The prison system rests upon one common denominator: the multigenerational abuse of black and brown bodies. Through patterns of intimidation and gaps in education, the prison complex has profited from the multigenerational pain of communities of color. So when Gavin Newsom signed Assembly Bill 32 in late October, banning the renewal of contracts for private prisons and preventing immigrant detention facilities from operating in California, civil rights activists let out a collective sigh of relief. AB 32 will prevent the state from entering into or renewing contracts with for-profit prison companies after January 2020 and completely phase out such facilities by 2028. Exceptions to this measure are the privately owned prisons that fall under the state corrections agency’s control. The push to end contracts with privately owned prisons is not new in California, however. The last time a similar measure was pushed in 2017, the bill was vetoed by then-Gov. Jerry Brown, who claimed that the state needed to “maintain maximum flexibility in the short term” in order to comply with the population cap.

The sprawling prison system can be broken down into two main entities: public and private. These prisons vary in how they’re funded, the rehabilitation efforts they offer, the type of inmates they house and the level of security each of them require. When it comes to overall comparisons, however, privately run prisons are less likely to report data on their inmate population. This is because private companies operate within private prisons in order to run a variety of services—exempting private prisons from the need to report how and where every dollar goes or does not go as opposed to public (county, state and federal), who are required to report services because they receive tax dollars. Even more so, the longer the sentences that their prisoners hold, the more money they earn. Currently, private companies that run prison facilities for the federal government house 8 percent of the US prison population and rising. The public prison sector is broken into two parts: prisons and correctional facilities. Prisons are run by local, state or federal government and are required to report information.

Brown’s argument zeroed in on numbers. According to the Legislative Analyst’s Office, for the 2018–19 year, the total cost to incarcerate an inmate in prison was $81,203, a 58 percent increase from a decade prior. This jump resulted from greater investment in inmate security and health care. By comparison, the cost per prison inmate at a private prison is $31,000. The stark difference in price highlights that private companies are cutting corners in order to gain maximum profit from their “investment.” Of the 126,000 inmates currently housed in the United States’ private facilities, California only currently has 1400 of those inmates. More significantly, the federal Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agency stands to lose four privately run detention facilities holding roughly 4,000 people in California, unless the ban is challenged in court. Beyond the conversation of profit or lack thereof, the impact of the prison complex goes beyond that. 

This attitude was problematic; by zeroing in on the numbers, the governor associated inmates with their net worth. He consistently refused to allocate funds to closely monitored facilities because of the cost, placing profits over inmate wellbeing. He facilitated a vicious cycle within which the prison system seeks free labor over justice and emphasizes financial gain over rehabilitation.

The conversation must be turned to reality facing people of color in American society. The odds are stacked against them before they’ve even said a word. According to the American Civil Liberties Union, one out of every three black boys goes to prison in his lifetime, as will one of every six Latino boys. The paramount issue lies not within the idea of justice for crime but the way in which criminal justice has been used as a weapon within which some are treated more kindly while others are not, regardless of what the law says. The community needs an effective system within which there is crime prevention and control in our communities; the one we have is designed to create crime and a perpetual class of people labeled criminals rather than eliminate crime or reduce the number of criminals. Much like anything, the idea of private prisons in theory could have been a tool that could be used to do just what it was meant to. However, the growth of the private prison in the United States has broken down its integrity to a point at which restructuring is difficult. However, alternatives are not impossible. One potential alternative is the adoption of performance-based contracts that are seen in the Australian and New Zealand justice systems. There, private prisons have contracts that provide bonuses if they do better than government prisons at cutting the number of reoffenders. They are provided an even larger bonus if they are able to cut the number of reoffenders coming from indigenous populations. As such, they provide correctional institutions with an incentive to avoid the dehumanizing elements of typical prisons and establish programs in order to allow for successful reintegration into society following their time served.

Despite potential alternatives, the states have gone too far down a place of comfort in the current system where the only way to undo the disenfranchisement caused by our private prison system is to rebuild the system as if it were something brand new. California choosing to end the contract may seem insignificant while its private prison population is about half the size of some of the biggest private prison populations, such as that of Texas. However, change of any kind is a promise in the right direction. Further progress, however, requires more than just promises. Those with the privilege and position to take and influence action must do so. At Davis, a foundation for that opportunity exists. UC Davis combats the stigma that many times accompanies formerly incarcerated students through the Beyond the Stats program established by Tina Curiel-Allen and Daniel Mendoza, both of whom were formerly incarcerated. By establishing support groups and a magazine, the directors lead a movement to redirect the conversation away from preconceptions and towards reality. Without organizations like these, Mendoza felt as though he was going, “from one instituion that was meant to keep me in to one that’s meant to keep me out.”

Much of the time we find the case studies and research done on the prison system through an objective lens. We consume those numbers and find fault in them, but fail to make the connection between the studies and the experience of being the face behind the numbers. It is difficult to understand a narrative that we personally haven’t experienced and much of the time this can lead to gaps in our understanding. This ignorance, much of the time, is not out of malice or indifference, but rather out of inconsistencies in making connections. We must do better. We must do better in viewing statistics past the numbers. We must do better in consuming research past the objectives. We must do better in understanding and integrating communities dissimilar to our own into our personal education, every single day.