Topic: Victims

Some nationwide statistics around domestic violence and child abuse have, perhaps surprisingly, gone down since the Coronavirus pandemic took hold, but they only mask a deadly underlying trend: The silencing of victims until it’s often too late.

In New York City, for example, we’ve been working with Safe Horizon, the largest domestic violence and victims’ services organization in the country, serving more than 250,000 children, adults and families. Since the pandemic took hold, they have seen a decrease in domestic violence hotline calls and in the use of domestic violence shelters, as well as decreased child abuse reports. But just because those numbers are down, it doesn’t mean that there is less violence and abuse happening.

Victims are less likely to call for help during the crisis because they’re trapped in their homes with their abusers, without the necessary privacy. In the past, they might have gone to the public library to make those calls or use those online chat services, but the libraries are closed. And when domestic violence victims might have gone to shelters in the past, concerns about the spread of the virus—particularly in New York City, the epicenter of the pandemic—are leading more people to say that they will “take their chances” at home, with their abusers, with potentially deadly results.

Likewise, child abuse reports are down. But we’re also seeing the lethality of child abuse cases spike disturbingly across the country. Police and child protective services aren’t seeing children, so they’re not able to report abuse. It means abusers are only showing up at emergency rooms when they’ve caused injuries so bad that they’re forced to get medical help for their victims.

One forensic interviewer in Virginia used to see dozens of children a week, she told the Washington Post, after they had been referred through conventional reporting channels. Now, she sees very few, and lies awake at night worrying about “the children that we’re not seeing.” At another children’s medical center in Texas, there have been three child deaths from severe abuse since mid-March, when the center typically sees four to six deaths a year, according to the Post’s excellent reporting on this issue.

As a technical assistance provider for the Safety and Justice Challenge, my organization specializes in helping jurisdictions around the country center the experience of victims in their efforts to reduce jail populations. We connect sites with experts and best practices, train and educate on trauma and victimization in incarcerated populations, and on victim-centered principles, to ensure that victims’ experiences are centered in criminal legal work.

We explored some of the ways jurisdictions are using technology to speed up the granting of restraining orders by remote technology at a recent webinar in partnership with the Association of Prosecuting Attorneys, for example. And we also encourage anyone concerned about the issues raised in this blog to contact our VictimConnect Hotline at 1-855-4VICTIM.

Jurisdictions across the country are doing a lot to ensure that victims’ needs are met with remote technology. But efforts to help vulnerable families are also complicated by underlying inequities.

Just as poorer households have suffered without access to the computers and Internet needed to get online for schooling, so, too, are they more likely to be without the technology and space to communicate privately as they seek help for abuse. Where teachers used to look for in-person signs of abuse like falling asleep in class, or stealing food, there are also fewer opportunities to do so in an online world. It’s impossible for teachers to see facial bruises if a child’s webcam isn’t working, for example, and that’s assuming that the child has been able to log on for classes, at all.

The resources are there to help, but we all need to begin with considering victims’ voices more intentionally. The biggest questions on the minds of those in our criminal justice systems around the country right now should be: “Who’s voice am I not hearing? Whose face am I not seeing?”

We can help folks to hear and see those victims before it’s too late.

–Renee Williams is the Executive Director of the National Center for Victims of Crime. 

The criminal justice reform movement has often overlooked the inclusion of victims in their efforts. It has also misunderstood and frequently miscommunicated who victims are. In fact, when the National Center for Victims of Crime entered into the conversation about reform, people asked, “why are victims interested in reform, and why should they be included in the process?”

The answer for those of us in the field is clear – victims are at the moral center of the criminal justice system. Soliciting victims’ opinions on issues that will affect their lives is the right, smart, and just thing to do. However, reformers may be surprised that crime survivors are often their strongest allies and supporters. That’s because in the majority of cases, those who have committed a crime have also survived trauma and identify as victims themselves.

Ninety percent of individuals who have been, or are, incarcerated, are also crime victims. Labeling someone an “ex-con”, “felon”, or “prisoner”, however, clouds our perception of them and their perception of themselves.  Attaching these labels to individuals attaches the corresponding stigma of being “bad” and “not deserving” of assistance and crucial services to address their trauma. While in fact, this assistance is what may help them to heal and live productive lives. “The worst part of repeatedly hearing your negative definition of me, is that I begin to believe it myself,” wrote Eddie Ellis, the late justice reform leader.

The taint of these labels extends to the places where people who have been incarcerated, and are crime survivors, live.  We call them “bad neighborhoods” making it easier to leave them unprotected and under-resourced rather than providing these places with treatment, assistance, security and compassion.

In 2016 the Department of Justice Office of Justice announced that it would no longer use the words “felon” or “convict”, and in 2018 Washington state’s reentry council urged people to “use accurate and non-stigmatizing language” to describe individuals who have been formerly incarcerated. Such people are “often characterized as being part of a criminal underclass”, the council said. While the San Francisco Board of Supervisors unanimously passed a resolution to adopt the practice of using “human-first language”, recently.

As we continue to reform the criminal justice system, let’s ensure that the voices of victims are heard and considered.  Let’s also stop defining others by the worst thing that they have done in their lives and create additional barriers to their success and healing. As Eddie Ellis said, “no single moment or experience should define any of our lives forever. Least of all in words.”

Renee Williams is the Executive Director of the National Center for Victims of Crime. 

You can watch a Facebook Live video on this subject featuring Ronald Simpson-Bey of JustLeadershipUSA and Erik Henderson of San Francisco County, and Mai Fernandez of the National Center for Victims of Crime on the MacArthur Foundation’s Facebook page.  

The United States has the highest maternal death rate in the developed world, with 26 women dying out of every 100,000 live births.

For Black mothers, this danger is even more acute, with a maternal death rate that is three to four times that of non-Hispanic white mothers. The CDC Foundation estimates that 60 percent of all maternal deaths in the U.S. are preventable.

Maintaining maternal health is of vital importance for both mother and child. But when pregnant women are incarcerated, the situation becomes more complicated.

In 2002, the most recent data available, the Bureau of Justice Statistics estimated that 5 percent of women in jail nationwide were pregnant. Women are the fastest growing population behind bars today and nearly 80 percent of incarcerated women are mothers.

Shandra Williams was one of them. Reporter Rowan Moore Gerety profiled Williams for a two-part episode—airing this week and next—on the open-source podcast 70 Million. Williams, who spent much of her pregnancy in a Texas jail on a probation violation, described her experience of being away from her husband and unable to see a doctor, not receiving medical attention for cramps and bleeding, and being placed in solitary confinement after her water broke. Her pregnancy helped lead to the changing of laws in Texas to better protect the health and safety of pregnant women behind bars.

Women coming into jail often are already experiencing high-risk pregnancies. But, like Williams, many expectant mothers receive limited to no medical care while behind bars, according to a Bureau of Justice Statistics report. They may be shackled during their pregnancies, and even while giving birth. They may also be separated from their children soon after giving birth, preventing them from breastfeeding and denying them the many benefits medical experts have identified for both moms and newborns of skin-to-skin contact.

“A lot of places are not thinking about pregnant women,” says the Vera Institute of Justice’s Elizabeth Swavola, a program manager and co-author of the report Overlooked: Women and Jails in an Era of Reform. 

Researchers like Swavola note that there are best practices for jurisdictions interested in improving their care of pregnant women behind bars.

• Ending the shackling of pregnant women. Twenty-eight states have laws prohibiting the shackling of pregnant women, though some only prohibit shackling during childbirth.
• Ending the use of solitary confinement for pregnant women. Starting this October, Maryland will prohibit correctional facilities from placing pregnant women in isolation against their will. Georgia and Texas will also ban the use of solitary confinement for pregnant women this year.
• Ensuring pregnant women receive the medical care that they deserve. Last month, Cook County Jail—the largest single-site jail in the country—announced a $500,000 effort to offer medical care, drug treatment, and counseling for pregnant and postpartum women behind bars.
• Providing nurseries that allow mothers to stay with their children after birth. The Rose M. Singer Center at Rikers Island in New York opened the first jail-based nursery in 1985 and now offers parenting classes and post-natal workshops for incarcerated women. Such nurseries allow mothers to breastfeed and help keep both moms and kids healthy during the recovery period and after birth.

All of these strategies could dramatically improve the lives of pregnant women in custody. But Swavola says the best way to help pregnant women stay healthy is to keep them out of our nation’s jails and prisons in the first place.

In recent years, states like Oklahoma, Oregon, and Illinois have experimented with pretrial diversion programs aimed at keeping pregnant women out of jail while they’re waiting for their cases to resolve. And mother-focused legal services like I reported on last season for 70 Million could help women post bail and meet court requirements to stay out of jail. Free to see their doctors and get the support they need from family members, these women will have a much better chance at having the safe and healthy pregnancies they deserve.

American jails are housing more women than ever before. Some studies show that in the last two decades, the number of women in jail has grown twice as fast as that of men.

In Maine, we have long recognized that women enter the criminal justice system with a complex set of needs, including an extensive history of victimization. An internal study from 2003 showed that 93% of women incarcerated in Maine experienced abuse prior to incarceration, with many experiencing abuse across their lifespan beginning in early childhood.[1] Until recently, however, we were unable to address this issue. We were granted the opportunity to reach underserved women who are incarcerated and provide vital services to address these complex needs with the receipt of a Safety and Justice Challenge Innovation Fund award.

Through These Doors is the domestic violence resource center located in Cumberland County, Maine’s most urban county. Maine Pre-Trial Services (MPS) and Through These Doors (TTD) have a history of partnering to hold people charged with domestic violence crimes accountable and to keep survivors safe. Our new initiative—Project Safe Release—builds upon this existing partnership and works to provide services for even more people impacted by this issue.

Project Safe Release was developed as an effort to decrease the gaps in services for women who are incarcerated, identify women who are in need of trauma services, and coordinate services. We began by cross-training the staff at our organizations to make connections and build buy-in for the project. During the first quarter of the project, the training covered domestic violence dynamics, the history of pre-trial services, and service delivery. Working within the justice system to address survivors’ complex needs is a daunting task fraught with barriers; approaching this work in collaboration creates built-in support and camaraderie for employees.  We then created protocols that will sustain the program for new staff, as well as written materials about our services and contact information.

The next step was to research, identify, and implement an assessment tool (we selected MOVERS: Measure of Victim Empowerment Related to Safety scale), and created a data system to monitor our progress. It is difficult to measure and quantify safety related to domestic and sexual violence because survivors do not have control over whether the abuse continues. The goal of MOVERS is to assess safety by measuring victim empowerment related to safety and understanding the level of empowerment survivors feel to manage their safety.

To date, 73 female defendants have been screened pre-arraignment at the Cumberland County Jail by MPS. Forty-five of these women self-identified as survivors of domestic and/or sexual violence. Of these 45, 38 voluntarily accepted written information about TTD and 26 signed release of information to allow for coordinated service delivery.  Over the past nine months, there has been an increase in referrals to TTD and enhanced partnership between both organizations. An increase in referrals indicates that more women are connecting with TTD for comprehensive victim services during their incarceration and post- release, which we believe correlates with increased safety-related empowerment.

We are honored to be part of the Safety and Justice Challenge to provide vital services to incarcerated survivors. This project presents a unique opportunity to safely release women who are on pre-trial contracts while also ensuring their safety in the community from partners who cause harm, thereby reducing the amount of time women remain in custody awaiting court proceedings.  As the project continues, we look forward to evaluating the data to determine if women report an increase in safety and sense of empowerment over time.

[1] “Building Bridges: A Support Group and Advocacy Program for Incarcerated Survivors of Domestic Violence in Cumberland County, Maine.” Kurzmann, Joanne (2003).

A special public defenders office set up to help women is keeping families together.

When Linda Meachum was arrested in Tulsa, OK last year for not paying her court fees and fines, she prepared to say goodbye to her two young granddaughters.

“I was doomed,” Linda told me. “I was fixing to be sent to prison to do the term of four years.”

Women are the fastest growing population behind bars in the United States today. And like Linda, nearly 80 percent of women in jail are mothers, according to a 2016 report by the Vera Institute of Justice. The same report says that women are now held in jails in nearly every jurisdiction across the country. Most of them are single mothers or the primary breadwinners for their families.

The devastation wrought by this trend is apparent in Oklahoma, which has the highest incarceration rate in the world. For over 25 years, Oklahoma has put more women behind bars per capita than any other state.

In Tulsa, the jail has gone from housing an average of 8 women per day in 1970 to over 300 women per day in 2017. Most of the women have been charged with low-level, nonviolent crimes like shoplifting or failing to pay court fees.

Separated from their families and forced to leave their work, these women sit idle in large “pods,” watching TV or chatting as they wait for their cases to be resolved. It was in the Tulsa County jail this spring that I met Kami Barrett, a 30-year-old mother of three.

“Not being able to see my kids, that’s the hardest thing,” she told me. “I had them every day. Now I don’t have them at all. That’s what sucks.”

Her youngest daughter, aged five, was staying with Kami’s sister while her former partner was taking care of her  eight and nine-year-old. Such separation of siblings from mothers can have serious consequences. Kids with parents behind bars aresix times more likely to enter the criminal justice system themselves, and the numbers are worse for children of incarcerated mothers than fathers.

Kami could have walked out of the jail that day if only she could afford the $5,000 bond prescribed by the judge. But without the money, she was stuck behind bars, waiting for the court to decide whether she was guilty. Nationally, women are less likely than men to be able to bond out of jail.

Women behind bars are also more likely to have a history of trauma and abuse and have higher rates of mental health and substance abuse disorders.

For Linda Meachum, that combination meant her fate was all but sealed. The 57-year-old had been in prison twice before and her health was failing. A survivor of domestic violence, she told me she struggled with substance abuse and post-traumatic stress disorder while living on less than $250 a month.

When the court mandated that she pay the government $40 every month as part of her probation in addition to the court fines of a previous case, she said she reached a breaking point. When Linda stopped paying the court fee, the sheriff issued a warrant for her arrest.

But Linda was one of the lucky ones. She ended up spending just eight days in jail. With the help of Still She Rises,  a mother-focused law firm in Tulsa, she was able to convince the judge to give her a second chance. Since being released in January, she has completed a 60-day rehabilitation program and is doing community service in lieu of paying the court fines. She even has plans to start a prison ministry to help women behind bars.

But not every woman arrested is so lucky. There are 212,000 women incarcerated in prisons and jails today—30 percent of the total number of incarcerated women worldwide. It is time we start hearing their voices and helping them find their way back to their families.

*Nissa Rhee is a reporter based in Chicago whose work has appeared in The Christian Science Monitor, Chicago Reader, and Radio Netherlands Worldwide. She reported on women in Oklahoma prisons for 70 Million, an open-source podcast from Lantigua Williams & Co., made possible by a grant from the Safety and Justice Challenge at the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation.