St. Edward’s University’s Black Student Alliance held its second annual “Power to the People” event, with this year’s focus on the intersection of race and incarceration. The main topic was “Justice for Us” and revolved around a panel of experts on the incarceration system.
On a lower level of the Wynne Unit, a state prison in Huntsville, about 20 men in white jumpsuits and matching white sneakers sit around the perimeter of a room. Their attention is focused on Paul Allen, who stands in front of them. He’s a familiar face in the unit of about 3,000 male prisoners: He’s been teaching there for years. Today, he’s leading the men through their capstone business course, for many the final step on the path to getting their associate of applied science degrees in business.
Academia has an obligation to highlight the voices and experiences of cis and trans women—especially Black women, Indigenous women, and women of color. But as research around mass incarceration shifts to acknowledge the gendered and racialized realities of incarceration, I've seen my fellow academics continually ignore the ways in which women—especially Black, Indigenous, and women of color—are affected by the carceral system.
In Texas, women's incarceration rates have increased dramatically over the past few decades—over 1000 percent since 1980. Within that group, Black single women are the persons with categorically the highest likelihood of ending up incarcerated. Still, conversations about the harms incarceration causes have historically and largely been centered around men.
For Breezeblock #30, editor christin hu chats with community organizers Maggie Luna, Avalon Betts-Gaston, and Sashi James about their recent action at HDR (Henningson, Durham, Richardson), one of the largest architecture firms in the world, who are responsible for designing hundreds of prisons. Together, they discuss the reasons why architects should refuse to take part in the building of prisons and what they can do instead.
More than five million Texans have a public record of arrest or conviction, having served their time and paid back their debt to society. Still, our punishment often continues well past completing a sentence or period of state supervision. Texans with an old record face more than 1,000 barriers to re-entering society – from being ineligible for 90 of the 100 fastest-growing jobs to being barred from our children’s PTA or our homeowners’ association – shutting one in six Texans out of economic stability and community life.
Life after prison can prove to be quite a challenge for formerly incarcerated people, especially when it comes to getting a job. But we’re following one Texas man that’s defying the odds and sharing his inspiring story with others. Then, we sit down with Maggie Luna from the Texas Center for Justice and Equity. She explains their mission and how they’re providing hope for those incarcerated.
Several organizations held an event Saturday in Austin to provide information and resources to people who've been previously incarcerated.
The event follows a series of community gatherings that have taken place in Texas cities, the most recent being in Dallas. Key organizer for the event and Texas Center for Justice and Equity's Peer Policy Fellow Maggie Luna has all the details.
Alexa Garza has been out of prison for three years, but she still remembers how confining it felt. “I was surrounded by walls,” said Garza, who was incarcerated for two decades starting when she was 19. “I found that reading was an escape for me. I was able to read and learn and grow, and I knew that education was the key for me.”
