People are released from prison so unprepared. They give you $200. We call it gate money. And you have to pay for a bus ticket back to L.A. You get off the Greyhound bus, downtown Skid Row, and you're supposed to make a life from that.
Interpretation
The quote highlights the struggle of reintegrating into society after incarceration with minimal support.
In this quote, Susan Burton emphasizes the harsh reality that individuals released from prison often face overwhelming challenges due to lack of proper support and resources. With only a small amount of 'gate money' to their name and the burden of returning to a difficult environment, they are expected to rebuild their lives without the necessary tools or guidance, shedding light on a systemic issue that affects many upon their release.
In practice
In a discussion about criminal justice reform, this quote illustrates the need for better support systems after incarceration.
Many times, I left the prison thinking, 'I'm smart. I can make it. I won't get caught up again.' But you get off downtown Skid Row, and you're a target for all of the environmental harms in that area. The pain and trauma in that area is so thick, you can almost reach your hand out and touch it.
We're willing to spend countless dollars putting people who need help in cages, and then when they get out we say you can't have a job, and you can't have housing, and because you don't have either, we're going to take your kids, too.
I knew hundreds and hundreds of women like me, who had traveled in and out of prison in a revolving door. They needed support and help just like I had received. And it could make a difference, just like it had made a difference in my life. I wanted to see them come back to the community and have a chance at a different life, too.
What I really hoped for, no doubt, was to come upon one of those lives which begin nowhere, which lead us through marshes and salt flats, trickling away, seemingly without plan, purpose or goal, and suddenly emerge, gushing like geysers, and never cease gushing, even in death.
There are times in life when people must know when not to let go. Balloons are designed to teach small children this.
Life once conceived, must be protected with the utmost care; abortion and infanticide are abominable crimes.
Me, Polly Garter, under the washing line, giving the breast in the garden to my bonny new baby. Nothing grows in our garden, only washing. And babies. And where's their fathers live, my love? Over the hills and far away. You're looking up at me now. I know what you're thinking, you poor little milky creature. You're thinking, you're no better than you should be, Polly, and that's good enough for me. Oh, isn't life a terrible thing, thank God?
Some days I do appreciate things more, eggs, flowers, but then I decide I'm only having an attack of sentimentality, my brain going pastel Technicolor, like a beautiful-sunset greeting cards they used to make so many of in California. High-gloss hearts. The danger is grayout.
When I die I'm going to dance first in all the galaxies...I'm gonna play and dance and sing.
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