Jeffries Vincent (Editor). Handbook Of Public Sociology

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232 Chapter 13

me, “Trust me, you’ll beg me.” He sat and described to me what he would do

to my mother, my grandparents. He told me he would continue on with each

member of my family until I came to him, begging him to stop. I knew that I

would never get away. I believed he was capable of doing what he said he was

going to do. I believed it without any doubts. He always did everything he said

was going to do to me. The sexual abuse got worse. He started using foreign

objects. He used a gun on me rectally. A loaded gun. I remember begging him

to pull the trigger. So I wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. He said that was too

easy. Told me it was too easy.

While each woman’s story is unique, all the stories are equally com-

pelling. All things considered, the lives of convicted survivors are not

unlike a Shakespearean tragedy, full of real-life suspense, hope, drama,

and anguish. It seemed regrettable to limit their impact to the world of

professional sociology—annual meetings, journal articles, textbooks, and

so forth when so many others could benefit from hearing these accounts.

Taking it to other publics beyond the world of professional sociology

would allow incarcerated women’s voices, at least, to be free and effec-

tive and to bring the invisible into view. Making visible the invisible and

moving the private into public view is fundamental to public sociology

(Burawoy 2005a).

Considering the trajectory of the research on convicted survivors, I appre-

ciate our discipline’s current attention to public sociology. Burawoy states,

“Public sociology aims to enrich public debate about moral and political

issues by infusing them with sociological theory and research” (2004:1);

“part of our business as sociologists is to define human categories—people

with AIDS, women with breast cancer . . . and if we do so with their collabo-

ration, we create publics” (2005a:8). Further, public sociology “engages

publics beyond the academy in dialogue about matters of political and

moral concern. It has to be relevant to such publics without being faddish”

(2004:1607). My work and its evolution shows convicted survivors to be

a human category that has become one of the publics to whom the work

would be returned.

Burawoy claims, “There can be neither policy nor public sociology

without a professional sociology that supplies true and tested methods,

accumulated bodies of knowledge, orienting questions, and conceptual

frameworks” (2005a:10). This clearly holds in the case of my research on

incarcerated battered women. As a professional sociologist, I wrote a dis-

sertation, a book, several journal articles, and gave many scholarly presenta-

tions. However, this work was destined not to remain solely in the domain

of professional sociology.

Clearly, the articulate and instructive voices of battered women in prison

could be made more effective by sharing them with a broader audience. As

From Data to Drama 233

Blau and Smith observe, “There are abundant reasons why public sociolo-

gists might consider the arts as playing an important role in community

projects, in the classroom, and in their own conceptual work” (2006:xxi).

Realizing the value and dramatic power of their stories, a playwright col-

league, Professor Warren Doody, and I began to discuss the possibility of

a play about convicted survivors. After reading my book (Leonard 2002),

attending a CWAA meeting, and discussing it with group members, he

began writing. With permission from interviewees, he integrated direct

quotes into his work, reframed through composite characters to remove

any identifying markers. The result is the play Life without Parole. Set in one

lifer’s parole hearing, multiple stories intertwine as the characters of five

inmates powerfully convey the realities of women’s pain, fear, loss, and

sense of betrayal by the very social institutions expected to provide them

support—family, faith communities, health providers, and the law. The

links between the private troubles and public issues of convicted survivors

gain clarity as the drama unfolds.

To date the play has raised funds for battered women’s shelters in sev-

eral states, and British Columbia, has provided education for advocates of

convicted survivors, and has been performed by several universities to raise

awareness on intimate partner violence. The playwright also adapted his

work into a screenplay, which won an award for best original screenplay at

the 2005 Worldfest Houston Film Festival.

A New Public

According to Burawoy, “we are more than ready to embark on a systematic

back-translation, taking knowledge back to those from whom it came, mak-

ing public issues out of private troubles” (2005a:5). One January evening,

women from my study and other CWAA members filed into CIW’s Visitor

Center to hear their own words come back to them as actors on a makeshift

stage presented a professional reading of Life without Parole. Here indeed is

a public “outside academia.” That night, convicted survivors looked on as

pieces of their own stories unfolded; they reacted with silence, tears, gasps of

recognition, and even a few laughs. Non-study audience members recognized

their own experiences, violence by intimate partners providing the common

language. At times, an inmate would identify an incident, a phrase, a circum-

stance peculiar to her situation. Her eyes would find mine (I watched for

reactions) and with a stricken, tearful glance she would invariably mouth an

emotional “thank you!” as she turned back to the production.

With the play’s conclusion, prisoners, actors, playwright, and researcher

entered into a rich dialogue about what each had just experienced. Ques-

tions and answers, comments and mutual appreciations were exchanged,

234 Chapter 13

strong emotions felt and expressed by all. One woman observed, “You did

my story well, and for a moment, I wasn’t ashamed of being here. . . . It

hurts less now, my level of shame, and I think now that I am going to be

all right” (Frith 2004).

And the story is not over. Recently, the playwright, cast, this researcher,

and two documentary film crews found ourselves again at the California

Institution for Women. The institution had welcomed us back to use the

recently remodeled gym/auditorium to present Life without Parole to the

general population of prisoners. The room overflowed with an animated

crowd of 425 denim-clad women—chairs were filled, floor space at a

premium. Silence descended as the actors took their positions and read

their parts. A few women left early, weeping; others placed an arm around

distressed neighbors who were remembering their own experiences; an oc-

casional angry face turned to another to share a particular outrage; laughter

erupted over familiar prison realities. Their standing ovation at the end of

the play moved the actors deeply.

One goal of public sociology is to facilitate dialogue (Burawoy 2005a).

Beyond the initial impact of Life without Parole on this particular public, I

sought to understand their thoughts on the efficacy and value of the play.

As engaging in dialogue with prisoners was problematic due to the con-

straints of correctional institutions and the logistics of this event, I utilized a

four-question survey. Most audience members remained in the auditorium

after the play to record their reactions. Common responses are as follows:

Question 1: How does this play help people to understand the truth of domes-

tic violence and the women’s violent reaction to that abuse?

This play using words and emotions that truly express the deep-rooted feel-

ing that many of us have from our own abusive situations. It gives a “true”

representation of the scope of this issue and its consequences.

It tells it like it is—the reality, the confusion, the anger, the despair. I’ve

lived through every single bit of it—and now I’m in prison. I called the police

to help me and they just kept arresting me. Now I tell people—I didn’t get ar-

rested, I got rescued!

This play allows women to know that they are not alone. There are many

others unvalued in abusive relationships. It also helps women. I know there is

no need to be ashamed for anything. It also allows many people to see there

are many sick individuals out there.

Question 2: In what ways has this play affected you?

This play affected me so deeply that I couldn’t stay to the end. After seven years

of incarceration it’s overwhelming to see a play that reflects my life so closely.

It has allowed me to realize I no longer have to be a victim. My life doesn’t

have to be ruled by my boyfriend anymore. I am aware of red flags and my

relationship and life today is at risk if I go home to the same thing.

Not only did I see myself as being abused I also realize that I’ve shown signs

of being an abuser.

From Data to Drama 235

I’ve been in those shoes but I didn’t kill my husband/abuser. I stayed in that

situation for 8½ years. After I almost lost my life—my son shot and killed him.

My son was acquitted.

Question 3: Who should see this play? Why?

I think people in authority should see this; especially those who make deci-

sions over women who are incarcerated for life due to being battered.

The cops! Because they do nothing.

The men’s prisons. It could save their lives.

Perhaps in educational settings or peer groups in the public school system.

To help children and teens become more aware at an earlier age as prevention.

. . . Also public television to bring more awareness and education and to sup-

ply help for those who want it. Legislature or persons involved in making or

enacting laws.

Everyone! To educate people in general to remove the silence and the stigma

associated with domestic violence.

My baby’s dad because he beats me and makes me feel like killing him.

Question 4: Is there anything else you would like to tell us about the play

and its presentation at CIW?

I enjoyed it. It was played out exactly how it is in life. The victim of the crime

suffers here and that is sad—I think everyone’s case should be looked into care-

fully. There’s reasons behind women being in prisons—sometimes life isn’t

fair. Thank you for your time and listening to what we need to say. HELP.

Thank you for making me more aware of my predicament and my dilemma.

If I allow this to continue him or I might end up dead or in prison for the rest

of our lives. God bless you.

Powerful stage presentation! The “black and white” set creates clarity and focus

on the emotion highlights, the variety of abuse, and it magnifies the impact of

the system during incarceration, court hearings and the disgusting and disre-

specting treatment of women in prison. The women who have endured many

years in prison and know that what they did to protect themselves have a kind

of “peace” knowing that the prison here is much better than the prison they

lived in while being abused—not a reasonable trade-off but it represents a kind

of “rescue” from the hell they lived in prior to their incarceration. I am not a

lifer, but I see the really good women who need to go home and have a chance

to experience life again, a peaceful life with their children and parents—to be

forgiven and understood. This will not happen until we educate our society.

There are 100s of people experiencing abuse every day—and the local police

officers cannot fix the problems. It’s about empowering women to make good

choices and develop inner strength to get out of bad relationships before they

are driven crazy (and everything in between) and to prison.

This “public” of women prisoners reveals the impact of transforming data

to drama and they provide a real litmus test for the integrity of Life without Pa-

role. Moreover, convicted survivors, the source of my research, maintain that

their lives have been validated by the process of transforming sociological

research into art. They expressed the hope that their words would be heard

236 Chapter 13

outside prison walls, bringing awareness and help to battered women living

in the prison-like atmosphere of violent relationships. Indeed, the voices of

convicted survivors are important—they are also the voices of the thousands

of American women who do not survive that final violent assault.

ORGANIC PUBLIC SOCIOLOGY

Burawoy (2005) differentiates between two types of public sociology—tra-

ditional and organic. In brief, the traditional form includes classroom

teaching and writing for public rather than academic audiences. Organic

public sociology is defined as the type “in which the sociologist works

in close connection with a visible, thick, active, local and often counter-

public. . . . The project of such public sociologies is to make visible the in-

visible, to make the private public, to validate these organic connections as

part of our sociological life” (Burawoy 2005a:7, 8).

As it engages publics beyond the academy, this sociology-as-drama ex-

emplifies organic public sociology that addresses the moral and political,

revealing the link between private troubles and public issues. Former presi-

dent of Ireland and former United Nations high commissioner for human

rights Mary Robinson was a featured speaker at ASA’s 2004 meeting in San

Francisco, where she urged sociologists to

add to your analyses a human rights lens, and to identify human rights vio-

lations when they are such. I am not talking here about war crimes, crimes

against humanity, or other international-level infractions—as important as

they are to confront—but rather the things close to home: the human rights

violations occurring here in the United States, as elsewhere, and to which we

are all exposed daily. (Robinson 2004:10)

The research revealed and the play expresses numerous violations of

convicted survivors’ human rights. This dramatic form of organic public so-

ciology has helped to penetrate those barriers and bring convicted survivors

into the public arena.

POLICY SOCIOLOGY

Burawoy’s “division of labor” matrix distinguishes policy sociology from

public sociology, both of which depend on professional sociology for their

“legitimacy and expertise” (2005a:10).

Policy sociology’s raison d’etre is to provide solutions to problems that are pre-

sented to us, or to legitimate solutions that have already. . . . The approaches

From Data to Drama 237

of public and policy sociology are neither mutually exclusive nor even antago-

nistic. . . . Policy sociology can turn into public sociology. . . . Equally, public

sociology can often turn into policy sociology. (2005a:9, 10)

While my work did not begin in the policy matrix, it has been utilized by

policy makers. Here I present examples of the ways in which this research

has journeyed into the policy realm and offer policy recommendations

derived from study findings.

Dr. Nancy Lemon of UC Berkeley’s Boalt Hall School of Law used study

findings to amend state legislation, which sought to modify parent-child visi-

tation rights at penal institutions where a parent was serving time for a crime

against the other parent—the law now allows consideration for convicted

survivors. In the 1999 report The Abuse of Women Prisoners in the US, Amnesty

International cited the research finding on the crippling misuse of psychotro-

pic drugs on convicted survivors as their cases were being adjudicated—clearly

a violation of human rights.

The State of California Legislative Committee on Prison Construction

and Operations invited me to present my research findings for their hear-

ings on women inmates. Based on that presentation, investigators from

the California Board of Parole Hearings opened new investigations on the

validity of abuse as context for homicide by women whose cases occurred

before 1992,

investigations that have become part of prisoners’ case files,

including women in my study. These investigative findings have been

instrumental in supporting successful writs of habeas corpus, and several

women have won their freedom among whom were study participants.

While the past three decades have seen improvements in services for vic-

tims of domestic violence, the need for further changes in public policies

and attitudes that act upon private lives is clear. Research findings point

to a number of recommendations (see Leonard 2003), several of which I

highlight below.

Homicide Prosecution

When women find no legal way to stop life-threatening violence, and they

use their own agency to end it, the criminal justice system punishes them

severely. Their lethal actions can be understood only when placed within the

context of ongoing victimization and lack of outside help. Yet, repeatedly,

their trials and plea bargains omit evidence of their injuries and fear as well

as their partners’ violence, stalking, and threats. This produces an inaccurate

picture, lacking the self-defensive motivation of women’s actions. Thus, bat-

tered women who kill are placed in the same category as drive-by shooters

and other dangerous criminal offenders, although they are highly unlikely

to have any history of criminal or violent behavior (Browne 1987; Leonard

238 Chapter 13

2000, 2002). When prosecutors file homicide charges, abused women’s self-

protective acts become criminalized. Further, judges, juries, prosecutors, and

sometimes defense attorneys do not believe women who are convinced that

they took a life only to save their own lives and/or the lives of threatened

loved ones. Women are found guilty even when they sustain serious injuries

in the incident that led to the homicide (Leonard 2002). Prosecutors and

juries display a single-minded interest in the sexist question, “Why didn’t

she just leave?” When judges disallow evidence of past victimization and

instruct juries in ways that give them little option but to convict, women

become double victims, once again controlled and silenced, once again told

that the violence they endured was insignificant.

When severe abuse precipitates deadly self-defense, prosecutors should

differentiate career criminals from one-time situational offenders who pose

no danger to society. If a prosecutor pushes a case forward, a manslaughter

charge better fits the battered woman’s experience, rather than the wide-

spread first- and second-degree murder indictments. All officers of the court

should be required to attend in-depth, continuing education programs

on domestic violence as a follow-up to mandatory law school courses on

the subject. Juries need to be better educated on the dynamics and conse-

quences of ongoing abuse through the use of expert testimony and they

need to hear all available exculpatory evidence and testimony. Jury instruc-

tions must allow jurors to consider the lethality of male violence. Further,

battered women held responsible for the death of abusive partners should

be exempt from the death penalty.

Pharmaceuticals

Psychotropic drugs hinder the ability of women to contribute to and par-

ticipate in their own defense and perpetuate the silence forced upon them

by their batterers (see Auerhahn and Leonard 2000). Further, drug-induced

flat affect leaves jurors to conclude that women who kill abusive partners

are emotionally detached, indeed “cold-blooded.” Qualified jail staff must

be required to administer the appropriate medical and psychological tests

before prescribing drugs to women who have not been receiving such

treatment. Jail detainees need to be informed of their right to refuse such

medication.

Alternatives to Jail

Women who cannot make bail are in a disadvantaged position. Awaiting

trial in custody makes everything more difficult for the battered woman

defendant and leaves her vulnerable to the inappropriate use of psychotro-

pic medications. A mother will see her children placed with her family, the

From Data to Drama 239

family of the deceased batterer, or in foster care. As the adult most closely

bonded to her children, a battered woman’s concerns center on the well-

being of her children, with whom she will have little or no contact. A bat-

tered woman defendant lacking a history of criminal or violent behavior

is not a danger to the community and poses no flight risk. She makes an

ideal candidate for alternatives to jail, which reduces the cost of pre-trial

detention, releases space for more dangerous defendants, and allows her

family to begin the healing process. Therefore, a battered woman defendant

should be released on her own recognizance so that she can provide finan-

cially for herself and maintain her household throughout the adjudication

process. Alternatively, she and her children could be placed in the secure

therapeutic environment of a battered woman’s shelter, where they would

receive counseling for what they have endured.

Post-Trial Efforts

With each unduly harsh penalty meted out to convicted survivors, patri-

archal attitudes are reinforced, reminding women that their proper place is

in the home where men are to hold a monopoly on power and control. Sex-

ism in the legal system dictates that women fulfill gender role expectations

or face severe consequences, the same message communicated to women

by their abusive mates. The patriarchal legacy does not tolerate women’s use

of force in response to male intimate violence. Institutionalized sexism as

seen in sentencing and parole practices must be exposed and discontinued.

The possibility of retrials or early release for women imprisoned for killing

their batterers needs exploration. Women serving life sentences without the

possibility of parole must be allowed the opportunity for release. All cor-

rectional institutions should permit, even encourage, convicted survivors

to organize themselves in support groups for education, healing, growth,

advocacy, and self-esteem. Further, advocacy groups for battered women

convicted of homicide are needed to address issues of parole, resentencing,

and clemency.

THE ROLE OF CRITICAL SOCIOLOGY

Burawoy states, “As a discipline sociology was born in close proximity to

moral reform just as individual sociologists are often born in moral combat.

. . . The moral moment, however, may be repressed or marginalized, it may

be suspended or put into remission, but it never disappears. It springs back

to life when and where it is least expected” (2005c:323). In my situation, the

interest in cases of battered women who kill to survive sprang to life when it

was least expected. Further, allowing the research to evolve into a play was

240 Chapter 13

not part of the original project. However, studying their cases and analyzing

their narratives stirred in me a passion for justice, which was fueled by my

understanding of what sociological knowledge could accomplish.

Professional sociology taught me to be a sociologist, socializing me into

the discipline with its imagination, methods, and theories. Yet, profes-

sional sociology set boundaries for the knowledge generated through the

research—academic research for scholarly purposes. Policy outcomes may

be legitimate products, but dramatizing the findings for general public con-

sumption falls outside professional sociological borders. As I wrestled with

this conflict, knowing many of my peers would question the legitimacy of

this evolution, I thought about the women in my study whose lives had

been shattered by violence and injustice; I thought about women in the free

world whose abusive experiences bore striking similarities to those of con-

victed survivors; I thought about individuals who interact with victims and

survivors of domestic violence and all too often respond out of ignorance

and inflict further damage if they do discover the hidden pain; I thought

about people in positions of power who would likely not read my publica-

tions and gain a new perspective and perhaps understanding of the issues

raised. I felt a strong sense of responsibility to share the knowledge gained

in the research and to return the ownership of convicted survivors’ voices to

them. I knew that seeing the impact of their words would empower them.

CONCLUSION

Knowledge for whom? Knowledge for what? These two critical questions gen-

erate Burawoy’s four-sociology classification (Burawoy 2005a). My inner

dialogue described above reflects the broader tension between instrumental

(concerned with means) and reflexive knowledge (concerned with ends

or value premises), between professional and critical sociology (Burawoy

2005c; O’Connor 2006). With my research, the academic knowledge that

accrued for professional sociology and academia in time became infused

with the moral sense that this knowledge could and should be used for

public education as well as for convicted survivors and others like them.

Burawoy argues, “One function of critical sociology is to show that the

world does not have to be the way it is” (2004:1612). Ghamari-Tabrizi de-

scribes critical and public sociology as being a “kind of reflexive and trans-

formative type of sociology engaged in social change” and “critical public

sociologists have an agenda—they unashamedly connect the is to their

own perceived ought” (2005:361). Critical sociology, according to Burawoy,

“has infused moral commitments into public sociology” (2004:1609).

Succinctly, “Behind [critical sociology] lies a more or less explicit vision of

what can crudely be described as a ‘better world’” (O’Connor 2006:11).

From Data to Drama 241

Violence against women is not inevitable. Women should not be abused

and controlled. Women who kill to survive should have a fair adjudica-

tion process and ought not to live out the remainder of their lives behind

bars. Thus, I made the decision to move forward and allow the research

its own life beyond the prescribed borders of professional sociology. In so

doing, I joined the ranks of my activist predecessors in the discipline of

sociology. The ASA Task Force acknowledges, “American sociologists have

long been deeply engaged in the public issues of the day and with policy

makers and activists of their times” (2005:3). Transforming the research

into dramatic form has shown itself to be an effective means of bringing

private troubles into public view and creating understanding about the

many social, cultural, and legal issues surrounding the cases and lives of

convicted survivors.

This chapter has presented an example of sociological research that moved

across the four-part matrix of Burawoy’s framework. Of particular interest is

its life in the realm of public sociology, where it is affecting multiple publics

beyond the academy. I conclude with the words of Michael Burawoy:

Public sociology is the recognition of such a common interest in human free-

dom, and thus a commitment to human rights that reach beyond the univer-

sity, human rights that are embedded in the standpoint of civil society. It is

part of the art of public sociology to build bridges and transcend differences

between otherwise disconnected worlds. (Burawoy 2005d:165)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am grateful to CIW for allowing us to present Life without Parole to the

women who made it possible through their generosity of spirit and their

sister inmates. I thank Laura Edles for her comments on an early version of

this essay and to Linda Derksen for her ongoing suggestions and insightful

feedback.

NOTE

1. In 1991, the California legislature recognized the need for expert testimony on

the effects of battering (formerly called Battered Women’s Syndrome) in intimate

partner homicide cases. The California Evidence Code was amended to allow expert

testimony at trial. However, the change affected only cases after 1992. In 2000,

Governor Gray Davis enacted Senate Bill 799 (now Penal Code §1473.5), which al-

lows convicted survivors whose cases occurred prior to 1992 to file a writ of habeas

corpus if the absence of BWS expert testimony prejudiced their cases (Gutierrez and

Leal 2002).