The sentence does not end at the door
From the Tlalnepantla prison, 32 women weave to survive. Not only to confinement, but to a system that judged them long before a judge handed down a sentence. Many count the days until they leave. But more they fear the outside world, which will mark them forever.
“Everyone points at you, in every job they ask for a non-criminal background, they criticize you without knowing the reality,” says Isabel. “I’m very afraid of going out and not knowing who I am after prison.”
A system that creates culprits
Four days before March 8, they painted signs. They denounce constant cancellations of hearings, inefficient defenses and fabricated investigation folders. Jennifer is 23 years old and has a seven-year-old daughter. He has been sentenced to 11 years for stealing a car.
The macabre detail: according to her, the robbery occurred when she was already behind bars under preventive detention.
“I was already locked up and they said I stole a car,” Jennifer explains. “They made me accept the crime because they wanted to leave me here for a long time. The judges don’t take it upon themselves… there is no evidence and they still give you absurd sentences.”
The wait is measured in years. The public defenders are insufficient and sometimes take months to contact them. Access to justice is another privilege they lack.
In Mexico there are more than 13 thousand women deprived of liberty. In Tlalnepantla, where the capacity is for 250, there are 503. Three women share an individual mat. Two bedrooms for everyone.
“They have abandoned us,” explains Isabel. “In other prisons there is yoga, dance classes. Here we don’t have that… we also have to hide to cry, it is frowned upon to be weak here.”
Their distraction is the crochet that the La Cana organization brings them. Their most immediate dream, as they confessed during a visit, is to have “a long bath alone.” Other desires: see the sea, go to the movies, eat pozole or tacos al pastor.
The food inside is not good. They lack vitamins and medicines. Nothing is free.
“We spend about 2,500 pesos a month on toilet paper, sanitary towels and laundry,” says Isabel.
Identity, the first thing they confiscate
What hurts most is not hunger or overcrowding. It is the systematic loss of your identity. They don’t have documents. Their bank accounts are suspended. If they regain their freedom, they must wait six months to process papers.
Jennifer describes another modern torment: pretrial digital exposure.
“When they arrest us, the prosecutors show us on social networks, upload our photos and then leave us without a sentence for up to 10 years,” he says. “That’s unfair, they burn us on the internet and then leave us in limbo.”
Eugenia cries every day from the Barrientos prison. His daughter Jessica disappeared in 2023 and no one knows where she is. The authorities only placed search files.
“They already declared me innocent, but I’m still here and my family is being destroyed,” Eugenia says through tears. “They always cancel hearings… I just want to tell [my daughter] that I hope she’s okay.”
Mercedes Becker, activist and co-founder of La Cana, puts numbers to this tragedy: about 46% of women in Mexican prisons do not have a final sentence. They are imprisoned without a sentence.
“Access to justice in Mexico is a poorly addressed issue,” Becker tells EL UNIVERSAL. “Society judges those who are in prison even when they are innocent.”
Becker points out something perverse: politically it sells more to promise more years in prison than real social reintegration programs.
“Years ago we presented a bill to regulate prison work… unfortunately it is not very striking on political issues,” he laments.
Meanwhile, they knit. And they dream of the simple things: finishing high school, opening a carnitas stand or a gorditas stand.
“But in the meantime,” they say hopefully from the other side of the bars, “I’m going to knit.”
In addition to promoting recreation and sports, the activity represents an important economic benefit for service providers, local businesses and entrepreneurs, who benefit from the arrival of visitors during the development of the event.
