Living With Conviction:
Sentenced to Debt for Life in Washington State

Living with Conviction is a multimedia and civic engagement project on the debilitating impacts of court-imposed legal financial obligations (LFOs), i.e., fines, fees, costs and victim restitution, on formerly incarcerated individuals and their families in Washington State.

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“Whether we are incarcerated or not, we still are living marginalized lives. . . . You are taking away access to the American dream. Everybody should be entitled to that – to be able to work hard and see the benefits of their hard work.” At 17, Carmen Pacheco-Jones aged out of foster care, pregnant and addicted to heroin. After a series of convictions for prostitution and check fraud, it was the threat of losing rights to her five children that motivated Carmen to turn herself in and begin the road to recovery. “I [didn't] want my kids to go through life thinking I didn’t fight for them," says Carmen. She’s paid $32,000 in LFOs, working three jobs.
“Whether we are incarcerated or not, we still are living marginalized lives. . . . You are taking away access to the American dream. Everybody should be entitled to that – to be able to work hard and see the benefits of their hard work.” At 17, Carmen Pacheco-Jones aged out of foster care, pregnant and addicted to heroin. After a series of convictions for prostitution and check fraud, it was the threat of losing rights to her five children that motivated Carmen to turn herself in and begin the road to recovery. “I [didn't] want my kids to go through life thinking I didn’t fight for them," says Carmen. She’s paid $32,000 in LFOs, working three jobs.
"It's disheartening. It's not allowing people to live their present without being defined by their past. . . . I'm not the same person I was when I was convicted. I haven't been that person for a long time. But the way things are currently, I can't ever foresee being completely out from underneath that stigma or that thumb of owing for something I did. I paid my debt to society. What happened to that? I pay my debt, I can't get housing. I can't get jobs. I’m discriminated against because of the stigma attached to being a convict. I've made all these other positive changes and I want to pay these off. I want to be out from underneath all of my past.. . . I can't be a changed person because I'm poor?" Kyrrah Nork of Seattle.
"It's disheartening. It's not allowing people to live their present without being defined by their past. . . . I'm not the same person I was when I was convicted. I haven't been that person for a long time. But the way things are currently, I can't ever foresee being completely out from underneath that stigma or that thumb of owing for something I did. I paid my debt to society. What happened to that? I pay my debt, I can't get housing. I can't get jobs. I’m discriminated against because of the stigma attached to being a convict. I've made all these other positive changes and I want to pay these off. I want to be out from underneath all of my past.. . . I can't be a changed person because I'm poor?" Kyrrah Nork of Seattle.
"Having $39,000 in fines doesn't affect somebody who doesn't care. It doesn't affect a junkie in a basement shooting up. . . . But for somebody like me, doing everything they are supposed to be doing, and owes more in legal financial obligations than in student loans, and can't buy a house, can't help send their children to college, can't do more than get by. People should care. I did the crimes and I did the time and I'm still paying for it 16 years later in every aspect of my life. . . . They could arrest me. I live in fear of it. But I just don't have the money," says Sabrina, mother of 7.
"They suffer, too. For everything I have done in the past, they suffer for now. My past is haunting me," says Keshena of Tacoma, Washington. She is a mother to two teenage boys – the older son is on his way to prison. Her husband is also serving time, as is her step-father. Due to several convictions for forgery, which included 4.5 years in prison, Keshena now owes approximately $50,000 in legal financial obligations.
"I was working at a gas station and there was an incident. . . I was asked to write a victim’s statement. . . . About two to three weeks after that I got a knock at the door from police officers. They had a warrant out for my arrest. For not paying for my supervision and fines. . . . . I was not paying anything. So they arrested me and took me back to the jail. I had no money. I was making whatever minimum wage was, trying to pay my bills and child support. . . . I think I did 14 days in jail. I lost my job." Today, Michelle* still chooses to not make payments towards her debt, instead using her income to support her four children and pay her graduate school tuition. *name changed
“Whether we are incarcerated or not, we still are living marginalized lives. . . . You are taking away access to the American dream. Everybody should be entitled to that – to be able to work hard and see the benefits of their hard work.” At 17, Carmen Pacheco-Jones aged out of foster care, pregnant and addicted to heroin. After a series of convictions for prostitution and check fraud, it was the threat of losing rights to her five children that motivated Carmen to turn herself in and begin the road to recovery. “I [didn't] want my kids to go through life thinking I didn’t fight for them," says Carmen. She’s paid $32,000 in LFOs, working three jobs.
"Nobody ever said, "What's going on with you?' I was a single mom and had just lost custody of my children." Julie's conviction is a direct result of her mental illness. Soon after a bipolar diagnosis, for which she was given new medication, she walked out of Walmart with more than $750 worth of groceries in her basket -- without paying for them. She put them in her trunk -- food, cat litter, laundry soap -- and drove home. By the time the police arrived at her house (everyone knew each other in her small town), the groceries were still in her car -- even the pot roast. Instead of going to court, Julie attempted suicide. She was convicted of theft in the second degree -- a class C felony. As a first-time offender, she did not go to prison but was assessed $1,500 in LFOs.
"When I took my guilty plea, I didn’t think that I was going to be doing a life sentence. The interest on these fines makes it where a person on a limited income will never be able to get out from the wreckage of the past," says Michael of Bremerton, Washington. Michael is a Native American disabled veteran, who lives on his VA pension of $1,070 per month. In addition to serving a five-year sentence for possession and delivery of methamphetamines, Michael was sentenced to $11,000 in LFOs. For the past five years, he has paid $75 per month, which the State has applied to the interest only. As of June 2016, Michael owes $17,000 in LFOs.
“I had a warrant out for my arrest – for LFOs that I didn't even know I had. I lost my children. I lost my Section 8 housing . . . . I was shattered. So I just slipped right back into addiction for the next seven or eight years. I didn't know what else to do,” says Traci Hudson. Born to two heroin addicts who also sold drugs, Traci's childhood was defined by uncertainty and trauma. Following a conviction, for which she served no time, Traci was arrested and spent 58 days in jail for failure to pay her LFOs.
Keshena Williams, of Tacoma, Washington, holds the photo of her son, which kept her motivated to better hersel while in prison. That same son, now 18, was recently convicted and sent to prison.
Keshena Williams, of Tacoma, Washington, holds the photo of her son, which kept her motivated to better hersel while in prison. That same son, now 18, was recently convicted and sent to prison.

Deborah Espinosa

Deborah Espinosa is a legally trained photographer, who uses multimedia to advocate for the rights of the poor and marginalized. She…

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United States
Debt for Life

About Living With Conviction: Sentenced to Debt for Life in Washington State

“Living with Conviction is a multimedia and civic engagement project about how the State of Washington sentences people not just to prison but to a lifetime of debt. On the day of sentencing, courts impose on defendants costs, fines, fees, and victim restitution (aka “legal financial obligations” (LFOs)), which accrue interest at a rate of 12%. This means that by the time a person gets out of prison, the total amount has increased substantially. The first monthly LFO payment is due within 30 days of release. Failure to pay even once can result in arrest. And yet for individuals re-entering their communities following incarceration, such debt is physically, mentally, emotionally, and financially crippling.

The intended impact of Living with Conviction is three-fold: to (1) raise awareness among Washington residents about LFO policy and its impacts; (2) eliminate barriers between those living with conviction and those not; and (3) amplify the voices of and empower formerly incarcerated individuals who are struggling with LFO debt. As one participant explained, sharing one’s story for Living with Conviction “gives purpose to our pain.””

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