Chapter 4
The Bail Trap: Guilty Until Proven Wealthy
For poor Americans, the most immediate barrier to justice is often cash bail. Designed to ensure court appearances, bail instead functions as a wealth test that determines who stays in jail before trial and who goes free-regardless of public safety considerations. While middle-class defendants can post bonds ranging from hundreds to thousands of dollars, impoverished individuals often remain incarcerated for minor offenses simply because they cannot afford bail amounts as low as $250.
The consequences are profound and far-reaching. People stuck in jail lose jobs, often within days of missing work, creating a cascade of financial disasters. They lose cars to repossession, face eviction from homes, and sometimes lose custody of their children to social services. With public defenders managing caseloads of 150 or more clients, they rarely have time to file bond reduction hearings or challenge excessive bail amounts. Prosecutors exploit this desperation by offering "time served" plea deals, knowing defendants will accept guilty pleas regardless of actual innocence just to secure their release. These deals come with hidden costs: bills for jail time, monthly supervision fees to private probation companies, and the constant threat of reincarceration for missing payments or court dates.
Public defender Matthew Mueller witnessed this trap repeatedly in rural Missouri, where defendants routinely accepted guilty pleas simply to escape pretrial detention. As his boss Michael Barrett explained, "If you were held on pretrial bond in jail, the likelihood that you'd get a sentence of incarceration after a plea or trial was three times higher than if you were able to post bail." This statistical reality reveals how pretrial detention effectively predetermines case outcomes, creating a two-tiered system of justice based on wealth.
The case of Brooke Bergen illustrates how this system traps people in cycles of debt and incarceration. Arrested for stealing an $8.74 tube of mascara from Walmart, she received a suspended one-year jail sentence with two years' probation supervised by a private company. As a known drug addict, she was subject to random drug screenings, with failed test results posted on the public court website - a practice that made finding employment nearly impossible. When she allegedly missed a phone call for a drug screen, the judge sent her to jail for ten days, generating her first "board bill" of several hundred dollars. Later, she allegedly failed a drug test-though the private probation company wasn't required to follow national testing standards or maintain proper chain of custody-resulting in fourteen more days in jail. Her board bill climbed to $943.50 despite making regular payments from her minimum wage job. By September 2017, after another probation violation triggered by missed payments, the judge sentenced her to a full year.
"I lost hope," Bergen said. "I just gave up. They intended to put me back in there, and they did." Her story exemplifies how the system converts minor infractions into years of supervision, debt, and repeated incarceration, creating a modern debtors' prison that disproportionately affects the poor.
Chapter 5
Pay-to-Stay: Charging the Poor for Their Own Incarceration
Perhaps the most Kafkaesque aspect of America's debtors' prison system is the practice of charging inmates for their own incarceration-what critics call "pay-to-stay" fees.
Nearly every Missouri county outside major urban areas charges inmates $35-50 per day for their time in jail. Similar practices exist in at least 23 Wisconsin counties, with parallel systems in Florida, California, Nevada, Colorado, Indiana, Ohio, and many other states. The result is that people who have already served their sentences remain tethered to courts through mounting debt they cannot pay.
Leann Banderman, a struggling single mother in Salem, Missouri, was arrested for shoplifting nail polish worth $24.29 from Walmart. Unable to pay the $3,000 cash bail, she spent thirty days in jail before pleading guilty to time served. She then received a $1,400 board bill for her incarceration.
Retired Judge Gary Oxenhandler from Columbia calls this practice "horrible" and "just not right," especially when poor people are jailed again for failing to pay these bills. Yet judges and prosecutors resist characterizing these as debtors' prisons, claiming they're jailing people for missed hearings or probation violations rather than debt. The reality remains: if they weren't trying so hard to collect court costs and board bills, these defendants wouldn't be returning to jail.
The conditions in these jails are often deplorable. The Dent County Jail, housed in a courthouse basement, gained notoriety through a YouTube video exposing horrific conditions: cells designed for four women holding 9-13 inmates, with sleeping mats covering the entire floor; black mold growing freely; walls that "sweat" in summer creating puddles; and minimal recreation-just 15 minutes of fresh air once or twice monthly.
Studies show these fees are often counterproductive. A joint study by the Texas Public Policy Foundation and Brennan Center found counties often spend more collecting these fees than they bring in. One New Mexico county spends $1.17 to collect every dollar of revenue, and jailing those unable to pay can cost 115% of the amount collected while generating no revenue.
Chapter 6
The Legal Battle Against Modern Debtors' Prisons
The prohibition against imprisonment for debt has deep roots in American jurisprudence. The U.S. government banned imprisonment for private debt in 1833, with states following suit. Missouri added a constitutional prohibition in 1875, and the Supreme Court has reaffirmed this ban three times in the twentieth century, including in the 1983 Bearden case.
Yet modern-day debtors' prisons continue to flourish across America, with judges finding contextual reasons to claim otherwise. This contradiction prompted public defender Matthew Mueller to challenge the system through a series of strategic cases.
Mueller's landmark debtors' prison cases involved two white men from rural Missouri: John Wright and George Richey. Wright, living with a traumatic brain injury, was jailed for not paying for a cab ride. Unable to afford bail, he sat in jail for three months before pleading guilty and receiving time served-then was billed $1,300 for his stay. Judge Kelly Rose required Wright to appear monthly to report on his debt payments. He made thirteen appearances, paying about $380 total from his $600 monthly disability check.
Richey faced similar circumstances after a misdemeanor arrest for violating a protection order. After 90 days in jail, he received a $3,158 bill. When he couldn't pay, Judge Jerry Rellihan issued a warrant, resulting in 65 more days of incarceration and a bill exceeding $5,000.
Mueller filed dozens of cases across Missouri between 2017-2019, arguing that courts were illegally jailing poor defendants because they couldn't pay their jail board bills. Though he lost at the circuit court level, the Missouri Supreme Court proved receptive when the Wright and Richey cases reached them in early 2019.
In March 2019, the Missouri Supreme Court unanimously ruled in Mueller's favor. Justice Mary Russell wrote that courts "should not have required them to repeatedly appear to account for debts the courts could not legally designate as court costs." The ruling established that while counties could charge jail board bills, they couldn't use the court system to collect them or jail people for nonpayment.
Chapter 7
Political Reform: Strange Bedfellows
One of the most remarkable aspects of criminal justice reform is how it has united advocates across the political spectrum. This unlikely alliance has emerged as both conservatives and progressives recognize the fundamental flaws in the current system. In Missouri, Republican representative Bruce DeGroot and Democrat Mark Ellebracht exemplified this cooperation by co-sponsoring House Bill 192 to end the state's debtors' prison scheme, demonstrating how shared values can transcend party lines.
DeGroot's personal experience with poverty profoundly shaped his perspective on justice reform. Growing up with a divorced mother raising three children under five with no job, education, or family support, he vividly recalled the humiliation of receiving free lunch cards at school and living in constant fear of being identified as poor. These pink cards became a symbol of shame that followed him through his childhood, marking him as different from his peers and creating lasting emotional scars that would later fuel his passion for reform.
As a young lawyer practicing in rural Missouri courtrooms, DeGroot witnessed countless defendants facing public humiliation as they explained to judges why they couldn't pay their debts-a process eerily similar to his "pink lunch card days." He observed how the system trapped people in cycles of poverty and incarceration, with many defendants losing jobs, homes, and families while attempting to pay mounting court fees. The bill he championed aimed to prevent people from being rejailed for inability to pay board bills, instead allowing sheriffs to pursue civil collection methods that wouldn't further criminalize poverty.
The legislation's broad coalition of supporters illustrated the unique nature of criminal justice reform politics. Progressive organizations like the ACLU worked alongside conservative groups such as Americans for Prosperity, while public defenders found common ground with the Missouri Catholic Conference. This diverse alliance demonstrated how different ideological frameworks-whether focused on civil rights, fiscal responsibility, or religious values-could converge on the need for reform. Despite facing initial opposition and an unwanted amendment adding fees for special process servers, the bill's strong bipartisan backing helped secure its passage, culminating in Governor Parson's signature in July 2019.
This bipartisan approach has proven equally effective at the federal level. The FIRST STEP Act of 2018 represented a landmark achievement in federal criminal justice reform, passing with an overwhelming 87-12 Senate majority. The act granted federal judges greater discretion in sentencing for nonviolent drug cases and led to the release of approximately 3,000 federal detainees. Conservative groups like Right on Crime and Americans for Prosperity strongly supported the legislation, emphasizing both fiscal responsibility and the religious principles of redemption and second chances. Their involvement helped convince traditionally tough-on-crime Republicans that smart reforms could enhance both public safety and fiscal responsibility.
Marc Levin, vice president of criminal justice policy at the Texas Public Policy Foundation and founder of the Right on Crime movement, has been particularly influential in articulating the conservative case for reform. He argues that using courts as debt-collection services not only corrupts the judicial system but also compromises public safety. When police and courts become focused on raising money through fines and fees, their primary mission of protecting public safety suffers, resulting in fewer solved crimes and reduced community trust. This perspective has helped bridge the gap between traditional law-and-order conservatives and progressive reformers, creating powerful momentum for systemic change.
Chapter 8
The Path Forward: Solutions and Ongoing Challenges
The impact of reform can be dramatic and far-reaching. After the Missouri Supreme Court's landmark ruling against jail board bills, Lashawn Casey wrote from jail describing remarkable changes: "This place isn't the terrifying dungeon it used to feel like." The transformation was particularly evident in facilities like the Dent County Jail, built in 1978 for 21 prisoners but previously holding 65, which now housed only 17 people. This reduction not only improved conditions for inmates but also reduced strain on staff and resources.
Similar reforms are spreading nationwide, gaining momentum through both grassroots activism and legislative action. By 2021, fifteen states had ended the practice of suspending driver's licenses for unpaid court debt, with Vermont, Maine, California, Texas, Montana, Oregon, New York, and Illinois leading the way. Each state's approach offered unique lessons: California's reform focused on economic impact, while Vermont emphasized social justice considerations. Even traditionally conservative Mississippi, under pressure from civil rights organizations, took decisive action by reinstating approximately 100,000 suspended licenses in 2017 before formalizing the policy change through comprehensive legislation in 2019.
At the federal level, bipartisan cooperation emerged when Democratic Senator Chris Coons and Republican Senator Roger Wicker introduced the Driving for Opportunity Act in 2020. This legislation aimed to incentivize states to end debt-based license suspensions through federal grants and policy guidance. The stakes were significant: approximately 11 million Americans had lost their licenses due to unpaid court debt, affecting their ability to work, care for families, and participate in society. Evidence from multiple states suggested that ending these suspensions actually improved collection rates. California's experience proved particularly instructive - after changing its law, court fine and fee collections increased by nearly 9 percent as people maintained employment and could better afford payments. Similar positive results emerged in other states, with some reporting up to 11% increases in collection rates.
Yet reform remains fragile and faces constant challenges from entrenched interests. In Missouri, less than a year after lawmakers addressed rural debtors' prison schemes, Senator Bill White attempted to undermine Representative DeGroot's reform bill by reclassifying jail board bills as court costs. This technical change would have effectively reinstated the practice of threatening jail for those unable to pay. The amendment was strategically slipped into an omnibus crime bill without debate or public hearings, demonstrating how reform opponents often work behind the scenes. Only after public exposure and outcry was the amendment stripped from the final legislation.
This pattern repeats across reform efforts nationwide-when voters or lawmakers implement protections for economically disadvantaged citizens against civil rights violations, powerful interests fight back through various means: legislative amendments, regulatory changes, and legal challenges. The struggle reflects a deeper conflict between those seeking to monetize the justice system and those fighting for equal justice under law. Until America fundamentally addresses the commercialization of its justice system, the scales of justice remain precariously unbalanced, with the poor bearing the heaviest burden.
Chapter 9
Beyond Politics: The Human Cost of Debtors' Prisons
Behind the legal battles and political reforms are real people whose lives have been devastated by a system that criminalizes poverty. In Norman, Oklahoma, Kendy Killman hosts a family dinner in her subsidized apartment at Vicksburg Village. Surrounded by twenty family members-her boyfriend Steven, her mother, children, and grandchildren-all living in the same HUD-subsidized complex, Killman asks how many are overdrawn in their checking accounts. Several hands go up, illustrating how financial instability ripples through generations of families caught in poverty's grip.
The family discusses end-of-month meals when money runs low-ramen noodles, peanut butter sandwiches, Hamburger Helper-stretching food as long as possible. They share strategies for making groceries last: buying in bulk when items are on sale, sharing ingredients between apartments, and coordinating meal preparation to minimize waste. Despite these hardships, Killman considers herself fortunate compared to others trapped in the system, having avoided jail time for unpaid court fees that many of her neighbors face.
Similar stories echo across America's communities. In Atlanta, single mother Sasha Darby works three part-time jobs while battling $4,000 in court debt from a minor traffic violation. In Minneapolis, Brooke Bergen lost her apartment and job after spending two weeks in jail for unpaid parking tickets, setting off a cascade of additional fines and fees that pushed her further into poverty.
For meaningful reform, several bipartisan solutions must be implemented nationally: eliminating cash bail, which disproportionately affects low-income defendants who cannot afford even minimal amounts; stopping the use of court fines and fees as primary revenue sources for municipalities; ending jail billing practices that charge indigent defendants for their own incarceration; halting driver's license suspensions for unpaid court costs, which often prevents people from maintaining employment; and limiting revenue collection from tickets and court fees to prevent predatory practices.
States like California and New Jersey have begun implementing some of these reforms, showing promising results in reducing both incarceration rates and recidivism while maintaining public safety. However, resistance from local governments dependent on fine revenue continues to slow progress in many regions.
Until comprehensive reform occurs, the fundamental question remains: "Are your civil rights worth more than those of Kendy Killman, Brooke Bergen, and Sasha Darby?" In a nation founded on principles of equal justice under law, the answer should be clear. The current system not only violates constitutional principles but perpetuates cycles of poverty that span generations, undermining the very fabric of American society.
