Can you imagine being forced to walk two miles to a closed train station in the middle of the night? Would you want to wait for hours at the station once you arrived? Can you imagine doing this alone? Can you imagine having to do this as a young black woman? What if all you were given was a train ticket and nothing more? Would you recommend anyone take on this daunting task?

I hope your answer to these questions is a resounding “no.” I hope you feel like I do, that no one’s safety should be left to chance in this way, that no one’s life should be risked so blatantly and thrown into danger. Unfortunately, this is exactly what many women have experienced when released from prison. And on Saturday, July 28, 2018, this practice turned into a tragic ending for a 28-year-old woman by the name of Jessica St. Louis.

St. Louis spent 11 days at the Santa Rita Jail in Alameda County for grand theft and several minor crimes. And at 1:25 a.m. on a Saturday morning, she was released into the night. By 5:25 a.m. she was found unresponsive and declared dead at the BART station she was instructed to walk to — on her own, with nothing but her ticket. Jessica Nowlan, the Executive Director of The Young Women’s Freedom Center in San Francisco called St. Louis’ release time an “act of violence” and a “death sentence.” She reminds us that this death was completely avoidable.

We are forced to ask ourselves why anyone would put another person in this kind of obvious danger. We must ask how it is possible to lack care for the safety of the individual sent away, left vulnerable to the endless threats that could meet them on their two mile walk. We are also forced to think about who this is allowed to happen to, as we know this would not be done to everyone. It has become a justifiable practice to disregard the rights of those who others have deemed unworthy of protection. There is no way one could claim to care about someone’s life, or see worth in someone’s life, and then leave them without any choice but to face the perils of the night and distance by themselves, without appropriate resources.

Ending a practice as insane as this one should seem like an easy task, but the larger one is forcing systems to see the people they confine as the human beings that they are. Without this change in mentality, inhumane practices will continue, in one form or another.

So, an initial question in this tragedy is — why would anyone feel justified in inflicting this danger on another? But my deeper question is, why was St. Louis treated as less than human?

This is the question at the core of all criminal justice reform, especially as it relates to the sick injustices committed against people of color who become system involved. One step after the other, their humanity is stripped away from them, and they are tossed and forgotten like trash, thrown headfirst into whatever danger is waiting for them. Activists speaking out against late night/early morning releases from prison are the same who are asking for reform of any practice that treats people as less than people. It is that simple.

Jessica St. Louis had a right to safety, a right that was flagrantly disregarded. Can you imagine simply waiting a matter of hours so she could have walked in the daylight? Can you imagine someone being called to come and get her, or at least be made aware of her release? Can you imagine the many other possibilities for respecting St. Louis’ life and her worth? I hope your answers to these question are a resounding “yes.” I hope you join in fighting against the inhumane treatment of incarcerated people starting with speaking against this tragic practice.

Jessica St. Louis

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