In the 90s, I was labeled a “welfare queen.” I wish I could say they at least gave me a crown for the title, but instead, I got something much heavier: a felony conviction.
This label, rooted in a myth popularized in America in the 1960s that demonized poor Black women, justified policies that punished poverty rather than addressing it. For me, that meant a system more interested in criminalizing survival than providing a path out of hardship.
This was part of the trifecta of harmful policies: the federal Crime Bill of 1994, the Welfare Reform Act of 1996, and the historic and continued weaponization of the “welfare queen” trope, all of which led to my conviction in 1999.
The “welfare queen” narrative didn’t just shape public perception; it was weaponized in the 1976 presidential election by Ronald Wilson Reagan—who used a distorted story about a poor Black woman to demonize welfare recipients and justify harsh policies. Exploiting institutional racism and misogynoir , this myth shaped laws that derailed lives, including mine.
Fast forward 25 years, and my record has been cleared thanks to hard-fought progressive policies like California State Bill 731, which destroys criminal records after four years, as it gave me the ability to break free from 25 years of purgatory that was not of my own making.
I am now rebuilding my life—a work in progress that isn’t easy. After 25 years, nothing happens overnight, but I am helping others do the same. I help others rebuild their lives by advocating for progressive policies that remove systemic barriers, mentoring individuals through fellowship programs to develop leadership skills, and guiding people through the record expungement process to help them regain access to jobs, housing, and opportunities they deserve.
But this myth still echoes in modern policies and public attitudes, including the new administration’s proposed changes to food stamps that will affect millions of families. Most severely, President Donald Trump on his first day in office signed an executive order to restore the death penalty.
But punitive policies don’t work. Policies like California’s “Three Strikes” Law, which mandated life sentences for repeat offenders even for minor crimes, and federal mandatory minimum sentencing, which imposed harsh penalties for drug-related offenses, have disproportionately impacted marginalized communities without reducing crime.
Similarly, stop-and-frisk laws, which targeted Black and Latino communities under the guise of preventing crime, subjected countless individuals to racial profiling and humiliation without demonstrating a significant reduction in criminal activity. These approaches have failed to effectively address the root causes of crime or poverty.
Proponents of these policies often argue they deter crime or reduce dependency, but the evidence says otherwise. Research shows that since 1990, murder rates are consistently lower in states without the death penalty than states that have the death penalty.
The 1996 Temporary Assistance for Needy Families created by President Bill Clinton who rallied to overhaul welfare, cut welfare benefits and forced people into low-wage jobs in the ’90s.
As a Black woman, I’ve seen firsthand how systems that focus on punishment only trap individuals and communities in relentless struggles. When I was labeled a felon, every avenue to stability was cut off: I lost my jobs as an office manager and a seasonal tax preparer—you can’t do those jobs if you’ve been convicted of welfare fraud.
My car was repossessed, and I lost the ability to care for my son, sending him to live with my mother because I was no longer capable of being the mother he deserved. The experience took a serious toll on my mental health, sending me into a spiral of depression and despair that affected my ability to care not only for my son but for myself as well.
Even the basic dignity of being seen as more than my past was stripped away. And I wasn’t alone. Thousands of others, especially Black and brown women, faced the same barriers because of a narrative that painted us as undeserving.
According to The Sentencing Project 2021 report, “In 12 states, more than half the prison population is Black: Alabama, Delaware, Georgia, Illinois, Louisiana, Maryland, Michigan, Mississippi, New Jersey, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Virginia. Seven states maintain a Black/white disparity larger than 9 to 1: California, Connecticut, Iowa, Maine, Minnesota, New Jersey, and Wisconsin. Latinx individuals are incarcerated in state prisons at a rate that is 1.3 times the incarceration rate of whites.”
A 2023 study shows women are incarcerated at vastly different rates in jail and prison with the highest rate in Kentucky at 233 per 100,000 people, compared to 3 per 100,000 people in Alaska.
While I was finally able to start to rebuild my life, I fear that others will not have the same opportunities because of regressive policies like California Proposition 36, which falsely claimed that crime was escalating in the state because of California Proposition 47.
The claim that an increase in benefits and bail reform escalated crime rates was debunked by multiple studies showing no significant link.
These measures show how quickly progress can be undermined by fear, misinformation fueled by disinformation, and the institutional racism and misogynoir embedded in policy-making.These trends are continuing cycles of harm rather than breaking them.
If I can survive being called a “welfare queen” and come out the other side fighting for justice, then so much more is possible In California, I’ve been part of efforts to expunge records and help people reclaim their lives. I’ve seen what happens when individuals replace punishment with opportunity. People find jobs, reconnect with their families, and contribute to their communities. Investing in people benefits everyone.
If policymakers, individuals, leaders, advocates and communities instead of using the effort poured into creating damaging stereotypes took action to empower communities, real change can happen.
Data from progressive programs shows that focusing on rehabilitation and opportunity, recidivism drops, and communities thrive. It is time to stop defining people by their worst moments and seeing them for their potential.
Considering the historic narratives and societal structures in place, it is time to build systems that uplift people instead of ones that tear people down. If a myth like the “welfare queen” can shape decades of policy affecting millions across generations, imagine what a truth rooted in equity and empowerment could do for the future.
This is a well-researched and beautifully written work. Tracee has taken a personal setback to teach an important lesson about resilience and determination. As importantly, she dares to imagine how supportive and humane policies could positively impact individual lives and by extension, the society.
Thank you so much! This is my first published article and I know it is the first of many! I am going to do everything I can to change the narrative! #MyStoryIsMyGlory!