I wish that I could say that I loved this book, but honestly, it kind of sucks! For awhile, I had seen people on Twitter (Often fellow white people who consider themselves to be on the Left) recommend Mariame Kaba's work in the way that a very devout Christian might urge you to read the Bible. I knew from the extracts I had read that We Do This 'til We Free Us would not resolve the conflicts I feel about abolition and transformative justice (Specifically, its failure to deal adequately with people who do things to hurt other people or animals who are unrepentant in their actions). So, I didn't exactly seek the book out. But I ended up reading it over the course of an evening because my flatmate (Who was unfamiliar with Kaba) ordered the book on the recommendation of a well-meaning (Also white) friend.
Of course, I came to the book with my own biases: I'm a white British woman, and a feminist who views rape and domestic violence as manifestations of patriarchy. I'm also not new to prison abolitionism as an ideology. There's little here in the way of theorising that made me think, 'Oh, that's a way of thinking about X that I hadn't considered'. If you read this book with no prior knowledge of prison abolition, you would have a completely different experience. Unfortunately I don't have the ability to imagine being a 'blank slate' in that respect. I get the impression that Kaba (who has been organising against prisons for decades) lacks that ability, too: if I was totally new to prison abolition, I feel like this book would not be introductory enough in its tone.
As I make that critique, I acknowledge that this is a collection composed primarily of essays previously published by web media outlets. When Kaba wrote the essays featured here, she was writing for online, at least nominally left-wing audiences. Mariame Kaba didn't even *want* to write a book, really; rather, she was repeatedly asked to do so.
We Do This 'til We Free Us is valuable in the sense that it is a record of an influential thinker's work that might, otherwise, with time, be lost to link rot. But is it the pinnacle of nuanced, intellectually rigorous writing? Not at all. The essays would have benefited from editing to make them better suited to the book format. While the editor of a progressive blog probably doesn't want a list of citations, as a book (With the corresponding authority that people tend to assign books, deserved or otherwise), this work is being treated as a study resource. Not only is it an informal 'reading group' text, but I'm pretty sure some professors are assigning it on college course curricula. So, would it really kill Mariame to cite her sources? Lack of education can't be blamed here; Kaba attended a Manhattan high school where the yearly tuition is $40,500 (No, that's not a typo), followed by one of the most prestigious universities in the world.
Another Goodreads reviewer mentioned that Mariame uses a false stat about the % of prisoners who've been in foster care. That's not the only time Mariame misleads readers (whether intentionally or not) about the specifics of the facts she uses to bolster her arguments. For example, in the essay 'A Jailbreak of the Imagination' (Co authored with another writer, Kelly Hayes, which makes the lack of fact checking particularly troubling), Kaba uses the case of Tiffany Rusher (a prisoner with a history of trauma and serious mental illness who died by suicide in her cell) to make the case for prison abolition. Now, it shouldn't be hard for Kaba and Hayes to win me over here! Yes, I'm sceptical about an approach to abolition that insists that R. Kelly, Larry Nassar, and Harvey Weinstein shouldn't be in prison (Which is the approach that self-described feminist Kaba promotes throughout the book). However, the nature of female offending, in combination with women's life circumstances (Such as being far more likely than men to be a primary caregiver) means that the case for abolishing the female prison estate is much more compelling than Kaba's gender-neutral call to 'free them all'.
For reasons unknown to me, Kaba's choice of case study is a white woman who was in prison for child sex offenses (Tiffany Rusher's race is never mentioned, but this is what I inferred from photos of her online). White people who are imprisoned for such crimes are arguably the hardest demographic to base abolitionist arguments on. Child sexual abuse is incredibly common, but usually unreported. Rarely are people who perpetrate child sexual abuse put in prison. This is particularly the case for white Americans, who benefit from the criminal justice system's deeply rooted bias towards African Americans. Compare child molestation to a crime like theft. An abolitionist might argue that a person who is imprisoned for theft is likely to be poor and is committing crimes of survival. It's harder to make such a claim about child sexual abuse, a crime many would describe as indefensible.
Perhaps as a deliberate strategy to cultivate sympathy towards their case study, Kaba and Hayes omit morally significant information about Rusher's crimes. 'A Jailbreak of the Imagination' begins by describing Rusher as 'imprisoned on charges related to sex work'. Technically accurate; Rusher was charged with having sex with three minors in exchange for money. 'Minors?', you say. 'What, like 17 year olds?' Not quite. One was a 12 year old boy.
Do I sympathise with what Rusher went through in her short life? Yes. Her dependency on drugs led her to make some truly desperate decisions, and the grown men who knowingly purchased her sexual 'services' during her time as a prostitute are rapists for trying to buy the consent of such a vulnerable woman. Did they ever go to prison for exploiting Rusher? Probably not, which is an indictment of the criminal 'justice' system, for sure. In either case, the term 'sex work' (Implying a victimless transaction between consenting adults) is not very useful here.
A few pages into the essay, it's revealed that 'the crimes for which Tiffany Rusher was convicted involved sex with a minor'. Further, 'She was doing survival sex work when she was solicited to provide sexual services at a party. As it turned out, the young man a relative wanted to purchase sexual favors for was underage.' Perhaps the authors of the piece have access to court documents that us readers don't, but it would sure as hell be useful if they were cited! As I mentioned a couple of paragraphs ago, there were three minors, not one, **the youngest of whom was 12.** The essay makes no mention of specific ages, but Kaba and Hayes' wording ('young man') could reasonably be interpreted as meaning 'teenager who might plausibly be mistaken for an adult'.
I had to Google Rusher's name to find the details I laid out above. They were not hard to find, so why is the narrative presented by Kaba and Hayes so different? If Kaba and Hayes truly believe that *no one* deserves to be in prison, not even Harvey Weinstein, why play word games to disguise what Tiffany Rusher was accused of doing? Fishy. I don't stress my point here because I think that Rusher *deserved* to be effectively tortured to death in solitary confinement. I emphasise it because it's an example of Kaba being seriously misleading that really makes me question her integrity and trustworthiness.
Elsewhere, a lot of the book's worst moments involve Kaba discussing how society should deal with perpetrators of sexual violence. Simply put, her analysis of sexual violence is bad, because it is faith-based, not fact-based. The idea that rapists are all nice people, deep down, is a comforting one. 'Hurt people hurt people'; they abuse others because they themselves have been abused. This is not a feminist analysis of sexual violence. It's patriarchal pop psych nonsense with a quasi-religious flavour. If it were really true that rapists rape because they have experienced similar violence, why are the majority male? Why are their victims usually women and trans people? In 'The Sentencing of Larry Nassar Was Not "Transformative Justice". Here's Why' (another piece with Kelly Hayes), Kaba writes, 'Understanding that harm originates from situations dominated by stress, scarcity, and oppression, one way to prevent violence is to make sure people have support to get the things they need'. The idea that sexual violence arises from unmet material needs is rather unconvincing, especially within the context of an essay about Larry Nassar, a high earning doctor who used his position of power to sexually abuse underage gymnasts. It's also a line of thinking that arguably stigmatises people who are experiencing poverty. It doesn't take a genius to figure out how, say, guaranteeing universal access to housing could reduce the number of armed robberies that take place. And I have nothing but support for abolitionists campaigning for social welfare infrastructure of that sort. But it's lazy to copy paste the arguments you make about crimes that might actually be responses to poverty when you're talking about wealthy sex abusers, a population who are not marginalised in any meaningful sense.
If you're keen to read this book after reading my review, but you don't have a grounding in classic feminist texts from the 1970s/1980s, I would strongly recommend you read those first. Read Angela Y. Davis' Women, Race & Class; Andrea Dworkin's Right Wing Women; Nawal El Saadawi's Hidden Face of Eve. None are perfect, but many of their flaws can be attributed to age. There's an ugly tendency in 'intersectional' feminist circles (in my view, a capitulation to patriarchal ageist attitudes) to deride older works by feminist authors as hopelessly outdated and useless. As Dale Spender wrote in Women Of Ideas: And What Men Have Done To Them, 'Every fifty years women are required to reinvent the wheel, for every generation of women is initiated into a world in which women's traditions have been denied and buried.' Digitisation means that all of the classic works I've listed are a Google search away. Alas, algorithms would much rather we all consume anti-feminist nonsense. Sex(ism) sells, I guess.