Carceral Seepage and Healing Narratives: A Conversation with Rasheeda Imani Jones
The police, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents, and other law enforcement (LE) agents have a long history of detaining and disproportionately harming racially minoritized communities. They surveil neighborhoods and accost people in private and public spaces. Our children and youth are observing and affected by police surveillance, racial profiling, police brutality, and in the worst of circumstances, incarceration and death. Whether their exposure comes from watching police violence online or the TV, as witnesses, or as direct targets and victims, research demonstrates that their emotional well-being is being impacted. This is particularly true for Black, Latinx, and Indigenous children and youth who live in neighborhoods disproportionately surveilled and policed. In this piece, I explore how LE and incarceration negatively impact the emotional well-being of racially minoritized youth in Los Angeles. I also draw on the work of the social worker, therapist, and author Rasheeda Imani Jones to demonstrate how research, art, and writing can come together to acknowledge the harms of policing and incarceration and create pathways to healing for young people.
Carceral Seepage
In my research on how policing in Los Angeles shapes the emotions of Black and non-Black Latinx youth, I met many Black and Latinx young men who had loved ones incarcerated or deported. They have also grown up witnessing the racial profiling of their mothers, fathers, uncles, and friends by LE. These experiences were compounded by their encounters with racial profiling and criminalization as early as age six, and, in the worst of circumstances, the murder of a loved one at the hands of the police. I refer to this accumulation of both direct and indirect encounters, including the slow violence it produces, as “carceral seepage.”
I use the concept of carceral seepage to describe the pervasive reach of the carceral state. Carceral seepage uses water seepage as metaphor to describe the violence of policing as slow and cumulative. In addition, this concept captures how the slow cumulative exposure of experiences throughout one’s life generates a particular set of negative emotional responses to LE and criminalization. This includes witnessing the policing of loved ones and peers, the omnipresence of police in communities, and the ever-present risk of being criminalized across everyday settings in which we all interact (i.e., schools, hospitals, and neighborhoods).
The Black and non-Black Latinx boys and young men I interviewed described moving through the world with persistent feelings of fear, paranoia, and nervousness while driving, in their schools, and while walking in their neighborhoods. For some, this paranoia impacted their ability to rest or be at peace at home. These emotional responses to the reality of policing in Los Angeles did not stem from one individual encounter with the police. Instead, they were emotional responses to the ongoing structural violence of carceral seepage: witnessing and experiencing policing and criminalization across social contexts and institutions–responses that cannot be fully captured by conventional metrics like suspensions, expulsions, or school-based disciplinary records. Memorably, sixteen year old Andres’s recounts being racially profiled constantly:
“I was wearing a hat one time, and I got pulled over because of that. I was wearing a hoodie one time, and I got pulled over because of that. I got my hair cut real short one time, and I got pulled over because of that…One time I got pulled over and the guy asked me, “Were you born here?”
With Andres’ body, behaviors, legal status, and clothing, including his grooming choices, being deemed as threats so frequently, it might come as no surprise that he experiences paranoia of being profiled by LE while walking, in school, and while riding in the passenger seat of a car.
At a time when most boys his age are excited to begin driving, for Andres, the constant profiling by LE while walking translated to being glad that he did not have a license yet. Andres was already anticipating being profiled while driving. And unfortunately, for Andres and many other boys and young men I interviewed, very few spaces provide opportunities to process these ongoing experiences.
The violence of carceral seepage is deeply familiar to Rasheeda, my lifelong school classmate. Rasheeda is a youth worker, mental health therapist, social worker, activist, South Central native, and proud graduate of Clark Atlanta University. She is also the author of a children’s book and a co-authored memoir on the impacts of incarceration. Moved by her commitment to addressing the emotional toll policing and incarceration take on children and youth in South Central Los Angeles, I sat down with Rasheeda for a conversation. We spoke about how incarceration, policing, and criminalization impact Black youth, the broader South Central community, and the healing work needed to support those living under the long shadow of the carceral state. At the heart of our conversation was our desire to show how research, art, and community can converge to open paths to healing, including transforming knowledge into practices that remake our world.
Justice (for Omar): A Children’s Book and Sister’s Desire to Write
Inspired by her and her family’s story, Rasheeda published Justice in 2022. The beautifully illustrated book, which has an accompanying activities book, illustrates the effects of carceral seepage by sharing the story of a Black boy also named Justice who is dealing with the emotions and feelings that come with the incarceration of his father. Afraid to share with his teachers and classmates that his dad is in prison, Justice tells them that “Daddy is on vacation.”
Though only a child, Justice carries the weight of his father’s incarceration and the stigma it brings, shaping his emotions every day–fear, shame, sadness, and loneliness. Yet, at the encouragement of his father, who Justice loves “oceans full”, Justice eventually proudly stands before his classmates and speaks his truth. More importantly, he expresses how he feels to others. His courageous act opens the door for others to share that they, too, have a loved one currently incarcerated.
While Justice is a fictional character, his story is one that I hear far too often as a researcher. For example, 18-year-old KiSean shared with me that his first experience with prisons was being a young boy visiting his brother. Manny, who was 16 when I met him, described constantly feeling nervous, scared, and paranoid that he would be caught up in the carceral system or become the victim of police brutality because of the hyperpolicing of his predominantly Black neighborhood.
If Manny, Andres, KiSean, and other racially minoritized children and youth are being profiled and impacted by incarceration as early as six years old, then what do we make of the emotional trauma and hardship that comes with these experiences?
For Rasheeda, authoring Justice and most recently, Justice for Omar, is an attempt to bridge writing with healing. Justice For Omar is a book she co-wrote with her brother, Omar, who is currently incarcerated. In the book, the brother and sister duo document their journey navigating incarceration, the criminal legal system, and the impact the carceral state has on those inside and the loved ones left to fight for their rights. Both of Rasheeda’s books are stories of love and hope that explore how incarceration shapes emotions, family ties, and the human spirit. What follows is an edited snippet of our discussion.
Writing to Heal
Uriel: What inspired you to write both books?
Rasheeda: What I want to speak to is that incarceration cannot steal joy. Even after being separated by over 300 miles and 27 years, joy still found its place in our story. Both Justice and our memoir highlight the deep and lasting impact incarceration has on families. But more than that, they call on us as a community to hold space, to show up, and to support those who are directly impacted.
Uriel: Tell me more about writing Justice?
Rasheeda: One night, while I was at work, the idea came to me — I’m going to write a children’s book called Justice. I originally gave the concept to my niece and nephew as a creative way for them to process and heal from their dad’s incarceration. But they were just kids, and I eventually took on the project myself and saw it through. I wanted to establish myself not only as a social worker but also as a writer, as someone who could give the community a meaningful resource for healing. Justice became a tool to support conversations around incarceration, especially as we continued to write Justice for Omar.
Uriel: It sounds like the books bring together the multiple worlds that you exist in. Please tell me more about why you decided to write about emotions in the children’s book.
Rasheeda: So many of my students and clients have sat across from me and said, “My dad, my mom, or someone I love is incarcerated.” I’ve heard it far too often. When I asked, “How does that make you feel?” there was usually a pause, not because they didn’t feel, but because they didn’t have the words. Shame and isolation kept them from fully expressing what was underneath. They wouldn’t say, “I feel ashamed” or “I’m embarrassed.” Instead, it came out as sadness, anger, or both. As a therapist, when you dig deeper, you start to see what’s really there: the grief, the confusion, the anger over losing someone to the system. Writing about emotions in Justice grew directly from those conversations. It comes from my work as a social worker, as a therapist, and from knowing how much our children need tools and spaces where they feel safe enough to feel.
Following Rasheeda’s Lead
Our conversation lasted almost an hour, but in the spirit of wellness and taking care of ourselves, Rasheeda asked that we end the meeting to allow us time to go outside, enjoy the last hour of sun for that day, and move as we both had been working all day. With that reminder in mind, I end by summarizing Rasheeda’s tips for parents, caregivers, and practitioners who work with young people.
Through her practice and writing, Rasheeda joins a community of scholars and community organizers who center care in their work: A type of care that is guided by a desire to allow children and youth to express themselves in spaces free of harm. Given the slow violence of carceral seepage, in and out of schools, this approach is one we must embrace. Rasheeda’s lifelong work and writing remind us that we must acknowledge and empathize with children’s feelings and experiences. They need to feel seen, heard, and valued. Check in with them regularly. The following are starting points: How did that make you feel? What happened to make you feel that way? Healthy conversations are important, both during regular check-ins and when addressing the emotional toll of carceral seepage. Ask children what they need and what they think about their experiences. Some children may not be able to fully express or communicate their needs to adults, but that should not deter practitioners from providing affirmations, attention, affection, quality conversation, and presence.
Supporting young people who are experiencing the brunt of incarceration, police violence, and criminalization is no easy task. Practitioners should take care of their well-being, ask for support when needed, and find meaningful connections with individuals and organizations doing similar work. For example, the Brothers, Sons, Selves Coalition brings together youth-serving groups from across Los Angeles County to create paths to healing for boys and young men of color. Their practices include adults creating a life-affirming space via political education, healing programming, and providing opportunities for vulnerability. Programs like these support Rasheeda’s assertion that healing is possible when there are spaces and relationships of care where youth feel safe, heard, and supported.
About the author:
Dr. Uriel Serrano is a Community Power Postdoctoral Scholar at USC ERI. In his research, he employs interview, ethnographic, archival, and survey analysis to study the social conditions facing racially minoritized youth in Los Angeles, including how they resist policing and racial inequality.
His research agenda sits at the intersection of sociology, education, critical criminology, ethnic studies, and community-engaged approaches. His current and forthcoming publications extend these substantive interests—as well as his methodological interests in mixed-methods research and community-rooted research—by examining the practices and consequences of policing racially minoritized young people, the role of organizations (like schools, school boards, and community-based educational spaces) in shaping the lives of racially minoritized youth, and how community organizations respond to criminalization and surveillance.
Dr. Serrano’s research and community-engaged projects have been supported by The Ford Foundation, The California Endowment, the University of California President’s Office, the American Sociological Association, the Social Science Research Council, and the California State University Chancellor’s Office. His work is either forthcoming or has been published in journals such as Social Problems, Sociological Perspectives, Race Ethnicity & Education, Educational Researcher, Equity & Excellence in Education, Journal of Family Theory & Review, and Social Sciences.
Dr. Serrano was born and raised in the Baldwin Hills neighborhood, known colloquially as The Jungles. He brings over ten years of experience as a youth worker and educator to his research and teaching. Dr. Serrano is also a proud Cal State alumni, avid wrestling fan, a self-proclaimed quesadilla expert, and Duke’s favorite human.