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criminal justice system
Freedom Isn’t Free When You’re Black and Poor
The unforgiving reality of cash bail transforms “innocent until proven guilty” into “guilty until proven wealthy.”
Feb 08, 2025
When I was 17, I was charged with a crime I didn’t commit.
During an argument, I was arrested and wrongfully accused of threatening someone with a firearm, which I hadn’t done. My bail was set impossibly high, far beyond what I could afford, especially as a father to a newborn son. Forced to wait for my day in court behind bars, I came to a heartbreaking realization: If I or someone in my family had been wealthy, I could have walked free. Instead, I was denied my presumption of innocence and ripped from my family because I couldn’t pay for my freedom.
The American criminal justice system, which promises equal justice under the law, punishes poverty, tears families apart, and devastates communities like mine.
We need a system where release is based on case-by-case assessments of safety, not wealth.
Sadly, my story isn’t unique. It reflects a system that routinely prioritizes wealth over justice, especially for Black Americans. As someone who personally faced the burdens of cash bail and now works to alleviate that burden for others through The Bail Project—a national nonprofit providing free bail assistance and pretrial support to thousands of low-income people every year—I firmly believe that we have two systems of justice: one for the wealthy and one for everyone else.
This system incarcerates over 60% of people arrested before trial simply because they can’t afford bail. Safety, not wealth or race, should determine who is held or released before trial. Yet, wealth often dictates freedom. Many accused face nonviolent, low-level charges and pose no risk to public safety, but the unforgiving reality of cash bail transforms “innocent until proven guilty” into “guilty until proven wealthy.”
When someone is arrested, a court can impose a cash bail amount: a sum of money required for their release before trial. If you have the funds, you’re released from jail, no matter the circumstances. If you don’t, you’re locked up. Sometimes for weeks, months, or even years.
Judges tasked with setting bail often make these critical decisions in less than five minutes, relying on limited information and implicit biases that disproportionately affect Black defendants, during hearings that rarely require evidence, and often proceed without legal counsel for the defendants. As a result, Black defendants are detained more often than white defendants facing the same charges. On average, courts impose bail amounts nearly $10,000 higher for Black individuals than their white counterparts.
This disparity has devastating consequences, especially in communities of color. Being jailed before trial makes it harder to fight your case, leading many to plead guilty, even if they’re innocent, just to get out. It risks jobs, housing, physical health, and child custody while exposing legally innocent people to unsafe and traumatizing jail conditions.
Consider Christopher, a Black Gulf War veteran who was arrested for alleged possession of a controlled substance. His bail was set at $1,000: an insurmountable sum for him. Christopher was forced to wait in jail for six weeks before his case was dismissed. During that time, he lost his job as a house painter and his PTSD worsened. All of that suffering, and it was for nothing.
Then there’s Ashley, a Black woman eight months pregnant when a scheduling error led to her arrest for a nonviolent misdemeanor. Unable to pay a $11,500 bail, Ashley spent three weeks in a filthy, overcrowded jail cell, sleeping on the floor without a mattress. She lost her job, her apartment, and was forced to sleep in her car with her newborn daughter after giving birth.
We need a system that ensures fairness and protects safety for everyone. We need a system where release is based on case-by-case assessments of safety, not wealth.
Fortunately, alternatives to cash bail exist and work. Illinois became the first state to completely eliminate cash bail in 2023, and judges now determine who needs to be detained pretrial based on risk to others, not money. This shift has kept communities safe while reducing the number of people needlessly incarcerated pretrial. Nationally, more than 30 cities have safely minimized the use of cash bail, according to research from the Brennan Center for Justice.
This Black History Month, as we reflect on how far we’ve come and how far we still have to go to achieve racial equality, let’s not overlook the urgent need for bail reform. Ending cash bail is more than public policy; it’s a moral imperative.
It’s time to put an end to cash bail and write a safer, fairer future for everyone.
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Trans Inmate Sues Trump Over 'Dangerous' Gender Policy Forcing Transfer to Men's Prison
"Courts have already found that forcing trans women into men's prisons is cruel and unusual punishment," noted one media outlet.
Jan 27, 2025
A transgender woman inmate serving her sentence in a women's federal prison sued the Trump administration on Sunday, arguing that Republican U.S. President Donald Trump's recent executive order narrowly defining sex violates the Constitution's ban on cruel and unusual punishment, is "motivated by discriminatory animus" toward trans people, and forces "dangerous transfers to men's facilities."
A redacted copy of the lawsuit—which was filed by an inmate in an unspecified low-security federal prison identified as "Maria Moe"—claims Trump's January 20 executive order stating that it is henceforth federal policy "to recognize two sexes, male and female" violates her constitutional rights.
"Defendant Trump has been transparent about his hostility toward transgender people and openly stated his intentions to create legal obstacles to eliminate legal protections for transgender people and to deter them from obtaining medical care or being able to live in a sex other than their birth sex," the lawsuit states.
On Sunday, a transgender woman who is currently in prison sued Donald Trump, Acting A.G. McHenry, and the head of the Bureau of Prisons due to her treatment in the wake of the Jan. 20 anti-trans "sex" definition executive order. Read it all at Law Dork: www.lawdork.com/p/trans-woma...
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— Chris Geidner (@chrisgeidner.bsky.social) January 27, 2025 at 10:52 AM
"On November 15, 2022, when he announced his candidacy for president, he explicitly promised to target transgender Americans through executive action," the complaint continues. "He pledged a 'day one' executive order to 'cease all programs that promote the concept of sex and gender transition at any age.'"
"If Maria Moe is transferred to a men's facility, she will not be safe," the lawsuit stresses. "Transferring Maria Moe to a men's prison will pose a substantial risk of serious harm, including an extremely high risk of violence and sexual assault from other incarcerated people and [Federal Bureau of Prisons] staff."
"In a men's prison, Maria Moe will also be at high risk of worsening gender dysphoria, which can lead to serious physical and mental health conditions including severe depression and suicidality," the complaint adds. "These risks are obvious, well-documented, and well-known to BOP officials."
Furthermore, the suit says that ending Moe's federally funded hormone therapy "would constitute deliberate indifference to her serious medical needs and would violate the 8th Amendment's prohibition on cruel and unusual punishment."
As
LGBTQ Nationreported Monday, "Courts have already found that forcing trans women into men's prisons is cruel and unusual punishment."
According to the very small print on the BOP's "inmate gender" webpage, there are 1,529 transgender females in federal custody and 744 transgender males.
The new lawsuit preceded Monday reporting that Trump is expected to revive his first-term policy of banning new military enlistments by transgender people.
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Pardon Me: Ending the Stigma That Harms Generations
When we reduce people to their convictions, we fail to see their humanity, their potential, and the harm this judgment causes not just to them but to their families.
Dec 25, 2024
U.S. President Joe Biden’s recent clemency grants to 1,500 Americans sparked renewed discussions about second chances.
Yet for millions of parents—mothers and fathers—the shackles of their past legal convictions extend far beyond their time served. The collateral consequences of a criminal record don’t just haunt individuals. They ripple through families, shaping the lives of children who had no part in their parents’ mistakes.
As someone who has traversed the lasting consequences of a conviction, I know firsthand how society judges parents like me—not by the love and care we provide our children but by the labels of our past. But when we reduce people to their convictions, we fail to see their humanity, their potential, and the harm this judgment causes not just to them but to their families.
The collateral consequences of a criminal conviction aren’t just abstract statistics—they’re the missed field trips, the lost jobs, the countless times parents must tell their children, “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Around 77 million Americans, or one in three Americans, have criminal records, according to the National Conference of State Legislatures. Each year, more than 600,000 Americans are released from prison and reenter society. It is a transition rife with barriers of injustice, prejudice, racism, and inequality.
The United States has more than 44,000 laws and policies that restrict people with criminal convictions from accessing basic rights and opportunities. These rules create barriers to housing, employment, education, and even parenting. For mothers and fathers, the inability to rebuild their lives post-incarceration isn’t just a personal struggle—it’s a family crisis.
One of the most painful moments after my conviction was realizing I couldn’t chaperone my 13-year-old daughter’s eighth grade field trip because of my record. Telling her I wasn’t allowed to go broke something inside me.
For parents like me, these moments happen all the time—when we can’t volunteer at school, rent an apartment near better schools, or secure a job that provides stability. To our children, it feels like rejection.
One report estimates that the number of children with incarcerated parents ranges from 1.7 to 2.7 million. Research shows these children are more likely to face emotional, behavioral, and academic challenges. They’re often treated as if their parent’s conviction is their fault. This stigma perpetuates cycles of poverty and marginalization, making it harder for families to break free from systemic barriers.
Beyond the personal pain, the statistics paint a bleak picture. According to the Prison Policy Initiative, nearly 70% of formerly incarcerated individuals are unemployed or underemployed a year after release. For parents, this means struggling to provide even the basics for their children.
Women are particularly vulnerable, with many returning to find their housing options limited because public housing policies exclude people with records. Fathers, too, often face obstacles in reestablishing their parental rights or even being present in their children’s lives due to parole restrictions and ongoing stigma.
These systemic barriers serve as a constant reminder that, in the eyes of society, those with records are defined by their convictions. It’s as though the world has dog eared a page from their worst chapter, refusing to read further.
To be sure, accountability matters. Parents who commit harm must take responsibility for their actions. But accountability must not equate to a lifetime of condemnation. Punishing parents indefinitely only compounds harm, especially for the children who depend on them for stability and love.
Parents are more than their past mistakes, just as a book is more than its cover. Judging someone solely by their record robs them of the chance to write a better chapter. It also robs their children of the opportunity to see their parents as whole people—flawed but capable of change and love.
The collateral consequences of a criminal conviction aren’t just abstract statistics—they’re the missed field trips, the lost jobs, the countless times parents must tell their children, “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
If we truly value redemption as a society, we must move beyond judging people solely by their convictions.
Every parent deserves the chance to show their children that they are more than their past. And every child deserves the opportunity to believe in second chances. Clemency relies on laws, policies, pardons, and humanity.
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