A coalition of reproductive and racial justice advocates are demanding better standards of care for the 500 or so pregnant Texans—most whom are Black and Latina—incarcerated in Texas county jails each month.
I had been in jail for two and a half months when I learned that my breast cancer would necessitate a mastectomy. And I would have to do it alone: no pink pillows, no encouraging cards, no special foods. No comfort, period.
Texas’ penal code explicitly exempts pregnant individuals from being punished for harming their own fetuses. But that hasn’t stopped prosecutors from charging them with child endangerment for using drugs while pregnant.
The American Civil Liberties Union accuses Scott County, Mississippi, officials of maintaining policies that allow poor defendants to sit in jail without either an attorney or a formal indictment.
Dr. Dorothy Roberts is right: Incarceration of women “inflicts incalculable damage to communities …. [transferring] racial disadvantage to the next generation.”
Survivors of child sexual abuse have 12 years after they turn 18 to pursue justice—unless they’re trying to sue the state.
Many advocates have understandably focused on the Supreme Court in recent weeks. But what gets lost in that focus are the stories that show the right to basic bodily autonomy is at stake for sex workers, trans people of color, and those who are disproportionately incarcerated.
The question that must be asked, in plain language, is: Do imperfect people deserve death for their imperfection?
The crowd, and the speakers, reflected a commitment to environmental and economic justice, to labor rights and immigrants’ rights, to public education. One hand-made sign summed up the spirit of the march: “I stand with so many groups here, I couldn’t pick just one.”
When it comes to childhood sexual assault, there is a heavy thumb on the scales of justice. To trot out “but he wasn’t convicted” as definitive proof of innocence against the backdrop of this system amounts to willful ignorance.