Kerman reveals inequities in women's prisons

Like many young people, Piper Kerman longed for adventure. After doing all of the "right" things, including graduating from Smith College, Kerman embarked on a more dangerous path involving drug trafficking.

Five years later, law enforcement officials knocked on her door with a warrant for her arrest. Following six years of legalities, Kerman spent 11 months in a correctional facility in Danbury and two additional months at a transfer center in Oklahoma and a federal jail in Chicago.

"It's hard for me to complain about my sentence. I did break the law and I knew I was breaking the law," Kerman said to about 50 people gathered in the Westport Public Library's McManus Room on July 21. Kerman, author of a recently released memoir called Orange is the New Black: My Year in a Women's Prison, was part of the library's Authors at the Library series.

Although Kerman doesn't decry punishment for her crime -- she transported a large sum of money from Chicago to Brussels and pleaded guilty to drug smuggling and money laundering -- she is skeptical about the more stringent sentences bestowed upon some of her fellow inmates.

"I stood next to people who were serving seven- to 10-year sentences and I wondered did she really do something that was 10 times worse than me or is there another reason she got a stronger sentence," Kerman said.

Kerman observed many inequities in how the justice system operated and some of her observations are recorded in Orange is the New Black.

"I set out to depict what life in prison is like, especially from the viewpoint of a woman," Kerman noted.

One area that she found deplorable was the penitentiary's weak attempt at helping the women transition to life in the outside world.

In her book, Kerman describes the mandatory pre-release classes that inmates were required to attend as their sentence came close to its end. Supposedly, they would be given information about housing, employment, health and nutrition.

However, the program was taught by prison personnel, such as the warden's former secretary and the guards. Kerman vividly recalls the class offered by the warden's secretary as being less about health issues and more about how she lost weight by adopting a positive attitude. By the time the lecture took place, though, she was back to her former, larger size, Kerman noted.

"I was so disgusted with the Bureau of Prison's farcical pre-release program that I just closed my eyes and waited for it to be over," she added.

When Kerman complained to another inmate about it, she was told, "Piper, you are looking for logic in all of the wrong places."

To Kerman, though, it was obvious that for many women, "one of the stumbling blocks" to making a successful transition from jail to life on the outside was getting a job. "It's hard to get out and get work," she explained. "Lots of people are going home to some very challenging situations."

During a question and answer period, Claire Zielinski, of Westport, agreed that those incarcerated need a great deal of support as they prepare to resume living with their families and friends. Working as an advanced graduate student at the Mary Magdalene House, a half-way house for female prisoners in Bridgeport, Zielinski has the opportunity to witness their struggles and be able to offer assistance.

"It's hard for them to adjust and, for this reason, after-care is absolutely critical," Zielinski said. The Mary Magdalene House, under the direction of Mary Sander, provides outreach services which include counseling in vocations, substance abuse prevention and even how to budget their money.

Kerman strongly believes that this kind of program should begin when the women are still incarcerated. Looking around her, during one of the pre-release classes, Kerman realized that her fellow inmates would soon be confronted by a bevy of serious issues concerning employment, housing and, for some, learning how to be a parent.

"I had none of these concerns because I was so much luckier than many of the women in the prison," Kerman noted.

In fact, she has strong words of praise for all of the families of inmates. Her own family, she said, was "incredible."

"They were shocked, especially since (the arrest) came so long after the offense," Kerman said. "They were also humiliated and embarrassed."

However, Kerman told the audience that statistics show a higher rate of success for re-entry for prisoners who have strong family ties.

This can be difficult, she added, because in another ironic twist in the criminal justice system, many inmates are compelled to serve their sentences at prisons which are located far away from their family and friends.

Kerman also rails against the lack of care provided to those with substance abuse problems. Many of today's prisoners are serving time for non-violent crimes that often involve drugs. However, few people, especially women, are allowed to enroll in prison-sponsored detox and rehabilitation programs.

"There was a nine-month substance abuse program in Danbury, but it was only available to a small faction of prisoners. You often have to be sentenced to the program by your judge, so you have to have a good lawyer who knows to ask that you be put into the program," Kerman said.

Addressing a much-asked question about the amount of violence that occurs in prison, Kerman told the audience that the closest she came to getting into a fight was at the salad bar in the prison cafeteria. The verbal dispute centered on her taking more raw spinach than another inmate would have preferred. Reading from her book, Kerman recounts how a "disrespectful, 18-year-old" confronted her about "picking in the greens."

She explained that from the time she first entered the prison, Kerman was "friendly and not disrespectful."

"The cardinal rule, though, is you don't tell anyone what to do," she said.

One of the first things she learned was how to navigate the prison's social system.

"Everyone needs to figure out where they fit in this harsh and stark and often new setting," Kerman noted.

One of the more poignant scenes from her book told about Kerman's feelings about being asked to color another inmate's hair because she was the only one that the other woman trusted with the task. In the prison's makeshift hair salon, as she diligently put the hair dye on each strand of hair, Kerman admitted to feeling "proud."

"I felt like a normal girl, hanging out with her girlfriends," Kerman said.