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Michelle AlexanderA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Alexander focuses here on how the racial caste system created by mass incarceration operates once a person leaves prison. She likens the condition of ex-prisoners in America to that of freedpeople living in the North prior to the 1863 Emancipation Proclamation, or technically free men and women living under the terror and social inequities of the Jim Crow South. She writes, “The ‘whites only’ signs may be gone, but new signs have gone up—notices placed in job applications, rental agreements, loan applications, forms for welfare benefits, school applications, and petitions for licenses” (176). Having a felony on one’s record, she adds, leads to the same discrimination civil rights activists fought so hard to excise from American society in the 1960s.
In accepting a felony plea deal—even one that allows the defendant to avoid prison time—an individual enters a bleak reality that Alexander refers to as “civic death” (178). Individuals will likely not be told by their lawyer—and certainly not by prosecutors—that from then on, they may be denied federal health benefits, unemployment, public housing, food stamps, and student loans. In some cases, their driver’s license will be revoked, and they will certainly be ineligible for a wide array of professional licenses. Prospective employers will ask about their criminal history and likely disqualify them from a job on that basis. Some citizens will lose the right the vote, either temporarily or permanently. Noncitizens, meanwhile, are subject to immediate deportation.
Stable housing is arguably most important for ex-prisoners reentering society, and yet legislation passed during the Clinton presidency severely limited public housing options for individuals with criminal records. They are ineligible for Section 8 housing assistance and may be evicted by public housing landlords on the mere suspicion of illegal activity or even for legal alcohol use. Once again, the courts are responsible for exacerbating the situation faced by individuals with felonies on their record. For example, in 2000’s Rucker v. Davis, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that an individual living in public housing is civilly liable for nonviolent drug crimes committed by children or caregivers on the premises. As a result, families are often reluctant to allow relatives to stay with them in public housing after being released from prison. While national data on homeless parolees doesn’t exist, one study found that anywhere between 30% and 50% of individuals on parole in San Francisco and Los Angeles are homeless. Given that 650,000 people are released from prison annually, that may amount to hundreds of thousands of people who are homeless because of their criminal record.
Even though all 50 states and Washington, DC, require parolees to obtain employment or risk returning to prison, finding a job with a criminal record is extraordinarily difficult. This is largely due to “the box” (186), the job application question asking if the applicant has a felony conviction. Self-employment can be equally difficult to obtain, given that some states deny professional licenses to aspiring barbers and manicurists with criminal records. While construction and manufacturing positions are most likely to accept applicants with felony convictions, those jobs have disappeared from urban areas, and it is common for recently released prisoners to have no access to an automobile. Alexander writes, “Four decades ago, employers were free to discriminate explicitly on the basis of race; today employers feel free to discriminate against those who bear the prison label—i.e., those labeled criminals by the state” (189).
For those convicted of a crime who are fortunate enough to find a job, they may find their wages garnished to pay a host of administrative fees related to their incarceration. Florida alone has seen 20 new types of these so-called “poverty penalties” since 1996 (194). Despite the fact that debtor’s prisons are illegal in the United States, debt collectors are known to threaten to revoke a person’s parole for nonpayment. Meanwhile, in all but 13 states and Washington, DC, formerly incarcerated individuals are prohibited from receiving benefits through the Temporary Assistance for Needy Families welfare program.
For many who are released from incarceration, voting for politicians or policies that might alleviate their plight is impossible. As of 2010, only two states allow incarcerated individuals to vote, and most states also deny parolees the right to vote. In some states a felony record disqualifies an individual from voting for life. In others, they must navigate a twisted bureaucracy to restore that right. Clinton Drake, a man arrested in Alabama in 1988 for possessing less than $10 worth of marijuana, must pay $900 to restore his right to vote. Given that his post-incarceration life is marked by periods of unemployment and underemployment, he cannot accumulate $900 in savings. Alexander cites reports stating that “had the 600,000 formerly incarcerated people who had completed their sentence in Florida been allowed to vote, Al Gore would have been elected president of the United States rather than George W. Bush” (200). Countless other formerly incarcerated individuals are frightened to register to vote because they fear contact with the government authorities.
Aside from the legal, civil, and financial burdens placed on the formerly incarcerated, they also face enormous psychological battles. Alexander writes, “Many people who have been ensnared by the system will tell you that the formal mechanisms of exclusion are not the worst of it. The shame and stigma that follow you for the rest of your life—they are the worst” (202). She debunks the myth that contemporary Black men have no shame over going to prison. Yet they carry this shame largely in silence, a silence often shared by their family members. Further, Alexander highlights a troubling false dichotomy between Black men convicted of a crime and the image of the good churchgoing Black man. She argues that this makes churches less of a refuge for those affected by mass incarceration than they should be.
Finally, Alexander examines the rise of gangsta rap culture in the context of mass incarceration. On one hand, she is troubled by the misogyny and the embrace of criminality in some gangsta rap songs. Even more than that, she is incredibly disturbed by the preponderance of gangsta rap culture on MTV and other mainstream media outlets that are largely targeted at white consumers, likening it to an exploitative “modern-day minstrel show” (216). Yet particularly for young Black youths, she points out, “There is absolutely nothing abnormal or surprising about a severely stigmatized group embracing their stigma. [...] Indeed, the act of embracing one’s stigma is never merely a psychological maneuver; it is a political act” (213).
The disenfranchisement experienced by those with felony records is one of the most disturbing components of Alexander’s argument. Fortunately, it is also an area where significant improvement has been made since the publication of The New Jim Crow. For example, the 1996 federal ban on the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program—better known as food stamps—for those with felony drug convictions has been effectively rescinded in every US state aside from South Carolina and, technically, West Virginia. In West Virginia a felony drug conviction may still disqualify SNAP recipients, but only if the felony concerns “SNAP fraud, loss or life, or a felony that resulted in injury to another person,” according to West Virginia MetroNews. (Johnson, Shauna. “SNAP Eligibility Extends Now to Some West Virginians with Felony Drug Convictions.” West Virginia MetroNews. 21 May 2019.) Even still, the fact that one state still enforces a complete ban on food stamps to those with felony drug convictions may constitute a grave injustice. Moreover, lifting these restrictions was a long and arduous process done state by state. In fact, Mississippi only lifted this ban in 2019. The number of states that opt out of the ban on TANF benefits has also increased since the publication of The New Jim Crow, up from 13 states to 41 states.
Enormous progress has also been made with respect to “ban the box” campaigns. As of 2020, more than 30 states have “ban the box” laws that apply to government employees, while 13 states, including California and Colorado, have “ban the box” laws that apply to private employers. Various companies have also taken it upon themselves to ban the box in recent years, including Target, Walmart, Facebook, and Starbucks. At the same time, the lack of federal legislation leaves state and local governments to pass these laws themselves, leaving many formerly incarcerated individuals to continue to face employment discrimination. Moreover, these laws vary from state to state and may include several exemptions. Finally, the laws do not address the troubling data Alexander cites pertaining to broader patterns of racially motivated job discrimination. She writes, “Without disconfirming information in the job application itself, employers may (consciously or unconsciously) treat all black men as though they have a criminal record” (191). Such is the extent to which the War on Drug’s casting of Black men as criminals continues to damage the fortunes of people of color, even after legislation has been passed to rectify this.
The progress on housing discrimination is more complicated because public housing authorities tend to evaluate applications on a case-by-case basis. Moreover, the federal government allows local housing authorities a great deal of discretion when it comes to approving or denying applications. Only two types of felonies automatically bar an individual from receiving federal housing: crimes that require lifelong registration as a sex offender and manufacturing methamphetamine in federal housing. At the same time, many authorities automatically deny applicants with felony records unless the conviction is five or even 10 years old. The highly variable enforcement practices of different housing authorities—not to mention private landlords—is yet another example of how the War on Drugs allows for extraordinary amounts of discretion on the part of local authorities—which, in turn, often leads to discrimination and racially imbalanced outcomes. And as with food stamps, progress also tends to be piecemeal; in 2019, for example, Chicago passed a law barring any landlord from denying housing to an applicant with a felony conviction more than three years old. In 2017 Seattle passed the Fair Chance Housing Ordinance which prohibits landlords from considering the criminal history of prospective renters except in the case of many sex crimes.
One area where little progress seems to have been made is prison fees. The Brennan Center wrote in 2019 that an estimated 10 million people owe more than $50 billion because of the criminal justice system. (“Is Charging Inmates to Stay in Prison Smart Policy?” The Brennan Center. 9 Sep. 2019.) Forty-three states continue to charge prisoners for either room and board, medical fees, or both, leaving the incarcerated with either little money from the labor they do in prison or, in some cases, negative funds. Florida, for example, is one of five states that does not pay incarcerated individuals for their labor, leaving them to rely on savings or money from family members. Particularly egregious is the fact that as of 2018, incarcerated individuals pay more than guards for commissary goods, according to the Florida Times-Union. (Conarck, Ben. “In Florida Prisons, Canteens Are Big Money. But Not Everybody Pays the Same Price.” Florida Times-Union. 21 Dec. 2018.) Over the past 10 years, California even developed a two-tiered system that provides wealthier incarcerated individuals with flat-screen TVs and other amenities. As with so many components of the criminal justice system, one of the biggest roadblocks to challenging these fees is the fact that the fee structures vary so dramatically from state to state, according to Joanna Weiss, co-director of the Fines and Fees Justice Center. (Zaluska, Izabela. “Pay-to-stay, other fees, can put jail inmates hundreds or thousands in debt.” Wisconsin Watch, 2019).
Progress has also been slow on the fight to secure voting rights for those convicted of felonies. As of 2020, the picture looks very similar to the one Alexander depicts, with only two states preserving voting rights during the period of incarceration, and most states denying these rights during periods of parole and probation as well. Modest examples of progress in this respect include California’s 2016 law allowing individuals to vote while incarcerated in county jails, though they are still prohibited from voting in federal prisons.
The large and small reforms made concerning discrimination toward the formerly incarcerated reflect a significant shift in public opinion on the criminal justice system, a shift partly attributable to the influence of The New Jim Crow itself. Yet one consequence facing the formerly incarcerated cannot be erased by legislation: the stigma of the prison label. Alexander writes, “Many people who have been ensnared by the system will tell you that the formal mechanisms of exclusion are not the worst of it. The shame and stigma that follow you for the rest of your life—they are the worst” (202). This label is the result of years of media and political campaigns framing Black men as criminals—campaigns so pervasive that even individuals who have never been arrested may be affixed with the prison label. As such, removing this label will require the kind of aggressive cultural transformation Alexander recommends, not only of the criminal justice system but of how Americans think about race in general.