Convicted: A Prison Diary
Review by
Carrie Roach is seated in a bare room, her head in her hands, the
soft, coaxing voice of a police officer reading her her rights and
encouraging her to tell him what happened. In the same kind voice, he
adds that once they get into the interview, if she then decides she
wants a lawyer . . . but she cuts in, her voice cracking with pain and
despair, and repeats, "I trust you, I trust you, I trust you." Ms.
Roach's image fades and recedes as an aerial view of the Robert Scott
Correctional Facility for Women surrounds and then seems to swallow her,
a fitting visual metaphor for the dehumanizing experience she will face
inside Scott, the prison in southeast Michigan where she is serving a
life sentence for murder. Like most of the other women with whom
filmmaker, artist, and prisoners' rights advocate Carol Jacobsen has
worked over the years, Carrie Roach is in jail for killing her abuser.
The footage of Roach's interrogation, like all the other interior
shots used in Jacobsen's short film Convicted: A Prison Diary,
was obtained through the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA). A social
documentary artist, Jacobsen is coordinator of the Michigan Battered
Women's Clemency Project and associate
professor at the School of Art and Design at the University of Michigan.
The Clemency Project, which was founded in 1991, works for the release
of women who have been wrongly convicted because of systematic bias in
the criminal justice system against victims of domestic abuse. It also
advocates for the health and human rights of all women prisoners.
Jacobsen and her colleagues from the Clemency Project recently published
a study of homicide conviction rates and sentencing patterns in Oakland
County, Michigan, and, consistent with other research, found
overwhelming evidence of bias against abused women who seek to defend
themselves. "Victims of domestic violence in Oakland County during the
three-year period under study (1986-1988) received higher conviction
rates and longer sentences than all others charged with homicide,
including those with previous violent criminal records."[1]
Bias against
victims of abuse compounds a more general tendency toward more
convictions and harsher sentences for women (in the present study, for
example, women were convicted at a rate of 71 percent, compared to 63
percent for men) and is in turn heavily compounded by racism (80 percent
of black women defendants in the study were convicted, compared with 62
percent of all others).[2]
Their study corroborates national data
showing that more than three-quarters of battered women charged with
killing their abusers plead guilty or are convicted.[3]
Convicted conveys the daily deprivations, irrationality, and
brutality of life inside Scott, a prison that Amnesty International has
identified as one of the worst in the nation. In her larger body of
work, Jacobsen uses photography, video, and first-person stories of
women inmates to assemble a compelling account of the structural
violence that lands abused women in jail and punishes them further once
they are incarcerated. Convicted focuses mostly on the latter.
Jacobsen conveys the disorientation and isolation of imprisonment with
simple, often slow-motion shots of the prison's exterior, such as the
wobbly, rotating aerial shot in the first scene, and the repetitive pans
of row after row of high fences and razor wire. The external shots are
cut and overlaid with footage of mostly faceless, often brutal
interactions between guards and the women prisoners, culled via FOIA
from the prison's own surveillance.
Jacobsen skillfully navigates the tension between illuminating
structural violence (her visual focus on literal structures elegantly
makes this point) and honoring the subjectivity and humanity of the
women whose lives she documents. In Convicted, she effectively
collaborates with Carrie Roach by narrating the film with excerpts from
Roach's letters; Jacobsen's harsh, monotonous images echo the litany of
abuses that Roach has witnessed and endured inside Scott. The letters
display Roach's intelligence and acute sense of justice, as well as her
intense empathy for her sister inmates: She narrates the violations they
endure with righteous outrage and sadness. Jacobsen's selections from
the letters also allow the viewer to observe Roach's growing analysis of
her own situation. Underfed, Roach thinks she might be seriously ill
until one day she gets money to buy extra food and realizes her symptoms
were from extreme hunger. She repeatedly awakes shivering in the cold
Michigan night, unable to sleep because she has no blanket and no coat
to cover her. "Being here is very much like being in an abusive
relationship," she writes. "After a while you can't tell any more that
you're being abused."
I first saw the film in the context of the multimedia group show
"Disturbing the Peace" that Jacobsen curated in the spring of 2006 at
Denise Bibro Fine Art in New York City. Co-sponsored by Amnesty
International USA, the show coincided with Amnesty's campaign against
human rights abuses in U.S. women's prisons. Works by Deborah Bright,
Martha Rosler, Susan Meiselas, Holly Hughes, Connie Samaras, Pat Ward
Williams, Joanne Leonard, Donna Ferrato, and Clarissa Sligh were
featured, as well as Jacobsen's own show-within-a-show,
Conviction, which included her documentary about Carrie Roach.
Jacobsen's sly title highlighted the dangers so many women face for
having the conviction to stand outside of oppressive norms, including a
feminine ideal that dictates that "real" women should endure abuse
rather than fight back.
I later watched the film on its own. In some ways the film is even
more powerful without the rest of the Jacobsen's installation around it,
because the viewer can focus more closely. It almost pulses, both
visually and aurally, with the matter-of-fact humiliations Roach faces
inside. In the exhibit the film was played on a loop. Played over and
over again, the film seemed to underscore the relentless days stretching
out in front of Roach. Without the looping, the ending feels abrupt: a
melancholy, Christmas-day entry in Roach's diary, read over a sweeping
view of the prison that continues, finally, beyond the walls, through
and past the parking lot, and into the surrounding countryside. With
this parting shot, and the letter in which Roach describes her own
Christmas day and imagines Jacobsen's, Jacobsen makes the point that
she, the filmmaker, and we, the viewers, are not inside the Scott
Correctional Facility, and simultaneously underscores that Scott is not
a world unto itself, but part of the world outside. As she and her
colleagues write:
No batterer acts alone. Violence against women is
facilitated by gender- and race-based inequalities in our social and
political systems, structures that perpetuate the denial of abuse,
blaming women for batterers' acts, and socio-economic barriers to
women's independence. These interlocking structures connect domestic
violence to imprisonment through unequal treatment by the law and
gendered modes of punishment.[4]
In the conventional narrative, a prison is a place apart, and the
women inside are there by virtue of their own misdeeds, or perhaps
individually tragic circumstances. Feminist critic Wendy Kozol has noted
how Jacobsen's work challenges this "exceptionalist" account of crime
and punishment. I would add that this challenge extends even beyond the
more familiar critique of criminal in/justice made by the important but
limited focus on the exoneration of "innocent" people, mostly through
the re-analysis of physical evidence with technologically improved DNA
analysis. To be clear, the Innocence Project
and other efforts to free wrongly
convicted people are critical interventions in the systematic racism and
classism of the in/justice system, as well as the procedural problems
that exacerbate these biases. But rather than holding out the simpler
possibility that the system has "gotten the wrong person," Jacobsen's
art, and the activist project that it advances, requires a rethinking of
such crucial concepts as "guilt," "self-defense," and the "reasonable"
person whose actions are judged to be criminal or not. An analysis of
gender is indispensable to this rethinking. For example, the recent
Clemency Project report includes case studies that suggest that one
explanation for men's lighter conviction and sentencing burdens could be
traced to a willingness to view men who kill to protect women as
"heroes," while women who protect themselves are judged as having failed
to exhaust all the possibilities for retreat. Recall, too, the trust
with which Carrie Roach entered the system. It seems likely that gender
norms present arrested women with an impossible dilemma: feminine
cooperation, which the statistics indicate is rewarded with heavy
incarceration rates and long sentences, or resistance, which feminists
have shown to be judged as more hostile and deviant in women than in
men.
For more information about the Clemency Project, or to receive a
short film about the project, which is free to activists, visit the website, or write to the Michigan Battered
Women's Clemency Project, 1019 Maiden Lane, Ann Arbor, MI 48105. To
order Convicted: A Prison Diary, contact Carol Jacobsen at
jacobsen@umich.edu.
Endnotes
1. Carol Jacobsen, Kammy Mizga and Lynn D'Orio
(2007). Battered Women, Homicide Convictions, and Sentencing: The Case
for Clemency. Hastings Women's Law Journal 18: 31-65; p. 53.
[Return to text]
2. Ibid, p. 52. [Return to text]
3. Ibid, p. 55. [Return to text]
4. Ibid, p. 6. [Return to text]
|