Corrections in Ink: A Memoir

by Keri Blakinger

I was beginning to understand the scope of all the things I couldn’t do with a felony, all the ways it could restrict me in regular life. In some states I couldn’t be a locksmith or a lawyer. In others I couldn’t vote or buy pepper spray. In some places I wouldn’t qualify for government assistance, couldn’t adopt children, or get into a state school. And some private companies—like Airbnb and most dating apps—banned people like me from using their services. Over the years I would be rejected from countless apartments, a bank where I held an account, an animal shelter where I hoped to volunteer, and a slew of jobs. Collectively, these restrictions are known as collateral consequences, extrajudicial punishments that last far longer than the court’s actual sentence. Today they overwhelmingly impact communities of color, where a disproportionate number of people have been to prison. But they date back to a time, hundreds of years ago, when people didn’t go to prison because the usual punishment for a felony was death. Before the state killed them, the condemned would lose all property and rights as they tied up their loose ends in the world. But those sorts of losses and limitations were never intended to last for decades on end. So once prison terms started to replace death sentences, these added punishments took on a new meaning, making it harder to come back from a bad past. Over the last couple decades, the number of collateral consequences has ballooned, buoyed in part by...