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As the U.S. economy falls further into recession, politicians continue to focus on the endangered middle class while the 40 million Americans living below the poverty line have disappeared from the discussion.
Photographer Brenda Ann Kenneally, author of Money, Power, Respect, documents the permanently poor in Troy, N.Y., once a proud industrial boomtown with a rich labor history, now a city of female-headed households where big box stores and penitentiaries are the only sources of employment.
Nina Berman talks to Kenneally about her hometown of Troy, the mothers and daughters she photographs, the culture of incarceration in Troy and whether the presidential race has any resonance.
Nina Berman: You've been photographing poor, female-headed households in the mainly white, post-industrial town of Troy, New York. How is the presidential election playing out among these voters?
Ann Kenneally: I would say that the current elections are of little interest to the women that I know in Troy. Most of them said they would not vote, and those with felony convictions can't vote. One young woman thought Obama was David Paterson, New York's new African-American governor. Those with strong church connections had no opinion because they told me that their kingdom is of God and not man. A woman I met who cleans rooms at the Econolodge thought George Washington was our best president, and that's about as far as she went. As for Sarah Palin, most of the people didn't know who she was, and those who did weren't ready to vote for her simply because she was a woman.
NB: The title of your work is "Upstate Girls." Upstate, meaning it's north of New York City, but upstate has another connotation.
AK: Yes -- "Upstate" is a phrase that is well known in New York street culture, now also interchangeable with "Up North." It is a stable in hip-hop lyrics and needs no clarification among families whose involvement with the legal system is all-pervasive. The phrase is, of course, demographically, relevant. Well-heeled New Yorkers often keep vacation homes "upstate." I was clearly reminded of the two Americas a few years ago when one of my godsons from Bedford Stuyvesant was attending a function at my son's Manhattan school. He heard one of the parents talking about their summer getaway upstate, and later asked me who in that woman's family was "locked up."
NB: How was this "upstate" born?
AK: It came into being during the 1970s with the enactment of the Rockefeller drug laws, which created thousands of new convicts facing drug sentences of 10, 20, even 30 years for possession charges. The result was a prison boom upstate, which became increasingly important in towns like Troy, as manufacturing jobs were lost to globalization. So young male inmates with brown skin and low incomes were shipped from New York City to be counted as widgets in the state inventory where government money was awarded according to population numbers. And the only population gain in upstate New York over the past 10 years has been from inmates and those connected to inmates. Drug crimes have risen and the local police and sheriff have adopted a zero-tolerance policy, Giuliani-style, leading to more arrests and incarcerations, and the circle spins round and round. This has particularly impacted juveniles. There is now a special section in Albany County Jail for under 18 years old known as "baby jail."
The policy of judicial intervention has become more widely acceptable, spreading to schools -- children who are seen as behavioral problems are required to take medication. If parents do not comply, there have been cases where the parents have been charged with neglect through family court. The medication is seen as a permanent solution to an often short-term problem and can turn into another form of warehousing already disadvantaged young people. Many times the students have problems because they lack structure at home due to a working mother and an incarcerated father, so it is like they are criminalized at every turn. I met one woman who had been arrested and jailed because her teenage daughter became pregnant while "living under her mother's roof." It happened during a period when the woman was working at Wal-Mart and the daughter was home unsupervised. She was reported by a bitter ex-husband.
NB: You were in a group home when you were a teenager living in upstate New York. How does your experience from 30 years ago inform your photographs now, and what has changed since you were a teenager?
AK: I was in a group home in 1971 -- a result of a family court decision. My mother brought me before the judge asking for help in controlling me. She was divorced with three kids so she had to work. I was 6 when my mother went to work. By the time I was 12, I had been taking care of myself and my younger brother and sister, so I was not about to be told what to do. At any rate, I was the oldest so I got the worst punishment. When I went before the judge, she would not let me speak, and I remember feeling so angry -- I really had done nothing except not having any guidance. I had gotten a boyfriend that was much older than me, and I continued to see him even after my mother found out. The judge was very strict and spoke harshly to me as if he knew my situation. I refused to stay silent, somehow knowing that what I needed was a parent -- not a policeman. Anyway, I got into a lot of trouble, and I was called bad and incorrigible. And ever since that time, I have been a fierce advocate for "the bad and incorrigible" people, especially children and women. There are no bad children; this is an absurd concept, and it seemed to me then as now that the very system that labels you bad is the one that can make you bad. Women of every age seem to bear this stereotype, and society only loves an obvious victim.
See more stories tagged with: politics, consumerism, working poor, upstate new york, brenda ann kenneally, nina berman
Nina Berman is a photographer and author of Purple Hearts and Homeland.
Photographer Brenda Ann Kenneally is the author of Money, Power, Respect.
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