California Senate Bills do little to help victims of sexual violence requesting parole

By Lilliana Paratore and Sara Kruzan

In this post-#MeToo era, it is common knowledge that women experience sexual harassment and abuse at staggering rates, and that these experiences are all too often left unvoiced or unaddressed. For women in prison, the problem is even greater. One study shows that between 40% and 93% of incarcerated women experienced intimate partner violence prior to incarceration. Moreover, 68-86% of women who are incarcerated report surviving sexual violence in their lifetime. Unfortunately, these experiences of gender-based violence as children and adults can be tied to an increased risk of future victimization, and of future perpetration of violence. As many women who commit crimes of violence do so either to protect themselves from abuse or as a part of abusive relationships.

For women going through the parole consideration process, these experiences are inadequately addressed, despite the fact that some statutes apply. In 2000, California enacted Senate Bill 499, codified as Penal Code section 4801, which required that the parole board “consider” evidence indicating that “at the time of the commission of the crime, the prisoner had suffered from battered woman syndrome…” In 2005, California passed Assembly Bill (AB) 220, which amended Penal Code section 4801 to reference “intimate partner battering” instead of “battered woman syndrome,” in order to keep pace with changed understandings of what intimate partner battering encompasses. “Intimate partner batter- ing and its effects” includes “evidence of the nature and effects of physical, emotional, or mental abuse upon the beliefs, perceptions, or behavior of victims of domestic violence if it appears the criminal behavior was the result of that victimization.” In 2012, California passed AB 1593, mandating that the parole board “give great weight” to intimate partner battering and its effects, rather than merely “consider” it as required by the original 2000 statute. Additionally, section 4801 was amended to explicitly provide that the fact that a prisoner presents evidence of abuse may not be used by the parole authority to support a finding that the prisoner lacks insight into the crime. While this special parole consideration has been an available avenue for relief for almost two decades, no California case law addresses the manner in which the Board must consider this evidence, nor have the courts defined the meaning of “great weight” in this context.

Unfortunately, in my experience as a parole attorney representing incarcerated women before the Board, these laws have little weight or meaning. The Board only understands these laws as applying to women who have killed their abusive partners, rather than as applying to women who have experienced a range of intimate partner violence that impacted their pathways to crime more broadly. This is born out in the numbers as well, as between 2011 and 2017, only 32 cases were investigated by the Board, and of those, only six were fully substantiated. This leaves countless women without relief in the parole context, despite the fact that so many women attribute many of their “causative factors” and “character defects” to experiences of gender-based trauma and abuse. -L.P.

…to Live The Experience

It is concerning for incarcerated per- sons, especially women aware of our “causative factors” and “character defects” being related to or are rooted in experiences of gender-based trauma and abuse. I am one of those women. My trauma and abuse experienced prior to my act of violence against George, who sexually trafficked me, was very present when I committed the act of violence that took his life.

The trauma and abuse inflicted upon me by others was a very personal experience of being silenced. A very personal experience of being sexually assaulted repeatedly. A very personal experience of being raped. A very personal experience of being trafficked, victimized, and degraded by numerous forms of violence. All of this was my personal experience and was as ever present the day I was arrested for murder. However, no matter how personal the experiences, far too many women have shared in the experiences.

Unfortunately, my “causative factors” and “character defects” were not taken into account for a rehabilitative plan as I prepared for a life sentence as a youth tried as an adult. I was lost in an invisibility of the criminal justice system. What if someone saw me? What if there was an act of compassion and rehabilitation within our criminal justice system from the very beginning one comes into contact with it? A warm hand off between institutions as opposed to a cold negligent and reckless hand off. Negligent handoffs fit under the umbrella of harmful behavior for me.

My experiences of integrated and concentrated violence while incarcerated left me many times with an uncertainty within an undefined bravery to continue on an undefined road. There weren’t any programs within Central California Women’s Facility, which covered the healing for child sex trafficking, compounded sexual trauma, and abuse. There was Domestic Violence Support Group, but for me, it only addressed a percentage of my “causative factors” and “character defects”.

I wish California’s parole board procedures were rooted in a therapeutic model with values rooted in healing, restoration, dignity and safety for all. I was so intimidated by the appearance alone within the parole board, having to share and discuss some of my most dehumanizing experiences with strange men, triggered memories of other moments I was with strange men and being dehumanized.

As I presented in front of the parole board, its very design shrunk my being. However, in a space structured to exude enveloping power, the simple act of kindness by Commissioner Zinnernam created a sense of dignity for me. A dignity and act of human kindness, an experience that will forever be etched within my core. I was asked to state my name and spell it. I leaned into the table, stretching my neck to the microphone and barely reaching the microphone. Zinnernam came down from his authoritarian bench and pulled the microphone closer to me. In that moment, the system acknowledged what I had to say was worthy of being heard and I felt a sense of dignity by a system, whose only drive was to oppress and punish me. Despite the structures of a criminal justice system etched in violence, there are endless opportunities to create moments for humanization; for sharing pockets of safety, connection, healing and hope. People will forget what one does. People will forget what one says. One does not ever forget how they are left to feel. Experiencing a ripple effect, which impacted my drive to continue to give in the smallest way holds a valuable life lesson. A lesson bringing awareness to the power of an act of kindness I experienced while in my parole hearing. An underscoring of personal choice to walk along others to contribute to a healing change for overall wellness.

The parole process for me, as a survivor of violent crimes, as an offender who committed an act of violence, as a woman of color sentenced to life without parole, held a belief through re-humanizing what one may be afraid of, healing happens on many levels and we can redesign our institutions to reflect dignity, safety and compassion as we aim for community wellness. -S.K.

By, Tina Curiel-Allen

I aM SEnDInG yoU LoVE and light sister, and I hope that wherever you may be reading this from, you are at peace. By peace, I mean I hope you are okay with you, no matter who you are. I write these words as someone who has at one time or another hurt most everyone I was close to, as someone who was labeled a criminal and dealt with the physical (incarceration) and emotional (PTSD, anxiety, etc.) repercussions of that classification. As someone who knows what state surveillance in one’s life feels like generationally, some- one who had to figure out how to be at peace with myself for public and personal reasons.

I knew when I was in county jail one of the first times that the rights I had taken for granted on the outside did not apply the same inside. People were dying around me with no public answer as to how or why. I realized early on that to fight for myself and those left forgotten behind bars when I got out, I would have to appear more credible and impressive than those around me. I also knew early on that I would end up fighting to change conditions for those like me and my loved ones, on both sides of the bars. I just didn’t know how, or what that fight would look like. When I was ready, I had a lot of work to do; both hard and heart work.

That was almost 20 years ago. Fast forward to 13 plus years out and I can officially call myself a formerly incarcerated activist—and get paid for it. I am fortunate enough to work for an organization made up of, founded, and led by formerly incarcerated and system- impacted people of color called MILPA

(Motivating Individual Leadership for Public Advancement). We work on cultivating Change-Makers for the Next Seven Generations by improving the health and well-being of the communities we come from. We advocate for change at both the policy and root levels. I am also currently a transfer student at UC Davis working on a bachelors degree in Chicana/o Studies with a focus on Social Policy. While at UC Davis, I have also co-founded Beyond the Stats: a student- led organization of formerly incarcerated and system- impacted students, faculty, and administration. We have printed zines of our own stories, facilitated a student- led seminar with a syllabus we ourselves wrote, and have advocated for ourselves and others like us. I am part of a growing movement of folks getting out and wanting to get involved to change conditions for the better.

At the same time, I am also a partner, sister, auntie, daughter, comadre (co-mother), j3writer, cat lover, and a bunch of other things. One of them—as I’m sure you can imagine, as I know you have your own list of things you do and are—is busy. Busy and often tired. I drive a lot and stay up many late nights. I commute to school and, at 37, am practically twice as old as most other students. Responsibilities only grow. Our timeline and trajectory is much different than others—traditional—students and activists, but that only makes us more valuable. We know the meaning of struggle on a survival level; beyond the pages and into our lives. That kind of knowledge cannot be taught. While it is tiring work, it is absolutely necessary: We are who will help create new futures for the next generations. That is why we fight; why we must persevere.

Not a day goes by that I am not thankful for the life and community I have been able to build.

I have worked hard to use my pen as my weapon in speaking truth to power and to bring others along with me as I do it. I have chosen as a writer to use my pen and my voice as a tool to effectively communicate to diverse groups of people. The experiential knowledge that addiction and struggle has taught me is beyond measure. Because of my life’s teachers, self-love, education, decolonization, self-determination, and liberation are anchors in my daily life. These anchors came from the colleagues and mentors who paved the way for me and continue to walk the long march for justice with me.

I needed to make peace with myself before any of this was possible. I had to dig deep to discover who the authentic self I wanted to bring to spaces was, and then be willing to grow toward that. I also had to look squarely at the pain that had kept me running for years if I wanted to start putting down roots. A lot of people helped me in this process. Until I did this, new growth was not sustainable or possible. For me, this path started to unfold through a program I was in while incarcerated. From there it has twisted and turned into a life involving ceremony and daily practice. How you begin or continue that process is, of course, up to you. But until you do that, until you learn how to be okay being still and alone with yourself, you won’t be able to manage hustling and being busy. How we deal with quiet is related with how we deal with chaos; that’s just how things go.

And so I write this letter to you, sister, wherever you may be, in hopes that you are on that path toward self-love and care while fighting for and taking care of others around you. I am on that same path and hope to meet you in person someday soon. We are all made better in the struggle toward liberation, love, and self-determination. May we never forget that.

In their own words, four formerly incarcerated women describe their paths after they were released

Topeka Sam co-founded Hope House NYC, which opened in 2017. Hope House, an initiative of The Ladies of Hope Ministries, is transitional housing for single women who have been incarcerated and are returning to New York City.

“When I got home, I started going around, organizing with other women around women’s issues and incarceration, and just seeing that it was the same issues happening: Women need housing, women need resources, women need all these things.”

Tracy Brumfield is the creator of RISE Up News, a newspaper with a mission to remove post-incarceration barriers, to empower those behind bars with resources and information. She is now working on audience expansion and additional reentry programs for the nonprofit.

“The greatest gift I can give you… is what I like to call ‘the real real,’ ” said Brumfield. “I go into the Hamilton County N32 G pod every Thursday, and we talk about the things in life that can really change us, and how in those moments, if we listen to our gut, we can make good decisions.”

Susan Burton is the founder of A New Way of Life Reentry Project, with a mission to promote healing, power and opportunity for formerly incarcerated people by taking a multifaceted approach to mitigating the effects of, and ultimately eliminating, mass incarceration.

“I think we all want to make an impact; [it’s never] too late. My job now was to value each and every woman, to cast aside my doubt and believe in them—and to teach them to cast aside their own doubt an to hold themselves and others to a standard of accountability, integrity and respect.”

Keri Blakinger spent nearly two years incarcerated before becoming a criminal justice reporter for the Houston Chronicle. She covers breaking news for the Houston Chronicle and previously worked for the New York Daily News and the Ithaca Times. She has written about drugs and criminal justice issues.

“I’ve been so privileged in so many ways to end up with hope and second chances and a happy ending…A lot of people don’t have that, and I wish that more did.”