Camilla Broderick stood before the buzzing crowd at Columbia University. Competing this evening, she announced from the lectern, would be Columbia Debate Society versus the Rikers Debate Team. The topic: Should cash bail be eliminated? Hosting the event was the Rikers Debate Project, who’d ask me to serve as a judge.
This lauded nonprofit teaches incarcerated students the art of debate. In makeshift classrooms in a basement of the sprawling Rikers jail complex, volunteers — mainly attorneys — school students on public speaking, conflict resolution, and poise. Many in jail are there because they couldn’t afford bail, typical of America’s jail population. They are forced to wait months, sometimes years, for their court dates. Programs like the Rikers Debate Project offer a lifeline.
Broderick first discovered the Rikers Debate Project while locked up at the Rose M. Singer Center, known as “Rosie’s,” Rikers’ mauve pink women’s jail equipped with a baby nursery. “There wasn’t anything to do at Rikers,” Broderick told me. “It helped me learn to speak and advocate for myself. And that has helped me tremendously in my work now..”
While billions of dollars are poured into the business of jails, there is often little support for those behind bars. America has more prisons and jails than colleges and universities. We lock up more people than any other nation per capita, and also have one of the world’s highest recidivism rates (seven out of 10 people get locked up again within five years), perpetuating the costly and devastating cycle of incarceration. As of 2021, according to the New York City comptroller, the cost of locking someone up for one year on Rikers was $556,539. Despite this exorbitant price, there’s a lack of effective programming. We need more free programs and support systems inside and outside these walls: programs that can help prevent arrests from happening again, and prevent arrests in the first place.
The first 72 hours after people are released from jail are critical. Their lives are rarely the same as when they first went in. Many need help finding shelter, food, and some sort of earning potential. But these institutions offer little support with the surreal transition back to the Free World. “Gave us back my dead cell phone, belt, and a Single-Ride Metro Card,” Broderick told me. “Then, we took the public bus off the island…. With jail, they just let you out.”
While writing my book, These Walls — an investigation into America’s criminal justice system and whether what America really needs is new jails — I interviewed women in a Hot Springs, Arkansas facility. The new jail had created more programming space and a drug program popular among those inside. While many of the women said this program provided essential support, the sheriff told me the jail was planning to expand to accommodate a growing population. When I spoke to the jail’s substance use counselor, Marty Haynes, about it, he said, “We don’t have any enough transitional houses to house the amount of women that came through, especially women with children. Women [housing] is the hardest and biggest issue that we need to tackle as a community.”
Programs available differ from jail to jail, as these unique institutions act as their own little fiefdoms, with their own set of rules, protocol, and programming. When I visited a woman, Mary, incarcerated for her third D.U.I. at a New Jersey jail, Mary told me there were no 12-step programs, as promised. She’d started Alcoholics Anonymous outside, but once in custody, it was a different story. “No A.A., no N.A., no programs,” Mary said from behind plexiglass, surrounded by pink cinderblock. “There are absolutely no tools for people trying to get their act together… the system is really broken. Only so many times I can run up and down the stairs in the pod.”
Cities and towns around America are investing billions of dollars to build new jails, as the old ones are literally crumbling. New York City is planning to drop $16 billion on new jails in the boroughs, to replace Rikers Island. San Francisco, on the other hand, is transforming its notorious San Quentin men’s facility into a rehabilitation center. It is certainly possible for communities to invest in inclusive, free programs like debate clubs, community centers, and sports teams. We can focus on building programs and infrastructure that help prevent people released from jail from returning — and help prevent arrests in the first place.
We need to divest from the cycle of incarceration. America’s jails see 10 million entries per year (state and federal prisons combined have 1.2 million). Even though some may be fortunate to remain untouched by America’s criminal justice system, there is likely still a jail close by, typically tucked away and out of sight. America has 3,116 local jails. That’s roughly one per county. Let’s refocus, examine our priorities, and invest in effective prevention and reentry programs to stop these harmful cycles of incarceration.
When NYC’s Department of Correction released Broderick from Rosie’s, Rikers Debate Project volunteers took her to lunch. The program offered Broderick her first job and provided her first paycheck. “I started mentoring people and that led to my interest into social work,” Broderick said. “I have used Rikers Debate on my resume ever since, and honestly, it has likely gotten me more job, scholarship, and advocacy opportunities than any other involvement I’ve had.”
After the team finished their last point of the “ending cash bail” debate, Broderick collected the tally from the judge panel. The winning team, she announced, was the Rikers Debate Team. Broderick smiled. The Rikers Debate Project had been a lifesaver for her. Now, she’s been with the program for eight years and sits on the board.
“I attribute a lot of the things I’ve done to having that experience and would like to focus now on helping others to get that experience,” Broderick later told me. “It was certainly one of the turning points for me in coming out and not going back to the life I was living before.”
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