Many of America’s “Missing” Black Men Are in Prison

There are 1.5 million Black men “missing” from cities in America. A recent study by the New York Times shows that for every 100 Black women not in jail in America, there are 83 Black men. 600,000 of the people “missing” in this gap are incarcerated, while another 900,000 are estimated to have died prematurely (the study focused on people ages 25 – 54). 1.5 million equates to 1 in 6 Black men in this age range who have aren’t around – they’re dead, or hidden from the general population’s view.

The largest gap in the U.S. is in Ferguson, MO, where there are 40% more Black women than men.

In a Letter to the Editor, Marc Mauer points to inadequate welfare spending to explain both primary drivers of the “missing” population. He cites research demonstrating that welfare spending reduces the risk of incarceration (and, no surprise, premature death). Reducing the size and expense of the prison system is a cause that policy makers across the aisle have advocated; a significant proportion of the government savings that would result should be redirected to non-punitive crime reduction measures: welfare programs.

No More Tolerance of Sexual Violence in Prison

According to a recent op ed from the New York Times, prison rape costs the government roughly $51.6 billion per year (from victim compensation and increased recidivism), while full compliance with the Prison Rape Elimination Act would cost about $480 million per year. These numbers, of course, don’t include the immeasurable emotional cost of being sexually assaulted or raped, nor the cost to society when we normalize and even leverage sexual violence against people who are in the “care” of the state. The ACLU has estimated that between George W. Bush’s signing the Act into law and the DOJ’s finalizing the standards in 2012, 2,000,000 incarcerated people were raped. About half of the complaints that are filed are against staff.

The Prison Rape Elimination Act isn’t the end-all be-all answer, and it’s in no way equipped to address what I see as the root problems of sexual violence in prison: sexual violence has long been used to assert dominance and the structure of prison ensures that dominance is the name of the game, while the close quarters and lack of autonomy in prison make protecting oneself extremely difficult and staff prejudice (or loyalty to staff offenders) leaves victims without recourse. But although the Act should certainly be adopted and enforced widely, in particular against the handful of corrections officers who routinely commit violence with impunity, as well as their colleagues and unions who turn a blind eye to the abuses.

The Future of Fulton: A former prison gets a second chance

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In the Bronx, people who have recently been released from prison may soon voluntarily head to a (former) correctional facility. In January, the New York-based reentry services organization The Osborne Association took title to the building formerly known as Fulton Correctional Facility, which operated as a minimum security prison in the Bronx for four decades.

Irony isn’t new to the Fulton Avenue property, which began as an Episcopal church house in 1907 and became a Young Men’s Hebrew Association (YMHA?) in the 1920s. But this latest transition is perhaps its greatest contradiction.

On the one hand, the reentry services that will be provided – including emergency and interim housing and workforce development – are desperately needed. Housing is a particular challenge in the Bronx because so many residents live in public housing and former prisoners are, by and large, banned from living there. Finding employment is also a struggle: the unemployment rate in the Bronx is a staggering 9.3%. By comparison, the national unemployment rate has returned to a pre-recession level of 5.5%, and the peak national unemployment rate during the recession was only slightly higher than what the Bronx is currently experiencing. Unsurprisingly, people who are reentering society are at a disadvantage both because of their criminal convictions and because of gaps in their employment history or a lack of transferrable job skills.

For those reasons, I want to be excited about this resource for Osborne. I have nothing but admiration for their work, and I’m optimistic that they’ll use the facility formerly known as Fulton in the best conceivable ways. But I can’t help but feel that the message being sent here is problematic – you’ve done your time, but the only place left for you – on the outside – is a prison; this cinderblock building full of cells and bars is literally an improvement on where you will end up without it (likely the streets).

My hesitation is reflected in the reaction of one former Fulton resident who attended the ceremony at which Osborne received the key to the building:

Stanley Richards stood hunched by a wall in a suit and tie, remembering his days as an involuntary resident of 1511 Fulton. “You see I’m sweating?” Mr. Richards said. “My gut is going up and down. When I walked in that door, I remembered when I first walked in that door, not knowing if I was coming back out.”

The idea of using a prison to house and train people getting out of prison reminds me of another repurposed facility from a different era. The Louisiana State Penitentiary, known as Angola, was a slave plantation (named for the country from which its slaves were taken) until the Civil War. Today it is the largest maximum security prison in the nation, with 6,300 prisoners and 1,800 staff members. It bears a striking resemblance to the slave plantation it once was, complete with working farm. It is a walking monument to the notion that mass incarceration is the latest edition of race-based oppression in the U.S.

Don’t get me wrong: I’ll reiterate that I think Osborne is a terrific organization and that the work they are doing is sorely needed by formerly incarcerated people returning to the Bronx – I don’t think that they’re the next incarnation of Angola Prison. Osborne is hemmed in by limited resources, and taking advantage of what they can get. And perhaps there’s some kind of poetic justice here, people who encountered the brute force of mass incarceration rising like phoenixes from the ashes of a system that (in New York, at least) is declining. But I do think it’s troubling that the situation is so desperate that sending formerly incarcerated people back into a (former) prison is something advocates are excited about.

Life on the outside simply should not be so blatantly analogous to life on the inside. The ease with which they can be equated, like the connection between Angola as a slave plantation and as a prison, should be a cause for alarm.


Rethinking the Police

Can the police be fixed? Scrutiny on police in the last year or so has generated much discussion of police reform, from great ideas like changing departmental culture to encourage building multidimensional relationships between officers and the communities they police, to superficial but potentially helpful changes like body cams, to misguided fixes like the “triple defender” less-lethal weapon.

But what if the very role of police is inherently off the mark? An interesting article from the Atlantic suggests that policing relies on “power” – an external, force-oriented approach to social control, rather than “authority,” which relies on relationships and consent from those being led. For African American communities in particular, the U.S. has relied on the police “hammer” to respond to social ills like drug addiction, poverty, and mental illness.

We ask ourselves, “Were they justified in shooting?” But, in this time of heightened concern around the policing, a more essential question might be, “Were we justified in sending them?”

The best police departments in the nation will still fall short of being able to fix the kind of problems that police are currently expected to “deal with.” While there are changes that can and must take place, broader and more substantial change isn’t going to come from within police departments, but from public pressure to create positive responses to social needs and rely less (or not at all) on punitive ones.

Employing the Dangerous Class

Apple’s employment practices made headlines recently when it came to light that they imposed a blanket ban on hiring construction workers who had been convicted of a felony in the last 7 years. Luckily, responses of surprise and outrage resulted in Apple lifting the ban from their screening process. But many companies continue to outright bar convicted felons from employment, and most states don’t consider it discrimination (even where the conviction has nothing to do with the position in question). And, of course, hiring is a deeply subjective process even at its most systematic.

I know: I was a corporate recruiter for a tech company for several years, and although we used rigorous tests and well-established standards to hire thousands of people every year, there was ample room for subjective factors to come into play, particularly where any objective doubts existed about a candidate – which was virtually always. We were instructed not to consider felony convictions unless they were relevant to the position (as in: better than the controversial Apple policy), but the stereotypes that accompany convictions along with the practical implications – career gaps, periods of unemployment resulting from prejudicial hiring practices, lack of formal education or correspondence-school degrees that we valued less highly, etc. – worked against the applicant at each stage of the process.

I argued in favor of overlooking serious (but irrelevant) convictions, and it was obvious that my coworkers generally had not seriously thought of doing so until I pushed back. These coworkers, by the way, were overwhelming young, highly educated, and liberal. In other words, the same demographic who got so mad about Apple’s outright ban, and folks who one might imagine would be particularly sympathetic.

Why the resistance to hiring people who have irrelevant felony convictions? In an economy with an uncomfortably high unemployment rate, employers often have a lot of options and may benefit from culling the herd a little bit outright. And when you’re turning away many qualified applicants, perhaps employers feel justified in giving folks who’ve never been convicted of a felony a leg up – maybe it feels like a merit-based decision. But I think the most compelling explanation for both de jure and de facto bans on hiring people with felony convictions is simply prejudice: thanks to rhetoric about “career criminals” and “super predators” – what I’ve described as the “dangerous class” – individual convictions have come to stand for a criminal identity overall.

It should be noted, though, that this is not a race-neutral prejudice. One particularly distressing study from Arizona State University showed that our broad prejudice against people with criminal convictions still isn’t as strong as our prejudice against Black people: white men with criminal convictions were more likely to be hired than equally qualified Black men with no criminal history.

Getting rid of the screening question altogether (the “Ban the Box” movement) will go a long way to prevent the kind of de facto discrimination I witnessed, and applying civil-rights-style anti-discrimination principles to those with criminal records will help as well. But, as the Arizona State University study demonstrates, the prejudices at work here are layered and will likely need to be addressed simultaneously to effectuate change.

Chicago Police Stops Outpace New York at Its Worst

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Police stops in Chicago outpace stop-and-frisks at their peak in New York according to a ACLU of Illinois. Not surprisingly, the ACLU found that people of color were being targeted.

The Most Human Thing In Prison May Not Be Human At All

A new program at Pendleton Maximum Security Prison in Indiana brings rescued cats into the facility. Incarcerated men at Pendleton are charged with providing care, keeping their space clean, and socializing the cats, many of whom have been abused or abandoned. Of course, the cats aren’t the only ones with trauma in their past and cages in their present: in the video linked above, they really could’ve used “cats” and “prisoners” interchangeably.

“It’s helped me calm down and lot, and grow up,” says Lamar Hall, one of the cat caretakers. “It feels good just to help.”

One of the things I’ve heard a lot from incarcerated people is how degrading it is to be constantly identified with your past mistakes, viewed as an inherently bad person. Being able to spend time with animals and do positive work is a relief from the exhausting barrage of negativity, both because the cats don’t know you’re part of a prisoner caste and because you can feel good about what you’re doing.

Pendleton also has a dog training program, one of several programs that exist across the U.S. I met one trainer/trainee pair at Otisville Correctional Facility, part of Puppies Behind Bars, and I was blown away: Hannah, the trainee, could respond to more than fifty commands in both English and Spanish, conducting helpful tasks like flipping light-switches and retrieving a ringing telephone. Her trainer was so passionate about the program that he had actually requested a move from a minimum security facility to a medium because the program was only available there.

In an environment of distrust, violence, and prejudice, sometimes contact with non-humans can be the most humanizing experience available.

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Louisiana Won’t Compensate Dying Man for Thirty Lost Years

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Glenn Ford has gotten two death sentences. The first one landed him on Louisiana’s death row at Angola Prison for 30 years before his conviction was vacated. The second came this February, just under a year after he was released: with Stage 4 lung cancer, Mr. Ford has four to eight months to live.

“Can you imagine going more than twenty years without no human contact?” Mr. Ford asks in response to a question about the emotional impact of death row. “Without seeing your family? And then one day after thirty year with no new contact, one night you’re sleeping on death row, and the next day you’re in the free world. That’s how overwhelmed I still am.”

He envies the lives he’s seen others develop, growing in ways he never had the chance to. “I’m still a spectator,” Mr. Ford explains.

But despite having been wrongfully convicted, a conviction that can be attributed to prosecutorial misconduct and inadequate defense, the state has denied Mr. Ford’s request for compensation. This denial is based on prosecutors’ insistence than Mr. Ford knew of the robbery that culminated in the accidental killing of the victim, and that he pawned items from the store that was robbed. On this basis he is not “factually innocent” within the requirements of the Louisiana compensation law.

But Mr. Ford was convicted of a crime he did not commit on an inaccurate set of facts. He was not convicted of the crimes that are now being alleged against him. Furthermore, the crimes that are preventing his compensation would almost certainly not have earned him 30 years in prison, and they definitely would not have put him on death row. That he allegedly committed crimes related to this set of facts and not different crimes seems like such an arbitrary reason to deny someone a sliver of justice after you’ve robbed them of a much more valuable commodity: liberty.

There is no indication that the police officers who coached witnesses or the prosecutors who suppressed evidence of Mr. Ford’s innocence will be held accountable for their malpractice (one prosecutor did write a heartfelt letter of apology, but failed to explain why he never acted on the doubts he harbored about the case for decades after its conclusion). Without compensating Mr. Ford (capped at $330,000 in Louisiana, by the way, which would be $11,000 for each year of his life spent in a 12 x 12 box), the state of Louisiana will not be held accountable either. And Mr. Ford, who is currently in hospice care, has no money to make his life easier, compensate the hospice workers who are taking care of him, or leave to his many grandchildren when he dies.

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Falsified Training Records Show Law Enforcement’s Disregard for Human Life

Sources from inside the Tulsa Sheriff’s Department have indicated that the training records for Bob Bates, the 73-year-old “pay to play” volunteer deputy who accidentally shot and killed Eric Harris, were falsified. Bates was classified as a “advanced reserve,” which requires 480 hours of training. A number of actors have questioned whether Bates actually completed the training, including a representative for Harris’ family and sources inside the Sheriff’s Department. Bates himself released a statement claiming that he received training from the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office in Arizona, which that office has denied.

Does it really matter? Yes. The training in question was a prerequisite to Bates carrying a gun, meaning that if he was actually expected to complete the training, he might not have been in the field, he might not have been carrying a gun, or he might have had training that guided him away from the tragic error in question. In any event, there’s a good chance that Eric Harris would still be alive. And while I have no idea what the training actually entails, law enforcement officers who do carry lethal weapons should receive extensive (extensive) training before going into the field to guide them away from using guns – accidentally or intentionally – as much as possible.

I’ll repeat what I said a few days ago, which is that Mr. Bates never should have been on that sting operation, much less carrying a gun while there. The risks are simply too high: lethal weapons cause accidental or unnecessary deaths with alarming frequency. But to have such a terrible policy regarding volunteer deputies and then also be negligent with regard to training demonstrates an appalling disregard for the lives of the people who will come in contact with your deputies.

Anthony Ray Hinton’s Exoneration Won Despite Prosecutors’ Resistance

Anthony Ray Hinton was exonerated on April 3rd after spending 30 years – his 30s, 40s, and 50s – on death row in Alabama. Hinton is one of 1,583 people who have been exonerated for serious crimes in the U.S., according to the National Registry of Exonerations. He is one of 152 people exonerated after being sentenced to die (experts estimate that about 4% of death row prisoners are innocent). His exoneration concludes 15 years of work on the part of the Equal Justice Initiative, led by Bryan Stevenson.

Hinton was convicted of killing two restaurant managers, despite evidence that he was locked in a warehouse working overnight. The only physical evidence linking him to the murders was a .38 police found under his mother’s mattress, which a state expert testified matched the bullets fired in the two murders. His defense attorney was inaccurately informed that he could have only $1,000 to hire his own expert, and, unable to find a qualified expert available at that sum (and unwilling to ask for more), hired a retired civil engineer with one eye.

Although the Equal Justice Initiative took the case in 2000 and hired three experts who all found that the gun did not match the bullets (nor did the bullets match a single gun more generally), current and former prosecutors resisted reconsidering the evidence for more than a decade. Anthony Ray Hinton paid the price of an inadequate defense attorney, a complicit judge, and a negligent prosecutor, and then continued paying it as prosecutors blocked a much-needed review.

After 30 years on death row, Mr. Hinton has a long road of adjustment ahead of him. He told the Marshall Project about several of these challenges:

It took me a little while to remember how to use a fork. You know we don’t use forks in the penitentiary. You get a spoon. And the spoon is plastic, so I haven’t used a fork in 30 years. I just really tried to order something that didn’t make me look like I didn’t have any home training. It’s like learning everything over again.

No one has apologized on the part of the state, nor have individual prosecutors acknowledged their mistakes. Here’s hoping Mr. Hinton and his attorneys win a great big award for damages, both for his sake (he hasn’t been in the traditional workforce for thirty years, for example) and in order to hold Alabama accountable to the greatest degree possible for this injustice.


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