Pamela Winn: From Shackles to Advocacy for Incarcerated Women

From Nurse to Criminal Mastermind Label

When I talked with Pamela Winn, she walked me through what might be one of the most twisted business prosecutions I’ve heard on this podcast. Here was a registered nurse, multiple degrees, specializing in women’s health, who saw a real problem and built a real solution. Georgia had terrible maternal mortality rates, especially among women of color. Pamela knew why.

“During my studies as a nurse, specialized in women’s health, Georgia has always been one of the top states for a horrible maternal infant mortality,” she told me. “And what I knew from my own background and what I was reading in my studies and research was that it was mostly because of marginalized women of color, lacking socio-economic resources that caused them to not focus on their pregnancy.”

She started Silver Spoon Perinatal Service with a simple motto: all babies should be born with a silver spoon in their mouth. The idea was brilliant. Obstetricians would handle the medical care while Pamela’s team addressed the socioeconomic barriers that kept pregnant women from getting proper care. Housing, food security, basic needs. The stuff that makes a woman think about where she’ll sleep tonight instead of her prenatal appointment.

The business was working. In a year and a half, they had 2,500 patients. But then the health department got involved, and everything went sideways.

When Efficiency Becomes Evidence

Pamela had done what any smart business owner would do. She built a database using Microsoft Access to track her patients. When the audit came, she had files for 2,480 of her 2,500 patients. Only 20 women they hadn’t seen. But here’s where the system gets you.

“Of the 2,500 patients, there were only 20 that we had not seen. And of course, they don’t say that in the indictment,” Pamela said. “All you hear is 20 counts of health care fraud.”

The prosecutors painted her as someone billing for ghost patients. What they found instead was a legitimate business with meticulous records. But by then, the narrative was set. A young Black woman generating half a million dollars in revenue in 18 months, no major players getting a cut. Her lawyer spelled it out plain: “You have generated about half a million dollars in a year and a half. But the only person when you look up your business that’s benefiting from this money is you.”

The computerized files that made her efficient became evidence against her. The database that helped her track care became proof of criminal intent. And here’s the kicker: while she was in prison, her friend called with news. A new law had passed requiring all medical facilities to computerize their patient files. The exact thing Pamela was prosecuted for was now mandatory.

The Nightmare of Being Pregnant Behind Bars

The healthcare fraud case led to a year and a half sentence. Pamela served it, came home, and tried to rebuild. But her probation supervisor had other plans. The woman was angry that Pamela got to keep her house, her cars, her nursing license. Everything they couldn’t take became a target.

When Pamela started a transportation business and put assets in family members’ names to protect them, that became bank fraud. The label they gave her still makes her laugh bitterly: criminal mastermind. Her son thought it was cool. Pamela knew it meant more time. Seventy-eight months.

She found out she was pregnant during intake at the county facility. Six weeks along. The pregnancy test came back positive in a room full of chattering staff that suddenly went silent. The reality hit her in waves: joy at creating life with someone she loved, terror at where she was.

“I was happy, like, can’t wait to tell him. But then as soon as my mind said, can’t wait to tell him the other part yet, then look where you are reality,” she said.

Every court appearance meant shackles. Chains wrapped double around her belly, connected to wrist cuffs, connected to ankle restraints. When she told them she was pregnant, the response was blunt: “It doesn’t matter. This is our contract. Our contract says we shackle everyone regardless of who they are and what the situation is.”

The Fall That Changed Everything

The fall was inevitable. Chained like that, there’s no way to break a fall. Pamela hit hard, ears ringing, vision blurry. The officers picked her up, put her in the van, and drove to court. No medical check. No questions about whether she was okay. This was 2008, not 1955.

The miscarriage came shortly after. The trauma of it stays with her, but it also became her mission. After she got out, Pamela founded RestHer to advocate for incarcerated women. She’s pushed through legislation in more than 12 states banning shackling and solitary confinement for pregnant people.

“I look back on that time and I think of it often now, you know, when I’m doing things because in the midst of it happening, I was completely black. I didn’t understand what was going on,” she said.

The work has taken her to the White House, landed her on Forbes’ 50 Over 50 Impact list, earned her certificates from Harvard and a degree from Yale. She co-founded the Formerly Incarcerated College Graduates Network. There have been short films about her story, awards at film festivals, features in Rolling Stone and Essence.

Finding Purpose in the Pieces

Pamela’s time at Coleman started in isolation and anger. Eight months in solitary before she even got there will do that. But she found her way to the welding program, run by a pastor named Mr. Fred Case. The choice was practical: she owned race cars before prison and was tired of paying $500 for welding repairs.

The anger didn’t leave right away, but purpose started growing. Every woman who gets dignity legislation passed, every pregnant person who doesn’t get shackled, every formerly incarcerated person who finds their way through the college graduates network Pamela built.

Her brother is still inside, serving 65 years for nonviolent drug charges under habitual offender laws. That’s the part of her work that hits closest. She hasn’t been able to get him home yet, but she’s working on it every day.

The business that started all this was real. The care was real. The patients were real. The only thing that was criminal was a system that couldn’t handle a smart Black woman building something valuable without cutting in the right people. Pamela learned that lesson. Now she’s teaching the rest of us.