A Constant Hustle
There are a lot of conversations taking place about the devastating costs of mass incarceration to individuals, to communities, to states, and to our country. The United States has five percent of the world’s population and twenty-five percent of its prisoners.
Seriously. The United States is now the number one incarcerator of human beings in the the world.
Policymakers and advocates are starting to recognize this system is as expensive, unsustainable and ineffective, and have started taking initial steps to change the way we think about and deal with crime, punishment and recidivism. To punctuate these policy discussions, from time to time we’ll hear stories from individuals willing to share their own experiences, but often those stories are told with the perspective of time and distance. Less frequent are the stories of what it’s like in the immediate days and weeks after an offender is released back into the community, and how each day poses a gauntlet of obstacles, pitfalls and frustrations.
I’ve had a front row seat to this human drama over the past five weeks as I’ve watched my son Nick come to terms with what it means to be free. I made a list of the things I’ve observed that make it hard for someone just out of prison to get a fresh start. (Caution: This list of Hard Things is by no means comprehensive.)
1. Finding a job. Okay, we knew this one would be hard. But seemingly reasonable expectations that employers create in their hiring processes can pose Herculean barriers to someone trying to rebuild a new life.
First of all, to apply for just about any job, you need an ID. An ID is your golden ticket in — to hiring offices, temp agencies and the people conducting interviews. But in order to obtain an ID, you first need to apply for one. That costs money. (See Hard Thing number 2.) And once you apply for an ID, you have to wait for six weeks or more for it to arrive, leaving your chances of earning any income in the meantime limited or non-existent.
It’s also hard to get and keep a job without a way to get there. With no driver’s license, no car, and no steady source of income, Nick relies on public transportation to get where he needs to be. That can mean an hours-long commute on a transit system not yet fully accessible to many parts of the metro area. I can only imagine the difficulties for someone outside our immediate area. And while it’s true that it’s cheaper to ride the bus or take the train than it is to keep a car, $6 a day or more in fares going out adds up pretty fast for someone who’s got zero dollars coming in.
That leads us to the next Hard Thing.
2. Lack of resources. Face it, building and maintaining a stable life costs money. It takes cold, hard cash (or a checking account or a convenient ATM card linked to a bank account — which you can’t get until you have an ID and some money) to navigate the world. Food, shelter, transportation, clothing — all cost money, something people newly released from prison have precious little of. Nick doesn’t have to worry about the cost of housing and other staples for now, since he’s living with me. But he does have to worry about reloading his transit card so he can get around and paying for some other basics, not to mention the fines, fees, restitution, and other personal obligations he still needs to take care of.
3. Unexpected costs. (I call this a freedom tax.) I never knew that ex-offenders have to pay to be on parole. Within a week of his release, Nick received a $200-plus bill from the county’s community corrections department to subsidize the cost of his parole. Okay, some of you might think that’s fair as part of paying his debt to society. And I can understand and agree with that to a point. But here’s the catch: if he doesn’t pay the bill by this week (hard to do without steady income) he could be turned over to collections and subject to additional fines, wage garnishment and possible contempt charges. He’s also got to deal with a student loan that’s in default that’s been accumulating interest charges and fees during the time he’s been behind bars, which, when added to the obligations I mentioned earlier, add more weight to debts that can seem like another form of shackle.
4. Establishing a productive and consistent routine. The sudden lack of structure after years of predictable, boring routines can be unsettling and even overwhelming. Exercising internal discipline after years of externally-enforced discipline is not something many offenders are equipped to do or have had much help to develop. Despite the sweet taste of his new autonomy, it’s equally true that the lack of structure (something that a job could provide) poses real risks for Nick in his quest to start fresh.
5. Unlimited choices. The thought of unlimited choices — wearing what you want to wear, eating what you want to eat, going where you want to go when you want to go there — all seem like a luxury to men and women in prison who have virtually no choices at all. Yet the onslaught of stimulation and temptation brought on by our consumption culture make some choices expensive, unhealthy or even potentially dangerous. For example, a newly awakened appetite combined with an endless array of fast food choices can quickly take a toll on your health and your already thin wallet. And the heady new freedoms and lack of restrictions on whom you spend your time with can easily put you in situations that could lead back to destructive patterns.
6. Limited options. This might sound like a contradiction to number 5 but it’s really just a variation on the predominant theme. Without an ID, and with a student loan in default and a felony on his record, Nick’s options to find a job (see number 1) or continue his education or pursue any other productive goals are limited. And until he can establish a track record of reliability and stability ( BY GETTING A JOB!) those options remain limited.
7. Socially awkward encounters. There’s just no good answer to questions most of us don’t think twice about. Like the one from the guy at the phone store when we went to get Nick a phone: “Geez! How did you live without a phone, man?”
While I can’t speak directly for Nick, my perch from which to observe some of what it’s been like for him has been instructive. What we’ve both learned is that freedom is a subjective term. In truth, upon release, offenders like Nick often trade a physical prison for a social prison, as they navigate the social constructs of a society that gives lip service to second chances but erects barriers to success even beyond the ones they’re told to expect.
And yet, despite barriers that would have flattened me if I’d had to confront them myself, so far, Nick seems determined to keep on keeping on. As he continues to wait for that little laminated ID card that will allow him entry into society, he’s hustling hard to earn what he can and to acclimate to life on the outside. In the past five weeks he’s hustled to pick up odd jobs — working for his brother a few hours a week loading catering vans, cleaning out an over-crowded and dirty storage unit for a friend, helping friends prepare for an estate sale, working as a pedicab bike driver, tearing off shingles for a day here and there. He’s set his alarm for 4:30 AM to make an hour-and-a-half bus commute for a day or two on a construction site, he’s pedaled up hills in heat and humidity hauling more than 300 pounds of human behind him, and he’s hauled away rusted rebar and rodent-infested file cabinets. So far, no job is too dirty, too early, or too physical, and he’s hungry for work and to prove his work ethic. He’s hustling hard, but this time it feels more directed and less dangerous. He’s not in the clear yet, but he’s still on the path. So that’s something.
My observations on the last five weeks would be incomplete if I didn’t point out that all this hustling has also led to a list of Good Things that come with new Nick’s new freedom, including:
1. Earning honest money. It’s not much and far from regular, but it’s his, earned through sweat and humility and an eagerness to prove himself.
2. Validation for a job well done. I will never again underestimate the power of expressing true appreciation for someone’s good work. With each show of genuine thanks for his efforts, Nick’s confidence continues to grow.
3. Walking outside in the bright sunshine. Running outside in the earthy-smelling rain. Sitting on a patio watching the starry autumn sky fill up with stars. Not much more to be said about that.
4. The emergence of something that looks like perseverance. This new and budding quality needs care and feeding, and could easily be smothered by any number of the setbacks or frustrations listed above. But the mere presence of this new perseverance paints a picture of the possible, that one day Nick will be able to look back at this time in his life with pride and satisfaction for facing and overcoming everything he’s facing now.
But still, it would help if that damn ID would get here.
