Commentary By Dedan Waciuri & Emancipate NC
As Durham County prepares for its annual in-person jail visitation window from June 9 to 13—a gesture marketed as a compassionate opportunity for families to reconnect—it becomes clear that this policy is not about healing. It’s about control. It’s about surveillance. And it’s about reminding Black and working-class communities who hold the keys to the cage.
Only one visit is allowed per detainee. Two adults. Two children. One hour to pretend a system built on generational trauma can offer anything resembling care. To even enter, visitors must surrender their phones and submit to a “strict dress code” —a code that explicitly targets poor, Black, and brown communities, cloaking its policing in the language of “appropriateness.”
“No revealing clothing or headgear allowed,” the policy states. But let’s be real: what they mean is no durags, no scarves, no hijabs, no expression of identity that challenges white normative standards. It’s the same logic that gets kids suspended for cultural hairstyles and women profiled at airports. It’s not about safety—it’s about submission.
This isn’t just a set of visitation guidelines. This is a window into a carceral worldview that treats love like contraband and dignity like a privilege to be earned. It turns Father’s Day into another performance of power—one where the state choreographs who can see whom, when, and under what conditions.
And in the background of it all is the ever-present threat: “Visitation may be canceled at any time due to COVID restrictions and security reasons.” A loophole broad enough to invalidate the entire process at the sheriff’s discretion.
This is why we organize. Because families shouldn’t have to register weeks in advance, dress like they’re entering a courtroom, and be stripped of identity just to hug their loved ones. Because contact is a human right, not a security risk. Because we cannot let a system that profits from isolation dictate the terms of connection.
We urge community members to show up, speak out, and resist the normalization of these carceral rituals. We are calling for real change: a move away from punitive bureaucracy and toward a justice rooted in restoration, humanity, and care.
The people of Durham didn’t vote for this. We voted for accountability, transparency, and decarceration. It’s time our institutions start acting like it.