The United States prison system puzzled the German photographer Jacobia Dahm. It seemed that every week she read something that didn’t make sense: punishments outweighing crimes; racial disparities; prisoners revealed innocent decades after convictions. But how do you photograph that?
Then Ms. Dahm began investigating a little-known network of private buses and minivans operating in the dead of night. Departing from different spots around New York City, they transport families of inmates to distant complexes in obscure towns around New York State. “I was struck by the fact I have lived in the city for 10 years and yet I’d never seen a bus or heard about them,” she said. Once she learned that children make the ungodly trek, she conjured up the picture of a child curled up on a bus.
“I thought, ‘I have to find that image.’ ”
She did, and then some.
“In Transit” is a tender work about a visitor’s journey as much as it is about that person’s state of mind. “The bus is almost like a secondary imprisonment,” said Ms. Dahm, 42. “You won’t be riding it forever, but you will be for a long time.”
Between February and May, Ms. Dahm made six trips on a 50-passenger bus she booked by calling and leaving a voice mail message for its driver. The route took it to six penitentiaries, the farthest of which is 20 miles from the Canadian border and more than 300 from New York City. The fare is $65 for adults and $30 for children — a sizable sum for those hailing from the city’s poorest communities. The bus was privately owned and operated by the driver, and departed Friday and Saturday nights from Manhattan, Brooklyn and the Bronx. Space for the 24-hour trip is so tight that some passengers book on Monday morning, one minute after midnight.
“You can’t make last-minute decisions,” Ms. Dahm said. “Your entire week is structured by this one trip.”
Mostly minority women take the bus, many with children who pass time completing homework. At one point, she said, the city offered a shuttle for visitors, but stopped in 2011. Now, apart from the little-known system of buses and minivans, few options remain. “Prisons could care less how people get up there,” Ms. Dahm said.
Getting to know those onboard was difficult, but the more Ms. Dahm took the bus, the more defenses dropped. The driver even began announcing her presence. “It’s amazing what people reveal when they feel you really care about what they have to say,” she said.
Upon arrival early in the morning, when most visitors centers open, passengers show identification and are then scrutinized for compliance with strict guidelines – no bare midriffs or backs, no plunging necklines, no short skirts or short-shorts – for good measure. Failure to comply results in a terminated visit.
But the women onboard are veterans. They lug suitcases filled with presents and food, but especially outfits, which they model in bathrooms before their visits. They – and sometimes their children – dress up for visits that last roughly four hours. “Some of the women I only recognized coming back on to the bus because everyone has an assigned seat,” Ms. Dahm said.
On a trip that seems to last an eternity, with passengers staring out of dark windows, contorting into tight spaces, a reprieve comes at the end of visitation, as they beam as they board. “Even after all the unpleasant things they had to go through, there was a celebratory sense on the bus,” she said. Parents, wives, husbands, sons and daughters smile and recount their visits and show off instant photos they had taken inside prison walls and purchased for a few dollars. It is their one souvenir.
“It’s amazing to see people trying to keep family life and intimacy going against all odds,” said Ms. Dahm, who said her project gave her an understanding of deep injustices she did not realize existed. “At least half the people they visit are in prison for a ridiculous amount of time,” she said. “No one is being helped, and a lot of people are being hurt.”
Ms. Dahm, a mother of two, was particularly troubled by the children who came to take solace in the journey.
“The first or second time, it is difficult for them,” she said, reflecting on the photo of a child in pajamas fast asleep between two chairs as the great wall of Attica looms behind him. “After that, it becomes a routine. They know they are going to see Dad or Mom. This is just what you have to do to get there.”
Follow @borywrites and @nytimesphoto on Twitter. Jacobia Dahm can be found on Instagram. Lens is also on Facebook.
