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“To Be Free Is to Free Others”: Formerly Incarcerated Women Urge Decarceration
The fight to free women and end mass incarceration is long and ongoing, but these activists aren’t giving up.
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“We have a long way to go to bring justice to all the individuals who were harmed by the ‘tough on crime,’ zero-tolerance legislation passed in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s,” says Amy Povah, founder and director of CAN-DO Justice through Clemency, which advocates for people imprisoned on federal drug sentences.
“Many people we are advocating for have served over 25 years and many are elderly and need a second chance,” Povah told Truthout.
In 1991, Povah was sentenced to 24 years and four months for conspiracy related to her then-husband’s ecstasy dealing. (He fully cooperated and named his wife as part of the conspiracy in exchange for six years in a German prison.) Povah was granted clemency in 2000 by then-President Bill Clinton and vowed to continue fighting to free the many women still imprisoned under the same drug war policies.
The fight promises to be a long one: The United States currently incarcerates 190,600 women and girls (not including trans women or girls in male facilities). Approximately 16,000 women are in federal jails and prisons; of those, nearly half (or 7,200 women) are incarcerated for drug convictions. Another 77,000 have been sentenced to state prison while 84,000 languish in local jails.
But both behind bars — and after release — incarcerated women have been fighting to free themselves and each other.
On April 24, Povah was one of an estimated 2,000 formerly incarcerated people, family members and advocates from across the U.S. who converged on Washington, D.C. under the demand “Free Her.”
Ten years earlier, the United States incarcerated over 222,000 women and girls. That same year, Andrea James and approximately 300 other formerly incarcerated women, family members and advocates rallied in D.C. to make the same demand of then-President Barack Obama. That rally was the genesis of the National Council for Incarcerated and Formerly Incarcerated Women, which grew into a nationwide network working to end female incarceration.
By the time he left office, Obama had granted 1,715 commutations — or shortening of prison sentences. Of those, 101 were women. And the network of individuals and organizations working to end mass incarceration — and to ensure that the voices of women and girls were heard — continued to grow.
“We Have a Long Way to Go”
The movement calling for clemency for women started small.
“Back in 2004, I started standing outside the White House alone with posters from women I knew from [FCI] Dublin,” Amy Povah told Truthout.
Slowly, however, others joined her in front of the White House. In 2006, she attended a D.C. rally where she was one of 100 people demanding freedom for people serving draconian drug war sentences.
“While I’m sad we are still fighting this monster in 2024 I am so proud of the council for organizing the most significant event I’ve witnessed since I was released in 2000!” she said, reflecting on last month’s march and rally. “I was moved to tears walking together, shoulder to shoulder with women and men — some I’ve known for a long time and some people I just met or knew on Facebook. To see the strollers, the children, the quilts, the unity, the cheering and chanting, I’m tearing up again!”
Minutes before advocates began the mile-long march from the Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church to Freedom Plaza on April 24, the White House released a list of 11 pardons and five commutations granted that day by President Biden. Two of those commutations reduced the sentences of women convicted of drug conspiracy.
Children and caregivers leading the FreeHer march. Showing What Else Is Possible
While many of the groups continue to prioritize pushing clemency on the state and federal levels, they are also strategizing to shrink prisons in other ways, including mounting campaigns to stop new jails and prisons and increasing resources to reduce poverty and violence in the neighborhoods that have been hardest hit by policing and prisons.
“If I didn’t have people advocating for me, I wouldn’t be out.”
Andrea James, director and co-founder of the National Council for Incarcerated and Formerly Incarcerated Women and Girls, told Truthout that, in the coming months, her group will continue to prioritize clemencies — both on the federal and state level. Another priority is their Reimagining Communities initiative, a community organizing model in several neighborhoods hit hardest by incarceration and violence to identify how to stop incarceration and increase resources that allow these communities to thrive.
At the same time, organizers in Massachusetts have been fighting the construction of a new women’s prison. Those organizers include women inside MCI-Framingham, the state’s sole women’s prison. Opened in 1877, the nation’s oldest functioning women’s prison has long been physically falling apart, prompting the state to plan for a new women’s prison at the cost of $50 million.
Women currently in MCI-Framingham have also vocally opposed the plan. This past January, women testified virtually at a legislative hearing pressing lawmakers for medical parole, elder parole, and other ways to release women from prison.
Andrea James, co-founder and director of the National Council for Incarcerated and Formerly Incarcerated Women and Girls, at the FreeHer march. VICTORIA LAW “There’s a much less costly option” than building a new $50 million prison, testified Christen Longley from Framingham. “It is getting people into alternative housing programs.” She also pushed for the increased use of medical parolewhich, in Massachusetts, can be granted to people with terminal illnesses or permanent incapacitation.
That’s how 70-year-old Diane was released after over three decades in prison. (Diane asked that her full name not be published.) Since her release, she has been involved in advocacy against the new women’s prison, for more women to be released under medical parole, and for more programs and reentry resources.
“I have a lot of sisters in there who are very sick,” she told Truthout. Although some are in their 70s and 80s, they continue to be denied medical parole.
At the same time, family members, formerly incarcerated women and advocates have directly appealed to lawmakers. They have rallied outside the governor’s house, pressured potential architecture firms not to bid on the prison contract, and lobbied lawmakers.
“Incarcerated and formerly incarcerated women have managed to stop the state’s plan to build a $50 million women’s prisons for four years now,” said Mallory Hanora, executive director of Families for Justice as Healing. “And we will never let it be built.”
Organizers are pushing for a bill that would impose a five-year moratorium on building any new jails or prisons throughout Massachusetts. The legislature passed the bill last session, but then-Gov. Charlie Baker vetoed it. This year, advocates are once again pushing the bill — and pressuring Gov. Maura Healey to sign it.
“We’re in the state with the oldest operating women’s prison in the United States,” Hanora continued. “We should be the first state to have no state prison for women. And our Reimagining Communities work is creating models and showing what else is possible.”
Formerly incarcerated New Yorkers holding a quilt with names of those seeking clemency. VICTORIA LAW “I Want to Bring Them Home Just Like I Came Home”
Ten years ago, Avis Lee had no idea about the nascent movement calling for mass clemencies, particularly for women. Lee had been incarcerated in Pennsylvania since 1979. At age 18, Lee was the lookout while her brother and his friend robbed, then fatally shot, a man. Although she had not shot the man — and had even flagged down a bus driver to help save him — Lee was convicted of felony murder, or a death that occurs during the commission of a felony. In Pennsylvania, a felony murder conviction triggers an automatic life without parole sentence.
Pennsylvania has 5,100 people serving life without parole, the second-highest in the nation. Over one-fifth have been convicted of felony murder and 70 percent, like Lee, are Black.
In 2014, Lee had no idea that formerly incarcerated women were converging in Washington, D.C. under the rallying cry “Free Her.” But from behind bars, she was pursuing her own path to freedom.
Kelly Savage’s life without parole sentence was commuted in 2017. She was paroled in 2018. VICTORIA LAW Two years earlier, the U.S. Supreme Court had ruled that automatic life without parole sentences for juveniles, or those who had been younger than age 18, were unconstitutional.
To read the entire Truthout story by Vikki Law click here.
