Emptying the tombs of the city jail
“There’s a group of people outside,” I said through the intercom, “and they’ve raised money for your bail.”
Several Easter seasons ago, a friend called to ask if I’d come to the jail downtown to visit people. When I showed up, a group of women had turned the sidewalks outside into a makeshift welcoming center—folding tables with coffee and food and cigarettes, flower arrangements everywhere. A small group of people sang and chanted while filling gift bags with toiletries, bus passes, snacks, and grocery vouchers. The local chapter of Southerners on New Ground—a queer, Black-led abolitionist organization—had raised tens of thousands of dollars to pay the bail for Black women and caregivers to return home in time for Mother’s Day that weekend.
When I showed up that Friday morning, the SONG members outside the jail were ready to ransom from captivity all the women whose bail they could afford—to welcome them back into our community and back to their families. But first the group wanted consent, permission from the incarcerated women to pay their bond. And that’s why my friend called me—as a pastor, I’d already been vetted by the administration and granted visitation privileges.
SONG organizers gave me a list of names, the people they wanted to free that day. I spent the morning going up and down the elevator in the jail—submitting a name to the guard at the bottom floor, meeting with the person in a visitation room on an upper level, then reporting the response to the crew outside.
