This story is part of Locked Out, a special series from PJP about voting, politics and democracy behind bars. Click here to read more.

When I arrived at the Central Treatment Facility of the Washington D.C. Jail, in March 2022, I quickly noticed problems. For one, the women on my unit only had access to two functioning showers. Women on their menstrual cycle went days without an extra set of clean clothes. And early on, I met people who had unmet medical needs. 

Also, the food was terrible. I recall a turkey-ham salad that resembled cat food.

These were some of the issues that motivated me to run for a local public office from my jail cell. 

The district’s advisory neighborhood commission is one of the only public bodies in the country to which a person who is incarcerated can be elected. It had an empty seat, and I wanted to fill it. If successful, I would be the first woman elected to the position and the third incarcerated person (the first was Joel Castón; the second, Leonard Bishop). 

The bulk of my constituents would be detainees at the D.C. Jail, which includes residents of the facility where I reside, who are both male and female, along with residents at the Central Detention Facility for men. I would also be responsible for representing people residing nearby at the Harriet Tubman Women’s Shelter. 

The neighborhood commission is intended to help connect residents to the D.C. Council, which writes citywide legislation.

The campaign was an uphill battle. To qualify for the ballot, I needed to collect 25 signatures from registered voters in the district I hoped to represent. A COVID-19 outbreak, which essentially halted movement at the jail, complicated this endeavor, but I managed to obtain the necessary signatures and share my views with people. 

When election day arrived, I was nervous. There were seven people on the ballot, including men with huge amounts of clout in the jail and on the streets of D.C. To my surprise, many men leaving the polls looked at me and said, “You have my vote!” 

In the end, I had enough support to win. 

A learning curve

When I first decided to run for the neighborhood commissioner seat, I envisioned a role where I could actively participate and influence initiatives in the community.

But training, I soon learned, was minimal for commissioners. I am expected to attend monthly meetings, observe parliamentary rules (or “Robert’s Rules of Order”), and advise the local government and federal agencies on issues that affect my district, including sanitation, zoning, parking and trash collection. It has been difficult learning how to navigate my position’s duties. 

Residents seem to think I have privileges that others housed here at CTF don’t receive. The truth is, I am still an inmate and follow the same strict guidelines as everyone else. In some ways, I actually have less freedom of movement because I am a woman in this position. For men, it is easier to arrange escorts to take care of certain issues, while I have to schedule a “movement request” weeks in advance.  

If there is an urgent issue to attend to — say, mistreatment — I have to take calls and possibly write back and forth with a constituent before being able to address it in person. I have to wait for periodically scheduled “walk-throughs” to meet with constituents. Because the schedule is unreliable and unpredictable, residents don’t know when I’m coming. Many are reluctant to speak with me. 

Challenges of serving from inside

I primarily work from my designated office, where I have a computer and phone for neighborhood council tasks. This space allows me to focus and manage my responsibilities in a quiet environment. I spend a lot of time researching policies to assist constituents. This includes helping to determine whether an issue can be grieved, then collaborating with a jail supervisor to clarify the situation. Once the facts are confirmed, we work together to find a solution.

I attend two commission meetings a month: one is a public meeting, and the other an executive assembly. Since I am unable to attend meetings in person, I participate virtually via Zoom. 

I’ve quickly realized that the work in politics is far from glamorous. Navigating the numerous channels required to resolve even the smallest issues can be challenging. Many of my emails go unanswered, forcing me to find creative ways to communicate with staff. My DOC proxy, who helps facilitate communication for me, often has to follow up on emails to ensure staff members are assisting me in addressing problems. Being housed here at CTF, I sometimes face resistance, as some DOC staff feel they don’t have to respond to me. Unanswered emails have become a significant obstacle in improving my district.

Part of the challenge is the system residents use to contact me. They can send messages from tablets, but any correspondence is first delivered to a staff member for reading and possible censure. For me to respond, I must use legal mail rather than responding directly through the tablets. This process can be lengthy, especially if the sole staff member responsible for handling this correspondence is out.

Another challenge is money and politics. As part of my role, I have attended meetings to discuss plans for the new and improved jail due to be finished in 2036. The building plans are frequently altered, resulting from unforeseen circumstances. Just when I think we were finally finalizing plans, the mayor swerves and refuses to sign a budget.

Wins for my constituents

Fortunately, several issues I campaigned on have improved the lives of residents at the D.C. Jail. I advocated for alternative programs for people not interested in pursuing a college degree, as the long-term commitment can be discouraging, especially for those with shorter stays. To address this, we introduced vocational training options, which provide more immediate and practical benefits.

Since I was elected, four new trade programs have started to help residents secure employment once released from jail. These include barbering, cosmetology, painting and plumbing. Students of these courses have the option to continue studying when released if requirements are not met during their sentence. Once all requirements, certifications or licensing needs are completed, students are supported in finding job placements.

Meanwhile, I have tried to advocate for better food offerings at the D.C. Jail facilities. A law introduced last year by Brooke Pinto, of the D.C. Council, and endorsed by my predecessor Bishop, would have ensured that jail residents had access to nutritious food. But critics complained of costs and being too soft on crime, and the effort eventually failed. 

Despite this setback, my strategy has been to ignite change from within the cinderblock walls of our facility. For months, I met with department heads in the law library, located in the jail’s education building, to discuss residents’ concerns, especially around food. 

As part of my duties, I also sit on the Inmate Grievance Advisory Committee, where we discuss the unfair treatment of residents at the D.C. Jail. One day, the district supervisor of Aramark, the company that oversees food services here, sat in on the meeting, and I addressed him about the mystery-meat salad and the absence of fresh food.

Today, Aramark offers a selection of healthier options, one of my proudest accomplishments as commissioner. More fresh fruits and vegetables are now available across the D.C. Jail. And, early this summer, the salad that looked like cat food was stripped from the menu.