MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE —In the driver’s seat of a scuffed yellow forklift, Wade Tate wheels through a vast distribution center on this city’s outskirts, storing inventory – boxes of machine parts or Sterno fuel kits – and fulfilling customers’ orders.
With the forklift’s prongs, he selects cardboard cartons, lifts them up and guides them to where they need to go. The process is an apt metaphor for the work that criminal justice reform advocates are doing for ex-offenders like Tate himself.
The 45-year-old has spent more than half his life in Tennessee state prisons, landing there in 1992 after pleading guilty to two counts of second-degree murder. “I was running with the wrong crowd, along with alcohol,” he says, shaking his head at his younger self.
Paroled last May, Tate returned to this city on the east bank of the Mississippi River – initially to a halfway house, then to a private home. Now, with a local government program and a faith-based charity helping to smooth his re-entry, he’s trying to construct a life as a trustworthy employee, father, partner and friend.
Second chances
At any given time, at least 2.2 million individuals are in federal, state or local custody, at an annual cost of $80 billion, the White House says. All but the most egregious U.S.offenders eventually get released – an estimated 600,000 a year. How well they adapt – whether they become productive citizens or relapse into crime – has consequences not only for the individuals but also for society.
In the waning years of his presidency,Barack Obama has prioritized making the criminal justice system “smarter, fairer and more effective.” That includes giving ex-offenders a chance to prove themselves. Last week, after commuting the sentences of 61 people, he lunched with several former inmates at a Washington restaurant to find out how they were faring with re-entry.
Conservatives and liberals alike are increasingly pressing for justice system reforms, citing soaring incarceration costs, wasted human capital and a disproportionate impact on poor people and minorities.
Lawmakers in both chambers of Congress are considering assorted changes such as reducing mandatory minimum sentences,easing prisoners’ re-entry into communities and minimizing felon disenfranchisement. The Sentencing Reform and Corrections Act has bipartisan backing in the Senate, though some Republican conservatives have balked, saying it could compromise public safety.
House Speaker Paul Ryan, describing himself as “a late convert to criminal justice reform,” in March promised to bring related legislation to floor debate.
“Redemption’s a beautiful thing. It’s a great thing,” the Republican speaker said. “It’s what makes this place work.”
Holistic approach
MSCOR, based in the south Memphis neighborhood of Soulsville, consolidates an array of supports in one place. “Returning citizens,” assigned to a case manager, can get help with housing, transportation, health care, education and job training. Christ Community Health Services operates a mobile clinic one afternoon a month, monitoring clients’ weight and blood pressure and helping them manage medical concerns.
Another of its community partners, the Christian charity HopeWorks, leads onsite classes where individuals can study for high school equivalency diplomas. HopeWorks also conducts intensive 14-week personal development and career training programs at its home location and for inmates at the Shelby County Correctional Center.
The program includes a life coaching class called MSCOR University. Students learn how to make better choices,manage anger and frustration, avoid trouble, and find work.
Trainer Lucy Shaw emphasizes personal responsibility and pursuit of education. “The way you’re going to get out and stay out is by beating ignorance,” she tells nearly 20 new students assembled one February evening.
Shaw doles out respect and encouragement, explaining that students often feel stigmatized by their criminal records and insecure about their skills. They need shoring up. And,because the MSCOR attendance is optional for everyone except parolees, “we have a carrot, we don’t have a stick.”