Poster Child, a memoir by Kemba Smith, was compelling and frustrating. My frustration has two components: frustrated about our justice system, which stems from my humanity, and frustration about Smith’s choices and interpretations of her choices, which stems from my white male privilege.
In 1994, Smith was sentenced to a mandatory 24 1/2 years in federal prison, with no chance for parole, despite being a first time, non-violent offender. She was a drug dealer’s girlfriend and convicted of conspiracy to distribute illegal drugs under the Sentencing Reform Act of 1984. The legislation’s goal was to persuade other dealers’ companions to abandon their relationships and/or reveal their enterprises to law enforcement. Of course, the strategy failed. Instead it sent wives, girlfriends, and other companions to prison—often in lieu of the actual offender—to endure physical, sexual, and psychological abuse perpetrated by or tolerated by prison officials.
Smith certainly earned some consequences, from my perspective, but not 24 1/2 years. Her story reminded me of another book I’ve read called These Eyes. That author and Smith courageously wrote about surviving abusive intimate relationships, which Smith wrote about as “battered wives syndrome.” Research shows “that there is usually more of an intense attachment call traumatic bonding that develops when a person is both treated nicely at times by the man she is involved with, alternating with periods of abuse, sometimes very severe, that includes threats to kill the individual or her family.” Simply walking away from that level of psychological enslavement may not be perceived as possible by the woman (or man) receiving the abuse. Additionally, partner abuse in the 1990s was culturally acceptable among Smith’s friends as this tragic paragraph revealed: “Katiya nonchalantly referred to abuse as simply an unpleasant, but natural, part of having a relationship. On this day, she said nothing about what had obviously happened to me. No one did. No one asked me what happened. No one told me to stay in the house. No one told me not to get back in his car. None of my friends told me to get out of the relationship, they just stood silently, watching me rush through the house and walk quickly back to the door.” And before we point fingers, I’d argue the acceptance of partner abuse persists in far too many families in 21st-century America.
President Clinton granted Smith clemency in December 2000. She served her five years of probation, reunited with her son and parents, and published this book in 2011.
My coworker recommended this book as she started learning about restorative justice as an alternative to punitive justice. While I would not have picked up this book without her recommendation, I am glad that I read it and that I read it this winter, a winter in which social justice, enfranchisement, and dozens of other rights and privileges still seem tied to the amount of pigmentation in skin tissue. It’s a stupid quality upon which to base treatment of fellow humans, but we humans (especially in the US) seem to choose easy and stupid over difficult and thoughtful more times than not.