Motherhood Behind Bars

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“When I was apprehended, they took my daughter to an orphanage. Later, they brought her to me, and she stayed with me for a few months. My son was born here,” says 29-year-old Nare,* who has been an inmate at the Abovyan Penitentiary for five-and-a-half years.

Nare is a mother of four. After being detained, she kept her third child for four months, and her fourth child remained with her until recently. Now, all four children live with their grandmother—Nare’s mother. Under prison regulations mothers may keep their children with them at the penitentiary until age three.

“It’s like at home, you know. It was like living in a one-bedroom house. We had everything—a tea kettle, we would heat water, bathe them, there was a table for eating. Our cells are just a little smaller than this,” says Nare, gesturing at the room of about 25 square meters. We were sitting in the psychologist’s office. Except for the bars on the window, nothing suggests we’re in a prison. Nare shifts uncomfortably in her short-sleeved prison uniform.

Nare was convicted and sentenced to 13 years and 9 months for murder and is being held in maximum security.

Convicted women and juveniles are held exclusively at the Abovyan Penitentiary. The women convicts or detainees are housed in either cells or dormitory-like dwellings. The facility has minimum-, medium- and maximum-security zones for convicts. Those held under lenient conditions in minimum- and medium-security live in dormitories, while those who are in the maximum-security zone are held in cells.

The building designated for dormitories is called the women’s section, while the one with the cells is referred to as the isolation block. We were not permitted to enter the isolation block, but were able to tour the section for dormitories.

Women in the isolation ward hope to be transferred to the section, which they call “the zone”. It offers more freedoms and milder conditions. In the zone, inmates can freely access the courtyard in the afternoon, while those in cells are limited to 1-2 hours of daily walks only. They have access to a cafeteria with a kitchen where they can heat delivered or purchased food and prepare meals, unlike those in cells who must eat in their cells. The section also provides a storage room for personal belongings, a washing machine, and other amenities.

Most importantly, the section offers opportunities for paid work. According to Nune Mikayelyan, Head of Social, Psychological and Legal Activities at the Abovyan Penitentiary, 99% of residents in the section have jobs that pay the minimum monthly salary (currently 75,000 AMD).

“You have more freedom in ‘the zone’. There are jobs,” says Nare. “My mother receives some state benefits. She pays rent and has four children to care for. At least in ‘the zone,’ I could work and wouldn’t need to ask my family for basic hygiene items. While all inmates face challenges with going to ‘the zone,’ the conditions there are good.” 

One dwelling in the section was a spacious, half-empty room with beds and shelves lining the walls for personal belongings. Penitentiary officers noted that while the area once housed dozens of convicts, only six remained. Across both the main zone and the isolation ward, there were a total of 28 convicts. According to the Statistical Committee, the number of female convicts has steadily declined over the years, dropping from 218 in 2015 to 75 in 2022.

Nare has experience caring for a child in both the isolation ward and the women’s section. After the renovation of the section’s new building, she was transferred to the isolation ward, which has special rooms for women with children.

“This building had just opened, and my son and I were the first residents,” she explains. “I could take walks here and there, although I was behind locked doors everywhere. The only difference was that here hot water was available only between 5 a.m. and 9 a.m.”

After her transfer to the section, she was alone with her child in the dormitory.

“My child was very mischievous and active. He would break things or draw on the walls,” Nare explains. “It was very difficult to manage alone.” Based on her request, they assigned another inmate to her dormitory to help with childcare. “If my child was sick, the penitentiary would find a solution. I always had access to the city hospital and medication when my child had a fever. If they didn’t have medicines on hand, either the doctor or the head of the penitentiary would bring them. The only challenge is that you are confined within walls and the door is locked.”

Nare, who has been behind bars for over five years, describes the isolating and corrosive effects of prison life. “They make people become more evil here,” she says, though she insists she isn’t malicious by nature. Still, the confinement takes a toll. “Let anyone come and stay here for just an hour. Even when the nurses come to my cell to check my blood pressure, they feel claustrophobic when the door closes.” Nare laments the lack of meaningful activity, noting that inmates are left idle with little to do but gossip, a pastime she views as destructive and unkind. “It doesn’t change anything, and it’s not nice to discuss someone’s life when they aren’t present,” she reflects. Her solution is simple: provide employment opportunities for inmates to keep them occupied and prevent the toxic effects of boredom and inactivity. “Let us work, move around, and interact with each other,” she says, advocating for conditions that promote rehabilitation over stagnation.

According to Nare, inmates with children are permitted to have essential childcare items like cradles in their cells, unlike other inmates. 

“While some cells lack a refrigerator, they are required in cells housing mothers with children,” she says. 

The renovation of this section resolved several issues. For example, lawyer Nare Hovhannisyan, president of the Center for Legal Initiatives, recounts that during one of their visits, a woman living in the dormitory had complained about the lack of a bathroom in the facility. She explained that she was forced to carry her child wrapped in a towel through the cold corridor to and from the bathroom. Additionally, she couldn’t leave her child sleeping or alone in the dormitory to go to bathe or do laundry. Another issue was that the bathrooms had squatting toilets, which were especially inconvenient for a pregnant woman. Currently, in the new building, rooms designated for pregnant women or women with children are equipped with bathrooms, including higher-seated toilets for added convenience.

The yard’s bumpy and uneven asphalt makes it impossible to walk with children in strollers. Nune Mikayelyan says paths will be repaired during the building renovation, and they plan to build a special garden for children under the age of three.

Professor and lawyer Davit Tumasyan, who co-authored the study on reproductive rights of incarcerated women, concludes that the institution needs a mother-and-child room equipped with developmental toys. He also emphasizes the need to review the variety and quantity of food, clothing and hygiene items provided for children in the penitentiary system.  

Being a Mother in Detention

Mothers in detention respond differently to their situation. 

“We had a mother who kept her child with her to take advantage of the privileges, including a separate cell and extra food. But we also had a mother who even helped her child with lessons over the phone,” says Nune Mikayelyan.

During the visit to the penitentiary and discussions with experts, one question persistently emerged: should children be in the penitentiary system at all? 

“I have been to a U.S. prison where a child was taken away right after birth—this is brutal for the mother, but separation becomes even more difficult when the child reaches age three,” says Mikayelyan. 

Tumasyan advocates for case-by-case decisions when determining whether to keep a child with their mother or to separate them, emphasizing that the child’s best interests must always take precedence. In the United States, both options—allowing mother-child custody or separation—are considered viable, depending on the circumstances, he explains.

He highlights the challenges posed by long-term sentences for serious crimes, where separation becomes particularly critical. For instance, a mother serving a 20-year sentence might only have three years with her child before being separated for the remaining 17—or, in the case of life imprisonment, potentially never seeing them again. Notably, Armenian law allows life sentences for pregnant women and mothers of infants, with Article 68 of the Criminal Code restricting such sentences only for juveniles.

Tumasyan underscores the mutual benefits of mother-child contact. Children gain essential maternal care and affection, while mothers retain a sense of purpose, which can support their rehabilitation and eventual reintegration into society.

“We need to consider not only that the child is in a penitentiary but also examine the conditions and how they are maintained to serve the best interest of the child,” he explains. 

According to Tumasyan, if the mother lacks adequate parenting skills or is keeping the child with her solely to gain additional privileges, the solution is provided under the Law on Social Assistance. 

“Social workers assess the needs of individuals in difficult situations and provide professional evaluations,” he explains. “While prisons have social workers and psychologists, they need to revise each person’s re-socialization program with a focus on developing their role as future mothers. Rather than merely accepting a woman’s imprisoned status and leaving her to cope alone it’s essential to actively address these challenges.”

Nare says that prison staff are focused on the interaction between the mothers and children: “A mother can lightly tap the child’s behind, right? Ms. Mikayelyan will say I can’t do that. There was an incident when I lightly spanked my child and she warned me they would revoke my parental rights.” 

Nune Mikayelyan recalls the incident. She explains that specialists work with the mothers to assess and improve their parenting and are understanding.

“We are mothers. We understand how challenging it is to raise a child in prison,” she says. 

Nare Hovhannisyan highlights that many mothers in the penitentiary struggle with parenting skills and face significant challenges in caring for their children. Additionally, staff have noted that mothers who keep their children with them often face harassment from other inmates.

“One woman in a cell explained that she wouldn’t take her child for walks because others would make hostile remarks, saying this wasn’t a suitable place for a child and questioning why she had brought her child with her,” Hovhannisyan says. 

In response to these issues, her center has held a training course on parenting skills for incarcerated mothers. 

He Would Bang on the Door and Shout, “Open Up! Recreation Time!” 

Children in detention usually reside with their mothers. According to Article 90 of the Penitentiary Code, a children’s home may be established when necessary to provide proper conditions for children’s residency and development. In such cases, a convict may place their child under the age of three in this facility and interact with them without restrictions during non-working hours.

There is no children’s home at the Abovyan Penitentiary. Nune Mikayelyan explains that there isn’t even a need for one currently, as the facility is only designed for convicts, and there is just one detained woman living there with her child who is under the age of one. 

“I can’t say whether we will have a children’s home in the future or not,” Mikayelyan says. 

Article 90 of the Code states that when a child in the children’s home (attached to the penitentiary) reaches age three, the head of the institution may extend the child’s stay until the parent’s sentence ends—but only if the parent has less than three years remaining to serve.

“Years ago, we had a case where a child under the age of 6 stayed until the mother’s release. When the child finally left and saw cars and television for the first time, he experienced stress. This is wrong. Children need to live in the outside world, enjoy the same rights as others, interact with their peers, and move freely,” says Mikayelyan.

Davit Tumasyan notes that a child begins to understand their surroundings after the age of three, and keeping them in a penitentiary does not serve their best interests. 

“Rather than extending a child’s stay in a prison, it would be better to consider early release for the mother,” he argues. “Reviewing the mother’s sentence would serve the child’s best interests, provided there are legitimate grounds for such a review.”

Nare says it became difficult to keep her three-year-old son confined.

“He would bang on the door, shouting ‘open the door, recreation time.’ He knew all the superintendents by their last names and would call out ‘Ms. So-and-So, open the door!’”

Although Nare cannot keep her child with her until they turn six years old (as her sentence exceeds three years), she wouldn’t want to even if she could.

“As if serving my sentence wasn’t enough—now the child. I wouldn’t want him to have memories of this. Of course, I would like to be by my children’s side, but I know they must grow up in freedom.”

Raising A Child From Prison

“Women are particularly vulnerable when it comes to maintaining ties with their families and children. In some cases, husbands prevent children from seeing their mothers. In others, women themselves avoid visits to hide their imprisonment,” says lawyer Nare Hovhannisyan.

Nare sees her children, and they know where she is.

“My children haven’t changed. They love me very much, no matter where I am. Despite my mother’s efforts to fill the gap, my children still need me. My eldest child is 12. He’s a big boy—understanding, conscientious, and a good student. He knows everything.”

One of Nare’s challenges is helping to educate and raise her children over the phone.

“I have 20 minutes to talk to them every day. The minutes are counted before I even dial the number. By the time I call and they answer, only 10-12 minutes remain. How can I help them?”

Prisoners receive one free phone call and one free video call monthly. Additional calls can be made using prepaid phone cards from a mobile carrier, which cost 1,000 AMD for 52 minutes.

When she was arrested, Nare had a grade eight education. She now follows a general education program, preparing for her final exams while taking additional courses in sewing and design, and decorative arts.

 “We learn practical life skills. I can now sew linens and sell them. I think it’s a promising business,” she says.

Nare is also considering vocational education if the opportunity arises. Regarding her future, Nare says she hopes to find a good job and work after her release. “The important thing is reuniting with my children and family.”

For now, she carries deep regret.

“If I could turn back time, I would change many things. I definitely wouldn’t be here. I would be with my mother and children.”

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*Although Nare gave her consent to publish her photo and full name, taking into consideration the fact that she has underage children, only her name is published.

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