Re-entry

Dan Marshall:

Yeah, so our work is a little indirect. What we’re doing is trying to keep them connected—self-improvement, keep them connected with the outside world while they’re in prison, keep them learning and productive, so that when they are released, hopefully, they are more connected and they have more skills. One of the best predictors of whether or not somebody is going to be successful when they’re released or not is if they’re connected with community, whether that’s with friends or family, so that they can rely on them after they are released. One of the things that we do is try to keep those connections open with friends and family while they’re in prison. In terms of that, we have a whole project about prison phone calls and phone rates. It’s another way that these private companies are just blatantly exploiting prisoners and their families by charging ridiculous rates, and ultimately that harms society by—the more you cut those connections, it makes it harder for prisoners to keep them—making it less likely for them to be productive members of society once they’re released. It’s really short-sighted in many ways. It’s what’s going on. So, with our publications going in—and it’s not just our own publications. We’re trying to get rid of these policies so that everybody can get their publications in. A lot of jails have these postcard-only policies. The only mail that is allowed to go in and out of a jail is in the form of a postcard, which is ridiculous. You can’t get publications, but it’s a lot harder to communicate with friends and family in that way—we’re trying to get rid of these policies: mail policies, phone policies, video visitation policies. There are all kinds of different ways to help prisoners remain connected so that they can get jobs and have a stable life once they’re released.

Orlando Mayorga:

Re-entry for me was—here’s the thing. I’m at a privileged position for me to say that it was—ideal. What I mean by that is that I had a supportive family structure, who provided for me a living space to come home to. I had connections and maintained connections with other people—who had done time prior to me coming home that were home now to—educate me on what that process would be like—not only providing that emotional and accompaniment support, but also being able to provide some of the resources that I would need to be able to get to and from work, to be able to have people come with me to get my Link card and my Medicaid and to get a license. Again, a lot of what that looked like coming home—that re-entry process for me began long before I came home. The planning had begun years before I came home because that was the mindset that I was instructed to develop by other people around me.

To give you an idea of my first 24 hours when I came home, the first thing I did was get the hell out of the parking lot as soon as I could! I did not want to spend one single moment more on prison grounds than I had to. I told my sister, “Let’s get out of here!” We went to a gas station down the street. I changed into the clothes that they had brought for me. From there, I asked my sister—and it was my sister, my younger brother, Alex, and my mother who picked me up—to go directly to the DMV in Danville, so that I could get my ID. In the process of getting my ID, I said, “What the hell? I might as well try to get my license.” I drove around the parking lot in my parent’s car for about ten minutes and got a feel for the car. I ended up getting my license two hours after I was released from prison.

Again, my intention with getting my ID was to minimize some of the barriers that I would have to deal with once I got to the city. I knew that DMV’s and Secretaries of State in the Chicago area are much busier than those in Danville because of the population that exists in Danville, as opposed to Chicago. The whole license thing—I think it was more of a, “What the hell? I’m here. I might as well try.” I ended up passing my driver’s test!

Orlando Mayorga:

One of the greatest concerns that people are expressing to me that I see on a daily basis is that everything has been slowed down—acquiring a birth certificate, a social security card, or any of those vital documents that are necessary to get a state ID when you come home. [They're] either A. taking too long to process or B. they’re not being processed at all by the staff at these institutions at these prisons. I don’t know if it’s a clerical issue. I don’t know if it’s because a lot of the offices out here are closed. Or because it’s just laziness on the part of the staff at these institutions. But, that is a major concern right now, and that is a barrier that exists in this current climate due to COVID.

Another concern is housing. A lot of brothers that have done long-term sentences—and what I mean by long-term is anything between fifteen to forty years of incarceration—have issues with housing, like where am I going to go? How am I going to live? Even if you have the blessing or the fortunate status of being able to go home to a mother or a sister or family member, a lot of people are coming home to sleeping on the couch, sleeping on the floor. That, in itself, is not conducive to helping re-entry. Eventually, people are going to get tired of having to step over you or having to tell you to sit up on the couch. So, housing is a tremendous need and an integral part of successful, healthy re-entry.

Another is, again, how will I acquire my documents? Work is almost third or fourth on the concerns. Having the reassurance and the constant reassurance through these phone calls, by people being able to call our re-entry team, is something that goes a long way.

Another thing that one of our re-entry team members has expressed to me is that one of the moments that he will never forget that will be the happiest in his life was seeing me when he was released. He says that having me pick him up is something that he never expected and something that made him extremely happy because of not having that expectation. He never would’ve thought that someone—anyone—would have done that for him. Even something as simple as picking somebody up and taking them home is a gesture that can’t be measured by metrics, but based on him expressing that just shows how important it is to have, not only someone pick you up, but someone who’s connected to you in some way. To be that bridge and connection to this newfound freedom is something that goes a long way as well.

Orlando Mayorga:

For anybody coming home, I think it’s very important because for me and a lot of people I’ve had conversations with in the past, it’s related to minimizing the feeling of being a burden. Just before I came home—and I used to do this regularly before my incarceration—I took a tally of my perceived expenses that my family was accruing over the years that I was incarcerated. I think, in total, and this is a big number to me because I know we don’t have this much money. I think my family had spent upwards of $125,000 on me—that includes lawyer fees, that includes all of the perceived emergency funds that I needed throughout my incarceration, that includes Commissary and any books that I may have wanted to read. So understanding and knowing that made me aware that I needed to get a job as soon as I came home.

Initially, my idea of doing this type of work was to do it on a volunteer basis because I had acquired other skills, working with my hands while I was incarcerated. Coming home, I thought that I would be fixing air conditioners and refrigerators and heaters for a living, but I was introduced to this opportunity, and I’m trying to make the most of it, not for myself alone, but also that whatever I do is understanding that the work that I do and who I am is connected to everything else around. So the people, the community… I understand that part of it. Again, I wanted to be able to contribute to the family as soon as I could. So, jobs are highly important for people who are coming home.

Raphel Jackson:

So, 24 hours… that’s not that exciting. The morning I came home—I came home a day early— I didn’t know I was leaving the morning that I left prison. Don’t get me wrong, I knew I was going to leave within that week; I thought it was going to be that next week because there was a law that was passed, allowing people like me, who didn’t get good time, to get school good time. Another law passed that said that we could get school good time from [other] stuff. So, this pushed me out the door immediately. It let me come out a year early, but I didn’t know it was going to be that morning.

At that time in prison, I had a lot of assistive jobs—peer educator, teaching substance abuse classes—so I had a good relationship with clinical services; I did a lot of their programs. So, they hurried and got my paperwork in on the first day, so when I thought I was leaving that Monday, I was actually leaving that Friday. That morning, I didn’t know I was leaving that morning. They said, “Pack up; you’re going home.”

So, I’m excited. I’m nervous. I’m scared—all of these things wrapped up in one. So, somebody told me to call Chilly. They said, “You’re not going to call Chilly?” I said, “For what?” They said, “Tell him to come pick you up from the train station or the bus station, whatever.” I said, “Yeah, let me call.”

I let him know that I was going to come home today. What I didn’t know was that when I called him, he got in the car and drove all the way to the prison to get me. That was the starting point. Everything before then was just confusing and not knowing what was going to happen—not knowing anything: where I’m going to go, how to navigate the city. I had some ideas, but it’s not that simple. They put like $12 in your pocket, too, so you’re walking out with $12. With this money, you need to find something to eat, navigate through the city—it was horrible.

When Chilly came and got me, the clothes he gave me were too big. Literally, I got boxes full of books—there were certain books I wasn’t leaving behind—pants too big with no belt, and they’re literally falling. So I’m trying to hold the box and hold the pants, so this is like a horrible day. But Chilly shows up, and my first time in a car—it just felt so good. We stopped in the town and went to Harold's Chicken. Oh my god. I can’t remember exactly what I got—I got a combination of fish and chicken. This is my first meal since I got out of prison. This is the first time I saw a chicken tender. Chilly got chicken tenders, and I’m looking at this big old piece of chicken on his plate. I’m like… what?! I didn’t know what it was! I had no idea what it was. It looked like a lobster tail or something—a deep fried lobster tail. But it was chicken! So I ate half of his stuff, right?

It just felt so good to be on the highway, driving back to the city, calling different people. A lot of places we drove past still looked so horrible. It was like I left there yesterday. Seriously, it felt like I was just here yesterday. That was one of the bad parts, but the rest of the day, we went shopping—I went grocery shopping, and I had no idea what to buy! We went clothes shopping, and I didn't know what to buy. I went to see a few friends. The night I went to the halfway house—because I couldn’t go to the Precious Blood re-entry house—the halfway house was horrible. When I got there at 10 o’clock at night—because we had been driving around and going shopping and everything—they didn’t have room for me, even though they had me scheduled to be there. They didn’t have a physical room for me, so they had to kick a guy out in order for me to come in. I slept on the couch. The beds were horrible; they were infested with bedbugs, I mean, the people that were there—a lot of the guys that were there were hopeless. The halfway house didn’t really provide anything, like you couldn’t eat unless you had your own bowl and spoon—let alone food, cosmetics; I’m glad I went shopping because if I had to whip out that $13, I would have been hungry for the next few days. So, it was a good 24 hours, it just ended in a horrible way.

As far as people that assisted me, it was the guys that I knew from prison—Chilly, Mikey, and the Center. These were the people that aided me the most. Eventually, I left the halfway house and went to the Precious Blood re-entry house. I was able to work at Precious Blood as an intern for the first three months. At that point, I didn’t have any bills, so I had no bills. They helped me get the rent and medical coverage. Everything was the Center. And they didn’t know me, and they just went through Chilly’s and Elena’s word. So, after I interned, I was hired on full staff.

I haven’t had a hard transition, economically or as far as employment goes. Mine has been mainly emotional, trying to readjust; it’s not easy. There are so many emotions that are involved. It’s like… sometimes it feels surreal. It’s not real at all. Sometimes I just stop, and I look around. Yesterday, me and my girl, we were watching Game of Thrones because she has never seen Game of Thrones, right? In jail, I saw all of them. We were watching it, and as I’m sitting there watching it, it hits me that the first time I saw this, I was incarcerated. The actual space just felt so different. It was hard to explain.

Everybody who has come home after a long time in prison—they have moments of burden, where emotionally they just break down. It's not something that’s understood; it just happens. Then, there are moments where you’re just so happy. Everything is new. I love everything. I love going places. I love different types of food—just everything. It’s a beautiful thing. Even though I have family genetically, they are not people that are really in my life. That’s a part that’s hard for me to get over. Even though a lot of them want to be in my life now, I’m thinking—You haven’t been there for me for 26 and a half years. Some of you, I’ve never heard from the whole time I was incarcerated. So, what’s the reason you want to be in my life now? I want to understand. Some days, I really want to start accepting people in my life. Some days, I just let people be.

Raphel Jackson:

During COVID, you had no choice but to save money! I think at the time, my most expensive item was an Xbox. I have probably played that thing 6-7 times since I bought it. At the time, I thought I just needed something to occupy my time, when I was in the re-entry house. The apartment was spur-of-the-moment. I’m very impetuous when it comes to certain things. I went and viewed the apartment, and I rented it. I had the money to rent, so I rented it.

It felt good; it felt good furnishing it. I spent a lot of money furnishing it—everything.

—Raphel takes a phone call—

Even with this phone call [and this phone], it was spur-of-the-moment. I’m also enrolled to finish my bachelor’s degree, and I just enrolled last week. It was also spur-of-the-moment. It wasn’t planned to happen that day at that particular time. It just so happened that I was home, and I was just looking at these advertisements and decided to enroll.

Same thing with my car—I didn't shop around. When I saw the one I liked, I bought it! Don’t get me wrong, I’m learning now—so that when problems present themselves because of my impetuous decisions—to take my time. But it all feels so good. It feels good to have your own space. Even though I still lock myself in one room, it’s complicated. My bedroom is like my cell—it’s a safe space. I spend a lot of time there, so I literally had to set my office up in another room, instead of my bedroom, just so I could force myself to move around the space. It feels good to have the air conditioner on and just be… by yourself.

Driving the car—I bought a 2017 Acura. I love it. I didn’t shop around for any other car. When I saw it, I liked it, and that’s what I got. That’s my first car. So, that’s a test for everything for me. It felt good. It still feels good to be in the car and just drive away. It’s a freedom—transportation is freedom. I don’t want to be here right now, whatever the case may be—I don’t have to worry about you catching up with me! So, it felt great. It still feels good.

For my birthday, although it was COVID, I had everybody over. The idea was for them to get food and leave, but they ended up staying. So, I set up the table. We just enjoyed ourselves. I think I’m one of the lucky stories. So far, I haven’t had a lot of hardships that a lot of people that I work with have had. That’s because of the support network. That’s one of the things that we do now, with our re-entry team. We have been approved to go into prisons, and speak with the population of guys, and what we're trying to do is take that re-entry mindset and extend that into prisons. So, we start the process of helping people who are coming home way before they come home—to develop that process early. From my experience, it works.

Paul Wright:

Sure, some of the biggest drivers of mass incarceration, in terms of growing the prison population are parole and probation violations. But one of the things that is telling is that this case has gotten widespread media coverage nationally. I’ve never heard of anyone saying that a 15-year old should be locked up for not doing their homework, but the girl is still sitting in jail. The only thing that she’s locked up for at this point is not doing her homework, not doing her schoolwork. No one’s claiming she’s engaged in criminal activity. I think that’s the critical thing—every year in this country, hundreds of thousands of people are locked into cages, not because they committed a criminal act, but because they violated technical terms of probation and parole.

The most common ones are prohibiting people from using the Internet, using computers, leaving the county, getting married without permission, requirements that they maintain employment, the search and seizure—that not only impact them but also impact the people they’re living with. What’s funny though is the notion that somehow, Americans think of themselves as being free and yet, the Draconian police state intrusions that millions of people are subjected to every day by an army of police agents is frankly pretty mind-boggling. It’s unparalleled in human history.