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States are Punishing Women Who Survive Violence with Incarceration. They Deserve Clemency.

The Supreme Court Room at Lansing Michigan.
One woman violently forced into assisting a murder seeks clemency in Michigan. Author and journalist Justine van der Leun calls for states to enact laws protecting criminalized survivors.
The Supreme Court Room at Lansing Michigan.
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August 11, 2026

Editor’s Note: Justine van der Leun is an independent investigative journalist who has spent the past eight years reporting on criminalized survival and women in U.S. prisons. She is the author of a book on the subject, "Unreasonable Women: Three Stories of Violence, Imprisonment, and Extraordinary Survival."

Moments before Tanisha Williams took part in her supposed crime, she was dangling above the floor, a large hand wrapped around her throat, her toes skimming the carpet.

It was December 2002. Williams, then 20 years old, was living with her roommate, 32-year-old Patrick Martin, in a basement rental in Saginaw, Michigan. That evening, Martin invited a man over and then brutally attacked him. Williams had been in the bedroom. When she came out and saw the man on the floor, she began to scream. Martin put a hand to her throat and a gun to her cheek. “Get down or lie down,” he ordered. When he understood she would do as he said, he let her go. She fell to the ground, barely able to breathe. He tossed her a roll of duct tape and told her to tape up the man’s face. “Please forgive me,” she whispered to him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Years later, a prosecutor for the Michigan attorney general’s office questioned Williams about that moment. “How did you feel doing that?” the prosecutor asked. “Terrible,” she responded. The prosecutor then asked why she did that. Williams said she had “no choice but to do it.”

“How did you feel doing that?” the prosecutor asked. “Terrible,” she responded. The prosecutor then asked why she did that. Williams said she had “no choice but to do it.”

Williams is a criminalized survivor. In criminalized survival, people — usually women and girls — are incarcerated because they reacted to abuse, usually by trying to protect themselves or a loved one from violence. Today, Williams is serving 20-40 years in Women’s Huron Valley prison in Michigan. A few states across the country have enacted survivor justice laws. These laws are immensely helpful when they are exercised as intended, allowing survivors to get their cases heard once again and requiring judges to consider abuse as a mitigating factor and to sentence survivors accordingly. Such laws should be passed in every state. But currently in most states, as in Michigan, there are no such options for people like Williams.

For my book, “Unreasonable Women,” I spent seven years investigating criminalized survival. I conducted a survey of 10,000 women in prison on murder or manslaughter charges across the U.S. and received more than 1,000 responses. I found that at minimum, 30 percent of my respondents were criminalized survivors, including Williams.

One Woman’s Path to Wrongful Incarceration

Like most women in prison, Williams’ past was full of abuse and neglect. As a toddler, she was dipped in scalding water by her mother’s boyfriend. Later, another one of her mother’s boyfriends molested her, as did an uncle. She and her siblings often went hungry. At 14, she was impregnated by an adult man. At 16, she left her family home after her father beat her. At 19, she was sleeping in an abandoned car when she met Martin, who offered her a room for rent. She did not move out when he started abusing her because she had nowhere to go.

Williams’ lengthy incarceration is especially egregious because she found herself incarcerated after she spent nearly a year helping the state of Michigan build a case against Martin. Years after the murder, she came forward, at great personal risk, to cooperate with authorities. She did it, she says, to try to give the victim’s family peace and closure. She did not understand the vulnerable legal position she was in. She trusted that the state would do right by her. “I thought if I was just honest, the truth was going to set me free, based off American values,” she said.

Instead, when the state was ready to prosecute Martin, police arrested Williams and charged her with murder. Stuck in jail, separated from her children, with a state-appointed attorney working on a capped fee of $1000 to defend her, she agreed to a plea. She was a key witness, giving a testimony the prosecutor called “invaluable.”

Criminalized Survivors Have Few Options for Freedom

Williams’ case demonstrates a stark pattern I saw repeatedly: Criminalized survivors are not adequately protected by the state when they are victims; but as soon as they do wrong in the eyes of police and prosecutors, that same state re-emerges as competent and resource-rich, and punishes them severely.

Once these women are funneled into the system, they find vanishingly few options for freedom. Of course, ideally, they would never be incarcerated to begin with: Even a partial redistribution of the $182 billion spent annually on mass incarceration in the U.S. could boost prevention and response programs, bolster communities, treat trauma and prevent abuse, and save families and lives.

When women like Williams are charged or locked up, it is imperative that police, prosecutors, defense attorneys, and judges benefit from trauma­informed, research-backed education so that they can better understand the effects of interpersonal violence, and the myriad ways in which trauma can manifest. Robust alternatives to incarceration should be put in place, particularly for survivors of abuse, and for mothers and primary caretakers like Williams, whose removal from their communities has a deeply damaging ripple effect.

Today, Williams is preparing her clemency packet to put before Governor Gretchen Whitmer. Clemency — a broad term that includes commutations, pardons, and amnesties — is the only viable way for the state to correct the wrong that has been done to survivors many times over.

Criminalized survivors like Williams must be prioritized for clemency. The teams working with governors should be educated about trauma and the distinct situations of most women in prison. They must understand that such women have been failed repeatedly by systems and individuals who were supposed to protect them. Like Williams, most have no history of doing violence, only of having violence done to them — until circumstances led them to one impossible moment, when they chose not to die, or be assaulted.

Clemency is based on the idea that in certain cases, as a measure of mercy, a person should be allowed relief. If ever a slice of the prison population deserves mercy, it is criminalized survivors. It is imperative that governors use the power of clemency to grand survivors what they’ve been denied all their lives: safety, freedom, and the chance to build a “real, healed life,” as Williams puts it.

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