The Transgender Respect and Dignity Act: an Interview with Jasmine Rose Jones
Content Note: This article contains discussions of sexual violence (both in and out of prisons), transphobia, and violence within prisons.
Image description: Thumbnail shows the pink white and blue trans flag waving.
In September 2020, California’s “The Transgender Respect and Dignity Act,” otherwise known as SB 132, was signed into law. The bill’s passage was a huge victory, the culmination of years of work by trans rights advocates. In short, the law allows trans, nonbinary, and intersex people (amongst other gender identities) in California prisons to have their gender identities respected and have their safety concerns taken into consideration in their housing determination. Prior to SB 132, housing determinations were made based on genitalia nearly 100% of the time. Under the new policy, a trans woman, for example, who is housed in a prison designated for men can apply for transfer to a prison designated for women if she feels unsafe in the men’s prison. The bill was created in response to the severe danger faced by trans, gender-nonconforming, and intersex people inside of prisons.
I spent this past summer as a law clerk at the Transgender, Gender-Variant, and Intersex Justice Project (“TGIJP”) in San Francisco. TGIJP is an abolitionist organization engaged in community organizing and legal support for incarcerated and formerly-incarcerated individuals who are trans, nonbinary, gender-variant, or intersex. The organization was a central player in getting SB 132 passed and is part of the coalition to monitor the implementation of the new policy.
To say the implementation of SB 132 has been fraught would be an understatement. From the start, it was clear that the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCr) intended to prevent the smooth rollout of the new legislation (following the lead of abolitionist spaces I’ve occupied, I use a small “r” in CDCr to acknowledge the fact that the prison system, in both design and practice, aims to punish, not rehabilitate). From transphobic misinformation spread by correctional officers to retaliatory placements in solitary confinement, within a few months, it felt like the entire thing was spiraling out of control. Over the course of the summer, it became clear that a progressive policy success means nothing if the state does not implement it well – or worse, if the state actively blocks the effective implementation of the new law.
So, what went wrong? Why was such a promising bill fraught with fire after fire? And how could it go better in the future?
Over the summer, I had the opportunity to work with Jasmine Rose Jones, a Black trans community organizer who spent over two decades in California’s prison system. For this piece, I interviewed Jasmine about her experiences as an organizer, her reflections on SB 132, and her vision for a better world.
Jasmine got her start organizing back in 2008 when Miss Major, then the Executive Director of TGIJP, paid a visit to the prison where Jasmine was being held. “She had a vision about having an inside leadership team,” Jasmine told me, “she wanted me to compile documents to describe the abuse and things trans people was going through in prison.” Jasmine never expected the work to be easy, but knew from the start “the fight was gonna be worthwhile.”
Eleven years later, with housing and employment lined up through TGIJP, Jasmine was released from prison and began her work organizing on the outside. Fast forward two more years to June 2021, when SB 132 was being rolled out across California.
Even before the bill was made law, correctional officers began spreading dangerous misinformation which incited fear and transphobia amongst people housed in prisons designated for women. Individuals in those prisons were told that they should be afraid of trans women because they were larger, stronger, and had intentions of sexually assaulting cisgender women – despite there being zero evidence to that effect. Trans men in facilities designated for women were told that people seeking SB 132 transfer were coming to steal their girlfriends. Trans people housed in men’s prisons who wanted to transfer were told that the cis women did not want them, and that they would be attacked upon arrival (this also proved to be untrue).
Additionally, CDCr instituted a mandatory class called “Right Person, Right Prison” for those seeking transfers under SB 132. While purported to be a way to help potential transfers transfers-to-be acculturate to the new environment of a women’s prison, in reality it is a gender-policing course designed to fail anyone the prison deems not enough of a woman. This is inherently problematic because, of course, there is no one right way to be a woman. Further, it constitutes de facto transfer denials of all nonbinary participants, for no reason other than they are not women, which is in violation of SB 132’s plain text.
For those trans women who did manage to transfer to one of the prisons designated for women, antagonistic correctional officers awaited them. According to Jasmine, “At one point, there was eleven trans women in the hole, being charged with sexual misconduct for simply hugging a cis woman or sitting on someone’s bunk.” In addition to the cruelty and inconvenience of being placed in the hole, sexual misconduct charges – if not dismissed – can have serious negative impacts on a person’s ability to obtain parole.
When she was organizing inside, Jasmine also experienced her share of retaliation. As Jasmine explained, “Any time you stand up for yourself and know a little bit of the law or Title 15 [California law that governs CDCr operations], they consider you a threat. And with that threat comes excessive shutdowns and cell searches. I had two ad seg placements for no reason, just to inconvenience me and take my property.”
Despite international recognition that solitary confinement constitutes torture, bogus administrative segregation (aka ad seg or “the hole”, i.e. solitary confinement) placements are extremely commonplace in the prison system. With so little transparency and the near-total power of prison staff, correctional officers are able to weaponize disciplinary measures against innocent people with no consequence.
Due to the transphobic rumors spread by divisive prison officers, tensions arose amongst the cis women, trans women, and trans men who were living together, at times rising to violence. It is well-documented that cis women in prison are disproportionately survivors of abuse and domestic violence. Correctional officers willfully triggered fears of further trauma by spreading the notion that the newfound safety of trans women would be coming at the expense of that of cis women. Feeding off of these rumors, outside organizations run by trans-exclusionary radical feminists (“TERFs”: people who do not believe trans women are women) began running stories that cisgender women in prison were now faced with the threat of opportunistic “men,” all while remaining completely silent on the rampant sexual abuse that already takes place in women’s prisons at the hands of prison staff (see also [1][2][3]).
Despite correctional officers’ exploitation of cis women’s trauma to create fear of trans people transferring into their facility, experience with abuse and a desire for safety are commonalities between trans and cis women, not dividing factors. For almost every transgender woman who is incarcerated in the U.S., the daily threat of rape is an unending, psychologically terrorizing, reality. A CDCr-funded study showed that transgender women were roughly 20 times more likely to be raped than any other group of incarcerated people: over 60% of trans-women had been in the prior year alone. Likewise, non-binary and intersex people face increased risk of sexual assault and gender based violence in prisons.
In large part, the fraught implementation of SB 132 was due to the effectiveness of the divisive tactics employed by correctional officers. Officers were able to shroud the shared oppression of cis women, trans women, and trans men under a veil of transphobia and fear. This was compounded by the fact that CDCr implemented the law with little to no guidance from the people whom it was intended to protect, and then refused to address staff misconduct once it was occurring.
From the start, advocates warned CDCr representatives that staff were going to hinder the smooth implementation of the law. Jasmine explained, “[CDCr] knew what was coming, but they refused to accept it,” so no plan was put in place to counteract the spread of hateful misinformation. Then, once the ramifications of the rumors began to play out, and people were being thrown in the hole without cause, CDCr denied knowledge of any such staff misconduct.
The only solution offered by CDCr was for aggrieved parties to use the prison administrative appeals system, which is not a viable response because (1) officers routinely throw away appeals, (2) appeals are essentially always denied, and (3) filing an appeal places a person at risk of retaliation (e.g. physical abuse, ad seg placement, transfer to a more dangerous environment) by the officer whom they reported. That is why so many people inside of prisons must rely on outside advocates to exert pressure on prison systems to address abuse and other concerns.
After a few hard-fought months, things began to take a turn for the better inside of the women’s facilities where people have been transferred under SB 132. Following a period of conflict and disorder, one of the trans women who had been transferred called a meeting between the trans women, cis women, and trans men who were housed in her facility. As a group out on the yard, everyone discussed what they needed to feel comfortable and safe living together, and decided how to keep each other accountable in future conflicts.
Jasmine explained, “The officers were doing everything they could to put distance between people. Once people realized that they had the same scars, the same battle wounds, they knew that they had to work together because as long as they were going at each other, the cops was enjoying it and they was throwing fuel to the fire. Since everyone talked things out, it’s been really peaceful.”
Despite greater harmony amongst those housed in facilities designated for women, officers continue to abuse their power to sow division and thwart the new policy. Guards frequently moved people to new cells to prevent friendships from developing amongst trans and cis women. Solitary confinement is routinely weaponized against trans transfers; at one point thirteen trans women were stuck in the hole.
When asked how she thinks true social change will come about, Jasmine said, “You have to start with inclusion, trans people have to be at the table. We have a voice that needs to be heard. And we need to support organizations that are trying to get people outta prison. For me, a change is seeing people in society lifting each other up and people having inclusion and a seat and a seat at that table that makes policy change and makes the world go around.”
As a law student looking towards movement lawyering, I asked Jasmine what kind of training or skills she would like to see in lawyers who are helping fight for the cause of trans liberation and abolition. She replied, “They have to be more patient, more of a listener and not so much voicing their own opinion. Let the dialogue take its course, then, if you see something where you can step in and give your expertise with no strings attached, do that. And listen to what the younger generation has to say, because they have some great, strong-ass ideas.”
In work that is so personal and often so emotionally heavy, Jasmine is kept motivated by the fact that “so many lives are getting changed by leaders in our communities. I think that as long as we continue to love on each other, be peaceful with each other, and as our community continues to grow, people that are allies ain’t gonna have no choice but to help or want to help. As more of us get out of prison, we’re gonna have to band together and help people as much as we can so they don’t go out and commit more crime and go back to prison, because that fucks us all up, as a people.”
Throughout our interview, Jasmine often returned to themes of solidarity and listening. Even during the most polarized period of SB 132’s implementation, Jasmine always reiterated the importance of hearing everyone and bringing everyone to the table, even those who seemed to stand in opposition to her own community. It was inspiring to see someone so deeply and personally affected by the issue still take a stance of love and empathy.
In Jasmine’s words, “It’s gonna be a struggle, but if we stick together and we keep focus on productivity, love, and peace with one another, I think we gonna accomplish a lot.”