©Deborah Espinosa, Keshena, of Tacoma, Washington, holds the photo of her son, which she kept with her in prison to remind her of what she could lose while in prison.

©Deborah Espinosa, “They suffer, too. For everything I have done in the past, they suffer for now. My past is haunting me,” says Keshena of Tacoma. 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.

©Deborah Espinosa, “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 of Yakima 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.

©Deborah Espinosa, Carmen of Yakima with her daughter and granddaughter at the community garden where they supplement their food budget. Even with three jobs, Carmen must also resort to going to food banks to ensure that she does not miss an LFO payment.

©Deborah Espinosa, “In order to be in compliance with the LFOs and the fines, it created poverty for me that wouldn’t have otherwise been there. Accountability is important, . . . but the money piece is damaging and very sad, very sad. . . .I feel like they own me.” ~ Maria Like mother, like daughter, says Maria, of Burien, Washington. Single, teenage mom. Subsidized housing. Working hard. Addicted to heroin. She was convicted twice. In addition to her prison sentences, the court required Maria to pay $4,000 in LFOs. After she was released, she was trying to support her two children on $9 per hour while at the same time make $25 monthly LFO payments. When the LFO balance reached $13,000, a collection agency started garnishing her wages.

©Deborah Espinosa, “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

©Deborah Espinosa, “I was terrified I’m going back to prison. The only thing that was going to keep me from these kids now was going back to jail. The only thing that was going to keep me going back to jail is because I didn’t pay my LFOs.” Following prison, Michelle, of Spokane, Washington, was able to reunite with her children, even though she had no beds, no furniture, a now car. A generous member of Michelle’s mother’s church donated $5,000 to her so she could buy a car. Instead, Michelle used the money to pay off her LFOs, out of fear that she would be arrested for failure to pay. She is confident that if she had not paid off her LFOs, she and her family would still be one paycheck away from homelessness.

©Deborah Espinosa, “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. . . . ” says Sabrina, mother of 7.

©Deborah Espinosa, “Oh my gosh, I wanted to scream and jump for joy in the courthouse. . . . There is light at the end of the tunnel.” ~ Tina That’s how Tina, of Bremerton, Washington, felt when the judge agreed to waive the 12% interest that had accrued on her $50,000 LFO debt. She filed that motion because it was a significant hardship to continue paying $325 per month. She and her husband continue to pay $200 per month towards their combined LFO debt.

©Deborah Espinosa, “My LFOs could ignite at any second. . . . I was telling my 16-year old, ‘I just want you to know where I’m going, what I’m doing [the LFO interview], and that I’m taking a risk. It could be his birthday, it could be Easter, it might not be but I could be arrested after this. He was like, ‘You really need to wear your superhero shirt then..,” says Renee, a homeless Native American mother of six who is a two-time survivor of domestic violence.

©Deborah Espinosa, “It’s just barrier after barrier after barrier. It’s death from a thousand paper cuts. It is a life sentence.” ~ Sue Sue, from Seattle, Washington, endured a childhood filled with poverty and abuse. She married an abusive man and turned to drugs. Convicted, she served 15 months in federal prison, during which the State of Washington also charged her. She came out of federal prison owing $30,000 (with no interest) and pled guilty to the state charges, along with over $4,500 in LFOs. She makes a $15 payment every month.

©Deborah Espinosa

©Deborah Espinosa, “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.