ZEKE-Fall 2023-Incarceration Issue-w
Fall 2023 Issue of ZEKE Magazine--The Incarceration Issue
Fall 2023 Issue of ZEKE Magazine--The Incarceration Issue
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ZEKE
THE MAGAZINE OF GLOBAL DOCUMENTARY PHOTOGRAPHY
Published by Social Documentary Network
FALL 2023 VOL.9/NO.2 $15 US
The Incarceration Issue
FALL 2023 VOL.9/ NO.2
$15 US
The Incarceration Issue
Photo by Brian Frank from What My Daughter
Learns of the Sea
Photo by Sara Bennett from Life After Life in
Prison
Photo by Peter Merts from Quests for Authenticity
Photo by Michele Zousmer from Absence of Being
2 | WHAT MY DAUGHTER LEARNS OF THE SEA
Women in Las Calinas Detention and Reentry Facility
By Brian Frank
10 | LIFE AFTER LIFE IN PRISON
The Bedroom Project
By Sara Bennett
18 | QUESTS FOR AUTHENTICITY
Artists in California Prisons
By Peter Merts
38 | THE PRISON WITHIN
By Katherin Hervey and Massimo Bardetti
30 | STILL DOING LIFE
25 Years Later
By Howard Zehr
42 | ABSENCE OF BEING
By Michele Zousmer
52 | FINAL EXPOSURE
Portraits From Death Row
By Lou Jones
26 | Incarceration of a Nation
By Christopher Blackwell
58 | Open Eyes Within Hidden Places
By April Harris
62 | Interview With Jamel Shabazz
By Ryan M. Moser
66 | Book Reviews
On the Cover:
Photograph by
Michele Zousmer
Las Colinas Detention and
Reentry Facility for women
Photo by Lou Jones from Final Exposure
ZEKE
THE
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MAGAZINE OF
GLOBAL DOCUMENTARY
PHOTOGRAPHY
Published by Social Documentary Network
Dear ZEKE Readers:
I am so excited to have been offered the role of guest editor for this
special edition of ZEKE magazine dedicated to one of the biggest issues
we face as a country — mass incarceration. Many of you may not think
often of the carceral system, believing it has minimal impact upon your
life. But in reality a third of all Americans are in some way connected to
the carceral system.
We’ve been led to believe that we need prisons and jails to keep us
safe. That without them our communities will suffer. But our communities
are suffering because of them — especially impoverished communities,
mostly filled with Black and Brown people. These communities have been
stripped of countless members to feed the machine of the prison industrial
complex. A system that harvests our children as they are locked up at
ages as early as 10 years old!
For prisons and jails to truly keep us safe, the individuals that enter the
system would need to be receiving proper support and treatment for what
led them to prison in the first place. That way when people are released,
they can be contributing members of society. Yet, rehabilitation has long
been an afterthought inside a majority of the prisons across America.
Today, many prisoners are simply being warehoused and abused
through disciplinary measures such as solitary confinement and then
dumped back into our communities with little or no resources. Leading
them right back to the only thing they know —- a life of crime and
violence so they can survive.
We must demand more. We can reconstruct the system to reshape
people. We can offer people a hand to rebuild their lives and a way
to process their traumas and hardships rather than punishment and
ostracizing them from being a member of our communities.
Often the people who fill our jails and prisons are only there because
of the traumatic experiences they’ve been forced to endure throughout
their whole lives, or the lack of investment and opportunity offered to
them. We must fix that by building the commUNITY we want to live in,
one that’s constructed from love and unity; not hate, abuse, and division.
This issue of ZEKE will offer you a view into the lives of those impacted
by the carceral system. Through testimony and imagery, you’ll be given
a deep look into the lives of those most impacted. The photos will display
the rawness of those suffering and will hopefully inspire you to fight
against this draconian structure.
We are in this fight together, so let’s educate ourselves to understand
the harms we are causing through the use of jails and prisons, and let’s
demand better!
Christopher Blackwell
Guest Editor
A little over three months ago, while looking
for someone knowledgeable about the criminal
justice system in the U.S. to be guest editor for
this issue, I saw an opinion piece in the New
York Times by Christopher Blackwell titled, “Two
Decades of Prison Did Not Prepare Me for the
Horrors of County Jail.” His bio said that he is
an incarcerated writer and a co-founder of the
nonprofit Look2Justice. I immediately shot off
an email to Look2Justice to see if they could
recommend someone. To my surprise, two
days later I received an email from Chris from
prison saying he was interested. Thus began an
enduring working relationship, friendship, and
education on the topic of this issue of ZEKE.
More than 100 emails and a dozen phone
calls later (Zoom is not an option), I am so thrilled
to present this special issue of ZEKE Magazine. I
am truly indebted to Chris and the many writers
and prisoner advocates whom he introduced me
to. In addition to Chris’s essay “Incarceration of
a Nation,” do not miss the extraordinary piece
by April Harris “Open Eyes Within Hidden
Places” about her own indignities experienced
while currently incarcerated. In addition there are
seven deeply moving photo essays, an interview
with Jamel Shabazz, and book reviews. I also
want to thank three people whose names do not
appear anywhere else since they are not writers,
photographers, or editors but were invaluable
in facilitating communications with incarcerated
writers—April Nonko, Robert Jensen, and
Jessica Schulberg.
Before closing, I want to inform our readers
of the redesigned ZEKE website (www.
zekemagazine.com). We are finally recognizing
that we have very important content to share and
we want to make it more accessible by creating
a full web version of what you see in the print
magazine.
Glenn Ruga
Executive Editor
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 1
What My Daughter
Learns of the Sea
Women in Las Calinas Detention and Reentry Facility
by Brian Frank
What My Daughter Learns of The
Sea is a look behind the walls of
the Las Colinas women’s jail in
San Diego, CA.
Las Colinas’ approach to
gender-specific incarceration is
considered revolutionary, with its expansion
of an honors program that allows women
more freedoms inside its walls and access to
a wide range of job training, in addition to
physical and mental health programming.
Trauma is the common denominator
underlying the life experience of the vast
majority of female inmates. More than half
of female prisoners are survivors of physical
or sexual violence with 73% of female
state inmates and 61% of female federal
inmates suffering mental health problems.
Many of the honor programs at Las Calinas
attempt to address these issues.
However, in the criminal justice system
in general, women are often ranked at a
higher security level than necessary due to
a classification system based on their male
counterparts. Although Las Colinas is on
the forefront of a gender-specific progressive
response towards women’s incarceration,
these dated classification systems, as
well as staffing and budget constraints,
keep most women at the jail under a more
traditional type of lockdown, something
that many at the prison, both inmates and
staff, would like to change.
2 / ZEKE FALL 2023
Pamela Hernandez and
Kathleen Salinas sit together in
the exercise yard of their highlevel
cell block at Las Colinas
correctional facility in San
Diego, CA.
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 3
Women at the Las
Colinas correctional
facility take a break from
sewing prison uniforms to
watch Downton Abbey.
4 / ZEKE FALL 2023
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ZEKE FALL 2023/ 5
Women at the Las Colinas correctional
facility sing together while
folding the prison’s laundry. Having
a laundry room job is considered a
privilege, reserved for detainees who
have demonstrated good behavior.
6 / ZEKE FALL 2023
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 7
8 / ZEKE FALL 2023
Lakyesha Jenkins calls home from
a high-level cell block at the Las
Colinas correctional facility in San
Diego, CA.
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 9
10 / ZEKE FALL 2023
LIFE AFTER LIFE
IN PRISON
The Bedroom Project
by Sara Bennett
F
or nine years, Sara Bennett
photographed formerly
incarcerated women in their
bedrooms. All were convicted of
serious crimes — mostly homicide
— and spent 14 to 37 years in
a maximum-security prison. By the time
they came up for parole they were all
profoundly changed, yet most of them
were repeatedly denied release because
of the crimes they had committed
decades earlier
“These women were open and trusting
enough to allow me into their most
private spaces — their bedrooms — and
to share the handwritten comments that
accompany the photos. Like me, they
hope this work will shed light on the
pointlessness of extremely long sentences
and arbitrary parole denials, and thus
help their friends still in prison: women
(and men) like them who deserve a
chance at freedom.”
Karen: 69, in a homeless shelter four weeks
after her release. East Village, NY (2017)
Sentence: 25 years to life
Served: 35 years
Released: April 2017
“When I made parole plans, I thought I was
going to have a good re-entry situation in
the house I paroled to. I realized almost
immediately that it wouldn’t work out, so I
left, without anywhere else to go.
“Parole sent me to a homeless assessment
shelter in the south Bronx. The quality of the
bedding and the food was a lateral move
from prison . But factoring in my freedom,
there’s no question that it was an improvement.
“Now, I’m in a shelter run by the
Women’s Prison Association. I feel safe and
secure. The room is spare, with not much in
it, but it’s mine.
“In this room, I find comfort, privacy,
safety, and peace of mind.”
ZEKE Fall 2023/ 11
12 / ZEKE FALL 2023
Tracy: 51, in her own apartment
three and a half years
after her release. Jamaica, NY
(2017)
Sentence: 22 years to life
Served: 24 years
Released: February 2014
“I imagined coming home,
living in a one- or two-bedroom
apartment, where one was a
master and an extra room for
guests. Here I have that. I call
this room my ‘doll house,’ my
safe haven. I feel at peace.
I’ve finally unpacked. I spend a
lot of time in here. I take pride
in everything. I put more into
this room than into the kitchen.
I know I need to eat, but my
room is my nutrition.”
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 13
14 / ZEKE FALL 2023
Evelyn: 42, in an apartment she
shares with a roommate five years
after her release. Queens, NY
(2017)
Sentence: 15 years to life
Served: 20 years
Released: April 2012
“Look where I am now. Five years
ago, I came out from a little cell,
started out in a halfway house,
moved to an apartment, back to a
transitional home, and now I’m in my
own room in an apartment I share
with a roommate. What can be better
than this? This is happening.”
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 15
Monica: 46, at home, two and
a half years after her release.
Rochester, NY (2022)
Sentence: 50 years to life
Served: 23 years (Granted
clemency by Governor Andrew
Cuomo)
Released: January 2020
“Carpe diem! Wonderment
and awe. My life is filled with
gratitude, love, sorrow and
despair. My life’s journey and
experiences are imprinted on my
soul. The good and the bad, the
beauty of decay and the passage
of time. I now experience all of
life’s moments with wonderment
and awe. With eyes wide open
in anticipation of what’s next,
with love, joy, reflection, and the
freedom to shape a future that is of
my own making.”
16 / ZEKE FALL 2023
ZEKE FALL Fall 2021/ 2023/ 17
Quests for Authenticity
Artists in California Prisons
by Peter Merts
T
his project shows incarcerated men
and women creating and performing
artworks in California prisons; beyond
that, it portrays the passion, creativity,
and humanity of those artists.
Upon first hearing of these classes,
I was intrigued by the incongruity of artistic
expression in such a regulated, disruptive,
and sometimes violent environment; I also
felt an empathy for incarcerated men and
women, many of whom had experienced
childhood trauma. Beyond these factors, it
just felt like a good fit—a project about art
as a response to troubled lives.
From the beginning I was impressed with
the commitment, risk-taking, enthusiasm,
and technical mastery of the artists as they
addressed topics of identity, culture, family,
and society.
Studies have demonstrated the effectiveness
of art practice in improving the attitudes
and behaviors of incarcerated men
and women, but here I go beyond these
empirical matters. My aim is to illuminate
the humanity of these incarcerated men and
women, who are working so passionately
to express themselves, to recover from their
traumas, and to lead more fulfilling lives.
18 / ZEKE FALL 2023
A theater student applies his makeup
with a mirror, California State Prison,
Sacramento, 2019
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 19
20 / ZEKE FALL 2023
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Musician with his engraved guitar,
Sierra Conservation Center, 2019
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 21
22 / ZEKE FALL 2023
An artist paints a portrait in the
art studio, San Quentin State
Prison, 2006
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 23
An artist paints in the
gym, RJ Donovan State
Prison, 2019
24 / ZEKE FALL 2023
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 25
By Christopher Blackwell
Blackwell
Photograph by Michele Zousmer
The United States has the highest
rate of incarceration in the world,
imprisoning 664 per 100,000
people. On any given day in the
U.S., we imprison an estimated 1.9
million people and each year spend
an estimated $182 billion on the
criminal legal system.
Christopher Blackwell is an
award-winning journalist currently
incarcerated at the Washington
Corrections Center, Shelton, WA. He
is serving a 45-year prison sentence
for taking another human’s life
during a drug robbery—something
he takes full accountability for.
He was raised in a mixed Native
American/white family in the Hilltop
Area of Tacoma, Washington, one
of the roughest places to live in the
country– ravaged by over-policing,
gangs, violence, and drugs.
I
was 12 years old the first
time I was incarcerated. This
wasn’t uncommon where I
grew up, in the impoverished
and overpoliced Hilltop area
of Tacoma, Washington. One
day in 1993, a cop frisked
my friend and I while we
were on our way home from
school. I had a small amount
of marijuana in my sock — but enough
to change my life forever. The cop
found the weed in my backpack and
my school books were replaced with
handcuffs. I was hauled off to juvenile
detention, the beginning of my long
journey through the carceral system.
Thirty years later, I’ve still been unable
to free myself from its grasp.
This is the system we have created
in America, one that targets the poor to
feed the monster of mass incarceration.
It is a system sustained by fear and
misconceptions that crime is, somehow,
always on the rise and that we
must take action to keep our communities
safe. This narrative is reinforced
daily, from TV shows like Law and
Order to breathless news coverage of
crime, which often lacks context about
broader trends or the specific circumstances
that led to a particular crime.
The only solution, we are told, is to
incarcerate more and more people for
longer and longer periods of time.
In reality, the “overall crime rates
remain near historic lows,” the Prison
Policy Initiative wrote in a recent report.
Even during a spike in homicides in
2020, which is now declining, homicide
rates remained far below their
peak in the 1980s and 1990s. “What
has actually changed the most is the
public’s perception of crime,which is
driven less by first-hand experience
than by the false claims of reform
opponents,” the report continued, citing
public polling data.
Politicians responded by using the
violent crime spike in the 1980s and
90s to justify a tough-on-crime crackdown.
They spread the racist myth that
the country would be overwhelmed by
a wave of “super-predator” youth —
mostly used to refer to Black and Brown
boys — who would kill for no reason
26 / ZEKE Fall 2023
at all. In this climate of fear, voters
and lawmakers throughout the country
dramatically increased prison sentences
and worked to oust from office those
who didn’t fall in line.
In my home state of Washington,
voters passed Initiative 593, commonly
referred to as “Three Strikes,” mandating
life without parole sentences for
people convicted three times of certain
crimes. Until recent legislative reform,
hundreds of people were struck out,
serving life without parole sentences for
second degree robbery offenses, which
can include stealing food from a grocery
store. For some, their “strikes” date back
to cases from when they were kids,
waived into adult court. Some even had
crimes committed under the age of 18
used against them to get stuck out, often
because they refused a plea deal for
decades in prison by prosecutors.
Disproportionate Harm
Just two years after three strikes,
Washington imposed weapons
enhancements under a bill called the
Hard Time for Armed Crime Act of
1995, resulting in longer prison sentences.
Despite the promise that these
harsh laws would reduce crime, there
is no evidence that occurred. Rather,
crime rates were already declining
nationwide, both in states with similar
laws and those without. Meanwhile,
prison populations exploded. In
Washington, the state’s prison population
nearly tripled from about 9,800
people in state prisons and jails in
1983 to 26,913 by 2015, according
to the Vera Institute. The expansion of
life without parole sentences has created
a ballooning aging population,
at great cost to the state. In 2001, the
Sentencing Commission found that
elderly prisoners cost more than four
times as much to imprison as the average
prisoner — a finding the commission
found “even more troubling” given
how rarely the elderly recidivate.
Today, the United States has the
highest rate of incarceration in the
world, imprisoning 664 per 100,000
Photograph by Isadora Kosofsky from Vinny & David: Life and Incarceration of a Family.
people. For reference, Canada imprisons
just 104 per 100,000 people. On
any given day in the U.S., we imprison
an estimated 1.9 million people (1.26
million in state and federal prisons
and about 514,000 in local jails). The
U.S. spends an estimated $182 billion
on the criminal legal system per year,
including $81 billion for prisons, jails,
probation and parole.
Over the past 50 years, the state
and federal prison population has
grown by a staggering 700%. It is
clear that impoverished communities of
color are disproportionately harmed by
increased incarceration. Although Black
people make up 38% of the prison
and jail population, they represent only
12% of the U.S. population.
“Incarceration is a traumatizing
experience both for those who are
locked up and for those who love
them,” Melissa R Lee, the assistant
director of the Fred T. Korematsu Center
for Law and Equality wrote in an email.
It “deprives loved ones of their children,
their parents, their partners, their
friends, and of the experience of living
together. It also deprives communities,
especially communities of color, and
society at large, of vast amounts of talent
and resources.”
Having spent most of my life in the
criminal legal system, I have witnessed
one heartbreaking story after another.
Like Jonathan (Jon) Kirkpatrick, now
serving a life sentence for a murder he
committed at the age of 19.
Jon grew up in extreme poverty.
His mother, who had been married six
times during his childhood, struggled to
support her children. Some of the men
she brought home were abusive. One
of his stepdads was an escaped convict
who took him and his family on the run,
evading the U.S. Marshals for years.
They lived in rundown motels, where
drug addiction, violence and sex work
were common.
Looking to escape this toxic environment,
Jon moved in with his biological
father. He quickly realized that this living
situation was no better. His father beat
him often and by the age of 11, Jon
was using meth. He spent much of his
childhood in juvenile group homes and
eventually dropped out of school. Living
on the streets of Los Angeles, he did sex
work to pay for his drug addiction. He
was a kid trying to survive in environments
that would jade him forever.
Jon leaned further into drug use, the
only thing that helped him forget the
cards he’d been dealt. As he struggled
to afford his habit, he fell into a dangerous
path of robbing drug dealers and
stealing anything of value. Tragically,
someone lost their life and Jon lost his
freedom.
Now three decades later, Jon is
drug-free, a mentor to younger prisoners,
and a successfully published writer.
These changes were possible because
people began to see who Jon really
was and invest in him. Older prisoners
in mentorship roles taught him how to
facilitate non-violent communication
dialogues. He connected with others
who struggled with addiction through
Narcotics Anonymous and learned
to lead those meetings. Eventually, he
partnered with the nonprofit group
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 27
San Quentin Prison. Photograph by Katherin Hervey from The Prison Within.
Empowerment Avenue, which supported
him in publishing his writing in mainstream
media outlets. (Empowerment
Avenue also supports my writing.) One
step at a time, Jon developed his confidence
and grew into the man he was
always meant to be.
It has become exceedingly apparent
that the majority of people in prison
are here due to the circumstances they
grew up in, which were often out of
their control. They are the victims of
being born into poverty, abusive or
neglectful families, over-policed neighborhoods,
and the violence that these
conditions create. In short, they have
spent their entire lives living to survive,
not to thrive. They carry generational
trauma and often lifelong connections
to the carceral system.
“Prison exacerbates all of those
feelings,” James King, the co-director
of programs at the Ella Baker Center
for Human Rights, said in an interview.
“If you felt low self-worth in your family,
wait until you see an indictment
that says, ‘The State of California vs.
James King.’ You’ll feel a little bit more
isolated.”
Unjust Financial Burdens
“If you have feelings of low self-worth
or low self-esteem, prison increases
those feelings and significantly contributes
to the lack of tools to deal with
trauma that underlie where a lot of
harmful activities come from in the first
place,” King said.
It’s not just the people imprisoned
who are harmed by the status quo —
our family members and loved ones
bear an enormous emotional, logistical
and financial burden as well. First
there’s the cost of legal support, for
those who can even afford to hire a
lawyer. Families often borrow from
friends, take out loans, or even sell their
homes to hire lawyers they hope can
bring their loved ones home. But the
cost doesn’t stop there. Once inside,
prisoners are faced with a deluge of
fines and fees related to victim’s funds,
court costs and the cost of incarceration.
If my family sends me any money,
roughly 50% of it gets taken out for
these fees. As a result of these high fees
and low wages, many prisoners rack
up institutional debt just by purchasing
things like soap, toothpaste and
stationery to stay in touch with friends
and family.
Everything in jail and prison — from
phone calls to Top Ramen to a sheet of
paper — costs exponentially more than
in the free world. And because prisoners
typically earn pennies per hour for
their labor, the costs of basic necessities
fall to our loved ones. Private companies
that provide commissary goods
or phone services to prisons bring in
$2.9 billion per year, the Prison Policy
Initiative estimated in 2019. Inflation
in recent years has only driven up the
prices of food and personal hygiene
products. Maintaining relationships is
expensive too. Visiting requires taking
time off work and often spending
hundreds, if not thousands of dollars in
travel and accommodation.
“I hate that they need to support me
in this way,” Bud Fraser, who is incarcerated
in Washington state, said in an
interview. “Knowing they struggle to do
it is frustrating.”
Inside of each and every prison in the
U.S., you will find a humanitarian crisis.
The infrastructure is rotting, the pipes
are eroding, the water is often contaminated,
the heat and the air conditioning
are constantly broken (or non-existent),
flooding is common, mold spreads
freely, and infectious diseases run rampant.
We subsist on a diet of processed
foods — even the prisoners put to work
growing crops often do not have access
to the fresh fruits or vegetables they
grow. Violence is commonplace, both
from guards who operate with impunity,
and from other prisoners, many of
whom are in desperate need of mental
healthcare. We have minimal access to
medical care and plenty of reasons not
to trust the medical professionals inside.
(In my state of Washington, the prison
ombudsman found that medical staff in
facilities throughout the state delayed
for months in diagnosing and treating
cancer patients, sometimes resulting in
death.)
Many facilities operate beyond their
intended maximum capacity, the risk
of which was made especially clear
as COVID-19 tore through prisons and
jails. It is no coincidence that incarcerated
people have accounted for a
disproportionate amount of the pandemic’s
death toll.
Forced to live in these unsafe
environments, we are often sentenced
to more than simply a loss of liberties
and freedom. Spending time in prison
can be a death sentence, even if that
wasn’t the assigned punishment. Each
year that someone spends in prison
decreases their life expectancy by two
years, the Vera Institute found.
Although prisons pay lip service to
rehabilitation, carceral environments
encourage violence and often punish
efforts at self-betterment. The few
rehabilitative programs that do exist
are often watered-down classes that
exist to justify more funding for the
prisons. Prisons function primarily to
28 / ZEKE FALL 2023
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warehouse people until their time is
up, at which point they are released
back into the community with limited
resources, extensive unprocessed
trauma, and a criminal record that
restricts their employment and housing
opportunities.
Alternatives to Incarceration
True change doesn’t come from spending
an arbitrary number of years locked
up — it comes from accountability and
learning to love and respect yourself.
Those of us who learn to take responsibility
for the harm that we have caused
and have the sense of self-worth to hold
ourselves to a higher standard have
done so in spite of, not because of, the
prison system.
It doesn’t have to be this way. We
do not need prisons to keep us safe —
and there’s plenty of evidence that they
only put us in more danger. Although
prison abolition sounds like a far-off
reality, we already have a model of an
alternative way of addressing harm.
“When I think about the principles
of abolition, I think about many of the
wealthiest and most resourced communities
among us, and look at them
as a template in the roadmap for what,
in an ideal world, would be available
for everyone,” said King. “They have
the resources needed in those communities
to address trauma, for people to
have a living wage, for people to have
affordable housing, for people to live in
healthy environments. Their basic needs
are taken care of so they are able to
work towards better communities.”
“Equally important to that is, as
they’re growing up and they are
sometimes creating harm in their
neighborhood, it’s not criminalized, it’s
treated as something that needs to be
addressed through means other than
the criminal system,” King continued.
Seeking alternatives to incarceration
does not mean abandoning accountability.
As a society, we will always need
ways to address harm that is caused, but
the U.S. criminal legal system and incarceration
rarely do a good job of making
anyone feel whole,” Lee said. “Locking
people up doesn’t result in healing for
either the person who was harmed or
for the responsible party. Creating more
possibilities to address the harm itself
will result in much better outcomes for
everyone involved.”
Resources
Prison Policy Initiative
www.prisonpolicy.org
Prison Policy Initiative produces national
and state level research and data about
incarceration in prisons, jails and other
detention facilities.
Sentencing Project
www.sentencingproject.org
The Sentencing Project works to minimize
imprisonment and criminalization by
promoting racial, ethnic, economic and
gender justice.
Worth Rises
www.worthrises.org
Worth Rises works to dismantle the prison
industry, expose the commercialization of
the criminal legal system, and organize
to protect the economic resources of
impacted communities.
FAMM
www.famm.org
Families Against Mandatory Minimums
was founded in 1991 to challenge mandatory
minimum sentences. It continues to
work to create a more fair and effective
justice system.
Innocence Project
www.innocenceproject.org
The Innocence Project works to free the
innocent, prevent wrongful convictions
and create fair, compassionate and equitable
systems of justice.
Black and Pink
www.blackandpink.org
Black and Pink is a prison abolitionist
organization that supports LGBTQ and HIVpositive
people who are incarcerated.
Dream.org
https://dream.org
Dream.org focuses on ending mass incarceration,
stopping climate change, and
alleviating economic inequality.
ACLU-National
www.aclu.org
The American Civil Liberties Union works
through litigation and lobbying to defend
and preserve individual’s guaranteed
constitutional and legal rights.
Unlock the Box:
www.unlocktheboxcampaign.org
An advocacy campaign aimed at ending
solitary confinement, a UN-recognized
form of torture, in U.S. prisons, jails,
detention, facilities and juvenile facilities.
Empowerment Avenue
www.empowermentave.com
Empowerment Avenue works to normalize
the inclusion of incarcerated writers
and artists in mainstream publications
and venues. It supports writers and artists
in prisons and helps them place and get
compensated for their work.
National Disability Rights
Network:
www.ndrn.org
The National Disability Rights Network is
the only legally based advocacy organization
established by Congress to protect
the rights of people with disabilities,
including those who are incarcerated.
Look2Justice
https://look2justice.org
Look2Justice is a grassroots organization
of system-impacted organizers and
researchers who use an inside-out organizing
model to cultivate justice, fairness
and accountability in Washington state’s
criminal legal system.
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 29
Still Doing Life
25 Years Later
by Howard Zehr
In the early 1990s, I interviewed and
photographed 75 men and women
serving life sentences in Pennsylvania.
Fifty of these were included in the
book, Doing Life: Men and Women
Serving Life Sentences in 1996. In
2017, I was able to revisit 22 of these
same men and women, re-interviewing
them and making new portraits.
Conversations focused on life sentences,
what they had learned and how they
were coping. The 2022 book Still Doing
Life: 22 Lifers 25 Years Later (co-author
Barb Toews; The New Press) presents the
portraits and interview selections from the
two years side-by-side.
The primarily goal with this project has
been to humanize people, encouraging
thought and dialogue about crime, justice
and life sentences drawing upon real
people instead of the usual stereotypes
and generalizations.
My similar book project, Transcending:
Reflections of Crime Victims (Good Books,
2001), did the same with violence survivors.
Taken together, these projects reflect
the restorative justice philosophy that
guides my work as well as that of coauthor
Barb Toews.
30 / ZEKE FALL 2023
Yvonne Cloud
1990s: “A life sentence is like nothing to hold on to. It’s
like being in total darkness and you don’t know if the
light is ever going to shine through. But although I’m
in a bad situation, there are people in worse situations
than mine. I’d rather have a life sentence and be alive
than be on the streets dead.”
2017: “If I could turn back the hands of time and make
a difference choice, I would. But I can’t. I took a life.
Now I try to save lives. It has taken me many years to
forgive myself for the wrongs that I’ve done. I didn’t
have any right to take the life of another human being
-— and I have deep remorse for doing so.”
Aaron Fox
1990s: “Life without parole is a death sentence without
an execution date. It is doing something you don’t want
to do, being with people you don’t want to be with,
being somewhere you don’t want to be. Not having
your fate within your control.”
2017: “I have to confess, I’ve been blessed with a
good life, even in prison. This has come primarily
through prayer. And I have a vision, I have a future.
You have to have a dream in life and the ability to
realize it by putting a plan together.
“I try to be what I say I am and I think I’ve been pretty
successful.”
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 31
Marilyn Dobrolenski
1990s: “A life sentence is like fishing. The river looks calm and you forget to drop the
anchor. You don’t realize that your boat has started to drift into the rapids. Then you get stuck
in a whirlpool. Just about the time you think you’re able to break free of it, the water sucks
you right back down.”
2017: “I get through one day at a time. I’ve been busy with the dog program for 14 years
now, since it started. It gives you a chance to give back to the community and see what these
dogs do for the people they’re with.”
32 / ZEKE FALL 2023
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Harry Twiggs
1990s: “From what I hear from people who come in, they talk about me on the streets as if I’m
dead. A life sentence, in essence, is death. It’s one step away from it. It doesn’t have to be that
way. I took a life, but I can save lives now if I’m given a chance.”
2017: “We are all blessed with two lives. The first life we live, we make all the mistakes. We commit
crimes, we hurt people. Once we wake up and move into our second life, we can draw from
the first life and learn our mistakes. Not only can you help yourself, you are able to help other
people. My job is to plant a seed for changes.”
34 / ZEKE FALL 2023
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Gaye Morley
1990s: “A life sentence is a vacuum. Everything is being sucked out of me, leaving me nothing.
I know I have to fight that. I have to create a whole world within myself and hopefully be able to
spread that to those around me.”
2017: “You can’t undo what you did. All you can do is try and make yourself a better person and
contribute to something worthwhile, try and keep that compassion and reach out to anybody you
can. I’m grateful that I have not allowed the years here to harden me. It has made me an even
more sensitive and peace-seeking soul.”
36 / ZEKE FALL 2023
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 37
The Prison Within
by Katherin Hervey
& Massimo Bardetti
These photographs were taken
inside San Quentin Prison during
the filming of The Prison Within
documentary; contrasting the
healing and community created
by the men inside, with the cruelty
and isolation of mass incarceration.
Prisons represent the darkest parts
of ourselves, where we lock away that
which is most difficult to confront—the
poor, the addicted, the other, anybody
or anything that slightly threatens our
sense of safety.
Using trauma-informed restorative
justice models based in accountability
and compassion, the men pictured here
— Sam J., Eddie, H., Michael N., Nate
C., Phoeun Y., and Barry S. — are
showing us another way. Their courage
and commitment to healing and
forgiveness reveal how every one of us,
on both sides of the wall, can break out
of our own personal prisons.
Barry S: Nothing can change unless I
change myself. I’m going to keep working
on me. I want to be the best man I can in
here, and the best man I can if I ever make
it onto the streets.... I fear growing old and
dying in here. That’s my biggest fear.
38 / ZEKE FALL 2023
Sam J: What’s important is connecting
the dots from my childhood to adulthood.
Going through that pain. Going through
that fire. And accepting it and being a better
person to give to society and to myself.
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 39
Phoeun Y: I want to give the full me to
everyone. And the full me is the person
that can help in any way I can. To lead
by example. To love. To care. To be
compassionate.
40 / ZEKE FALL 2023
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Nate C: I have a 60-to-life sentence and
the one thing I desire the most is to one
day be a father and a husband. To be
back in society and make a difference.
Michael N: What I desire the most is to
not be defined by my poor choices in
life. To be seen by the opportunities that I
create to give back to my communities and
create healing in the world.
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 41
42 / ZEKE FALL 2023
Absence of Being
by Michele Zousmer
In August 2014, San Diego Sheriff
Bill Gore spoke to me about a new
reentry program starting at Las
Colinas Detention and Reentry Center
for women. He asked me if I could
‘change the perception of the female
convict with my images.’ The following
week I entered Las Colinas open to this
new challenge.
Listening to the women I quickly realized
they were all victims of physical,
emotional, and/or sexual abuse. They
all experienced hardships and suffered
deprivation. As an observer, I heard their
tales and felt their pain. My heart hurt for
them.
As my involvement deepened, my
relationships with these women grew.
I shared the grief I was feeling being
recently widowed. They appreciated
my expressing vulnerability. I encouraged
them to discard their shame and
not allow incarceration to define them. I
showed up for them.
Reentry is a big challenge in the judicial
system. Women’s issues are different.
Many women are single parents who
will be reunited with their children. Their
criminal behavior was associated with
negative self-esteem from their complicated
histories. I gave them hope. I made
them smile.
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final
exposure
by Lou Jones
Portraits from Death Row
The Final Exposure project started for me
at about age 15 when I argued on the
issues of the death penalty with my father.
Throughout the Civil Rights movement, the
Vietnam War, in college, and afterward,
it stayed with me. Six years of my life
have been devoted to documenting the unseen,
unheard stories of an American subculture –
people on death row. I wanted to see if art could
make a difference. I realized before I began that
we don’t have to travel halfway around the world
to find some unique phenomenon or recently discovered
civilization to pique our jaded curiosity.
The problem of our government-sanctioned murder
lives with us.
My crew and I endured bone-chilling snowstorms,
cheap motels, greasy meals, and numerous
episodes of having our bodies frisked in
order to bring this story to light. We explored the
darkest side of the human condition even though
it was our objective to humanize the people that
the federal government and the states execute.
We made sure we understood who was being
killed in order to start a real debate about capital
punishment. Many of the men/women are stoic
when marching to their demise. But even though
we admire the stamina that it takes to endure this
ordeal in the super-macho environment, these are
not heroic voyages these men are taking. And we
must never be seduced into thinking otherwise.
Edward Dean “Sonny”
Kennedy
Florida State Prison
Starke, Florida
Year of birth: 1945
Marital status: Single
Children: None
Date of offense: April 11, 1981
Sentenced to death: January 12,
1982
Status: Executed July 21, 1992 by
electrocution
52 / ZEKE FALL 2023
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 53
LaFonda Fay Foster
Fayette County Detention Center
Lexington, Kentucky
Year of birth: 1963
Marital status: Divorced prior to crime
Children: None
Date of offense: April 23, 1986
Sentenced to death: April 24, 1987
Status: Re-sentenced to life without parole,
January 1999
54 / ZEKE FALL 2023
Nicholas Yarris
State Correctional Institution at Greene
Waynesburg, Pennsylvania
Year of birth: 1961
Marital Status: Married while on death row
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Children: None
Date of offense: December 15, 1981
Sentenced to death: January 23, 1983
Status overturned: Exonerated January 2004
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 55
Jack Foster Outten, Jr.
Multi-Purpose Criminal Justice Facilty
Wilmington, Delaware
Year of birth: 1966
Marital Status: Single
Children: One
Date of offense: January 12, 1992
Sentenced to death: April 30, 1993
Status: Re-sentenced to 38 years in prison
56 / ZEKE FALL 2023
Walter Lee Caruthers
Riverbend Maximum Security Institution
Nashville, Tennessee
Year of birth: 1946
Marital Status: Married
Children: Two
Date of offense: October 11, 1980
Sentenced to death: February 8, 1983
Status: Died of natural causes in prison, January
30, 2017
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 57
Open Eyes Within Hidden Places
By April Harris
April Harris is an author who is incarcerated
at the California Institution
for Women in Chino, California. Her
experiences are a powerful insight
to advocate for incarcerated people
and the betterment of their environment.
She has been interviewed
by LA Weekly, The Guardian, San
Francisco Chronicle, Washington Post,
and Solitary Watch, among many
other outlets.
Although I know it’s coming, I can
never really prepare myself for
the succession of loud popping
sounds at 6:00 a.m. every morning.
It feels like a thousand jarring pops
although the number of metal doors
being opened is only 60.
Sitting up in bed trying to steady my
racing heart, I realize that it is only the
sound of the unit being opened for us
to begin our daily program. I squint as
I am temporarily blinded as a guard
shines his flashlight into my cell for the
morning security check. I take a slow
look around at the brick walls. I stretch
and raise up from my metal bed and
place my feet on the concrete floor. My
name is April Harris and I am currently
a resident of California Institution for
Women. I have been incarcerated north
of three decades.
As I make my coffee the thundering
sound of footsteps stampede by my
door as 120 women compete for the
eight showers available to our unit. The
repetitiveness of this program every
day takes a mental toll. The knock that
is about to take place on my door in...
one...two...three...four...(knock) is so
expected. A friend of mine wants to
know if I would like for her to save me
a spot in line. The shower line in the
morning is our daily newspaper. It is
here where we find out what fights are
going to happen today, what guards
were disciplined and walked off, who
is going to the parole board.
Most of this information is
unsolicited but you stand
there and do your best to
close your ears without using
your hands. The less you
know the better.
Just moments after the
unit opens at 6:15 a.m., an
announcement is made for
chow release. Directly in
front of the chow hall there is
a metal corral that looks like
it was once used for cattle.
You are made to enter it and
form a line. From a distance
you can hear the loud chatter
from the different conversations
all being had at one
time. While in line you try
your best to focus on the
fresh crisp morning air and
not be affected by the violation
of your personal space
as you are all packed in tight
like a can of sardines.
A guard is giving a signal for ten
women at a time to enter the chow
hall. The rest of the line moves forward
through the corral maze. Women are
leaning back on the metal bars holding
their state-issued cup and spoon in their
hands—the only thing you are allowed
to bring with you to chow. Some women
are still half asleep as others are overly
animated while telling their morning
tales. Once inside you are immediately
slapped with the smell of fresh onions
and sewage. You encounter a long steel
wall that seems to go on forever. At the
end of this steel wall your tray appears
out of a small rectangular hole. The
yelling guards directing traffic, the extra
bright flickering lights, and shouts coming
from behind the steel wall becomes
a symphony as the trays find their
rhythm and slam together.
Once seated you are finally able to
58 / ZEKE FALL 2023
Photographs by Michele Zousmer
discover that in their haste the kitchen
workers have mixed together most of
your food. They have also either forgotten
to give you something, or gave you
a portion significantly smaller than the
person seated next to you. For some
women this is the only food they will
have until dinner at 5:45 p.m. Some
women will take their tray back to complain,
however, most women will just
accept their fate and eat what they can
while picking out what they cannot.
Most of the food is unrecognizable
and you will oftentimes find leftovers
from dinner floating around as goulash
for breakfast. You are not given basic
salt and pepper to spice up your meal.
Attempting to bring your own spices
will result in disciplinary measures.
A World Inside of a World
Once finished you are escorted out of
the chow hall where they hand you a
clear plastic bag containing a sandwich,
a small bag of sunflower seeds,
and a sugar-free Kool-Aid pack. As
you slowly walk to inspect the contents
of your lunch, you look up to see four
female guards wearing latex gloves
waving you over to search you. You
stand in front of them with your arms up
as they search your body to ensure that
you did not bring out anything from
your tray. Trying to disconnect yourself
from this early morning violation of
your body as you vow to never come
back to this chow hall ever again.
Walking away you cannot help but
notice the huge pile of food and cartons
of milk on the ground, trashed and
confiscated by the guards.
Around 7:45 a.m. every morning a
piercing scream rings throughout the
unit as a guard announces program
release. The PA system would suffice but
of course it would have taken away their
power and control to scream instead.
Everyone in prison is assigned to a job
or a class. Failure to show up more than
one minute late will result in disciplinary
measures taken against you.
Program release is an interesting
time. Throughout the prison, jobs
and classes are starting. Women are
pouring out from different buildings. It
looks like a freeway as traffic moves
at an alarming rate. I stand still amid
the traffic as I take in my surroundings.
Looking around I cannot help but notice
that this is a world inside of a world.
Shot callers are out dealing drugs.
Prison-made families move about as
one unit. The innate desire for women
to nurture has them walking around
talking baby talk to lizards, smothering
them with kisses.
I watch women handle their time
in different ways. You have the
”Grouper.” This person spends their
entire waking moment attending selfhelp
groups. Their only goal is to do
what is required of them for a second
chance at freedom. Then there are the
women who exercise all day. At any
point throughout the day this person
will run past you at least twice, regardless
where you are in the prison. This
is their coping mechanism and a very
strategic way to isolate themselves from
everyone else. I see women dressed in
their finest state-issued clothing on their
way to visiting to spend a few hours
with their loved ones, only to leave
heartbroken having to say goodbye.
As the traffic intensifies I close my
eyes and tune in to the chatter.
“I finally passed my GED. I had to
take it six times.”
“Did you go to graduation in the
auditorium last night?”
“Everybody who went to board
yesterday was found suitable except
for Ashley. I knew she wasn’t going to
get it.”
“Our unit got raided last night and
the dog left his paw prints all over my
bedding.”
The flow of traffic reveals their
secrets as everyone rushes to get to
their destinations.
The sound of the alarm jolts me as
ten guards run past me, screaming for
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 59
us to get down. I immediately drop to
the ground where I will remain until the
alarm stops.
Sometimes these alarms can last
up to an hour. If it is raining, we are
forced to sit in the same spot and watch
a puddle form around us. The reasons
for the alarms vary from medical, to
fights, to a disruptive prisoner. Time
freezes as I think about how sad this
place is.
A lot of women in here are on drugs
or addicted to alcohol. It is their coping
mechanism. They feel that it is what
is needed to get through this mental
torture chamber.
I have seen a coping mechanism
that is even worse. Some of these
women have denied that this world
even exists. They have mentally created
a world of their own. Believing in
the world they have created so much
that they are now lost in it. Anything to
find a different reality other than their
own. They speak of children that have
passed away as if they were still alive.
Women who deny that they have a life
term will try to convince you that they
are going home any day now. Women
who believe that they are receiving
letters from home, when no one has
written to them in years.
Television shows could never truly
capture the ways that the mind will find
to adapt to an environment such as this.
A woman took out her own eyeball and
ate it in front of staff. In England long
ago, they proved that isolation causes
mental issues. Their prison was called
“The Stir,” hence the phrase “stir crazy.”
The highs and lows of what I see and
hear on a daily basis are exhausting.
Hoping for a Lifeline
Once the alarm clears everyone rises,
hundreds of women brushing off their
clothes from being on the ground.
Traffic is back in full swing. Brushing
my clothes off I can’t help but think
about my own issues. When I was first
arrested, I screamed my innocence
from the rooftops, hoping and praying
someone would believe me. But when
I entered the county jail, every rooftop
was occupied with someone else
screaming their own innocence.
I could no longer hear my own
screams as I watched all claims of
innocence become a joke to all who
heard them. I have been denied
parole numerous times because the
panel believes that my claims of
innocence are implausible and I have
no insight. Heading to class I remind
myself to hold on because better days
are coming.
When class is over I rush back to
my unit so I can get in the shower line
before count. At 3:30 p.m. a loud
horn that sounds like a boat leaving
the dock sounds throughout the prison.
This is the signal for recall. Everyone is
ushered like cattle into their units where
we prepare to stand and be counted.
This is also the time where most of us
discover that the guards have searched
our cells. I take this time to clean up
the mess they made, talk to my family
on my prison-issued GTL tablet, and
prepare myself for my self-help group at
5:00 p.m.
When count clears at 4:30 p.m.,
the same succession of loud pops open
the doors. Again, the traffic is high as
women move at a rapid pace. I sit in the
day room and socialize with my friends
for 30 minutes. Women utilize the kiosks
and video chat with their families. A
movie plays on the TV and an argument
happens somewhere close by.
The day of the week dictates which
self-help groups are being held. All
groups end at 7:30 p.m. when another
loud horn blows letting us know that
everything on the yard is closed and
everyone must return to their units.
Once in our unit, we have 45 minutes
to do whatever we need to do before
we are locked in for the night.
Once the doors lock at 8:45 p.m.
we are left alone with our thoughts, our
choices, and our regrets.
As I drift off to sleep I play out different
scenarios of things I could have
done differently in life. I pray and
hope that I will be thrown a lifeline, an
opportunity to choose again.
60 / ZEKE FALL 2023
Visual Stories About Global Themes
Photo by Scott Brennan from Indigenous Autonomy in Mexico
Social Documentary Network
SDN Website: A web portal for
documentary photographers to
create online galleries and make
them available to anyone with an
internet connection. Since 2008,
we have presented more than
4,000 documentary stories from
all parts of the world.
www.socialdocumentary.net
ZEKE Magazine: This bi-annual
publication allows us to present
visual stories in print form with indepth
writing about the themes
of the photography projects.
www.zekemagazine.com
SDN Salon: An informal gathering
of SDN photographers to
share and discuss work online.
Documentary Matters:
Online and in-person, A place
for photographers to meet with
others involved with or interested
in documentary photography and
discuss ongoing or completed
projects.
SDN Education: Leading
documentary photographers and
educators provide online learning
opportunities for photographers
interested in advancing their
knowledge and skills in the field
of documentary photography.
SDN Reviews: Started in April
2021, this annual program brings
together industry leaders from
media, publishing, and the fine
art community to review work of
documentary photographers.
ZEKE Award: The ZEKE Award
for Documentary Photography
and the ZEKE Award for Systemic
Change are juried by a panel of
international media professionals.
Award winners are exhibited
at Photoville in Brooklyn, NY and
featured in ZEKE Magazine.
Join us!
www.socialdocumentary.net
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 61
JAMEL SHABAZZ
Jamel Shabazz, a Brooklyn-born Army veteran
and master of street photography, is best
known for portraying African American communities
over the years, crushing stereotypes
and shining a light on the humanity he saw
with his lens. His work has been published
in books, shown in exhibitions, and used in
editorial magazines. What many do not know
is that the New York City icon had a career as a
correctional officer at Rikers Island, a maximumsecurity
jail housing thousands of incarcerated
men and women, and that Shabazz took photographs
of the residents, showing true empathy
for the struggle in front of him every day. I sat
down to ask the legend about his experiences
inside a jail, and his life’s work.
Photo by Mike McCoy
Interview
By Ryan M. Moser
Ryan M. Moser: What was it like
being a corrections officer at Rikers
Island?
Jamel Shabazz: Being a correctional
officer was the most challenging
experience I have ever encountered. I
actually became an officer as a result
of my father prompting me to take
a number of city exams when I was
discharged from the U.S. Army. For
his generation, city jobs were equal
opportunity careers with good benefits
and were welcoming to veterans.
No amount of training nor research
that I had done over the years would
prepare me for what I was exposed
to; however, I took the assignment as
a necessary journey and embraced it.
As a result of my Army experience,
I understood the importance of leadership
and discipline, two attributes
that provided me with a firm foundation.
I also had two close friends who
were falsely accused of crimes they
did not commit, and both served time
on Rikers Island in the late 1970s. It
was through my conversations with
them that I became keenly aware
that there were a number of innocent
people who were incarcerated, but
at the same time I was not so naive to
think that all detainees were innocent.
Honestly, I really had no idea what
I was getting involved in. Watching
the film Short Eyes, by Miguel Pinero
provided a serious glimpse into the
violent world of the NYC Department
of Correction. The correction academy
at that time was on Rikers Island,
and the racial mix of the recruits was
evenly balanced between Blacks,
Whites and Hispanics, a handful of
women, and a number of veterans.
The instructors were all seasoned
officers, many being former hostages
during the riots of the 1970s. Hearing
about their experiences allowed me to
see the seriousness of the job.
Upon graduating from the academy,
I was assigned to the Adolescent
Reception Detention Center. This facility
housed adolescent pretrial detainees,
the overwhelming majority awaiting
court as many had bails they could
not afford to pay, and a few had been
convicted and were waiting to go to
the state prison where they would carry
out their sentences. What I noticed
about many of the officers and supervisors
assigned there, was the fact that
a lot of them were Vietnam veterans,
and they were very serious in their
dispositions. My first real encounter
with inmates put me in shock. I recall
walking toward the receiving room (the
first stop in the jail for arriving inmates)
and there was a large bullpen, packed
to capacity, standing room only, and
with about 80 teens awaiting court
appearances. In this mix I saw the
helpless faces of young men looking
terrified because of the stronger and
more aggressive cellmates and what
they might do to them. I knew then that
I was up against a serious challenge,
and I had to find a way to navigate
through this madness and create a
system that would work for me.
One of the very first posts I was
assigned to was “The Bing,” aka
solitary confinement. It was a separate
area, where detainees who had
committed infractions were being held,
locked in their cells for 22 hours a day,
and let out only for a phone call, a
shower, and a little recreation. Every
housing area had 60 inmates and two
officers. To my surprise, when I entered
the housing area, I saw a number of
familiar faces from my neighborhood,
and many of them I had photographed
months earlier. The whole experience
was bittersweet, as there was relief
that I did know a few folks, but yet
painful seeing them in such conditions.
Many of them would provide me with
helpful insights, such as telling me the
ins and outs, and who to be mindful
of. One of the things I also found very
interesting as a new officer was that
during the daily cell searches, on many
occasions I would see photographs of
what I believe were the fathers of the
detainees in military photographs; most
looked like they were taken in Vietnam.
Adolescent, pretrial detainees find a moment of joy despite
the daily hardships of incarceration. Adolescent
Reception Detention Center, Rikers Island. 1986. Photo
by Jamel Shabazz.
62 / ZEKE FALL 2023
venture and if poor people and
people of color had more equality in
society perhaps the prisons and jails
would not have been so full. Illegal
drugs have intentionally been placed
in poor communities from heroin
to crack to cocaine, and the users
needed treatment not incarceration.
RM: Do you see a parallel between
the Jim Crow era following the Civil
War and the mass incarceration of
Black people in America today?
A young detainee connecting with the outside world, while another detainee prepares to hand wash his clothes.
Adolescent Reception Detention Center, Rikers Island. 1986. Photo by Jamel Shabazz.
RM: What was it like being a Black
corrections officer having to patrol
mostly Black prisoners?
JS: Being a Black corrections officer
was extremely painful and depressing.
I saw so many young men of color in
bondage and brokenness throughout
my 20-year career. I felt caught in the
middle at times as the majority of the
detainees viewed me and officers in
general as the enemy. On the other
end, officers, particularly the racists,
both uniform and brass, saw all
inmates as “Mutts.” I will never forget
when I was gathering up my housing
area of approximately 60 adult detainees
in the corridor to escort them to the
mess hall, when a known racist supervisor
heard me refer to them as “gentlemen.”
He flew into a rage, and the
next morning at a roll call, stating how
he overheard an officer refer to inmates
as gentlemen. Looking me dead in my
face, he said “They are not gentlemen,
they are mutts and animals and if I ever
hear one of you say that I will come
after your job.” That is when the reality
of what I was dealing with hit me.
After that incident, those in the
uniform force who held racist views,
or officers in general who just hated
all detainees, kept an eye on me. I
came from a very different world than
many of my co-workers, as I still lived
in the neighborhood and had a sincere
concern for my community and how so
many young men were getting caught
in the system. As a Black officer I could
not stand by and not use my voice
and position to help guide young men
who might have made a bad decision,
which got them locked up. For me it
was deeper than just the care, custody,
and control of them. It was my assignment
and responsibility to try to put
them on a better path and I was in a
unique position to help turn the lives of
these broken young men around, so
that they could go on to be better citizens.
I stressed having dignity despite
their circumstances and told them that
when they walk with me, they must be
erect, with no hands in their pockets,
chest out, stomach in, something that
was instilled in me during my time
in the service. Many under my care
appreciated the discipline and sense
of pride, and later in life when I would
see them, they told me how I changed
their lives around, by the guidance and
example I showed them.
RM: What are your views on the
criminal justice system/incarceration
today in America?
JS: The criminal justice system is completely
flawed in that it has contributed
to the destruction of countless lives
over the many decades. Mass incarceration
has always been big business
from slavery through today. The prison
industrial complex is a money-making
JS: Yes. During the Jim Crow days,
cheap labor fueled the economy.
African Americans were often targeted
under the vagrancy laws and in
many cases, especially in the South,
railroaded without legal representation
and placed in the system to work
for little or nothing under some of the
harshest conditions, which mirrored
slavery. Very little has changed from
that time until now. Through lack of
employment and educational opportunities
due to systemic racism over
the many decades, many African
Americans have been trapped. So
much could have been gained, after
World War II, if Blacks would have
benefitted from the GI Bill like White
Americans. White soldiers became
homeowners and students in universities,
thus allowing them greater opportunities
and chances to create generational
wealth. However, due to blatant
discrimination against Blacks, many of
those opportunities were not provided
and families found themselves stuck in
poverty. Illegal drugs were introduced
into Black neighborhoods, from heroin
throughout the 1950s thru 1970s,
to crack in the 1980s. This devastated
African American communities
throughout America destroying lives
that needed rehabilitation, but instead
got incarceration with unfair prison
sentences that made matters even
worse.
RM: Having worked at Rikers Island
for 20 years, how do you feel about
its closing now?
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 63
An adult detainee is escorted to the courtroom to await his fate. NY State Supreme Court. Manhattan. 1998.
Photo by Jamel Shabazz.
JS: Closing Rikers Island and spending
six billion dollars of taxpayers money
to create four smaller jails throughout
the city is not going to solve the problems
that plague Rikers. What really
needs to change is management and
leadership. Rikers has 413 acres of
land and numerous facilities that could
be used to help those who are suffering
from mental illness. Well over 40
percent of those who are incarcerated
on the Island are suffering from some
form of mental illness and trauma. With
the closing of mental health facilities
throughout the country, jails and
prisons become places where many
people suffering from mental illness
are placed. These folks, like many of
those battling with addiction, need to
be placed in special facilities to help
them because incarceration only exacerbates
the problem. With so many
mentally ill people both incarcerated
and homeless on the streets, Rikers
could even be that place to give them
the treatment they need to better adjust
in society. The money being considered
to build new jails will then be used to
build assisted living housing for those
in need, along with general housing
for the over 70,000 homeless New
Yorkers.
Another major problem creating
havoc on Rikers Island is gang culture.
Rather than seeking a way to remedy
the problem, the leadership came up
with this questionable solution of housing
gang members together, thus giving
each individual gang more power.
More guidance counselors, mentors,
former gang members, and social
workers are needed to help these
young men and women navigate their
life to reenter society. Sadly, for so
many, the gangs are the only families
they have and if there is no intervention,
they will continue to engage in
self-destructive ways and upon their
release, return back to the city streets
much worse. With the various functional
jails on Rikers Island, money
could be spent to refurbish them,
creating schools and job training to
give those confined a better chance in
returning back to society.
RM: You have said that you use your
photographs as a form of protest.
What advice would you give to incarcerated
artists and writers as they try
to have a voice against injustice?
JS: I recently read the book Solitary:
Unbroken by Four Decades in Solitary
Confinement by Albert Woodfox.
Albert spent nearly 44 years in
solitary confinement under some of
the worst conditions imaginable in
Louisiana. Despite all the many trials
and tribulations during his incarceration,
he remained steadfast and turned
a negative into a positive with his writings
and unwavering voice. Albert,
who has since passed away, served
as a great example for those presently
incarcerated to use their voices and
experiences to shed light on a broken
and violent system, in hopes that it
could create awareness and inspire
reform, while educating the youth to
the horrors of incarceration.
There is so much talent behind
those prison walls. America is in a
major crisis now. We need all hands
on deck; conscious artists, poets,
writers, painters, photographers, and
motivational speakers both on the
inside and outside, to lend their voices
and creativity to address this growing
problem of mass incarceration and
help young people from falling into
the traps of incarceration.
RM: You stated once that photography
gave you a purpose. Do you think
that the arts can save incarcerated
people in that same way?
JS: Absolutely. I remember the story
about Valentino Dixon who spent
27 years in Attica State Prison for a
murder he didn’t commit. During his
imprisonment, he spent much of his
time drawing golf courses. Despite
never playing golf, he was able to
draw various and different courses
based on magazines he had on golf.
His case gained national attention
when he was profiled by Golf Digest
magazine and shortly afterwards the
staff of that publication, along with the
Georgetown University Prison Reform
Project, took an interest in him. This led
to the district attorney’s office revisiting
the circumstances surrounding his case,
which resulted in the actual murderer
confessing to the crime, thus gaining
him his freedom. That story alone can
serve as a great source of inspiration
for those battling for their freedom.
RM: When you took a picture of a
boy at the Brownsville train station
standing behind the steel bars, you
said that it felt like it was your responsibility
to lend a hand to kids who
were struggling. Is there anything you
could do for those same kids that are
now incarcerated?
64 / ZEKE FALL 2023
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There is so much talent behind
those prison walls. America is in a
major crisis now. We need all hands
on deck; conscious artists, poets,
writers, painters, photographers,
and motivational speakers both
on the inside and outside, to
lend their voices and creativity to
address this growing problem of
mass incarceration and help young
people from falling into the traps of
incarceration.
—Jamel Shabazz
JS: It is very challenging for me at
this particular point in my life as a
retiree, and trying to save so many
lives within my own immediate circle.
However, what I have done over the
many years has encouraged the next
generation of corrections officers, to
understand that they are in a very
unique position to mentor the young
people who are under their care. I let
them know that it is bigger than a paycheck,
and that there are a number of
young people who need help, and if
the circumstances are right, being that
guide could help save a life and allow
a person to return back to society a
better person.
RM: How important do you think it is
for people from a culture to tell their
own stories?
JS: It’s very important for people of all
cultures to tell their stories, who else
is going to do it properly? One of the
reasons that I got into photography
was because I knew that everyone that
I photographed had an important story.
Knowing that, mainly during telephone
conversations, I ask specific questions
regarding one’s backstory, and I am
amazed by the things that they share
with me. Earlier today, I was looking
at some of my original notes from the
1980s and 1990s, and I realized that
I have extensive handwritten notes
from countless Vietnam veterans that I
conversed with, along with prostitutes,
correction officers, and just everyday
people whom I met; each one sharing
precious insight, that goes beyond
anything I learned in school. I encourage
all of my students to act as journalists,
and get those important stories,
starting with their family members and
the people they meet on their journey,
much like the alchemist.
RM: You documented life at Rikers
Island with your photography for
many years. What was the biggest
impact from that, and is there one
Childhood friends from the Brownsville section of Brooklyn shopping on Orchard Street on the Lower East Side of
Manhattan. 1985. Photo by Jamel Shabazz.
particular story that stood out to you
over the years?
JS: The biggest impact that I made
during my time on Rikers Island is
being brought to my attention [today]
via my social media feeds. A number
of formerly incarcerated young men
who I supervised during the 1980s
are reaching out to me, explaining
how I helped to transform their lives
through my mentorship and through
my photography.
One particular young man took an
interest in me. I would bring in newspapers
and magazines of substance and
encourage him to read, something he
told me he never had an interest in until
he met me. I stressed the importance
of taking advantage of the educational
opportunities while he was in jail, which
he did. I shared stories of redemption
and atonement and how it was
not too late to change his life around.
He explained that he never knew his
father, he was the oldest of four siblings
and how his mother used to take her
frustration out by physically abusing
him. She would fall victim to drugs, so
as the oldest he would engage in petty
crime to feed his younger brothers and
sisters, eventually landing him in jail. I
saw the good and potential in him and
I spent time providing him with guidance
throughout the time I supervised
him, until I was transferred to another
command. I would reconnect with him a
few years later and was impressed with
how he had grown into a productive
citizen, however still struggling due to
his past trauma. I decided to continue
the mentorship, and the only thing that I
required was that he stay out of trouble
and mentor other young men in the community,
which he would do for a number
of years, gaining great respect and
having a serious impact. Back in July, I
was informed that he passed away after
a long battle with diabetes, but a year
prior to his passing he gave an incredible
video testimony about the impact
that I had on his life, saying that, if it
were not for my intervention, he would
have been dead a long time ago.
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 65
BOOK
REVIEWS
DEATH IN CUSTODY; HOW
AMERICA IGNORES THE
TRUTH AND WHAT WE
CAN DO ABOUT IT
Roger A. Mitchell Jr., MD and
Jay D. Aronson, PhD
Johns Hopkins University Press, 2023
312 pages / $28.95
It’s a simple question, one that should
be easy to answer: How many
people in the United States have
been killed by police or died while in
the custody of the criminal system?
The frustrating answer is that no one
knows, because law enforcement agencies
and their allies don’t want us to
know, according to the authors of Death
in Custody: How America Ignores the
Truth and What We Can Do about It.
Roger A. Mitchell Jr. and Jay D.
Aronson provide details and data
about the alarming number of people
who have been killed during encounters
with law enforcement.
First, the details. While some were
gunned down and brutally beaten by
police officers, others “mysteriously” died
while confined in the horrible conditions
all too common in jails and prisons
across the country. Yet it is rare for law
enforcement agencies to be held accountable
for these preventable deaths.
One of the many examples the
authors present is from an investigation
by Mike Masterson, a young
journalist who has dedicated his
career to reporting what happens in
police precincts, mental health care
facilities, courtrooms, jails, prisons,
and medical examiners’ offices.
Masterson found that in Chicago’s
Harrison District police lockup, more
than 20 men were declared to have
died by suicide in police custody
over 20 months. The majority were
Black or Latinx, and seven of them
had been arrested for minor crimes.
According to the medical examiners,
10 had hung themselves with belts
and shoelaces, and most of them had
been locked up for only a few hours
before they died. Despite clear signs
of brutal treatment, no one was held
accountable, mainly because of the
medical examiners’ findings.
Second, where is the data?
Mitchell and Aronson point out that
one of the primary reasons for the
lack of accountability is the absence
of reliable information about those
who have died during encounters
with law enforcement. In addition,
they provide compelling evidence
that racist and biased ideologies
have motivated medical examiners
to either exclude or falsify autopsies
when a death incriminates the legal
system or political allies.
As it has become clear that these
injustices are not anomalies, activists
and journalists have pressed the criminal
justice system for greater transparency
and accountability, only to be met
with excuses for why it can’t be done.
But the authors point out that the U.S.
government has been able to track
every other type of death. The refusal
to account for those who have died in
prisons and jails, and at the hands of
police, speaks to the miniscule value
that law-enforcement agencies have
placed on communities of color who
are disproportionately being killed.
In response to this very real problem,
Mitchell and Aronson call for the
National Center for Health Statistics to
add a check-box to death certificates
for those who have died during interactions
with the criminal legal system.
They argue that in a democracy, citizens
should be able to figure out how
many people are killed during interactions
with law enforcement, why they
are killed, and whether training and
policies can be modified to decrease
the number of officer-involved deaths.
Without this data, citizens won’t be
able to analyze trends and demand
action. The result: no accountability.
Nearly all homicides committed by
police are written off as “justified,”
and people will continue to lose their
lives, all under the narrative of protecting
society from crime.
The refusal to account for those who
have died in prisons and jails, and
at the hands of police, speaks to the
miniscule value that law-enforcement
agencies have placed on communities
of color who are disproportionately
being killed.
This problem is hardly new. Death
in Custody provides readers with the
brutal history on which the U.S. criminal
legal system was built. Beginning
with the gruesome era following
the enslavement of Black people in
America, the book unpacks the history
of how Blacks were lynched by White
supremacists and then dehumanized
by racist narratives as a means
of justifying these barbaric acts of
murder. When Ida B. Wells and other
anti-lynching activists began to force
greater awareness of these atrocities,
the United States passed an anti-lynching
law. But the country also held onto
White supremacy, shifting from lynching
Blacks to a more professionalized
way of controlling and oppressing
communities of color — the criminal
legal system.
These days, when police shoot an
66 / ZEKE FALL 2023
unarmed person on the streets, there
likely will be media coverage. On
the other end of the spectrum lies the
silent indifference to the wellbeing
of people who are placed in their
custody, especially people of color. As
someone incarcerated in that system,
I have witnessed firsthand this routine
neglect. One example is how an
incarcerated student who had been a
part of a Black Prisoners Caucus educational
programs in Washington state
was inappropriately taken to solitary
confinement. According to prison staff,
the prisoner didn’t feel safe with other
prisoners in the main part of the facility.
Later, that prisoner committed suicide
by slitting his wrist with a razor.
On the surface, one may believe
the prison can bear no fault for the
prisoner’s suicide, but as Mitchell
and Aronson argue, negligence that
leads to death is inexcusable. Solitary
confinement is a place of punishment
and has never been a safe place for
prisoners. In addition, prisoners are
supposed to be thoroughly searched
before being placed in solitary confinement.
Despite this negligence, no
one was held accountable.
Death in Custody shows that from
the late 1800s until today, people
have died under the care of this
same criminal legal system. This book
reveals more than the obvious killings
that happen at the hands of violent
law enforcement officers -— it uncovers
the silent deaths that result from
neglectful prison staff who fail to do
their jobs. The point here is clear:
these unnecessary deaths will continue
to occur until there is a uniform way of
making our judicial system transparent
and accountable for what they do and
don’t do, for those in its care.
—Antoine Davis
Let the World See Your
Documentary Projects
Start uploading your projects
to the SDN website today
• Gain exposure for you and the issues you
are documenting
• Absolutely free for the first year.
www.socialdocumentary.net
OPEN CALL
The En Foco Photography Fellowship is
designed to support New York-based
photographers of color who demonstrate the
highest quality of work as determined by a
photography panel of peers and industry
professionals. The program awards 10
fellowships at $1,000 each, includes fellows in a
group exhibition, features them in the Nueva
Luz publication (printed and online editions),
and provides professional development and
networking opportunities.
MEDIA ARTS FUND: WORK
IN PROGRESS INITIATIVE
En Foco’s Media Arts Fund: Work in Progress
(WIP) Initiative is a grant to support New York
City-based, early-career artists of color who
engage with digital media technologies in their
art-making processes. In collaboration with
BronxNet, these $2,000 awards will focus on
applicants needing support for the completion
of a quality work in progress.
PHOTOGRAPHY
FELLOWSHIP
Visit www.enfoco.org
for upcoming deadlines
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 67
displaced հատում
Ara Oshagan
Արա Օշական
Krikor Beledian
Գրիգոր Պըլտեան
BRIEFLY
NOTED
EDITED BY MARISSA FIORUCCI
DISPLACED
By Ara Oshagan and
Krikor Beledian
Kehrer, 2022 | 160 pages | $45
Photographer Ara Oshagan and
author Krikor Beledian grew up
in Beirut’s Armenian communities
formed by refugees and survivors of
genocide. They came of age in families
and neighborhoods fraught with the
displaced
հատում
collective memory of extreme violence
and dispossession. Both left Beirut
decades ago and now return to immerse
themselves in its fractured urbanscape.
Oshagan captures dark and lyrical photographs
that bring scenes in the dense
neighborhoods of Bourj Hammoud to
life. Beledian, widely regarded as the
most important poet writing in western
Armenia, contributes a beautifully
written, semi-autobiographical essay
drawn from his youth. Displaced is a
unique symbiosis of deeply personal
work interrogating diasporic memory,
multi-generational displacement, and the
ambiguities of narrative.
Ara Oshagan has exhibited his work
worldwide. Following Traces of Identity
(2005) and Fatherland (2010), Displaced
is the third project of a trilogy of work
about identity and diaspora.
DONE DOING TIME
By Hinda Schuman
Daylight Books, 2023
128 pages | $50
Hinda Schuman is an awardwinning
documentary photographer,
photojournalist,
and educator. In Done Doing Time,
Schuman documents life after prison
for two remarkable women, Linda
and Concetta. Her color photography
depicts scenes that illuminate their courage
and determination to walk past
the dealers and, instead, reunite with
family to overcome the obstacles stacked
against newly released prisoners. As
Concetta and Linda work towards their
individual goals in this new chapter of
life, they welcome Schuman into their
homes and share their lives and the
inevitable effects on their families as
they navigate this transition. Although
both women have faced real tragedy
and upheaval, they inspiringly continue
to remain true to their own hearts.
The author of the thoughtfully written
Forward, Magdelena Solé, is an awardwinning
social documentary photographer
and teaches photo workshops and
lectures internationally.
SUBWAYGRAM
By Chris Maliwat
Daylight Books, 2022
128 pages | $45
New York City subways are part
of a 120-year-old transit system.
They’ve continued to operate
through humanity’s most trying times–two
World Wars, the Great Depression,
9/11, Hurricane Sandy, and most
recently the COVID-19 pandemic.
Chris Maliwat is a street-portrait
photographer who captures surreptitious
moments of everyday people on their
journeys in the cities where they live.
He has been photographing the New
York City subways for many years and
sharing his images on his Subwaygram
Instagram feed. This book, the artist’s first
monograph, is a collection of his favorite
portraits of subway riders captured using
his mobile phone two years before and
two years after the first case of COVID-
19 was confirmed in New York City.
He highlights the differences and yet
surprising similarities between the diverse
subjects using some of the most crowded
subways throughout this turbulent period
in human history.
68 / ZEKE FALL 2023
REVOLUTION IS LOVE:
A YEAR OF BLACK TRANS
LIBERATION
By Qween Jean, Joela Rivera,
Mikelle Street, and Raquel
Willis
Aperture, 2022 | 224 pages | $45
In June 2020, after a Black trans
woman in Missouri and a Black trans
man in Florida were killed just weeks
apart, activists Qween Jean and Joela
Rivera responded by returning to the
historic Stonewall Inn—site of the 1969
Stas Ginzburg
riots that The Stonewall launched Protests Anniversary the modern gay rights
192
June 2021
movement. There they initiated what
became known as the Stonewall Protests
— weekly gatherings, including marches,
voguing balls, and vigils that helped
center Black trans and queer lives within
the Black Lives Matter movement.
Revolution is Love compiles photographs,
interviews, and writing from
twenty-four photographers who participated
in these demonstrations. Their work
celebrates the power of shared joy and
struggle in this vibrant community fighting
for trans liberation.
This book is a monumental visual
record of a contemporary activist movement
and includes powerful images and
text by Ramie Ahmed, Lucy Baptiste,
Budi, Brandon English, Deb Fong, Snake
Garcia, Stas Ginzburg, Katie Godowski,
Robert Hamada, Chae Kihn, Zak Krevitt,
Erica Lansner, Daniel Lehrhaupt, Caroline
Mardok, Ryan McGinley, Josh Pacheco,
Jarrett Robertson, Phoenix Robles, Souls
of a Movement, Madison Swart, Cindy
Trinh, Sean Waltrous, Ruvan Wijesooriya,
and David Zung.
THE STOLEN DAUGHTERS
OF CHIBOK
By Akintunde Akinleye
powerHouse, 2023
278 pages | $50
In the middle of the night on April
14, 2014, the terrorist group, Boko
Haram, abducted 276 girls from
their secondary school’s dormitory in the
town of Chibok, in northeast Nigeria.
Over the following days, 57 girls managed
to escape. For two years, 219
girls remained missing.
During the last four months of 2015,
in the heat of the worst of the insurgency,
Aisha Muhammed-Oyebode, the CEO
of the Murtala Muhammed Foundation
(MMF) in Nigeria, embarked on a project
to interview, photograph, and document
the accounts of the parents of these missing
girls. The MMF’s team met with and
interviewed the relatives of 201 of them.
For the families of the girls, and for
the Chibok community, the trauma of this
experience remains a daily reality. The
Stolen Daughters of Chibok is a collection
of supplemental essays by acclaimed
experts and interviews and photographs
of 152 of the 210 Chibok families. This
book is a tribute to the girls and aims to
capture the truth of their lives before the
abduction and how their families have
struggled to cope since.
Above: Maryamu Dauda
Following spread: Rebecca Samuel
KIDS OF COSPLAY
By Thurstan Redding
Thames & Hudson, 2023
144 pages | $50
Cosplay is a global phenomenon
where people express the power
of individuality and diversity
by dressing up as a character from a
movie, book, or video game.
After attending a cosplay convention
in 2017, photographer Thurstan Redding
became captivated by cosplay as a subject
matter and embarked on a three-year
photographic project to portray cosplay
in a When way my sister died, I was it beside had myself with never grief. She had been IT WAS HER seen DECISION before.
left behind three daughters whose father did not seem inclined
to raise them all by himself. I looked at the situation, those poor NOT TO MARRY
Brought children, and told myself to there life was only one through thing to do. the presentation of
I still remember that day as if it was yesterday. I had gone
Mary Peter
to grieve with the husband of my sister, leaving my own two
70 cosplayers unassuming locations,
girls at home, and I had returned with three more, including
AUNT TO RIFKATU YAKUBU
Rifkatu, who was then barely ten years old and still in primary
school. What else could I have done? I have no doubt that if
Kids of Cosplay highlights how creativity
I had died first, my sister would have done the same for me.
Who else was going to look after the children? It’s the way
things are. Families look after each other. I accepted them
can thrive in most mundane realities:
with two hands, with my full mind.
That was years ago, and since then I have tried to bring up all
Spider the children like Man my own. It was not is so hard illuminated to love my sister’s by the open
children anyway. They are good kids. We lived well. Rifkatu,
especially, is a very gentle girl, well behaved and diligent. She
fridge quickly became in the leader a of kitchen, the children. three Alices wait at
Shortly after her primary school ended, I enrolled her a bus the Government stop Girls College, in Chibok. a Whenever desolate she came Wonderland, a
home from school, she took charge of the cooking, cleaning
and washing of clothes—all the domestic work, as befits a
Resistance girl who clean and doesn’t Pilot like dirt. She also plays farmed and dead on the gravel
knitted and sewed, using ankara fabrics to make clothes. She
was wearing one of her hand-made dresses on the day the
driveway terrorists took her away. of a suburban
I FEEL
housing
GUILTY ABOUT
complex.
She was given to so that I would look after her and she
would get married from my house. Who knows what will SENDING HER TO SCHOOL
Supplemented by commentary from
happen now? The fact is, Rifkatu did not want to get married.
She wanted to finish her education first. For her, that meant
more than simply earning her secondary school certificate.
Maryamu Dauda
the cosplayers themselves, together with
So most of the boys came and left, their dreams deferred.
MOTHER TO VICTORIA DAUDA
Only one guy stuck around. They had a special friendship
and he really wanted to marry her but she kept saying she
behind-the-scenes pages from Thurstan’s
was not ready.
Just last night I dreamt of Victoria again. Among my ten
Ironically, his name is Yakubu, the same name as Rifkatu’s children, she is the second-born and the hardest worker.
personal father. When he heard diary, she had been abducted Kids from school, of She Cosplay would have become a better “celebrates
never have again. the unique community Sometimes I think that if Victoria spirit had gotten married that instead,
mother than I am. I feel
he was completely devastated. He called all the time, guilty sometimes, because I sent her to school. Sometimes I
sometimes just to cry. He said he had lost somebody he can think that if I hadn’t, Victoria would not have been kidnapped.
now I would be going to visit my daughter at her husband’s
He does not call anymore, though, and whether that means
house. Her best friend, Hajara, is married and she visits me
exists he has moved within on, I cannot say. I suspect this he angry charming―and, with the
from her husband’s house. the more
people who took her and the pain is too much for him. Calling
would bring memories.
My heart started to beat faster when they told me that my
daughter had been kidnapped. Victoria was afraid of Boko
you look, surprisingly moving―parallel universe
of glorious, generous been going to school, pageantry.”
and neither have the others. The
Haram.
She was particularly close to her brother Joel. He has not
schools have been closed since the kidnapping.
(Vogue).
64 65
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 69
Contributors
Barbara Ayotte is the editor of ZEKE
magazine and the Communications Director
of the Social Documentary Network. She
has served as a senior strategic communications
strategist, writer and activist for leading
global health, human rights and media
nonprofit organizations, including the Nobel
Peace Prize- winning Physicians for Human
Rights and International Campaign to Ban
Landmines.
After 18 years as a public defender,
Sara Bennett turned her attention
to photographing women with life
sentences, inside and outside prison. Her
work has been widely exhibited in solo
shows including at the Blue Sky Gallery
in Portland, OR, and in group shows,
including the Blanton Museum of Art’s Day
Jobs, and featured in publications such as
The New York Times, Variety and Rolling
Stone’s “American (In)Justice,” and others.
Christopher Blackwell is an awardwinning
journalist currently incarcerated
at the Washington Corrections Center,
Shelton, WA. He is serving a 45-year
prison sentence for taking another human’s
life during a drug robbery—something
he takes full accountability for. He was
raised in a mixed Native American/White
family in the Hilltop Area of Tacoma,
Washington, one of the roughest places
to live in the country– ravaged by overpolicing,
gangs, violence, and drugs.
Daniela Cohen is a freelance journalist
and non-fiction writer of South African
origin based in Vancouver, Canada.
Her work has been published in New
Canadian Media, Canadian Immigrant,
eJewish Philanthropy, The Source
Newspaper, and Living Hyphen. Daniela’s
work focuses on themes of displacement
and belonging, justice, equity, diversity
and inclusion. She is also the co-founder of
Identity Pages, a youth writing mentorship
program.
Antoine Davis is a licensed minister
at Freedom Church of Seattle currently
incarcerated at Washington Correction
Center, serving a 63-year sentence.
His writing has been published in
Counterpunch, The Appeal, Your Teen
Magazine, and many other outlets. Follow
Antoine on Twitter at @AntoineEDavis.
Marissa Fiorucci is a freelance photographer
in Boston, MA. She is former studio
manager for photographer Mark Ostow
and worked on projects including portraits
of the Obama Cabinet for Politico. She
specializes in corporate portraits and
events, but remains passionate about
documentary.
A San Francisco native, Brian Frank
has created social documentary projects
across the Americas focusing on cultural
identity, social inequality, violence,
workers rights and the environment. A
Professor of Journalism and Catchlight
Global-Fellow, Frank has led visual
storytelling workshops for professional
educators and journalists across the USA
and children and teens in the U.S. and
Mexico and lectured on visuals-based
curriculum at universities nationwide. His
work has been recognized with numerous
awards and featured in many publications.
April Harris is an author who is
incarcerated at the California Institution
for Women in Chino, California. Her
experiences are a powerful insight to
advocate for incarcerated people and
the betterment of their environment. She
has been interviewed by LA Weekly,
The Guardian, San Francisco Chronicle,
Washington Post, and Solitary Watch,
among many other outlets.
Katherin Hervey is an artist and awardwinning
filmmaker interested in what is
hiding in the dark crevices of the American
landscape and collective psyches, believing
truth is found in the dark before it shines in
the light. Her first feature film, The Prison
Within, won eight awards. A thought
leader in criminal justice reform, Katherin
has been featured in various media
publications. Her mixed media artworks
and creative fiction have been showcased
in galleries and literary journals.
When not traveling, Lou Jones
exhibits at schools, museums, galleries,
libraries, and institutions around the
world. Throughout his career, Jones has
undertaken personal long-term projects,
such as Japan, tall ships, jazz, pregnancy
and photographing people on fourteen
death rows in the USA, resulting in two
books and many exhibitions. In recent
years, Jones has been documenting all 54
countries in contemporary Africa, trying
to change the narrative from stereotypical
negative topics of poverty, pestilence, and
conflict: www.panAFRICAproject.org.
Peter Merts’s photography spans
documentary, portrait, and fine art forms
and has been published in the New
York Times, the Washington Post, and
others. In 2015, Peter and Dr. Larry
Brewster published Paths of Discovery—
Art Practice and Its Impact in California
State Prisons (second edition.) In Spring
2022, Peter published a monograph of his
photographs as Ex Crucible: The Passion
of Incarcerated Artists. An archive of his
prison arts photographs can be found on
www.petermerts.com.
Ryan M. Moser is a formerly
incarcerated journalist and award-winning
writer from Philadelphia. His work can be
found on muckrack.com/ryan-moser.
Howard Zehr is Distinguished Professor
of Restorative Justice at Eastern Mennonite
University, VA. He is internationally
recognized as one of the founders and
leaders of restorative justice and has been
active as a professional photographer
throughout his career. His publications
include six photo books, including one on
children whose parents are incarcerated,
one highlighting Virginians and their
pickup trucks, and The Little Book of
Contemporary Photography, which
presents a meditative approach.
Michele Zousmer is a humanitarian
fine art photographer who uses her
camera as an instrument to amplify the
voices of marginalized individuals and
communities, conveying curiosity, love,
and the enduring hope within humanity.
Through cultivating genuine connections,
the soul of her images emerges — a
poignant reflection of shared humanity.
She aims to offer solace, empowerment,
and a dignified healing process by
exposing the innate strength and resilience
of the human spirit within each person she
captures.
70 / ZEKE FALL 2023
ZEKE FALL 2023/ 71
2024
ZEKE
AWARD
Call for Entries
FALL 2023 VOL.9/NO.2
$15 US
ZEKE
THE MAGAZINE OF GLOBAL DOCUMENTARY PHOTOGRAPHY
Published by Social Documentary Network
ZEKE is published by Social Documentary Network (SDN), a
nonprofit organization promoting visual storytelling about global
themes. Started as a website in 2008, today SDN works with thousands
of photographers around the world to tell important stories
through the visual medium of photography. Since 2008, SDN has
featured more than 4,000 exhibits on its website and has had
gallery exhibitions in major cities around the world.
ZEKE
Executive Editor: Glenn Ruga
Editor: Barbara Ayotte
Guest Editor: Christopher Blackwell
SDN and ZEKE magazine
are projects of Reportage
International, Inc., a nonprofit
organization founded in 2020.
Reportage International,
Inc. Board of Directors
Glenn Ruga, President
Eric Luden, Treasurer
Barbara Ayotte, Secretary
Dudley Brooks
Lisa DuBois
John Heffernan
Maggie Soladay
2023 ZEKE Award winners on display at Photoville, June 2023.
We will be giving two separate awards:
• ZEKE Award for Systemic Change
• ZEKE Award for Documentary Photography
Each awardee will receive $2,500,
featured in ZEKE magazine, & exhibition
Begin accepting submissions: Nov. 1, 2023
Deadline for submissions: January 12, 2024
Entry Fee: $30. Scholarships available.
Jurors to be announced.
Complete information available at:
socialdocumentary.net/cms/zeke-award
72 / ZEKE FALL 2023
To Subscribe:
www.zekemagazine.com
ZEKE does not accept unsolicited
submissions. To be considered for
publication in ZEKE, submit your
work to the SDN website either as
a standard exhibit or a submission
to a Call for Entries.
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socialdocumentary
Documentary Advisory
Group
Bill Aguado, Bronx, NY
Catherine Edelman, Chicago, IL
Jill Foley, Silver Springs, MD
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Michael Itkoff, Bronx, NY
Lou Jones, Boston, MA
Ed Kashi, Montclair, NJ
Lekgetho Makola, Johanesburg
Mary Beth Meehan, Providence, RI
Marie Monteleone, New York, NY
Molly Roberts, Washington, DC
Joseph Rodriguez, Brooklyn, NY
Jamel Shabazz, Hempstead, NY
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Amy Yenkin, New York, NY
ZEKE is published twice a year by
Social Documentary Network, a
project of Reportage International,
Inc.
Copyright © 2023
Social Documentary Network
ISSN 2381-1390
PROFILE: COVER PHOTOGRAPHER
Michele Zousmer
Changing the Perception of
Women Prisoners
By Daniela Cohen
Michele Zousmer learned how to
use the camera by photographing
her son’s professional basketball
games, leading her to become the
school’s sports photographer. After her
son left for college, she participated in a
photo tour to Peru with a photojournalist.
There, she developed a love for using
her camera to tell a story. When Zousmer
returned home to San Diego, she decided
to volunteer her time photographing for
organizations close to her heart.
While photographing at a foster care
agency, she met Sheriff Bill Gore, who
told her about a new reentry program at
the Las Colinas Detention and Reentry
Facility. He asked her to help change the
perception of the female convicts through
her lens. Although she had no idea what
she would encounter, Zousmer was
always ready to embrace a creative challenge
and immediately agreed.
Aware of the stigma the women in
Photographer Michele Zousmer visits with an elderly
Romanian woman preparing for the harsh winter
while foraging for mushrooms.
the re-entry program faced because of
incarceration as well as the shame they
felt, she aimed to capture “their vulnerability,
their spirit, their beauty.” She
said people who saw the images were
surprised, commenting, “They look just
like you and me.”
Over the four years she spent photographing
at Las Colinas, Zousmer built
many relationships with the women she
met. She discovered that, before entering
Las Colinas, these women been through
very difficult experiences without much
support. “All of them were broken in
some way,” Zousmer said. “Some as
young people and some as teens and it
just continued into their adult life.” Her
own experience of being a young widow
helped Zousmer empathize with the
women’s pain and the unexpected turns
life could take.
“I really was so amazed that they let
me in, and they trusted me because they
said I showed up, I was there,” she said.
“Sometimes I’d come two or three times
a week. I would go at night, and it was
like we were having a pajama party.”
On one of these visits, Zousmer was
interrogated by the deputy sheriff about
photographing in the prison, and her
cameras were locked up. During this
experience, she felt firsthand the treatment
the women experienced on a daily
basis. “They just made me feel like nothing.
It was the most demeaning thing,”
she said. After reading April Harris’s
article in this issue of ZEKE magazine,
Zousmer realized nothing has changed.
Through her photographs at Las
Colinas, Zousmer aims to raise awareness
of the punitive nature of the women’s
prison system. “I feel very strongly about
restorative justice,” she said. “I believe
many of these women didn’t belong in
jail at all. I feel that these women deserve
a second chance.” In her view, the
Future Achievers In Reentry program
at Las Colinas is an important avenue
towards that.
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