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It's becoming popular in the media to talk about the missing millions-- the 1.5 million African American men in their prime who are missing from civic life.
It's becoming popular in the media to talk about the missing millions-- the 1.5 million African American men in their prime who are missing from civic life.
Those millions, it's explained, are mostly missing because they've died young or been locked up. There's been a catastrophic rise of incarceration in the US over the past four decades. But missing from the "missing-men" stories are the women whose rates of incarceration have risen fastest of all. In 2013, approximately 111,300 women were in US prisons, a 900 percent increase over 1977.
They're absent from our streets and also from this coverage.
As every study's revealed, the majority of incarcerated women are non-violent offenders with little education or employment experience, and lots of history of abuse. Girls of color are more likely to be locked up than white girls. Gender non-conforming girls are most likely of all, and two thirds of incarcerated women have kids.
They're not missing. They're missed. Incarceration tears families and communities apart.
To let some women know they hadn't been forgotten, three young activists recently organized a performance in a women's prison, Taconic, about an hour outside of New York City. As prison policies tend to have men, not women in mind, they brought a play by, with, and about women: Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues, and to perform, they brought professional actresses, activists, and three women who'd served over half a century between them, in the maximum-security prison across the street.
Coming back, and watching their audience stream in, the cast fell quiet as women saw women they'd left behind inside, and guards saw women they'd not seen since they'd got out.
Visitors and prisoners are not allowed to hug, or get close or touch. Separation is sternly enforced. Still, after 90 minutes of laughing, crying, whooping and tearing-up together thanks to the tragi-comic Monologues, all the women were feeling a lot. Before they left, they semi-circled into a group air hug - old arms, young arms, arms in silk, arms in made-for-men green cotton prison tops - reaching out, towards one other.
The missing aren't missing. We keep them at a distance. What if we broke that distance? Those inside aren't missing; they're waiting - on us - for justice. They aren't missing. We are.
Join me, May 8th, for Risky Talking: a conversation about risk, confinement and escape, with Piper Kerman, whose memoir Orange Is the New Black: My Year in a Women's Prison was adapted into the hit series on Netflix, and Donna Hylton, who served 25 years in the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility and currently works as a Community Health Advocate for formerly incarcerated people. Moderate by me with MacArthur Award-winning choreographer Elizabeth Streb. Complete with wild action moments from the STREB company. Find out more and get tickets at Riskytalking.org.
Dear Common Dreams reader, It’s been nearly 30 years since I co-founded Common Dreams with my late wife, Lina Newhouser. We had the radical notion that journalism should serve the public good, not corporate profits. It was clear to us from the outset what it would take to build such a project. No paid advertisements. No corporate sponsors. No millionaire publisher telling us what to think or do. Many people said we wouldn't last a year, but we proved those doubters wrong. Together with a tremendous team of journalists and dedicated staff, we built an independent media outlet free from the constraints of profits and corporate control. Our mission has always been simple: To inform. To inspire. To ignite change for the common good. Building Common Dreams was not easy. Our survival was never guaranteed. When you take on the most powerful forces—Wall Street greed, fossil fuel industry destruction, Big Tech lobbyists, and uber-rich oligarchs who have spent billions upon billions rigging the economy and democracy in their favor—the only bulwark you have is supporters who believe in your work. But here’s the urgent message from me today. It's never been this bad out there. And it's never been this hard to keep us going. At the very moment Common Dreams is most needed, the threats we face are intensifying. We need your support now more than ever. We don't accept corporate advertising and never will. We don't have a paywall because we don't think people should be blocked from critical news based on their ability to pay. Everything we do is funded by the donations of readers like you. When everyone does the little they can afford, we are strong. But if that support retreats or dries up, so do we. Will you donate now to make sure Common Dreams not only survives but thrives? —Craig Brown, Co-founder |
It's becoming popular in the media to talk about the missing millions-- the 1.5 million African American men in their prime who are missing from civic life.
Those millions, it's explained, are mostly missing because they've died young or been locked up. There's been a catastrophic rise of incarceration in the US over the past four decades. But missing from the "missing-men" stories are the women whose rates of incarceration have risen fastest of all. In 2013, approximately 111,300 women were in US prisons, a 900 percent increase over 1977.
They're absent from our streets and also from this coverage.
As every study's revealed, the majority of incarcerated women are non-violent offenders with little education or employment experience, and lots of history of abuse. Girls of color are more likely to be locked up than white girls. Gender non-conforming girls are most likely of all, and two thirds of incarcerated women have kids.
They're not missing. They're missed. Incarceration tears families and communities apart.
To let some women know they hadn't been forgotten, three young activists recently organized a performance in a women's prison, Taconic, about an hour outside of New York City. As prison policies tend to have men, not women in mind, they brought a play by, with, and about women: Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues, and to perform, they brought professional actresses, activists, and three women who'd served over half a century between them, in the maximum-security prison across the street.
Coming back, and watching their audience stream in, the cast fell quiet as women saw women they'd left behind inside, and guards saw women they'd not seen since they'd got out.
Visitors and prisoners are not allowed to hug, or get close or touch. Separation is sternly enforced. Still, after 90 minutes of laughing, crying, whooping and tearing-up together thanks to the tragi-comic Monologues, all the women were feeling a lot. Before they left, they semi-circled into a group air hug - old arms, young arms, arms in silk, arms in made-for-men green cotton prison tops - reaching out, towards one other.
The missing aren't missing. We keep them at a distance. What if we broke that distance? Those inside aren't missing; they're waiting - on us - for justice. They aren't missing. We are.
Join me, May 8th, for Risky Talking: a conversation about risk, confinement and escape, with Piper Kerman, whose memoir Orange Is the New Black: My Year in a Women's Prison was adapted into the hit series on Netflix, and Donna Hylton, who served 25 years in the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility and currently works as a Community Health Advocate for formerly incarcerated people. Moderate by me with MacArthur Award-winning choreographer Elizabeth Streb. Complete with wild action moments from the STREB company. Find out more and get tickets at Riskytalking.org.
It's becoming popular in the media to talk about the missing millions-- the 1.5 million African American men in their prime who are missing from civic life.
Those millions, it's explained, are mostly missing because they've died young or been locked up. There's been a catastrophic rise of incarceration in the US over the past four decades. But missing from the "missing-men" stories are the women whose rates of incarceration have risen fastest of all. In 2013, approximately 111,300 women were in US prisons, a 900 percent increase over 1977.
They're absent from our streets and also from this coverage.
As every study's revealed, the majority of incarcerated women are non-violent offenders with little education or employment experience, and lots of history of abuse. Girls of color are more likely to be locked up than white girls. Gender non-conforming girls are most likely of all, and two thirds of incarcerated women have kids.
They're not missing. They're missed. Incarceration tears families and communities apart.
To let some women know they hadn't been forgotten, three young activists recently organized a performance in a women's prison, Taconic, about an hour outside of New York City. As prison policies tend to have men, not women in mind, they brought a play by, with, and about women: Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues, and to perform, they brought professional actresses, activists, and three women who'd served over half a century between them, in the maximum-security prison across the street.
Coming back, and watching their audience stream in, the cast fell quiet as women saw women they'd left behind inside, and guards saw women they'd not seen since they'd got out.
Visitors and prisoners are not allowed to hug, or get close or touch. Separation is sternly enforced. Still, after 90 minutes of laughing, crying, whooping and tearing-up together thanks to the tragi-comic Monologues, all the women were feeling a lot. Before they left, they semi-circled into a group air hug - old arms, young arms, arms in silk, arms in made-for-men green cotton prison tops - reaching out, towards one other.
The missing aren't missing. We keep them at a distance. What if we broke that distance? Those inside aren't missing; they're waiting - on us - for justice. They aren't missing. We are.
Join me, May 8th, for Risky Talking: a conversation about risk, confinement and escape, with Piper Kerman, whose memoir Orange Is the New Black: My Year in a Women's Prison was adapted into the hit series on Netflix, and Donna Hylton, who served 25 years in the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility and currently works as a Community Health Advocate for formerly incarcerated people. Moderate by me with MacArthur Award-winning choreographer Elizabeth Streb. Complete with wild action moments from the STREB company. Find out more and get tickets at Riskytalking.org.