OPINION: No one belongs on Rikers Island. Ever

The population on Rikers Island has dropped to its lowest level since 1946, but op-ed contributor Natasha White says that’s not enough. AP Photo/Seth Wenig

By Natasha White

I am an advocate, and a formerly incarcerated woman who was raised in Queens. As a woman who has been to Rikers 26 times, I have watched with horror and sadness as the coronavirus has spread like wildfire through the jails there.

The spread of the virus has led to some people being released — people serving short sentences, people with parole violations, people who are at risk because they are elders or they have serious health conditions. It’s not enough, but it’s a start. 

And instead of just temporarily releasing some people, this should be a moment to take a hard look at all jails, think about what purpose they are supposed to serve, and decide to really do something different.

Consider my story. Growing up with a teenage single mom in a middle class, predominantly white neighborhood was in itself a struggle. My closest sibling was seven years younger, and at a very young age I developed jealousy and insecurity issues. I became violent and started to make bad friendship choices to fill the void of not fitting in at home or in my neighborhood. 

By the age of 13, I was running away from home to hang out with young people who were reacting to abuse and trauma by taking risks — girls who boosted clothes and boys who sold drugs. Throughout my adolescence, I committed crimes to impress older teens for acceptance. At the age of 16, I was sent to Rikers Island for the first of many times to follow. 

My first night there I was placed in a cell with a pregnant girl withdrawing from heroin. While in that cell for over 24 hours, I watched her scream, beg, vomit and eventually die seizing. Correction officers ignored her cries and showed no concern for either of our needs. Never did I imagine this would be the first of 26 trips I would make to the infamous “Torture Island.” From the age of 24 to 40, my life was spent in and out of Rikers and state prisons as I battled a cocaine addiction. 

While on Rikers I’ve witnessed all types of horrors. 

The women’s jail, the Rose M. Singer Center is filthy. When it rains the ceilings leak. Buckets line the halls to catch the water. The majority of detainees are in a dormitory. The beds are arms length apart, the showers are open and communal. The bathroom is made up of six toilets and six sinks. Social distancing is impossible there. The cleaning supplies are non-bleach, making disinfection impossible. Women are not safe there from coronavirus, and they should all be released.

But the end of “Rosie’s” should be permanent. In all of that time on Rikers Island, I never once saw programming for women to better themselves. Instead, being held there makes people worse by causing long term emotional and mental damage. There were no Narcotics Anonymous meetings. 

There were no meetings for domestic abuse or anything else for that matter to help the women coming in and out of there. I needed supportive services to address the issues I was struggling with — and only that could have changed my behavior. Not the threat of jail. 

We need to release people now, to spare them from coronavirus and live up to our values as a city and a state. But when this pandemic ends, we cannot go back to business as usual.  The punishment mindset has not worked, and it is beyond time for a new approach. Only with that new approach can we really end mass incarceration. 

What we have now is a race- and poverty-based system, for punishing and oppressing, not rehabilitating black and brown people. What we need is more Assertive Community Treatment for mental health concerns, more re-entry support for people coming home from prison, and programs for youth whose parents are incarcerated or addicted, so they have no need to turn to the streets.

Building communities — investing in services and resources that address the problems people in jail are facing today — is the perfect next step to end recidivism and keep people from entering the system to begin with. By building communities — and using the money that is poured into law enforcement for services and resources instead — the city can invest in our success instead of our failure. 

Natasha White is a formerly-incarcerated woman, a member of JustLeadershipUSA and a leader in the #CLOSErikers and #buildCOMMUNITIES campaigns.