Post-Valentine’s Day Prison Blues: How #Cut50 Is Trying to Bring Jailed Men Home to Their Families

Your Take: For the wives and girlfriends of the 2 million men behind bars, Valentine’s Day meant waking up alone, but #Cut50, a national bipartisan initiative, is working to decrease the incarcerated population by 50 percent over the next 10 years.

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For the wives and girlfriends of the 2 million men behind bars, Valentine’s Day meant waking up alone. For those able to visit their loved ones, they prepared by dressing in a prison-approved outfit: nothing too tight; nothing that shows leg above the knee or reveals shoulders; a wire-free bra; nothing that will set off a metal detector.  

As they head to prison, they prepare to stand in the visitation line for an hour or more. A wave of mixed emotions comes over them: joy at seeing a loved one’s face; fear of seeing that hollow look in their man’s eyes, the look that betrays him when he forces a smile and says, “Everything is all right in here.”

For them, there were no long-stemmed roses and gooey, dark chocolate truffles. No warm, candlelit bubble bath and a massage. No dinner at that chic Italian place down the street that is a bit too pricey for an everyday visit.

Instead, they arrive at the prison and exit their cars, careful to leave their purses and only bring their ID, a visit-confirmation slip and as many quarters or dollars as they are allowed. After going through a metal detector, being patted down and directed to a table or a booth, they sit and wait.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. Last week my organization, #Cut50, partnered with Grammy Award winner Alicia Keys to call on House Speaker Paul Ryan to schedule a vote on pending criminal-justice reforms that would reunite many of these families. These reforms not only would address the crime committed in a manner that makes your street safer but also would keep the men in their homes, where they can help provide for their families and contribute to their communities.

Until reforms are made, these women, the ones lucky enough to visit, will spend minutes that feel like hours as a line of men, dressed in their prison-issued outfits and with short hair, begin to enter the room. Their eyes meet. A smile comes to his face and his shoulders drop as the need to remain on guard slips to the back of his mind for that moment.  She represses the urge to jump up and fling arms around him; she fights her desire to feel the comfort of his body against hers or his soft lips on her cheek.  

The only touch they will share is the brief second his warm hand touches hers as they begin their hour together under the sharp watch of several armed guards and cameras.  

The meal they enjoy together will come from a vending machine, which, if not broken, contains half-melted honey buns and stale chips. The only bracelets they will see are the silver ones around their man’s hands as the guard rips him away again.

Many partners of incarcerated men weren’t able to visit their loved ones this Valentine’s Day. Perhaps he was housed in a prison hours away from the community in which he once lived. Or maybe they had already used their hour that week or couldn’t find someone to keep the kids while they went.  

Some of these women spent Sunday waiting for the phone to ring, hoping that the guards would allow their man to use the phones, that the phones were working that day, and that their man had been able to sign up for a coveted slot to use the phone.