"How Steep a Hill"

I am an ex-felon. I spent seven years in federal prison followed by five years of probation, which means I served my time both in prison and under supervised release. Today, I am a college student and studying to become an addiction counselor. I’m free from the revolving door of prison, but I believe how I made it this far is nothing short of a miracle.

I learned how to get a job before I was in high school. My father taught me that as an African-American man I would have to over-qualify for a job in order to have a shot at it. He told me it is not fair, but it can be overcome. I was taught to speak clearly in an interview, make eye contact and present myself confidently. “Always appear visibly excited for an opportunity to meet with prospective employers,” my father counseled. If I was going to apply to be the janitor, he taught me to dress for my interview like I was applying to be the manager. I have been successfully getting jobs since before I was legally allowed to work. Without the extensive practice in appearing well qualified, the collateral consequences of my incarceration would have precluded any attempt I made to rejoin society.

The National Institute of Justice estimates that two-thirds of prisoners return to incarceration within three years of release. “Recidivism” is the technical term for that revolving door. In the Stanford Law Review, Elena Saxonhouse writes, “The number one factor which influences the reduction of recidivism is an individual’s ability to gain ‘quality’ employment.” There is a causality between exclusionary employment practices and recidivism, especially when it comes to attaining “quality” employment. I do not need to read law journals to know that fact; I need only to look at my own past.

When I was released from prison, I planned to walk the straight and narrow. I found an employer who would hire me, but my greatest hardship was maintaining rent, electricity, running water, and food. Financial obligations outgrew my low wages, so I applied for higher-paying jobs. In my mind, with some time out of jail and recent job experience under my belt, I would find someone who would give me a chance to prove myself. After a month of follow-up phone calls and no response, reality set in. I would never reach the interview stage in any of my efforts.

My rent was behind. I had no lights. I had no food. I gave the straight-and-narrow my very best efforts, but when my next paycheck came, I bought a piece of hardware that allowed me to forge a path in chaos. I believed I had been left with no other option but to return to crime. I got arrested and knew I would only be given another shot if I made it out of prison alive.

I make no attempt to justify my past criminal activity. I paid my debt to society when I served my prison sentence, spent time learning about my addictions, and sought to be a better man. After my second release, I secured a minimum-wage job at a company providing contracted janitorial services in state buildings. After a year as an exemplary employee, I still had no opportunity for a pay increase.

A state employee told me of an open custodial arts position at the state of Illinois. This person knew I was responsible, a hard worker, and I would have a good chance. However, they did not know about my past.

I sent in my resume and got a response; they wanted me for an interview, but first I had to complete an application that asked whether I had a criminal background. I checked the box “Yes,” and commented below that I would like to discuss it more in person. I never got the interview or a chance to discuss my background.

Hope dissipated. In its place, resentment was born. My story is one of unlikely success. With these rejections, I turned to my father’s teachings and took any employment available. I worked a job until it interfered with my other job then replaced it with yet another minimum wage job to keep myself afloat. I found jobs within walking distance so I’d never be late. I stayed with my uncle. I survived on Ramen noodles and tap water so I could save enough to get my own place. I am one of the few who learned to shed his resentment toward a discriminatory society.

Currently, as I study to become an addiction counselor, I am also working as a recovery coach employed by Heartland Regional Alcohol & Drug Assessment Center. I mentor ex-offenders who are determined to stay on the straight and narrow. I know firsthand how steep a hill that is to climb. Add the weight of struggling for access to “quality” employment, and it is a near-impossible feat. Yet every day in our community, ex-prisoners confront this obstacle standing in the way between them and their goals.

As a society, it is time we re-assess our attitudes toward people with a criminal history, restore civil rights, and make sure that when ex-convicts are hungry and need a roof over their heads, they have a decent job to turn to instead of a gun.