[Pnews] Pregnant and shackled: why inmates are still giving birth cuffed and bound

Prisoner News ppnews at freedomarchives.org
Fri Jan 24 10:39:11 EST 2020


  Pregnant and shackled: why inmates are still giving birth cuffed and bound

Lori Teresa Yearwood - January 24, 2020

Seven months pregnant, hands cuffed and feet bound, Sophia Casias 
shuffled across the floor at the Bexar county adult detention center in 
San Antonio, Texas, on March 2017. A guard at stood in front of her, 
holding the chain connected to Casias’s handcuffs.

Casias couldn’t keep her balance though and crumpled on to the wet 
cement floor. She sobbed and felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She would 
later realize that she had felt the same way when multiple family 
members sexually assaulted her as a child.

In her third trimester, Casias, who was jailed for shoplifting – a crime 
she says she committed to feed her heroin addiction – recounted that 
after she fell “a female guard grabbed me by the hair and was making me 
get up. She was screaming: ‘Bitch, get up.’ Then she said, ‘That is what 
happens when you are a fucking junkie. You shouldn’t be using drugs or 
you wouldn’t be in here.’”

The jail put Casias in chains a year and a half before the passage of 
the First Step Act 
in December 2018, a federal law that prohibits some of the most punitive 
measures against prisoners, including shackling of pregnant women.

But the recently enacted federal legislation fails to protect women in 
state prisons and county jails – a population that accounts for 85% of 
incarcerated women in America, according to a 2018 report by the Prison 
Policy Initiative.

This means thousands of pregnant inmates remain at the mercy of guards 
who can choose exactly how to control their every movement – as well as 
the movement of their unborn children.

“We dehumanize this group of women to such an extent that we don’t see 
how wrong this is – just how unnecessary and cruel it is,” says Lorie 
Goshin, associate professor at Hunter-Bellevue School of Nursing in New 
York and the lead investigator of a recent study about the treatment of 
incarcerated pregnant women.

Seventy-four percent of respondents in the 2019 study 
<https://www.jognn.org/article/S0884-2175(18)30366-6/abstract> had cared 
for incarcerated pregnant or postpartum women. Of those women, 61% of 
the time, the reason given for shackling was not because the prisoners 
posed a risk to others, or a flight risk, but simply because “there was 
a rule or protocol” supporting shackling.

Currently, 23 states, says Lauren Kuhlik, Equal Justice Works fellow at 
the ACLU’s National Prison Project, do not have laws against shackling 
of incarcerated pregnant women, despite a 2010 United Nations rule 
that “instruments of restraint shall never be used … during labour, 
during birth and immediately after birth”.

Meanwhile, many prison employees lack understanding of an inmate’s legal 
rights. Not-for-profits try to fill the gap by distributing pamphlets to 
inmates and in support groups, explaining anti-shackling laws.

To convolute matters more, the federal government does not require 
prisons or jails to collect data on pregnancy and childbirth among 
female inmates. A bill introduced 
in September 2018 would have required such data collection. However, no 
action was taken on the bill.

Even the definition of shackling varies. Some states, such as Maryland 
and New York, ban all restraints immediately before and after birth, 
though there are exceptions in extraordinary circumstances. Other 
states, such as Ohio, allow pregnant women to be handcuffed in the front 
of their bodies, as opposed to behind their bodies, which is thought to 
be more destabilizing.

Then there is the delineation between shackling during pregnancy, active 
delivery and postpartum. Individual state laws are filled with nuances. 
As of 2017, Rhode Island is the only state that has what is called “a 
private right of action”, an enforcement mechanism allowing the 
illegally shackled woman to sue for monetary compensation.

The one constant: the acute psychological trauma that shackling inflicts.

“Women subjected to restraint during childbirth report severe mental 
distress, depression, anguish, and trauma,” states a 2017 report 
from the American Psychological Association.

“Women who get locked up, tend on average to have suffered many more 
childhood traumas, says Terry Kupers, MD, a psychiatrist and the author 
of the book Solitary: The Inside Story of Supermax Isolation and How We 
Can Abolish It. He implores prison staffs “to be very careful that we do 
not re-traumatize them. Because re-traumatization makes conditions like 
post-traumatic stress disorder much worse.”

Amy Ard, executive director of Motherhood Beyond Bars, a not-for-profit 
in Georgia, worries that the trauma of shackling takes a toll on the 
self-image of new mothers. Inevitably, this question looms in the minds 
of the women Ard works with: if I am someone who needs to be chained, 
how can I expect to also see myself as someone capable of protecting my 


Harriette Davis, 64, once an inmate at the California Institute for 
Women <https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/women> in Corona, is now 
an anti-shackling advocate and remembers well the trauma of being 
handcuffed to a hospital bed before giving birth to her daughter 36 
years ago. The attending doctor told the guard to remove the shackles, 
Davis says, so that Davis could move freely, helping her baby travel 
more easily down the birth canal.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Davis says the doctor assured the guard.

In the final hour before her daughter was born, the guard finally 
removed the restraints.

Davis bursts into tears as she speaks by telephone from her home in 
Berkeley, California. “It’s inhuman and it’s not necessary and it’s 
emotionally and mentally unhealthy,” she says.

Davis, a black woman imprisoned for voluntary manslaughter of her 
abuser, says the shackling brought up the historical enslavement of her 
people, as well as continued injustices against them.

The United States incarcerates more people than any other country in the 
world. Women have become the fastest-growing gender group within that 
population, where black women are almost twice as likely to be 
incarcerated as white women, according to a 2019 report 
based on data from 2017 from the Sentencing Project, a research and 
advocacy group focusing on racial disparities in crime and punishment.

Advocates for prisoners point to some modest successes in their efforts 
to change punitive state and local laws. On 1 October, an anti-shackling 
law for pregnant women took effect in Georgia, House Bill 345 
preventing shackling from the second semester through six weeks 
postpartum. That bill’s passage came just months after Danielle Edwards 
stood before a judge in Walton county, Georgia, shackled, pregnant and 

Edwards, who was jailed for possession of methamphetamines and has one 
prior arrest for drug possession, says her addiction was an attempt to 
numb the longstanding pain of her grandfather’s death when she was five, 
and then a year after that, the sexual assault committed against her, 
and then the abusive relationship she found herself embroiled in as an 
adult. Edwards says she briefly beat back the addiction. But then her 
grandfather’s wife died and “I jumped right back into the drugs,” she says.

In the county jail, Edwards, 32, says another inmate threatened her and 
Edwards was put in 22-hour isolation cell. When she was taken to and 
from court hearings and doctors’ appointments, she was shackled, 
including leg irons and handcuffs. To prevent the metal around her 
ankles from cutting into her skin, Edwards wore two pairs of socks. 
Still, the shackling terrified her.

“It’s all very confining, uncomfortable and cold,” she says. “And it’s 
scary because when your feet have that limited mobility – you don’t know 
if you are going to misstep and fall on your stomach.”

She says that when she stood in her navy blue jumpsuit in front of the 
judge, she was eight and a half months pregnant. He looked over her 
charge and a sinking feeling overtook her, Edwards says. She pleaded 
with him to send her to rehab instead of prison. That way, she thought, 
she could keep her baby after the birth.

“And I’m standing there in shackles and once I asked him for that chance 
he said: ‘Do you actually think I am going to let you walk out of this 
courtroom? Absolutely not.’”


    Lori Yearwood is a contributing editor at the Economic Hardship
    Reporting Project. Her work has appeared in the Washington Post,
    Slate, CNBC, the San Francisco Chronicle and the American Prospect,
    as well as other publications.

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