𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔
𝑭𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒚
𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓
𝑨𝒖𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒚 𝑫𝒐𝒚𝒍𝒆, 𝑹𝒐𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆 𝑽𝒐𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔, 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑫𝒆𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒐, 𝑲𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒏 𝑶'𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒂, 𝑻𝒊𝒍 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍
𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝑾𝒆𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒆
𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒍𝒚𝒏, 𝑵𝒀
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seen from United States
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seen from United States
𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔
𝑭𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒚
𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓
𝑨𝒖𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒚 𝑫𝒐𝒚𝒍𝒆, 𝑹𝒐𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆 𝑽𝒐𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔, 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑫𝒆𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒐, 𝑲𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒏 𝑶'𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒂, 𝑻𝒊𝒍 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍
𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝑾𝒆𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒆
𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒍𝒚𝒏, 𝑵𝒀
follow me on tumblr to more paintings ~* .* updated often ✨🦀🌱💕🍄
["Working with queer and trans/gender-non-conforming youth in the Deep South, I hear stories of state and personal violence from a wide range of people. There was the 16-year-old, black self-identified “stud” in detention after her mom referred her to family court for bringing girls to the house. Then there was the incarcerated white 16-year-old trans youth from a rural town of 642, whose access to transgender healthcare resided in the hands of one juvenile judge. I was told of a black trans-feminine youth in New Orleans who was threatened with contempt for wearing feminine clothing to her court hearing. There was also the 12-year-old boy, perceived to be gay by his mother, who was brought into judge’s chambers without his attorney and questioned about being gay before he was sentenced for contempt after being found “ungovernable.” There was the public defender who refused to represent his gay client because the lawyer believed him to be “sick” and in need of the “services” offered by prison. And there was the black lesbian arrested over and over again for any crime where witnesses described the perpetrator as an African American “boyish-looking” girl.
Nowhere is the literal regulation and policing of gender and sexuality, particularly of low-income queer and trans youth of color, so apparent than in juvenile courts and in the juvenile justice system in the South. Understanding how the juvenile justice system operates and impacts queer and trans/gender-non-conforming youth requires a critical look at the history of youth rights and the inception of juvenile court. During the Industrial Revolution (1800–1840s), poor youth worked in factories, received no public education and were often arrested for the crime of poverty.[1] These youth, some as young as 7 years old, were incarcerated with adults and placed in prisons until they were 21. Inspired by the belief that young people who committed crimes could be rehabilitated and shocked by the horrific treatment of white children in adult prisons, the juvenile justice system was developed. This new system was based on parens patriae, the idea that the role of the system was to place youth in the state’s custody when their parents were unable to care for them. Later, in 1899, the first juvenile court was established, designed to “cure” children and provide treatments for them rather than sentences. Still rooted in a Puritan ideology, white young women were often sent to institutions “to protect them from sexual immorality.”
Black children, however, who were viewed as incapable of rehabilitation, continued to be sent to adult prisons or were sent to racially segregated institutions. In Louisiana, black youth were sent to work the fields at Angola State Penitentiary, a former slave plantation, until 1948 when the State Industrial School for Colored Youth opened. The facilities were not desegregated until the United States District Court ordered desegregation of juvenile facilities in 1969. More recently, the goal of juvenile justice reform has been to keep youth in their homes and in their communities whenever possible while providing appropriate treatment services to youth and their families. However, with the juvenile justice system’s intent to provide “treatment” to young people, many queer/trans youth inherit the ideology that they are “wrong” or in need of “curing,” as evidenced by their stories.
As sexual and gender transgressions have been deemed both illegal and pathological, queer and trans youth, who are some of the most vulnerable to “treatments,” are not only subjected to incarceration but also to harassment by staff, conversion therapy, and physical violence. Moreover, with the juvenile justice system often housed under the direct authority of state correctional systems and composed of youth referred directly from state police departments, it should not be surprising that young people locked up in the state juvenile system, 80 percent of whom are black in Louisiana, are often actually destroyed by the very system that was created to intervene. Worse than just providing damaging outcomes for youth once they are incarcerated, this rehabilitative system funnels queer and trans/gender-non-conforming youth into the front doors of the system. Non-accepting parents and guardians can refer their children to family court for arbitrary and subjective behaviors, such as being “ungovernable.” Police can bring youth in for status offenses, offenses for which adults cannot be charged, which often become contributing factors to the criminalization of youth. Charges can range from truancy to curfew violations to running away from home. Like in the adult criminal justice system, queer and trans youth can be profiled by the police and brought in for survival crimes like prostitution or theft. Youth may be referred for self-defense arising from conflict with hostile family members or public displays of affection in schools that selectively enforce policies only against queer and trans youth."]
Wesley Ware, from Rounding Up The Homosexuals: The Impact of Juvenile Court on Queer and Trans/Gender-Non-Conforming Youth, from Captive Genders: Trans Embodiment and the Prison Industrial Complex, edited by Eric A. Stanley and Nat Smith, AK Press, 2011
[“Despite the targeting and subsequent silencing of queer and trans/gender-non-conforming youth in youth prisons and jails across Louisiana, young people have developed creative acts of resistance and mechanisms for self-preservation and survival. By failing to recognize the ways that young people demonstrate their own agency and affirm each other, we risk perpetuating the idea of vulnerable youth with little agency; victims rather than survivors and active resisters of a brutal system.
Perhaps the most resilient of all youth in prison in Louisiana, incarcerated queer and trans youth have documented their grievances, over and over again, keeping impeccable paper trails of abuse and discrimination for their lawyers and advocates. When confronted by the guards who waged wars against them, one self-identified gay youth let it be known, “You messin’ with the wrong punk.”
Although prohibited from even speaking publicly with other queer youth in prison, queer and trans youth have formed community across three youth prisons in the state, whispered through fences, and passed messages through sympathetic staff. They have made matching bracelets and necklaces for one another, gotten each other’s initials tattooed on their bodies, and written letters to each other’s mothers. They have supported each other by alerting advocates when one of them was on lockdown or in trouble and unable to call.
Trans-feminine youth have gone to lockdown instead of cutting their hair and used their bed sheets to design curtains for their cells once they got there. They have smuggled in Kool-Aid to dye their hair, secretly shaved their legs, colored their fingernails with markers, and used crayons for eye shadow. When a lawyer asked her trans-masculine client to dress more “feminine” for court, knowing that the judge was increasingly hostile toward gender-non-conforming youth, her client drew the line at the skirt, fearlessly and proudly demanding that she receive her sentence in baggy pants instead.
Queer and trans/gender-non-conforming youth have made us question the very purpose of the juvenile justice system and holding them behind bars in jails and prisons made for kids. By listening to their voices it becomes apparent that until we dismantle state systems designed to criminalize and police young people and variant expressions of gender and sexuality, none of us will be free.”]
Wesley Ware, from Rounding Up The Homosexuals: The Impact of Juvenile Court on Queer and Trans/Gender-Non-Conforming Youth, from Captive Genders: Trans Embodiment and the Prison Industrial Complex, edited by Eric A. Stanley and Nat Smith, AK Press, 2011