Act #254: When in doubt, choose hope.
Yesterday, 15 of us – all women between the ages of 22 - 62, left our material
possessions behind, gave up our driver’s licenses, and walked into a minimum
security correctional facility in Lexington, Kentucky. We were counselors, social workers, advocates,
and educators, and we were participating in an on-site orientation. We were also the entire staff of a regional
rape crisis center. The deputy warden granted
us special permission to bring in one cell phone, so that we could continue to
operate our 24-hour crisis hotline. Like
most rape crisis centers across the country, we have suddenly found ourselves thrust
into a very new and unfamiliar territory.
In 2003, the Prison Rape
Elimination Act (PREA) called for measures to prevent and respond to sexual
abuse in prisons, jails, youth detention facilities, police lockups, and
halfway houses. In May 2012, the U.S.
Department of Justice issued national standards aimed at eliminating this crisis.
This year we signed memorandums of understanding with local correctional
facilities to provide counseling services and medical advocacy for persons who
are sexually assaulted while incarcerated.
While our center may have had a handful of cases involving incarcerated
individuals in the past, we really have little idea what it will be like to
provide services to large numbers of male victims in such a controlled, secured
environment.
So we spent the
afternoon with a larger-than-life, 6’5 corrections officer, filled out a stack
of security papers divulging our most personal
information, and learned among other things, that we are not permitted to give
candy to the inmates. The reasoning
behind this of course is simple - one piece of candy might lead to a sandwich,
a sandwich to some cigarettes, and before you know it, you might find yourself
helping to plan an escape. While I understand
the necessity of these boundaries and precautions, I was sadly reminded of my
visit to the zoo last summer, where I saw signs prohibiting visitors from
feeding the animals.
As the only rape crisis
center in our region, as soon as we received the federal mandate to provide rape
services in prisons, we were on it. We
got out there and started communicating with all correctional facilities in our
jurisdiction. We learned the law inside
and out, realigned staff to meet the possible increase in demand for our
services, and began preparing ourselves to respond effectively. But what we didn’t do is ask ourselves the
hardest question that we’ve all been subconsciously avoiding.
You see, each and every
one of us entered the anti-violence movement because we live and breathe
advocacy…against violence. We do not
lack passion for justice and we do not shy away from outwardly demanding
it. But yet, here we are supporting
individuals, some who may have very well been perpetrators of violence
themselves. So regardless of how
beautifully we followed the step-by-step federal mandate, we failed to ask
ourselves one important question.
Could we - not as social workers and counselors,
but as anti-violence advocates and human beings - truly open our hearts to help those individuals who have
inflicted violence on others?
No one is denying that because of personal
choices and life circumstances, inmates lose their privileges for basic
freedom. What we as a society, must ask ourselves however is
this: when we remove someone’s freedom, even
if it is to punish them or protect them from hurting others, should we allow
them to be subjected to even more violence?
And if we did, what good would
come out of that?
I know there are some of you out there reading this
who will say, If they are raped, tough. They
got what they deserved. But did
they? I don’t know of any court of law
that has ever issued a sentence that included rape or sexual assault. The Bureau of Justice Statistics (BJS)
estimates that roughly 200,000 people are sexually abused behind bars in a
single year. One study found that nearly 10 percent of former
state inmates reported being sexually abused during their most recent period of
detention. About half of the prisoners reporting abuse were victimized by staff. On average, each prison
rape survivor is assaulted three to five times a year.
As advocates against violence, we are committed
to advocating against all forms of
violence. We are particularly passionate about
ending sexual violence, because we know the devastating impact it has on victims,
regardless of where it happens - even if it’s behind bars. Even if the victims may have been the
inflicter of violence themselves in the past. Even if the victims are living out a
punishment that they may very well deserve.
They still don't deserve to be raped. We will provide resources for them to heal. We will believe them. We will give it our best shot to help end a
cycle of poverty and crime that would only be further perpetuated by emotional
and physical scars of sexual violence. Scars that we believe if left unattended, will
most likely be brought back to families and communities.
So while we will follow the rules and not offer candy to the
inmates, as anti-violence advocates, we will always offer hope. Because doesn’t everyone deserve hope? What would you rather see? An angry, depressed,
and traumatized individual walking out of those prison doors. Or someone who has served their time and has been
given all the tools and resources they need to begin contributing to our
community again. We choose hope.
For more information regarding PREA and sexual
violence in prisons:
http://www.justdetention.org/
