The prison system is cruel and impersonal to those in its grasp, and many U.S. citizens expect it to be—even prefer it that way. But the cruelty also buffets those who have broken no law.
San Jose real estate broker Anna D. Smith, 61, has been the mother of an incarcerated son for more than two decades, complete with the emotional turmoil, bureaucratic hurdles, and personal growth that come with it. Her journey, and the journey of her son, Andrew, began in juvenile halls and psychiatric facilities. It continues today with his seven-year prison sentence. The life she describes for them both is one of constant anxiety.
"Thinking, worrying about him never goes away."
"Thinking, worrying about him never goes away," she says, adding that the silence of missed calls or letters can plunge her into fright, affect her appetite and intensify feelings of isolation. "If I didn’t receive a call for a week, I would pace the floor. If I didn’t receive a letter, panic would set in, and I would question if he were still alive … and I still do."
The background noise of Andrew’s facility always imposes itself during phone calls. Smith says the sound of it keeps playing in her mind in his absence, often becoming “an unwelcome soundtrack” in her mind.
Visitation days present the greatest challenges as she braces to enter a place where every security measure treats visitors with suspicion, disdain and humiliation. The ritual of depositing personal belongings, wand scans, and labyrinthine entry procedures are exhausting. Visitors can easily become candidates for strip searches. The lack of clarity and confrontations with uncooperative officers adds layers of frustration to an already taxing experience. Additionally, officers sometimes take issue with her identification for unclear reasons, or they confront and delay her at prison exits, which scars the spirit. Sometimes the visits are no less harrowing for her son. Andrew once called her after a routine visit to beg her to delay future appointments after guards put him through a particularly grueling post-visit strip search for contraband.
Smith finds resilience through yoga, music, and by cherishing memories captured in photos. Equally vital are support networks of empathetic individuals who understand her plight and who offer solidarity during moments of despair. The effectiveness of support groups prompted Smith to highlight systemic deficiencies and support other families of incarcerated individuals.
Critics like Smith argue the U.S. prison system is less about rehabilitation and more about making money. It draws significant revenue from family members through overpriced phone calls and wealth extraction methods, burdening families already likely suffering from instability.
The mailing system, she adds, is unnecessarily complicated and burdensome.
"Specific changes should include free calls to landlines and cell phones. Mail and magazines should be delivered to our loved ones without them waiting for weeks. (And) support for children who have parents who are incarcerated is very important," Smith says.
Comprehensive government support frameworks, she adds, do not exist to address the emotional and practical challenges for children of incarcerated people.
New Orleans resident Dominque Jones-Johnson is another family member with a loved one in the system. Like Smith, she is a catalyst for change alongside her incarcerated father, Charles Brown Jr. In 2018, Jones-Johnson, 41, and her father founded Daughters Beyond Incarceration (DBI) to combat the stigma surrounding Black girls with incarcerated parents. The organization evolved into a fundraising powerhouse with Jones-Johnson securing more than $800,000 in grants and spearheading legislative efforts to enhance the well-being of children across Louisiana affected by parental incarceration. Over her five-year career, she’s empowered more than 200 young girls in New Orleans by providing essential services and amplifying their voices in the community.
One of her more notable legislative victories includes Louisiana House Concurrent Resolution 24 (HCR24), which enables incarcerated parents to participate in crucial educational events. She says the new law bridges the gap between confinement and familial involvement for more than 94,000 Louisiana children.
"The prison system and corrections officers are not educated on how to deal with families ...,” Jones-Johnson told BGX. “Through legislation we are pushing to change all of that so that it is more inclusive for families, children, and demographics.”
Jones-Johnson's father was incarcerated when she was a small child, which left a searing impact. She still recalls the stark image of her father being shackled and escorted by armed officers at her grandfather's funeral. Today her organization’s holistic support system provides vital resources and guidance to help youth navigate the painful complexities of familial separation. The Southern Black Girls and Women’s Consortium’s recognized her organization’s hard work in its Joy Campaign.
Both Jones-Johnson and Smith say the system routinely fails to honor individuals’ potential for change and restoration. Its habit of ignoring the value of familial and community ties impedes personal restoration and rehabilitation, and it aggravates generational trauma and crisis. All this neglect is a sure recipe for recidivism and a new generation of broken young people.
Jones-Johnson says addressing the problem will require reversing a whole national way of thinking.
“By challenging entrenched norms and addressing pervasive issues like high dropout rates among children of incarcerated parents, we're attempting to reshape the societal landscape related to issues of incarceration,” Jones-Johnson says.
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C. Dreams is an advocate who writes and lectures about prison and criminal justice reform, LGBTQ rights, harm reduction, and government and cultural criticism.
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