Turning Pain Into Movement
Born from the darkness, a conviction to sustain in this movement, to testify to the trauma I’ve bared witness to, to turn the pain into system transformation.
Sometimes friends with our campaign tell me to smile more, to exude more energy when speaking. I try, but this work within our machine of mass incarceration, the prevailing injustice of our systems, and the proximity to human suffering has often left me worn and with little to smile about.
For 13 ½ years, I’ve served our communities as a public defender. In sitting with people in jail and juvenile hall interview rooms, meeting their families, walking their childhood neighborhoods, reading their records, I don’t just see the conduct. I also see context. I experience their stories, their journeys to incarceration marked by poverty, abuse, domestic violence, drugs, death, absent parents. I see the terror of incarceration. I see their humanity. And I feel the weight of responsibility for their lives cutting into my shoulders.
I’ve witnessed these same people met by a system that defines them by their worst moments, strips them of their dignity, and measures justice by months and years in cages. I’ve been forced to watch a 22 year old young man who suffered unspeakable child abuse and neglect be sentenced to life in prison. A 14 year old boy shackled in an adult courtroom, prosecuted and punished as an adult. Another 16 year old boy sent to adult court to face the stark possibility of a life without the possibility of parole (LWOP) sentence.
I’ve been with people stuck in our jail — separated from their families, losing their housing and employment — because they’re too poor to afford bail. I’ve seen those very people coerced into pleas or punished if they took their case to trial. I represented a man whose only contact with his newborn son was through county jail glass and overpriced collect calls.
I’ve read police reports and watched body camera footage. I’ve seen our fellow human beings stopped, frisked, interrogated, publicly stripped, shot at, beaten by police officers. I’ve sat in community rooms and listened to family and friends share the pain of police shooting and killing their loved ones and the trauma of having their cries for justice ignored by those in power.
I’ve also heard testimony from sexual assault, child abuse, and domestic violence victims. Read the statements of survivors. Looked at photos of horrible crimes. Watched videos of horrific gun violence. Listened to tear laced impact statements from family members of murdered loved ones.
I’ve bared witness to cycles of human suffering, within a system of unyielding pain, and endured the stress of injustice.
This work has dropped me to my knees. Years of sleepless nights. A perpetual tension in my shoulders. Crying into the carpet of my office floor. Sitting in my car in the office parking lot paralyzed, unable to go inside. Heavy footed walks to and from court wondering how much longer I’d last. Pressed into therapy.
But from those depths birthed a resilience, a relentlessness, a resolve at the base of my being. Born from the darkness, a conviction to sustain in this movement, to testify to the trauma I’ve bared witness to, to turn the pain into system transformation. Hundreds of therapy sessions. Trainings. Yoga in the mornings. Meditation at night. Mindful steps to court. Long walks through the neighborhood. Escapes into nature. Building a relationship with my breath. 5 daily prayers.
Tools that stoke the intense fire inside, fuel this movement to fight mass incarceration, remedy systemic racism, and build a justice system that preserves the dignity and safety of all people. Practices that repurpose the hurt into a perpetually deepening and embodied commitment to prevent trauma, to alleviate suffering, and be a source of healing for our community.
