Ainslie Munro (left) and her mother, Samantha Pierce (right). Photo courtesy of Ainslie Munro
A Midland girl's mundane wish
MIDLAND -- It’s not quite Christmas yet, but presents fill the bottom of the tree. Despite the festive camouflage, Ainslie Munro knows exactly what’s there – and she has no intention of waiting until the big day to prove her suspicions correct.
“Please? I already know what it is, just let me open it!” Ainslie pleads with her mom and “aunt,” a close friend of her mom’s at the time. “I can see the Barbie right there! Please, just let me open it?” she presses on, picturing the DreamHouse one clean rip away.
They both sigh, and Ainslie knows Christmas just came early.
That happy family memory was about 15 years ago, Ainslie estimates – right around the time she was first taken out of her mother’s care by the State of Michigan.
Since then, Anslie, now 20, has spent more Christmases with relatives – distant, foster or found family – than with her mother, Samantha Pierce, while Samantha has spent most of her holidays between the Missaukee and Wexford County Sheriff’s Departments.
Samantha is one of 163,000 people booked into Michigan jails each year, as estimated by the Prison Policy Initiative, a non-profit that uses data and research to conceptualize over-criminalization in the United States.
The Prison Policy Initiative also found that one in four of those people will be booked into jail more than once, and these repeated arrests are greatly related to poverty and high rates of mental illness and substance use disorders.
In Missaukee County, “the vast majority of the inmates are what you would call 'frequent fliers,'” Undersheriff Aaron Kearns said. The Northern Michigan jail, located in Lake City, has a maximum capacity of 44 people, but usually holds about 30 to 35.
Of those, many have been there before, and will more than likely be back again.
“They see me here about once a year, unfortunately,” said Samantha, 38, from the bench of the Missaukee County Jail booking room on October 2, 2023 – 119 days into her 330-day sentence. Orange clad, wrists cuffed and facial piercings removed, she sits herself in front of the camera. “I knew I should’ve done my mohawk,” she jokes.
Samantha is just one of almost 4,000 people in Michigan who was arrested for methamphetamine-related offenses in 2022, according to the Michigan State Police.
Substance use, particularly methamphetamines, has been a steadfast issue in Northern Michigan. That and the domestic and property crimes that result have been the driving force for most arrests in Missaukee County, jail administrator Jesse Harwood said.
On her third arrest for possession of methamphetamines, Samantha has been struggling with her addiction to the stimulant for about six years – but the Missaukee County Jail has been a revolving door for her since before her first daughter was born 20 years ago. Before, her legal encounters were primarily domestic disputes that sprouted from her alcoholism.
Looking at her record, it would be easy to paint Samantha as a villain. That’s what often happens for people like her in small towns like Lake City. And in the eyes of those who've been left in the wake of her addiction cycles, she may be – but could she also be a victim of circumstance?
With her father incarcerated before she was born and mother struggling with alcoholism herself since Samantha was 11 years old, she had to grow up fast. Since she helped run the household, schooling was inconsistent – leaving her without the opportunities and socialization to make friends and prepare for the future.
Once she began the cycle of incarceration, it became even harder to establish a foundation.
“What else do you know?” Samantha said.
The Missaukee County Jail offers people behind bars access to therapists from Northern Michigan Community Mental Health, but treatment is often inconsistent and surface-level, according to Samantha.
She found herself repeating the same answers to the same questions, unable to delve deeper with any of the professionals, and after a while the treatment felt pointless.
Meanwhile, the struggles remained.
“How do you deal with the loss of family or your children because you have a problem?” she asked. Samantha recognized that Missaukee County is a small facility, which could contribute to the lack of resources, “but something’s gotta give,” she said.
So for 8 months she filled her time. Tried to set up a routine, read books, and anxiously awaited her January 2024 release.
Sometimes professionals can organize further treatment with a rehabilitation program post-release, but other than that, Missaukee County has no structured support for people leaving the jail. So, with no place to live, clothes of her own, or foundation for sobriety other than lack of access, what’s Samantha to do?
“I know for a fact that she has given up because her first night out of jail she immediately started smoking weed and drinking,” Ainslie said.
Since then, after an intervention-style sit down with her mother and an emotional admittance from Samantha that she needs help, Ainslie hasn’t heard from her almost at all.
As a young adult, Ainslie has long forgotten her wishes for dolls and toys, and is now building – literally – her new dream house: the stable life she never had growing up.
Ainslie and her boyfriend, Mikel, have started renovations on their first home - a Midland trailer they bought for just $1,500 in 2023. With little insulation and holes in the floors, the mobile home is certainly a fixer-upper, but it’s theirs. And building out this home is what Ainslie hopes is a first step toward the big dream: law school.
Inspired by her mother’s journey and “Legally Blonde”, a 2001 romantic comedy about a girl's unlikely success at Harvard Law School, Ainslie is ready to change the criminal legal system from the inside, hoping to see people’s mental health and livelihoods taken into further account in legal proceedings.
In some circumstances, for instance, arresting people for drug offenses does more harm than good, Ainslie argued. Because upon release, “they’re just left with nothing and go back to their old habits.”
The negative impacts of incarceration for people post-release have been well documented. It limits access to housing, education and employment - which, in turn, increases chances of recidivism.
This is a cycle Ainslie knows well, as she watched her mother repeat it many times throughout her life. Filled with a new sense of hope upon release, she’d be ready to do things right. But after so long, after being denied a job at McDonald’s because of her record or unable to get a driver’s license because she owes money to the state, that determination falters.
Suddenly, her focus turns to living the life you have as freely as you can - and that mentality is only a short jump to the habits that take her right back behind bars.
Ainslie knows the state isn’t solely to blame, but that doesn’t stop her from wishing her mother’s luck would change.
In the meantime, she’s been putting in the work, determined to be the one to break generational cycles.
Children of parents who struggle with alcohol or substance use disorders are more likely to suffer from addiction themselves, especially without proper intervention early on.
Right now, Ainslie is playing catch up.
Starting her new job as an activities aide at a nursing home and getting settled in her new home is step one. Step two: getting her GED and her mental health on track.
“I’m kind of in a hole with my mental health,” she said, noting that it’s been six years without any kind of therapy or medication to regulate her depression and anxiety.
After that, she hopes to get to a point where she can worry about “normal people problems” - like restoring the bay window the previous tenants so rudely boarded up in her trailer or building a rock collection she can pass down to her children and grandchildren. “Just being happy, successful, and healthy… ish,” she said.
To some, predictability is boring.
But to those like Ainslie, it’s the peace they’ve been waiting their entire lives for.