Queering Smart Decarceration: Centering the Experiences of LGBTQ+ Young People to Imagine a World Without Prisons

Abstract

Addressing mass incarceration through smart decarceration initiatives is one of the Grand Challenges for Social Work named by the American Academy of Social Work Welfare and Research. The exponential growth of the U.S. prison system is largely due to legislation that targets marginalized communities, including people of color, poor people, people with mental illness, and those living with disabilities, as well as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ+) people of all ages. In this article, we seek to complicate the current conversation on smart decarceration by arguing that social workers committed to addressing mass incarceration should engage abolitionist theory, politics, and organizing in their work in order to effectively address the root causes driving the buildup of the prison nation. We engage feminist and queer theories as two theoretical interventions that can guide this work. We next describe how LGBTQ+ youth enter the criminal legal system, highlighting how normative systems of gender and sexuality subject LGBTQ+ youth to punitive policing, surveillance, and discipline. Finally, we share three models of prison abolitionist organizing led by LGBTQ+ people of color as case studies. By examining how these organizations embrace queer and feminist abolitionist frameworks, we identify concrete ways that social workers can adopt abolitionist principles and practices in their work to address mass incarceration.

Keywords

criminal justice feminist theories gender expressions queer theory race and ethnicity sexual orientation and LGBT issues

…Racism, sexism, homophobia, and transphobia in the criminal legal system cannot be excised because they are foundational to it—there is no way it exists without these systems of domination, and it was established to enforce them. So while we might engage in strategic “harm reduction” aimed at offering relief to queers caught in its web and wresting more of us from its maw, we can’t stop there—queer liberation and sexual and gender self-determination require that we reach toward abolition, not just of prisons, and for some of us, police, but of the systems that produce them, and which replicate systems of policing and punishment beyond prison walls.

—Stanley, Spade, & Queer (In)Justice. (2012, p. 122) In 2015, the American Academy of Social Work Welfare and Research announced the Grand Challenges for Social Work Initiative, a campaign to mobilize the profession around a set of ambitious goals and social issues. In a paper introducing this initiative, the Academy named addressing mass incarceration, 1 of 12 challenges, noting that the United States has become an “incarceration society” (Sherraden et al., 2015). In a working paper further explaining the grand challenge to social work, Pettus-Davis and Epperson (2015) wrote, “social workers and the American public increasingly understand mass incarceration as unaffordable, fundamentally immoral, misguided, and the cause of a substantial social justice crisis” (p. 4). Inclusion of mass incarceration in the Grand Challenges Initiative is part of a larger national movement to respond to the exponential growth of the U.S. prison system in the last few decades. Currently, the United States incarcerates more people per capita than any other nation in the world, and a disproportionately high number of people in prisons, jails, and under community supervision are people of color (Alexander, 2012).

Scholars, politicians, and activists argue that mass incarceration is largely due to legislation that targets marginalized communities, including people of color, poor people, people with mental illness, and those living with disabilities, and lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ+) people (Alexander, 2012; Mogul, Ritchie, & Whitlock, 2011; Richie, 2012). Because these categories are not mutually exclusive, those with multiple marginalized identities are especially vulnerable to carceral discipline and punishment (Mogul et al., 2011). Richie (2012) uses the term “prison nation” to explain this phenomenon, stating that

a prison nation depends on tactics such as the development of new laws and aggressive enforcement of social norms; tactics that are reinforced by ideology that suggests that deviations from normative behavior or violations from conservative expectations should be punished by the state. (p. 17)

In a prison nation, every stage of the criminal legal system, including legislation, policing, surveillance, sentencing, and lack of reentry support, is designed to funnel disproportionate numbers of people from marginalized communities into prisons and jails. In recent years, support for addressing mass incarceration has become increasingly mainstream, as evidenced by, for example, the recent passage and bipartisan support for the federal First Step Act (i.e., H.R. 5682, Formerly Incarcerated Reenter Society Transformed Safely Transitioning Every Person Act), which would allocate more funding to antirecidivism programs and make some people currently incarcerated in federal prisons eligible for early release (Fandos, 2018). Yet scholars and activists disagree about the fundamental strategy for addressing mass incarceration: Can the existing system be reformed, or does it need to be abolished?

In this article, we seek to complicate the current conversation on smart decarceration by arguing that social workers committed to addressing mass incarceration should engage abolitionist theory, politics, and organizing in their work in order to effectively address the root causes driving the buildup of the prison nation. In service of this argument, we consider the case of LGBTQ+ youth (i.e., young people aged 13–24) who have disproportionately higher rates of police surveillance, contact, and arrest, receive harsher punishments, and are incarcerated at higher rates than their heterosexual and cisgender peers (Himmelstein & Brückner, 2011; Meiners, 2011; Poteat, Scheer, & Chong, 2016). In addition, we argue that social workers must center the needs of criminalized populations so as to ensure that these efforts do not serve previously documented containment and control functions (e.g., Abramovitz, 1998; Finn, 2016; Margolin, 1997; Specht & Courtney, 1995), which would further entrench the prison nation. Although research and initiatives stemming from the Smart Decarceration Grand Challenge have done a laudable job in addressing carceral disparities in race/ethnicity, class, health, and mental health (Epperson & Pettus-Davis, 2017; Pettus-Davis & Epperson, 2015), the Smart Decarceration Initiative has not yet engaged the criminalization of LGBTQ+ young people.

To start, we briefly describe the history of and key arguments surrounding prison abolition in the United States. While the Smart Decarceration Initiative has sparked important programmatic and policy efforts, we believe that additional theoretical and on-the-ground interventions are needed to incorporate abolition work within the profession’s goal to end mass incarceration. To that end, we engage feminist and queer theories as two theoretical interventions that can guide this work. Building on the insights from queer and feminist theories, we describe some of the key pathways through which LGBTQ+ youth enter the criminal legal system, highlighting how normative systems of gender and sexuality, in concert with race, class, and ability status, subject LGBTQ+ young people to punitive policing, surveillance, discipline, and punishment. Finally, we share three models of prison abolitionist organizing led by LGBTQ+ people of color as case studies. By examining how these organizations embrace queer and feminist abolitionist frameworks, we identify concrete ways that social workers can adopt abolitionist principles and practices in their work to address mass incarceration.

Smart Decarceration and Prison Abolition

The prison abolitionist organization Critical Resistance (n.d.) defines prison abolition as “a political vision with the goal of eliminating imprisonment, policing, and surveillance and creating lasting alternatives to punishment and imprisonment” (para. 4). The idea of prison abolition is not new. Indeed, the use of the word “abolition” by antiprison activists draws attention to the ways in which mass incarceration emerged as a strategy for perpetuating white supremacy after slavery was abolished (Alexander, 2012) and connects prison abolitionists to the activists who fought for the abolition of slavery (Davis, 1996). Highlighting the intentionality and historical importance of this connection, Davis (1996) states,

I choose the word “abolitionist” deliberately. The 13th Amendment, when it abolished slavery, did so except for convicts. Through the prison system, the vestiges of slavery have persisted. It thus makes sense to use a word that has this historical resonance. (p. 26)

One of the most prominent proponents of prison abolition is Angela Davis who has stated that

prison needs to be abolished as the dominant mode of addressing social problems that are better solved by other institutions and other means. The call for prison abolition urges us to imagine and strive for a very different social landscape. (Davis & Rodriguez, 2000, p. 215)

Scholars and activists likewise argue that abolition is about more than tearing down prison walls; for abolition to be achieved, we must also tear down the societal norms, systems, and structures that have created the conditions that have produced and reproduce the carceral state, including white supremacy, capitalism, ableism, genderism, that is, the belief that gender is a binary and that gender identity reflects sexual anatomy or secondary sexual characteristics (Hill, 2003), and heteronormativity, that is, the assumption that heterosexuality is normal and natural (Berlant & Warner, 1995; Schilt & Westbrook, 2009). To achieve abolition, we also need to achieve, as Smith (2015) writes, “full social, economic, and political equality.” (para. 14)

In contrast to prison abolition, those individuals and groups invested in prison reform argue that the current system can be overhauled by making changes to key parts of the criminal legal system (Lancaster, 2017). At the root of this argument is a belief that there is some fundamental part of the carceral system that works, yet the system in its current iteration is broken. Following this logic, fixing broken parts of the system will yield demonstrable on-the-ground improvements, for example, reducing the number of people in jails and prisons and increasing community and public safety (Epperson & Pettus-Davis, 2015). Abolitionists, meanwhile, suggest that the system is not broken but is operating exactly as intended—as a mechanism for perpetuating white supremacy, heteronormativity, capitalism, and other forms of oppression and dominance (Alexander, 2012; Berger, Kaba, & Stein, 2017; Davis, 2003; Meiners, 2011; Richie, 2012). Abolitionists maintain that reform efforts, at best, fall short of addressing the social conditions responsible for the buildup of our prison nation and, at worst, actually strengthen the reach of the prison system (Berger et al., 2017). For example, abolitionists Berger, Kaba, and Stein (2017) write,

the history of the American carceral state is one in which reforms have often grown the state’s capacity to punish: reforms of indeterminate sentencing led to mandatory minimums, the death penalty to life without parole, sexual violence against gender-nonconforming people gave rise to “gender-responsive” prisons. (para. 23)

Moreover, abolitions argue that reforms can result in new systems and structures emerging in the place of prisons that ultimately serve to maintain the status quo (Gilmore, 2014).

The Smart Decarceration Initiative, formed in response to the Grand Challenges, reflects this tension between abolition and reform. Pettus-Davis and Epperson (2015) state that smart decarceration includes a focus on diverting people from prisons and jails through alternative programs, providing reentry services to reduce recidivism, and reinvesting in community treatment and prevention. The initiative also promotes work that “reconsiders the utility and function of incarceration” (Smart Decarceration Initiative, n.d., para. 5). In their paper, Pettus-Davis and Epperson (2015) offer a key question to help guide this work: “What if incarceration were not an option for certain types of offenses?” (p. 8).

Abolitionists ask the same question but expand it to consider what alternatives might be developed if incarceration were not an option for anyone? This question guides scholars and activists to develop a long-term vision of what a world without prisons and jails would look like and to consider what short-term steps can be taken to make that world a reality (Critical Resistance, n.d.; Stanley et al., 2012). Many of the recommendations put forth by the Smart Decarceration Initiative are in line with that vision, including diversion and community reinvestment efforts (Epperson & Pettus-Davis, 2016). However, the Initiative falls short of calling for total abolition with a list of policy recommendations that include the suggestion to “use incarceration primarily for incapacitation for the most dangerous” (Epperson & Pettus-Davis, 2016, p. 1). While reform efforts designed to meet this goal may result in a large number of people being diverted from prisons and jails, it implies that there are certain people for whom incarceration is the only option, which abolitionists note only serves to extend the life of the criminal legal system (Gossett, Spade, & McDonald, 2014). Black and Pink (n.d.-a), a LGBTQ+ prison abolition organization whose work we take up below, argues that this type of reform is not in line with abolition, stating, “we want to abolish the PIC for everyone, not just ‘nonviolent offenders’, as we believe no one is disposable” (para. 5).

Building on the notion that no one is disposable, abolitionists argue that the continued existence of prisons and jails necessitates that certain groups of people must be constructed as dangerous, deviant, or disposable and that these constructions are rooted in white supremacy, heteronormativity, genderism, classism, ableism, and other forms of oppression (for a discussion, see Gossett et al., 2014). For abolitionists, imagining a world without prisons includes imagining solutions to these and other social problems (Ben-Moshe, 2018). Importantly, reforming or abolishing prisons without addressing the root causes contributing to the mass incarceration crisis would likely lead to other systems of surveillance and punishment taking their place, a critical arena for social workers to consider as the field embarks on smart decarceration initiatives designed to redress the multiple harms wrought by incarceration.

Reformers often critique abolitionists’ vision of a world without prisons as idealistic and impractical (Lancaster, 2017). Yet many abolitionists acknowledge that this work can and should include small, practical steps as well as the broader political agenda of ending oppression and the carceral state (Critical Resistance, n.d.). Meiners (2011) writes, “while abolition is not a utopian dream but a necessity, simultaneously reform work is required because there are real bodies in need of immediate resources” (p. 550). Abolitionists refer to these short-term steps as “nonreformist reforms” (Gilmore, 2014), which are “those measures that reduce the power of an oppressive system while illuminating the system’s inability to solve the crises it creates” (Berger et al., 2017, para. 4). As opposed to reformist reforms, which extend the life of the carceral state and perpetuate oppression, nonreformist reforms are carried out with the broader goal of abolition, encouraging dialogue regarding the root causes of mass incarceration and alternatives to the carceral state. Many abolitionist organizers view nonreformist reforms as harm reduction, as they alleviate some of the trauma and suffering caused by the criminal legal system (Black & Pink, n.d.-a; Stanley et al., 2012; Transformative Justice Law Project [TJLP], n.d.-b).

Although determining the line between reforms that strengthen the carceral state and nonreformist/abolitionist reforms is challenging, we believe that social workers are uniquely qualified to take up this challenge. As a field rooted in social justice, the profession’s work is informed by an analysis of the ways in which structural oppression shapes social problems (Abramovitz, 1998; Finn, 2016). Additionally, the profession is embedded in many of the systems and structures that comprise or are adjacent to the criminal legal system, including jails, prisons, and courts, substance use treatment, schools, and the child welfare system. Social workers often engage in harm reduction by responding to the immediate needs of individuals, groups, and communities, while simultaneously advocating for more just and liberatory social structures and systems (Abramovitz, 1998). At the same time, this framework presents numerous challenges, and scholars have highlighted the tensions that arise between focusing on individual needs and social reform (e.g., Abramovitz, 1998; Finn, 2016; Specht & Courtney, 1995).

Incorporating prison abolition into current smart decarceration efforts requires social workers to carefully consider the line between reformist reforms and nonreformist reforms. Two questions that may be helpful in determining that line include “Does the work to advocate for or implement a particular reform include opportunities to raise awareness about the broader systemic problems of mass incarceration?” and “Does this reform in any way impede the longer-term goal of abolition?”¹ These questions are not easy to answer and require social workers to grapple with where to best focus their attention and work. In the next section, we engage feminist and queer theories to guide future theoretical and on-the-ground interventions.

Feminist and Queer Theories as Critical Interventions

Incorporating prison abolition into decarceration efforts requires new theoretical interventions. Feminist and queer theories may be particularly useful, as they are generative theories with “the capacity to challenge guiding assumptions of culture, to raise fundamental questions regarding contemporary social life, to foster reconsideration of that which is ‘taken for granted,’ and thereby to generate fresh alternatives for social action” (Gergen, 1983, p. 109). In contrast to much of the normative theories that guide current decarceration research (and much of the research within social work, see Saleebey, 1993), generative theories are less focused on hypothesis testing and prediction and more focused on understanding and illuminating particular phenomena (Gergen, 1978). As such, generative theories like feminist and queer theories are ideally suited for providing social workers with the analytic tools and imaginative space necessary to enter the landscape of prison abolition.

Broadly, feminist theories are concerned with the ways in which multiple, intersecting forms of power, privilege, and oppression shape women’s experiences. There are numerous feminist theoretical frameworks, and some are more compatible with prison abolition than others. O’Brien and Ortega (2015) argue that many of the advocacy efforts of mainstream feminism, including those related to addressing violence against women and sex work, have actually contributed to the buildup of the prison nation. Several feminist scholars are critical of the ways in which the mainstream feminist movements have colluded with the state in the name of protecting women from gender-based violence, leading to the passage of legislation like the Violence Against Women Act that are often used to further persecute men of color while simultaneously failing to protect women of color and exposing them to additional state violence (Kim, 2012; Mehrotra, Kimball, & Wahab, 2016; Richie, 2012). Bernstein (2010) coined the term “carceral feminism” to describe the ways in which mainstream feminist movements collaborate with the state to promote reformist reforms that ultimately further the prison nation.

By contrast, O’Brien and Ortega (2015) offer a vision for a transformative feminism that would

question the assumptions of the traditional prison system by interrogating harm (who was harmed and who was harming) within a sociopolitical and cultural context that enables such harm to occur. Consequently, transformative feminism requires that we move beyond accepted practices of incarceration and begin to entertain the possibility that prison reform would include decarceration—the radical notion that we can build a secure world without prisons. (p. 143)

Transformational and anticarceral feminisms are informed by black feminist theorists (Collins, 2000; K. Crenshaw, 1991; Davis, 1981; Richie, 2005, 2012), whose work is centered on the experiences of black women and examines the intersections of race and gender.

Within the field of criminology, scholars utilize feminist theory to examine the contexts within which women enter the criminal legal system. Feminist pathways theories, for example, attend to the ways in which gendered, racialized, and classed violence and discrimination overlap with criminal legal system involvement (Belknap, 2007; Belknap & Holsinger, 2006; Daly, 1994; Richie, 1996). These theories have been developed among and applied primarily to research regarding the experiences of cisgender women. However, incorporating an analysis of hetero- and cissexism (e.g., prejudice and discrimination against lesbian, gay, bisexual, and queer [LGBQ] and transgender persons) into these existing theories provides a useful framework for considering the ways in which discrimination, victimization, marginalization, and criminalization create distinct pathways by which LGBTQ+ young people enter the criminal legal system and identifying new avenues of prevention and amelioration.

Similarly, queer theory provides a useful theoretical framework for opening up new engagements between social work and the prison abolition imaginary. As a discipline, queer theory emerged in the 1980s in response to the HIV/AIDS pandemic and the rise of gay and lesbian studies in the academy (Jagose, 1996). The use of the term queer reflects close ties to queer political movements of this time, for example, Queer Nation and ACT-UP, where activists embraced the term queer as a more inclusive, anti-assimilationist alternative to “gay and lesbian” (Cohen, 1999; Gamson, 1995; Johnson & Henderson, 2005). Broadly, queer theory draws upon post-structuralist, feminist, and sociological theories to trouble categories of gender and sexuality (Gamson, 1995; Jagose, 1996). Key hallmarks of queer theoretical frameworks are an emphasis on disrupting fixed identity categories, destabilizing heteronormativity, examining power relations, and resisting assimilation (Stein & Plummer, 1994).

Importantly, queer theory has been critiqued for not fully attending to race and axes of power beyond gender and sexuality (Cohen, 1997, 1999, 2004; Ferguson, 2000; Johnson, 2001; Johnson & Henderson, 2005). Notably, queer of color scholars challenge the ethical and material implications of destabilizing identity categories, especially for groups for whom these categories have powerful social, economic, and political ramifications (Ferguson, 2000; Johnson & Henderson, 2005). These scholars highlight a tension in queer theory’s radical potential to disrupt the fixed categories that perpetuate heteronormativity, which Gamson (1995) describes as a “queer dilemma.” In her essay, Punks, bulldaggers, and welfare queers: The radical potential of queer politics?, Cohen (1999) offers a queer of color critique of lesbian and gay political movements and a potential solution to this dilemma. Specifically, Cohen notes that while many white queer activists have emphasized sexuality over race and class, queers of color have embraced a left analysis that explicitly accounts for the intersection of heteronormativity, racism, patriarchy, and class exploitation. Cohen (1999) proposes that queer activists take up this same analysis in order to inform an expansion of queer subjectivity to all individuals who experience marginalization and to center the needs of marginalized persons in order to create a transformational politics. Scholars and organizers have applied these leftist and queer of color critiques to the mainstream LGBTQ+ movement, questioning the focus on single-issue struggles such as marriage equality, which privilege normative, monogamous relationships and forms of family formation, at the expense of broader coalitional organizing that might benefit LGBTQ+ people as well as others that are rendered “queer” by the state (DeFilippis, 2018).

To date, social work has had limited engagement with queer theory relative to other disciplines (Argüello, 2016; Hicks & Jeyasingham, 2016). The reasons underlying this are multifaceted and include the dynamics of professionalism (Argüello, 2016), the prioritization of competency in service delivery to LGBTQ+ clients over engaging with critical theory (Hicks & Jeyasingham, 2016), and the discipline’s close alignment with key centers of state power (Berlant & Warner, 1995). In addition, McPhail (2004) articulates several tensions between queer theory and social work. Of particular note is that many of the identity categories that queer theory calls into question serve as real sites oppression, for example, homosexuality and heterosexuality may be social constructs, but homophobia and heterosexism are not. As a profession that works to achieve social justice, McPhail (2004) states that queer theory may be difficult to integrate into social work, in part, because “it is theoretically strong and politically weak” (p. 15). However, in arguing for stronger engagement with queer theory, Hicks and Jeyasingham (2016) maintain that queer theory can provide social work with vital analytic “tools to challenge neo-liberal regimes and their strangulating effects on social welfare” (p. 2358). Similarly, Argüello (2016) describes queer theory as “an essential intervention” that requires social workers to examine “how we engage in practice, who we serve, to what ends, and what the stakes are” (p. 242).

In recent years, scholars have done just this by applying an intersectional, queer theory lens to prison abolition scholarship and organizing to examine how the state constructs “normative” gender and sexual identities and then uses surveillance, policing, and punishment to enforce those norms against any group who deviates from heteronormativity, for example, single black mothers and people living with disabilities and mental illness (Ben-Moshe, 2018; Cohen, 1999). Richie (2005) writes,

queering the antiprison project requires that we remember that in the most general sense, antiprison work has been a project attempting to look critically at how deviance and, by extension, criminalization have been socially constructed to serve people in power…Simply put, because prisons require prisoners, criminals must be produced. (p. 82)

For Richie (2005) and other abolition scholars working at the intersection of queer theory and prison abolition, the construction of a “criminal class” is essential to perpetuating power structures.

In the next section, we use these theoretical frameworks to explore the pathways by which LGBTQ+ youth enter the criminal legal system to further illustrate the distinct processes by which LGBTQ+ youth are constructed as part of the “criminal class.”

Pathways into the Criminal Legal System for LGBTQ+ Young People

Articulating the importance of applying feminist and queer theory to abolitionist practice, Richie (2005) argues that we need to “take as a starting point the need to interrogate the ways that gender, sexuality, race, and class collide with harsh penal policy and aggressive law enforcement” (p. 80). While the Smart Decarceration Initiative includes a focus on racial and class disparities within the criminal legal system, to date, it has not explicitly addressed the experiences of LGBTQ+ youth and young adults. The lack of attention to gender and sexuality is worrisome as research indicates that LGBTQ+ young people, particularly youth and young adults of color, experience high rates of arrest and incarceration (Center for American Progress and Movement Advancement Project [CAP & MAP], 2016; Garofalo, Deleon, Osmer, Doll, & Harper, 2006; Hereth et al., 2018; Irvine, 2010; Majd, Marksamer, & Reyes, 2009; Wilson et al., 2017). For example, analyzing data from the National Survey of Youth in Custody-2, Wilson et al. (2017) found that 39.4% of girls and 3.2% of boys in juvenile correctional facilities identified as lesbian, gay, or bisexual. These estimates are likely to be low, however, due to the fear of self-identifying as lesbian, gay, bisexual, or queer, even on anonymous surveys (Irvine, 2010).

Because gender identity is not often included on national surveys (Reisner, Bailey, & Sevelius, 2014; Sexton, Jenness, & Sumner, 2010), even less is known about the number of transgender persons in the criminal legal system. However, extant data indicate that incarceration rates are high. For example, in a Chicago-based study with transgender women under age 24, 67% reported ever having been arrested and 37% reported having ever been incarcerated in jail or prison (Garofalo et al., 2006). Importantly, numerous studies point to significant racial disparities in incarceration among LGBTQ+ youth, with some data indicating that up to 85% of incarcerated LGBTQ+ youth are people of color (CAP & MAP, 2016). As Mogul, Ritchie, and Whitlock (2011) argue, “race, class, and gender are crucial factors in determining how and which queers will bear the brunt of violence at the hands of the criminal legal system” (p. xviii). Below, we review several pathways through which LGBTQ+ enter the criminal legal system through the lens of feminist and queer theories in order to identify how gender and sexuality are constructed, policed, and punished as “deviant” identities.

“Homosexuality” and wearing clothing of the “opposite” gender have historically been criminalized (Mogul et al., 2011), and while queer sexual acts and gender presentation are no longer illegal in the United States, the association between deviance and queer and transgender identities still lingers in the criminal legal system (Kunzel, 2008; Mogul et al., 2011; Woods, 2013). In a parallel and intersecting process, people of color are also constructed as part of the “criminal class,” rendering LGBTQ+ people of color even more vulnerable than their white LGBTQ+ peers (Chmielewski, Belmonte, Fine, & Stoudt, 2016; Richie, 2005; Ritchie, 2017). The effects of being multiply marginalized are illustrated by racial profiling of LGBTQ+ youth of color in predominately white LGBTQ+ neighborhoods such as Boystown in Chicago and Greenwich Village in New York City (Daniel-McCarter, 2012; Hanhardt, 2013). In these and other neighborhoods around the country, white LGBTQ+ business owners and residents have called for greater police presence to prevent homophobic violence and to enforce “quality of life” laws, which criminalize behaviors like panhandling, sleeping on park benches, and sex work (Daniel-McCarter, 2012; Hanhardt, 2013). Due to family rejection, poverty, and structural heterosexism, cissexism, and racism, LGBTQ+ youth of color experience higher rates of homelessness and engagement in sex work than do their heterosexual and cisgender peers (Grant et al., 2011; Majd et al., 2009), forming a pathway from these experiences directly to arrest. Additionally, “quality of life” laws give police greater license to stop, ticket, and arrest people who they perceive as being likely to engage in criminalized behaviors regardless of whether or not they have done so (Daniel-McCarter, 2012; Hanhardt, 2013; Ritchie, 2017).

Similar forms of bias and discrimination lurk within other institutions and systems in which LGBTQ+ youth interact, including schools and the child welfare system. As Wilson et al. (2017) point out, research examining the overlapping and intersecting experiences of discrimination, victimization, and state surveillance among LGBTQ+ young people points “to the possibility of a complex cycle of involvement in inter-related state institutions and systems” (p. 1549) that results in criminal legal system involvement. An example of this cycle can be found in the “school-to-prison pipeline,” a term used to describe the phenomenon of public schools turning to the criminal legal system to handle school discipline (Wald & Losen, 2003). Research indicates that the school-to-prison pipeline disproportionately impacts students of color, who are punished more harshly than their white peers (Castillo, 2014; K. W. Crenshaw, 2015; Heitzeg, 2009; Meiners, 2011; Wald & Losen, 2003; Wilson, 2014). Illustrating the intersections of sex, race, and gender that Mogul et al. (2011) and others articulate, studies also indicate that LGBQ youth, particularly youth of color, experience disciplinary school punishments that are disproportionate to their rates of transgressive behavior (Himmelstein & Brückner, 2011; Meiners, 2011; Poteat et al., 2016); these include being punished more harshly for public displays of affection and dress code violations (Snapp, Hoenig, Fields, & Russell, 2015) and being more likely to be charged with truancy (Irvine, 2010) than are their heterosexual peers.

To prevent bullying, many schools have adopted “zero tolerance” policies or other punitive measures that harshly discipline violence and harassment (Heitzig, 2009). LGBTQ+ students report that these very policies are used against them when they try to defend themselves (Snapp et al., 2015), another example of the ways in which reformist interventions can further criminalize marginalized individuals (e.g., Kim, 2012; Mehrotra et al., 2016; Richie, 2012). Due to heightened involvement of the police in many public schools, these school disciplinary issues often culminate in criminal sanctions (Meiners, 2011; Snapp et al., 2015).

The child welfare system is another example of a state system that intersects with the criminal legal system to drive higher rates of arrest and incarceration among LGBTQ+ youth (Wilson, Cooper, Kastanis, & Nezhad, 2014). In a national study conducted by Irvine and Canfield (2015), LGBQ or gender nonconforming or transgender youth were 3 times more likely to have been removed from their homes and 5 times more likely to be placed in a group or foster home when compared to heterosexual youth. In addition, research points to a bidirectional relationship between child welfare and juvenile justice system involvement for LGBTQ+ youth (Herz & Ryan, 2008; Herz, Ryan, & Bilchik, 2010; Huang, Ryan, & Herz, 2012). Family conflict due to gender identity and/or sexual orientation is one factor driving LGBTQ+ youth involvement in the child welfare system (Irvine & Canfield, 2015; Morton, Samuels, Dworsky, & Patel, 2018). This conflict can lead to homelessness, especially among families already struggling with instability due to poverty, violence, substance abuse, or housing issues, all of which contribute to high rates of homelessness among LGBTQ+ young people (Durso & Gates, 2012; Morton et al., 2018). Experiences of homelessness can, in turn, lead to spending more time in public spaces, where LGBTQ+ youth are more likely to be profiled and targeted by police for “quality of life” crimes (Irvine, 2010; Majd et al., 2009).

Examining these pathways reveals the ways in which families, schools, child welfare, and other institutions connected to social work interact with normative systems of race, gender, and sexuality (i.e., white supremacy, genderism, and heteronormativity) to funnel LGBTQ+ youth into the criminal legal system. Preventing this involvement and working toward abolition necessitates that social workers directly engage with and support those LGBTQ+ youth communities that are most impacted by the prison nation. This work will require a reconfiguration of power relations within the profession, as social workers must shed various investments in practice, policy, research, and educational expertise (Meiners, 2011; Lawston & Meiners, 2014). In the next section, we offer case examples of “on-the-ground” work led by LGBTQ+ communities of color that offers social work guidance for integrating abolitionist theory, politics, and organizing, including concrete examples of nonreformist reforms.

Queering Decarceration

Though often left out of the history of prison abolition movements, queer and transgender activists in the United States have been resisting police harassment and brutality for decades. Stanley and colleagues (2012) describe this overlooked history, stating,

as historically outlaw people in the context of the United States, many trans/queer people have found ways to exist beside, build community in spite of, and struggle against the police state. From alternative methods of accountability and organizing direct actions, to collective self-defense, including these forms of resistance helps build a more expansive definition of abolition. (p. 116)

There are numerous examples of abolitionist organizations, campaigns, grassroots projects, and collective actions led by LGBTQ+ people of color. Here, we examine the work of BreakOut!, the TJLP, and Black & Pink, three organizations that leverage anticarceral feminisms (e.g., Kim, 2012; Mehrotra et al., 2016; Richie, 2012) and leftist, coalitional politics from within queer theory (e.g., Cohen, 1997, DeFilippis, 2018) in their work. These organizations were selected as case studies for the different ways they engage abolitionist principles and for the diverse geographic areas that they represent: the southern United States (BreakOut!), the Midwest (TJLP), and multiple states across the United States (Black & Pink).

BreakOUT!, a New Orleans-based organization dedicated to addressing the criminalization of LGBTQ youth of color, offers an interesting case example for how to work within the system to decriminalize the lives of LGBTQ+ youth of color. BreakOUT!’s primary mission is to “end the criminalization of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and questioning (LGBTQ) youth to build a safer and more just New Orleans” (BreakOUT!, n.d.-b, para. 2). While BreakOUT! does not explicitly call itself an abolitionist organization, they state that their goal is to dismantle the criminal legal system, or “starve the beast,” by preventing arrest and incarceration (Fernandez & Williams, 2014). To achieve this mission, BreakOUT! intervenes to interrupt various pathways by which LGBTQ+ youth of color enter the criminal legal system; this work includes offering know-your-rights trainings, a general education diploma or high school equivalency certificate program, and healing spaces designed to promote resiliency and offer social support.

In addition, BreakOUT!’s youth organizers engage directly with the criminal legal system in order to change the social conditions that heighten the likelihood of criminal legal system contact. In 2013, for example, BreakOUT! organized, advocated, and agitated to secure the passage of New Orleans Police Department Policy 402 that prohibits police profiling on the basis of one’s actual or perceived gender identity or sexual orientation (BreakOut!, n.d.-b). BreakOUT!’s work is an example of how to interrupt the police profiling pathway that funnels many LGBTQ+ youth of color into the criminal legal system. As part of their organizing, BreakOUT! employed the left analysis recommended by Cohen (1999) and DeFilippis (2018) to form a diverse coalition of constituents touched by the criminal legal system, including the Congress of Day Laborers (Congreso) and the Orleans Parish Prison Reform Coalition (BreakOUT!, n.d.-b). In celebrating their legislative victory, BreakOUT! also was clear that the law was a necessary but not sufficient change to protect LGBTQ+ youth and communities of color.

As another illustration of intersectional organizing, BreakOUT! partnered with Congreso to produce Vice to Ice, a campaign that draws attention to how LGBTQ+ youth, undocumented communities, and LGBTQ+ undocumented communities, both experience

criminalization of our communities-which includes the profiling, targeting, and removal of people deemed unwelcome in our own cities and communities (whether through incarceration, push out, or deportation) and our shared struggle for the simple freedom to walk down the street without fear. (BreakOUT!, n.d.-a, para. 4)

Formed in 2011 via their collaborative work with the Orleans Parish Prison Reform Coalition, the Vice to Ice campaign has expanded over the years and now includes a free online toolkit available in English and Spanish (see http://www.youthbreakout. org/2017/06/22/no-pride-in-deportation-vice2ice-toolkit-available-now/) that provides guidance to other organizations seeking to build a transformational political movement (e.g., Cohen, 1999). BreakOUT!’s model illustrates how social workers can utilize abolitionist principles to meet the immediate needs of LGBTQ+ youth and engage in nonreformist reforms while drawing attention to the broader issues of mass incarceration, racism, heterosexism, and cissexism.

The Tranformative Justice Law Project (TJLP) of Illinois, a volunteer-run collective that provides abolitionist legal services to transgender and gender nonbinary youth and adults, is another example of an organization that engages in the both/and of nonreformist reform work using an abolitionist lens. In addition to providing free criminal defense, one of TJLP’s largest projects is the Name Change Mobilization. Once a month, attorneys and trained volunteers hold a clinic at the Cook County Clerk’s office in Chicago to assist transgender and gender nonbinary youth and adults with filing paperwork to change their names and gender markers. Many transgender individuals experience discrimination because their gender expression and chosen name do not match what is listed on legal identification documents. Obtaining a legal name change can interrupt several pathways by which transgender and gender nonbinary youth enter the criminal legal system by reducing employment, educational and housing barriers, and lessoning the potential harm of transphobic discrimination during interactions with the police (James et al., 2016). Indeed, a recent pilot study examining the impact of legal name change for transgender women of color found that transwomen who had undergone legal name change were significantly more likely to have stable housing and a higher monthly income than were transwomen in the prename change group (Hill et al., 2018).

Importantly, name changes can be filed pro se, meaning without an attorney, and while attorneys are present at the Name Change Mobilization to assist, many volunteers are not attorneys. This grassroots project challenges notions of expertise identified by abolitionists scholars and activists (e.g., Lawston & Meiners, 2014; Meiners, 2011) and illustrates that LGBTQ+ community members can support each other in navigating institutional barriers. Although TJLP supports the long-term goal of “gender self-determination for all, free of government limitation” (TJLP, n.d.-a, para. 3), they recognize that, in the short-term, name and gender markers changes can be a form of harm reduction. Like BreakOUT!, TJLP argues that reform and direct services alone will not end the forms of systemic oppression that fuel the carceral state, but they view their work as part of the broader, long-term movement for prison abolition. TJLP offers another case study of how to operate from an abolitionist framework while also engaging with state systems and structures. Social workers are also skilled at supporting individuals through bureaucratic processes and thus are uniquely qualified to assist with a project like this.

Our final example comes from Black & Pink, a grassroots organization supporting incarcerated LGBTQ+ individuals through advocacy, education, direct service, and public education. Black & Pink works with incarcerated LGBTQ+ individuals of all ages; however, their research and advocacy work is explicitly focused on ending the social conditions that have contributed to the buildup of the prison nation, including the conditions and policies that funnel LGBTQ+ youth into the criminal legal system (Lydon, Carrington, Low, Miller, & Yazly, 2015). For example, in their landmark survey of 1,118 incarcerated LGBTQ adults, Black & Pink found that 58% of respondents were arrested for the first time before the age of 18 and that juvenile arrest rates were higher for respondents of color (66%) than for white respondents (51%) (Lydon et al., 2015). In addition, they found that only 29% of respondents had completed a high school education outside of the criminal legal system, with 71% never attending or being pushed out of school (Lydon et al., 2015).

Black & Pink used these and other data to issue a set of policy recommendations that directly address many of the pathways that ensnare LGBTQ+ youth, especially youth of color, in the criminal legal system. These include (1) passing a gender and sexuality inclusive version of the Ending Racial Profiling Act, (2) ending “quality of life” policing practices, (3) decriminalizing sex work, (4) shifting funds away from the police to support affordable and accessible housing for those most impacted by homelessness and incarceration, and (5) ending the practice of arresting people under age 18 (Lydon et al., 2015). Black & Pink notes that these policy recommendations fit into their broader abolitionist framework, stating,

while we remain committed to the abolition of prisons, we recognize that meeting the needs and ending the daily suffering of LGBTQ prisoners is also an urgent necessity. We are convinced that such reforms are not necessarily incompatible with an abolitionist politics, provided that they do not create new barriers or prisons that we will need to tear down in the future. (Lydon et al., 2015, p. 6)

Their recommendations offer examples of short-, intermediate-, and longer term nonreformist reforms that also support their broader vision of abolition.

Black & Pink supports LGBTQ+ incarcerated individuals primarily through pairing them with “free world,” that is, nonincarcerated, pen pals. Black & Pink views letter writing as an important form of harm reduction because when prison staff and other inmates see that someone is getting mail, it is an indication that they are in touch with people on the outside to whom they could report experiences of abuse, violence, or discrimination. Letter writing also improves the material conditions of incarcerated people by providing emotional support and connection. Making connections between people across prison walls also supports Black & Pink’s abolitionist vision by humanizing people who are incarcerated and building communities of abolitionist-minded free world allies. Describing how letter writing feeds into their broader goal of abolition, Black & Pink writes, “it is our belief that we need to live in a world without cages. One of the key ways to get there is to build connections between people on both sides of the wall” (Black & Pink, n.d.-b, p. 4). Black & Pink’s work is a model for how to provide immediate support to people currently incarcerated while advancing abolition. They also demonstrate how to leverage community members and volunteers to offer informal social support, illustrating that direct services need not be provided solely through traditional nonprofit organizational models.

Conclusion

As we have described, social workers within a variety of contexts can play a crucial role in addressing the disproportionately high rates of criminal legal system involvement among LGBTQ+ youth and young adults. This work can take many forms, including direct action, service delivery, and policy advocacy, and can include work that strives for both short-term nonreformist reforms and the long-term goal of abolition. Just as LGBTQ+ people have found creative, imaginative ways to resist the prison nation, social workers can also find ways to engage in various forms of nonreformist reforms and abolition in order to address the criminalization of LGBTQ+ youth and young adults. Social workers are uniquely equipped to do this work, as they are embedded in many of the institutions and systems that funnel young people into and out of the criminal legal system, including schools, the child welfare system, and housing services, as well as juvenile and adult courts, detention facilities, and reentry services. Intervening within these systems is a crucial harm reduction strategy for preventing LGBTQ+ young people from ever becoming entangled within the criminal legal system.

In addition to supporting on-the-ground work led by impacted communities, there are opportunities to partake in actions at multiple ecological levels of practice. For example, social workers can address white supremacy, heteronormativity, and genderism within their agencies and professional relationships. Within schools, social workers and other staff can continue to advocate for the implementation of restorative justice processes to respond to harm without relying on punitive systems (Hamilton & Hope, 2011). There also is a growing movement to address the needs of LGBTQ+ youth within the child welfare system (Wilber, Reyes, & Marksamer, 2006), and recent research regarding the experiences of homeless LGBTQ+ youth offers practice and policy recommendations for social workers interested in addressing housing instability (Baim, 2014; Durso & Gates, 2012; Morton et al., 2018; Samuels, Cerven, Curry, & Robinson, 2018).

Ending mass incarceration is indeed a grand challenge, and while incorporating abolitionist work may present the profession with its’ own set of “queer dilemmas” (Gamson, 1995), it is vital that we engage with these dilemmas on multiple fronts. We encourage social workers advocating for smart decarceration to follow the example of LGBTQ+ people of color–led organizations and carefully consider whether a given campaign or policy change may further extend the life of the prison nation or pose barriers to the broader goal of abolition. This shift will require that social workers share power, let go of our role as “experts” (Meiners, 2011), and support grassroots community–led work. It is our hope that social workers will continue to take up the grand challenge of addressing the mass incarceration crisis but that we engage in this work with a broader, long-term vision of abolishing prisons and the structural factors that have contributed to the buildup of the prison nation including white supremacy, heterosexism, genderism, and other forms of oppression.

Footnotes

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

ORCID iD

Jane Hereth

Note

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