A Narrative of Control
Mass incarceration rests on false narratives that carceral institutions themselves control. But some of us are fighting back.
Mass incarceration rests on false narratives that carceral institutions themselves control. But some of us are fighting back.
While on parole in Oregon, homelessness, unemployment, and lack of services kept me in survival mode. This is not public safety.
Education is integral to centering the holistic well-being of incarcerated people.
Some of the greatest violence of prisons is hidden, in plain view, within their banality.
When people need care, then the solution should be to get them care, not increase the risk of police violence.
We embrace nonconformity in principle—but not for Black men, whose quirks can provoke fear, policing, and punishment.
“I applaud, your / Frankenstein’s monster, forevermore.”
In New York and elsewhere, exploitative court-ordered fees shouldn't saddle a person who is already poor and criminalized.
Abolition and public health go hand in hand. Organizers are embracing both as they pursue decarceral projects that center everyone’s well-being.
“What does it mean to be an / incarcerated poet?”
A hopeful, practical new book shows how abolitionist organizers today are building the world anew.
I spit bars on Death Row to preserve the legacy of our people, what’s been done to us, and how we’ve fought back.
“The cotton field / is replaced by walls of steel . . . ”
They were incarcerated in Eastern Kentucky, far from home. Now they’re free and back, hoping the region won’t build a new prison there.
Poetry can help incarcerated authors to reclaim the story of their life.
“Paralyzed in shock / by slave raid tactics, / my trembling hands on the wall . . .”
Prison is no place for grief and closure. Yet even as I mourned, glimmers of love and life surrounded me.
From sex work to sex offender registries, a queer politics requires that we end state practices of sex exceptionalism.
For many years, Kentuckians have been fighting the construction of a federal prison. They’ve been winning, but their fight isn’t over.
The D.A.R.E. program turned students into snitches, leading to the arrest and incarceration of friends and loved ones who used drugs.
For incarcerated people, prison education programs can offer not only knowledge but also hope that a different future is possible.
After Hurricane Katrina, law enforcement criminalized sex work and Black women like never before. We fought back—and won.
Police academies socialize officers into an us-versus-them mentality—particularly when it comes to activists—and harden them to any attempts at reform.
There can be justice beyond punishment. To realize it, we must challenge the narrative that carceral violence is the only response to other forms of violence.
Racialized and violent, modern U.S. warmaking is inextricably linked with our history of mass incarceration.
The Prison Rape Elimination Act often revictimizes incarcerated survivors by expanding the power of the prison over them.
There's no aging with dignity for people serving extreme sentences. Freeing them is only a start to a deeper paradigm shift.
Recovering a vision of queer solidarity with incarcerated people may just be what people disaffected by the gay rights movement need today.
Public skepticism about scientific research, coupled with echoes of the war on drugs, have hindered our city’s ability to respond to our overdose crisis.
Reacquainting ourselves with practices that made prisons more permeable can be a step toward ending mass incarceration.