Women with incarcerated loved ones embarked on a determined 96-hour effort with organizers in May to secure the release of four Black mothers who were held pretrial at California’s Lynwood Women’s Jail because they couldn’t afford bail, powerfully illustrating the deep inefficiencies of the state’s criminal legal system. We were all part of Essie Justice Group, an organization dedicated to building a network of women with incarcerated loved ones.

We arrived at the Inmate Reception Center (IRC) in Los Angeles on Friday, May 2, at 9:56 a.m., beginning the first leg of a bureaucratic process that took six hours just to post bail. It felt like we were playing a waiting game with the bail desk staff—a game played at the expense of Black mothers. Despite having all of the required information and $231,005 worth of cashier’s checks for all four bails, we spent six hours at the IRC waiting for bail desk staff to do basic functions of their job, such as filling out the bail applications, processing the bail payments, and updating the computer system to trigger releases for all four mothers. 

We checked in with the bail desk staff every hour, and every time, their update was the same: “We’re working on it.” One bail desk staffer was assigned to all four of our bail applications when they took an extended lunch, leaving our bail applications sitting on their desk for two hours. Four hours in, they finally had us sign off on all four bail applications and took the bail payments. The remaining two hours of the six-hour process were used to verify our cashier’s checks before we were ultimately handed our bail receipts, signifying that bail was finally posted and the four mothers were being processed for release. 

After three hours of waiting outside Lynwood Women’s Jail, we called the jail facility for an update on the mothers’ release, and we learned that the bail desk had failed to scan and fax the release documents to the jail. The LA Sheriff’s Department may soon receive a $9.5 million budget increase. With such enormous resources and access to technology, the computer systems at the bail desk and jail facility don’t appear to be streamlined. For every hour we waited, the update from the bail desk was the same: “We’re working on it.” 

Finally, at 1:05 a.m. on Saturday, May 3, after a 16-hour day, we saw the first release of a woman we’ll call Mama W. It was beautiful to welcome her home, but her release in the dead of night, after the trauma of jail, and with no cellphone was a glaring example of the negligence of California’s jail system—negligence that can have fatal consequences. Jail staff claimed they kept Mama W incarcerated longer to ensure her safety upon release, and claimed not to know that anyone was there to pick her up. Never mind that we called hourly for updates on her release, that her public defender called the bail desk and the jail to inform them that we were outside waiting for her, and that we repeatedly told the jail staff that we would not leave until all four mothers were released. But instead of immediately processing Mama W’s release, they delayed until after 1 a.m.

On Saturday morning, we secured the freedom of women we’ll call Mama T and Mama C.; and Monday, after 96 hours of waiting, the fourth and final mother, Mama A, was finally released. Where else in our society would it be acceptable to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for something only to be misled, forced to wait 96 hours in traumatizing and unsafe conditions, and with no clear updates or guarantees on the timeline? But because many of the people experiencing these conditions are poor Black women, California’s jail system is allowed to operate this way. 

The delays we experienced are not anomalies; they are routine tactics found in California’s criminal legal system. During the bailout process, one Essie member spoke to a supervisor at the IRC, who told her that when someone’s bail is posted, they are supposed to be released within six hours. But California jails notoriously move at their own pace—even after bail is posted. 

For the last nine years, Essie members have seen these tactics play out over and over again as founding members of the National Bail Out, a Black-led collective of abolitionists working to abolish pretrial detention systems. Our collective formed in response to the disproportionate impact that pretrial detention and the bail system specifically have on Black mothers and caregivers. As a primary leader of the Black Mama’s Bail Out campaign in California, Essie has bailed out 21 Black mothers and caregivers from jails across the state, and every year, we experience these intentional, onerous, and negligent tactics.

Women with incarcerated loved ones from Essie’s membership, who have experience and expertise in navigating California’s jail system, report that jail staff “do everything they can to keep people in a cell overnight.” It’s always the expertise of women with incarcerated loved ones that ensures safe homecomings for all of the Black mothers and caregivers we’ve bailed out. And it’s our expertise in caregiving and reentry—providing court support, finding and connecting formerly incarcerated Black mothers to housing and mental health resources, conducting regular wellness checks, and welcoming them into supportive, lifelong community—that strengthens their rebuilding.

California’s Prop 36, which extends harsh sentencing to low-level nonviolent drug and theft offenses, ensures that 65,398 more people will be incarcerated each year inside the state’s already overcrowded prisons and jails. Black mothers and women with incarcerated loved ones will absorb the impact of the state’s investment in punishment over people.

One in four women and 1 in 2 Black women have a loved one who is incarcerated. When our loved ones are released from incarceration, we are the unseen leaders at the heart of care and reentry. As public safety strategies continue to be debated, we call on California legislators and decision makers to prioritize investments in mental health, substance dependency treatment, and housing programs—the very things proven to prevent crime in the first place. Our communities deserve better, and women with incarcerated loved ones will continue to fight for investments in community-based alternatives to incarceration that will actually keep us safe.

Editorial Team:
Tina Vasquez, Lead Editor
Carolyn Copeland, Top Editor
Stephanie Harris, Copy Editor