Wall City: The Women's Issue

WALL CITY

THE WOM EN’S ISSUE Summer 2019 Volume 2 Issue 2

2 WALL CITY SUMMER 2019

PLACE Women’s Quarters in the San Quentin Garden Chapel

BUILT From 1856 until 1933, women were incarcerated in San Quentin. The women were housed in the old San Quentin Hospital building, also known as the Women’s Ward.

In 1856, Isabel, a 13-year-old Native American girl, was the youngest to be housed in the Women’s Ward. Emma LeDoux was the first woman sentenced to Death Row and sent to the ward. In 1922, there were 48 women serving time in the prison.

In 1933, the women were relocated to the California Institution for Women at Tehachapi.

SUMMER 2019 WALL CITY 3

WA LL CIT Y

F E A T U R E S 2

Editorial

5

The Women of SQ

6

The Women of Wall City

7

Health

10

Legal

28

Over the Wall

31

Support Us

32

8

12

The Fire Inside

24

MISSION STATEMENT

How the first class action lawsuit filed by California women prisoners changed healthcare for the better.

30

26 A personal account of birth behind bars highlights how America’s prisons treat pregnant women.

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Produced by

Wall City magazine seeks to publish longform stories to inform people outside prison walls about the lives of incarcerated men and women. In addition, incarcerated readers get news they can use to improve their lives and become better citizens.

Class Action

Giving Birth In Prison

William Drummond Sarah Horowitz Doug Levy Dan Fost Alastair Boone Alissa Greenberg

WALL CITY

17

Special Section featuring Department of Juvenile Justice

Editor-in-Chief Marcus Henderson Staff Writer Kate McQueen Staff Writer Molly Kittle Art Director Jonathan Chiu SQ PIO Lt. Sam Robinson Warden’s Office Raphaele Casale CDCR Information Bill Sessa Officer Adviser Adviser Adviser Adviser Adviser Adviser

Fighting Fires While Doing Time Advocating for women in California prisons for 25 years

THE WOMEN’S ISSUE

A Letter to My Sister Activists

Wall City educates readers to the value of providing rehabilitative services to incarcerated people. It seeks to advance social justice and public safety, which supports public interests.

Wall City is supported by grants from

Front: Photos courtesy of Erika Mutchler, CIW, California State Archives. From top (Clockwise): Peter Bohler/Redux, CCWP, George Peters, File Photo,Erika Mutchler and Bo Kovitz

The View

E D I

T O R I A L

By Marcus Henderson

The Women’s Issue These pages are written by women, about women. Here’s why.

Photo by FirstWatch

H

ow powerful is a voice when no one will hear the cries?

“Everyone has a voice, but not everybody has a platform,” said Tracy Brumfield. Brumfield is the founder of RISE Up News. She is one of the formerly incarcerated women featured in our “Over the Wall” section.

Her statement made me imagine someone alone in the woods surrounded by mountain-high trees. The person starts to scream at the top of their lungs, looking for a way out, but no one hears them.

Not a soul understands the desperation of being separated from the rest of the world and not knowing if they will live or die in this dangerous environment.

All people know is that you strayed off the path. Only a few people wonder how you got lost. You start to wonder yourself how you got lost.

The woods are an unforgiving place.

Some have come out the other side battered and abused but primed to help the world. Others stumble out more damaged and disconnected than before. Some never make it out at all.

Women’s voices are growing loud around the world with the #NevethlessshePersisted, RESIST and #MeToo movements.

There is a segment of women who have suffered the same hardships as the women who started these movements, but their voices are rarely heard. The men of San Quentin News are honored to give

the pages of the third issue of Wall City to these incarcerated and formerly incarcerated women so we can hear their stories.

Charisse Shumate is one of the women whose stories can be found in these pages. Shumate helped change California’s prison healthcare system.

She was the lead plaintiff in Shumate v.

Wilson, the first ever class action lawsuit filed by women prisoners in California.

Formerly incarcerated firefighter Amika Mota is also in these pages. She details some of the pain, struggles and joys she navigated in prison while she fought fires. We also hear the voices of the young women housed in Ventura Youth Correction Facility. They give us insight into the trials of reckoning with their

actions and growing up in an institution.

In our legal section, Sara Kruzan shares her story of surviving violence only to be re-traumatized as she went in front of the parole board. Kruzan has become a parole success story—she now works as an advocate, preparing others for a positive parole hearing.

Some of these stories would not have come to fruition without the help of the California Institution for Women and the Department of Juvenile Justice Administrations. We thank them for getting the word out to the women within their institutions and facilitating getting us the stories. We could always be critical of the administration, but in fairness, they are juggling safety and security concerns with rehabilitation efforts. Once we understand that we are all an integral part of this system of incarceration, we can build the bridges that truly heal our society. This system tests everybody’s humanity—whether you are a prisoner or an administrator.

We also thank the California Coalition of Women Prisoners for their contribution to this project. It’s their continued work both inside and outside of prison that brings awareness to women’s issues. I thank all the contributors and advisers for making this issue possible. All your words and stories have challenged the flawed male belief system I grew up with of being self-centered, domineering and uncaring. Thank you for giving me insight into your trials and strengths. Let me say, I hear you.

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The Women of San Quentin San Quentin

currently holds over 4,000 men, but the prison held both women and men from 1856 until 1933. The prison was ahead of its time in having a dedicated Women’s Department, also known as the Women’s Ward.

The female prisoners, including a 13-yearold girl, were housed in the old San Quentin hospital building. A state hearing document recorded that guards shared women’s quarters and operated a bar on the prison grounds. There was at least one case of a woman becoming pregnant.

It wasn’t until the 1870s that New York State began separating women from men, in order to avoid common issues of a mixed population, such as sexual abuse. SQ was privately operated until the state took over the prison on June 1, 1855. This is when prisoners built a wall around the prison using prison-made bricks. Although SQ is a maleonly facility today, women continue to have an impact on the institution; they serve critical roles in administration, as Correctional Officers (COs), in the upper ranks of leadership and as volunteers.

In the seven and a half decades when women were held at SQ, the United States experienced dramatic change. From the Gold Rush to the Great Depression, from the Civil War to World War I, from Abolition to Prohibition, our nation’s history provides context and a deeper understanding of the women who were incarcerated at SQ. Why did some women find themselves behind bars while those on the outside experienced new freedoms? This era included women winning the right to vote, serve in the military and hold elected office.

Then and now, social, financial, racial, safety (trauma/abuse) and mental health factors play a role in incarceration. Abuse and financial dependence stand out in reports as reminders of a woman’s place at the time.

In the law rosters are infractions such as bigamy, abortion, forgery, embezzlement, violating the Harrison Act of 1914 (an early anti-drug law that sought to combat opium addiction through licensing and taxation) and more serious crimes, including murder.

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By Molly Kittle Photos courtesy of CDCR

Genevieve Smith •

• •

1885 – Prison matron position created to supervise 15 female prisoners, paid $50 per month plus board.

1888 – Prisoner Mary Von almost kills Matron Mary Kane.

1909-14 – Genevieve Smith is matron, earning $840 per month.

Her husband Richard was a guard, earning $780.

Mary Von •

• • • • •

1887 – Fatally shoots her lover and admits shooting another man two years earlier.

1888 – Attacks prison matron, nearly killing her.

1890 – Described as ‘holy terror’ by press.

1911 – Paroles after 25 years.

1912 – Falls ill and returns to San Quentin for medical care.

1913 – Dies at SQ at age 72.

Emma LeDoux • • • • • • • •

Bigamist convicted of murdering one of her husbands and shoving his body in a steam trunk in 1906.

First woman sentenced to death in the state. She was granted a new trial on appeal, changed her plea to guilty in exchange for a life sentence in 1910.

1920 – Earned parole.

1921 – Broke conditions of parole and readmitted to San Quentin.

1925 – Earned parole.

1931 – Broke parole conditions, back in SQ. 1933 – Transferred to newly opened CIW. 1941 – Died at 69, of ovarian cancer, still incarcerated at CIW.

Photos courtesy of respective advisers and contributors ,Jane Dorotik courtesy of CIW, Ventura Youth photos courtesy of Ericka Mutchler

The Women of WALL CITY

Alastair Boone is the editor of Berkeley-based homeless advocacy newspaper, Street Spirit. “This issue feels personal to me. It grapples with issues such as girlhood and giving birth. Hearing about these experiences within prison helped deepen my understanding of what it means to be incarcerated in America.”

Alissa Greenberg is freelance journalist for The Atlantic, The Washington Post, and Pacific Standard among others. “It’s been a privilege to help Wall City amplify all prison voices. Even more so for this issue and the voices of incarcerated women who face enormous challenges.”

Sarah Horowitz has been volunteering as Wall City’s design adviser since 2016. “Magazines are a sublime and powerful medium for communication,” she says. “I’m a big fan, and it’s a pleasure to hear and see each individual voice in this issue.”

Molly Kittle’s mission is to connect people to their voice, their purpose, and to each other. She is the creator and host of STORY, a series of events that connect people in creative, authentic and brave ways.

She is committed to upholding the crucial role of stories in our lives.

Kate McQueen is a creative nonfiction enthusiast who believes style can enhance texts on any subject. She teaches and writes on literary and journalistic history.

“What makes Wall City great is its ability to make space for voices and stories that often go unheard.”

Jane Dorotik is currently incarcerated at CIW and is a highly experienced, trained nurse and longtime prisoner rights advocate. She has been doing this work on the inside for almost 20 years.

Elena Mateus is a student at UC Berkeley and a news producer for KALX radio. She aspires to use new forms of storytelling to advance advocacy and facilitate the administration of justice.

C O N T R I B U T O R S

Sara Kruzan is a Parole Success Advocate at UnCommon Law in Oakland, California.

As a formerly incarcerated person, she works in a team preparing people for parole hearings.

Myesha Newell

Lilliana Paratore is a Staff Attorney and Equal Justice Works Fellow at UnCommon Law. She advocates for people before the parole hearings, with a focus on survivors of gender-based violence.

Andrea Melgoza

Tina Curiel-Allen is a Xicana/Boricua writer and activist.

She is the co-founder of Beyond the Stats, a UC Davis student organization of formerly incarcerated and system impacted students and staff.

Jevonie Rogers

Sophia Cristo

Four young women from the Ventura Youth Correctional Facility in Camarillo, California, write about their traumatic past and hope for the future. They give readers a multifaceted look into their world as they navigate their feelings and actions, while going through the juvenile system.

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The Fire Inside The publication advocating for women in California prisons for more than 25 years

By Pam Fadem

Women at the San Francisco march

C

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cacy and activist arm, and so CCWP was born.

The class action suit filed in 1995 reached a settlement in 1997, but healthcare challenges have continued. Today in 2019, compassionate and medical releases are rare and difficult to obtain. There has been a crisis in suicides and suicide attempts in California prisons. There has been challenges for gender nonconforming, gay and transgender people leading to a strengthened #MeToo Movement in prisons. A class action lawsuit was filed in 2017 to combat these issues.

Right from the start, transgender (trans) and gender nonconforming (gnc) people were involved in building CCWP and our work both inside the women’s prisons, and outside. The first four-page issue of CCWP’s newsletter, The Fire Inside, was printed in June 1996 (now it

is 16 pages). As the only continuously published newsletter written by and for women prisoners in the United States, The Fire Inside has been on the front lines of exploring and contesting the multifaceted ways in which gender discrimination constructs the entire prison system. Many of the subjects it has opened up have subsequently been further investigated, documented and analyzed by advocates, academics, policy makers and authors across the U.S. Fire Inside has provided a forum for people in Calif. women’s prisons to debate, discuss and strategize about the key issues they are facing.

CCWP continues to address issues identified by members on both sides of the prison walls, working together through The Fire Inside and through campaigns, demonstrations at the prison

Photo by Bo Kovitz

“Now please don’t give up. When times get rough, hold your head up… It is not a ‘me’ thing. It’s a ‘we’ thing, and together with the dream team and the help of CCWP (California Coalition for Women Prisoners) there is a light at the end of the tunnel.” —Charisse Shumate, Founding member, CCWP alifornia Coalition for Women Prisoners (CCWP) was founded in 1995 to offer grassroots support to a class action lawsuit that women prisoners had initiated against the state of California demanding basic, humane standards of healthcare. CCWP members inside and outside began to strategize about how to break through the invisibility of women and transgender prisoners. Filing the lawsuit was a critical first step, but women in prison recognized that they also needed an advo-

CCWP protest rally for incarcerated women at Chowchilla

gates and legislative work. These issues include: incarcerated survivors of domestic violence, mothers and children, the criminalization of youth, death row, lesbianism, solitary confinement, racism, immigrant prisoners, Native Amer-

ments. These are issues that affect us all, and have deeply impacted people in California women’s prisons. Our 2014 story project, “A Living Chance: Storytelling to End Life Without Parole” [alivingchance.com] has evolved into a pow-

Photo courtesy of CCWP

“Every win is worth celebrating. Every win gets us closer to freedom. Don’t doubt that! It may be hard to keep fighting, given feelings about letting down our loved ones or facing the endless time.” ican prisoners and trans and gnc people; and healthcare, including the suicide crisis. Because the prisons exist in a global and community-wide context, we have also engaged in the dialogue about the abuse at Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq and the Palestinian occupied territories, the ravaging impact of Hurricane Katrina that led to the prosecution of young Black men in Jena, Louisiana. The prosecution and incarceration of four young Black lesbians in New York, and the Black Lives Matter and #MeToo move-

erful statewide campaign to Drop Life Without the Chance Of Parole (LWOP)!, working towards the commutation of all 5,200+ people serving Life Without Of the Possibility of Parole sentences in California and ultimately to remove it from the state’s penal code.

CCWP’s name also stands for “Caring Collectively for Women Prisoners.” We would be remiss if we did not name the women—some living and some dead— in the founding and the growth of our organization: Charisse Shumate, Sher-

ri Chapman, Judi Ricci, Brenda Otto, Beverley Chopper Henry, Linda Fields, Mary Shields, Joanne Walker, Patty Contreras and Andrea Mims, amongst many others.

Those incarcerated in the state’s women’s prisons number 5,700 of the total 126,000+ California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation incarcerates. It is a significant and powerful part of our population. Recently commuted from an LWOP sentence in January 2018 and released in November 2018, CCWP member Kelly Savage writes: “When standing on the tight wire of hope it’s hard to know which direction to lean. If you put yourself in a position of all-in, the spirit tends to suffer when the red tape of the system begins to slowly chip away at those hard won struggles. Every win is worth celebrating. Every win gets us closer to freedom. Don’t doubt that! It may be hard to keep fighting, given feelings about letting down our loved ones or facing the endless time. Whatever the feelings may be consider the alternative and start networking with others and know there are many people out here fighting for and with you.”

CCWP continues to stand with and fight for the civil and human rights of all those incarcerated in women’s prisons.

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H E A L T H

An antidote to grief and pain What can compassion do? Squelch rumors, train volunteers, and provide support at the California Institution for Women

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of the community rallied to help those who reacted most strongly to this death.

What became even more critical was to immediately squelch the rumor mill that the roommate did not inform staff quickly enough, or even that the roommate was responsible for the death of her friend. A rumor partially inflated when staff followed procedure in placing the roommate in handcuffs while escorting her to medical for a routine evaluation.

This poor roommate was traumatized by finding her friend unconscious.

I gathered all the CCP members in Unit A and asked them to help squelch

this bogus and dangerous rumor, soliciting support from our housing staff.

The CCP members were fantastic and within 24 hours the whole rumor mill had been put to rest. Each CCP member gave examples of how they squelched the rumors—in the medication line, dining hall, everywhere. This was a huge step in creating a culture of caring, empathy and cooperation at CIW. To some, the concept of prisons and compassion seem opposed. Prisons are not easy places to live. There is so much internal struggling for power and dominance among prisoners, staff and proto-

Photos courtesy of CDCR

n 2015, women at the California Institution for Women (CIW) in Corona were traumatized by a sudden and unexpected death of a women in the Housing Unit who was very dear to all of us. The California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) housing, medical and responding staff all handled this death efficiently and sensitively. The Program Office called me, a program leader in our newly begun Compassionate Companions Program (CCP), to be present when the roommate of the recently deceased woman was informed. All

Left: Compassionate Care Program worker Gana with patient Olsway.

Right: CCP workers Johnson, Dorotik, Gana and Torres

cols. But if ever a system needed more compassion, it would be the prison system where nothing, almost nothing, is given kindness or consideration.

The creation of Compassionate Companions Program here at CIW seemed initially to be a far-fetched, altruistic illusion in 2014. But with a little vision on the part of some administrators, a Compassionate Companions Program was begun. The purpose of CCP as authorized by then-Warden Hughes is to provide clearly defined support and compassion for fellow prisoners who are

experiencing any serious illness, grief, loss or other catastrophic—emotional experience. Trained CCP volunteers maintain vigil for prisoners at end of life so they do not have to cross that threshold alone. The intention is to uphold their dignity and ease their suffering. The CCP does not provide crisis counseling

nor does it replace nursing or medical care, but it does offer listening, companionship, letter-writing, and a broad range of support and friendship within the constraints of CIW regulations.

The Compassionate Companions Program is a nationwide program that provides training to community members—outside of prison as well as inside.

Our initial volunteer group of 35 people at CIW received significant hours of training in palliative care, suicide and bullying prevention, and relationship/consensus building. Over the past few years, we have been able to train a series of new volunteers to continue the

At the request of Mental Health Services, CCP members were asked to assist a woman who had recently received a terminal diagnosis. We went to see her after clearing our visit with housing staff and were able to provide support for her in several ways. We accompanied her to regularly scheduled medical visits and assisted in getting her immediate comfort and needs met. She was having difficulty walking and needed a wheelchair, but prison bureaucracy was moving very slowly. She got a wheelchair that very day with CCP volunteers advocating for this basic necessity. The patient needed an increase in her weekly allotment of Depends. Once nurse was made aware of her dilemma, If ever a system needed more she got two more boxes that compassion, it would be the day and they promised to prison system, where nothing— keep her supplied. We also almost nothing—is ever given reviewed her wishes for this kindness or consideration. last stage of her treatment.

She wanted to remain in her housing unit for the time being, and this was practical although not popular among staff. We supported this wish, and she was able to stay in her unit. We provided emotional support for her anxiety about her future.

She also asked for assistance in expediting her petition for compassionate release which her oncologist had written, but not in correct CDCR format. We accompanied her to a visit with the Chief Medical Officer who would make the final decision. Her release was approved and processed within a few days. These are classic examples of the ability of our Compassionwork. With clearance from administra- ate Companions Program group to suptive staff, CCP volunteers are able to port one another and to bring a culture visit with people at the end of life, those of change in a system that is generally who have chronic illnesses or disabilities insensitive, steeped in dominance and and are living in long-term care units, unaware of individual needs. We look and throughout all of our housing units forward to continuing to train new volto help work to create a supportive com- unteers as needed and keeping this posimunity. tive program going at CIW. SUMMER 2019 WALL CITY 11

BURN

Women battle to continue fighting fi

By Elena Mateus with Doug Levy Photo by David McNew/ AFP/Getty Images

Female firefighters on the front lines of California wildfires

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NED

fires after their release

Many people are surprised to learn that nearly 10 percent of the incarcerated firefighters serving at California’s 44 “fire camps” are women. Just like men, the women firefighters get the same training as Cal Fire’s other seasonal firefighters—one week in the classroom, another week in the field, and additional training on an ongoing basis. And, just like the incarcerated men who become firefighters, they can’t get jobs as firefighters once they return to their communities.

“There’s a lot of hard work that goes into it. It’s exhausting, but you just keep on going because there is a job to do,” said one of the women firefighters. “I have a whole new appreciation for the tools and the work that firefighters do,” she told the San Diego Union-Tribune.

For Amika Mota, the reality of regulations that prevent many formerly incarcerated individuals from getting professional firefighter jobs hit hard. After rising to the rank of engineer, the top fire service rank in her unit, Mota returned to her community several years ago. There, she found only closed doors.

The state legislature recently considered legislation that would open opportunities for rehabilitated women and men to become firefighters. Cal Fire has also started a program for formerly incarcerated firefighters to join its professional ranks, but most municipal firefighter jobs are closed to anyone with a felony record -- no matter what their training and performance as inmate-firefighters demonstrates.

The obstacle is that most cities require full-time firefighters to be cross-trained as both firefighters and emergency medical technicians, and individuals with felony records are barred from getting licensed as EMTs in many California counties.

“It never matched up for me, because we were able to do this from prison but not from the street,” said Mota in an interview with Wall City. “We were a fierce crew. We responded to structure fires, vehicle accidents, performed CPR, everything.”

The same is true throughout the United States, even though many communities SUMMER 2019 WALL CITY 13

Amita Mota (center) with her fellow firefighters

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Rainbow Crew firefighter cutting a fire line to stop a small fire near Hemet.

Photo by Peter Bohler/Redux.

Inmate firefighters navigate difficult terrain building fire breaks in vulnerable wildlands.

Photo by Peter Bohler/Redux.

struggle to recruit and retain firefighters. This is in part why communities like the Central California city Madera rely on inmate fire crews as part of mutual aid pacts. Inmate crews also provide a significant amount of Cal Fire’s seasonal staffing.

In California, there are about 4,000 inmate firefighters, forming around 220 fire crews at 44 conservation camps in 27 counties. They are operated by the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) along with the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection (CalFire) and the Los Angeles County Fire Department. The camps are minimum security facilities, most of them located in rural areas where woodland fires are most likely. Three of the camps—Malibu, Puerta La Cruz and Rainbow—are for women.

The inmate firefighters are trained to the same standards as many urban firefighters. In fact, Mota’s five-woman crew handled all kinds of emergency

calls, including many in Madera.

“We would respond to calls in the community. People knew if they saw a fire truck with all women, it was probably us ‘fire girls,’” said Mota. “It felt good. I was doing good and helping the community, and everyone we worked with inside and outside of the prison recognized that.”

But not when it comes to hiring these people when they are released. Criminal justice reform advocates also raise questions about whether inmate firefighters are compensated appropriately or whether the CDCR firefighting program is another form of forced labor. In a recent New York Times article, Angela Hanks, director of the Center for Postsecondary and Economic Success at the Center for Law and Social Policy in Washington, said that inmate firefighters should be paid “a fair wage,” especially because it is such a dangerous job.

At least six inmates have died while firefighting since 1983.

Shawna Lynn Jones, 22, a Los Angeles County Jail inmate firefighter died in 2016 while on duty. Jones’ name was added to the National Fallen Firefighters Memorial on the National Fire Academy grounds in Emmitsburg, Maryland.

“Shawna had a passion for sawyer work on the fire line and wanted to pursue this job in the fire service,” said the National Fallen Firefighters Foundation website. “Shawna gave her life so that others may live.”

Two other California inmate firefighters lost their lives in 2017.

Despite the risks and career limits, Mota and other women say the experience is rewarding.

“I came into prison knowing I would be here for years, and this was something to work towards.” She was accepted into prison firefighting in 2012 after she served enough time on her 10-year sentence to qualify for minimum security.

Inmate firefighters are paid an average of $2 per day, plus an additional $1 SUMMER 2019 WALL CITY 15

Female inmate firefighters from Malibu Camp at the Detwiler fire in Mariposa County in 2017.

Photo by Peter Bohler/Redux.

per hour that they are working on an active fire. Most inmate firefighters earn two additional days off their sentence for each day they serve as a firefighter, according to the CDCR. Mota says the pay amounted to about 53 cents an hour, or weekly paychecks around $60.

While this may seem better than nothing to some people, Mota explained that the pay was at times not enough.

“We had to buy deodorant, tampons, shampoo, and other basic things you need to live.” In addition, CDCR withholds 50 percent of an inmate’s pay if an inmate owes court-imposed restitution.

“When you become incarcerated, it puts a financial burden on you and your fam16 WALL CITY SUMMER 2019

ily with tons of fees to pay back,” Mota said.

According to Mota, everyone around her supported her, and those who “intimately knew the firehouse did not agree with the amount they were paid.”

However, she did not let the pay -- or status of being incarcerated -- stop her.

Affirmation by prison staff and others helped motivate her and her crew.

“They knew we were hard workers, we had integrity. We gave it our all. We had the respect of the correctional officers and fire captains and chiefs.”

Building up that confidence took time and a lot of work.

“Those calls were very intense,” she said, noting that her crew’s first car crash

had three people who had to be extricated -- and all three died.

“We could train all day long, but you’re never really prepared for what it is like to arrive at a scene like that. What you walk away with is something you won’t find in a book or in training,” she said.

Mota is not alone with frustration over the restrictions that prevent her and other formerly incarcerated individuals from getting jobs in California cities. She sees it as a contradiction that prevents people like her serve their communities constructively.

“They used to tell me all the time that if it was their daughter or their family in trouble, that they would want me on scene,” she said.

JUSTICE IIIII I I I I I IIIIIIIIIIII I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I SPECIAL I I I I I I I I I I ISECTION: I I I I I I I I I I I IJUVENILE I I IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

One counselor and four young prisoners from the Ventura Youth Correctional Facility in Camarillo, California, write about their traumatic pasts and hope for the future.

Photos by Tony Chavez (Community Resource Manager) and Veronica Silva (Office Assistant for DDMS)

CHANGE AGENTS

By Erika Mutchler, MSW

entering the juvenile justice system as a counselor, so many

perceptions and ideals came crashing down almost immediately. The outside perception of females in prison rarely holds a positive value. The public often sees incarcerated females as the most gruesome population of criminals. They must have mental health issues. They must have something wrong with their brains. They are emotional and resistant. Truth be told, these young women are incarcerated because of something they have done. They have hurt someone. They were sentenced to the Division of Juvenile Justice (DJJ) as a result of a criminal act committed. There are victims and survivors in the community directly affected by these young women.

While these young women have committed an act of violence that ultimately led them to incarceration, that does not change the way we interact with them. Their time within

the Division of Juvenile Justice aims to focus on rehabilitation by refocusing their underlying belief system and outlook on the world. The truth is that women are the backbone of our nation. The females we encounter on a daily basis in the juvenile justice system have dispelled so many preconceived notions. These young women are strong. These young women are bold. They are relational, open-minded, and receptive.

Most importantly, these young women are resilient. Several young women have been transparent and shared their stories with you in this special section.

These young women may not have the upbringing of the majority, but they often fantasize about a life where they are respected, taken care of, loved, and appreciated. They want to feel human. They want to be heard. This ideology has changed IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII the way that staff in the Division We humanize, of Juvenile Justice interacts with empathize, and female youth. It is important that the females incarcerated at Venteach.

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SPECIAL JUSTICE IIII II I I I I I IIIIIIIIIII I I I ISECTION: I I I I I I I I I I I IJUVENILE I I I IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

tura Youth Correctional Facility feel empowered. This is done by offering gender-specific curricula in a safe, therapeutic environment where the females are encouraged to improve and practice social-cognitive skills and job skills.

Working with incarcerated females, staff serve as change agents who assist these young women in not only finding but using the voices they have been given. Women currently have many opportunities to exercise their voices throughout our nation. We celebrate Women’s History Month each year with a luncheon and guest speakers, including previously incarcerated women.

Last year during national crime victims’ rights week, the young women spearheaded an institution-wide fundraiser and donated more than $1,600 to the California Partnership to End Domestic Violence. They were then able to participate in a focus group in which some of their ideas were taken back to the community and used for preventative strategies.

The perception of incarcerated women does not compare to the reality of what is seen on a daily basis. These young women have experienced trauma that can be re-triggered if not handled delicately. It is the purpose and passion of a staff working with incarcerated young women to redirect their paths to ones of success, competency, resiliency and triumph. We strive to interrupt the pipeline from juvenile justice to adult incarceration. We humanize, empathize, and teach. The truth is that a staff member can learn just as much from an incarcerated youth. These young women teach us to be non-judgmental, empathetic, open-minded, resilient and continuously evolving. With focus and hard work, even the darkest situation can be a lesson learned, because nevertheless, she persisted.

Erika Mutchler, MSW is a casework specialist with the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation Division of Juvenile Justice’s Female Treatment Program.

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I

WILL BE A LAWYER ONE DAY

By Sophia Cristo many people believe it’s a cruel world; i happen

to agree. not only is it different, it’s more cruel

behind four slabs of brick and an endless outline of barbed wire. It’s like walking into your worst nightmare, but you can’t wake up. I was trapped in my nightmare for eight years, when something stirred me awake.

I’ve always believed in God and went to church as a child, but when others mentioned a personal relationship with God, I always wondered what that meant. Well, let me backtrack a little bit for you. But before I do, let me ask a question. What were you doing when you were 14 years old? Starting high school? Cheerleading? Joining the football team? Well, at 14, I was wrapping my mind around spending the rest of my life in prison. I had barely lived any life at all, and now I was told this was it? When I was younger, life wasn’t great, nor did I have any parental guidance. When I was 13, I was in a toxic relationship with an older guy. I soon found myself in jail: confused, scared, and feeling more alone than ever.

I hadn’t had a chance to start wondering about anything in life, such as my goals and dreams, and now my life appeared over before it had even started. All my hopes and dreams were shattered. How could I possibly accept never going home?

Never being with my family again? Never graduating high school, going to prom

JUSTICE IIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I ISPECIAL I I I I I I I I I I ISECTION: I I I I I I I I I I I JUVENILE I I IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII “In the beginning, everyone’s crying and missing you, but after a while, just like us, they get used to it.” Sophia Cristo, center, was sent to jail at age 14.

or making memories with friends? Never falling in love, being a mother, or having a home of my own? One day dying surrounded by strangers in a dark, cold prison instead of my own home surrounded by those who loved me? How could I accept all this when I didn’t understand anything that was happening to me or around me? A thousand terrifying, heartbreaking thoughts raced through my head, along with neverending unanswered questions of why.

No one imagines they’ll end up in jail.

There’s no possible way to mentally or emotionally prepare for the turmoil you will face; however, your spirituality can get you through it all. As humans, we have survival instincts, and one of those includes adapting to our surroundings.

We get used to being without our loved ones, sleeping on what most would never call a bed, having someone lock us in a cell, getting used to someone monitoring and controlling every move we make. Even though we know our freedom is just on the other side of that brick wall, so close yet so far, a feeling of helplessness that once engulfed us has become a secondary feeling that we’ve grown to accept, ignore, or suppress. We don’t choose, nor do we like this numb feeling; it just happens. It’s a way of surviving and getting through the

struggle of heartache.

I’ve watched my loved one’s lives pass by, while my life has felt as if it’s been on pause. Friends grew up, relatives got married, there were new additions to my family, and sadly a few I lost that I didn’t get to say goodbye to.

One of the worst parts of being incarcerated is people can actually compare it to death. In the beginning, everyone’s crying and missing you, wishing it didn’t happen, wanting to just spend time with you again, reminiscing about the last moment they spent with you. They grieve in a way, but after a while, just like us, they get used to it.

Our absence becomes normal, our name is no longer familiar, our face missing from pictures. It’s a survival instinct for them as well, because those who love us are doing this time with us.

Being around strangers, especially girls, 24/7 is pretty trying, especially when you’re young. We’re odd, emotional and hard-to-understand creatures.

We put up with each other’s attitudes and struggle with wondering who we can confide in. But we remind ourselves to stay strong during the hard times, especially when missing our loved ones.

One day, I decided to go to a creative writing class called “Inside Out Writers” at the Juvenile Hall. I discovered my talent and love of poetry and creative writing. It eased a lot of emotional anxiety and pain and allowed me to see things differently.

learned new life skills.

While awaiting sentencing, I heard about Proposition 57. I paid it no mind because I thought it wouldn’t apply to me. I started praying fervently, asking God to make a way for me to go home in less than five years.

God answered my prayers. I went to court expecting to be sentenced as an adult, but then my lawyer and the judge started talking about Prop 57 and how it applied to my case. I won my transfer hearing and was sentenced as a juvenile. Now I’m at a Youth Correctional facility, and I will be home in less than two years.

My nightmare lasted eight years.

It was a long fight. Yes, I may have spent my youth incarcerated, but honestly I believe it made me a better person. I don’t think I’d be the amazing, strong person I am today, had I not been through this. I’m going to college and learning how to do computer coding and programming, which I would like to do when I am released.

I wanted to share my story to let people know: yes it’s hard in here, and we face a lot of challenges, but we overcome them. We’re not the labels that society places on us. We are unbreakable, resilient people that have a lot to share with this world if given the chance. I have a very bright future to look forward to because I’m not holding onto my past. I will be a lawyer one day. I will actually be able to relate to my clients with all that they IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII are facing. Considering what Considering what I’ve faced, I’ll be I’ve faced, I’ll be more motivated to fight for them. I refuse more motivated to fight. to wear the label society tried I still have faults. I continue to deal to give me, especially when it was the with heartache, but the best part is I wrong one. have God to turn to. I decided to make If you look closely and carefully, the best out of my situation and take you’ll notice that out of TRAGEDY advantage of every opportunity so I comes TRIUMPH. My name is Sophia could better myself. I finished high Cristo, and I hope my story impacted school two years early. I held onto my you and your outlook on life in the most faith, took job prep classes and even positive way.

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EMBRACING RE-ENTRY

By Andrea Melgoza

currently incarcerated at Ventura Youth Correctional Facility.

I’ve been down since July 2017 and hopefully scheduled for release toward the end of 2019. I’ve been participating in promany of us have different ways to cope with our struggles. grams and groups that will help me get all I can out of my stay Some draw, talk or work out. For some, music helps them to become successful. Besides Embracing Hearts, I am also cope. I know that helps me. enrolled in the coding program, where we are being mentored In our group, “Embracing Hearts Transition Group,” we by prisoners from San Quentin. thought it would be cool to have a session involving music, to Embracing Hearts is always changing, which is the best part, show others that it can be a way for them to cope, too. Rosa- because it remains entertaining. Rosalinda helps us with tranlinda, our amazing group leader, was able to get Wes Geer from sitional housing, re-entry planning, community resources, the band Korn to come, since he has an organization of his own finances, substance use, and leadership skills. She teaches us called Rock to Recovery, where they use music as therapy. He things that can be transferred to the outside world: how to be a brought all types of equipment: pianos, guitars and drums. leader, how to properly present ourselves in order to be able to During the session, we went around the room, and we obtain the help we need, how to use our voices to get to where expressed one thing we want to let go of and one thing we want we need to go. to attract more of, and from that we made a song. It was so Rosalinda wants to make sure that no matter where we go, much fun, even if none of us knew how to play or sing before. we leave with resources, since leaving empty-handed can creWe were all able to release our concerns and hopes into some- ate stress and tempt us to go back to our old ways. When we thing enjoyable. It showed us a positive way to first started, we filled out a form expressovercome hardships. We don’t always have to I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I ing what we needed, such as contact inforresort to drugs, violence, or negativity. Music mation for our local DMVs, colleges, and I’ve been participating was what helped Wes overcome his addiction medical offices. The following week, it in programs and groups to drugs, so he re-introduced it to others so was returned to us with an address and that will help me get they can also benefit. number for everything we marked off. A My name is Andrea, better known as “Dre.” all I can out of my stay to little deeper into the program, we said we I am 18 years old from San Jose, Calif., but become successful. wanted volunteers to come in and give us a class in financing, and our wish became reality. Rosalinda brought in people from Bank of America, who presented a lesson about budgeting, credit scores and distinguishing credit cards from debit cards—and how to use them responsibly.

Embracing Hearts Transition Group has helped influence many troubled young people, including me. I believe it should be more widespread and available to all incarcerated youth, children in foster care, runaways, homeless kids and anybody else seeking help. The dynamic of being able to bounce back and forth from business to fun is what I find most helpful. I am able to identify resources to take my first steps after release, while also being able to learn about myself, what I am capable of, and what I can give back to others.

“No matter where we go, we leave with resources.” Korn’s Wes Geer works with Dre Melgoza, 18, during a transition group session.

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“The harsh reality is that these facilities have been around long before my generation existed.” Myesha Newell has about 18 months left on her sentence.

THE

WOMAN OF MY TOMORROW

By Myesha Newell

There’s a girl I know well who went from court date to court date feeling spiritually drained, having to eat a sack lunch without even so much as water to wash it down.

She was constantly in a trance of trying to face the future and detect the unexpected, but at the time she really felt she wasn’t ready for what the future held. She was only a 16-yearold girl being brought up in the city. She was barely blossoming as a young lady, seeking to find herself. Seeking and searching in high and low places landed her in shoes she was forced to fill. Now, she’s subject to strip searches, shackles and chemical sprays because of her involvement in a crime.

She didn’t come from a broken home, but through her actions

of pushing away those who cared for her, she landed here at DJJ. For some, these practices cause physical injury. For others, emotional trauma. All those emotions compact on top of the already underlying emotions of isolation from loved ones.

She’s already faced with what she has bottled up. She has a fear of how she is going to get through this without losing focus on who she is. She just doesn’t want to forget her identity. She doesn’t want her loved ones to forget her, either. She’s baffled. She has all these questions but not enough answers.

She knows she has to be held accountable for her wrong doings, 100 percent. The only thing she’s saying to herself is, “Am I cut out for this journey?” She knows God wouldn’t put this on her path if He didn’t know she could conquer this task.

What is she to do?

That girl and I are really close. She is me. I’ve been pickSUMMER 2019 WALL CITY 21

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ing up mini Restorative Justice projects, filling positions, taking up multiple jobs, signing up for extracurricular activities, furthering my college studies and anything under the sun to stay busy.

I strive to stand for change. I want when people look my direction that they don’t only view the personal change in me as an individual. Rather, I want them to see the change IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII because of what I’ve been That girl and I through, witare really close. nessed, and She’s me. evolved from, that’s what makes the woman I am today. That’s what’s helping to form me into the woman of my tomorrow.

With an anticipated 18 months remaining (with good behavior), I would like to let young women, both near and afar, know to never get discouraged by the False Evidence Appearing Real (F.E.A.R.). Gossip shouldn’t be your trending topic, finding who you are and getting a deeper understanding of yourself is really what should be trending, while you’re incarcerated. As women, regardless of sexual orientation or race, we should be lifting one another up. The harsh reality is that these facilities have been around long before my generation existed. So instead of complaining, let’s be the change we want to see. The future is female. Why not leave positive footprints to follow? I have been incarcerated for two years and two months thus far. If I haven’t left an impression already, I’d like to leave you with this cognitive distortion on how you should approach fear from now on. You’ll still be fearful—it’s a natural human emotion—but it’ll be good F.E.A.R. Don’t let the flawed F.E.A.R. of life get you wrapped up. Turn that flawed F.E.A.R into a renovated way of looking at the world. When fear starts to shift over in your mind, repeat after me, “F.E.A.R is not False Evidence Appearing Real, it’s me Facing Everyday, Accepting Reality.”

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LEARNING

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THE HARD WAY

By Jevonie Rogers

dents and loss of contact. My brother Dallas was recently incarcerated for a serious crime at just 13 years old.

When he got locked up he continued this vicious cycle in our family that has carried on for generations. And the biggest blow to my heart was the loss of my Papa. Alonzo Parker was more then just my grandfather; he was the man that raised me while my own father was absent due to his own incarceration and

When Prop.57 passed, I was tried as a juvenile instead of an adult. That day something changed inside of me. I felt as if the old me died and a new life began. Ever since that day, I have been working to transform myself. I have dreams of being a social worker, owning my own business and mentoring at-risk youth. I plan on going to college and getting a bachelor’s and master’s degree while majoring in psychology. I’ll be able to understand many of the youth I’ll be working with because I’ve seen and done a lot in my own life. My hope is to use my story to prevent someone else from making the same mistakes I have.

I have been incarcerated since I was 17 years old; I’m 21 now. Being African-American and lesbian in the justice I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I system spelled out trouble. The old me manipulated and fabricated a lot.

It’s hard to describe what it Today I have more integrity and humility. really feels like to lose your freedom; in some ways it’s similar to death. In a sense it can be worse. Initially, people drug addiction. I missed my grieve when a person passes away. The person’s life is cele- youngest sister Jayden’s first brated, and they are talked about for a while after. As time goes day of school. I was absent on the person who passed gets brought up less and less, and for my sister Madison’s midin some cases they are forgotten completely. When I first got dle school promotion and locked up people were grieving my absence. They posted about homecoming dance. It broke all our good times on social media, took time out to send me my heart to see how beautiful letters, and put money on their phones to talk to me. As time she looked in her dress and to went on I became a distant memory to most. But I am still here, know I wasn’t there to witand I feel everything. I feel grief and frustration as I literally ness it firsthand. watch myself lose relevance in people’s lives.

This journey has taken me Throughout my incarceration I have gone through a series to juvenile hall, county jail of tragic events. I watched as chemotherapy caused my mother and DJJ. In the county jail, to deteriorate. I’ve lost friends to street violence, tragic acci- I did a ten-month stint on the maximum security unit when it was rumored that I was in a relationship with another female prisoner. I “I’ve had people in my family assaulted by police officers also was assaulted by an offiso discrimination and brutality isn’t new to me.” Jevonie cer during my stay but did not Rogers says Proposition 57 renewed her determination receive medical attention or to change for the better.

my right to an attorney call.

This experience changed my life and how I viewed the justice system. I had people in my family assaulted by police officers, so discrimination and brutality isn’t new to me. However, experiencing it personally definitely made the topic touchier than it was before. I learned the hard way that day that it was their world, and I was just in it.

When I first got locked up, I looked at it as one of the worst things to ever happen to me. I struggled to find anything positive about my situation and to move forward with my life. Now I look at my incarceration in a more positive light. I see this as a period of time and opportunity that I have been given to better myself.

Change doesn’t happen overnight. I know there will be many obstacles that I will face upon my release. The world has changed a lot, and it continues to change daily.

I’m not trying to say I’m going to get out and be this perfect person; that would mean that I haven’t changed.

The old me manipulated and fabricated a lot. Today I have more integrity and humility. There will be times that I will stumble and fall. But for every setback I face, I’ll get back up.

SUMMER 2019 WALL CITY 23

Class Action ALMOST 25 YEARS AGO, PRISONER CHARISSE SHUMATE FILED A LAWSUIT TO REFORM THE SUBSTANDARD MEDICAL TREATMENT OF WOMEN IN CALIFORNIA’S PRISONS. IN 2019, PRISONERS CONTINUE TO FIGHT FOR DECENT HEALTHCARE. ARTICLE AND PHOTOS COURTESY OF CALIFORNIA COALITION FOR WOMEN PRISONERS (CCWP)

“

I, I, Charisse Charisse Shumate, Shumate, wish wish I I could could be be there there with with you you because, because, as as you you grow grow in in numbers numbers for for us us

behind behind the the walls..., walls..., the the big big cover cover up up is is going going on on inside. inside. For For those those who who ask ask why why should should they they care care or or believe believe we we are are asking asking for for “Cadillac “Cadillac care,” care,” if if we we were were allowed allowed to to have have video video cameras cameras or or tape tape recorders, recorders, the the truth truth could could be be seen seen or or heard heard about about the the junkyard junkyard care care we we receive. receive. The The sad sad part part is is why why were were we, we, who who are are mothers, mothers, daughters, daughters, sisters sisters and and grandmothers, grandmothers, compared compared to to

”

a a car? car? Is Is it it because because they they have have forgotten forgotten we we are are human? human? If If walls walls could could talk talk we we would would not not have have to to beg beg for for help. help. Please, Please, it it could could be be your best friend that dies behind these walls. walls.

T

he statement above was written by Charisse Shumate in Spring 1996. She was the lead plaintiff in Shumate v. Wilson, the first class action lawsuit filed by women prisoners in California. Shumate died from long-term medical complication on August 4, 2001. Where did her journey for justice start?

On April 4, 1995, 24 courageous women prisoners with grave illnesses— including cancer, heart disease, sickle cell anemia, AIDS and tuberculosis— joined with Shumate in filing suit in the Federal District Court in Sacramento against then Governor Pete Wilson and the California Department of Corrections (CDC) regarding the medical care provided to women at the Central California Women’s Facility (CCWF) in Chowchilla and the California Institution for Women (CIW) in Frontera.

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The medical care in prison was so bad that seriously ill women in pain were being denied access to doctors and medication. The plaintiffs and their attorneys determined that the bad care amounted to a violation of the Eighth Amendment of the US Constitution, which prohibits cruel and unusual punishment, and filed the lawsuit on behalf of all women incarcerated by the CDC. On January 12, 1996, the court defined a plaintiff class as including all persons who suffer from, or are at risk of developing, serious illness or injury, excluding mental disorders, who were or in the future would be confined at CCWF and CIW. The court also certified a subclass defined as people at those facilities diagnosed as HIV-positive. The plaintiffs were represented by the American Civil Liberties Union’s National Prison Project, Legal Services for Prisoners with Children, California Rural Legal

Assistance, and private attorneys.

The conditions facing ill women prisoners more than 20 years ago were torturous, as crucial medical attention was delayed and denied. Some women suffered through the agony of AIDS or cancer, dying after having had pain medication no stronger than Motrin.

Meanwhile, there was no HIV specialist for women prisoners, and access to HIV/ AIDS education materials were minimal even though the number of HIV-positive women in California prisons was rapidly growing. Told that there was nothing wrong with them and turned away from the doctor, women in debilitating pain suffered intensely, getting sicker and sicker, only to be diagnosed with life-threatening diseases like cancer after it was far too late for treatment to save them.

Brenda Otto, a plaintiff in the lawsuit, died at CCWF on April 28, 1996.

When members of the lawsuit team interviewed her on April 4, 1996, she stated that she had a minor stroke in March which went untreated, because the doctor maintained there were no tests they could do to prove she had a stroke. She also had informed the doctor she was having chest pains and shortness of breath upon walking short distances, yet she was refused a stress EKG test. Subsequently, Brenda had another stroke, according to an ex-prisoner, and she was sent to an outside hospital, which wanted to keep her for observation. Nonetheless, she was returned to the cell where she was placed for a three-day lay-in and not the infirmary. Shortly thereafter, Brenda had a heart attack on her way to breakfast and died.

Other outrages included the removal of all egg crate mattresses, often used by women with disabilities in order to prevent bed sores. Additionally, all prisoners were required to pay $5 for each request to visit a doctor, even if they were not allowed to see the doctor. “There have been many times that I have not had the money to purchase necessary medical supplies because I have been forced to use my limited funds to pay $5 for each medical visit,” said Shumate, the lead plaintiff in the lawsuit.

Pregnant women who entered the Department of Corrections system after the lawsuit was filed were housed at Valley State Prison for Women in Chowchilla (converted to a men’s prison in 2013), which had no 24-hour infirmary and was not part of the lawsuit because it opened after the lawsuit was filed. Women who were carrying twins or who had high-risk pregnancies in the past were not getting proper attention, and a number of babies being born died.

Pregnant women with chronic diseases or those who developed life-threatening illnesses while in prison were not receiving proper healthcare, diet, or medication. Thus, a sentence of impris-

“

onment for crime turned into a sentence of torture or even death for a woman or her child.

Marcia Bunney, another plaintiff in the lawsuit, gave this analysis: “Whatever one’s commitment offense, it is abhorrent to allow treatment of the kind endured by the women prisoners of this state. The United States is quick to condemn other nations’ brutality and inhumanity while allowing special interest entities and their political figureheads to manipulate the spending of as many tax dollars to imprison people as we do to educate them. Californians look to Bosnia, China and Rwanda and recoil in horror and disbelief; yet how many justify the lack of care of prisoners by saying, ‘Prisoners shouldn’t have rights?’ How many denied, and ignored the ad hoc death sentences delivered by the state in the guise of medical care for those in its custody?”

A

settlement agreement in the class action suit was reached in August of 1997. It was approved by the court, and the case was dismissed on December 22, 1997.

The settlement included provisions for the screening of prisoners for contagious diseases, privacy of medical information, the institution of a system for prisoners to confidentially request medical services, the maintenance of emergen-

Californians look to Bosnia, China and Rwanda and recoil in

”

horror and disbelief; yet how many smugly justify the torture of prisoners by saying, ‘Prisoners shouldn’t have rights?’

cy medical equipment, and licensing requirements. The defendants—Gov. Wilson and the CDC—agreed to implement chronic disease guidelines and a new medical records format. The settlement also included provisions for maintaining the confidentiality of prisoners who are HIV positive. The parties agreed to appoint an assessor and survey team to determine how well the defendants were complying with the agreements.

On December 29, 1999, the defendants—CDC—requested an unconditional dismissal, stating that they had complied with the terms of the settlement agreement. But on February 3, 2000, the court found that defendants were not in substantial compliance with the settlement, and the dismissal was denied. On August 22, 2000, the court finally dismissed the case with prejudice, noting that both plaintiffs and defendants had agreed to the dismissal.

In 2019, women and transgender people incarcerated in CDC’s women’s prisons are still petitioning for medical issues. Women needing assistive devices, such as canes, crutches, walkers and wheelchairs, are facing a daunting bureaucracy—just to obtain equipment necessary for their safety, well-being, and the ability to heal.

Shumate was living with sickle cell anemia, hepatitis C, and cancer when she died in 2001. Even in the last year of her life, she continued to struggle for the rights of all prisoners for decent healthcare. When she heard there may be a new class action suit filed, Shumate wrote an open letter to whomever would become the lead plaintiff: “Now please don’t give up. When times get rough, hold your head up and know that you may be free or dead if you have acute medical needs yourself before you see the change that we fight so hard for.

But stay in peace with yourself that you are doing the right thing. It is not a me thing. It’s a we thing, and together with the dream team and the help of CCWP there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

And yes, I would do it all over again. If we can save one life from the medical nightmare of the CDC Medical Department, then it’s well worth it.”

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jail cell A true story of women on their own in an Oklahoma lockup

By Laci Berg as told to Mary Fish

M

y name is Laci. I am a locked-up pregnant lady at Oklahoma’s Mabel Bassett Correctional Center. Previously, I was in Caddo County Jail on a controlled of a dangerous substance charge with a former conviction of a felony. One of my cellmates (there were about 40 of us in this jail) was pregnant.

Her name was Cheree and she was Native and Caucasian. One afternoon, she went into labor. They brought the trays and we told the male guard she was in labor. He said, “I’ll see what I can do,” and he left.

Cheree started crowning—this baby

Story courtesy of Victoria Law

More women are giving birth in prison than ever before Legislation can improve medical care for pregnant inmates and their infants ONE PREGNANT WOMAN assists another as she gives birth in a county jail, after receiving slow response to their urgent requests for medical care.

If this strikes you as extraordinary, the stuff of TV dramas, then consider this: Dozens of incarcerated women give birth in Oklahoma every year.

Most of these occur at the overcrowded Mabel Bassett Correctional Center (MBCC), where Laci Berg was sent after the arrival of little Patience Rose.

Rewire News, a nonprofit online daily that covers reproductive and sexual health, reported the number of births that take place at MBCC at 30 in 2015 and 40 in 2016.

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The chances of becoming a mother while incarcerated are rising, and not just in Oklahoma, where women are imprisoned at double the national average (149 out of every 100,000 women, according to the Bureau of Justice Statistics). A 2011 Journal of the American Medical Association article estimates that 5 to 10 percent of women in the US enter prison or jail pregnant, and that nationwide every year around 2,000 children are born within the prison system.

Laci’s story highlights a few of the many dangers facing pregnant women behind bars. Like Cheree, mothers-to-be may face risky delivery in

their cells, without medical assistance. Those who are transferred to hospitals may do so under restraint and face giving birth shackled to a bed. Access to necessary nutrition, adequate substance abuse treatment, proper prenatal screenings and educational programming during pregnancy also vary greatly. Postnatal care is equally uncertain. Few correctional centers in the US give women easy access breast pumps, for example, or to counseling services to deal with the pain of separation from their newborns.

This is a national problem. The “Mothers Behind Bars” report, compiled in 2010 by the Rebecca Project for Human Rights

and the National Women’s Law Center, gave 21 states failing grades across three categories: prenatal care, shackling, and family-based treatment as an alternative to incarceration. Only Pennsylvania scored above a “B” on this report card.

What is being done to improve the situation?

Lawmakers at the state and federal level have slowly started to address the issue. In May 2018, Oklahoma passed a bill that banned the use of shackles on women in labor, joining a handful of states that already forbid the practice, including California, Illinois, New Mexico, New York, Texas, and Vermont.

Photo by © fastudio4 - stock.adobe.com

My birth plan is to deliver in a

My cellies were

was coming and she wasn’t waiting on anybody. My other cellies were banging o on the door, hollering for the guard and saying, “We’re having a baby!” They were pushing the button to central control and telling them, “The baby is coming!”

They answered back, “Quit yelling and quit banging and quit pushing the button!” So we did and commenced to having a baby!

I grabbed my sheet to hold as a curtain so she could have some semblance of privacy, as the bottom bunk was layered with our towels to catch the fluids. We draped a towel over her knees

banging on the

as they were positioned for door, hollering neck twice. We tried the baby to come out. The to urge her to push, but for the guard baby’s head was crowning she said she couldn’t. when the EMTs came in So Kathryn, who was and saying, and misdiagnosed Cheree, studying to be a nurse, saying, “No, she is not “We’re having came over, wrapped a crowning!” And they left. towel around the baby’s a baby!”

I saw Cheree’s face gethead and unwrapped the ting red and I thought she umbilical cord around needed air, so I let the sheet down and her neck. Within five minutes, we, the everybody in the pod started scream- locked-up women delivered Patience ing as the baby’s head was coming. I Rose, a 21-inch, beautiful baby girl out don’t know if it was from shock or what, into the world at Caddo County Jail. She but I put the sheet back up. Cheree was had long legs, and lots of hair. too tired to push anymore. The umbiliThe EMTs came back about 10 minutes cal cord was wrapped around the baby’s later and took her to the hospital.

States that have outlawed the use of restraints on a woman during her labor and delivery (includes the District of Columbia) States that not only ban restraints during labor and delivery, but also from the time a woman is known to be pregnant States with some restrictions on shackling as a matter of policy or court ruling States that allow women to be shackled during pregnancy and delivery

“Labor in Chains: The Shackling of Pregnant Inmates,”

by Lauryn E. King, Policy Perspectives 25, May 2018; updated by Kate McQueen and current as of May 2019.

Infographic by Sarah Horowitz.

Similar legislation was introduced at the federal level. The House of Representative’s “The Pregnant Women in Custody Act” seeks to “address the health needs of incarcerated women related to pregnancy and childbirth” by “prohibiting the use of restraints on prisoners

during ... pregnancy, labor and postpartum recovery” and by requiring the Bureau of Justice Statistics to collect data on incarcerated pregnant women and the results of their pregnancies. Both requirements were also part of the Senate’s “First Step Act,” which passed both houses

in December 2018.

Thanks to the determination of advocacy groups like the Minnesota Prison Doula Project and the Alabama Prison Birth Project, incarcerated women in some states now have access to birth coaches.

And a few state prisons—in California, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Nebraska, New York, South Dakota, Washington, and West Virginia— have opened prison nursery programs, which allow mothers to stay with their infants from 30 days to 30 months.

Much more needs to be

done. The Rebecca Project recommends that states clearly delineate standards of care and introduce policies that encourage compliance across correctional facilities. The bottom line is that the penal system is simply not built to accommodate the health needs of expecting and new mothers. States would best serve mothers sentenced on nonviolent and drugrelated offenses by prioritizing family-based treatment programs over prison time.

Kate McQueen SUMMER 2019 WALL CITY 27

L E G A L

By Lilliana Paratore and Sara Kruzan

‘Little weight or meaning’ California Senate Bills do little to help victims of sexual violence requesting parole

I

28 WALL CITY SUMMER 2019

perceptions, or behavior of victims of domestic violence if it appears the criminal behavior was the result of that victimization.” In 2012, California passed AB 1593, mandating that the parole board “give great weight” to intimate partner battering and its effects, rather than merely “consider” it as required by the original 2000 statute. Additionally, section 4801 was amended to explicitly provide that the fact that a prisoner presents evidence of abuse may not be used by the

parole authority to support a finding that the prisoner lacks insight into the crime.

While this special parole consideration has been an available avenue for relief for almost two decades, no California case law addresses the manner in which the Board must consider this evidence, nor have the courts defined the meaning of “great weight” in this context.

Unfortunately, in my experience as a parole attorney representing incarcerated women before the Board, these laws

Illustration by SQN

n this post-#MeToo era, it is common knowledge that women experience sexual harassment and abuse at staggering rates, and that these experiences are all too often left unvoiced or unaddressed. For women in prison, the problem is even greater. One study shows that between 40% and 93% of incarcerated women experienced intimate partner violence prior to incarceration. Moreover, 68-86% of women who are incarcerated report surviving sexual violence in their lifetime. Unfortunately, these experiences of gender-based violence as children and adults can be tied to an increased risk of future victimization, and of future perpetration of violence. As many women who commit crimes of violence do so either to protect themselves from abuse or as a part of abusive relationships.

For women going through the parole consideration process, these experiences are inadequately addressed, despite the fact that some statutes apply. In 2000, California enacted Senate Bill 499, codified as Penal Code section 4801, which required that the parole board “consider” evidence indicating that “at the time of the commission of the crime, the prisoner had suffered from battered woman syndrome…” In 2005, California passed Assembly Bill (AB) 220, which amended Penal Code section 4801 to reference “intimate partner battering” instead of “battered woman syndrome,” in order to keep pace with changed understandings of what intimate partner battering encompasses. “Intimate partner battering and its effects” includes “evidence of the nature and effects of physical, emotional, or mental abuse upon the beliefs,

have little weight or meaning. The Board only understands these laws as applying to women who have killed their abusive partners, rather than as applying to women who have experienced a range of intimate partner violence that impacted their pathways to crime more broadly.

This is born out in the numbers as well, as between 2011 and 2017, only 32 cases were investigated by the Board, and of those, only six were fully substantiated.

This leaves countless women without relief in the parole context, despite the fact that so many women attribute many of their “causative factors” and “character defects” to experiences of gender-based trauma and abuse. -L.P. ...to Live The Experience It is concerning for incarcerated persons, especially women aware of our “causative factors” and “character defects” being related to or are rooted

in experiences of gender-based trauma and abuse. I am one of those women. My trauma and abuse experienced prior to my act of violence against George, who sexually trafficked me, was very present when I committed the act of violence that took his life.

The trauma and abuse inflicted upon me by others was a very personal experience of being silenced. A very personal experience of being sexually assaulted repeatedly. A very personal experience of being raped. A very personal experience of being trafficked, victimized, and degraded by numerous forms of violence. All of this was my personal experience and was as ever present the day I was arrested for murder. However, no matter how personal the experiences, far too many women have shared in the experiences.

Unfortunately, my “causative factors” and “character defects” were not taken into account for a rehabilitative plan as I prepared for a life sentence as a youth tried as an adult. I was lost in an invisibility of the criminal justice system.

What if someone saw me? What if there was an act of compassion and rehabilitation within our criminal justice system from the very beginning one comes into contact with it? A warm hand off between institutions as opposed to a cold negligent and reckless hand off. Negligent handoffs fit under the umbrella of harmful behavior for me.

My experiences of integrated and concentrated violence while incarcerated left me many times with an uncertainty within an undefined bravery to continue on an undefined road. There weren’t any programs within Central California Women’s Facility, which covered the healing for child sex trafficking, compounded sexual trauma, and abuse.

There was Domestic Violence Support Group, but for me, it only addressed a percentage of my “causative factors” and “character defects”.

I wish California’s parole board procedures were rooted in a therapeutic model with values rooted in healing, restoration, dignity and safety for all. I was

so intimidated by the appearance alone within the parole board, having to share and discuss some of my most dehumanizing experiences with strange men, triggered memories of other moments I was with strange men and being dehumanized.

As I presented in front of the parole board, its very design shrunk my being.

However, in a space structured to exude enveloping power, the simple act of kindness by Commissioner Zinnernam created a sense of dignity for me. A dignity and act of human kindness, an experience that will forever be etched within my core. I was asked to state my name and spell it. I leaned into the table, stretching my neck to the microphone and barely reaching the microphone.

Zinnernam came down from his authoritarian bench and pulled the microphone closer to me. In that moment, the system acknowledged what I had to say was worthy of being heard and I felt a sense of dignity by a system, whose only drive was to oppress and punish me. Despite the structures of a criminal justice system etched in violence, there are endless opportunities to create moments for humanization; for sharing pockets of safety, connection, healing and hope.

People will forget what one does. People will forget what one says. One does not ever forget how they are left to feel.

Experiencing a ripple effect, which impacted my drive to continue to give in the smallest way holds a valuable life lesson. A lesson bringing awareness to the power of an act of kindness I experienced while in my parole hearing. An underscoring of personal choice to walk along others to contribute to a healing change for overall wellness.

The parole process for me, as a survivor of violent crimes, as an offender who committed an act of violence, as a woman of color sentenced to life without parole, held a belief through rehumanizing what one may be afraid of, healing happens on many levels and we can redesign our institutions to reflect dignity, safety and compassion as we aim for community wellness. -S.K. SUMMER 2019 WALL CITY 29

A LETTER

30 WALL CITY SUMMER 2019

TO MY SISTER ACTIVISTS, INSIDE AND OUT (Motivating Individual Leadership for Public Advancement). We work on cultivating Change-Makers for the Next Seven Generations by improving the health and well-being of the communities we come from. We advocate for change at both the policy and root levels. I am also currently a transfer student at UC Davis

working on a bachelors degree in Chicana/o Studies with a focus on Social Policy. While at UC Davis, I have also co-founded Beyond the Stats: a studentled organization of formerly incarcerated and systemimpacted students, faculty, and administration. We have printed zines of our own stories, facilitated a studentled seminar with a syllabus we ourselves wrote, and have advocated for ourselves and others like us. I am part of a growing movement of folks getting out and wanting to get involved to change conditions for the better.

At the same time, I am also a partner, sister, auntie, daughter, comadre (co-mother), j3writer, cat lover, and a bunch of other things. One of them—as I’m sure you can imagine, as I know you have your own list of things you do and are—is busy. Busy and often tired. I drive a lot and stay up many late nights. I commute to school and, at 37, am practically twice as old as most other students.

Responsibilities only grow. Our timeline and trajectory is much different than others—traditional—students and activists, but that only makes us more valuable. We know the meaning of struggle on a survival level; beyond the pages and into our lives. That kind of knowledge cannot be taught. While it is tiring work, it is absolutely necessary: We are who will help create new futures for the next generations. That is why we fight; why we must persevere.

Not a day goes by that I am not thankful for the life and community I have been able to build.

I have worked hard to use my pen as my weapon in speaking truth to power and to bring others along with me as I

Illustration by George Peters

I AM SENDING YOU LOVE and light sister, and I hope that wherever you may be reading this from, you are at peace. By peace, I mean I hope you are okay with you, no matter who you are. I write these words as someone who has at one time or another hurt most everyone I was close to, as someone who was labeled a criminal and dealt with the physical (incarceration) and emotional (PTSD, anxiety, etc.) repercussions of that classification. As someone who knows what state surveillance in one’s life feels like generationally, someone who had to figure out how to be at peace with myself for public and personal reasons.

I knew when I was in county jail one of the first times that the rights I had taken for granted on the outside did not apply the same inside. People were dying around me with no public answer as to how or why. I realized early on that to fight for myself and those left forgotten behind bars when I got out, I would have to appear more credible and impressive than those around me. I also knew early on that I would end up fighting to change conditions for those like me and my loved ones, on both sides of the bars. I just didn’t know how, or what that fight would look like. When I was ready, I had a lot of work to do; both hard and heart work.

That was almost 20 years ago. Fast forward to 13 plus years out and I can officially call myself a formerly incarcerated activist—and get paid for it. I am fortunate enough to work for an organization made up of, founded, and led by formerly incarcerated and systemimpacted people of color called MILPA

Tina Curiel-Allen

O V E R

T H E

W A L L

Out, and about something In their own words, four formerly incarcerated women describe their paths after they were released

Topeka Sam co-founded Hope House NYC, which opened in 2017. Hope House, an initiative of The Ladies of Hope Ministries, is transitional housing for single women who have been incarcerated and are returning to New York City.

“When I got home, I started going around, organizing with other women around women’s issues and incarceration, and just seeing that it was the same issues happening: Women need housing, women need resources, women need all these things.”

Photos courtesy of Topeka Sam, Tracy Brumfield, Susan Burton and Keri Blakinger

do it. I have chosen as a writer to use my pen and my voice as a tool to effectively communicate to diverse groups of people. The experiential knowledge that addiction and struggle has taught me is beyond measure. Because of my life’s teachers, self-love, education, de-colonization, self-determination, and liberation are anchors in my daily life. These anchors came from the colleagues and mentors who paved the way for me and continue to walk the long march for justice with me.

I needed to make peace with myself before any of this was possible. I had to dig deep to discover who the authentic self I wanted to bring to spaces was, and then be willing to grow toward that.

I also had to look squarely at the pain that had kept me running for years if I wanted to start putting down roots. A lot of people helped me in this process. Until I did this, new growth was not sustainable or possible. For me, this path started to unfold through a program I was in while incarcerated. From there it has twisted and turned into a life involving ceremony and daily practice. How you begin or continue that process is, of course, up to you.

But until you do that, until you learn how to be okay being still and alone with yourself, you won’t be able to manage hustling and being busy.

How we deal with quiet is related with how we deal with chaos; that’s just how things go.

And so I write this letter to you, sister, wherever you may be, in hopes that you are on that path toward selflove and care while fighting for and taking care of others around you.

I am on that same path and hope to meet you in person someday soon. We are all made better in the struggle toward liberation, love, and self-determination. May we never forget that.

Ometeotl,

Tracy Brumfield is the creator of RISE Up News, a newspaper with a mission to remove post-incarceration barriers, to empower those behind bars with resources and information. She is now working on audience expansion and additional reentry programs for the nonprofit.

“The greatest gift I can give you… is what I like to call ‘the real real,’ ” said Brumfield. “I go into the Hamilton County N32 G pod every Thursday, and we talk about the things in life that can really change us, and how in those moments, if we listen to our gut, we can make good decisions.”

Susan Burton is the founder of A New Way of Life Reentry Project, with a mission to promote healing, power and opportunity for formerly incarcerated people by taking a multifaceted approach to mitigating the effects of, and ultimately eliminating, mass incarceration.

“I think we all want to make an impact; [it’s never] too late. My job now was to value each and every woman, to cast aside my doubt and believe in them—and to teach them to cast aside their own doubt an to hold themselves and others to a standard of accountability, integrity and respect.”

Keri Blakinger spent nearly two years incarcerated before becoming a criminal justice reporter for the Houston Chronicle. She covers breaking news for the Houston Chronicle and previously worked for the New York Daily News and the Ithaca Times. She has written about drugs and criminal justice issues.

“I’ve been so privileged in so many ways to end up with hope and second chances and a happy ending…A lot of people don’t have that, and I wish that more did.”

SUMMER 2019 WALL CITY 31

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Below: The ladies of Embracing Hearts with teacher Korn’s guitarist Wes Geer

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