RACIAL AND GENDER DISPARITY

With Nearly 50 Percent Rise In Drug-Related Arrests, Women Are The
Silent Casualties Of War On Drugs

In San Francisco County Jail Number 8, the 21 orange-suited women in
the SISTER program are getting a lesson in self-esteem from Jackie
Gordon, a onetime heroin and crack addict who did 18 months in
California State Prison and has been clean and sober for six years.

"What limits you?" she asks. "You go so far and then you go back to
what is familiar."

A light-skinned Hispanic woman named Carolyn raises her hand. "I
don't know if you guys know it, but I'm on my way out of here. It's
my fourth time going into a program and I always relapse."

She takes a deep breath. "There's always an excuse: Someone tells me
I can't smoke and I say, this program is not for me. People irritate
me. I irritate myself. I'm scared because I can't keep doing this.

"I'm lucky," she adds. "I'm going into a good program, and I don't
know what's going to pop up."

A few minutes later, a guard gives Carolyn a nod. Clutching a
crumpled brown paper bag, she strides up the aisle, throws her arms
around Gordon and rushes out to freedom, and the unknown.

SISTER (Sisters in Sober Treatment Empowered in Recovery) is one of
only a dozen or so comprehensive treatment programs nationwide for
incarcerated women dependent on drugs and alcohol. Though there are
hundreds of programs for male offenders, including an entire prison -
the Sheridan Correctional Center in Illinois - dedicated entirely to
drug treatment for men, resources for women are scarce.

America's 25-year war on drugs has taken an exorbitant toll, both
human and economic. Drug arrests have tripled since 1980; as a
result, the number of jailed drug offenders in 2000 equaled the total
number of inmates in U.S. prisons and jails 25 years ago, according
to The Sentencing Project, a research and advocacy group.

By most estimates, women have paid the highest price. Between 1977
and 2001, figures from the Women's Prison Association show a 592
percent increase in the number of women jailed, from 12,279 to
85,031. According to the WPA, the growth "corresponds directly to the
mandatory minimum sentencing laws in effect since the early 1970s.
Since more women are convicted for nonviolent, drug-related crimes
than for any other, these sentencing policies have had a particularly
profound effect on women."

Though men still far outnumber women in arrests for drug-related
crimes, women now represent the fastest-growing prison population
nationwide for drug offenses. In 1996, the number of female state and
federal inmates in jail for drug crimes grew at nearly double the
rate of males. In New York State, whose Rockefeller Drug Laws are
among the harshest sentencing laws in the country, nearly half of all
women in prisons are serving time for drug-related offenses.

"It's increased dramatically. All the studies show it," says Elyse
Graham, program manager of SISTER, a collaborative project of the San
Francisco Sheriff's Department and Walden House, the largest
therapeutic drug community on the West Coast. "We're seeing cycles
and generations of women who are addicted and in our jails. We see
mothers and their daughters, sisters, cousins, and maybe now their
children who are in foster care. The cycle is continuing and that's
pretty disheartening."

"Women have become the silent casualty of the war on drugs," says
Malika Saada Saar, executive director of The Rebecca Project for
Human Rights, a national advocacy organization that works with
low-income families on issues of substance abuse, criminal justice
and the child welfare system.

In fact, 70 percent of women in jails and 65 percent of women in
state prisons are mothers of minor children, according to the
National Institute of Corrections. Not surprisingly, 80 percent of
children in the foster care system are the offspring of incarcerated parents.

When the National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse at Columbia
University analyzed the costs of alcohol and drug abuse in a 2001
report, it concluded that the 50 states spent an incredible $81.3
billion in 1998 alone. Of every dollar spent on substance abuse, it
found that 96 cents went to "shovel up the wreckage" brought on by
addiction and substance abuse, while only four cents went to
prevention and treatment.

Today, with addiction now widely accepted as a public health problem
- - among the nation's top 10 - experts question the value of
imprisoning a chronically ill woman at a cost of $30,000 a year and
placing her children in foster care for another $30,000.

"We are approaching a chronic illness as an acute model," says
Michael Flaherty, executive director of the Institute for Research,
Education and Training in Addictions at the University of Pittsburgh.
"As if it were a cold."

Approaching addiction as a chronic illness like diabetes or
hypertension upends the whole dialogue in the professional community
about the relapse of drug abusers. Instead of seeing addiction as a
moral failure, it becomes a disorder that requires continuing care.

"What we're trying to do is change the approach entirely," Flaherty
says. "All the science says that if you don't give someone at least a
90-day continuum of care, it's an economic and clinical waste. That's
why the relapse rates are so high."

When, in 2001, the federal Center for Substance Abuse Treatment
evaluated 50 residential treatment programs designed specifically for
substance-abusing women who were pregnant or the mothers of infants
or young children, the results were better than anyone had
anticipated. The study showed an 84 percent reduction in the risk of
low birth-weight babies and a 67 percent reduction for infant mortality.

Even more telling, 60 percent of participants reported being alcohol-
and drug-free during the six months following discharge, and only 7
percent of participants arrested for alcohol-or drug-related offenses.

The longer a woman stayed in treatment, the better her chances of
recovery. There, the statistics also spoke volumes: 68 percent of
those in treatment longer than three months remained clean and sober,
compared to 48 percent of those who left within the first three
months. And only 9 percent of those with longer stays were arrested,
compared to 20 percent of those who left earlier.

Long-term care is cheaper, too. A California study found it costs
seven times more to imprison and take children away from a
drug-abusing mother than it does to break her of her addiction with
long-term residential treatment.

Yet those programs are a rarity. In Washington, D.C., where thousands
of women - and men - are addicted to crack cocaine, only one such
program exists, the Community Action Group's Family Treatment
Program, with 14 beds.

"Many women say it's easier to wind up in prison than to get
treatment," Saar says. "Treatment programs are turning women away
because they have children. Or they're pregnant. And if they do go
into a single adult program, they're often unsuccessful because their
children aren't with them. So they spiral down further and eventually
wind up behind bars."

That's what happened to Lorna Hogan of Silver Spring, Md., two weeks
after giving birth to her fourth child in 2001. By then, she'd had a
13-year run with crack cocaine, had been in and out of jail, and made
several attempts to quit. Her latest effort had been met with
outright rejection from a six-month program that wasn't equipped to
deal with children.

Drug treatment programs were designed with men in mind. For years,
many refused to even admit women and those that did typically used a
confrontational approach that drove many women away.

As the study of female addiction has come of age, one of its main
tenets is that women have a different relationship with alcohol and
drugs than men. For women, substance abuse all too often is bound up
in a history of domestic violence, childhood sexual abuse or physical
and emotional trauma. Symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder are
widespread. And that understanding plays a key role in the kinds of
treatment that work - and don't work - with women.

"You take a female who has been traumatized and raped, and shame them
for some infraction of the rules, they'll split," says Randy Muck,
lead public health advisor for adolescent drug treatment at the
federal Substance Abuse & Mental Health Services Administration.

Men are another big reason why women leave treatment.

"Relationships are the No. 1 issue that takes women out of
treatment," Jackie Gordon tells the women of the SISTER project. "Right?"

A murmur of assent runs through the room.

"You get into a program, you feel good about who you are, you have a
routine every day. And then the first time someone shows an interest
in you, you get defocused."

In fact, many women not only choose relationships over treatment;
they choose them over freedom. According to the National Advocates
for Pregnant Women, women often incur long sentences because they are
unwilling or unable to give prosecutors evidence about a husband's or
boyfriend's crimes and connections.

The loyalty they show isn't necessarily returned in kind.
Incarceration puts a special stigma on a woman.

"You see it when you go to the D.C. Jail," Saar says. "There are
always far more family members visiting the men than the women.
There's an attitude that because they are mothers, they have done
something terribly wrong. They're stigmatized."

The last time Hogan was released from jail, she discovered that her
children had been dispersed to different group homes throughout the
District of Columbia. She begged a social worker for help, admitting
to almost everything she had ever done. Hogan was fortunate. The
social worker referred her to a family treatment program for women at
the Center for Mental Health in southeast Washington.

"She told me what I needed to do," Hogan says, "and that's exactly what I did."

For the next 18 months, she underwent routine drug testing; took
parenting classes; and received individual therapy, domestic violence
counseling, and training in jobs skills and life skills.

"But I think the thing that helped me most was hearing the
accomplishments that the other women described in group meetings,"
Hogan recalls. "A lot of them had lost their kids and were getting
them back. They were getting their own housing - not transitional
housing, but real places to live. There were women going back to
college, or maybe they had never finished high school and were
getting their GED. It gave me encouragement."

Her story had a happy ending: she got her children back; she found a
house, she got a job.

Today, as associate director of the Rebecca Project's parent advocacy
group, Sacred Authority, she regularly goes to Capitol Hill to tell
her story and advocate for comprehensive family therapy.

"I wanted to get my life together so bad, but when you don't have the
right type of treatment, you feel hopeless," Hogan says. "That door
was open for me. And I am so grateful."