Final summer season, I traveled to McLoud, Oklahoma, dwelling to the state’s largest girls’s jail. McLoud — a city of fewer than 5,000 residents — lies 30 miles east of Oklahoma Metropolis on a large expanse of prairie. On the fringe of city, off a rutted highway, stands Mabel Bassett Correctional Middle, a sprawl of concrete and razor wire.
I went there to fulfill April Wilkens, who has spent greater than 1 / 4 century at Mabel Bassett for the 1998 capturing demise of her ex-fiancé, Terry Carlton. Wilkens had repeatedly sought assist from legislation enforcement after Carlton beat, raped and stalked her — pleas that, based on trial testimony, had been met with indifference. She was convicted of first-degree homicide and handed a life sentence.
Greater than 20 years later, her case drew renewed consideration. Wilkens turned a central determine within the push for brand spanking new laws that might enable survivors of home violence to hunt diminished sentences when their crimes stemmed from their abuse.
The state’s excessive incarceration price — and the mounting human and monetary prices of conserving so many individuals behind bars — had created a gap, one {that a} Tulsa lawyer named Colleen McCarty acknowledged. Troubled by Oklahoma’s twin distinction as a state that persistently has one of many highest charges of feminine imprisonment and of home abuse, she and one other Tulsa lawyer, Leslie Briggs, visited Wilkens in jail in 2022. In that assembly, the attorneys defined that they wished to move laws that would cut back the lengthy sentences that survivors of home abuse confronted, even when their crimes had been a direct results of their abuse. After two years of advocacy, the Oklahoma Survivors’ Act was handed into legislation in 2024.
The legislation didn’t mechanically cut back survivors’ sentences. As a substitute, it created a mechanism for them to petition for reduction — requiring them to reveal that home abuse was a “substantial contributing issue” of their offense and leaving the final word resolution to a decide.
Once I first heard concerning the Oklahoma Survivors’ Act, I used to be floored. I reside in Texas and canopy prison justice, so I spend loads of time monitoring the place change is — and isn’t — politically potential. I knew how uncommon it was for formidable sentencing reform to emerge from a deep purple state the place lawmakers have lengthy favored harsh punishment. Oklahoma, which has put to demise 130 individuals since capital punishment resumed in 1976, has essentially the most executions per capita of any state within the nation.
I wished to grasp how that legislation got here to be, and, simply as importantly, if it was working as supposed. As I chronicle in my story, “The Victims Who Fought Again,” the trail to the Oklahoma Survivors’ Act started with that assembly in 2022 between the 2 attorneys and Wilkens. McCarty and Briggs wished a way of what number of girls had been imprisoned for crimes tied to their very own abuse. After their assembly, Wilkens got here up with an answer; she determined to draft a questionnaire asking different prisoners concerning the abuse that they had endured. She wished to know: What number of different girls at Mabel Bassett had instances like hers?
Wilkens distributed the questionnaire one weekend that fall. She chatted up anybody she noticed within the rec yard, the library, the chow corridor. Conducting an unauthorized survey might’ve earned her a disciplinary write-up, however Wilkens, who had an almost spotless file, determined it was a threat value taking.
For years, she had listened to girls describe the violence that they had endured — tales that had barely surfaced in courtrooms, if in any respect. She might see the intersection between their abuse and the crimes they went on to commit. Some had been prosecuted for failing to guard their youngsters from their abusive companions; others had dedicated crimes alongside their abusers beneath risk of additional hurt — offenses that, like Wilkens’, couldn’t be understood other than the abuse that preceded them.
Amongst Mabel Bassett’s lifers, Wilkens stood out as a pacesetter; she was well-liked and revered, and as she moved by way of the jail together with her questionnaire, girls stopped to listen to what she needed to say. There was no incentive to fill it out, as a result of no legislation but existed to assist survivors. There was solely Wilkens’ pressure of character and a easy request: “In case you’ve skilled home violence, and that’s related to why you’re right here, will you fill this out?”
100 and fifty-six girls stuffed out the survey. McCarty, who would go on to grow to be Wilkens’ lawyer, advised me she learn them in a single sitting, so unmoored by the ladies’s tales that she needed to lie down when she completed. Once I went to speak to her final 12 months in Tulsa, she advised me that I might learn them, too.
I’m sharing temporary excerpts of them right here as a result of they do greater than doc particular person struggling. Additionally they expose one thing broader: the systemic blind spots that allowed so many of those girls’s histories to go unheard in police stories, courtrooms and sentencing choices.
Worry and terror are the predominant themes. “The abuse graduated from emotional to verbal to bodily to sexual,” wrote one girl.
“He stated he was going to kill me and conceal the physique,” wrote one other. “His spouse earlier than me had her nostril damaged twice.”
“I stored begging for a divorce and he’d threaten to kill my youngsters.”
“From the beating I obtained, my left ear I don’t hear properly.”
“My youngsters’s father he beat me barely made it out alive.”
A fraction of the respondents had, like Wilkens, gone on to kill their abusers. “I didn’t understand I shot him till the gun went off,” wrote one girl.
One other wrote, “One night time simply snapped, shot & killed my husband.”
Many described a system that had failed them. “My lawyer was arrested throughout my trial,” wrote one girl whose youngsters had been put in foster care after her arrest. “I by no means even bought an opportunity.”
“Am prepared to inform my story,” wrote a lady who was convicted when Ronald Reagan was president. “Have been for a very long time.”
The questionnaires turned a part of the muse for a legislative push, serving to lawmakers grasp how typically abuse and prison costs intersected, and the way hardly ever that historical past was totally thought of in courtroom. When the Oklahoma Survivors’ Act handed in 2024, there was hope that it might provide girls like Wilkens and others at Mabel Bassett a significant second take a look at their sentences.
What I realized by way of my reporting, although, is simply how resistant that system may be to vary. Wilkens, together with many different girls with comparable tales, nonetheless waits behind bars.
Together with her, inside Mabel Bassett, is one other prisoner whose response to the questionnaire has stayed with me: “I used to be in a really abusive, sick relationship,” she wrote. “I’m FREE now.”
