In the months before the election, a swath of criticism arose in response to voter identification laws that would disproportionately restrict low-income and minority citizens from voting. In reading the tirades against these restrictions, which were seen as being enacted primarily in swing states to hinder President Obama's victory, I was surprised that the largest restriction on universal suffrage was frequently overlooked entirely.
Nearly six million Americans are disenfranchised because of current or previous felony convictions. This policy, which often seems to go unnoticed or is taken as given, is ideologically incompatible with the idea that civic participation is a right, not a privilege.
When the Constitution was ratified in 1789, it is estimated that only 6 percent of the population could vote. Women, slaves, people without property, people who were illiterate and criminals were all excluded from the franchise. In the years since all of these limitations have been criticized and overturned, except for one.
Felon disenfranchisement laws vary from state to state. In two states - Maine and Vermont - currently incarcerated people can vote from prison, while in 19 others, inmates, parolees and probationers are prohibited from voting. In 11 states, even ex-felons who have served their full sentences are barred from the polling booths.
Two of the most restrictive states, Florida and Virginia, are also swing-states with some of the most contentious voter ID laws. Minority populations are disproportionately affected by the criminal justice system. Voting restrictions affect four times as many African-American citizens as white citizens. In Florida, this statistic means that currently 23 percent of the state's African-American population is ineligible to vote. In Virginia the total is 20 percent. Even before controversial voter ID laws, these two battleground states already restricted more than a fifth of their African-American populations from voting.
Beyond the effect ex-felons might have on national elections in swing states lies a larger question: Why prohibit criminals from voting? The justification historically comes from ancient Greek and Roman notions of "civic death," in which individuals who transgressed social norms or laws were excluded from the democratic process.
The argument for felon disenfranchisement might come down to one's standpoint on the purpose of criminal sentencing and incarceration as punitive or rehabilitative. If you believe that prisons exist to punish individuals for their crimes, then the idea of civic death could hold some water - why would someone who breaks the law deserve basic rights? But if you consider prisons as rehabilitative sites that should promote inmates' post-release reintegration into society, this denial of one of the most basic rights our constitution gives us is a glaring inconsistency. Treating criminals as less-than-citizens hinders their ability to live as law-abiding citizens - as well as being subject to restrictions on voting, previously incarcerated felons cannot live in public housing, cannot receive many welfare benefits or most student loans and are discriminated against in applying for employment. Felon disenfranchisement is part of a larger picture of pervasive discrimination against people we label as criminals.
Crimes classified as felonies range from murder to vandalism, treason to drug possession. Someone can be convicted of a felony, pay a fine and never spend a day in jail. The words felon, criminal, inmate, offender and prisoner connote judgements of unsound character and the inability to coexist within society. People who commit crimes are people before they are criminals, but it seems easy to forget this when their identities are shrouded in language of intrinsic other-ness.
Most people transgress against the norms we've codified into laws, but some people are more likely to be caught, sentenced and incarcerated. Drug laws, urban poverty, racial profiling and other discriminatory practices in law enforcement mean poor and minority Americans are far more likely to encounter the criminal justice system than people whose race, money and privilege affords them protection from the ramifications of their illegal behavior. As Michelle Alexander puts it in the introduction to "The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness," the United States uses its "criminal justice system to label people of color 'criminals' and then engage in all the practices we supposedly left behind." Denying convicted felons the franchise is just one of the many ways our criminal justice system enforces discrimination against poor and minority citizens. Striking exclusionary voting laws would certainly be a step in the right direction.
In 1999, as part of efforts to democratize the country after apartheid, the South African Constitutional Court gave prisoners the franchise, stating that "the universality of the franchise is important not only for nationhood and democracy. The vote of each and every citizen is a badge of dignity and personhood."
To allege that the United States has universal suffrage is to deny the personhood of the 2.5 percent of our population that is prevented from voting because of a criminal record. Combined with the racial and economic discrimination perpetuated by our criminal justice system, this restriction stands in conflict with our rhetoric of justice, equality and opportunity for all.
Megan Hauptman '14.5 can be reached with comments at megan_hauptman@brown.edu.
