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NEWS & LETTERS, JUNE 2003
Voices From the Inside OutInhuman conditions in women's prisons
by Robert Taliaferro There are times when you get a better perspective on
something if you set it down for a while and come back to it later. Recently
that occurred with regard to an October 2000 report titled "Legislative
Hearings on the Conditions of Confinement for California Women Prisoners,"
that was published by the California Legislature, and prepared by prisoner
support groups. When reports like that are written, particularly in an
election year, they gain a lot of attention. Then, with the politicians in place for two, four, or
six more years, mainstream attention seems to fade away like a California
sunset, and these "stars for the moment" (the women interviewed) are
relegated to their regular routines and existence, often suffering worse abuse
because they talked. PRISONS' HORROR AND HYPOCRISY In reading the report a little over two years later, one
is struck with the stark realities of the plight of California's women
prisoners: during med-line at one of the prisons, the mothers, daughters,
sisters, wives, and grandmothers stand in 100 degree heat, or pouring rain
(conditions that would never be tolerated in men's prisons) to receive
medication that may save or prolong their lives. Women with HIV and/or Hepatitis C, who are being
stripped of their health and their lives, are further stripped of their dignity
as they are "put out there" by the discriminatory and degrading
policies of the state. Nearly 80% of the women are non-violent offenders, the
majority are imprisoned for drug charges, a disproportionate number of the
prisoners are women of color, and an astounding number of the women were already
victims of abuse prior to coming to prison. You have to ask yourself where the
"correctional" aspects of incarceration are actually conducted.
Certainly not in California's prisons. We, as a nation, love to express our horror at abuses in
Third World countries because it gives us a feeling of confidence about the
sanity of our way of life and system of government. If television cameras could
enter a prison, they would see the abuses promulgated within women's
prisons--where women are relegated to the same class and status as if they were
in Iraq, Iran, Saudi Arabia, or some of the countries of Africa. We admonish other countries around the world to follow
the "high road" of freedom and justice, to be humanitarians while
behind the walls and razor-topped wire fences of a women's (or men's) prison,
another human being is being tortured to death because of the lack of
fundamental primary medical care, or within the mind-numbing confines of a
"supermax" prison cell. We admonish other countries for human rights abuses and
to adhere to recognized standards of treatment. Yet behind the walls of American
prisons, another woman will cry herself to sleep, because of the abuse that she
has to endure on nearly a daily basis. TO BE TRUE TO THEIR COURAGE The report is a sad indictment of a country that prides
itself on equity, dignity, and respect. But, as damning as the report is, one
can only be impressed with the dignity and absolute courage of the women who
gave their testimonies, knowing that they may be subjects of future retaliation. There is a stunning eloquence in the stories the women
told. The one theme that was so very compelling was the consistent repetition
that, "we are someone's mother, someone's daughter, someone's sister,
someone's wife, and some little one's grandmother." A woman in the California system wrote of "we"
rather than "me," a call out to her incarcerated sisters that speaks
of unity and empowerment. But the concept of "we" should extend much
further. The "we" of the community should be flooding state and
national legislators with angry letters as to the plight of women prisoners in
this country. "We" should extend to the floor of the UN and
to the halls of international law in The Hague, indicting a country for war
crimes in the class war of poverty, racism, and sexism. In this country, death
comes slowly--the bullet--the lack of a simple checkmark on a form that would
save a person's life. Death comes slowly, day by day, hour by hour, second by
second, with such mind-numbing clarity that it is a wonder more people in that
situation don't simply lay down and quit. The system has a long memory. We must have equally long memories so that we do not allow the courage of these brave women to be forgotten or ignored. These reports are not simply documents for the moment, but a haunting tribute to the courage that it took for the women to come forward and let their voices be heard. To be revisited as a legacy for those whose voices will never be heard again. |
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