The Pain of “Othering”

By Latashia Brimm

“Othering” is being placed in a category by systems and society that deem you unworthy to be a part of the community. As a Black person, the foundation of “othering” is white supremacy that permeates throughout the social and justice system. Mass incarceration arose as part of the New Jim Crow to repress Black people. It is now so large and corrupt that it swallows everyone regardless of race. 

The current climate of change surrounding justice is encased in microaggressive stigmas supportive of white supremacy that must be unraveled before any progress can be made. Many mean well but don't realize their reactions are problematic. The worst thing to do is get defensive when the problem is explained to you. You can't change something you're not acknowledging exists. Empathy is the most effective way to pierce the surface in order to begin the process of purging these issues from social systems. It also requires individual reflection and checking one’s bias at the door. 

Your journey through stigma

I encourage you to explore this re-entry reading from a perspective of self - immerse yourself in the experience as though it is your own. 

You are demeaned, humiliated, unheard, disrespected, dehumanized, and traumatized from your very first contact with the justice system. One day a kid threw a rock through your window and shattered the glass. Your landlord says they won’t fix it without a police report. When the police arrive they are dismissive and insulting. They take one look at the color of your skin and your neighborhood and without even looking at the damage say you were the one who broke the glass. Now the landlord won’t fix it because the police officer made assumptions and presented a false reality on the police report. You were mistreated by the responding officer and the landlord after experiencing a traumatic event. 

Now you are haunted by memories of the officers snickering and fear what will happen should you encounter them again. You worry, wondering if they can be trusted to be honest when it’s something major - like a shooting when no one else is around. This renders you fearful of the very people you're supposed to trust to serve and protect you.

During another encounter with the police, you are asked to pull over because of a broken tail light. Your anxiety is heightened because you have already experienced injustice caused by “othering” from law enforcement. You try to stay calm but you’re triggered by the memory of their tone of aggression so you look for a well lit spot to pull over. You’re crippled by fear, and it shows up in your voice. The officer, mistaking your anxiety attack to be suspicious behavior, asks you to get out of the car to search it. You find yourself yelling at the officer that he has no right to search your car. The next thing you know you are on the ground after being tasered in handcuffs. You’re going to jail with a felony charge.   

You complete your sentence, are released, and ready to begin a new life. You set out in search of gainful employment that will assist in building that new life. But you quickly find that having a criminal record impacts your ability to secure employment that fits your skill set and has opportunities for advancement. Instead, only the lowest-paid, least secure jobs are available to you. You’re shocked to find that one of the companies that employed you during work release won’t hire you now that you’re no longer incarcerated. You submit hundreds of online applications but automated algorithms eliminate you from the selection pool. After suffering innumerable rejections based on your charges, you aim for the lowest hanging fruit in an effort to bring in legitimate income. Finally employed in multiple low-paying jobs without benefits to try to make ends meet, you hope to eventually find a way to move up the ladder.  

A place to live is a basic necessity for every human being. When you’re released on probation it’s a requirement, but you were dropped off at the local shelter without concern from the correctional officers. Failure to secure and maintain a place of residence could violate your probation on a technicality, landing you back in jail. In addition, you have a family to care for so you apply for housing within your budget. Regardless of how old your charges are, having a criminal record disqualifies you from renting from many communities and private landlords. A criminal charge on your background makes it difficult to secure a safe, affordable place, and it exposes you to predatory behavior by some landlords. Regardless of its nature, your felony charge automatically eliminates you from the majority of residences. After finally finding a residence within your budget, you disclose your record on the application and pay the background check fee. When the landlord schedules an appointment, you think you have the place, but instead they have just brought you in to say that “no one will ever rent to you” with that record. Now you don’t have a place to live and are out the cost of the application fees.

Despite all this, you are expected to miraculously transform into a “model citizen.” But the psychological and emotional impact of the penal system is traumatic. Those who have not had the experience of living as a justice-impacted person but presented with the same treatment, would report it as abuse and seek therapy to recover. Unfortunately, therapy is not offered to you, and you’re just expected to sort through the trauma associated with being incarcerated and ostracized. As with your efforts to secure sustainable employment and safe housing, you are on your own in a continuously hostile and dehumanizing environment. 

Listening is the key

This is the reality for so many of our neighbors. But if these experiences are foreign to those in power, how can we expect to build a better world? The answer: the people who are impacted by this systemic injustice should be the ones at the table developing and implementing solutions. Who better to build a more inclusive, just world? The way we join the conversation may not look like what people are used to, but that does not imply that we won't be successful. Including new voices requires empathy, patience, and transparency from veterans of the arenas. Skill sets and comfort levels take time to develop. 

Listening is the key. If someone feels they already know everything about a certain issue even though they have no lived experience of that issue, then unlearning should be where change begins for them. If given the opportunity to learn about the lived experiences of others, don’t analyze, empathize instead. This is true even among well-meaning people. The worst thing to do is get defensive when the problem is explained to you. When it comes to re-entry and the justice system, this unlearning and empathy includes recognizing the characteristics of white supremacy, stigma, and becoming aware of unspoken, subconscious bias in your own mind. Until these things are confronted openly no progress can be made. A clean canvas is where real change begins. 

P.S. Everyone (regardless of race) should check-out “White Supremacy Culture” by Tema Okun to become aware of some of the characteristics, where they may show up in your day to day life (including yourself) and to begin your journey of unlearning. 

Coming Home: A Narrative Poem of Community Voices

Community Spring · Coming Home: A Narrative Poem of Community Voices

By Nadine (Hope) Johnson

The following poem is a collection of community stories gathered in order to end the stigma around incarceration and re-entry. Our hope is that by highlighting the personal experiences of these individuals we may open hearts, minds and eyes to see people who have been incarcerated for what they are…people!

“I felt a sense of motivation since the hardest part was that I had been away from my kids for so long.”
“Coming home was so hard because I knew I had to face my mom’s disappointment.”
“I was ready to be free but I didn’t feel like I was free because I still had probation, a reminder that I could go back at any time.”
“For so long I was unable to make decisions for myself and now it seemed like a test. My husband was there waiting for me and I was afraid to go to him [thinking] I would be in trouble.”

“How was I gonna manage the next few hours? I had so many things to do to get my probation started in such a short period of time.”
“How to prove myself. I didn’t know how much things were going to change after I got arrested.
“Staying out of jail and taking care of my family [was the first thing on my mind].”
“I wasn't sure it was real. I was afraid, [with] only so much time to check in or they would send me back. I just kept thinking, I can’t go back, I can't go back!”

“I had to show proof that I was looking for a full-time job while managing 80 hours of community service, 4 drug tests, counseling twice a week, which included additional drug tests and over $600 in fees on top of everything.”
“I was [paying to] bounce around from couch to couch depending on how people felt that month. Even though I had a job it was so hard with nowhere to lay my head at night.”
“I lost my job behind a charge. It was twice as hard to find another job because I couldn't use [the old job] as a reference.”
“I have a business. I am talented at the work I do but as a small business owner with a felony it is so hard getting funding and building trust with clients and other community [members].”

“I had a little support from a friend who would make sure I got to probation check-in on time but after that I would be stuck.” 
“[It was] Me myself and I. The probation officer acted like I didn't have a care in the world because on paper I didn't have bills. He didn't want to hear that I had to pay to live. I could barely afford [getting] to and from work let alone eating. I still had to pay them fees though!”
“[I had] no support really. My partner had her kids to take care of and she needed me to support her so it was all on me to support everybody.”
“Most of my family and friends turned their backs on me. I met my husband when I was going through trial and he and his family were there for me through my sentence. They teach me to accept myself and remember that I am not just a mistake!”

“I received counseling services that did not help but added pressure on me. I was arrested on a drug charge and admitted my struggle with addiction. When I failed a drug test with them instead of offering me assistance they got me violated.”
“When you have a record on paper you are a criminal no matter what or who you are in real life. You get treated like less than nothing by everyone who knows you got arrested, including your own family. I don't know if there is therapy out there for that but I couldn't find it.”
“I reached out to a program that promised counseling and resources. When I would ask for more help I could tell the lady was annoyed with me. She would never get back to me with the information I needed. It seemed like she didn't want to waste her time with me. Probably would have done her a favor by going back to jail, less paperwork. That is how a lot of these social services leave people feeling.”
“Probation required me to have counseling but honestly the counselors did not help, the pastors did with their nurturing care and guidance.”

“I knew the road ahead would require me to work hard but I still never gave up and just coped the best way I could.”  
“Everything I got I had to work hard and pay for.”
“I’m still tryna cope with everything. It’s impossible but that's what they expect people to do. I am still affected by my charges everyday.”
“My determination to help people like me who made a mistake and are asking for a hand up, that is what gets me through a stressful day.”

Barriers to Employment Hurt the Entire Community

By Tequila McKnight

Coming home from prison I got a job pretty easily at first. I was hired at a restaurant and put on the manager training course. Even though my first paychecks were barely enough to pay rent and utilities, I was hopeful because the pay would increase after training ended. But that would not be the case for me. After 3 months, management told me I couldn’t work there with the record that I disclosed at the time of applying. That was my first experience with the employment barriers that come with a record.

When you come home from prison, you need a job to succeed and rebuild your life, but barriers prevent you from even being considered. Nationally, 27% of people with a record are unemployed. This is a serious problem because employment is the single biggest predictor of reincarceration. These barriers hurt individuals, businesses, and the community as a whole.

Rejection after rejection

After leaving the restaurant job, I found that not many places will hire someone coming home, and the ones that do barely pay enough to get by. I had a persistent headache because I did not know what to do, and I knew going back was not an option. After being out of work for two weeks, I was offered a position at a local hotel to clean rooms for only $3.81 per room. I didn't even know this rate was legal to pay someone, but this was the only place willing to give me an opportunity. My experience is not uncommon. On average, people who have spent time in prison see their annual income reduced by 52 percent after they come home.

I knew that I couldn't make it living off of this wage, so I applied to a temp agency that helps people gain employment. The interviewer was excited about hiring me and spoke very highly of me, but when the application went to corporate they came back with a rejection because of my record. I also applied at other hotels that paid more and nursing homes but I was denied everywhere I turned. 

I was killing myself at work just to survive. I took on every role at the hotel (housekeeping, front desk, laundry, etc.) to make enough money to take care of my bills and kids. I almost never missed a day of work and worked harder than everyone else to prove that I was capable. I am grateful for this job because it gave me useful skills, but it was really stressful. I didn’t have time to do anything but work, and I was still barely making it. 

Creating my own opportunities

Faced with these difficulties, my only option was to start my own business, a cleaning service based in Gainesville, Florida. Starting my business was very difficult because I did not know what to do or where to start. I had to figure it out on my own. Since starting my business, I have employed community members with the same issues I was facing. I also help anyone who is trying to get their business started because I know the struggle. While starting my own business has been hard, it is by far easier than trying to get someone to hire me. Even to this day many places won’t hire me because of a record that's over a decade old. 

By excluding motivated people like me from jobs, businesses are losing out. I was hired as a manager at a restaurant. I was promoted repeatedly at the hotel. I started my own business. But barriers because of my criminal record will still prevent many places from hiring me even now. One in three adults have a criminal record, so hiring restrictions means employers miss out on a huge pool of talented people.

The way forward is fair chance hiring

Coming home from prison the deck is stacked against you. How long is it ok for someone to pay their debt to society? Once you have a record is that label on you for life? I have been out of prison for seven years. I have not had any charges or negative interaction with law enforcement, got my rights back to vote, but I am still not given a second chance of sustainable employment to take care of my kids and grandkids. 

Our community needs a fair chance hiring ordinance to help people with records find work. Lots of other places already have policies that take questions about criminal records off job applications and require that convictions be considered in context (how long ago it happened, is it related to the job, etc.). Actually talking to applicants, considering them as an individual, not making decisions based on arbitrary rules - these are simple changes that could have a big impact. And they would help give the next person that comes home to Gainesville a fair chance at rebuilding their life.

My only right is the right to remain silent

By Nadine (Hope) Johnson

Americans like to point to the Declaration of Independence as providing the basic promise of our country: “that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” But when I look around my community, these words ring hollow. I can’t see the meaningful promises of life, liberty and a chance at happiness for myself or my neighbors. Instead I see a disconnect between our country’s values and its actions, between these unalienable rights and my reality. 

A lot of this gap comes from the racial history of our country. When Jefferson wrote those idealistic words, he owned human beings who not only looked like me but may have shared my same heritage. They cleaned his house and prepared his meals, worked his land and bore his children. All without the use of their so-called “unalienable” rights. Throughout his life he owned upwards of 600 human souls with dark skin and curly hair like mine. The slaves may have been endowed by the creator with these rights but it was a man who took them away. 

Jefferson didn’t include black people in his vision for a free world, and that exclusion has carried over to this very day. As a result, being black in America means doing a specific dance when it comes to your rights. You must be careful not to make too much noise or ruffle feathers or you risk losing the very right you are acting on and much more. Keep your head down, take what is given, don't make a ripple. These are our earliest understandings of rights.

Maybe that’s why people in my community think less about their human rights and more about their right to remain silent, and not just while being Mirandized. When reaching out too many times for food or financial assistance could end up getting the authorities involved in your life, you tend to stay silent even if it means going without the support or protection that you desperately need. I often feel the need to stay safe beneath the radar of authority because a call for protection could cause me to lose my housing or even my children. Others may fear losing their loved ones to incarceration, sending them further into debt and possibly causing them to be evicted. When I think about my basic human rights and look around my neighborhood there is a disconnect that occurs in my mind. When all we see is poverty, violence, incarceration, and a generalized apathy to change any of it, rights don’t mean much. 

Take the right to life. You have a right to some healthcare, and yet black and brown people have less health coverage and have lost their lives at far higher rates from COVID. This topic is barely discussed in my neighborhood, however, because black men, women, and children are more concerned with losing their lives from police brutality. Or consider the right to liberty. You have a right to a fair trial before your liberty is stripped from you, and yet the wealthy hire fancy lawyers to avoid punishment and low-income black and brown people fill the prisons. Or let’s consider a right that is critical to the pursuit of happiness: education. You have a right to a basic education, and yet per student spending is vastly uneven, largely along racial lines, and only 28% of black 3rd graders are reading at grade level in Alachua County. 

There are other ways we could be doing things. Imagine if we all agreed that everyone, no matter the color of their skin, really had the right to the basic things that you need in order to have a real chance at life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. What if there was universal healthcare to ensure that we all had the same chance to keep our lives during a deadly pandemic? What if there was meaningful accountability when the police shoot someone? What if everyone had the right to an attorney in all criminal cases (and not one with a caseload of 300 people)? What if instead of talking about ways to limit assistance to low-income families we talked about having a universal basic income? What if community leaders and community members came together and had regular round table discussions that resulted in real life solutions to the issues that plague oppressed communities?

These things are possible if we’re willing to pursue them. The responsibility to change things lies with the people. We have the power to decide how our community should run and put systems in place to make things better. Don’t forget that the Declaration of Independence also says that “whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it.” There is a long road ahead before our rights match reality, and I'm just one person standing up and saying that a change is needed. But imagine if I inspire others in my community to do the same. We could change the world.

The Barking Dog of Freedom (sort of)

By Kevin Scott

When I was released from prison I was wearing a bathing suit. I have no idea whose it was. It was a January morning and freezing cold. The guards said it was the only thing they could find. I didn't believe them, and I didn’t argue. My family was still hours away with clothing, so I could either stay in a cage even longer or take what they give me and go. So I put on that strange, dirty bathing suit and a threadbare shirt. I was completely penniless. On the way out I passed by folks being brought in - just starting their incarceration journey. The wheel just kept on turning. I couldn’t bear the thought of all that lay ahead of them.  

The door opened and a wall of freezing air rushed in stealing my breath. I hesitantly stepped out into the world, and the door quickly slammed behind me. Everything was stark and immense. I couldn’t move. It felt like gravity had taken a special interest in me. I was there yet not there - layers within myself. I was an aching Russian doll. It had been 1,185 days since I’d been in the world. I was shaking from the cold but also from something vast and ungraspable. I was waiting for something to pull me back in - the feel of phantom fingers on my back. The wind was all needles. 

It occurred to me that I was hallucinating which sent further chills rushing through me. After such deep longing to be free for so long, my body must be in a cell somewhere while my mind, now eternally unmoored, imagined itself free. I had come undone at last. My chest was heaving in and out wildly. 

I had been given a map to this unfamiliar city with instructions to report to a probation office. My body somehow began moving. When I came to a traffic light I froze, crippled with doubt, looking both ways countless times before stepping ahead. The shaking never stopped. “Oh my god, oh my god…” These breathy, barely audible words kept coming out of my mouth like a chant. It was outside and inside. I didn’t know it was happening, but tears had shown up on my cheeks. I knew them by the cold whipping my face. I must have been crying for my broken sanity or my fractured soul. Not for my freedom. That didn’t seem real. Nothing was real. I didn’t even exist. Then came the dog. 

As I moved ahead in a trance, a huge, frothing dog behind a chain link fence charged at me barking madly. In that moment I knew I was real. It saw me and it let me know. In that moment, this animal gave me permission to feel my freedom for the first time. That snarling dog’s face is etched into my mind forever, beautiful beyond words. I stopped, letting its sounds of fury become a celebration. I collapsed and bawled my eyes out with no reservations right then and there. Squatting on the sidewalk beneath a rising sun, shivering and loudly crying from the center of my being, with this dog screaming at me, something indescribable shifted within me and began to let go. 

Out of the cage, but not out of the shadows

This is just a tiny glimpse into how my re-entry began. I was utterly traumatized by the years of dehumanization. Practically speaking I had nothing - no money, no vehicle, no employment, no residence. What I did have were expectations to get all of those things and quick. Failure to attain them would result in my swift return to a cage and back to the jaws of trauma. Financially I was south of zero and facing mountains of debt and fees that are required for freedom. I desperately had to piece together an impossible puzzle under a hovering axe. I’d need a miracle. 

I soon learned that despite working so hard to put my life on a positive path and feeling so on fire, eager to be an asset to my community, no one would actually see me. The world was here, and I was now forever over there. I was out of the cage, but not out of the shadows. 

At one point, I called what is advertised as an agency with resources for formerly incarcerated people. They referred me to another, who referred me to another, and so on and so on, until I was ultimately sent back to the agency I had called in the first place. I’d come full circle empty-handed. It was an ouroboros, a closed loop of futility and discouragement. There were no meaningful or realistic resources available to me. 

The hurdles of finding income and housing with a felony record are unimaginable to anyone who’s never faced them. It’s a series of humiliations. It’s a world of walls. What does exist is oftentimes predatory, exploiting our desperation - minimum wage for dangerous work and substandard housing at gouged prices. Our basic needs are weaponized against us. 

Finding and getting treatment for the trauma that all incarcerated people experience can hardly happen when so many other needs aren’t being met. Well-being goes unaddressed which compounds the suffering. It’s easy to see how someone can feel so isolated, hopeless, and like they’re endlessly climbing uphill with this massive, invisible burden. 

This systemic alienation harms not just the individual, but the entire community. If we’re willing to look, we can see these ripples everywhere. 

Sharing the spark

I found myself longing to connect with other people that could relate to what I’d experienced inside and how that continued to echo throughout my entire life. What was missing was a collective for impacted community members to gather, be authentic, and build bridges to legitimate resources. Such a group simply did not exist. That’s why the fellows of Community Spring decided to start Torchlighters Re-Entry Support. 

We are building a network for formerly incarcerated people and their loved ones, as well as the loved ones of people still behind the wall. It is a space for them to come together to share their experiences, their struggles, their triumphs, their hope, and their hearts with one another. People can genuinely connect with each other and provide emotional and practical support in a way that no other group can offer. When it comes to re-entry there is no substitute for lived experience. Justice-involved people have been discounted for far too long. They represent some of the best and brightest among us and it’s beautiful to see them sharing the spark. We should be a community that welcomes returning citizens with open arms and Torchlighters Re-Entry Support is building that future.

Our fellows dug deep into their past to determine how to reshape their future

By Lindsay Kallman

Welcome to the first ever blog for Community Spring! We are a non-profit organization that is spurring economic mobility and dismantling structural poverty at a grassroots level. We use a direct job-creation model that employs people in poverty to address the systemic issues that they identify as contributing to poverty. Community Spring fellows cultivate collective power through community organizing and advocacy. They seek to break down the systems that keep them down. And they get paid a fair wage to do it. 

Our direct-job creation model - with the twin pillars of income and power - has never been done before. We are only seven weeks into our first fellowship class, and we have been met with a flurry of excitement from the community. We have reached 8,800 people on social media, testified at the Gainesville City Commission, been featured in three different media outlets (The Gainesville Sun, CBS-4, and WUFT), hosted a successful community building event, and engaged with impacted people, community leaders, the faith-based community, policymakers, and local businesses. It is clear that Gainesville is ready for change and looking for a new approach. 

“They represent new hope and the brand of grassroots leadership that long has been missing in remedying injustices that persist despite time and money poured into solutions that proved to be insufficient.
”

— James Lawrence, The Gainesville Sun

Grassroots power is at the core of our model. At Community Spring, we believe the answers to the community’s problems need to come from the people experiencing those issues. Too often, well-intentioned people provide services and solutions without asking first what people want and need. Community Spring wants to reverse this approach. Let’s ask first. Let’s listen first. Let’s pay the people living in impacted communities to address the poverty that plagues their neighbors, their families, and themselves. We want to stand alongside the communities we serve - not above them. 

The inaugural class of fellows is comprised of five people with a long history of personal experience with structural poverty and a passion for building stronger communities. (Check out their bios on our website to learn more about this powerful crew.) During the first two weeks on the job, our fellows dug deep into their past to determine how to reshape their future. Through storytelling and consensus building exercises, all five fellows determined that they wanted to focus their work on the criminal justice system, which they identified as perpetuating the cycle of poverty for entire communities in Gainesville - particularly low-income communities of color. 

All of our fellows have been deeply impacted by incarceration, and they all agreed that there is a serious lack of support when people are re-entering society after incarceration. These returning citizens struggle to get back on their feet when they are thrown back out into the world with no emotional or financial support while facing excessive barriers to employment and housing. 

Hiring policies that exclude people with criminal records have led to an unemployment rate of over 27% among formerly incarcerated people — a rate higher than the total U.S. unemployment rate during the Great Depression. Landlords legally discriminate against people with criminal records, and as a result returning citizens are almost 10 times more likely to be homeless than the general public. Severe homelessness and housing insecurity increase recidivism and cost taxpayers millions.

Community Spring fellows envision a community where returning citizens are welcomed with open arms and given support to thrive in their new lives. To accomplish this goal, our fellows are building out a campaign called Torchlighters Re-Entry Support. Fellows are organizing an in-person support group, providing virtual support via a warmline and social media, compiling resources for returning citizens in Alachua County, developing a communications campaign that educates and humanizes people with criminal records, engaging employers to reform their hiring policies, and advocating for restrictions on the use of criminal background checks in housing applications. 

We encourage you to get involved by checking out Torchlighters Re-Entry Support website and the Torchlighters Facebook group which houses information on all our activities and updates on how you can get involved. Please help us spread the word! As Community Spring Fellow, Kevin Scott says, “We’ve become all too well-adjusted to this revolving door of incarceration. What returning citizens need is a chance to prove their hearts and minds. They need advocacy and solidarity.” We hope that Torchlighters Re-Entry Support can be a part of that solution.