At Rikers, a Book Club Is Helping Women Imagine Life Beyond Bars

In 2024, comedian Nora Fried started the Rosebuds Reading Collective, a monthly book club for women incarcerated at Rikers Island, New York City’s island jail.

“I was looking forward to this all month,” Fried recalls multiple women telling her. “This is the only thing I had to look forward to.”

The women read Down the Drain, a memoir by actor Julia Fox. After the discussion, Fried tagged Fox on Instagram. Fox, whose brother was incarcerated at Rikers at the time, agreed to visit the group.

Fox learned that her book was a particularly hot commodity and that one woman’s copy had been stolen. Still, all were curious about how a girl like them had become a published author. The room resonated with laughter, from both the incarcerated women and the guards.

“It made me think to myself, I would do this every weekend. I want to come back. I love these girls,” Fox says. “They are amazing, remarkable, intelligent young women [who] made mistakes. We’ve all made mistakes. Some of us are lucky enough not to get caught.”

Inside the DC Jail Debate Team, Women Find Their Voice

“I know of a woman who spent most of her first prison sentence in isolation. She had no access to programs to help her heal from childhood trauma, abuse, neglect or depression,” Chelsee Wright wrote in remarks prepared for a February debate. “Without mental healthcare, she self-harmed and attempted suicide multiple times.”

Wright is part of the DC Jail Debate Team, founded in 2024 as the first coed team in the National Prison Debate League. Each semester, up to 20 participants—many without prior debate experience—meet twice a week inside the Washington, D.C., jail.

At a February debate on solitary confinement, Wright delivered her closing remarks: “When her release date was near, she intentionally assaulted officers. She needed more time.

“Three years later, she thought she was ready … but the outside world was intimidating. Now she’s back in jail on a charge that could have been avoided if she had healthier coping tools. Being home felt uncomfortable. You wouldn’t believe this, but solitary felt like home. Being controlled, degraded and caged was what she was used to. No human should feel this way—to the point where human contact is frightening.”

She paused for a few seconds, then added, “And by the way … the woman I just described is me.”

(This story is part of “Breaking the Cycle,” a three-part Ms. series on how women impacted by incarceration are building new futures—from education and job training, to debate teams and book clubs inside jails. Later this week: how women behind bars are finding their voices in public debate, and building community through literature.)

For Women Leaving Prison, Education Can Be a Way Out

Standing at the bottom of the steps at Tulane University, waiting for her name to be called, Stephanie King took a deep breath. At 63, after nearly three decades in prison, she was about to receive her college diploma—something she had never imagined possible.

For King, who left high school as a pregnant teenager and earned her GED while incarcerated, the moment marked more than a personal milestone. “I just wanted to walk across that stage,” she told me. But beneath that was a deeper realization: Education could be the way out of the cycles that had defined her life.

That belief drives programs like Operation Restoration’s partnership with Tulane, which brings college and job training opportunities to women inside and beyond prison walls. Founded by formerly incarcerated advocate Syrita Steib, the organization helps women build stability through education, employment and support systems often denied to them. The path is rarely easy—students face limited resources inside prison and steep barriers upon release—but again and again, women point to the same truth: Education offers not just opportunity, but a chance to rebuild their futures on their own terms.

(This story is part of “Breaking the Cycle,” a three-part Ms. series on how women impacted by incarceration are building new futures—from education and job training, to debate teams and book clubs inside jails. Later this week: how women behind bars are finding their voices in public debate, and building community through literature.)

Massachusetts Could Be the Next State to Give Abuse Survivors a Pathway Out of Prison

In June, Karen Edwards testified via video from MCI Framingham, Massachusetts’ only women’s prison, where she is serving a sentence of 15 years to life for the death of her abusive husband. Speaking through tears, Edwards described years of isolation, surveillance and threats—how her husband controlled her movements, cut her off from loved ones and warned that if she left, he would kill her and her children. She urged legislators to pass the Massachusetts Survivors Act, a bill that would allow judges to reduce sentences or offer alternatives to incarceration when a person’s conviction is directly tied to their experience of abuse.

The proposed legislation mirrors resentencing reforms adopted in a handful of other states and could dramatically change Edwards’ future, potentially reducing her life sentence to a term she has already served. Advocates say the bill would offer a long-overdue pathway home for survivors whose actions were shaped by violence, coercion and survival.

As lawmakers consider the measure during the current legislative session, formerly incarcerated survivors and those still behind bars are watching closely—some, for the first time, allowing themselves to imagine a future beyond prison walls.