Orange is the New Black: My Year in a Women’s Prison

“The way their business worked was simple. From West Africa, Alaji would make it known to select people in the States that he had ‘contracts’ for units of drugs (usually custom-built suitcases with heroin sewn into the linings) available—they could turn up at any number of places in the world. People like Nora and Jack (essentially subcontractors) would arrange to transport the suitcases into the states, where they were headed off to an anonymous pickup.” 

This explains the basic premise of the drug trafficking scheme that Nora had going with Alaji. As described here, Alaji was the mastermind behind everything, and Nora was one of his coordinators and runners. At first, Nora and Kerman’s relationship is romantic and playful. However, as Nora gets deeper into Alaji’s drug ring, she becomes increasingly desperate, expecting Kerman to help her deliver the drugs and money. By the time Nora asks for Kerman’s help, Kerman feels too involved with Nora to say no. 

“I never talked about my involvement with Nora to new friends, and the number of people who knew my secret remained very small. As time passed, I gradually relaxed inside my head. I started to feel as though there were no second shoe, and it had all been a crazy interlude. I thought I understood risk. I considered my time abroad with Nora as a crash course on the realities of the world, how ugly things can get, and how important it is to stay true to yourself even in the midst of an adventure or experiment.” 

This moment comes after Kerman has broken up with Nora but before Kerman’s arrest. It explains how she dealt with everything that happened with Nora and how she tried to move on from her past and start fresh. Before her arrest, Kerman felt lucky to have escaped her turbulent former lifestyle. 

“I was sentenced to fifteen months in federal prison, and I could hear Larry, my parents, and my friend Kristen crying behind me. I thought it was a miracle it wasn’t a longer sentence, and I was so exhausted by waiting that I was eager to get it over with as quickly as possible. Still, my parents’ suffering was worse than any strain, fatigue, or depression that the long legal delay caused me.”

Before this moment, Kerman had spent six years in limbo, knowing that she would eventually go to prison, but not knowing when or for how long. While that time was extremely taxing both mentally and emotionally, it also solidified for her just how much her family and friends love her: She and Larry got engaged, and her family and friends stayed by her side despite her illegal actions. By the time she finally receives her sentence, she feels relief that the waiting is over. However, as she points out, her parents didn’t feel the same way. 

“This sort of social pressure was irresistible; getting between the sheets wasn’t going to happen for the next fifteen months. I let go of the bed issue—the thought of hundreds of women sleeping on top of perfectly made military-style beds was too strange for me to deal with at that moment.” 

Annette, an older and more seasoned inmate, informs Kerman that none of the women in Danbury sleep under the covers. Instead, they make their beds perfectly to pass inspection, and then they sleep on top with nothing but a light blanket over them. This isn’t an official rule; rather, it’s just what everyone does. Kerman, new to Danbury, can’t understand the logic behind this unspoken rule, but she admits that the social pressure behind it is certainly persuasive. As she comes to find out, there are just as many unspoken rules as there are official rules in the prison. 

“This was a tribal ritual that I would see play out hundreds of times in the future. When a new person arrived, their tribe—white, black, Latino, or the few and far between ‘others’—would immediately make note of their situation, get them settled, and steer them through their arrival. If you fell into that ‘other’ category—Native American, Asian, Middle-Eastern—then you got a patchwork welcome committee of the kindest and most compassionate women from the dominant tribes.” 

This describes one of the starkest dynamics in the prison. The inmates flock together according to their race. This structure allows the new inmates to have immediate friendships and alliances when they arrive at Danbury. However, this division also creates a wariness between each racial group. When Kerman first arrives in prison, she is shy and doesn’t know what to do. The other white women in the prison take her into their fold and show her the ropes. They also give her comfort items that she can’t buy yet, which help her feel welcome. While Kerman stays close with many of the white women who initially welcome her, she also crosses cultural and racial divides to become friends with many other women.

“She firmly informed us that we had better not dare to waste their time, that they would determine whether we were sick or not and what was medically necessary, and that we should not expect any existing condition to be addressed unless it was life-threatening. I silently gave thanks that I was blessed with good health. We were fucked if we got sick.” 

This moment comes right after Kerman hears from the health services representative who informs the new women at Danbury about the state of the prison’s medical situation. Kerman witnesses the struggles of her sick bunkmates, who have the bare minimum necessities that they need to recover: Annette is on a respirator machine, recovering from a heart attack, and Miss Luz is receiving breast cancer therapy. Soon after arriving at Danbury, Kerman realizes that the biggest threat to everyone’s safety in the prison is a lack of resources or care for those who are ill. 

“New arrivals in Federal prison are stuck in a sort of purgatory for the first month or so, when they are ‘A&Os’—admissions and orientation status. When you are an A&O, you can’t do anything—can’t have a job, can’t go to GED classes, can’t go to chow until everyone else goes, can’t say a word when ordered to shovel snow at odd hours of the night. The official line is that your medical tests and clearance must come back from whatever mysterious place they go before your prison life can really start. Nothing involving paperwork happens quickly in prison (except for lockups in solitary), and a prisoner has no way to get speedy resolution with a prison staffer. Of anything.” 

Kerman explains that when she first arrived at Danbury, she felt like she was stuck in a purgatory with nothing to do with herself—she couldn’t have a job, couldn’t buy commissary items, and she didn’t know anyone yet. As a result, she spends much of her early time in prison reading books and observing other inmates. She stays quiet, not wanting to break any unspoken rules or make enemies. This makes her initially feel isolated and lonely.

“Hugging and kissing your visitors (no tongue!) was permitted at the beginning and end of the visit. Some guards would allow handholding; some would not. If a guard was having a bad day, week, or life, we would all feel it in that bleak, linoleum-floored visiting room. There were always two prisoners working in the visiting room too, assisting the CO, and they were stuck making small talk with the guard for hours.” 

Throughout the memoir, Kerman gives examples of the power dynamic between the guards and the prisoners. She reveals how the inmates are at the mercy of the guards. While there are certain rules throughout the prison, each guard inevitably decides how to enforce them. As Kerman points out, individual guards can influence the lives of each inmate. Since Kerman has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a nice figure, many of the guards show her favoritism while treating the other inmates poorly. 

“The racialism was unabashed; the three main Dorms had organizing principles allegedly instituted by the counselors, who assigned housing. A Dorm was known as ‘the Suburbs,’ B Dorm was dubbed ‘the Ghetto,’ and C Dorm was ‘Spanish Harlem.’ The Rooms, where all new people went first, were a strange mix. Butorsky wielded housing assignments as a weapon, so if you got on his bad side, you would be stuck into rooms. The most physically ill women in the Camp, or pregnant women like the one I had seen when I first arrived, occupied bottom bunks; the top bunks were full of newbies, or behavior problems, or which there was never a shortage.” 

This moment demonstrates how both the inmates and the officials in charge implement racialism within the prison. Race dictates the division of each dorm, and Kerman receives a placement in B Dorm. While she’s nervous at first, she quickly befriends many of the women in her dorm, including her bunkmate, Natalie. This is to say that despite the efforts of the prison and the women themselves to isolate according to race, this isn’t Kerman’s experience. This quote also demonstrates the power dynamic between the prison guards and the inmates. The fact that the counselors use “housing assignments as a weapon” suggests that the inmates are truly at the whim and mercy of those in power. 

“When I thought about how terrified I had been of Rochelle, and why, I felt like a complete jackass. I had gone to school with, lived with, dated, and worked with middle-class black people my whole life, but when faced by a black woman who hadn’t ‘been where I’ve been,’ I felt threatened, absolutely certain she was going to take something from me. In truth, Rochelle was one of the most mild-mannered and pleasant people around, with a deep love for church and trashy novels. Ashamed, I resolved not to be a jackass again.”

Kerman is reading in her dorm when an unknown inmate approaches her. The presence of someone in the doorway of her small cubicle initially startles her, but she soon realizes that the reputation of B Dorm and the stranger’s skin color are what frightened her. Once the woman introduces herself and asks to borrow a book, Kerman realizes that her preconceptions were wrong, and she feels ashamed. This shame is what keeps Kerman in check with each new prisoner she meets. Rather than judging them too quickly, she often listens to the advice of the older, wiser, inmates about who she can and cannot trust.

“I never understood why laundry soap was the one free thing provided to us (other than toilet paper rations, which were passed out once a week, and the sanitary napkins and tampons stocked in the bathroom). Laundry soap was sold on commissary; some women would buy tide and give away their eight free soap packets to others who had nothing. Why not soap to clean your body? Why not toothpaste? Somewhere within the monstrous bureaucracy of the Bureau of Prisons, this all made sense to someone.” 

Kerman comments about the arbitrary nature of the prison system. This moment, like many others throughout the memoir, reveals a lack of logic behind a prison rule. Kerman can’t understand why laundry soap is free, but many of the other basic necessities aren’t. While Kerman is unaffected by the lack of free creature comforts because she has plenty of money to spend in the commissary, many other inmates don’t have money and must solely rely on what’s provided to them. Although many women share with one another, without friends or favors or support on the outside, an inmate’s life in Danbury would be difficult. 

“As Nina headed down the hill to the FCI, I felt a real sense of loss. She was the first real friend I had made, and I wouldn’t have any contact with her at all. Prison is so much about the people who are missing from your life and who fill your imagination.” 

As Kerman mentions here, Nina was one of the first friends that she made upon her arrival in Danbury. However, shortly after becoming friends, Nina transfers to a drug rehabilitation program. Nina is just one of many friends that Kerman loses due to relocation or release throughout her time in prison. For many women, losing close friendships is one of the hardest parts about prison. 

“But my blond hair and blue eyes stood me in good stead, just as they had with Butorsky. Mr. Finn was automatically inclined to like me, and when I approached with a new visitor’s form and a timid request that maybe he would grant a special visit or shift my list around as Mr. Butorsky had done, he snorted. ‘Gimme that. I don’t give a shit how many people you have on your visiting list. I’ll put ‘em all on.’” 

Kerman reveals how her good looks afford her many advantages while in prison. Oftentimes, the guards or counselors comment on how Kerman doesn’t look like she belongs in prison, implying that they find her attractive. This gets her not only special visiting privileges, extra phone calls, and an awesome roommate, but it also gets her sexually harassed by her boss. 

“It killed me to snap at him like that, when all I wanted was for him to touch me, but Larry didn’t understand that pushing boundaries in prison can have dire consequences. These men had the power not only to end our visits but to lock me up in solitary on a whim; my word against theirs would count for little.” 

When Larry steals an “extra” kiss during visitation, Kerman must react harshly. The guard on duty unabashedly yells at the couple and dampers their special time together. This moment demonstrates the terrifying power dynamic between the prison guards and the inmates. If it’s the guard’s word against an inmate’s, this means that the guard can get away with anything; in fact, Kerman notes later on that it’s not unheard of for women to be sexually harassed but unable to do anything about it. 

“On the other hand, some people were way too comfortable in prison. They seemed to have forgotten the world that exists on the outside. You try to adjust and acclimate, yet remain ready to go home every single day. It’s not easy to do. The truth is, the prison and its residents fill your thoughts, and it’s hard to remember what it’s like to be free, even after a few short months. You spend a lot of time thinking about how awful prison is rather than envisioning your future. Nothing about the daily workings of the prison system focuses its inhabitants’ attention on what life back on the outside, as a free citizen, will be like. The life of the institution dominates everything.” 

Kerman describes just how consuming life in prison becomes. Even when women try to think about life outside the prison walls, they become too bogged down by the daily life inside; things like prison friendships, job assignments, and the drama and monotony of daily life makes it almost impossible for some women to think about let alone prepare for their release. This moment also demonstrates the lack of focus on rehabilitation for inmates in prison. The prison is set up to hold prisoners in punishment rather than prepare them to succeed once they’re out. This is infuriating for Kerman because many of the women she sees in Danbury are there because of bad choices, and without proper education or resources, she knows that many of them will continue making the same bad choices once the prison releases them.

“A lot of women had crocheted long-stem roses for their ‘prison mamas’ or friends. Some women organized themselves into somewhat formalized ‘family’ relationships with other prisoners, especially mother-daughter pairs. There were a lot of little clans at Danbury. The younger women relied on their ‘moms’ for advice, attention, food, commissary loans, affection, guidance, even discipline. If one of the young ones was misbehaving, she might get directed by another irritated prisoner, ‘Go talk to your mama and work your shit out!’ Or if the kid was really out of control with her mouth or her radio or whatever, the mama might get the request, ‘You need to talk to your daughter, ‘cause if you don’t get some act-right, I’ma knock her out!’” 

This moment explains one unique way that the women in Danbury find identity, comfort, and friendship in the prison. By breaking up into mother/daughter bonds, the women create a sense of community and family. Yet, this dynamic also reveals a deep sense of loneliness and longing among the women. Many of the women are missing their children, so by “adopting” the younger women as their daughters, it allows them to fulfill the huge void caused by missing their biological children. It also allows the younger women to feel the care of a maternal figure—something most of the young women in prison are lacking. 

“Motherhood in prison was revered but also complicated by separation, guilt, and shame. To my eye, my fellow prisoners were mostly ordinary poor or middle-class mommies, grandmas, and even great-grandmothers, and yet some of them were serving very long sentences—five years, seven years, twelve years, fifteen years. I knew that, by virtue of being in the minimum-security prison Camp, they were unlikely to have been convicted of violent crimes. As I watched my neighbors, young women who lacked even a high school education, with their children in the waiting room, I found myself asking again and again (in my head), What could she possibly have done to warrant being locked up here for so long? Criminal masterminds they were not.” 

Kerman highlights how in the prison system, so many women are locked away for presumable drug charges. However, they are unable to receive treatment or rehabilitation while in prison, which perpetuates the vicious cycle of addiction. Not only are these women more likely to reoffend once they’re released, but their children, living without a mother, are more likely to repeat the mistakes of their parents. Kerman has a tough time fathoming the lack of fairness in this devastating cycle, and she can’t even begin to imagine the sense of loss the women must feel when separated from their children. 

“A lack of priors and a history of general good conduct didn’t matter at all—federal mandatory minimum dictated sentences, and if you were pleading guilty (the vast majority of us did), the only person with real leeway in determining what kind of time you would do was your prosecutor, not your judge.” 

Kerman explains why the federal mandatory minimum sentences that punish drug-related offenses are unfair. In Kerman’s case, the court sentences her according to this standard, despite the comparatively petty nature of her offense. Similarly, many of the women in Danbury are serving lengthy sentences despite not having been directly involved in a crime. The system also discourages defendants from pleading “not guilty.” If they plead not guilty and lose, their sentence will be much longer than if they had plead guilty and took the mandatory minimum. Kerman realizes it’s a system that makes it impossible for a person—especially a poor person without access to a good lawyer—to win. 

“When I got into the main hall, there were already screams of joy, and women were pouring out of all of the Rooms and Dorms. When a woman of twenty-five, thirty-five, forty-five has struggled to earn her high school diploma in prison, taking pretest after pretest and trying to learn in a poorly run program and classes full of every imaginable delinquent student behavior, and then actually passes, it is a victory. Some of these women had dropped out of school thirty years before and were finally getting one of the only positive things—one of the only measures of achievement—one can earn in prison.” 

Many of the women in prison are uneducated with little positive achievement to show for their lives. This lack of education is a contributing factor to their incarceration. However, earning a GED while in prison gives many of these women a sense of accomplishment, and it also equips them with a higher chance of succeeding once they’re released. For many of the women prior to prison, they dealt or used drugs and rarely held down traditional jobs. While a GED doesn’t equate to job training, it does give the women something to show for their time in prison. 

“Not that I had known Pennsatucky for a while and worked with her, I thought she had more on the ball than people gave her credit for. She was perceptive and sensitive but had great difficulty expressing herself in a way that was not off-putting to others, and she got loud and angry when she felt disrespected, which was often. There was nothing wrong with Pennsatucky that would have prevented her from living a perfectly happy life, but her problems made her vulnerable to drugs and to the men who had them on offer.” 

Kerman describes the young woman she has nicknamed Pennsatucky, but this description can also fit many of the other women in Danbury. Pennsatucky is a capable woman that could do so much with her life, but instead she fell into the vicious cycle that her upbringing and life situation perpetuated. Kerman worries about Pennsatucky and the women like her; she worries about what they will return to outside of prison, and if they will become lifelong offenders. 

“But now, I looked in dismay at Allie, who was champing at the bit to get back to her oblivion; when I thought about whether Pennsatucky would be able to keep it together and prove herself the good mom that she aspired to be; when I worried about my many friends at Danbury whose health was crushed by hepatitis and HIV; and when I saw in the visiting room how addiction had torn their apart the bonds between mothers and their children, I finally understood the true consequences of my own actions. I had helped these terrible things happen.” 

This is one of the most pivotal moments of self-reflection in the memoir. Kerman realizes the full extent of what she did in the past. Right after college, when she was involved with Nora, drug money enabled her to have overseas adventures. Now that she’s in prison, she realizes the other side of that drug money. For her, it had been fun and games, but for these women, it had cost them their youth, their health, and their families. Once she befriends and cares for these women, Kerman feels truly guilty for the first time. However, moments later, Kerman maintains that she could have had this same revelation if she received a community service sentence rather than a prison sentence. In this moment, she’s making a commentary regarding the upside-down criminal justice system. The prison system is all about punishing people rather than rehabilitating them and getting them to confront the people they’ve hurt. 

“Standing there naked in the warden’s bathroom, I could see that prison had changed me. Most of the accumulated varnish of the five unhappy years spent on pretrial was gone. Except for a decade’s worth of crinkly smile lines around my eyes, I resembled the girl who had jumped off that waterfall more closely than I had in years.”

In this fleeting private moment, Kerman assesses her physical changes. During her prison stay, Kerman’s self-awareness and accountability have gradually evolved. In seeing herself bare, she can objectively review how incarceration has made her anew. This moment solidifies her personal growth, and she can see the pureness of her identity now that the years of pretrial anxiety have dissipated.

“Stoicism sure comes in handy when they take away your underpants. But how to reconcile it with one’s insatiable need for other people? Surely my desire for connection, for intimacy, for human touch was not ‘mundane’? The very worst punishment that we can come up with short of death is total isolation from other humans, the Supermax, Seg, solitary, the Hole, the SHU.” 

Kerman talks about how she’s considered herself an isolationist for much of her life: When things get tough, rather than turning to friends or loved ones, she relies on herself. However, after going to prison, she realizes just how much she needs her friends and family. For the first time in her life, she feels the weight of loneliness, and she can’t help but succumb to the drama of the prison. In this moment, she explains that it is human nature to crave a connection to other people, which is why the women form such deep bonds in prison. It’s also why—as much as she can’t wait to go home and as much as she thinks about Larry and her family—she can’t help but to feel deeply connected to the other women in Danbury.