I don’t mean to sound morbid, but I’m sure I’m not the first person to notice how eerily similar funeral services are to the ritual of sentencing a person to prison.
With the ritual of a funeral ceremony, many people usually gather to mourn a person’s death. Generally, the ceremony is conducted by a cleric who oversees the ceremony and gives a eulogy. This is followed by friends and family speaking on behalf of the departed person about what type of person they were and all the good things they have done. After this, there is a final statement from the officiant: the casket is closed, and the pallbearers carry the deceased to the cemetery, where they are interred forever. Friends and family must deal with the grief and sorrow as well as the impact of the loss and financial burden of the rising cost of funerals.
Khalil Halim
When a person is sentenced to prison, a public hearing is attended by anyone interested in the sentence, but it is usually heavily attended by friends and family. A judge presides over the hearing and states the charges for the person’s sentence. The judge lets friends and family make statements about the defendant’s moral character. Next, the judge hands down the final sentence, the gavel is struck, and the defendant is handcuffed and escorted to the prison, metaphorically interred in a cell.
Both events evoke deep emotional responses. Both are significant losses to family and friends. I spoke with a person recently who recalled that when they were 6 years old one of their family members was sent to prison. This person confided to me how they felt like their family member had died because no one talked of them, and they never were seen until they were released from prison 20 years later.
“I know what it’s like to feel entombed, locked away and perceived as dead by some family and friends.”
I, too, was sentenced to 20 years in the Colorado Department of Corrections. I know what it’s like to feel entombed, locked away and perceived as dead by some family and friends. Most prisoners know that feeling.
In the case of the funeral example, the death of a loved one is a permanent loss. However, in the case of the sentenced person, 85% of them return. There are a few stories of people returning from the dead. But I’m thinking of the Bible story of Lazarus. If you’re unfamiliar with the story, Lazarus died of an illness. His sisters could not live without him, so they asked Jesus to resurrect their brother, who’d been dead for three days. Jesus did.
The interesting part of the story is that Lazarus was brought back to life, but he lived almost angrily because his freedom from the grave meant he now had to dread dying a second time. Tradition says he never smiled again. His sisters never planned for the dread Lazarus would feel every day, thinking about how the tomb would call him back one day. Lazarus was ill-prepared for his new lease on life.
This is also the reality of many of the men and women returning home from incarceration. We placed them in a system that moves them so far from home that they are effectively cut off from family visits. This is how a prisoner, in some cases, comes to feel dead to their families.
The United States has the highest rate of incarceration in the world. The cost to taxpayers is astronomical. The national average is $65,000 a year to house one inmate. In Colorado, the price is $75,000. In Massachusetts, it is $307,468. Statistics tell us 85% of folks incarcerated today will return to society with little support if any.
Lazarus, too, had a terrible reentry plan because nobody was prepared to help him readjust.
Currently, the national recidivism rate for people released from prison is 43% within a year; 70% within five years, it is 70%; and 82% within 10 years. One definition of rehabilitation states it is to return someone to a good, healthy or normal condition after being in prison, very ill, etc. This is where society fails prisoners reentering society.
At Second Chance Center in Aurora, Colo., we provide supportive services for men and women returning home from incarceration, which include case management, peer mentoring, housing assistance, substance abuse and mental health counseling, job readiness, and career development — upskilling and reskilling to mid-level careers. Our clients’ recidivism rate while in the program is less than 10%.
This model has shown success because it invests not just in helping to stabilize a client upon his return but also in helping provide the tools needed to return to society.
For me, it makes sense that the failure of anyone to prepare Lazarus for his new life was possibly the reason Lazarus never smiled again.
Khalil Halim serves as executive director of Second Chance Center in Aurora, Colo., and is a Public Voices Fellow of Transformative Justice with the Oped Project.
Related articles:
What I learned working in a Texas prison: Retribution, not reformation | Analysis by Michael Chancellor
Restorative justice ideals can help families too