Within the next months, Massachusetts’ legislators are expected to consider an amendment mandating that “Strip searches of inmates, including the videotaping thereof, shall not be conducted by or in the immediate vicinity of a correction officer or other employee of the opposite sex, except under an emergency or otherwise urgent situation.” Massachusetts Bill H.3444, An Act relative to searches of female inmates, comes in the wake of a successful lawsuit filed in 2011 against Sheriff Michael J. Ashe and Assistant Superintendent Patricia Murphy of the Western Massachusetts Regional Correctional Center in Chicopee. This lawsuit was filed on behalf of Debra Baggett and 178 former and current women detainees at the Chicopee Jail. As Jean Troustine explains, the defendants brought evidence showing that over a period of less than two years 273 strip searches had been videotaped, all of women, mostly by men who supposedly did not look.

The proposed law is certainly a step in the right direction. However, allowing the presence of an officer or employee of the opposite sex under an (undefined) “emergency or otherwise urgent situation” leaves the door open for subjective assessments of “emergencies” (for example, the inmate appears upset – a reaction that I’d expect to be fairly common when faced with a strip search) or bureaucratically based “urgencies” (for example, no officers of the matching gender happen to be available.)

Strip searches ostensibly are carried out in order to prevent contraband from entering prisons, yet reports cast serious doubts on the effectiveness of strip searches in that matter. In fact, evidence indicates that the majority of contraband is brought into prisons by prison employees rather than by inmates. Even if a strip search uncovers a bag of heroin or cocaine hidden on the body, that bag is likely to be a drop in the bucket against the background of the larger market of drugs smuggled in by employees. In other words, even if strip searches could be justified in terms of uncovering contraband (which, in fact, strip searches rarely uncover), to the extent that I have been able to see hard data on the matter, the amount of the uncovered contraband cannot justify this practice. In fact, no one really knows how effective strip searches are at keeping contraband out of prisons which is why I urge the Commonwealth of Massachusetts (and the rest of the country, for that matter) to document every strip search: the specific reason for conducting it and what exactly – if anything – the search uncovered.

National studies have found that strip searches often are conducted to establish power more than for real expectations of finding contraband . According to Deborah L. Macgregor, in an article published in the Columbia Journal of Law and Social Problems, women are particularly targeted for these displays of power. It is not uncommon for prison guards to use children as pawns to coerce women to participate in a strip search. For example, women may be threatened with not being permitted to see their children if they fail to cooperate. “Prison and police officers are vested with the power and responsibility to do acts which, if done outside of work hours, would be crimes of sexual assault. If a person does not ‘consent’ to being stripped naked by these officers, force can lawfully be used to do it,” according to Amanda George in the Australian Institute of Criminology.  George cites women’s accounts of strip searches: “We are strip searched after every visit. We are naked, told to bend over, touch our toes, spread our cheeks. If we’ve got our period we have to take the tampon out in front of them. It’s degrading and humiliating. When we do urines it’s even worse, we piss in a bottle in front of them. If we can’t or won’t we lose visits for three weeks.”

Justice Marshall has described a strip search as “one of the most grievous offenses against personal dignity and common decency.” These searches create “feelings of ‘deep degradation and terror'” and instill psychological reactions that “can be likened to those of rape victims.” The punitive nature of strip-searching is particularly egregious in light of the fact that approximately one third of women incarcerated in Massachusetts have not been convicted of a crime. Rather, they are in jail or prison awaiting trial, typically because they are not able to pay relatively small sums of bail money.

The coercive nature of prison exacerbates the humiliation of strip searches. An estimated 70% of women drawn into the correctional system have experienced physical or sexual violence, and in many cases that includes childhood sexual abuse. Prison procedures requiring the removal of clothing and intimate touching of an inmate’s body are especially traumatizing for women who have suffered abuse in the past. Responses to perceived threats can include alienation, withdrawal, fighting back, extreme outbursts, worsening of psychiatric symptoms or physical health problems, self-injury or suicide attempts, and increased substance use. In the prison context, these behaviors can lead to further punishment, including solitary confinement, and can easily be construed as an “emergency” meriting the presence of opposite sex officers at the strip search.

According to testimony provided by Carmen Guhn-Knight (August 7, 2015) based on interviews with sixty women who were videotaped while undergoing strip searches at the Chicopee Jail in western Massachusetts, “Women with histories of sexual abuse told me of their heightened sensitivity to having their naked bodies video-recorded. They said they returned to their communities re-traumatized, and in some cases with PTSD due to being recorded during strip searches.” Guhn-Knight shares some of the reactions she heard from these women: “Do we have to have the videotape? I don’t want to be videotaped naked. I don’t want to be filmed naked… I don’t want the camera on me.” “Is this going to end up on YouTube? … I’m being filmed while everything’s off? I’m naked being filmed.” “I’m not going to get stripped in front of a camera, that’s pornography.” “[You] take someone’s dignity and then do it again with a camera.” According to Guhn-Knight, “Despite their complaints, these women had no choice in the matter; they eventually removed their clothing themselves or were restrained while an officer removed their clothing.”

While the proposed amendment addresses the gender of the person holding the camera, it does not address the broader problem of video-taping strip searches overall. The taping of strip-searches is ostensibly for the protection of the prisoner; that is, having a record may prevent or at least document abuse during the search. However, the preservation of the tapes opens the door for grievous violations of privacy. In a country in which viewing on-line pornography is widespread (and sometimes unavoidable when unrequested porn sites pop up on screens), women inmates have good reason to fear that the tapes of strip searches may be misused for pornographic entertainment. Doubling down on the harm of the practice of videotaping strip searches, research shows that men who watch pornography are more likely to voice attitudes supporting violence against women and to display dominance and aggression (including choking, gagging and insulting name-calling) toward women while engaging in sexual activity.

Based on my reading of the scholarly literature as well as on my own research with formerly incarcerated women, I believe that the proposed amendment does not go far enough to protect women or men from the pain, humiliation and human rights violations associated with strip searches. I suggest that the law be amended to (1) disallow routine strip searches (2) permit strip searches only in situations when there is clearly defined and documented reason to suspect that the inmate is hiding contraband on his or her body (3) clearly inform all prison staff that strip searches may not be used as a form of punishment or discipline, and institute sanctions against staff who order or participate in strip searches in other than situations where there is clearly defined and documented reason for the search (4) disallow all strip searches by opposite sex officers and employees (5) cease video-taping of strip searches (6) immediately discard all existing video-tapes of strip searches.

Click here and here for previous updates. Click here for the 2016 New Years update.

For women who struggle with homelessness, summer can be a bit of a reprieve. Because outdoor sleeping is a realistic possibility (unlike during the long Boston winters when they are stuck in overcrowded shelters with strict bedtimes, wake-up times and a plethora of rules) they may feel a bit less constrained, a bit more free.

Low income mothers who are hard pressed to arrange activities for their kids when schools are closed and temperatures are high often find summer to be challenging. Without a car or financial resources, July and August can seem unbearably long in hot urban apartments, especially when their children beg them to take them to water parks and on other expensive and inaccessible outings.

For women who are trying to arrange housing, welfare or other services, summer is a frustrating time in which social service employees are out of the office and paperwork gets stuck in the bureaucratic mill.

Here are early September 2015 updates on the women of Can’t Catch a Break.

Andrea: She still has her apartment but she gave up her job at the beauty supply store because they only gave her 2 days / week of work and she needs something to do the other days. This decision was taken back in the spring when a friend told her that she might be able to help Andrea get a job as a personal care assistant. At the time I asked Andrea whether she needs certification and a background check for this job. (Neither is simple in light of her prison record.) She told me that she has the certification but it turned out that she meant that she has the application to apply for certification but that she hadn’t yet filled it out. She was waiting for the friend to come over and help her with it (Andrea’s literacy is limited.) Andrea was not clear on what this kind of job entails – for example, whether she’d be working in a nursing home or for private clients, but she liked the idea that it pays $15 / hour and that she can work more hours.

By mid-July she had not made any progress and was unhappily unemployed.

Later in the summer Andrea was much happier. She’d recently heard about a “ladies drop-in place” where she now goes regularly and “hangs out with the people there.” She particularly likes that the women themselves plan day trips and activities, and the people who run the place help them with transportation. In the last few weeks they’d been to the museum, zoo and a water park. The volunteers who work there serve lunch daily and “they keep the place very clean.”

When we last spoke Andrea let me know that she was still with her long-term boyfriend but is unhappy that he takes but does not give. “I want a man who will take care of me and who wants a better life and to do things.” But her biggest complaint is loneliness: “I’m alone. No one comes to see me.”

 

Ashley: Ashley’s life today is as good as it gets. She is married to a wonderful man who works steadily at a highly skilled job. They have a child (absolutely adorable) who is welcomed and loved by flocks of grandparents, aunts and uncles. Ashley stopped working to be a stay-at-home Mom, and both she and the baby are thriving.

Carly is such a pleasant and easy conversationalist. Even though she is the youngest woman in the project, when we get together I often find myself telling her my problems before we even get around to talking about her life!

Carly’s has had some ups and down over the past half year. She had a job for a few weeks at a supermarket but was fired for getting into a fight with another employee. The final straw was when the co-worker called her “the n word” (in reference to Carly’s African American friends) and then referred to a black customer as a “monkey.” Having spent her teen-age years in foster care with a black family whom she still thinks of as her family, “I won’t put up with people using the ‘n word.”

She then landed a job working at a hotel but developed severe respiratory problems, most likely from the fumes of the cleaning supplies. She spent over a week in the hospital during which time doctors performed a slew of tests. Carly was told that the hole in her heart (she was born with a heart murmur) had grown and was now causing problems. “But then at church the Holy Spirit came on me and gave me the gift of being able to see [sense] things that are hidden from most people.” And, when she went back for a check the doctor said the hole in her heart closed. In the meantime she was fired from the hotel.

Since then nearly all of Carly’s attention and conversation is about the Holy Spirit. She can “see” Satan and knows when bad spirits are in people. Carly says that she feels empowered by this, but at the same time she is worried about spiritual warfare, believing that to be the reason why there have been so many obstacles in her life and why and bad things continue to happen to her.

Daisy’s life has settled down significantly. It is a great tribute to Daisy that her children graduated college and have good, professional jobs and solid, healthy relationships. And now that her children are adults, they are able to help her hold onto some level of stability and look out for their mom while maintaining boundaries that allow them not to burn out on Daisy’s endless needs.

Daisy is still living in a room that her daughter found for her in a rooming house in a suburb outside of Boston. While the living arrangements are minimal (shared kitchen and bathroom), they are far safer and saner than the homeless shelters where Daisy had stayed for nearly a decade. Her children also arranged for her to continue in an out-patient day program that picks her up in a van four times / week and brings her to a social center for disabled adults. Though there are few activities or enrichments at the center, Daisy enjoys playing bingo and talking to other people.

When the center is closed (three days / week plus holidays) Daisy is alone and isolated. On cold, snowy winter days and on hot, humid summer days she is essentially trapped in her room – it’s quite a long walk on a steep hill to get anywhere from her house.

I recently took her out to lunch for her birthday and she cleaned herself up and dressed nicely for our date. But she seemed very sleepy, most likely, she said, because of her medication. She has been drinking less and has not been in trouble with police for drinking outside for quite a while. But on the downside, the borders of her life are very constraining and when the social center is closed she often does not exchange a word with another human being for days on end.

For more on Daisy see Outcast Island.

Elizabeth: See Eulogy for Elizabeth.

Francesca: The ups and downs continue. Last spring she ended things with Joey, went to detox (again), and moved in with a friend whom she has helped out with childcare in the past. She enjoyed the domestic scene for a while but then began to feel sick. At the hospital she was told that, “I have an inflammation around my kidneys which caused some muscles around my kidneys to tear; I have a virus and fever and need to go home on bed rest.”

A few months later she met a new man and moved in with him and his family in a somewhat rural town without easy access to Boston. She embraced the domestic life and the opportunities to cook and clean and help care for his grandchildren. Her own grandchildren came to visit several times and she loved being part of a big family.

This man treats her well – he is not an addict and not violent – but her does have a busy life with work and hobbies of his own. So, after some time Francesca started to feel restless and isolated and now circulates among her son’s apartment, her friend’s apartment and her boyfriend’s house.

Her stated goal for the summer was to confront her fears and make choices for how she wants to live her life.

For more on Francesca see The Bitch at the Welfare Office.

Ginger has been having a hard time since her mother died. She misses her all the time and feels that the center of her life is no longer there. She spent part of the winter and spring in Florida with her brother and then moved back to Boston where she stayed on the streets and with various relatives. She was involved in a volatile relationship with a man – a relationship that involved a few police interventions and quite a few break-ups and reconciliations, as well as at least one incident in which her attempt to throw something at him ended up with her injuring herself.

She knows that it’s not good for her to keep moving around (Florida to MA) because of a man and that “I need to do me.” In the late spring she rented a room in an apartment and seemed settled. But after less than two months she moved out because the person she was renting a room from brought in people who were smoking crack and one time Ginger came home and found a man in her bed. Homeless again, she spent the summer “sleeping here and there.” The last time we spoke she had moved back to Florida.

Isabella’s two big concerns are housing and her step-son who has been in and out of juvenile detention. These two concerns are intertwined: When she and her husband lost custody of his son they also lost their eligibility for family housing. The last time I spoke with her (June) the three of them were staying with a friend. Her husband and step-son were sharing a futon and she was sleeping on a love seat with her feet dangling off the end.

Isabella is capable of working: She is bright and has solid work experience. But between the demanding hours of the methadone clinic (she has to go to the clinic every morning for her dose and she has to stay for group therapy several times a week) and the endless search for a solution to their housing problems she has not even been able to look for a job.

For more, see: Failure by Design: Isabella’s Experiences with Social Services.

Joy: In the spring Joy seemed to be in good shape. Her daughter (who is in her father’s custody) was seriously ill and Joy’s parents allowed her to stay in the hospital with her daughter. Joy was up to the task and her parents were confident that she was not using drugs.

Then, “I relapsed.” With no place to live, she spent some time in an abandoned trailer and then hooked up with a young couple who owned a car and had an apartment. “They’d sit in the car and I’d go out and do my thing [prostitution] and buy drugs and we’d split everything three ways.” She understood that they were exploiting her but didn’t see any other options. In the meantime she had failed to show up in court on an old charge and a warrant was issued for her.

In the late spring she called me from the psychiatric ward of a local hospital. She had tried to kill herself. Joy told me that she was found in the woods (near where Linda was murdered) by someone she’d known many years ago. He called an ambulance and the paramedics had to work for 45 minutes to save her. She was taken to a hospital and then released her after a few days. She then went to the police and said she would kill herself again if they couldn’t place her in a treatment program. They took her to a different hospital’s psych ward where the staff would try to find a long-term bed for her. They didn’t, and in a week she was back out on the streets.

Over the summer two of her front teeth rotted out. We talked about how she always looked after her teeth and I reminded her how the first time we met she attributed her survival to always having a toothbrush and toothpaste even when she was on the streets. I asked her what changed. She said she basically has given up.

For more on Joy’s adventures in psych wards and rehab see, Alternatives to Incarceration: Be Careful What You Wish For.

Kahtia: Things have been rough for Kahtia. She’s been struggling with depression and anxiety, and spent a week on a psychiatric ward in the early spring. But Kahtia is one of the few women to have a truly helpful caseworker who assisted her in getting back on her feet. In April I met her at a soup kitchen where she helps serve lunch and clean up as well as eating her own lunch. She liked the structure this gave to her day while her children were in school. However, during her hospital stay her meds were switched to a new anti-anxiety drug and a heavy-duty anti-psychotic. As a consequence, when we talked she was struggling with intense drowsiness – literally falling asleep with her fork halfway to her mouth. She explained that both medications cause drowsiness and the interaction causes more drowsiness. For the first time in years she did not appear to be well groomed: Her nails were dirty and unkempt; her shirt was dirty; she had some crumbs around her mouth. Her children, however, were clean and appropriately dressed and Kahtia was able to pull herself together to pick them up and school and cook real dinners for them every day.

When we spoke in the spring Kahtia was particularly upset over appearing drowsy because if she “nods” at the methadone clinic they won’t give her the dose (that happened earlier this week) because they assume she is using drugs (even though they have the paperwork about her meds.) She felt (and I agreed) that she needed to talk this over with a doctor who knows her and all of her med history. She tried to call her own doctor but no appointment was available for a few weeks.

By the end of the summer things had deteriorated even more. The head counselor at the children’s day camp called DFS (child welfare services) to report that Kahtia often seemed high in the morning at 7:30 when she dropped her off. Kahtia explained to me and to DFS that she takes psychiatric medication which leaves her groggy in the morning but she is not high. Indeed, her urine is tested regularly at the methadone clinic and she has not used illicit drugs. In any case, the children were taken away and placed into foster care. Kahtia is devastated. And while she can see the children once each week and speak with them on the phone daily, they will start the school year in a different district (where the foster family lives) rather than return to their friends and teachers.

Read about Kahtia’s reflections on sex work here.

Vanessa spent most of the winter and spring in residential programs for treating substance abuse. These stints were broken up by several episodes of her leaving (and not being permitted to return) or her being kicked out for breaking rules or “relapsing.” Each time she ended up on the street in tears and frustrated at the barriers to getting back into a program. Even when she finds a placement, each time she has to “start all over” with detox and then waiting for a longer term bed in a rehab facility.

The last time I tried to call I couldn’t get in touch with Vanessa. Her cell phone number was disconnected. And, after many years of being a stalwart support, Vanessa’s mother is ill and told me that, “I don’t know where she is. I can’t deal with her. I’m too tired. I can’t deal with the aggravation.”

 

 

 

 

This is the second “Reader’s Guide to Updates” on the women of Can’t Catch a Break. (Click here for the previous update.) Not all of the conversations, observations and anecdotes that I’ve posted here are profound, but I post them to help all of us (my readers as well as myself) remember that these women are real, multi-faceted people who, like us, face challenges both trivial and great, and who, like us, respond to those challenges in a variety of (often inconsistent) ways.

This post centers on their experiences around the Christmas 2014 holiday season. For many Americans, holidays present economic and interpersonal challenges. For poor, marginalized, ill, criminalized and homeless Americans those challenges are magnified. How can one afford to buy gifts when living on a monthly $700 SSI check? How can one put on the kind of family Christmas celebrations that television and movies show (incessantly!) when one doesn’t even have a home, or when one has lost custody of her children, or even worse – when one is sitting in jail or in a closed rehab facility?

But it’s not all bad news. The holidays can also bring out the best in people. Several women of Can’t Catch a Break received donations of toys to give their children — toys donated by generous strangers. One woman celebrated with her children for the first time in a decade. And one woman cooked her first Christmas dinner ever with a group of new friends. Continue reading

A newer version of this post (with more great photos) can be read here. And click here to get to the Bitch podcast “Popaganda Episode: Liberal Problems in which I read part of this post.

It’s October – the leaves are turning yellow, porch ornaments are coming up pumpkin orange, the first frost is sparkling silver, and everywhere I turn the sight of pink ribbons assaults my eyes and affronts my sensibilities. The annual pink ribbon extravaganza, surely one of the most successful marketing campaigns in history, has millions of Americans walking, running, racing and selling merchandise “for the cure.” Having spent the first half of my career studying religious rituals, I can’t help but think that many of the ribbon bearers see their little scraps of pink as an amulet or a charm, a means of warding off an enemy over whom one feels impotent. If we just wear or sell enough pink ribbons during the month of October, we hope or we bargain with the cancer gods, then maybe we’ll be safe from breast cancer for the coming year.

10well_ribbon-blogSpanMaybe I’m a cynic, or an agnostic, but as a means of averting breast cancer I’d rather put my money on cleaning up toxic chemicals from the environment than on adding a bunch of pink ribbons to our November trash piles or on painting pink ribbons on football fields while the NFL allows known rapists and batterers to play in the league.

Winners and Losers

When my mother became ill with and eventually died of breast cancer in 1971, no one talked about it – not even her close friends were present to offer aid or comfort. Yet, today, as we paint the town pink, I am concerned that we have come to see breast cancer as a relatively normal part of the female life course: puberty, pregnancy and childbirth, followed by menopause and breast cancer. Pushing against this cultural tide, I feel a need to yell: Breast cancer is not normal; nor is it pinkly feminine or cute. The rise in rates of breast cancer over the past century is a palpable sign that something is wrong with our world.

America loves winners, and we have come to regard women who are diagnosed with but do not die from breast cancer as heroic battlers. Those women who die are hidden, lying somewhere outside of the victory circle, “victims” in a culture that at best pities and at worst blames victims for their own misfortunes. It feels absurd to have to say this, but it needs to be said: Breast cancer can’t be cured by the optimism or will power or athleticism or fighting spirits or strength of character of women who are afflicted with the disease. Breast cancer should not be treated as a challenge or as a measure of one’s moral fiber.

And it should never, ever be treated as a commodity.

Big Bucks

Gayle A. Sulik draws attention to some disturbing implications of the ubiquitous pink ribbon. First, pink ribbon marketing, like all “cause marketing,” primarily benefits the company, not the charity or cause. Second, as a result of cause marketing, people actually give less to charities. And third, pink ribbon and other cause marketing can mask conflicts of interest, like when companies promote the idea of cancer research but also manufacture, disseminate, or sell products that contain toxic or carcinogenic ingredients.

timberland-komen-01

Over the past few years the failure of the pink ribbon movement was brought home to many of us when the Susan G. Komen for the Cure foundation, the most visible promoter of pink racing for the cure, announced that it would no longer fund breast cancer screenings at Planned Parenthood, the health care home for millions of young and low-wage women. This decision, believed to reflect the Komen’s Foundations’ capitulation to anti-choice advocates, was reversed when donations to the organization plummeted in response.

 

Where is the Evidence?

Victory laps in races for the cure, together with the ubiquitous pink ribbons, may lead people to believe that far greater strides have been made in preventing and treating breast cancer than have actually been made. In a 2014 article published in the New England Journal of Medicine, Nikola Biller-Andorno, M.D., Ph.D. and Peter Jüni, M.D. report that data show no evidence that routine mammography screening of women at average risk saves lives. A high-quality study made public by the Swiss Medical Board, “acknowledged that systematic mammography screening might prevent about one death attributed to breast cancer for every 1000 women screened, even though there was no evidence to suggest that overall mortality was affected.”

The NEJM article also cites research showing that many American women overestimate their personal risk of breast cancer and the benefits of mammograms. In a study of U.S. women’s perceptions, “717 of 1003 women (71.5%) said they believed that mammography reduced the risk of breast-cancer deaths by at least half.” Exacerbating the dangers, as a major Canadian study discovered, 21.9% of breast cancers found through mammography screening represented over-diagnoses. In other words, thousands of women each year undergo surgery, radiation and chemotherapy for non-life threatening cancers.

Breast Cancer Action, a national non-profit organization calling for transparency in breast cancer research, treatment and education, has these harsh words to say: “While corporations [such as manufacturers of mammography equipment] have made billions off the disease, progress in breast cancer treatment, prevention, survival, and inequities has not been forthcoming. Three million women in the U.S. are living with breast cancer. Up to one-third of all breast cancers will metastasize, even when found in the early stages. Black women are still 40% more likely to die of breast cancer than white women. And each year, 40,000 women die of breast cancer.”

We Can Do Better

PieChartWhile spending on breast cancer detection and treatment continues to increase, funding for prevention – for learning about the causes of breast cancer – is far less marketable. This year, in my home state, the Massachusetts legislature failed to fund research on potential carcinogenic impacts of chemical exposure despite clear findings that there are specific communities in Massachusetts with particularly high rates of breast cancer. According to reports, “The Massachusetts Senate [2015] budget … did not include a $500,000 request to fund water quality and public health research by Silent Spring Institute.  The Massachusetts Breast Cancer Coalition requested this funding on behalf of its sister organization, Silent Spring Institute to study exposure to toxic chemicals in drinking water and homes in Central Massachusetts and on Cape Cod. Earlier this month, the House of Representatives failed to approve funding for Silent Spring Institute in the FY 2015 House budget. This is the second year in a row that budget requests for important water quality research in both the House and Senate have been excluded.”

********************

Today, when I walked past the Massachusetts State House on my way to work and saw pink ribbons everywhere, women’s health pioneer Barbara Ehrenreich’s words came to mind. Writing about her own experiences with breast cancer, Ehrenreich wrote, “What sustained me through the ‘treatments’ is a purifying rage, a resolve, framed in the sleepless nights of chemotherapy, to see the last polluter, along with say, the last smug health insurance operator, strangled with the last pink ribbon.”

In honor and memory of my mother, Bernice C. Starr, let me say “Amen.”

 

Reprinted from the Boston Globe, August 19, 2014

The Aug. 14 editorial “Women get unequal treatment in court-ordered detox” underscored an egregious violation of human rights in the Commonwealth. Due to a lack of treatment beds, drug users who have not been arrested, tried, or sentenced may be sent to MCI-Framingham if a judge deems that they are dangerous to themselves or others.

Women committed to a prison setting do not receive the treatment afforded those who are sent to the Women’s Addiction Treatment Center, which is licensed by the Department of Public Health. Most damning, women of color are three times more likely than white women to be committed to prison rather than to the treatment center.

The way out of this mess, according to Governor Patrick and others, is to fund additional substance-abuse treatment beds in non-prison facilities.

However, many of the women who are civilly committed are not only dealing with addictions but also with poverty, homelessness, serious health problems, and intimate partner violence. One DPH official estimated that 20 percent of civilly committed women do not meet the criteria for commitment; rather, they are committed because no one knows where else to send them.

As a nation, we’ve gone the route of building more prisons in unsuccessful efforts to manage the devastation caused by economic and racial inequalities. Building more “staff-secured” treatment centers will not prove any more successful unless we also address the poverty, gender and racial discrimination, and violence that lead so many residents of the Commonwealth to turn to drugs in the first place.

Susan Sered

Boston

The writer is a sociology professor and a senior researcher at the Center for Women’s Health and Human Rights at Suffolk University.

9780520282780_SeredOur new book Can’t Catch a Break: Gender, Jail, Drugs and the Limits of Personal Responsibility is now available through University of California Press, Amazon and other bookstores.

The book presents the work Maureen Norton-Hawk and I have been doing for the past six years following the experiences of a group of women post-incarceration in Massachusetts. Through interviews and ethnographic fieldwork we accompanied the women as they navigated a variety of programs, services and life events.Most of the book is made up of the women’s stories and how their stories evolved over time.

Each chapter focuses on a particular woman as she moves among  home, the streets, rehabilitation programs, correctional institutions, hospitals, clinics and shelters; among happy, sad, abusive and deeply caring relationships with friends, family and romantic partners; and among churches, Twelve Step groups, therapists and therapeutic treatment of various sorts.

We remain in touch with some of the women. You can read about their recent experiences here.

Here is an excerpt from the Introduction:

“The majority of the forty-seven of the women we first met in 2008 began their lives in working class families. Most were sexually abused as children. Nearly all witnessed their mothers’ being beat on or yelled at by husbands or boyfriends. Several women became addicts through prescribed pain or anxiety medication in the wake of an illness, injury or a botched medical procedure. In their twenties most scraped by in the unstable occupational sectors of the working poor: food service and nursing homes, and raised their young children with sporadic financial contributions of male partners and public assistance. Poor health eventually made it impossible for nearly all of the women to hold down jobs, leading to homelessness and vulnerability to violence and exploitation. Several remember pleasant childhoods with strong and positive family relations, but found their lives spiraling downward as adults when in a period of a few years their parents died and they could not afford to keep up the rent or mortgage payments. Almost all of the project participants have used drugs, in their words, “to numb myself” – particularly in the context of engaging in sex work in order to feed themselves and their children.

“All of the project women have been incarcerated, typically for a few months at a time and typically for prostitution, shoplifting (often of small cosmetic items), possession of small amounts of drugs, accessory in a crime committed by a boyfriend or husband, in several cases public drunkenness, and – most frequently – violation of the terms of probation or parole associated with a minor charge. (Only one of the forty-seven women in the project was incarcerated for a crime against another person.) Incarceration leads to loss of custody of, and often loss of contact with, their children. Coming out of prison with no money, no home, their children gone, and a criminal record that makes them unemployable, the women became dependent upon men, public services and the underground economy.”

“Over the past five years we have seen the same women sober and high, homeless and housed, employed and unemployed, in a supportive relationship and abused by a boyfriend, enthusiastically attending church and stigmatized by church members, involved on a daily basis with their children and out of the children’s lives, sick and healthy, happy and despondent. Sometimes they tell us how well things are going: perhaps they finally got housing, a kind boyfriend, sobriety, charges dropped, health care, surgery, better medication, food stamps, visits with children, a part-time job, a wonderful new caseworker, or reconciliation with estranged family members. We have learned over the years that how well things are going one month or one year is unlikely to predict how things will go later down the line. An individual sometimes will look and sound and act like a poster child for the category “working poor” as it was used during the Clinton administration: A worthy, productive, hardworking soul who with a bit of help will climb the rungs of America’s economic ladder. The same woman a year earlier or a year later will look and sound and act strung out, down and out, “shit out of luck” – the unworthy, unproductive “welfare queen” or “crack whore” who cares more about dope than about jobs or her children. That these transitions are so commonplace suggests to us that the line between scraping by and not scraping by has become exceedingly fragile in contemporary America.”

Here is an excerpt from Chapter 1:

When Francesca came bursting onto the scene at the drop-in center for poor and homeless women she brought a quick spark of energy into the circle of worn-out faces and worn-down bodies slumped in armchairs, nodding off while watching the Jerry Springer show and waiting for the shelters to re-open at 4:00. Outspoken, energetic and full of plans, she declared how terrible it is that Boston’s “Mayor Menino stands by while so many people have to live on the street.” With a few tosses of her long, shiny hair, Francesca announced her dream of opening and running a facility that “welcomes everyone.” Five minutes later she swept out the door into the August heat with a promise to “buy Pepsi for everybody,” and Ginger resumed her desultory search through a pile of donated toiletries, Elizabeth carried on weeping into a handful of tissues and Vanessa went back to scratching her arm and poking around in the trash in hopes of finding a cigarette stub long enough to take outside and light up.

A week later Francesca returned to the women’s center. Flashing her brand-new bright turquoise acrylic nail extensions, she pulled a sequined mini-dress and a pair of 1960s style “go-go” boots out of a bag. With the recession of 2007 shutting down employment opportunities for undereducated and unskilled workers, she had taken one of the few jobs she could get — waitressing and dancing at a local strip club. Thrilled with the clothes and even more thrilled with the admiration from the male patrons, she was nevertheless firm that she would not have sex with the customers — she wouldn’t even let them kiss her on the cheek. But by late fall her situation became tense. At the club, she said, “the owners expect the girls to have sex for money.” As time went on, she began going out on “dates” and drinking more heavily as a way to put up with the pressures of the men at the club. “It is starting to get out of control.”

Just a few months later Francesca injured a ligament in her leg. Unable to go on dancing, she was fired on the spot. Initiating what would become our routine over the next five years, Francesca called us. We picked her up a block away from the club and drove her to the apartment of an old boyfriend who was willing to let her stay with him at night but would not give her a key or allow her to stay in the apartment by herself during the day. Now a regular at the women’s drop-in center, she maintained her outward tough “I don’t take crap from anyone” style but began to confide to us that she felt afraid and vulnerable. “All I do is walk around all day – I have no place to go.” Her arthritis had become increasingly painful (the joints in her fingers looked miserably swollen) and “I have a pain in my throat that my doctor thinks might be throat cancer. My father died of cancer.” Often on the verge of tears, she even considered suicide. “I just can’t catch a break anywhere.”

Here is the Table of Contents:

1. “Joey Spit on Me”: How Gender Inequality and Sexual Violence Make Women Sick
2. “Nowhere to Go”: Poverty, Homelessness, and the Limits of Personal Responsibility
3. “The Little Rock of the North”: Race, Gender, Class, and the Consequences of Mass Incarceration
4. Suffer the Women: Pain and Perfection in a Medicalized World
5. “It’s All in My Head”: Suffering, PTSD, and the Triumph of the Therapeutic
6. Higher Powers: The Unholy Alliance of Religion, Self-Help Ideology, and the State
7. “Suffer the Children”: Fostering the Caste of the Ill and Afflicted
8. Gender, Drugs, and Jail: “A System Designed for Us to Fail”
Conclusion: The Real Questions and a Blueprint for Moving Forward

Here is a review from Publisher’s Weekly:

In this passionate, deeply researched study, Suffolk University sociologists Sered and Norton-Hawk argue that prisons have “become the way that America deals with human suffering,” especially the suffering of women, who are being incarcerated at ever higher numbers. The authors, who closely studied 47 formerly incarcerated women in the Boston area for 5 years, examine both how women land in prison and how fragile their lives are after release. They discuss the inarguable connections between being abused and getting arrested. Reaganomics and welfare reform, Sered and Norton-Hawk argue, have had disastrous consequences for these women, both before and after incarceration. In particular, lack of stable housing makes women who have been imprisoned more dependent on men. In the study’s most original chapter, the authors argue that the therapeutic and mental health services available to the incarcerated and formerly incarcerated, rather than directing attention to how society has stacked the deck against marginal women and suggesting political solutions, teach that people’s problems are the result of their own unhealed trauma. This compelling and important book deserves to be widely read.

Here is a short article about the gorgeous painting on the cover of the book:

Judging a Book by Its Cover: Color Drenched Acts of Resistance

by Caitlin O’Hara

Can’t Catch a Break, published this month, is a brilliant book that teases out the nuanced relationship between gender, drugs, and jail in many women’s lives.

We asked coauthor Susan Starr Sered the story behind the cover image, which features an abstract image of bold colored stripes, dripping paint, and few hints as to how to contextualize what we’re seeing.

In an email, Susan describes her search in vain for appropriate images dealing with women and prison. The results depicted literal prison imagery that didn’t capture the range of experiences of the women her book profiles, or “disgustingly voyeuristic male-fantasy pornography.”

And then she came upon “this gorgeous image.” The piece is part of an installation by artist Markus Linnenbrink, at the JVA/Prison in Düsseldorf, in a 132 ft long underground tunnel that connects its security check to the visitors’ area. The artist explains that the JVA prison is considered “a model institution and has been designed to deal with security and humanity as best as possible, thus the desire for a unique approach [to its visitor entrance].” You can find more images and information about the project at this Colossal profile.

“It’s hard for me to describe why this image struck me so forcefully,” Sered writes. “Perhaps the vertical lines look like bars made out of women’s make-up and nail polish. The color dripping down from the horizontal stripes looks as if it’s weeping. The ambitious horizontal stripes decaying down into drips on the wall evoke, for me, the mess that’s come of the good intentions behind trying to cut down on crime, drug use and so on. And finally, people in prison spend so much time with nothing to do but stare at blank walls, so I love imagining those walls as color drenched acts of resistance.”

And with that, Sered cuts to the heart with precision, as she does so often throughout the book. Beyond interpretations of line, color, drip, and context, what captivates is the image’s undefinable power: inviting yet defiant; strong despite, and owing to, its imperfections. Just like the women this book profiles.

And follow this link to the “Page 99 test” discussion of Can’t Catch a Break. “Open the book to page ninety-nine and read, and the quality of the whole will be revealed to you.”

$190 and Counting: Bail Blog #3

Click here for the story of Ginger’s arrest and my experience bailing her out: The New Price of Freedom: $40 (Bail Blog #2)

A quick refresher

In May 2014 Ginger called the police when a man (we’ll call him Pete) in the housing facility for formerly homeless men where she’d been living for the past year threatened to bash in her head and the head of her “nigger boyfriend.” The police came and arrested Ginger for spitting at the man. A transgender woman, she was terrified at being locked up in the men’s jail. She called me in tears and I came to the jail and bailed her out for $40. Three days later we went to court for her arraignment. She met her court-appointed public defender for the first time when he stood up as she was called to approach the bench.

Over the past few months Ginger has called me at least three times a week to make sure that I had not forgotten that I promised to drive her to court in July. Without access to a car, she worried that she wouldn’t be able to arrive for the 9:00 a.m. court session, and that even if she did arrive on time she would look disheveled. But mostly she wanted to be sure I’d be there to support her.

Ginger’s morning in court

Yesterday the big day finally arrived. Ginger had dressed carefully in jeans and a nice shirt that did not scream out either ‘male’ nor ‘female’; in other words, an outfit designed not to ruffle any feathers at the courthouse.

Our first stop was the clerk’s office. Ginger handed over the form showing the $40 bail which we assumed would be refunded when she came to court. After all, that is the purpose of bail. The clerk, however, explained that Ginger had been released on personal recognizance and the $40 was a non-refundable fee paid to the bail commissioner.$40 down.

Ginger then was told to pay the clerk $150 for the lawyer’s fee. Since her total monthly income is $700 (Social Security) out of which she pays rent, telephone, transportation, toiletries and other necessary expenses, the $150 cleaned her out for the month. (We later heard the judge tell a young white man that he either could pay the $150 or do fifteen hours of community service. Ginger was not given that choice – we do not know why.)

In the courtroom nothing seemed to be happening. A number of lawyers were chatting, several court employees were catching up on their weekend activities, and a handful of people like Ginger were sitting nervously waiting for the judge to arrive. The bailiff told us that Ginger’s lawyer would be late and so we sat down to wait some more. The judge finally entered the courtroom, everyone rose, and the first half dozen cases were called. Each took under three minutes; each was continued to a later date.

At 11:00 the judge called for a ten minute recess. Half an hour later the session had not yet resumed but Ginger’s lawyer finally arrived and came over to chat with us in the courtroom within earshot of at least a dozen people. He asked her if the man involved was in court. Ginger explained that Pete did not come and that he had met with her and the director of the transitional housing program at which time he told them that he did not want to press charges. The lawyer asked Ginger if Pete had written this down. Ginger said he had not and added, “Pete is not going to do something like that.” I silently observed that it’s unlikely that Pete is sufficiently literate to write a memo of this sort, and that even if he could he would not want to produce an official document for the courts out of fear that it could be used against him in the future. Ginger’s lawyer told us that when the judge called them they would set the next court date and that he has every hope that the charges will be dropped at that time. We asked whether he could request today that the charges be dropped but, the lawyer said, that’s not possible because Pete had not informed him that he didn’t want to press charges.

Since the lawyer had not been in touch with Ginger over the months between the arraignment and yesterday’s court date we were a bit miffed, an emotion I was ready to show but that Ginger – far savvier than I – refrained from expressing. A minute before the judge re-entered the courtroom the lawyer gave Ginger his business card and told her to tell Pete to call him. Ginger explained that “there’s no way Pete will call.” “That’s not a problem,” the lawyer replied. “You can call me and tell me that Pete doesn’t want to press charges.”

The judge called Ginger’s name. The lawyer agreed to a court date in September and a minute later the next case was called. Ginger is out $190 dollars and her case is still considered “open”.

Return to debtor’s prison

A 2014 report by the American Civil Liberties Union, Modern-Day Debtors’ Prisons: The Way Court-Imposed Debts Punish People for Being Poor, documents the resurgence of what look a lot like debtors prisons. “State and local courts have increasingly attempted to supplement their funding by charging fees to people convicted of crimes, including fees for public defenders, prosecutors, court administration, jail operation, and probation supervision. And in the face of mounting budget deficits at the state and local level, courts across the country have used aggressive tactics to collect these unpaid fines and fees, including for traffic offenses and other low-level offenses. These courts have ordered the arrest and jailing of people who fall behind on their payments, without affording any hearings to determine an individual’s ability to pay or offering alternatives to payment such as community service.”

Elizabeth, a homeless woman I met in Massachusetts at about the same time I initially met Ginger, decided one night to sleep on a bench at a train station. She had come to feel that it was too dangerous to sleep in more open places like parks where, as she explained, “people are murdered all the time.” At the station she was arrested for trespassing by a police officer who “doesn’t like homeless people.” In court she was ordered to pay a $300 fine. She did not have the money. Exasperated, she noted, “This is a waste of the court’s time…they should be going after real criminals.”

Living on Social Security, Elizabeth could not pay the $300 at one go. So, when a month or so later she called the police for assistance (a motel clerk tried to steal money from her), the officers who came looked at her ID, saw that she owed the $300 fine, and arrested and handcuffed her. “I spent three days in jail waiting for a judge because it was a three-day-weekend.” The lesson Elizabeth learned from this experience: If you have outstanding warrants – even for court fees – do not call the police even if you are being threatened or attacked.

Cases like Elizabeth’s are shocking enough. But if I hadn’t been able to help Ginger not only would she have sat in jail for three days waiting to be arraigned, but she also would have become one of the many women I know who have accumulated fees WITHOUT being convicted of a crime. As a consequence, she would be liable to be locked up for any minor infraction of the law: jay-walking, littering, or simply failing to pay the court fees on a case that was dropped or in which she was acquitted.

Something even conservatives can get behind

Not only are these practices likely unconstitutional under the Fourteenth Amendment’s Due Process and Equal Protection clauses, they are also fiscally nonsensical. We pay to keep people in jail awaiting arraignment or trial for the price of $200 or so per day because they cannot afford to pay bail as minimal as $100 [Guilty Until Proven Innocent]. And I saw in court with Ginger yesterday, we finance droves of prosecutors, public defenders and court staff who split their time between hanging around waiting for cases to be called and processing people like Elizabeth for “trespassing”.

Ginger would be the first to agree that violent criminals should go to prison. Indeed, she has been the target of violence far too often for too many years. But – I believe – she’d also be the first to agree that yesterday’s farce does nothing to keep her or anyone else safe. Quite the contrary, it sends the message that justice has a price – in Ginger’s case (so far) — $190.

Follow this link for another post on a related theme: Guilty Until Proven Innocent

Massachusetts General Laws Chapter 123, Section 35 permits the court to involuntarily commit to an inpatient substance abuse treatment someone whose alcohol or drug use puts themselves or others at risk. Last week the Massachusetts ACLU, together with Prisoners’ Legal Services and the Center for Public Representation, filed a class action suit in US District Court in Boston challenging the constitutionality of sending women committed under Section 35 to state prison.

Melanie

Melanie grew up in a close-knit, working-class Boston family. When she had her first child, “The hospital messed up my C-section and left staples inside.” She developed a painful infection, and was prescribed Fentanyl, Percocet and Klonopin. Her second child also was delivered by C-section, and again there were complications. Six surgeries and many pain clinic sessions later, Melanie muses, “Maybe I was hooked on meds, but nothing touched the pain.” At about that time an acquaintance suggested heroin, which successfully quelled the agony while opening up whole new sets of challenges. A year or so later she moved out of the house she shared with her children and husband and moved in with her parents because she didn’t want her kids to see her high on drugs. Maintaining a close relationship with them, she shuttled back and forth between the two households nearly every day for a year or so.

Melanie’s parents desperately wanted to help but were out of their depth. Finally one day, after she called them from the police station in a neighboring town to tell them that she had been picked up for shoplifting at a local pharmacy, they discussed with the police and the judge the best course of action. Her parents and the judge decided that given the absence of a criminal record and the presence of a supportive family (and, I surmise, the fact that she and her family are white) the judge did not charge her with shoplifting. Rather, he civilly committed her under Section 35.

For the purposes of Section 35, a substance abuser or alcoholic is defined broadly and rather vaguely as a person who “chronically or habitually” uses controlled substances or alcohol to the extent that “such use substantially injures his health or substantially interferes with his social or economic functioning . . . or . . . he has lost the power of self-control over the use of [controlled substances or alcohol].” Petitions for civil commitments can be made by a relative, guardian, police officer, physician or court official, or one can petition for commitment on one’s own behalf. While the law requires that the court call for a psychological assessment, it is unclear what that assessment means. In any case, there is no trial, no due process, and no possibility for appeal.

What Melanie’s parents didn’t know is that under Massachusetts law, a person can be committed under Section 35 to prison if there is no space available at a licensed substance abuse treatment facility. Melanie’s parents thought they were doing the right thing. They thought Melanie would receive treatment for her addiction and maybe even for her chronic pain. They were shocked to see her handcuffed and led out of the courtroom. Sick and vomiting, she sat in a holding cell at the courthouse for a full day. And then she was shackled and put on the bus to MCI-Framingham, the medium security women’s prison where she spent the next month.

According to ACLU staff attorney Jessie Rossman, upon arrival at MCI-Framingham, women committed under Section 35 are strip-searched, deprived of their personal possessions, and issued a prison uniform and number. Then they “are sent to the medical unit for detox – what [the Department of Corrections] calls detox, which essentially is just you being given a bucket. They are given over-the-counter drugs like Tylenol and Tums,” but no medication such as methadone, Suboxone or Vivitrol which are frequently used to facilitate detox. After detoxification in the medical unit, civilly committed women are sent to “The Mod”, a large room with bunk beds where women being held pre-trial are imprisoned. Unlike other prisoners they cannot visit the library, pray at the chapel, or participate in prison programs. Civilly committed women at MCI-Framingham cannot even access the addiction treatment programs available to sentenced prisoners. Ironically, the original reason for this policy seems to have been to discourage MCI to be used as a treatment facility.

“If you build it they will come”

By every measure, the MCI-Framingham “solution” to drug addiction is a disaster. The average length of stay for women sectioned to MCI-Framingham is longer than for women sectioned to the Women’s Addiction Treatment Center (a “staff-secured, but not locked” facility) licensed by the Massachusetts Department of Public Health to treat women who have been civilly committed. According to data compiled by the Massachusetts Women’s Justice Network, women sectioned to prison are less likely to be released to an outpatient facility and more likely to return to court (11% compared with 3%). Most damning, women of color are more likely than white women to be sectioned to prison rather than to the Women’s Addiction Treatment Center (31% compared to 9%).

The way out of this mess suggested by nearly everyone – judges, prison officials, public health officials, legislators, Governor Deval Patrick and most advocacy groups — is to fund and allocate more substance abuse treatment “beds” (that’s the term that is used) in non-prison facilities.

On the face of it this argument makes sense, but a bit of digging through the record indicates otherwise.

Massachusetts opened the Women’s Addiction Treatment Center in 2007 in order to provide an appropriate treatment setting for women committed under Section 35. In a classic instance of “if you build it they will come,” the Massachusetts Department of Public Health reported in a February 12, 2014 hearing held at the Massachusetts State House that the number of women committed through Section 35 dramatically increased over the following years, growing from 347 in FY 2006 to 1591 in FY 2012. At the same hearing, Department of Correction Commissioner Luis S. Spencer reported that the number of women committed to MCI-Framingham also continued to increase, going up from 221 women in 2007 to 310 women in 2012.

Spencer explained that many of the people committed under Section 35 are not only dealing with addictions but also with other mental health challenges as well as physical health problems including diabetes, heart disease, COPD, liver diseases, infectious diseases, Hepatitis C and dementia. Many have long histories of sexual victimization, self-injurious behavior, and psychiatric treatment. Brian Sylvester of the Massachusetts Department of Public Health estimates that 20% of those committed through Section 35 do not meet the criteria for commitment; rather, they are committed because no one knows where else to send them. People self-commit and are committed by others because there are insufficient spaces in detoxification facilities, because their insurance will not pay for detoxification or rehabilitation or even because they cannot afford housing. According to Sylvester, “Section 35 has become the catch-all for gaps in the system: substance abuse, mental health, criminal justice and medical.”

It is a travesty that drug users who have not been arrested, arraigned, tried or sentenced are sent to prison. And it is a travesty that needs to be seen in the broader context of local and national policies. The National Institute on Drug Abuse states in its Principles of Drug Addiction Treatment, “To be effective, treatment must address the individual’s drug abuse and any associated medical, psychological, social, vocational, and legal problems.” But how (and the Institute does not ask this) can an individual’s vocational problems can be addressed when so many Americans work at jobs that do not pay a living wage, and when individuals with criminal records often cannot land a job at all? How can an individual’s social problems be addressed when poverty locks millions of people into communities with high rates of violence, when a quarter of American women experience sexual or intimate partner violence at some point in their lives? And how can an individual’s legal problems be addressed when the United States has the highest incarceration rate in the world?

As a nation we’ve gone the route of building more and more prisons in unsuccessful efforts to manage the devastation caused by economic and racial inequalities. I’m far from convinced that building more and more “staff-secured” treatment centers will prove any more successful.

You can read more on the confluence of punishment and treatment in Incarceration by Any Other Name: A Return to the Cuckoo’s Nest?

2016 Update: According to Senator Barbara Mikulski (D-MD), “Currently, medical prosthetics for female amputees are provided as one-size-fits-all and are based on male anatomy. This means female veterans often receive prosthetics that are burdensome, uncomfortable and may not be fully functional.”  An appropriations bill currently making its way through Congress would fund research and acquisition of prosthetic devices that fit women’s bodies. The bill also would allow the VA to cover the costs of reproductive services for veterans who suffered service-related injuries that prevent them from starting families. According to NPR Veterans Correspondent Quil Lawrence, “A law passed in 1992 made it illegal for the VA to pay for IVF, which some people oppose because embryos are often destroyed in the process.”

 

I understand that if women are to have the privileges of citizenship then we should have the responsibilities as well. However, given the needlessness and horror of nearly all wars, I am not at all sure that it is a good thing to expand the number of people who can be called upon to fight.

I understand that if women are excluded from military service then the power of the military  remains in the hands of men. But in light of the near absence of women in the high ranks of the armed services – the ranks where the important decisions are made – I’m not convinced that military service for women achieves a more gender equitable sharing of power.

I understand that for many women the military is a pathway to education and a career. However, – and this is what I’d like to write about this Memorial Day – military service has turned into a path of misery, ill health and homelessness for large numbers of women.

In the second decade of the new millennium, American women have come to make up approximately 15 percent of the U.S. armed forces. While women are not technically in combat roles, in their duties and service environments women face the same dangers and fears as men: exploding ordnance, bullets, vehicular accidents. According to studies the military poses additional threats for women: about one in three women in the armed forces has been sexually assaulted, twice the civilian rate.

Women who have been sexually assaulted are more likely than other women to suffer from chronic pelvic pain, fertility problems, high rates of pregnancy complications and perinatal death, gastrointestinal disorders, arthritis, invasive cervical cancer, hypertension, urinary tract infections, anxiety and sexually transmitted infections. A history of having been abused is correlated with a lifetime of earning less money, missing more days of work and a greater likelihood of becoming homeless.

Servicewomen suffer from higher rates of depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) than do their male counterparts. According to the National Center for PTSD, women in the military run double the risk of developing PTSD of male service members. The Veterans Administration (VA) has found that women are four times more likely than men to experience long-lasting PTSD. This is not surprising: While male veterans who return home no longer face the active dangers of war, women veterans who return home continue to face the active dangers of sexual violence in a society in which one nearly 1 in 5 women has been raped at some time in her life; 1 in 4 women has been a victim of severe physical violence by an intimate partner in her lifetime; 1 in 6 women has experienced stalking victimization during her lifetime. One cannot “get over” trauma if one continues to live with trauma-inducing conditions on a daily basis.

Marriages of female troops fail at almost three times the rate of marriages of male service members. And while veterans have long been more likely than non-veterans to become homeless, women veterans seem up to four times more likely than non-veteran women to be homeless. The number of women veterans who have been in touch with the VA or Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) for assistance with housing more than doubled between 2006 and 2010. Two-thirds of these women were between 40 and 59 years old, one-third have disabilities, and many have minor children.

According to the Government Accountability Office (GAO), a quarter of the VA’s homeless support programs do not meet the needs of women. For example, the VA does not have the statutory authority to reimburse grant and per-diem housing providers for costs of housing veterans’ children. Thus, mothers must face the dismal choice of going to the streets with their children or of handing their children off to relatives or social service agencies. The GAO also found that women reported experiencing sexual harassment and assault both on the part of male residents and on the part of staff members in the temporary housing paid for by the VA.

Women who have been drawn into the United States correctional system describe similar cycles of poor health, homelessness and ongoing exposure to gender violence (both in and out of prison). In research that I conducted together with a colleague in Boston from 2008-2013, only 15% of women who had served sentences in the state prison became steadily employed during the five years following their release. Only 35% became securely housed. Seven-seven percent were hospitalized overnight at least once. Eighty-five percent continued to receive prescriptions for psychiatric medication.

For most of these women the cycle of illness, poverty and abuse seems unlikely to be broken anytime soon. But I believe that there are steps that can be taken now to reduce the chances that women veterans will join the ranks of women who circulate among homeless shelters, battered women’s shelters, jails, prisons, rehab programs, and the streets.

Here are two concrete ways in which we can and should remember the ladies this Memorial Day:

  1. Put into place clear and effective programs to reduce sexual abuse and harassment of women in the military. Senator Kirsten Gillibrand’s bill requiring the armed forces to remove handling of sexual assault cases from male commanding officer should be brought up again in the House and Senate, and it should be passed and enforced.
  2. Provide adequate funding for the VA so that all veterans — men and women — can receive proper health care and secure housing immediately upon finishing service.

Maybe, hopefully someday soon we will declare a national ‘Peace Day’ in which we remember and honor all of those who dedicated their lives to ending violent conflict. But for now, let’s at least make sure that women who serve in the armed forces do not face as much danger from their comrades-in-arms as they face from shrapnel and bullets.

 

I’ve been thinking a lot today about Marissa Alexander, the woman who could be incarcerated for as long as sixty years for firing a single warning shot in the direction of her abusive husband. Today she is back in court, again, requesting immunity under “stand your ground” in light of new evidence of her husband’s abuse. The shot most certainly not heard around world injured no one and may well have saved her from further abuse at the hands of a violent man. It has not, however, saved her from abuse at the hands of the courts. In 2012 she was convicted of aggravated assault and sentenced to 20 years in prison. Marissa Alexander had given birth a week before the incident, her husband had beaten her up during her pregnancy, and she had a court injunction that was supposed to keep him away from her. She also had a license to carry a concealed weapon, was trained in using the weapon – and, it bears repeating – no one was hurt.

At the time of her trial and verdict the Court denied her right to use a gun in self-defense under the “stand your ground” law in Florida. The contrast to the ruling in the case of the death of Trayvon Martin at the hands of George Zimmerman seemed a clear demonstration of how racism, even in our era of “colorblindness” (see Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow) permeates the law enforcement, judicial and penal systems.

But today when I read her message to her three children who are growing up without their mother, I’ve been thinking more about Marissa Alexander’s gender.

For the past six years I’ve spent a great deal of time with women in the Boston area who had been incarcerated in Massachusetts. Studies consistently show that the about 70% of women drawn into the correctional system have been targets of physical and sexual violence (Meda Chesney-Lind has written powerfully about this issue.) In my own observations this estimate may actually be on the low side. Furthermore, having been in prison sets women up for further abuse and assault. As “ex-offenders” they lose their eligibility for government-subsidized housing and as a consequence are likely to become homeless. In fact, a 23 city report by the United States Conference of Mayors confirms that domestic violence is the primary cause of homelessness for women (www.usmayors.org). Women who are homeless or insecurely housed are vulnerable to assault on the streets, and, with few alternatives available, may move in with a man who is – as several women I know put it – “sketchy” which puts them at even greater risk of intimate partner violence.

Why – despite efforts our society has put into helping victims of violence – do Marissa Alexander and so many other women continue to suffer intimate partner assaults, abuse, sexual exploitation, and rape? The Violence against Women Act, signed into law by President Bill Clinton on September 13, 1994, increased penalties for repeat sex offenders, trained law enforcement officers and established the National Domestic Violence Hot Line. We have police, social workers, psychologists, battered women’s shelters, rape crisis hot lines, mandatory reporting requirements – surely these should have, or at the very least, could have solved the problem of violence against women. We have public proclamations that raise awareness of childhood sexual abuse, date rape and domestic battering. But the culture of violence that endangers women, children, and many men has not changed; rates of gender violence have not declined; and men who rape or abuse women are unlikely to be charged with a crime, if charged they are unlikely to be convicted, and if convicted are unlikely to serve significant prison time (more on this in the National Violence Against Women Survey).

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