A Voting Rights Struggle Masquerading as a Crime Debate | Opinion

There's a voting rights struggle taking place in the United States right now—and it's masquerading as a debate about crime. Across the country, predominantly white, conservative legislators are utilizing strategies reminiscent of the Jim Crow era to undermine the self-governance of majority Black cities. Since the Ferguson uprising in 2014, coalitions of crime survivors and impacted community members have elected reform-minded prosecutors and judges with the express mandate to reduce their reliance on incarceration, end cash bail, and hold police accountable. Bolstered by an unfounded wave of hysteria about crime and violence, these efforts have faced a tremendous backlash, first by recall efforts, and now in state legislatures. Over the past several years, 17 states have tried to pass bills that would strip discretion from democratically elected prosecutors and judges. Among the most egregious examples are Missouri and Mississippi, where pending legislation would undermine our democracy and perpetuate our nation's failure to honor the self-determination and full citizenship of Black people.

The fundamental tenet of democracy is that the people can elect their leaders to make the decisions that will impact their lives.  When it comes to criminal justice, prosecutors are by far the most powerful actors within the legal system. Prosecutors have almost unfettered discretion to charge crimes, recommend bail, and offer plea bargains. This empowers them to set the tone for a local criminal legal system's public safety strategy. While criminal justice impacts things like petty theft and drug possession, the core concern that drives people to the ballot box is safety. People want to be safe, and people who have lived with violence have clear understandings of what will and won't produce that safety for themselves, their loved ones, and their communities.

Very often the people with the greatest interest in these elections are crime survivors—people who have themselves experienced violence or lost loved ones to it. And increasingly, these constituents are turning away from incarceration as the primary public safety strategy.  They are not, for the most part, doing this because they are merciful, but because they are pragmatic. Survivors recognize that prison often makes someone more likely to commit another crime and prefer holding people accountable through alternatives to incarceration, such as restorative justice, mental health treatment, and public service.

Not everyone values pragmatism, and not everyone respects the basic rights of Black voters.  In at least two states, white elected officials from other parts of the state want to usurp the rights of these survivors and other voters in mostly Black cities and force upon them policies that they have explicitly voted against.

In Missouri, state legislators pushed for legislation that would strip authority from St. Louis circuit attorney Kim Gardner, who campaigned on a promise to reform the criminal legal system. She won her re-election campaign by 60 percent over a pro-incarceration opponent.  Under the legislation, the governor would be able to appoint a special prosecutor who would have exclusive jurisdiction over harm that impacts Black residents the most—robbery, assault, murder, and other violent crime. Black voters asked for policies that promote healing rather than punishment, yet this law overturns the will of the people and perpetuates a racist trope that Black people don't know how to care for themselves.

Earlier this month, the state House of Representatives in Mississippi passed a bill that would create a separate court system for the majority white areas in Jackson, the state's capitol, even though 80 percent of the residents, including its elected prosecutor, and most of its judges and police officers are Black. The legislation would greatly expand the jurisdiction of the capitol police, a state government-controlled police force that has been criticized by local leaders for aggressive tactics and multiple shootings by officers.

Taken together, the changes in these state legislatures would put white, conservative state officials in control of much of the criminal justice system across a significant swath of communities populated by Black and brown people. Those leading this charge would like us to think this is a "tough on crime" versus "soft on crime" debate, but that's missing the point. In both jurisdictions, voters rejected that oversimplified dichotomy and asked for alternatives that foster healing, reconciliation, and community power. If the voters change their minds, there is an easy, democratic mechanism for change: They'll make their voices heard at the next ballot box.

The question these pieces of legislation raise is not centrally about crime, but about whether we believe in representative democracy, and more specifically, whether we will finally become a nation where Black votes count. Perhaps the only stake higher than the safety of the communities impacted by these legislative battles is the safety of our democracy itself.

Brooke Floyd is the coordinator for the Jackson People's Assembly, an organization based in Jackson, Miss., that facilitates community conversations that are designed to build public policy that meets the needs of under-resourced communities.

Danielle Sered is the executive director of Common Justice, a survivor centered organization that develops and advances solutions to violence that transform the lives of those harmed and fosters racial equity without relying on incarceration.

Mike Milton is the founder and executive director of the Freedom Community Center, an organization whose mission is to build a movement of survivors that will meaningfully address violence in St. Louis, Mo. and collectively design alternatives to systems of punishment.

The views expressed in this article are the writers' own.