The human stories behind mass incarceration

The United States locks up more people than any other country in the world, says documentarian Eve Abrams, and somewhere between one and four percent of those in prison are likely innocent. That's 87,000 brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers -- predominantly African American -- unnecessarily separated from their families, their lives and dreams put on hold. Using audio from her interviews with incarcerated people and their families, Abrams shares touching stories of those impacted by mass incarceration and calls on us all to take a stand and ensure that the justice system works for everyone.

I have never been arrested,

never spent a night in jail,

never had a loved one
thrown into the back of a squad car

or behind bars,

or be at the mercy of a scary,
confusing system

that at best sees them with indifference,

and at worst as monstrous.

The United States of America locks up
more people than any other nation

on the planet,

and Louisiana is our biggest incarcerator.

Most of you are probably like me --

lucky.

The closest we get to crime and punishment
is likely what we see on TV.

While making "Unprisoned,"

I met a woman who used to be like us --

Sheila Phipps.

(Recording) Sheila Phipps:
Before my son went to jail,

I used to see people be on television,

fighting, saying, "Oh, this person
didn't do it and this person is innocent."

And you know, you snub them
or you dismiss them,

and like, "Yeah, whatever."

Don't get me wrong,

there's a lot of people
who deserve to be in prison.

There's a lot of criminals out here.

But there are a lot of innocent
people that's in jail.

EA: Sheila's son, McKinley,
is one of those innocent people.

He served 17 years of a 30-year sentence
on a manslaughter charge.

He had no previous convictions,

there was no forensic
evidence in the case.

He was convicted solely
on the basis of eyewitness testimony,

and decades of research have shown

that eyewitness testimony
isn't as reliable

as we once believed it to be.

Scientists say that memory isn't precise.

It's less like playing back a video,

and more like putting together a puzzle.

Since 1989, when DNA testing
was first used to free innocent people,

over 70 percent of overturned convictions
were based on eyewitness testimony.

Last year,

the district attorney whose office
prosecuted McKinley's case

was convicted of unrelated
corruption charges.

When this district attorney
of 30 years stepped down,

the eyewitnesses
from McKinley's case came forward

and said that they had been pressured
into testifying by the district attorneys,

pressure which included
the threat of jail time.

Despite this, McKinley is still in prison.

(Recording) SP: Before this happened,

I never would've thought it.

And well, I guess it's hard
for me to imagine

that these things is going on, you know,

until this happened to my son.

It really opened my eyes.

It really, really opened my eyes.

I ain't gonna lie to you.

EA: Estimates of how many innocent
people are locked up

range between one and four percent,

which maybe doesn't sound like a lot,

except that it amounts
to around 87,000 people:

mothers, fathers, sons locked up,

often for decades,

for crimes they did not commit.

And that's not even counting
the roughly half a million people

who have been convicted of nothing --

those presumed innocent,

but who are too poor to bail out of jail

and therefore sit behind bars
for weeks upon months,

waiting for their case to come to trial --

or much more likely,

waiting to take a plea just to get out.

All of those people
have family on the outside.

(Recording) Kortney Williams: My brother
missed my high school graduation

because the night before,

he went to jail.

My brother missed my birthday dinner

because that day, actually,
he went to jail.

My brother missed his own birthday dinner

because he was in the wrong place
at the wrong time.

(Recording) EA: So all these times
when he ended up going to jail,

were charges pressed
or did he just get taken to jail?

KW: The charges would be pressed

and it would have a bond posted,

then the charges will get dropped ...

because there was no evidence.

EA: I met Kortney Williams
when I went to her college classroom

to talk about "Unprisoned."

She ended up interviewing her aunt,
Troylynn Robertson,

for an episode.

(Recording) KW: With everything
that you went through

with your children,

what is any advice that you would give me

if I had any kids?

(Recording) Troylynn Roberston:
I would tell you when you have them,

you know the first thing
that will initially come to mind is love

and protection,

but I would tell you,

even much with the protection
to raise them

with knowledge of the judicial system --

you know, we always tell our kids
about the boogeyman,

the bad people, who to watch out for,

but we don't teach them
how to watch out for the judicial system.

EA: Because of the way
our criminal legal system

disproportionately targets
people of color,

it's not uncommon for young people
like Kortney to know about it.

When I started going into high schools
to talk to students about "Unprisoned,"

I found that roughly one-third
of the young people I spoke with

had a loved one behind bars.

(Recording) Girl: The hardest part
is like finding out where he's at,

or like, when his court date is.

Girl: Yeah, he went to jail
on my first birthday.

Girl: My dad works as a guard.

He saw my uncle in jail.

He's in there for life.

EA: According to the Annie E.
Casey Foundation,

the number of young people with a father
incarcerated rose 500 percent

between 1980 and 2000.

Over five million of today's children
will see a parent incarcerated

at some point in their childhoods.

But this number disproportionately
affects African American children.

By the time they reach the age of 14,

one in four black children
will see their dad go off to prison.

That's compared to a rate
of one in 30 for white children.

One key factor determining the future
success of both inmates and their children

is whether they can maintain ties
during the parent's incarceration,

but prisoners' phone calls home
can cost 20 to 30 times more

than regular phone calls,

so many families
keep in touch through letters.

(Recording: Letter being unfolded)

Anissa Christmas: Dear big brother,

I'm making that big 16 this year, LOL.

Guess I'm not a baby anymore.

You still taking me to prom?

I really miss you.

You're the only guy
that kept it real with me.

I wish you were here so I can vent to you.

So much has happened since
the last time I seen you.

(Voice breaking up) I have some good news.

I won first place in the science fair.

I'm a geek.

We're going to regionals,
can't you believe it?

High school is going by super fast.

In less than two years,

I hope you'll be able to see me
walk across the stage.

I thought to write to you
because I know it's boring in there.

I want to put a smile on your face.

Anissa wrote these letters to her brother

when she was a sophomore in high school.

She keeps the letters he writes to her
tucked into the frame

of her bedroom mirror,

and reads them over and over again.

I'd like to think
that there's a good reason

why Anissa's brother is locked up.

We all want the wheels of justice
to properly turn,

but we're coming to understand

that the lofty ideals we learned
in school look really different

in our nation's prisons
and jails and courtrooms.

(Recording) Danny Engelberg: You walk
into that courtroom and you're just --

I've been doing this for a quite a while,
and it still catches your breath.

You're like, "There are so many
people of color here,"

and yet I know that the city is not
made up of 90 percent African Americans,

so why is it that 90 percent
of the people who are in orange

are African American?

(Recording) EA: Public defender Danny
Engelberg isn't the only one noticing

how many black people
are in municipal court --

or in any court.

It's hard to miss.

Who's sitting in court
waiting to see the judge?

What do they look like?

(Recording) Man: Mostly
African-Americans, like me.

Man: It's mostly, I could say,
85 percent black.

That's all you see in the orange,
in the box back there, who locked up.

Man: Who's waiting? Mostly black.

I mean, there was a couple
of white people in there.

Woman: I think it was about
85 percent African-American

that was sitting there.

EA: How does a young black person
growing up in America today

come to understand justice?

Another "Unprisoned" story
was about a troupe of dancers

who choreographed a piece
called "Hoods Up,"

which they performed
in front of city council.

Dawonta White was in the seventh grade
for that performance.

(Recording) Dawonta White: We was wearing
black with hoodies because Trayvon Martin,

when he was wearing his hoodie,
he was killed.

So we looked upon that,

and we said we're going to wear
hoodies like Trayvon Martin.

(Recording) EA: Who came up
with that idea?

DW: The group. We all agreed on it.

I was a little nervous,
but I had stick through it though,

but I felt like it was a good thing
so they could notice what we do.

(Recording) EA: Shraivell Brown
was another choreographer and dancer

in "Hoods Up."

He says the police criticize
people who look like him.

He feels judged based on things
other black people may have done.

How would you want
the police to look at you,

and what would you want them to think?

SB: That I'm not no threat.

EA: Why would they think
you're threatening?

What did you say, you're 14?

SB: Yes, I'm 14, but because he said
a lot of black males

are thugs or gangsters and all that,

but I don't want them thinking
that about me.

EA: For folks who look like me,

the easiest and most comfortable
thing to do is to not pay attention --

to assume our criminal
legal system is working.

But if it's not our responsibility
to question those assumptions,

whose responsibility is it?

There's a synagogue here that's taken on
learning about mass incarceration,

and many congregants have concluded

that because mass incarceration
throws so many lives into chaos,

it actually creates more crime --

makes people less safe.

Congregant Teri Hunter says

the first step towards action
has to be understanding.

She says it's crucial for all of us
to understand our connection to this issue

even if it's not immediately obvious.

(Recording) Teri Hunter:
It's on our shoulders

to make sure that we're not
just closing that door

and saying, "Well, it's not us."

And I think as Jews, you know,
we've lived that history:

"It's not us."

And so if a society
closes their back on one section,

we've seen what happens.

And so it is our responsibility as Jews

and as members of this community

to educate our community --

at least our congregation --

to the extent that we're able.

EA: I've been using
the pronouns "us" and "we"

because this is our criminal legal system

and our children.

We elect the district attorneys,

the judges and the legislators
who operate these systems

for we the people.

As a society,

we are more willing to risk
locking up innocent people

than we are to let guilty people go free.

We elect politicians
who fear being labeled "soft on crime,"

encouraging them to pass harsh legislation

and allocate enormous resources
toward locking people up.

When a crime is committed,

our hunger for swift retribution
has fed a police culture

bent on finding culprits fast,

often without adequate resources
to conduct thorough investigations

or strict scrutiny
of those investigations.

We don't put checks on prosecutors.

Across the country,
over the last couple of decades,

as property and violent crimes
have both fell,

the number of prosecutors employed
and cases they have filed has risen.

Prosecutors decide
whether or not to take legal action

against the people police arrest

and they decide what charges to file,

directly impacting how much time
a defendant potentially faces behind bars.

One check we do have
on prosecutors is defense.

Imagine Lady Liberty:

the blindfolded woman holding the scale

meant to symbolize the balance
in our judicial system.

Unfortunately, that scale is tipped.

The majority of defendants in our country

are represented by
government-appointed attorneys.

These public defenders
receive around 30 percent less funding

than district attorneys do,

and they often have caseloads
far outnumbering

what the American Bar
Association recommends.

As Sheila Phipps said,

there are people who belong in prison,

but it's hard to tell
the guilty from the innocent

when everyone's outcomes are so similar.

We all want justice.

But with the process weighed
so heavily against defendants,

justice is hard to come by.

Our criminal legal system
operates for we the people.

If we don't like what's going on,

it is up to us to change it.

Thank you very much.

(Applause)