our country and beyond. You can see then why the Interrupters could never truly satisfy me.

I am the wrong audience for both the film and the song because I want them both to do what they were not intended to do. Neither deeply examines and foregrounds the root causes of violence. And frankly, it is too much to expect that they could. It isn’t necessarily the role of artists to provide analysis or to engage the larger contexts within which their art lives. But again, I feel that our times need this context and this analysis desperately if we are to uproot oppression and create a “just” society. We need some films and songs about how we will “interrupt” structural oppression.

Earlier this year, in January, I wrote a post about my frustrations with respect to our endless “national conversations” about violence. I titled it “Everybody wants me to talk about violence but no one wants to hear what I have to say.” In that post, I suggested:

Yet what is always missed in the countless “national conversations” and recriminations that take place after such tragedies are perspective and honesty. The root cause of violence in the U.S. and across the world is oppression. Frederick Douglass famously wrote:

Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where one class is made to feel that society is organized in a conspiracy to oppress, rob, and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe.

There it is. In one sentence. Clearly articulated. Eloquent. Easy to understand. And yet we ignore the truth and the wisdom of these words every day. We do so because it is easier to focus on quick fixes and band-aid solutions that will not disrupt the status quo and will not challenge the powerful. It is a sick game of willful ignorance.

If 50 youth under the age of 18 years old are killed by gun violence a year in Chicago, what about the 30% of youth under 18 who are living under the poverty line this year. Is poverty not violence?

What about the over 2200 youth in Illinois who are currently incarcerated in our juvenile prisons. Is youth incarceration not violence?

What about the thousands of youth in Chicago who drop out of school every year. Is educational malpractice not violence?

As London burns and people struggle to understand the reasons for this rebellion, I think that more than ever we need analysis and context in our discussions about violence. I worry though that both will continue to elude us.

Note: Here is an interesting take on understanding the roots of the London rioting by Casey Rain.

For years, I used to dream of killing my rapist. My anger threatened to consume everything. When friends and family would try to offer comfort by imploring me to “forgive,” I became so enraged that I would cut them out of my life for days, weeks, months.

Yesterday was international forgiveness day so I wanted to write a post about the concept of “forgiveness” but I find that I am stuck. I am mainly stuck because I am reluctant to share my own personal journey in learning to forgive someone who did me great harm while I was still a teenager.

I have spent the past 25 years thinking about “forgiveness” in one form or another. My journey to “forgiveness” was a long hard slog. Looking back now, it is clear to me that my obstacle to forgiveness was that my perpetrator never offered an apology or acknowledgement of the harm that he caused. I wanted my suffering to be recognized. I wanted an apology. I never got one.

Apologies, sincere ones, are underrated. True apologies are acts of courage and humility because they put the person who is offering the apology at great risk. The person who apologizes must do so without knowing whether it will be accepted. In our society, he/she also risks being “punished” if they acknowledge that they have done something wrong or caused harm.

I have spent all of the years since my assault thinking about how we can condemn harm and seek accountability while caring for the person who caused it. This is important to me because we will never ever “bring to justice” every person who does harm in our society. It is impossible. Relying on the criminal legal system to provide “justice” or repair harm is a fool’s errand. We cannot under any system “prosecute” every perpetrator. Yet many survivors and victims become obsessed with seeking “accountability” through a system that simply cannot provide it.

What getting to forgiveness provided me was a way to release my pain. It offered a process through which I could acknowledge what happened to me without remaining trapped in the anger and hurt of the assault. Martin Luther King said: “We must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive. He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love.” That quote really resonated for me. While I was plotting my revenge, I had closed off my heart. I could only feel anger, fear, and deep debilitating sadness. I could not give or receive love. I was slowly killing my self. Quite literally, I had to forgive to save my self. It was a profoundly selfish act. It has been written that “to forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.” This was certainly the case in my life.

I have such compassion for people who have been harmed. It has become the singular purpose of my life to ensure that we find more humane and effective ways to provide true accountability for harm. I’ll end this post with some words that I found a few years ago. They have held up quite well over time. I hope that someone who is reading this today will find some solace in them:

“In a way, forgiving is only for the brave. It is for those people who are willing to confront their pain, accept themselves as permanently changed, and make difficult choices. Countless individuals are satisfied to go on resenting and hating people who wrong them. They stew in their own inner poisons and even contaminate those around them. Forgivers, on the other hand, are not content to be stuck in a quagmire. They reject the possibility that the rest of their lives will be determined by the unjust and injurious acts of another person.” – Gordon Dalbey – Letter to the Editor, The Christian Century (November 20-7, 1991)

Happy belated international forgiveness day to everyone!

A big part of what keeps me posting on a regular basis is the feedback that I get from readers. I also love it when I get questions that make me think or lead me to do more research. A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post about corporal punishment and torture in early U.S. penitentiaries. It got a very big response judging from the number of views that it has amassed so far. I’m not sure why so many people seem interested in this aspect of prisons and frankly I do not want to think too deeply about it. I hope it is because people are deeply disturbed by these images and ideas. I want this to be true.

Anyway, a reader asked if I had any examples of the media of the time (19th century) inveighing against prison torture practices. In fact, I do. I have an original article from Harper’s Weekly dated December 18, 1858 titled “Torture and Homicide in an American State Prison.” I purchased the original article as a collector’s item mainly because of the illustrations that are included. I dug it out of storage earlier this week and will quote some of it below to illustrate how some media outlets covered prison torture in the 19th and early 20th centuries:

“We now present a far more fearful picture of the mismanagement of our public institutions for the confinement and correction of criminals. On 2nd inst. a convict named More, imprisoned in the State Prison at Auburn, was showered to death by prison officials. The circumstances of the case are simply as follows:

The convict, More, was a negro. He is certified to have been a man of naturally pleasant temper, but violent when crossed. On 1st inst. he was said to have been in a bad humor; he was seen, or is said to have been seen, to sharpen a knife, and to mutter threats against someone; on the strength of which he was, on 2nd inst. seized by several keepers or deputy-keepers of the State Prison, and by them dragged toward the shower-bath. Like most negroes, he entertained a lively fear of cold. He knew that the water of the shower-bath would be very cold indeed; and, after vainly appealing to the feelings of his captors to release him, he broke away from them and fled — be it remarked — to the shop where he was in the habit of working. At the door of the shop a convict arrested him; a keeper and his assistants swiftly followed: he was dragged by main force, and after many violent struggles, to the shower-bath; all the water that was in the tank — amounting to from three to five barrels, the quantity is uncertain — was showered upon him in spite of his piteous cries; a few minutes after his release from the bath he fell prostrate, was carried to his cell, and died in five minutes.

It is the homicide which we this week illustrate. The use of the shower-bath as a means of coercing criminals into submission to the orders of prison authorities began to be general about the year 1845. In that year a convict at the Auburn State Prison was whipped by order of competent authority, and died under the lash. The public indignation which was aroused by the event led to the abolition of whipping as a punishment in the prisons of the State of New York. It was preserved in other States, as, for instance, in Connecticut, in which State Prison wardens are authorized to this day to administer stripes — not over ten in number — to refractory prisoners. But in New York the cat was disused, and the shower-bath reigned in its stead.”

The article goes on for several pages to describe how the shower-bath works and to underscore several other forms of punishment that prisoners are subjected to at Auburn Prison. The expose also relies on research by leading experts about the physical and psychological effects of being subjected to the shower-bath. The article is definitely of its time as it distinguishes between whites who are believed to better be able to withstand the torture of the shower-bath and blacks who are seen as constitutionally unable to endure the practice. If you are interested in the history of American prisons, the article is worth reading and I am sure that it can be accessed through any library.

Below is an image of the shower-bath apparatus:

The article ends with these words:

“An inquest has been held on the body of the negro. Eight men composed the jury, six of whom are said to have been prison contractors. They refused to allow the prison physician to deliver his evidence, as he wished; and found the absurd verdict that the man’s death had been ‘hastened’ by the use of the shower-bath. It is clear that if any notice is to be taken of this poor convict’s death the District Attorney must move in the matter. It remains to be seen whether he will do so; or whether the civilization of the State of New York is to be disgraced by the torture and homicide, by State officials, of a poor convict in a State prison.”

The Chicago Taskforce on Violence against Girls and Young Women is thrilled to share with you the latest Occasional Paper, by C. Angel Torres and Naima Paz of the Young Women’s Empowerment Project! The paper looks at the organization’s Bad Encounter Line, which they describe like this:

The Bad Encounter Line (BEL) is a way to report bad experiences you have had with institutions such as police, the health care system, public aid, DCFS, CPS, etc. In our research we noticed so many girls and transgender girls reporting bad encounters from systems that are set in place to help them. So we wondered is the same happening to boys as well; so we expanded the BEL to reach them as well, and as we have been receiving data we have learned that these systems are affecting all genders. Based off the BEL, we started a task force for street based youth and wrote a Bill of Rights that we want non-profits to sign so they have to be accountable to us and can’t get away with denying us help.

The paper is available for downloading – along with the Bill of Rights that YWEP members developed – on the Taskforce website.

The Taskforce thanks the Young Women’s Empowerment Project for their powerful and important work, and for their willingness to share it with us through the Taskforce. Everyone is encouraged to read what the young people from YWEP have to say about this issue, why it matters, and how they are taking concrete steps to address it.

Stay tuned for the next two papers, to be released this fall, both featuring youth voices….. The first, by youth and adult allies at the CRIME Teens Project in Bronzeville, describes their approach to addressing bullying, cyberbullying and teen dating violence. The second, by youth leader Tiara Epps of Beyondmedia Education, will be in the form of a video diary, and will share her learnings from the Chain of Change project.

If you are interested in submitting an abstract for the Taskforce’s next round of Occasional Papers, please email [email protected].

This is a guest post from my good friend Chez Rumpf. Chez is a Ph.D. candidate in sociology whose work focuses on gender and the criminal legal system. Chez is a member of the Chicago PIC Teaching Collective. and a board member of the Chicago Freedom School.

I have been wanting to write about Casey Anthony. I have put off writing about this woman and the trial that captivated a large portion of the United States for a few reasons. First, I kept waiting for someone else to write about her. Let me clarify – I kept waiting for someone to write a feminist reaction to Anthony’s case and trial.

Throughout the sensationalized media coverage of the case, spearheaded by Nancy Grace and her “Tot Mom” moniker for Anthony, something just didn’t sit right with me. It was clear that Anthony was not only (or maybe even primarily) being judged for allegedly killing her daughter; rather, she was being judged for not fitting our conventional ideas of what motherhood looks like. She was too young, “hot,” unrepentant, tattooed, and interested in partying. Even without the murder and cover-up allegations, it was clear to the world that Casey Anthony was not a “good” mom. Yes, people pointed out legitimate concerns that seemed to implicate Anthony in her daughter’s death. But it was the picture of Anthony dancing in a nightclub in a too short dress that endlessly circulated on television and the Internet and acted as another damning piece of evidence against her.

When Anthony was found “not guilty” of the most severe charges the state brought against her (first-degree murder, aggravated child abuse, and aggravated manslaughter of a child), I eagerly awaited an outpouring of feminist analysis on what the verdict can tell us about society. With the exception of an insightful blog by Julie Moos at Poynter.org, I’m still waiting.

A second reason that I’ve put off writing about Anthony is that, frankly, I’m weary of the backlash that mentioning her name without condemning her in the next breath almost inevitably provokes. The Chicago PIC Teaching Collective, of which I’m a member, frequently grapples with the question: “What about the bad people?” Whenever we facilitate a PIC 101 workshop or talk about prison abolition, this question comes up. And by all means, if you believe the picture that the prosecution painted, Casey Anthony is one of the “bad people.” Part of why it is difficult to answer the “What about the bad people” question is because often it is intended to close off rather than open discussion. The question often is used to silence those of us who want to imagine a world without prisons.

My hesitation to write about Casey Anthony was a strong reminder of how powerful the PIC ideology is in our society. It often operates without notice. It shapes and limits our thinking. It closes off questioning. What is there to say about a young woman who allegedly murders her daughter, makes up stories for the police, and then dances on tables in nightclubs?

The PIC tells us that there is nothing to say. She is a monster. There are no questions to raise here. There is no understanding to seek. Convict and sentence her. Let’s keep the system chugging forward, no questions asked. As Nancy Grace told Jay Leno during a recent appearance on “The Tonight Show,” when she was a prosecutor she learned that “It doesn’t matter why. It matters who did this thing. That’s what I’ve got to prove.” This simplistic, narrow-minded thinking makes me cringe. The thought that such thinking is pervasive among prosecutors, judges, and other state agents overwhelms me.

In an effort to resist the PIC ideology, I’m forcing myself to write about Casey Anthony. I want to explore what Casey Anthony’s case can tell us about how embedded the PIC is in our society.

Tough on Crime = Tough on Mothers

One of the most telling aspects of the Casey Anthony case is the public reaction to the not-guilty verdict, issued on July 5^th. That same day, a petition was created on Change.org to demand that the President, House of Representatives, and Senate enact “Caylee’s Law” – federal legislation that would make it a felony for parents, guardians, or caretakers not to report a missing child to law enforcement within 24 hours of the child going missing. As of August 2^nd, 1,284,871 people had signed the petition.

As comments left by many of the petition’s signers make clear, the intent behind this proposed legislation is not to save children’s lives. People who are advocating for this law are angry that Casey Anthony is no longer incarcerated. The underlying thought process is if we couldn’t get Casey Anthony sentenced to death or incarcerated for life because she was found not guilty of the charges that would carry the severest sentences, then let’s create a law that would have allowed us to incarcerate her for a longer period. By extension, let’s create more laws that would provide more opportunities to lock up more people up for longer periods of time.

By Billy Dee

So, in the name of protecting children, Americans are rushing to enact tough on crime policies that would expand the ever-growing reach of the PIC. Importantly, these policies target women and mothers. While “parents,” “caretakers,” and “guardians” explicitly are gender-neutral terms, implicitly, they all refer to women. We know that women continue to do the vast majority of caretaking in this country. Given the persistence of traditional gender norms and the gendered division of caretaking, it is unavoidable that policies addressing caretakers are policies that address mothers.

“Caylee’s Law” is just the latest in a long line of legislation that criminalizes mothers in the name of protecting children.

The National Advocates for Pregnant Women documents how the War on Drugs targets pregnant women who have substance abuse problems. According to NAPW, “In the last twenty years, hundreds of pregnant women and new mothers have been arrested, based on the argument that a pregnant woman’s drug use is a form of abuse or neglect.” A 2003 article by Silja J.A. Talvi in The Nation tells the story of Regina McKnight, a young woman in South Carolina who was convicted of murder for a stillbirth. Although the state could not prove that McKnight’s use of cocaine while pregnant caused the stillbirth, the state prosecuted McKnight and won the case, resulting in a 12-year prison sentence. At the time the article was published, “Approximately 275 women nationwide [had] already faced charges relating to drug use during their pregnancies.”

From the Just Seeds Artists' Cooperative

As is characteristic of the U.S. criminal legal system, the state uses these child abuse and drug laws to target low-income women of color. In Shattered Bonds: The Color of Child Welfare, Dorothy Roberts explores how racial bias and discrimination systematically operate throughout the U.S. child welfare system. Roberts explains:

Part of the reason for the racial disparity in removal of drug-exposed newborns is that substance abuse by indigent Black women is more likely to be detected and reported than substance abuse by other women. The government’s main source of information about prenatal drug use is hospitals’ reporting of positive infant toxicologies to local child welfare authorities. This testing is performed almost exclusively by public hospitals that serve poor minority communities. Private physicians who treat more affluent women tend to refrain from testing their patients for drug use and certainly would be unlikely to turn them in to child protective services.

But racial discrimination – not just poverty – plays an independent role in decisions about drug-infected infants. Research confirms that, controlling for other variables, Black women are far more likely to be reported for prenatal substance abuse and to have their newborns placed in out-of-home care. A study of pregnant women in Pinellas County, Florida, published in the 1990 New England Journal of Medicine, found little difference in the prevalence of substance abuse along either racial or economic lines. Yet Black women were ten times more likely than whites to be reported to government authorities. A 1993 study of women whose newborns tested positive for cocaine in New York City hospitals discovered that Black women were 72 percent more likely than white women, and more than twice as likely as Latino women, to have their babies removed by child protective services. (P. 50-51)

We have seen how these so-called child protection laws not only fail to protect children from harm but perpetuate the racist reach of the state (i.e. the PIC and the child welfare system). Yet, much of the American public continues to push for more of this “feel-good” legislation – legislation that allows politicians to appear as if they care for the “deserving” vulnerable members of our society (that is, children) while winning election and re-election by supporting policies that prey on the “undeserving” vulnerable members of our society (that is, low-income people of color).

It’s time to speak out!
Feminists, anti-racists, and anti-violence activists cannot afford to remain silent on the Casey Anthony trial. Yes, it’s tempting to ignore the spectacle and write it off as nothing more than fodder for mainstream media sensationalism. The Casey Anthony trial, however, is very real and very important in its consequences. In a rather cruel irony, the white privilege that most certainly contributed to Casey Anthony’s not-guilty verdict now is poised to contribute to the expansion of the PIC and continued targeting of low-income women of color. We cannot risk quietly standing by while the state, once again, uses children to advance racist, punitive legislation that emboldens the PIC.

In case you were confused or needed a reminder, it is impossible to overstate how horrible life for Blacks in the U.S. was for most of the past 400 years. I collect a lot of memorabilia about the Black experience in the U.S. and my latest find is a document from 1801 salvaged from town meeting minutes that documents the punishment for two black women in Rhode Island.

Whereas Sally Gibbs now confined in the Bridewell having returned to this Town to dwell after having been removed to Smithfield as being her place of her last legal settlement without the liberty so to from this Council whereby the said Sally Gibbs has incurred the penalty of Seven Dollars and in case of inability to pay the same is liable to be publicly whipped. Resolved therefore that the (crossed out) ——————– said Sally Gibbs be subjected to that payment of the said fine of Seven Dollars and that in default of her paying the same that she be publicly whipped fifteen stripes on her naked back between the hours of four and five of the clock in the afternoon of this Day and conducted thereafter without the limits of this Town and that the Clerk be and he is hereby directed to issue a Warrant for the above purpose accordingly forthwith.

Warrant Alexander this day.

** the reference to “the Bridewell” means that she was in jail.

bottom half: in full:
Whereas Deborah Barry a Black Woman, a transient person has neglected to depart as expected and who it is represented is still residing here, resolved therefore that she be apprehended and removed with her young child by the name of Charles to Warren in the County of Bristol adjudged to be her place of last legal settlement and that the Clerk make out a Warrant forthwith for her removal with her said Child Accordingly……….. NB Warrant issued …Henry Alexander

Note: As if on cue, Julianne Hing’s article published in Colorlines today underscores a history of the criminalization of black women (particuarly mothers).