truthout--2020-12-12--The Trump Administration Has Gone on an Underreported Execution Spree

Janine Jackson : It ’ s so astonishing — at a time we feel ourselves nearly numb to astonishment — that it generated a Snopes factcheck : Could it be that the Trump administration executed more people in five months than the federal government executed during the previous five decades ?
It is true ; and indeed , things are at such a pass that it ’ s almost eerie that Trump isn ’ t bragging night and noon about the spree of state killings — three in four days over the summer , and now ramping up to a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ since the days of Grover Cleveland , who had been , law professor Austin Sarat reminded recently in Slate , an executioner himself as a New York sheriff .
Not content to schedule state killings practically up to the day Biden takes office , Trump ’ s Justice Department has also just changed the rules to allow executions by electrocution and firing squad — this at a time when many states have abolished the death penalty , and more and more people say they oppose it .
Our next guest has reported on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ prisons for much longer than Trump has been in office .
Investigative journalist Liliana Segura now reports for the Intercept .
She joins us now by phone from Nashville .
Welcome to CounterSpin , Liliana Segura .
Liliana Segura : Hi , thanks for having me .
As with a lot of things , it feels like we ’ re moving in two different directions .
More people , if still not a majority , say the death penalty is morally unacceptable .
The data has kind of sunk in that its application @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and not a deterrent to crime .
But then when individual cases come up , it becomes a different category of story , if you will , and statistics matter less than “ What if it were your sister ?
” You ’ ve been doing , as I say , this reporting since before Donald Trump and Bill Barr .
I just wonder how you ’ ve approached the terrain of this issue , and what you ’ re making of the present moment ?
It ’ s been a very @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
As you highlighted , I ’ ve written about the death penalty a lot , for many , many years .
And actually , one of the bizarre aspects of my work in recent years has been that since I moved to Nashville , about five years ago , the state of Tennessee has actually carried out a large number of executions .
And the last several of those were carried out using the electric chair .
Although I haven ’ t witnessed those executions , a number of my local friends @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Outside of our local bubble , and I think more broadly , I don ’ t think Americans quite realize just how much we ’ ve tolerated a system that continues to use things like the electric chair , which , when it was announced that the Trump administration was looking to bring back the electric chair and firing squads , it really generated a fair amount of revulsion among a lot of people who seemed sort of unaware , or maybe haven ’ t thought about these issues in a long time @ @ @ @ @ @ @ risk a little bit of putting these federal executions in the context of this horrifying , violent Trump era , which has broken so many norms that we ’ re accustomed to .
And yet when you look at different states , when you look at what ’ s been happening in Tennessee , we ’ ve been pretty violent in the past several years , and tolerating quite a bit as Americans when it comes to these more mundane executions from day to day and year to year .
So part of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that they were looking to restart federal executions after more than 15 years , my task was to remind myself of the history that underpins this federal system .
We hadn ’ t seen a federal execution since 2003 .
So the first piece that I wrote was actually going back and reexamining how we got here .
And so much of that story really is about the Democrats , frankly , and is about the era of the 1994 crime bill , and the vast expansion of federal prosecutions , federal death @ @ @ @ @ @ @ crime bill .
So it ’ s been an interesting time to see through the election , now entering a Biden administration — Joe Biden famously having authored much of the crime bill — to see what ’ s going to happen next .
Biden now claims to oppose the death penalty , and I ’ m looking forward to seeing how that plays out in terms of meaningful action .
Absolutely .
You don ’ t have to dig too far to find Biden saying we do “ everything but hang people @ @ @ @ @ @ @ He was very much for it before he was against it .
It seems like the death penalty is an issue in this country where the country moves , as I would say , forward and then back .
We start to act like every other so-called developed country , and then someone like Lester Maddox pops up and says , “ They ’ re getting away with murder !
, ” you know , and it swings back again .
And as part of that , media and politicians characterize points of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you know : “ Victims deserve better.
” “ Criminals can ’ t be helped.
” It can get very sloppy and very strawman , which is why I think reporting , as you do , simple witnessing , is important .
But there are particular hurdles to that kind of reporting , aren ’ t there ?
Absolutely .
When Trump was elected , a lot of us kind of knew ; we were like , “ OK , this is a guy is very pro–death penalty , he ’ s going @ @ @ @ @ @ @ general.
” We knew that federal executions were likely to return under Trump .
What I never could have anticipated , certainly what none of us could have , would have been that these executions would be carried out with such a vengeance , but also in the midst of an unprecedented pandemic .
And a huge part of the challenge of reporting on this moment has been navigating the danger , frankly , and risk of traveling during a pandemic , of doing this reporting during a pandemic .
I happen to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ me an advantage ; I just have to drive the four hours up to Terre Haute to be on the ground for these executions .
But a huge number of my media colleagues who have not been similarly positioned haven ’ t come , and have had to choose to protect themselves and not try to make that trip to Terre Haute during these last few months .
I ’ ll also add that , while the DoJ and BoP have have taken steps to provide protective equipment , masks , sanitizer , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who do come , especially to witnessing reporters , they ’ ve also laid down some pretty arbitrary rules about what people are allowed to do and not do in order to protect themselves .
So one of the things I find most disturbing , and that I ’ ve grappled with every time I apply to be a witness for these executions , is the fact that they don ’ t want reporters bringing their own masks .
For me , that makes a difference , especially now , between applying to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ if I ’ m chosen , and not .
And I think journalists who have had to witness repeatedly — there ’ s one local reporter in Terre Haute who has witnessed all eight executions , and will almost certainly witness the rest — they take that job on as part of their professional obligation , but assuming quite a bit of risk and danger that really shouldn ’ t be necessary to do their jobs .
Of course , every difficulty , every hurdle for reporters means a loss for the public @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that prisons used to be in the center of town , that people were hanged in the square .
And there ’ s all kinds of things you can say about that , but the implication is that transparency has been important .
And now we really hide this part of what ’ s done in our names .
And that ’ s partly why the witnessing is so important .
But it ’ s also why it seems so critical to be able to ground the conversation in data , in information @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wanted you to tell us a bit about the project that you ’ ve worked on with Jordan Smith and others at the Intercept .
What is the scope of that ?
And how do you hope that that project would be used ?
I should preface this just by saying that Jordan and I , neither of us are “ data people , ” and so that project was quite an undertaking on a number of different levels .
This project really started back in 2016 .
Essentially , we set out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ death penalty , writ large , as it exists in its current state .
The impetus for the project at the time was the anniversary of the landmark decision in Gregg v. Georgia , which is when the US Supreme Court , in 1976 , determined that after a four-year moratorium that came about because of flawed death penalty laws throughout the country , that essentially enough reforms had ensured that the death penalty could now be carried out in an equitable and fair way ; there were enough protections to ensure that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ since 1976 onwards , that ’ s what we call the so-called modern death penalty era .
Yet we know , Jordan knows — through years of reporting , through seeing exonerations of innocent people who were sent to death row , the data pointing to systemic racism throughout the system as a whole — we knew that if we were to start to look at , not only who was still on death row in this country , or who has been executed , for that matter , in recent years , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ been sentenced since 1976 , and what has happened with those sentences , where those people have ended up , that would provide a much fuller picture of the failures and shortcomings of this system .
And so , in a moment of what feels like temporary madness , we decided we were going to try to collect the data from all remaining death penalty states , to basically just ask for information about all the people sentenced to death from 1976 to the present , and their status .
We knew that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not have been executed , because what we see is that people on death row spend decades , often die of natural causes , oftentimes they are resentenced , people many times take their own life on death row .
And so we wanted to get a bigger overview of what this system looked like .
So it took literally years to collect and analyze this data .
One of the big takeaways that I suppose shouldn ’ t be surprising , but which is nonetheless disturbing when you consider the power of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , is the fact that the recordkeeping was just pretty bad , really , really shoddy , really incomplete , just a lot of confusing , basic questions that were not answered in our first attempts to collect this data .
I will say that there is absolutely no question that the data shows overrepresentation of people of color , especially Black people , on federal death row , and we ’ re starting to see how that ’ s playing out now : Of the five people who are set to be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , four of them are Black men , and the other is the only woman on federal death row , Lisa Montgomery .
So it ’ s pretty striking , and there ’ s still a lot to learn from that dataset .
I appreciate the layperson approach , if you will , because it should be legible to non-statisticians ; it should be information that can be understood .
And then the other thing that leaps out at me is , you have to combine the fact that the recordkeeping is so @ @ @ @ @ @ @ death penalty is being applied , as it were , surgically ; that it ’ s the “ worst of the worst , ” as the horrible overused phrase is .
The fact that the data is opaque , that the data is erratic and incomplete , is a statement in itself .
Yeah , that was one of our big takeaways as well .
It ’ s really an indictment of this lack of seriousness with which we treat these fundamental powers of government ; there ’ s a lack of interest @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to engage with that , that reality of so many Americans .
And I learn that again and again in my reporting , just the fact that these executions , as disturbing as they are , have flown largely under the radar ; a lot of people are unaware that they ’ re even happening .
And I want to also say that in my recent interviews , those people who are unaware include some of the original prosecutors in the cases that are now coming up for execution .
It ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ how little some of those prosecutors , who are largely retired , how little they ’ ve followed these cases to their conclusion , the fact that it was just part of their career , and they ’ ve moved on , while the victims that they promised closure to have been hanging on , and oftentimes waiting for decades , to see this all play out .
It ’ s really bothered me in recent days .
Finally , the death penalty has a finality , an irreversibility , that for many @ @ @ @ @ @ @ should be wary , shouldn ’ t we , of imagining that an equally certain but slower death in solitary confinement without possibility of parole is somehow a feel-good alternative .
We can ’ t just have a piece of this conversation about the continuum of cruelty that ’ s reflected in our criminal system .
And I know your concerns are expansive in that way ; it ’ s important to contextualize the death penalty .
It ’ s not like it ’ s the one bad thing the system does .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and thank you for bringing that up .
That ’ s something that fortunately , I think , we ’ ve started to see a little bit of change in the broader landscape around the way people see what I call “ permanent sentencing.
” I was struck , during the primaries , when everything was so heated , that Elizabeth Warren , I believe , got into a little bit of trouble at one point where she kind of said — and I don ’ t remember the precise context — @ @ @ @ @ @ @ idea that life without parole is an appropriate sentence , I believe , as an alternative to the death penalty .
And at least on Twitter and social media , a lot of people jumped all over this comment , to say that this was almost as bad , it ’ s a form of torture , that we shouldn ’ t support life without parole .
And I got ta say , as somebody who ’ s been covering life without parole and the death penalty for years and years , that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s sort of knee-jerk response to the notion that “ LWOP , ” as we call it , is an appropriate alternative .
The anti–death penalty movement for many years has pushed life without parole — in my mind , erroneously — as the default , acceptable alternative to state-sanctioned murder .
And those issues have generated a fair amount of debate and tension .
But I think that the broader culture , at least in the context of the primaries , has kind of come around on questioning that as well @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that form of torture is a big part of that , as you lay out .
Can I say one more thing about transparency ?
One other thing that ’ s really been on my mind when it comes to the lack of transparency , and the managing of the narrative on the part of the federal government , is I ’ ve really been struck , going back and forth to Terre Haute , by the ways in which the Department of Justice controls the narrative to such a degree that it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for enabling reporters ’ access to certain people involved in these executions .
And you highlighted , rightfully , the way in which people , when confronted with the horror of these crimes , say , “ What if it was your loved one ?
” And so reporters have , on occasion , had access to the victim ’ s family members after the execution .
What happens is , the witnessing press comes back , people are allowed into this media room , and those family members who have witnessed come @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reporters .
Sometimes reporters ask questions , and it ’ s very moving , it ’ s very sad .
And the family , oftentimes , thanks the Trump administration , says that justice has been served .
And it ’ s part of this process .
And yet , there is no equivalent , there is no forum for the loved ones of the people who are put to death ; in fact , they are explicitly not allowed in the media center .
And to the extent that we ’ ve @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to death in Terre Haute , it ’ s only been because activists have staked out , literally sued , actually , to gain access to a field across from the penitentiary , next to a Dollar General , where where they have come to hold vigils and protests , but also these kind of mini-press conferences featuring spiritual advisors and , in the case of Christopher Vialva , the mother of Christopher Vialva , who witnessed his execution .
And I ’ ve thought a lot about that , because it was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mother was able to address reporters , but also express her sorrow and condolences for the family of the victims in that case , and it was a very moving moment , and yet not one that was officially sanctioned , not one that would ever be enabled by the federal government .
So family members of the condemned are often erased and have been , for the most part , throughout this process , and I try to really keep that at the center of my work .
It ’ s the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ eye towards including , when I can , the voices of the families on the other side , who are also losing a loved one in this process .
We ’ ve been speaking with Liliana Segura .
You can find her work online at TheIntercept.com .
Liliana Segura , thank you so much for joining us this week on CounterSpin .
Thank you so much for having me , and for covering this issue .

Demonstrators protest federal executions of death row inmates, in front of the U.S. Justice Department in Washington, D.C., on December 10, 2020. NICHOLAS KAMM / AFP via Getty Images
Janine Jackson: It’s so astonishing — at a time we feel ourselves nearly numb to astonishment — that it generated a Snopes factcheck: Could it be that the Trump administration executed more people in five months than the federal government executed during the previous five decades?
It is true; and indeed, things are at such a pass that it’s almost eerie that Trump isn’t bragging night and noon about the spree of state killings — three in four days over the summer, and now ramping up to a level unprecedented from a lame-duck White House since the days of Grover Cleveland, who had been, law professor Austin Sarat reminded recently in Slate, an executioner himself as a New York sheriff.
Not content to schedule state killings practically up to the day Biden takes office, Trump’s Justice Department has also just changed the rules to allow executions by electrocution and firing squad — this at a time when many states have abolished the death penalty, and more and more people say they oppose it.
Our next guest has reported on the death penalty, sentencing and US prisons for much longer than Trump has been in office. Investigative journalist Liliana Segura now reports for the Intercept. She joins us now by phone from Nashville. Welcome to CounterSpin, Liliana Segura.
Liliana Segura: Hi, thanks for having me.
As with a lot of things, it feels like we’re moving in two different directions. More people, if still not a majority, say the death penalty is morally unacceptable. The data has kind of sunk in that its application, anyway, is unfair and racist, and not a deterrent to crime. But then when individual cases come up, it becomes a different category of story, if you will, and statistics matter less than “What if it were your sister?” You’ve been doing, as I say, this reporting since before Donald Trump and Bill Barr. I just wonder how you’ve approached the terrain of this issue, and what you’re making of the present moment?
It’s been a very surreal time to be covering these executions. As you highlighted, I’ve written about the death penalty a lot, for many, many years. And actually, one of the bizarre aspects of my work in recent years has been that since I moved to Nashville, about five years ago, the state of Tennessee has actually carried out a large number of executions. And the last several of those were carried out using the electric chair. Although I haven’t witnessed those executions, a number of my local friends and colleagues in the media have.
Outside of our local bubble, and I think more broadly, I don’t think Americans quite realize just how much we’ve tolerated a system that continues to use things like the electric chair, which, when it was announced that the Trump administration was looking to bring back the electric chair and firing squads, it really generated a fair amount of revulsion among a lot of people who seemed sort of unaware, or maybe haven’t thought about these issues in a long time.
So I think we run the risk a little bit of putting these federal executions in the context of this horrifying, violent Trump era, which has broken so many norms that we’re accustomed to. And yet when you look at different states, when you look at what’s been happening in Tennessee, we’ve been pretty violent in the past several years, and tolerating quite a bit as Americans when it comes to these more mundane executions from day to day and year to year.
So part of my project, when William Barr announced that they were looking to restart federal executions after more than 15 years, my task was to remind myself of the history that underpins this federal system. We hadn’t seen a federal execution since 2003. So the first piece that I wrote was actually going back and reexamining how we got here. And so much of that story really is about the Democrats, frankly, and is about the era of the 1994 crime bill, and the vast expansion of federal prosecutions, federal death sentences, as a result of that crime bill.
So it’s been an interesting time to see through the election, now entering a Biden administration — Joe Biden famously having authored much of the crime bill — to see what’s going to happen next. Biden now claims to oppose the death penalty, and I’m looking forward to seeing how that plays out in terms of meaningful action.
Absolutely. You don’t have to dig too far to find Biden saying we do “everything but hang people for jaywalking” in this bill. He was very much for it before he was against it.
It seems like the death penalty is an issue in this country where the country moves, as I would say, forward and then back. We start to act like every other so-called developed country, and then someone like Lester Maddox pops up and says, “They’re getting away with murder!,” you know, and it swings back again. And as part of that, media and politicians characterize points of view without actual human beings attached, you know: “Victims deserve better.” “Criminals can’t be helped.” It can get very sloppy and very strawman, which is why I think reporting, as you do, simple witnessing, is important. But there are particular hurdles to that kind of reporting, aren’t there?
Absolutely. When Trump was elected, a lot of us kind of knew; we were like, “OK, this is a guy is very pro–death penalty, he’s going to choose a very pro–death penalty attorney general.” We knew that federal executions were likely to return under Trump. What I never could have anticipated, certainly what none of us could have, would have been that these executions would be carried out with such a vengeance, but also in the midst of an unprecedented pandemic.
And a huge part of the challenge of reporting on this moment has been navigating the danger, frankly, and risk of traveling during a pandemic, of doing this reporting during a pandemic. I happen to be based in Nashville, which gives me an advantage; I just have to drive the four hours up to Terre Haute to be on the ground for these executions. But a huge number of my media colleagues who have not been similarly positioned haven’t come, and have had to choose to protect themselves and not try to make that trip to Terre Haute during these last few months.
I’ll also add that, while the DoJ and BoP have have taken steps to provide protective equipment, masks, sanitizer, all of that, to the press who do come, especially to witnessing reporters, they’ve also laid down some pretty arbitrary rules about what people are allowed to do and not do in order to protect themselves. So one of the things I find most disturbing, and that I’ve grappled with every time I apply to be a witness for these executions, is the fact that they don’t want reporters bringing their own masks. For me, that makes a difference, especially now, between applying to be a witness and accepting that role if I’m chosen, and not. And I think journalists who have had to witness repeatedly — there’s one local reporter in Terre Haute who has witnessed all eight executions, and will almost certainly witness the rest — they take that job on as part of their professional obligation, but assuming quite a bit of risk and danger that really shouldn’t be necessary to do their jobs.
Of course, every difficulty, every hurdle for reporters means a loss for the public in terms of information. We hear that prisons used to be in the center of town, that people were hanged in the square. And there’s all kinds of things you can say about that, but the implication is that transparency has been important. And now we really hide this part of what’s done in our names. And that’s partly why the witnessing is so important. But it’s also why it seems so critical to be able to ground the conversation in data, in information.
And on that note, I wanted you to tell us a bit about the project that you’ve worked on with Jordan Smith and others at the Intercept. What is the scope of that? And how do you hope that that project would be used?
I should preface this just by saying that Jordan and I, neither of us are “data people,” and so that project was quite an undertaking on a number of different levels.
This project really started back in 2016. Essentially, we set out to try to take stock of the death penalty, writ large, as it exists in its current state. The impetus for the project at the time was the anniversary of the landmark decision in Gregg v. Georgia, which is when the US Supreme Court, in 1976, determined that after a four-year moratorium that came about because of flawed death penalty laws throughout the country, that essentially enough reforms had ensured that the death penalty could now be carried out in an equitable and fair way; there were enough protections to ensure that “the system worked.”
And so since 1976 onwards, that’s what we call the so-called modern death penalty era. Yet we know, Jordan knows — through years of reporting, through seeing exonerations of innocent people who were sent to death row, the data pointing to systemic racism throughout the system as a whole — we knew that if we were to start to look at, not only who was still on death row in this country, or who has been executed, for that matter, in recent years, but the whole picture of who has been sentenced since 1976, and what has happened with those sentences, where those people have ended up, that would provide a much fuller picture of the failures and shortcomings of this system.
And so, in a moment of what feels like temporary madness, we decided we were going to try to collect the data from all remaining death penalty states, to basically just ask for information about all the people sentenced to death from 1976 to the present, and their status.
We knew that the vast majority of those people would not have been executed, because what we see is that people on death row spend decades, often die of natural causes, oftentimes they are resentenced, people many times take their own life on death row. And so we wanted to get a bigger overview of what this system looked like. So it took literally years to collect and analyze this data.
One of the big takeaways that I suppose shouldn’t be surprising, but which is nonetheless disturbing when you consider the power of the state in taking a human life, is the fact that the recordkeeping was just pretty bad, really, really shoddy, really incomplete, just a lot of confusing, basic questions that were not answered in our first attempts to collect this data.
I will say that there is absolutely no question that the data shows overrepresentation of people of color, especially Black people, on federal death row, and we’re starting to see how that’s playing out now: Of the five people who are set to be executed before Joe Biden’s inauguration, four of them are Black men, and the other is the only woman on federal death row, Lisa Montgomery. So it’s pretty striking, and there’s still a lot to learn from that dataset.
I appreciate the layperson approach, if you will, because it should be legible to non-statisticians; it should be information that can be understood.
And then the other thing that leaps out at me is, you have to combine the fact that the recordkeeping is so bad with the repeated assurances that the death penalty is being applied, as it were, surgically; that it’s the “worst of the worst,” as the horrible overused phrase is. The fact that the data is opaque, that the data is erratic and incomplete, is a statement in itself.
Yeah, that was one of our big takeaways as well. It’s really an indictment of this lack of seriousness with which we treat these fundamental powers of government; there’s a lack of interest or curiosity, or just an unwillingness to engage with that, that reality of so many Americans. And I learn that again and again in my reporting, just the fact that these executions, as disturbing as they are, have flown largely under the radar; a lot of people are unaware that they’re even happening.
And I want to also say that in my recent interviews, those people who are unaware include some of the original prosecutors in the cases that are now coming up for execution. It’s become a bit disturbing to me, how little some of those prosecutors, who are largely retired, how little they’ve followed these cases to their conclusion, the fact that it was just part of their career, and they’ve moved on, while the victims that they promised closure to have been hanging on, and oftentimes waiting for decades, to see this all play out. It’s really bothered me in recent days.
Finally, the death penalty has a finality, an irreversibility, that for many people set it apart. But we should be wary, shouldn’t we, of imagining that an equally certain but slower death in solitary confinement without possibility of parole is somehow a feel-good alternative. We can’t just have a piece of this conversation about the continuum of cruelty that’s reflected in our criminal system. And I know your concerns are expansive in that way; it’s important to contextualize the death penalty. It’s not like it’s the one bad thing the system does.
Yeah, that’s exactly right, and thank you for bringing that up. That’s something that fortunately, I think, we’ve started to see a little bit of change in the broader landscape around the way people see what I call “permanent sentencing.” I was struck, during the primaries, when everything was so heated, that Elizabeth Warren, I believe, got into a little bit of trouble at one point where she kind of said — and I don’t remember the precise context — but essentially, gave support for the idea that life without parole is an appropriate sentence, I believe, as an alternative to the death penalty.
And at least on Twitter and social media, a lot of people jumped all over this comment, to say that this was almost as bad, it’s a form of torture, that we shouldn’t support life without parole. And I gotta say, as somebody who’s been covering life without parole and the death penalty for years and years, that is different. It was not people’s sort of knee-jerk response to the notion that “LWOP,” as we call it, is an appropriate alternative. The anti–death penalty movement for many years has pushed life without parole — in my mind, erroneously — as the default, acceptable alternative to state-sanctioned murder. And those issues have generated a fair amount of debate and tension. But I think that the broader culture, at least in the context of the primaries, has kind of come around on questioning that as well, and I think solitary confinement and that form of torture is a big part of that, as you lay out.
Can I say one more thing about transparency?
Say it.
One other thing that’s really been on my mind when it comes to the lack of transparency, and the managing of the narrative on the part of the federal government, is I’ve really been struck, going back and forth to Terre Haute, by the ways in which the Department of Justice controls the narrative to such a degree that it’s got a very rigid system for enabling reporters’ access to certain people involved in these executions.
And you highlighted, rightfully, the way in which people, when confronted with the horror of these crimes, say, “What if it was your loved one?” And so reporters have, on occasion, had access to the victim’s family members after the execution. What happens is, the witnessing press comes back, people are allowed into this media room, and those family members who have witnessed come and are given a forum to address reporters. Sometimes reporters ask questions, and it’s very moving, it’s very sad. And the family, oftentimes, thanks the Trump administration, says that justice has been served. And it’s part of this process.
And yet, there is no equivalent, there is no forum for the loved ones of the people who are put to death; in fact, they are explicitly not allowed in the media center. And to the extent that we’ve heard from loved ones of people put to death in Terre Haute, it’s only been because activists have staked out, literally sued, actually, to gain access to a field across from the penitentiary, next to a Dollar General, where where they have come to hold vigils and protests, but also these kind of mini-press conferences featuring spiritual advisors and, in the case of Christopher Vialva, the mother of Christopher Vialva, who witnessed his execution.
And I’ve thought a lot about that, because it was the first time Christopher Vialva’s mother was able to address reporters, but also express her sorrow and condolences for the family of the victims in that case, and it was a very moving moment, and yet not one that was officially sanctioned, not one that would ever be enabled by the federal government.
So family members of the condemned are often erased and have been, for the most part, throughout this process, and I try to really keep that at the center of my work. It’s the reason I approach my stories with an eye towards including, when I can, the voices of the families on the other side, who are also losing a loved one in this process.
We’ve been speaking with Liliana Segura. You can find her work online at TheIntercept.com. Liliana Segura, thank you so much for joining us this week on CounterSpin.
Thank you so much for having me, and for covering this issue.
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truthout--2020-12-12--SCOTUS Throws Out Texas Lawsuit Seeking to Flip Election Results for Trump

Even the right-wing U.S. Supreme Court — which includes three justices appointed by President Donald Trump — is unwilling to take seriously the flurry of lawsuits filed by the president and his allies to challenge the November election results , as the nation ’ s highest court made clear by rejecting another case late Friday .
The court ’ s decision in the case brought by Republican Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton — and backed by over 100 members of Congress — came after the justices on Tuesday unanimously denied an injunction request from a group of Republicans political figures @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Kelly .
Trump , his lawyers , and other political allies of the president have continued to circulate lies about mass voter fraud — for which even U.S. Attorney General William Barr , a Trump appointee , says there is no evidence — and file lawsuits that have prompted calls for investigations and sanctions targeting any attorneys involved .
Paxton , who was joined by several other Republican attorneys general for the case , had asked the Supreme Court to block four key battleground states that Biden won — Georgia , Michigan , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the Electoral College .
The court determined ( pdf ) that Texas lacked standing under Article III of the Constitution and had not “ demonstrated a judicially cognizable interest in the manner in which another state conducts its elections.
” Although legal experts figured that the effort had no chance of succeeding , the high court ’ s decision was still celebrated by those who have framed the recent behavior by the president and some of his supporters at blatant attacks on U.S. democracy .
Kristen Clarke , president and executive director @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Rights Under Law , tweeted Friday that the court ’ s rejection of the case “ is exactly what the country needs right now—finality , resolution , and closure.
” “ This concept of one state trying to challenge the election systems of other states is fully at odds with our democratic process , ” Clarke said in a statement .
“ The highest court in the land rightfully put an end to a lawsuit that constituted a desperate attempt to discount ballots cast by millions of American voters .
Any other outcome @ @ @ @ @ @ @ principles that lie at the heart of American democracy.
” “ This sends a strong signal that it ’ s time for President Trump and his allies to shut down remaining cases clogging the courts , ” she added .
Journalist Ari Berman , who has written extensively about voting rights , concurred : Democratic Attorneys General Association co-chairs Maura Healey of Massachusetts and Aaron Ford of Nevada released a joint statement Friday applauding the court for handing another defeat to Trump and his allies “ in their continued effort to overturn the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The court ’ s decision is an important reminder that we are a nation of laws—and in America , our laws are designed to protect the will of the people , ” they said .
“ It ’ s long past time our leaders respect the will of the American voter and move forward together to confront the challenges that lie ahead for our families and communities .
”

The court rejected a case from the GOP Texas Attorney General to stop four states from voting in the Electoral College.
Even the right-wing U.S. Supreme Court — which includes three justices appointed by President Donald Trump — is unwilling to take seriously the flurry of lawsuits filed by the president and his allies to challenge the November election results, as the nation’s highest court made clear by rejecting another case late Friday.
The court’s decision in the case brought by Republican Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton — and backed by over 100 members of Congress — came after the justices on Tuesday unanimously denied an injunction request from a group of Republicans political figures in Pennsylvania, led by Congressman Mike Kelly.
Trump, his lawyers, and other political allies of the president have continued to circulate lies about mass voter fraud — for which even U.S. Attorney General William Barr, a Trump appointee, says there is no evidence — and file lawsuits that have prompted calls for investigations and sanctions targeting any attorneys involved.
Paxton, who was joined by several other Republican attorneys general for the case, had asked the Supreme Court to block four key battleground states that Biden won — Georgia, Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin — from voting in the Electoral College. The court determined (pdf) that Texas lacked standing under Article III of the Constitution and had not “demonstrated a judicially cognizable interest in the manner in which another state conducts its elections.”
Although legal experts figured that the effort had no chance of succeeding, the high court’s decision was still celebrated by those who have framed the recent behavior by the president and some of his supporters at blatant attacks on U.S. democracy.
BREAKING: The Supreme Court just ruled against the Texas attorney general's absurd and dangerous attempt to overturn the election results. Courts have now ruled against nearly 60 of these undemocratic lawsuits. The results are clear: Voters, not politicians, chose the winner. — ACLU (@ACLU) December 11, 2020
The Supreme Court just decided that the Supreme Court wasn’t the place to try that lawsuit. Weird that the most conservative count is now considered left-wing by Republicans. Turns out advancing access to civil liberties isn’t the same as destroying democracy 🤦🏽♀ https://t.co/z7XBu4oTJv — Ilhan Omar (@IlhanMN) December 12, 2020
Kristen Clarke, president and executive director of the Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights Under Law, tweeted Friday that the court’s rejection of the case “is exactly what the country needs right now—finality, resolution, and closure.”
“This concept of one state trying to challenge the election systems of other states is fully at odds with our democratic process,” Clarke said in a statement. “The highest court in the land rightfully put an end to a lawsuit that constituted a desperate attempt to discount ballots cast by millions of American voters. Any other outcome would have signaled the death of core principles that lie at the heart of American democracy.”
“This sends a strong signal that it’s time for President Trump and his allies to shut down remaining cases clogging the courts,” she added. Journalist Ari Berman, who has written extensively about voting rights, concurred:
Biden won by 7 million votes nationwide He won 306 electoral votes & every state certified He won MI/WI/PA by 3x as much as Trump Trump lost 57 court cases Supreme Court won’t overturn the results It’s over over over over & 90% of GOP needs to recognize reality — Ari Berman (@AriBerman) December 12, 2020
Democratic Attorneys General Association co-chairs Maura Healey of Massachusetts and Aaron Ford of Nevada released a joint statement Friday applauding the court for handing another defeat to Trump and his allies “in their continued effort to overturn the will of the American people.”
“The court’s decision is an important reminder that we are a nation of laws—and in America, our laws are designed to protect the will of the people,” they said. “It’s long past time our leaders respect the will of the American voter and move forward together to confront the challenges that lie ahead for our families and communities.”
Tired of reading the same old news from the same old sources? So are we! That’s why we’re on a mission to shake things up and bring you the stories and perspectives that often go untold in mainstream media. But being a radically, unapologetically independent news site isn’t easy (or cheap), and we rely on reader support to keep the lights on.
If you like what you’re reading, please consider making a tax-deductible donation today. We’re not asking for a handout, we’re asking for an investment: Invest in a nonprofit news site that’s not afraid to ruffle a few feathers, not afraid to stand up for what’s right, and not afraid to tell it like it is.
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truthout--2020-12-12--No, Trump Isn’t Following Stacey Abrams’s “Playbook” in His Refusal to Concede

Brad Raffensperger , Georgia ’ s Republican secretary of state that is increasingly under fire , has recently sought to draw parallels between Donald Trump and Democrat Stacey Abrams in a bid to perhaps rationalize the antics of the former while simultaneously accentuating criticism of the latter .
Raffensperger points out that after Abrams lost her 2018 gubernatorial race , she called into question the integrity of the electoral process and refused to concede .
Raffensperger claims that since Trump similarly lost the presidential contest , it only makes sense that he would follow the “ Abrams Playbook ” by @ @ @ @ @ @ @ refusing to concede .
Unfortunately for Raffensperger , this is an example of false equivalence .
In 2018 , Abrams faced off against Republican Brian Kemp and Libertarian Ted Metz .
Georgia uses a version of runoff voting for governor , which is when there are potentially two rounds of voting .
If a candidate wins more than half the votes in the first round , that candidate is declared the winner .
If not , the two candidates with the most first-round votes face off in a second round of voting .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ of 3,939,328 valid votes were cast in Georgia ’ s 2018 election for governor .
As such , in order to obtain the majority required to avoid a runoff , the candidates needed at least 1,969,665 votes .
Kemp ended up securing a majority by winning 1,978,408 votes .
In other words , Abrams was just 8,744 votes shy of forcing a runoff , which would have given her another chance at winning .
It ’ s important to point out that Kemp happened to be Georgia ’ s secretary of state at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ secretary of state organizes and oversees all election activity and is responsible for the certification of election results .
Overseeing your own election is problematic .
Kemp could have addressed this by either resigning as secretary of state , or at least recusing himself from election-related matters ; there is a precedent for both .
In 2006 , Democratic Secretary of State Cathy Cox sought out her party ’ s nomination for governor .
Although she opted to remain in her post , she recused herself from the oversight of her own election @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of a conflict of interest.
” During her recusal , the assistant secretary of state took over until Cox re-assumed her responsibilities upon losing the Democratic primary .
In 2009 , Cox ’ s successor as secretary of state , Republican Karen Handel , embarked on her own race for governor .
In order to fully dedicate herself to the campaign , she opted to resign from her role as secretary of state .
It was at this time that Kemp took over .
Notably , during his race for governor , Kemp @ @ @ @ @ @ @ even after repeated allegations of voter suppression .
He did eventually resign , but it wasn ’ t until after he had already declared victory .
Trump ’ s situation is entirely different .
First , Joe Biden had no role in the decentralized administration of the election , unlike Kemp , who retained influence over his own election .
Second , Trump did not narrowly lose the election .
While faithless electors may affect the final vote totals , Trump is only projected to net 232 of the 270 electoral votes needed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the 306 electoral votes that Biden is expected to get .
Thus far , Trump ’ s election-related lawsuits have been a bust , and Trump-ordered recounts have only succeeded in confirming or , in some states , growing Biden ’ s margin of victory .
While it is true that Abrams did not initially accept Kemp ’ s win , she did give a speech a mere 10 days after the election where she “ acknowledge [ d ] that former Secretary of State Brian Kemp will be certified as the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ On the other hand , nearly a month after the election , Trump posted a 46-minute diatribe claiming widespread electoral trickery , even though his own attorney general has had such claims investigated and found insufficient evidence of “ fraud on a scale that could have effected a different outcome in the election.
” Despite what Raffensperger argues , Trump is not following the “ Abrams Playbook.
” Trump is following his own playbook , which he began writing back in 2016 , when he refused to say whether he ’ d accept @ @ @ @ @ @ @

Contrary to the claims of Georgia’s secretary of state, Trump follows his own playbook, which he began writing in 2016.
Part of the Series Voting Wrongs
Brad Raffensperger, Georgia’s Republican secretary of state that is increasingly under fire, has recently sought to draw parallels between Donald Trump and Democrat Stacey Abrams in a bid to perhaps rationalize the antics of the former while simultaneously accentuating criticism of the latter.
Raffensperger points out that after Abrams lost her 2018 gubernatorial race, she called into question the integrity of the electoral process and refused to concede. Raffensperger claims that since Trump similarly lost the presidential contest, it only makes sense that he would follow the “Abrams Playbook” by questioning the integrity of the election and refusing to concede.
Unfortunately for Raffensperger, this is an example of false equivalence.
In 2018, Abrams faced off against Republican Brian Kemp and Libertarian Ted Metz. Georgia uses a version of runoff voting for governor, which is when there are potentially two rounds of voting. If a candidate wins more than half the votes in the first round, that candidate is declared the winner. If not, the two candidates with the most first-round votes face off in a second round of voting.
Per the official tally, a total of 3,939,328 valid votes were cast in Georgia’s 2018 election for governor. As such, in order to obtain the majority required to avoid a runoff, the candidates needed at least 1,969,665 votes. Kemp ended up securing a majority by winning 1,978,408 votes. In other words, Abrams was just 8,744 votes shy of forcing a runoff, which would have given her another chance at winning.
It’s important to point out that Kemp happened to be Georgia’s secretary of state at the time. In Georgia, the secretary of state organizes and oversees all election activity and is responsible for the certification of election results.
Overseeing your own election is problematic. Kemp could have addressed this by either resigning as secretary of state, or at least recusing himself from election-related matters; there is a precedent for both.
In 2006, Democratic Secretary of State Cathy Cox sought out her party’s nomination for governor. Although she opted to remain in her post, she recused herself from the oversight of her own election so as to “avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest.”
During her recusal, the assistant secretary of state took over until Cox re-assumed her responsibilities upon losing the Democratic primary.
In 2009, Cox’s successor as secretary of state, Republican Karen Handel, embarked on her own race for governor. In order to fully dedicate herself to the campaign, she opted to resign from her role as secretary of state. It was at this time that Kemp took over.
Notably, during his race for governor, Kemp never recused himself from election-related matters, even after repeated allegations of voter suppression. He did eventually resign, but it wasn’t until after he had already declared victory.
Trump’s situation is entirely different.
First, Joe Biden had no role in the decentralized administration of the election, unlike Kemp, who retained influence over his own election.
Second, Trump did not narrowly lose the election. While faithless electors may affect the final vote totals, Trump is only projected to net 232 of the 270 electoral votes needed to win the presidency, in comparison to the 306 electoral votes that Biden is expected to get. Thus far, Trump’s election-related lawsuits have been a bust, and Trump-ordered recounts have only succeeded in confirming or, in some states, growing Biden’s margin of victory.
While it is true that Abrams did not initially accept Kemp’s win, she did give a speech a mere 10 days after the election where she “acknowledge[d] that former Secretary of State Brian Kemp will be certified as the victor in the 2018 gubernatorial election.”
On the other hand, nearly a month after the election, Trump posted a 46-minute diatribe claiming widespread electoral trickery, even though his own attorney general has had such claims investigated and found insufficient evidence of “fraud on a scale that could have effected a different outcome in the election.”
Despite what Raffensperger argues, Trump is not following the “Abrams Playbook.” Trump is following his own playbook, which he began writing back in 2016, when he refused to say whether he’d accept that year’s election results.
Tired of reading the same old news from the same old sources? So are we! That’s why we’re on a mission to shake things up and bring you the stories and perspectives that often go untold in mainstream media. But being a radically, unapologetically independent news site isn’t easy (or cheap), and we rely on reader support to keep the lights on.
If you like what you’re reading, please consider making a tax-deductible donation today. We’re not asking for a handout, we’re asking for an investment: Invest in a nonprofit news site that’s not afraid to ruffle a few feathers, not afraid to stand up for what’s right, and not afraid to tell it like it is.
Copyright © Truthout. May not be reprinted without permission.


truthout--2020-12-12--Incarcerated Women Are Punished for Their Trauma With Solitary Confinement

At Minnesota ’ s Shakopee Correctional Facility for women , where I am incarcerated , solitude is something we seldom have a chance to experience .
Loud , muffled over-head announcements begin every morning at 5:30 and continue until 9:30 p.m. when we are counted for the last time of the day .
There is little privacy ; everyone can hear each other ’ s business when we talk on the phone .
Every aspect of our life is micromanaged , from when our blinds have to be raised and lowered , and how many books we can put on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the date we have to wear our winter coats regardless of the outside temperature .
Prison is manila-walled , grey-clothed and full of blue plastic chairs .
Any prisoner could tell you what ’ s for breakfast on a Wednesday or what ’ s on TV on a Monday night because our lives are a study in monotony .
All of us are called “ Offender ” all day long .
By its very nature , prison is isolating .
Stripped of our personal physical identifiers — wedding rings , contact lenses , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from our homes , family , pets , employment , favorite activities , foods , computers and green spaces .
Our lives are condensed .
To survive , we cling to what comforts us — small rituals that give us a sense of normalcy and help us retain our dignity .
For some , this means going to the gym or walking outside in the courtyard .
For others it means calling their mom or child every morning .
Some people eat a lot , some church a lot , some read a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ friends every day .
The communities built in prison , as unlikely as they appear , are vital .
Whether we have one good friend or a larger group of friends , our community relationships help us navigate and stay balanced while we are here .
This balance is upended when we are taken to solitary confinement , or as most people in prison call it , segregation .
In Shakopee , the segregation unit is separate from the other living units .
There are 33 segregation beds in 33 cells .
Each @ @ @ @ @ @ @ contains a narrow bed with a thin foam pad , two blankets and a pillow covered with a water-resistant material .
Bolted to the wall is a metal sink with buttons to push for water and a metal toilet .
There is a light switch , an outside-looking window , and a “ mirror ” made of a reflective metal .
The door to the cell is wood and has a narrow 4-by-20-inch window and slit to push through a tray of food , change of clothes , or medicine .
The mail @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is a small desk and a stool attached to the wall .
Some cells have a camera in them , or a camera pointed at them .
The most common response when asked about segregation conditions was that it was cold .
I see people taken to segregation nearly every day — often several times a day .
When people are brought to solitary in this prison , they are handcuffed unless they are pregnant .
Two female officers stand at the open door of the cell and like any strip search , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ piece by piece and hand them to the correctional officers ( CO ) who pat the items down and shake them .
Once naked , prisoners are asked to bend at the waist and run their fingers through their hair .
They are asked to show behind their ears , open their mouth , show the bottoms of their feet , and squat and cough three times .
A pillow pack ( a pillowcase containing two flat sheets , two towels and a washcloth ) and clothes ( plastic sandals , two socks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pair of orange scrubs ) are given out .
People can wear their own bra .
They are allowed an inhaler , a personal phone book , glasses , hairbrush and up to 10 envelopes .
They are also given a small bag of generic toiletries , five sheets of paper , a cup and a small rubber pen .
They are allowed to change their clothes every day and shower every other day .
But worse than the physical austerity of solitary , is the severe psychological harm it delivers .
The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ amplifies mental illness , psychosis and suicidal tendencies .
People are led to believe that segregation is used to contain extremely dangerous , violent people .
In a women ’ s prison at least , this is hardly the case .
While women can be and are sent to solitary for fighting , the truth is women are more often there because of mental health issues and for a wide range of petty infractions that have nothing to do with violence .
Between April and July 2019 , I interviewed 51 people who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ regardless of age , race , or sexual orientation , the common denominator was not a tendency for violence , but a history of trauma .
The demographics of the prison population at Shakopee , where I am incarcerated , break down like this : 59 percent are white , 20 percent are American Indian/Alaskan Native , 16 percent are Black , 4 percent are Asian/Pacific Islander , and 5 percent are Hispanic .
The youngest prisoner is 19 .
The oldest is 87 .
The average age is 37 .
Eighty-five percent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ here on drug-related offences .
The lack of mental health care was the most prevalent topic during the interviews .
The consensus was that segregation made mental health issues worse .
People often felt suicidal or very depressed while isolated , and felt they were not given the help they needed before , during or after their segregation .
As of late November 2020 , there is only one psychiatrist for the 407 people in this prison , most of whom have PTSD and backgrounds of abuse .
Solitary confinement is often used @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Jayde Moon , a white woman in her late 20s , has been to segregation six times .
“ Now they say that seg is not ‘ punishment , ’ … but there is a girl I know there who bangs her head ‘ til it bleeds just to get out of her cell .
They isolate people so they don ’ t have to deal with them .
Why don ’ t they just chop off a body part ?
It is just as outdated .
As a society , don ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ deal with mental illness ?
Let ’ s look at the why .
The root cause .
Let ’ s look at passive women who have been repeatedly exposed to trauma and help them.
” Patti Becht , a white woman in her 50s who has always struggled with mental illness , said , “ Mentally ill people should not be locked in seg .
They should be safe , not condemned .
I hear voices all the time .
Christmas music all the time .
Seg amplifies this.
” A Native woman @ @ @ @ @ @ @ feels normal to me .
When I was young , I would often hide in small spaces to feel safe .
Being hidden feels safe to me .
I am often lost within the outside world.
” Darcy Drobec , a white person in her mid-40s who has been to segregation 45 times , said , “ Isolation makes everything worse .
It makes people want to hurt themselves or hurt others .
It should only be used in extreme cases.
” If anyone in the prison ’ s general population says they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is to take them to segregation and put them on COS [ Constant Observational Status ] , constantly watched by guards .
They are usually there for 10 days .
A white woman in her mid-40s said , “ I was told by a CO that the only way I could get help for my mental illness was to tell them [ staff ] I had suicidal thoughts and be put in segregation .
This was true .
Medical staff had taken me off all my Seroquel — all at once , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
I needed help .
I wasn ’ t getting help.
” Many of the mental health issues for which people are placed in solitary confinement are based on trauma .
I met with a young Spanish-speaking woman in her 20s who had been to solitary five times because of her inability to urinate for drug tests .
Testing for drug use is done randomly at the prison .
When pulled for a UA ( Urine Analysis ) , a prisoner is stripped in front of two female COs who then stand over @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cup .
This woman is unable to urinate because of past sexual trauma .
She was sexually abused for 14 years .
There is no reason that the door could not be shut and a person could do their business in private .
The water is turned off in the room ; a prisoner would not be able to alter their urine sample .
To speak with women about their solitary narrative , I would go to the courtyard and ask people if they had been to segregation and if they had , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ about their experience .
Soon I didn ’ t have to ask .
Once women understood what I was doing they approached me .
“ When you have a minute , I would like to talk to you.
” I soon learned that more people had been to segregation than I had thought and everyone seemed to want to share their story .
Over and over , I heard comments about how segregation amplified people ’ s depression .
A Black woman in her 50s told me , “ Seg takes me back @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I ’ m let down .
I fight for what I want , for what is right .
I heard , ‘ You ’ ll never be nothing ’ all my life .
Seg gives me sad feelings.
” Sabrina Flowers is an African American woman in her early 20s who leaves prison in a month .
She has been to solitary 35 times .
She told me , “ I ’ m often suicidal up there .
I survive by thinking about my daughter .
I act out when I ’ m @ @ @ @ @ @ @ worse .
It gets worse every time.
” Like everyone I interviewed , Sabrina felt once you went to segregation you were marked ; an easy target to go back again .
Staff now sees her as a problem and is ready to send her to segregation for the smallest infraction .
A Native woman in her mid-30s said , “ Staff has me marked .
‘ Hey Trouble-maker !
’ Especially the new ones .
My pockets are constantly searched .
My room is searched repeatedly.
” I spoke with a Native @ @ @ @ @ @ @ health care .
She had been to segregation 16 times ; 13 times for cutting herself with a razor , spending 15 days in solitary for every incident .
I asked her why she cut herself .
“ Shame .
Guilt .
It ’ s how I cope.
” ( She didn ’ t cut herself before she came to prison ) .
When she writes to Mental Health Services for help , she gets no response , cuts herself and then is sent to solitary .
I asked her if she received @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ They [ mental health workers ] come through , but don ’ t stay and help .
They say ‘ try some deep breathing , ’ or ‘ send a kite [ paper communication between prisoner and staff ] to your mental health worker.
’ I do .
No response .
Mental Health [ Services ] is a joke .
They cut off medication randomly .
I emotionally shut down … we can ’ t just stuff our emotions every day and expect not to explode.
” She is the mother of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Like many of the women here , her depression stems from being stripped of her children .
In 1997 , a law was passed called the Adoption and Safe Families Act , which states that if a parent does not have physical custody of their children for 15 out of the last 22 months , they can lose custody .
For an incarcerated parent , this means that even if they are a great parent and are doing everything they can to fix the problem that landed them in prison , they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
A recurring statement in many of my interviews was , “ I have no reason to live without my children.
” Another piece of the mental health issue and segregation is the difficulty people had when they were released from solitary and put back into general population .
They are taken from a relatively quiet , isolated environment and abruptly moved to a noisy atmosphere — surrounded by people and constant over-head announcements .
A woman of Puerto Rican/Native descent told me , “ I have severe mental health issues .
I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Walls breathe , I see things , and I talk to myself .
When I ’ m released , I have a hard time ; I ’ m messed up .
I talk weird .
I stutter.
” A 24-year-old Black woman said , “ I feel that putting someone in seg makes mental illness .
Especially when we are put there for stupid things instead of talking to us [ and ] working through the issues .
Seg leaves us more institutionalized , makes us worse.
” I heard how people were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
If people were put in solitary for something like fighting , they understood it .
If people were put in for loitering or other small nonviolent offenses , they felt insulted and picked on .
They no longer cared about the rules and said they were inclined to behave worse in the future .
“ [ We go for ] petty reasons , ” said a white woman in her mid-30s .
“ We shouldn ’ t be sent for a bad day .
And once people go to seg , or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they get in trouble it ’ s immediate seg as a first response rather than having them go to Holding or talking to them .
We are taken for small , petty things.
” I began to ask people about their most trivial reason for going to segregation .
I talked with people who had gone to solitary for singing during count , singing in the lunchroom , putting someone ’ s bag lunch on the floor , braiding someone ’ s hair , walking backwards on the sidewalk in the courtyard , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ loitering , passing food , and for eating someone ’ s piece of cake in the lunchroom when it was offered to them .
The reasons seem insignificant but most every time people go to segregation they lose .
They lose their room placement , their job , their programming , and are taken away from their community and moved to another living unit .
When people ’ s belongings are packed up , whatever does not fit into two bins ( equivalent space as two milk crates ) has to be thrown @ @ @ @ @ @ @ people can fit all their belongings into two bins .
The more I researched women ’ s segregation , the more I realized there was a pattern of discipline that extended beyond the walls of Shakopee .
A report released by the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights in 2020 confirmed what NPR found ; women prisoners are disciplined more often than male prisoners — two to three times more — and often receive harsher punishments .
The commission states that the population of women in prison has increased by 730 percent over the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ women prisoners consistently got in more trouble more often than their male counterparts .
More disruptive ?
No .
The majority of women prisoners have histories of sexual and physical trauma that cause them to react in a certain way to male guards .
Women in prisons are more likely to have a history of substance abuse , mental illness , and to be the primary caregivers of minor children .
Moreover , what soon became apparent was there was a culture of staff homophobia in Shakopee .
Homophobia , or the appearance @ @ @ @ @ @ @ prison ’ s long-standing policy on touch .
On September 4 , 2003 , a federal law was enacted called PREA , the Prison Rape Elimination Act .
Since then , throughout the state of Minnesota , there is a zero tolerance policy against sexual harassment and sexual abuse .
Next to the prison hallway phones are posters in both English and Spanish with a number to report any abuse , as well as a list of victim advocate services .
People feel this is good , but that Shakopee had failed them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ From its establishment until last year , the Shakopee Women ’ s Prison had a no-touch rule in place .
Prisoners were not able to help someone up when they fell , hug them when a parent died , or shake their hand when they earned their GED .
All these gestures were considered “ sexual.
” All touch was considered sexual .
A prisoner at Shakopee who did not get visits — where an outside visitor can give a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek when they arrive or leave @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in a long time .
Some people had literally not been touched for years .
This draconian policy had been strictly enforced .
Staff ’ s view of touch seems extreme .
A Native woman in her mid-30 ’ s told me , “ In 2018 , I went to seg for a ‘ sexual ’ because our feet were touching under the table in the dayroom .
We both got 15 days.
” I was told a similar story by several people .
Every person I asked , regardless of sexual orientation @ @ @ @ @ @ @ staff .
A 28-year-old white woman said , “ I am targeted [ for ] my sexual orientation .
Verbal harassment is constant .
They use intimidation , always threatening to take me to segregation.
” I spoke with a white woman in her mid-30s with a very long sentence .
She said , “ I need human contact , it doesn ’ t matter how much .
I ’ m here for a long time .
I need to do what I need to do to survive .
If that means I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ going to hug someone.
” When asked if segregation made her more or less likely to follow the rules , she admitted it made her more likely to break the rules .
“ If I can go for the smallest of things , ( she got 15 days for hugging someone and one day and an overnight — but not charged — for holding someone ’ s hand ) if I get in trouble for holding someone ’ s hand , why not just hug them ?
What ’ s a reason not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s bad to hit someone ; I ’ m not going to do that .
But hug someone ?
” Last June , there was an article written about the no-touch policy in the Minneapolis Star Tribune , where Shakopee ’ s Warden Tracy Beltz ( now the Warden of Faribault Prison ) “ denied inmate claims that they are sometimes punished for minor touch offenses.
” Beltz said , “ There aren ’ t women going to segregation for doing one another ’ s hair , they ’ re going to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ inappropriate sexual activity.
” I talked with several people this summer who had gone to segregation for minor touch infractions , including braiding hair .
Because of outside pressure by advocacy groups like the ACLU , this no-touch policy changed .
On July 10 , 2019 , an assistant warden came to the living units and read off the “ new appropriate touch policy.
” The new touch guidelines include “ fist-bumps , handshakes , high-fives , or a pat on the shoulder/shoulder blade… .
Physical contact should be brief , lasting only @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to prison , I assumed prisoners were just bad people .
The truth is , I ’ ve met some wonderful people , many of whom suffer from addiction .
The December 2020 Minnesota Department of Corrections Shakopee Inmate Profile states that 235 prisoners are here because of drug charges .
Two thirds of the population of this prison suffers with addiction .
Many began their addiction by self-medicating a mental health issue or to cope with a major crisis or tragic loss .
As a population , they are far more wounded @ @ @ @ @ @ @ against the world but for sobriety .
Solitary confinement is not just ineffective ; it is destructive .
Based on everything I ’ ve experienced and everything I ’ ve learned , it makes people act worse within the community and feel worse about themselves .
Traumatized people need more care , not increased isolation .

This work is supported by a grant from the Solitary Confinement Reporting Project, managed by Solitary Watch with funding from the Vital Projects Fund.
At Minnesota’s Shakopee Correctional Facility for women, where I am incarcerated, solitude is something we seldom have a chance to experience. Loud, muffled over-head announcements begin every morning at 5:30 and continue until 9:30 p.m. when we are counted for the last time of the day. There is little privacy; everyone can hear each other’s business when we talk on the phone. Every aspect of our life is micromanaged, from when our blinds have to be raised and lowered, and how many books we can put on a shelf in our room, to the date we have to wear our winter coats regardless of the outside temperature. Prison is manila-walled, grey-clothed and full of blue plastic chairs. Any prisoner could tell you what’s for breakfast on a Wednesday or what’s on TV on a Monday night because our lives are a study in monotony. All of us are called “Offender” all day long.
By its very nature, prison is isolating. Stripped of our personal physical identifiers — wedding rings, contact lenses, clothing and makeup, we are away from our homes, family, pets, employment, favorite activities, foods, computers and green spaces. Our lives are condensed. To survive, we cling to what comforts us — small rituals that give us a sense of normalcy and help us retain our dignity. For some, this means going to the gym or walking outside in the courtyard. For others it means calling their mom or child every morning. Some people eat a lot, some church a lot, some read a lot, some play cards with their friends every day. The communities built in prison, as unlikely as they appear, are vital. Whether we have one good friend or a larger group of friends, our community relationships help us navigate and stay balanced while we are here. This balance is upended when we are taken to solitary confinement, or as most people in prison call it, segregation.
In Shakopee, the segregation unit is separate from the other living units. There are 33 segregation beds in 33 cells. Each cell is 10 by 12 feet and contains a narrow bed with a thin foam pad, two blankets and a pillow covered with a water-resistant material. Bolted to the wall is a metal sink with buttons to push for water and a metal toilet. There is a light switch, an outside-looking window, and a “mirror” made of a reflective metal. The door to the cell is wood and has a narrow 4-by-20-inch window and slit to push through a tray of food, change of clothes, or medicine. The mail is slid under the door. There is a small desk and a stool attached to the wall. Some cells have a camera in them, or a camera pointed at them.
The most common response when asked about segregation conditions was that it was cold.
I see people taken to segregation nearly every day — often several times a day.
When people are brought to solitary in this prison, they are handcuffed unless they are pregnant. Two female officers stand at the open door of the cell and like any strip search, have a prisoner take off their clothes piece by piece and hand them to the correctional officers (CO) who pat the items down and shake them. Once naked, prisoners are asked to bend at the waist and run their fingers through their hair. They are asked to show behind their ears, open their mouth, show the bottoms of their feet, and squat and cough three times. A pillow pack (a pillowcase containing two flat sheets, two towels and a washcloth) and clothes (plastic sandals, two socks, one pair of underwear and a pair of orange scrubs) are given out. People can wear their own bra. They are allowed an inhaler, a personal phone book, glasses, hairbrush and up to 10 envelopes. They are also given a small bag of generic toiletries, five sheets of paper, a cup and a small rubber pen.
The communities built in prison help us stay balanced while we are here. This balance is upended when we are taken to solitary confinement.
They are allowed to change their clothes every day and shower every other day.
But worse than the physical austerity of solitary, is the severe psychological harm it delivers. The boredom and loneliness is extreme and often amplifies mental illness, psychosis and suicidal tendencies.
People are led to believe that segregation is used to contain extremely dangerous, violent people. In a women’s prison at least, this is hardly the case. While women can be and are sent to solitary for fighting, the truth is women are more often there because of mental health issues and for a wide range of petty infractions that have nothing to do with violence. Between April and July 2019, I interviewed 51 people who had gone to segregation and discovered that regardless of age, race, or sexual orientation, the common denominator was not a tendency for violence, but a history of trauma.
The demographics of the prison population at Shakopee, where I am incarcerated, break down like this: 59 percent are white, 20 percent are American Indian/Alaskan Native, 16 percent are Black, 4 percent are Asian/Pacific Islander, and 5 percent are Hispanic. The youngest prisoner is 19. The oldest is 87. The average age is 37. Eighty-five percent are mothers. Fifty eight percent are here on drug-related offences.
The boredom and loneliness is extreme and often amplifies mental illness, psychosis and suicidal tendencies.
The lack of mental health care was the most prevalent topic during the interviews. The consensus was that segregation made mental health issues worse. People often felt suicidal or very depressed while isolated, and felt they were not given the help they needed before, during or after their segregation. As of late November 2020, there is only one psychiatrist for the 407 people in this prison, most of whom have PTSD and backgrounds of abuse.
Solitary confinement is often used as a quarantine for mental health. Jayde Moon, a white woman in her late 20s, has been to segregation six times. “Now they say that seg is not ‘punishment,’ … but there is a girl I know there who bangs her head ‘til it bleeds just to get out of her cell. They isolate people so they don’t have to deal with them. Why don’t they just chop off a body part? It is just as outdated. As a society, don’t we have a better way to deal with mental illness? Let’s look at the why. The root cause. Let’s look at passive women who have been repeatedly exposed to trauma and help them.”
Patti Becht, a white woman in her 50s who has always struggled with mental illness, said, “Mentally ill people should not be locked in seg. They should be safe, not condemned. I hear voices all the time. Christmas music all the time. Seg amplifies this.”
A Native woman in her mid-30s said, “Seg feels normal to me. When I was young, I would often hide in small spaces to feel safe. Being hidden feels safe to me. I am often lost within the outside world.” Darcy Drobec, a white person in her mid-40s who has been to segregation 45 times, said, “Isolation makes everything worse. It makes people want to hurt themselves or hurt others. It should only be used in extreme cases.”
If anyone in the prison’s general population says they are having suicidal thoughts, the protocol is to take them to segregation and put them on COS [Constant Observational Status], constantly watched by guards. They are usually there for 10 days. A white woman in her mid-40s said, “I was told by a CO that the only way I could get help for my mental illness was to tell them [staff] I had suicidal thoughts and be put in segregation. This was true. Medical staff had taken me off all my Seroquel — all at once, which put me in a state of psychosis. I needed help. I wasn’t getting help.”
Many of the mental health issues for which people are placed in solitary confinement are based on trauma. I met with a young Spanish-speaking woman in her 20s who had been to solitary five times because of her inability to urinate for drug tests. Testing for drug use is done randomly at the prison. When pulled for a UA (Urine Analysis), a prisoner is stripped in front of two female COs who then stand over the prisoner as they urinate into a cup. This woman is unable to urinate because of past sexual trauma. She was sexually abused for 14 years. There is no reason that the door could not be shut and a person could do their business in private. The water is turned off in the room; a prisoner would not be able to alter their urine sample.
I talked with people who had gone to solitary for singing in the lunchroom, braiding someone’s hair, walking backwards on the sidewalk in the courtyard, and for eating someone’s piece of cake in the lunchroom when it was offered to them.
To speak with women about their solitary narrative, I would go to the courtyard and ask people if they had been to segregation and if they had, could I ask them a few questions about their experience. Soon I didn’t have to ask. Once women understood what I was doing they approached me. “When you have a minute, I would like to talk to you.” I soon learned that more people had been to segregation than I had thought and everyone seemed to want to share their story.
Over and over, I heard comments about how segregation amplified people’s depression. A Black woman in her 50s told me, “Seg takes me back. It means failure to me. I’m let down. I fight for what I want, for what is right. I heard, ‘You’ll never be nothing’ all my life. Seg gives me sad feelings.”
Sabrina Flowers is an African American woman in her early 20s who leaves prison in a month. She has been to solitary 35 times. She told me, “I’m often suicidal up there. I survive by thinking about my daughter. I act out when I’m locked in. Seg makes me act worse. It gets worse every time.” Like everyone I interviewed, Sabrina felt once you went to segregation you were marked; an easy target to go back again. Staff now sees her as a problem and is ready to send her to segregation for the smallest infraction. A Native woman in her mid-30s said, “Staff has me marked. ‘Hey Trouble-maker!’ Especially the new ones. My pockets are constantly searched. My room is searched repeatedly.”
I spoke with a Native woman in her early 30s about mental health care. She had been to segregation 16 times; 13 times for cutting herself with a razor, spending 15 days in solitary for every incident. I asked her why she cut herself. “Shame. Guilt. It’s how I cope.” (She didn’t cut herself before she came to prison). When she writes to Mental Health Services for help, she gets no response, cuts herself and then is sent to solitary. I asked her if she received any help once she was there. “They [mental health workers] come through, but don’t stay and help. They say ‘try some deep breathing,’ or ‘send a kite [paper communication between prisoner and staff] to your mental health worker.’ I do. No response. Mental Health [Services] is a joke. They cut off medication randomly. I emotionally shut down … we can’t just stuff our emotions every day and expect not to explode.” She is the mother of five sons, now all adopted out. Like many of the women here, her depression stems from being stripped of her children.
In 1997, a law was passed called the Adoption and Safe Families Act, which states that if a parent does not have physical custody of their children for 15 out of the last 22 months, they can lose custody. For an incarcerated parent, this means that even if they are a great parent and are doing everything they can to fix the problem that landed them in prison, they can lose their child to the system. A recurring statement in many of my interviews was, “I have no reason to live without my children.”
Another piece of the mental health issue and segregation is the difficulty people had when they were released from solitary and put back into general population. They are taken from a relatively quiet, isolated environment and abruptly moved to a noisy atmosphere — surrounded by people and constant over-head announcements. A woman of Puerto Rican/Native descent told me, “I have severe mental health issues. I have a hard time being alone. Walls breathe, I see things, and I talk to myself. When I’m released, I have a hard time; I’m messed up. I talk weird. I stutter.”
A 24-year-old Black woman said, “I feel that putting someone in seg makes mental illness. Especially when we are put there for stupid things instead of talking to us [and] working through the issues. Seg leaves us more institutionalized, makes us worse.” I heard how people were often taken to segregation for small infractions. If people were put in solitary for something like fighting, they understood it. If people were put in for loitering or other small nonviolent offenses, they felt insulted and picked on. They no longer cared about the rules and said they were inclined to behave worse in the future.
“[We go for] petty reasons,” said a white woman in her mid-30s. “We shouldn’t be sent for a bad day. And once people go to seg, or go to seg a lot, if they get in trouble it’s immediate seg as a first response rather than having them go to Holding or talking to them. We are taken for small, petty things.”
Women prisoners are disciplined more often than male prisoners — two to three times more — and often receive harsher punishments.
I began to ask people about their most trivial reason for going to segregation. I talked with people who had gone to solitary for singing during count, singing in the lunchroom, putting someone’s bag lunch on the floor, braiding someone’s hair, walking backwards on the sidewalk in the courtyard, having talcum powder in their shoes, loitering, passing food, and for eating someone’s piece of cake in the lunchroom when it was offered to them. The reasons seem insignificant but most every time people go to segregation they lose. They lose their room placement, their job, their programming, and are taken away from their community and moved to another living unit. When people’s belongings are packed up, whatever does not fit into two bins (equivalent space as two milk crates) has to be thrown out or shipped out. Very few people can fit all their belongings into two bins.
The more I researched women’s segregation, the more I realized there was a pattern of discipline that extended beyond the walls of Shakopee. A report released by the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights in 2020 confirmed what NPR found; women prisoners are disciplined more often than male prisoners — two to three times more — and often receive harsher punishments. The commission states that the population of women in prison has increased by 730 percent over the last 40 years. Data shows that women prisoners consistently got in more trouble more often than their male counterparts. More disruptive? No.
The majority of women prisoners have histories of sexual and physical trauma that cause them to react in a certain way to male guards. Women in prisons are more likely to have a history of substance abuse, mental illness, and to be the primary caregivers of minor children.
Moreover, what soon became apparent was there was a culture of staff homophobia in Shakopee. Homophobia, or the appearance of homophobia, is linked with the prison’s long-standing policy on touch.
On September 4, 2003, a federal law was enacted called PREA, the Prison Rape Elimination Act. Since then, throughout the state of Minnesota, there is a zero tolerance policy against sexual harassment and sexual abuse. Next to the prison hallway phones are posters in both English and Spanish with a number to report any abuse, as well as a list of victim advocate services. People feel this is good, but that Shakopee had failed them in the assessment of appropriate touch.
From its establishment until last year, the Shakopee Women’s Prison had a no-touch rule in place. Prisoners were not able to help someone up when they fell, hug them when a parent died, or shake their hand when they earned their GED. All these gestures were considered “sexual.” All touch was considered sexual. A prisoner at Shakopee who did not get visits — where an outside visitor can give a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek when they arrive or leave — would not have had human touch in a long time. Some people had literally not been touched for years. This draconian policy had been strictly enforced.
Staff’s view of touch seems extreme. A Native woman in her mid-30’s told me, “In 2018, I went to seg for a ‘sexual’ because our feet were touching under the table in the dayroom. We both got 15 days.” I was told a similar story by several people. Every person I asked, regardless of sexual orientation, thought that there was homophobia within staff. A 28-year-old white woman said, “I am targeted [for] my sexual orientation. Verbal harassment is constant. They use intimidation, always threatening to take me to segregation.”
I spoke with a white woman in her mid-30s with a very long sentence. She said, “I need human contact, it doesn’t matter how much. I’m here for a long time. I need to do what I need to do to survive. If that means I need a hug, I’m going to hug someone.” When asked if segregation made her more or less likely to follow the rules, she admitted it made her more likely to break the rules. “If I can go for the smallest of things, (she got 15 days for hugging someone and one day and an overnight — but not charged — for holding someone’s hand) if I get in trouble for holding someone’s hand, why not just hug them? What’s a reason not to go bigger? I know it’s bad to hit someone; I’m not going to do that. But hug someone?”
Last June, there was an article written about the no-touch policy in the Minneapolis Star Tribune, where Shakopee’s Warden Tracy Beltz (now the Warden of Faribault Prison) “denied inmate claims that they are sometimes punished for minor touch offenses.” Beltz said, “There aren’t women going to segregation for doing one another’s hair, they’re going to discipline because they’re engaging in inappropriate sexual activity.” I talked with several people this summer who had gone to segregation for minor touch infractions, including braiding hair.
Because of outside pressure by advocacy groups like the ACLU, this no-touch policy changed. On July 10, 2019, an assistant warden came to the living units and read off the “new appropriate touch policy.” The new touch guidelines include “fist-bumps, handshakes, high-fives, or a pat on the shoulder/shoulder blade…. Physical contact should be brief, lasting only a few seconds.”
Before I came to prison, I assumed prisoners were just bad people. The truth is, I’ve met some wonderful people, many of whom suffer from addiction. The December 2020 Minnesota Department of Corrections Shakopee Inmate Profile states that 235 prisoners are here because of drug charges. Two thirds of the population of this prison suffers with addiction. Many began their addiction by self-medicating a mental health issue or to cope with a major crisis or tragic loss. As a population, they are far more wounded than violent. Their fight is not against the world but for sobriety.
Solitary confinement is not just ineffective; it is destructive. Based on everything I’ve experienced and everything I’ve learned, it makes people act worse within the community and feel worse about themselves.
Traumatized people need more care, not increased isolation.
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