Lost Childhoods: The Impact of Child Incarceration

A child's hands restrained with handcuffs behind the bars of a cell.

Years ago, during a Democracy in Color podcast appearance, I had a conversation with then-host Aimee Allison about my adolescent years growing up in a single-parent, low-income household and the challenges that came with it. My story is well-documented, having told it time and time again for almost a decade, but during this interview, it was different.


For the first time during an interview, Host Aimee Alison interrupted me when I was describing my time in the juvenile justice system.

Normally, in our sound-bite world, I try to get through that part of my life as quickly as possible while still keeping it substantive enough to make my point. The interviewers are happy to oblige the quick pace. But this time around, Aimee said to me, “I want to go back to those cinder-block walls.” For a moment, I was startled but then also hesitant.

At that point in my career, I had talked often about what it was like to be treated like just another number going through the criminal justice system, what it was like to be treated like discarded, worthless cattle to be identified, recorded, and cataloged. But I had never really talked about it, and surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, I found it profoundly difficult to do.

The School to Prison Pipeline

I was 12 when I was first tracked into the juvenile justice system — just a little girl, as Aimee pointed out. It started out with acting out behavior like ditching school, shoplifting, and running away as a result of not understanding what was going on at home. Not understanding why my dad beat my mom, and understanding, even at the age of 9 when this was happening, that she had to leave, but never understanding why she chose not to come back for us like she said she would.

I was a good kid. I got good grades. I was in gifted and talented education and even made 1st chair in the orchestra. But my young mind concluded that my mom simply didn’t want me, or my baby brothers, and I didn’t understand why. So I ran away from home. I cut classes. I shoplifted. I turned to the only form of stability that made sense at the time that was available to me— gangs.

The circumstances of my young life were less than ideal — and I say that from the perspective that even though I experienced trauma that no young person should ever know, I also recognize that there are hundreds of thousands of young people who have experienced and are currently experiencing, much deeper and troubling trauma than I ever did. Much like these kids who are growing up in environments that are over-policed and under-resourced, when I cut classes and ran away from home and was caught, the police could have taken me back to school, or done any number of things, but instead, they handcuffed me, threw me in the back of the police car, and took me straight to juvenile detention.

The staff at the detention center could have done any number of things, but instead, I was processed like everyone else was — from murderers to curfew violators, the process was the same. Every last point of contact in the justice system could have done something differently if, in fact, they thought of the children going through the system as young kids with their own stories instead of just files to process.

The process can vary from place to place, bur normally, when you arrive at juvenile detention facility, you're placed in a holding area. Cinderblock walls and cold cinderblock benches line the room. Once someone is available, you're pulled out and taken to a desk where you're fingerprinted, photographed for your mug shot, and asked various intake questions. If you’re lucky and your parents can pick you up quickly, you sit in the holding room until someone picks you up.

I can’t remember a time when those rooms weren’t ice cold—and good luck if you got a blanket. Asking for some comfort never worked. It’s like the rooms were designed to be ice-cold torture rooms, and the staff were happy to carry out the mission. Most of the time my dad couldn’t be reached to pick me up, and when too much time passed, you were changed into an orange or tan inmate jumpsuit in preparation for a longer-term stay. That meant they had to inventory your belongings and strip search you.

The Trauma that Endures

I remember being strip searched. I was old enough to know that my body was private but not old enough to have much to be private about. Another cinder block room and cold floors. “Take off your clothes.” “Hand them to me.” “Do you have any contraband?” “Put these clothes on.” “We’ll be back to get you.” Metal fortified door slammed shut. The slam reverberates.

The process of being institutionalized does something to you. It chips away at your sense of self. Your sense of humanity. Slowly but surely your status begins to feel less than human. Some would argue that it’s supposed to be that way. Some would argue that it’s supposed to be uncomfortable and traumatic. Others would argue and demonstrate that harsh treatment and out-of-home placement of young offenders fails to produce positive outcomes for offending youth. In fact, decades of research prove that our tough on crime policies that produced a generation of felons and shot the U.S. to the number one global spot in prison population are actually costing us more money and producing less societal benefits.

But statistics and policy aside, how much time do we spend talking about, and thinking about the day-to-day decisions that could possibly change the outcome of the lives of the people who are going through our system? How often do we hear about the prosecutor who treated the defendant like a human being with dignity instead of labeling them “bad guys” before they even got a hearing? How often do we think about the extenuating circumstances of offenders before we assume that all forays into the justice system are as simple as good choice vs. bad choice? How often does the media cover crime stories in the context of indicators that predict a child’s life outcomes? Not often at all.

Why? Because we live in a sound bite world. We live in a world where even my own story has been whittled down to a feel-good, pick yourself up by your bootstraps (a terrible saying, that by literal definition is impossible to do), good ‘ole American success story. A story where “personal responsibility” reigns supreme.

The Bootstrap Myth

In response to the potential for “personal responsibility” co-opting, I spend a lot of time highlighting the decision that my parole officer made not to revoke my parole and send me back into the system that chewed me up and spit me back out many times over. I spend a lot of time highlighting the resource and time investment that people made in me plusmy own desire to break the cycle I finally realized I was in.

I do that because it’s honest.

It’s also the situation that so many young people and adults are facing every day as they churn through our modern justice (or more accurately, injustice) system. Almost no one wakes up one day with no support, intervention, or mentorship and says to themselves, today is the day I become someone else.

We are in dire need of systemic change to our criminal justice system, but we are also in dire need of decent human beings who have the courage and compassion to treat arrestees (because yes, everyone is supposed to be innocent until proven guilty) and offenders like human beings. My parole officer had no idea that when she took into account my abysmal life circumstances and made the decision to give me another chance, she extended me another lease on life. She had no idea that I would end up writing this piece from a scenic waterfront cafe as I sip on coffee and contemplate my thoughts in the serenity of the flowing river and the cool passing breeze.

The coolness of the passing breeze couldn’t be more different than the harsh cold of the cinder block bench surrounded by the cinder block walls that once confined me - a memory that will plague me forever. How many others could also be in different situations if only someone had shown them some compassion and understanding, as my parole officer showed me? What might possibly become of this family after Judge Amber Wolf decided to let this defendant see his newborn baby while in court despite the no-contact order in place?

Time will tell, but if you asked my parole officer 25 years ago what she thought was going to happen to me after she decided to give me a chance, she probably wouldn’t have described my waterfront location or the list of honorifics that precede my name. "Inmate" would have been the likeliest guest by expectation standards. “Inmate” certainly would have been what most people I encountered would have guessed — and that's the crux of the problem.

We can expect more from our kids who are in troubled conditions when we meet our duty to change those conditions. Expecting change without this means we will just continue to let our children's futures waste away, creating a societal expense that's so vast it can't even be quantified.

This Viral Video Game Is Changing the Face of Voter Outreach

In 2024, voting campaigns have evolved greatly, to say the least. Creativity is now the name of the game and tongue-in-cheek humor is expertly leveraged to drive action. One example of that is Bop the Bigot, a revival of a viral game created in 2016 by Bazta Arpaio, an Arizona activist group, as part of a campaign to unseat Maricopa County’s Sheriff Joe Arpaio. Arpaio lost his re-election to Paul Penzone that year.

The game has now been updated for the current election cycle and relaunched by On Point Studios, with new features added to enable players to find out what’s on their ballot, confirm voter status, and register to vote.

Much like its former 2016 version, the game allows users to take out their political frustrations by virtually “bopping” GOP candidates in the head. It’s very similar to whack-a-mole, except the mole is replaced by former President Donald Trump, Ohio’s Senator J. D. Vance, and Kevin Roberts, President of the Heritage Foundation, which is spearheading Project 2025.

cartoon renditions of Donald Trump and J.D. Vance around a Bop the Bigot logoPromotional image provided by On Point Studios.

B. Loewe, Director of On Point Studios, came up with the concept for this game when working as the Communications Director at Bazta Arpaio in 2016, and is the executive producer of this revamped version. In the first version of the game, Bop the Bigot players used a chancla (flip flop) to “bop” the characters, tapping into Latino culture by leaning on the childhood experience of being set right by a flying chancla from a fed-up mother or grandmother.

This year, the chancla is replaced by a more current element, a green coconut, referencing Kamala Harris’ coconut tree meme. There are also side characters like “the couch,” cat ladies, and more coconuts. All references to jokes about Vice-Presidential candidate Vance, or insults Vance has made about women on the campaign trail.

Another new addition is that Harris’ laugh is immortalized as the game-over sound effect, an unexpected detail that adds even more humor and levity to the game.

cartoon renditions of Donald Trump, Kevin Roberts, and J.D. Vance around a Bop the Bigot logoPromotional image provided by On Point Studios.

Bop the Bigot, which is playable on desktop and mobile, is intended not just as a way to vent political frustrations, but also as a tool for activism and securing voter engagement.

For example, the game supports the work of Mexican Neidi Dominguez Zamorano, Founding Executive Director of the non-profit organization Organized Power in Numbers by using the “game over” screen to prompt players to donate to it and support their efforts.

Organized Power in Numbers is focused on empowering workers in the South and Southwest of the U.S. through collective action and comprehensive campaigns. Their mission is to create a large-scale movement that challenges the status quo and advocates for workers' rights, and racial and economic justice.

Currently, Dominguez Zamorano is leading worker outreach to 2 million working-class voters in the South and Southwest through doorknocking, texting, and calls with the help of local groups in North Carolina, Arizona, New Mexico, and more.

“We have been blown away by the enthusiastic reception for the video game. We knew we wanted to be part of its creative approach because our movement needs more fun and laughter. We need more ways to connect with nuestra gente so we can feel joy among all the absurdity we witness every day,” Dominguez Zamorano shared with Luz Media via email.

“Our people are gente trabajadora and we deserve to feel uplifted even in our toughest moments. We are deeply involved in the South and Southwest so we know what’s at stake in this election and we’re happy this can be a resource to mobilize, raise spirits, and get out the vote," she concluded.

Dominguez Zamorano is a committed activist for immigrants and workers' rights, known for her strategist skills and expertise. She played a key role in the campaign to win DACA and has also held roles in major campaigns, including as Deputy National States Director for Bernie Sanders' 2020 presidential campaign. In addition to her work with Organized Power in Numbers, Dominguez Zamorano is serving as a Senior Advisor to Mijente’s Fuera Trump Initiative.

Grassroots efforts like these have taken on new life in 2024, with Bop the Bigot adding to the larger, ongoing fight against political apathy and disinformation. Just as it did during the 2016 race, the video game uses humor to soften the serious task at hand—getting people to the polls.

"We want the game to be a fun and comical outlet for anyone who’s been insulted, frustrated, or harmed by Trump in the past and everyone who is ready to move forward as a country after election day," explained Loewe in a press release. "The proposals in Project 2025 and the beliefs of Trump and Vance aren’t just weird, they’re truly harmful. We wanted to give people a humorous and peaceful way to smack down their racism and sexism. We hope it makes people laugh and also feel empowered and motivated to get to the polls on or before election day."

With a mix of satire, sharp political critique, and nostalgia, the game is a call to action. The upcoming election, which is getting closer by the minute, has sparked fierce activism and creative yet grounded initiatives like these aim to ensure voters are engaged, especially young Latinos and disenfranchised groups.

hands holding up yellow protest signs that say Hands Off Our Bodies
Photo Credit: Gayatri Malhotra via Unsplash

Originally published in Common Dreams. Reprinted with permission.

The Latino electorate will prove decisive in securing reproductive freedom and abortion access through ballot measures around the country, particularly in states where Latinos are a significant portion of the electorate.

In November, abortion rights measures will appear on ballots across ten states, including Arizona, Colorado, Florida, Nevada, and New York, where Latinos make up a significant portion of the electorate. For decades, pundits and politicians have recycled long-held misconceptions about Latino voters and abortion access, citing our conservative and religious beliefs.

Anti-abortion extremists have long fueled these misconceptions through misinformation and disinformation campaigns targeting Latino communities with egregious lies and inflammatory rhetoric about abortion. Yet, polling, focus groups, and direct interactions with Latino communities have debunked these outdated tropes.

The Latino electorate will prove decisive in securing reproductive freedom and abortion access through ballot measures around the country, particularly in states where Latinos are a significant portion of the electorate.

For Latinos, the freedom to decide, a pillar of our American democracy, is critical. Meanwhile, Latinos are being hit directly with anti-abortion efforts that take away that freedom such as the six-week abortion ban put into effect by the Florida Supreme Court and the 1864 abortion ban upheld by the Arizona Supreme Court. In the wake of the Dobbs decision, people of color and Latinas have felt the impact of a lack of abortion access, an element of basic healthcare.

A 2023 report by the National Partnership for Women and Families estimated that nearly 6.5 million Latinas, or 42% of all Latinas of reproductive age in the country, live in a state that either had or was likely to ban abortion. Ironically, it will be abortion access and anti-choice efforts to restrict freedom of choice that will mobilize Latino voters this election.

In a poll conducted by three national reproductive justice organizations, 87% of Latinas named abortion and women’s rights as one of their top priorities as they head to the polls. Another battleground poll conducted by Somos PAC and BSP Research found that 61% of Latino registered voters expressed a more positive/favorable view of Kamala Harris after hearing that she will protect abortion rights, versus only 19% of Latinos who said they had a more negative view of Harris after hearing that.

In key states to secure the White House and both chambers, Latinos make up large chunks of the electorate: Arizona (25%), Colorado (15%), Florida (20%), Nevada (20%), and New York (12%). In the face of unprecedented attacks on basic healthcare access and targeted attempts by extremists to mislead and divide our community on this issue, this November Latinos will be key deciders on abortion access across the country.

Mari Urbina, Managing Director of Indivisible, Battleground Arizona Lead and former Harry Reid advisor.

Héctor Sánchez Barba is president and CEO of Mi Familia Vota (MFV).